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Table Manners

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Table Manners



Under the table, David was shivering.


He wasn’t cold. He was very, very naked-- but not cold. In fact the large, ornate dining room with the large, ornate fireplace was almost too warm now that there were a double-handful of people filling it up, all drinking and laughing from their seats around the oversized table, none of them guessing that beneath the glossy maple veneer where all their fine china and silver cutlery lay, David knelt, silent.




His problem was the metal ring sitting snug and flush around the top of his cock and the bottom of his balls, gathering both up with a perfect sort of tightness. It held his erection at attention but without active and ample participation denied him release. It had been on for long enough that now he could only sit with a bowed head as his body twitched and trembled toward something it couldn’t achieve. He had said that he didn’t want it. Didn’t need it.


Being under a table with a collar around his neck and a matching band around his cock was humiliating enough, but his body betraying him so elegantly in order to find after a release he knew wasn’t going to get was worse. David stared at the tips of the shoes in front of him, closest to him. They were pointed, polished almost to reflection. Expensive. No knee-high boots tonight because no one in this room expecting him to be playing at Master.


David hated this.


Contracts be damned, the door was open-- all he had to do was stand up, flip a few fancy people a one-fingered salute, and walk out. It would be both easy and intensely satisfying, even if he had to do it naked and with his dick in the air.


…so then what was it that kept him here, knees rug-burnt from kneeling on the fancy rug under the table at one of M’s dinner parties? Pride, maybe. But as he had nothing but time while he listened to the high, sparkling laughter of asinine conversation from above, David’s mind kept coming back to the question. Why wait here humiliated, for morsels of food he kept refusing?


Scraps of touch he wasn’t going to allow himself?


He worried at it, pulling at the threads of that over-simplified answer until it was frayed. The desperation of it burned in his throat and David had to open his lips to draw a shuddering inhale that was kept silent: tonight he was to be neither seen nor heard. Those were the instructions that M had given him before company arrived, one cool hand holding his chin up and the other pulling him toward an aching fullness with quick, sharp strokes. The memory of M’s sure, cool palm on him slithered downward from thought into feeling, pooling low and molten in his gut. David’s hands curled into fists and he tried to think of something else. Someone at the table laughed. A knife fell and was left abandoned, the silver reflecting the light from the fireplace as the logs cracked and rearranged themselves.


The legs and feet that surrounded David matched the posh decor of the room. Six-inch heels sunk into the plush carpet, perfectly hemmed slacks rose to show trendy colorful socks when legs were crossed-- and the table was large enough to keep them all safely away from him.


In front of a full-length mirror as David had been made to press cufflinks through buttonholes and knot a perfect tie, M had told him of parties that lasted hours. His invited guests for such affairs would sit and with pets kneeling next to them, obedient and beautiful, each one with their own small china plate with, their edge dusted in gold, on the floor. Each pet had to be collared, of course. Some used leashes, pure decoration. It was a show, of course, a spectacle, and everyone there absolutely intending to see and be seen.


But tonight will be different. M’s eyes had given him no answers as they held his gaze and David was the first to break eye contact. Each time he swallowed the collar gently reminded him of its presence and his place in the room. His fingers had left from the silk of M’s tie once it was knotted but M filled his empty palm with a cock ring, the metal of it cool enough to almost be slick. Get dressed.


An unctuous smell filled his mouth with his next inhale and David’s eyes rose. Next to M’s thigh was another piece of meat held in well-manicured fingertips, glistening with oil and fat, the skin a deep, beautiful brown and crisped at the edges. Duck. The last offered piece had been a delicate pink shrimp smelling of garlic. David’s nostrils flared and his stomach gave a maddening rumble; he hadn’t been allowed to eat all day. The fingers did not beckon, or urge; they exerted a light pressure only to hold and the meat dripped, waiting.


A light brown circle appeared on the rug. And another.


Saliva filled David’s mouth. Without moving the slow thunder of his heart filled both his cock and his ears in time with his pulse. One moment became two and then the meat and the fingers withdrew. David’s chin hit his chest and he panted without making a sound. The low, continuous hum of arousal had become an ache, something deep and guttural that worried at his already unraveling control.


Tonight you will not be on display.


