Chapter 49: Dessert Submission
The heavy oak door of Il Bacio swung shut behind Evelyn with a soft thud, sealing her inside the hushed, perfumed air. The maître d', a man whose practiced neutrality barely flickered, gave her a curt nod towards the velvet-draped booths. His eyes slid away instantly, a familiar dance. Nudity was legal, but the weight of stares, the sharp intakes of breath, the muttered disapproval – they were the price Evelyn paid for belonging to Quinn. Tonight, walking through the crowded foyer alone, exposed under the glittering chandeliers, that price felt heavier than usual. Her skin prickled, hyper-aware of every shift in the air, every gaze that lingered a fraction too long on the stark black letters tattooed across her left ass cheek: ‘Property of Mallory Quinn’. The only thing covering her was the sleek, black polymer armband circling her bicep, her lifeline and leash.
She moved through the intimate space, the plush carpet soft beneath her bare feet. The scent of garlic, roasting meat, expensive wine, and aged leather wrapped around her. Candlelight flickered on polished wood and crystal, casting deep, shifting shadows in the secluded booths. Lena was already there, tucked into the farthest corner. Evelyn saw her before Lena saw her: hunched slightly, nervously twisting her napkin, her eyes wide and fixed on the empty space opposite her.
Evelyn slid into the booth, the cool, burgundy velvet a stark contrast against her bare skin. Lena jumped, her fork clattering loudly against her plate. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson that spread down her neck, disappearing beneath the modest neckline of her simple dress.
"Oh! Evelyn! You... you're here," Lena stammered, her voice tight. Her eyes darted everywhere – Evelyn’s face, the tablecloth, the flickering candle flame – anywhere but the expanse of naked skin before her. Yet, inevitably, helplessly, they were drawn back, tracing the curve of Evelyn’s shoulder, the swell of her breast, the dip of her waist, finally snagging on the undeniable declaration etched onto her ass cheek. Lena’s breath hitched. "I-I didn't realize tonight's... dress code... was..." She trailed off, unable to articulate the sheer, shocking exposure.
Evelyn leaned back against the velvet, forcing a casualness she didn't entirely feel. The cool air kissed her nipples, making them tighten. "Quinn’s orders," she said simply, her voice low. She picked up the menu, a flimsy shield. "Said I needed the practice being... sociable. Like this." She gestured vaguely at her own body. The vulnerability was a raw ache beneath the surface, warring with the strange, illicit thrill Quinn’s commands always ignited. Seeing Lena’s flustered reaction amplified both.
Lena swallowed hard, her gaze flickering down again. "It's... very... bold." She picked up her water glass, her fingers trembling slightly. "Doesn't it... bother you? People staring?"
A sardonic smile touched Evelyn’s lips. "Used to. Now? It’s just part of the deal. Quinn owns everything." She tapped her armband phone. "Including the view." She saw Lena’s eyes widen further at the implication – Quinn might be watching, listening. "Relax, Lena. Order something. The osso buco is supposed to be incredible." She deliberately shifted her weight, making the tattooed words stretch slightly against her skin.
Lena fumbled with her own menu, her knuckles white. "Right. Food. Yes." She took a shaky sip of water. Silence stretched, thick and charged. The clatter of cutlery from other tables, the murmur of conversations, the soft jazz playing – it all faded into a buzzing background hum beneath the tension crackling in their velvet cocoon. Lena’s eyes kept drifting back, drawn like a magnet. Evelyn watched her, the flush deepening on Lena’s neck, the way her thighs pressed together under the tablecloth.
"See something you like?" Evelyn murmured, her voice dropping lower, huskier. She let her legs fall slightly apart under the table.
Lena gasped softly. "Evelyn! Someone could see!"
"Let them look," Evelyn breathed, echoing Quinn’s favorite phrase. The thrill surged hotter now, fueled by Lena’s obvious arousal and discomfort. Quinn’s invisible presence was a palpable force between them. "Quinn enjoys knowing people see her property. Enjoys knowing you see me." She reached across the table slowly, deliberately, her fingertips brushing Lena’s wrist where it rested near her water glass. Lena flinched but didn’t pull away. Her skin was fever-hot. "She enjoys knowing how wet it makes you."
Lena’s eyes flew wide, pure panic mixed with undeniable desire. "Evelyn, please..." she whispered, a plea lacking conviction.
