“Yes,Star Trekis way geekier and kinkier. InStar Trek, Orion slave women are the pleasure slaves, but it's partially because they emit a pheromone that is impossible to resist. Their owners often spend all their time indulging themselves—which means the women are really in control.”
She pulled on his leash. “Open your mouth.” He obeyed, and she gave him a forkful of chocolate cake. Then she took a tiny bite of her own.
“You shouldn't feed the slave more than yourself.”
“It goes directly to my hips.”
He gave her another slow heated glance. “I think you look lovely as you are. And so what? More for me to lick and taste.”
“Right. I'll just be fat. And not the good way with the ‘ph.’ Now you eat the cake.”
He yanked back, pulling the leash from her fingers. Before she even gave it a thought, she actually grabbed the crop and slapped him with it across the face. He cowered and dropped to the ground.
Her heart was in her throat. She'd hit him in anger on purpose. “Gene, look at me.”
He held his head up, and she relaxed when she saw the bright interest in his eyes. The lash from the crop had left a line in the makeup across his face, but he seemed unconcerned about it. “Yes, mistress?”
Obviously their game was continuing unabated. “Why did you pull away, boy?”
“To make you mad.”
She hit his arm with the crop, leaving another mark on the green. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you were talking bad about yourself. And I wanted you to stop. It wasn't making you happy.”
“It's my body. I live in it every day. Fat, chubby, whatever.”
“Lush, Rubenesque, ample, curvy, voluptuous. Those are words that mean the same thing without the pain.”
He had her shivering with his intensity, so she broke off since his pheromones were clearly no myth. “What do you want to do now?”
“I think you should enjoy the drink and cake. Only share it with me if you feel like it. And then take me back to your place and use that crop to let go of that anger about every guy who made your body feel less than beautiful. And I'll do things to you that you’ll never forget.”
“So you want me to eat the cake?”
“I want it to be the best cake you've ever eaten.”
More would have been said, but the lights were turned down. They were having aStar Trekstage show with one group of long-haired aliens fighting another group with double-bladed swords. “What are they?”
“Those are Klingons. Not good slaves. They exist for conquering and smashing things. And I don’t think you want to be conquered.”
Not caring much about whatever Klingons were, she went to take her first bite of the second chocolate cake sample and saw Gene was almost pressed up against her. She was going to ask what he was doing when she felt his hand between her legs.
A quick check around told her no one cared. The other patrons were involved in the stage show and he hadn’t moved far from his previous supplicant position.
She swallowed the fork full of cake as he found the silky edge of the thong she’d bought for just this occasion. His finger rubbed her heated flesh, and she reconsidered not having gone commando.
“How's the cake, mistress?” he asked.
“I've had better. You are being a very good boy.”
“Thank you, mistress.” His seeking fingers got under the thong and traced up and down her wet slit.
She lay her head on the booth’s seatback and let herself enjoy the taste of the chocolate and his actions below.
“Gene?” She shifted her hips against his hand, whose fingers were lovingly caressing her clit.
“Yes, mistress?” his words were husky. “Am I pleasing you?”