M was always polished. His clothes were simple but expensive, cut to hold a body that he maintained as rigorously as he maintained everything in his life. It was hard not to be attracted to him, physically. He smelled like mint, or the sharp bitter tang of the subtle cologne he favored. When he had stepped close to David and wrapped his fingers around both cock and cock ring, David’s body responded of its own accounting. The long slides of his palm were soft and while their bodies were almost flush, M kept enough distance so that David could see his smile when he offered it.


Even the most feral of things could learn to wear nice clothes, David had thought, before he closed his eyes.


Chest to chest they had stood in front of that large mirror and David was brought to attention with a single-mindedness. He knew what the cock ring would do but he was helpless to stop it, just as a quarter of an hour later he was helpless to find his feet and his own way to the door.


You are my dirty little secret. These guests know me but they are not like me.


Like us.


Behave, David.


His shoulders were hunched and yet the top of his head still brushed the underside of the table when he shifted. Behave; like a dog brought to heel, except he knew that his punishment for disobedience would be both worse and better than a simple sharp word or a smack to the nose. David couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that wanted to make a scene just to make M sweat-- which was exactly why he didn’t try. He hadn’t been with M long-- only enough to prove his desire and interest in this game was so much greater than the girlfriend who had both brought him here and left him here-- but David knew that if there were seams in M’s facade, they were not easily found. The man was sewn up carefully and with intention; David would find the weak places eventually, but it would take time.


His lower legs were beginning to cramp; the urge to stretch from his position was almost unbearable when he let himself linger on it-- and if he wasn’t letting himself think about why the hell he was actually still kneeling here like an idiot there was nothing else aside from his throbbing erection. It was an unwinnable situation.


Maybe that was the reason why, when it came, David took the next mouthful.


That was what he told himself as the salty, rich juice of the meat puddled on his tongue.


He swallowed a groan with the mouthful; there was no denying how good it was. How nearly erotic. The fingers that had held the meat retreated to find another piece, a reward. David reached for it with tongue and teeth quickly this time but now the hand stayed as he chewed, digits splayed toward him. The juices from the meat made M’s fingers shiny and slick and David’s cock lurched at the sight. He considered the digits; above, he could hear the measured slide of M’s voice.


David scraped the taste of duck from his lips and listened to the muted throb of his pulse against the collar.


Leaning in, his tongue licked a long, flat line up M’s middle finger. Where the juice had run against M’s palm, David lapped, and then pushed his face into the hand, exhaling perhaps too loudly, catching at the meat of the thumb with teeth before sliding a long finger completely into his mouth with a slow, tight, suck. It felt good to be active instead of reactive, it felt like a sort of release: if David was going to suffer then he would try his best to make M suffer with him. Let the man deal with the same slow torture that he was. One of M’s legs jumped and David smiled around his mouthful.


The cockring had kept him erect, but sucking at the length of M’s finger turned him on. The act itself was good-- his tongue lathed and curled around the base of the digit in his mouth, keeping it slow to try and be quiet, the saliva in his mouth still squelching wet and sloppy-- but the consideration that M was facing his guests while David worked at him like this made his cock heavy and warm. Leaning in as he was, the tip smeared thin lines against the skin of his stomach every time he moved.


A sudden pressure between his legs caused David to jerk back, spit and duck catching in his throat and the table against his head reminding him that he had nowhere to go. Pushing down harder, M’s shoe shoved the sex under its sole against David’s thigh. David put a hand over his mouth, harsh breath wheezing through his nose. His fingers dug into his cheek. The pressure didn’t hurt-- there was no real leverage to be had-- but his body throbbed against its entrapment, the angle making it ache in a way that David fully wanted to move into. He closed his eyes and tried not to moan. Tried not to give in.


M’s shoe pushed down and David put teeth to his lower lip, focusing on the pain of the bite instead of the want to hump up into the pressure like a fucking dog. He didn’t touch himself-- hadn't, touched himself-- for the same reason he was here quietly under the table of a fancy dinner party with a collar on. With a cockring on.


It was the rules.


A sharp breath filled his lungs as the soft sole slid away onto the carpet again, withdrawing only far enough to still be a threat and a promise. Both of M’s hands were above the table and as David pressed palms to the floor, panting, open-mouthed, he watched the hem of the tablecloth as it pressed and released from M’s shirtfront, those buttons he had buttoned. When the leg moved again a moment later, David watched it come. A slow slide between his legs and that polished, pointed toe rose carefully, nudging his balls and causing a sick, deep ache in David’s stomach.


