As I set the final dish on the table and lit the last candle, I took a deep breath. The flash of memory from those early days, the sting on my cheek, the heat of humiliation turning into arousal, faded back into the present moment.
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The dining table was perfect. I had double-checked every detail. Mistress’s wine glass had exactly the amount she preferred and Mike’s plate was neatly arranged, just as I’d been instructed.
I walked quietly to the living room, where Mistress sat curled up beside Mike, her legs draped over his lap as he traced lazy circles along her thigh. They both looked so comfortable together, so natural.
I knelt at Mistress’s feet and softly announced, "Dinner is ready, Mistress."
She didn’t look at me immediately. Instead, she leaned in and kissed Mike’s cheek, whispered something that made him smile, then finally glanced down at me.
"Good," she said with a casual wave of her hand. "C’mon, baby," she said to Mike as she stood up, taking his hand in hers.
Mistress and Mike walked ahead as I followed on my knees to the dining area, keeping a respectful distance. Once they sat down, I took my place beside them, kneeling silently by Mistress’s chair, ready to serve.
Throughout the meal, I stayed in that position unless called upon. If Mistress wanted a refill or needed something, I would rise just enough to fetch it and return quickly to kneeling. Every giggle, every touch they shared twisted something deep inside me, my caged cock aching pointlessly.
At one point, Mistress fed Mike a piece of food from her fork and, with a chuckle, looked over at me.
"Jealous, puppy?" she teased. "You’ll get your dinner soon. Don’t worry."
I nodded and whispered, "Thank you, Mistress."
Once they were done, Mistress set down her fork with a little clink and leaned back, clearly satisfied. She looked over at me and snapped her fingers.
"Go get your bowl."
My heart skipped. "Yes, Mistress," I said quietly and hurried to the kitchen. I retrieved the stainless-steel dog bowl she kept just for me, polished clean, humiliatingly labeled with "CUCK" etched across the side.
When I returned, she waved at the plates. "Take our leftovers and put them in your bowl. Every scrap."
I obeyed, carefully scraping the remains of their meal; soggy vegetables, sauces, crumbs into my bowl. Once it was done, I looked at her for the next command.
"On the floor," she ordered, her voice calm but absolute. "You know the rules."
I placed the bowl down near her feet and got on all fours.
Mistress crossed her legs, leaned into Mike with a smile and said, "Bon appétit, puppy."
My cheeks burned as I lowered my face to eat directly from the bowl with my hands while they resumed chatting, completely ignoring me now. It was as if I had become background noise, just a well-trained pet doing what he was told.
Mistress occasionally glanced down at me with a smirk, but mostly she kept her attention on Mike, laughing at his stories, sipping her wine, her hand resting casually on his thigh.
And there I was, naked except for my collar, cage and plug eating scraps off the floor at her feet.