Dinner with my toy (a D/s tale)

It's a Tuesday evening in the middle of winter.

I'm at an impossibly hip bistro for dinner. The interior is beautiful and the service is faultless, though the food is never as good as they think it is. It is tiny, seats maybe 20 people, my table barely fits me and my toy. The waitress is charming and young and curly haired with a septum ring and Blundstones. Her forearms are covered in fine golden hair a shade lighter than her skin. I imagine golden armpit hair in damp ringlets, laying back, her arms stretched above her head, naked, next to me.

"Can I get you a drink to start?" she asks.

My toy is not permitted to speak.

"I'll have a Camapari and soda, and have you got a light red, or maybe an interesting white for him?" I nod in my toy's direction.

She reaches for a bottle on the bar behind my toy.

"Let me give you a taste of this really interesting orange wine from WA," and she pours a generous mouthful into the glass in front of my toy.

It's sunset orange. I reach for the glass, pick it up to smell.

"What a colour," I say.

She begins to explain the maceration process used by the wine maker. I lift the glass to my lips and tip the generous taste into my mouth, my eyes on her as she talks. I suck air through my teeth to aerate the wine and swish, nodding as she explains the Gewurtztraminer and Shiraz are fermented on skins but separately.

I drop my eyes to my toy. His head is bowed, but he's quietly watching me from underneath his brows.

I spit the wine back into the glass and place it back on the table. The wine swirls, cloudy, bubbly with salivary protein. My toy flinches as if he'd been pinched, and his cheeks flush the same colour as the wine. I turn to the waitress.

"Yes please, that's delicious. He'll love it."

She looks at the wine glass and then at me, hesitating with the wine bottle. I meet her gaze, nod once.

She arches an eyebrow at me, but tops up the glass.

"Of course he will. I'll be back in a moment with your Campari and soda."