Being on display would be too easy for you. You like a challenge you can see, an opponent to best…


Turned toward the mirror, it had been hard to focus on M’s cool gaze over his shoulder rather than the image of himself. He’d stripped down, of course, almost the moment he’d walked into the house. M’s rules-- the collar and nothing more. Except then as he looked at himself in the mirror there had been two bright slashes of metal, one high, one low. They accentuated his nakedness, the light skin of his scars. His weaknesses.


… and that’s exactly what I’m going to deny you.


Kneeling here with no eyes on him, with the fatty taste of duck on his tongue and arousal a wide, deep pool in his belly, David was his own worst enemy.


So you’ll have a choice tonight, David. You can sit quietly with your ego and your guilt and do nothing. A fingertip had gently smeared a bead of opal-white precome around the tip of his cock and down into the soft forked skin at the edge of the head. David swallowed, his throat thick as he stared at reflection. The physical attention had bought a flush to his cheeks. It will be uncomfortable, as the party might run long, but if that is what you choose I’ll help you remove the ring at the end of the night and you’ll be free to go.




There was something about the way M had spoken, his voice slipping against the rise of David’s shoulder, the back of his ear. David’s cock had twitched as his nerves sighed. Circling his sex tightly, M pumped him until his cock was red and thick.


If you want release tonight the rules are simple: first, no one is to know you are with me. You are not to be seen or heard. Second, no hands. You do not touch me with them and you certainly do not touch yourself. Tell me you understand.


David had nodded, not quite trusting his voice. He didn’t ask the obvious question-- how in the hell was he supposed to get off if he couldn’t touch himself?-- because he wasn’t planning on getting himself off, no matter how uncomfortable the cockring made the evening. But he’d underestimated how it would feel sitting there without a touch after M had brought him up so far, his body humming with a constant, low burn that neither rose nor fell.


He’d underestimated how it would feel to included only by M, known only by M.


He’d underestimated his own need to act and exert control over a situation-- and by choosing to act, damning himself to the very thing that he was refusing.


That bastard had read him like a book.


If he wanted an orgasm, if he wanted to stop the dull ache that was slowly eating away at his control and nerves, David had only to choose to do it. There was no one to see him despite all the people around him tonight-- all he had to do was accept that he wanted it.


All he had to do was let himself give in.


David scraped at his lower lip and lifted his hips away from M’s shoe-- but he didn’t move away. With the collar feeling like it was choking him, David crawled closer. He wrapped fingers carefully around the front legs of the chair and hung for a moment, his lips parted, above the long line of M’s extended leg.


Just give in.


His heart was slamming itself against the cage of his ribs and through David panted, each breath quick and almost painfully restricted. He was shivering again; under his tongue there was a bitter taste that couldn’t be swallowed away.


Stomach burning, feeling sick, David rubbed himself down against the leg of M’s fine trousers. The delicate friction of the soft, expensive fabric along his over-stimulated sex was like an electric shock. His entire body jerked with the sensation, curling in on itself over the leg and knee it surrounded as his hips shuddered and pressed forward. He didn’t know how he stayed quiet; for a moment he could only hang on. If he hadn’t been wearing the cockring he would have come.


His body wanted to move and finally he closed his eyes and let it. Slowly, managing one breath at a time, David shifted his hips forward and chased the aftershocks of that initial lightning.


With the decision made and behind him now each new motion came more easily than the last. David let himself sink into the white space beyond it; the guests above, the stained carpet smelling of duck, the tinkling of conversation… all of it faded against the pounding physical need and the intent to claim it. His knees spread against the carpet, wider, the burned skin forgotten as his hips worked themselves against M’s leg.


Body sinking into a steady, desperate, rhythm that brought him up, and up, David’s cheek lowered to rest against a covered thigh, warm and steady. The pressure of cool fingers sliding into the short hair at the nape of his neck pushed a cascade of shivering nerves before them and David came apart, shaking, the wood of the chair’s leg biting lines into his palms as he tensed and silently spilled himself over and over again.


The fingers stroked slowly against his neck as he did, and David listened to M’s slow laugh fill up the entire room.