Evelyn leaned forward, the candlelight catching the sheen of sweat starting to prickle on her upper lip. The scent of Lena’s perfume – something light and floral – mingled with the restaurant smells and the heady musk of her own arousal. Quinn’s command echoed in her mind: Show her. "Do you want to know a secret, Lena?" she whispered, her voice rough. "Quinn told me to show you. Show you how wet I get just from walking in here naked. From sitting across from you. From knowing Quinn owns every fucking inch of me."
Before Lena could react, Evelyn slid her hand off the table and down her own bare stomach. Her fingers dipped lower, disappearing between her thighs under the table’s edge. Lena made a choked sound, frozen, her gaze locked on Evelyn’s face.
Evelyn’s eyes fluttered shut for a second as her fingers found her slick, swollen folds. She was drenched. The humiliation of the walk, the stares, Lena’s shocked fascination, the constant thrum of Quinn’s ownership – it had pooled hot and urgent between her legs. She moaned softly, low in her throat, the sound raw and needy. Her fingers slid easily through her soaked slit, gathering wetness. She opened her eyes, locking onto Lena’s horrified, mesmerized stare.
"See?" Evelyn breathed, her voice thick. She slowly withdrew her glistening fingers, holding them up just above the table level for a fleeting second. The candlelight caught the thick, viscous fluid coating them, making it gleam obscenely. Lena whimpered, her hand flying to her mouth. Evelyn brought her wet fingers to her own lips, her tongue darting out to lick them clean slowly, deliberately, her gaze never leaving Lena’s. The taste of her own arousal, sharp and musky, filled her mouth. "That’s what Quinn does to me. What you do to me."
She lowered her hand back down, spreading her thighs wider beneath the table. Her fingers plunged back inside herself, two knuckles deep this time. A sharper gasp escaped her lips. "Fuck," she hissed, her hips rocking involuntarily against her own hand. She could feel Lena’s terrified arousal radiating across the table, smell the shift in her scent. "She wants me to show you how deep it goes. How fucking owned I am." Her fingers curled, finding that rough, sensitive spot inside. Pleasure, sharp and electric, jolted through her. Her back arched slightly off the velvet seat. "Oh god... yes..."
Lena was trembling visibly now, her breath coming in shallow pants. Her hand was still pressed against her mouth, her eyes wide and dark, fixed on the subtle movement of Evelyn’s arm beneath the tablecloth. "Evelyn... stop... someone..." The protest was weak, drowned out by the wet, rhythmic sounds Evelyn’s fingers were making as she fucked herself – slick, squelching noises that seemed impossibly loud in the intimate booth.
"Quinn’s watching," Evelyn groaned, her voice ragged. She imagined Quinn’s cold, assessing gaze through the armband camera, imagined her mistress’s satisfaction seeing her property perform. The thought sent another wave of heat crashing through her. She added a third finger, stretching herself, the burn exquisite. Her cunt clenched greedily around the intrusion. "She loves this... loves seeing me humiliate myself... for her... for you..." She was panting now, her movements becoming more frantic, her fingers pistoning in and out, her thumb rubbing hard circles over her engorged clit. The velvet seat scraped against her bare ass with each thrust.
Lena made another helpless sound, a moan trapped behind her hand. Her free hand crept under the tablecloth, disappearing into her own lap. Evelyn saw the subtle shift in her shoulders, the tightening of her jaw. She was touching herself. The confirmation sent Evelyn spiraling higher. "That’s it," Evelyn gasped, her voice breaking. "Touch yourself, Lena. Feel how wet Quinn makes you too. Watch me... watch how fucking filthy I am..."
The world narrowed to the frantic pulse between her legs, the slick slide of her own fingers, Lena’s terrified arousal, and the iron grip of Quinn’s will. Evelyn’s head fell back against the booth, her eyes squeezed shut, lost in the raw, degrading pleasure. Her hips bucked wildly against her hand. The sounds grew louder – wet slaps of skin on skin, her own ragged gasps, Lena’s stifled whimpers. She was close, teetering on the edge, the coil of tension in her belly tightening unbearably. Just as the first tremors of orgasm began to ripple through her, the sharp chime of her armband phone cut through the haze like a shard of ice.
Evelyn froze, her fingers still buried deep inside her pulsing cunt. Her eyes snapped open, meeting Lena’s terrified gaze. The screen on her armband glowed with a single, stark notification:
Q: Enough teasing. Bring dessert home. Now.