When Sir takes me out to eat, He orders for me. Generally, He’ll ask what I want and then do all the talking to the waitron. It’s a beautiful thing, for multiple reasons. First, I don’t have to talk to strangers! That in and of itself is reason enough to hop on this ordering train! But there’s more… Sir ordering for me makes me feel cherished, protected, loved, dominated. And when He also chooses my food?! He may as well fuck me on the table, I love it that much. I know it is a small, silly thing, but it makes me feel delightfully owned.
Every now and again, we will get some sort of feminist waitress that tries hard to thwart His control. Like yesterday. Sir told our waitress that we were ready to order. Naturally, she turned toward me and asked what I’d like. I smiled and politely deferred to Sir. After He ordered our food, the waitress felt the need to turn to me again, to verify that I was fine with water. It rubbed me the wrong way and I’m not sure why she couldn’t read the table. Sir and I discussed the interaction and laughed. He didn’t particularly like it, but was amused that the young waitress seemed to be trying to ‘take care of me’. (trust me, I totally look like I can handle my own!) Throughout the rest of the meal, she directed most of the questions at me. Though I’d have preferred to stay quiet, you better believe I answered, lest she think I was being held hostage! 😉
Times like these make me wish cuffs and collar were an acceptable part of my day to day. Until then, we’ll just laugh it off and Sir will continue ordering for me…
It’s always an adventure!