[F] Abby on Display Part Two

If you haven’t already, make sure to read part one. I pinned it on my profile, along with a few of my other stories. Somehow this turned out longer than the last one, sorry about that. I hope you enjoy it…

Part one ended as I arrived for dinner, dressed in the lingerie he had chosen for me, my hair and nails prepared to his tastes. With little time to get ready, I have simple makeup, like I would wear for work. He takes his time admiring me, enjoying the look he has created while barely making eye contact and never saying anything other than an instruction.

Finally, he revealed his plan, to display me at the head of the table while he entertains his friends. It’s not quite what I had in mind, but then none of this is.

He takes me by the hand and leads me into the dining room. A long table is laid for eleven people, five to a side and one at the end. Large windows provide a view round two sides of the room, towards the heart of London. You can see the towering buildings of the city, but it’s not overlooked.

He leads me to the end of the tables nearest the window, guiding me into position, with my back to the glass. He takes my glass and places it on the table. He takes me by the hips, positioning me exactly where he wants me. It’s not sexual, far from it. He gets me where he wants me, then steps back to admire me a little. He seems a little unhappy and without saying a word disappears out of the room, leaving me there alone for a moment.

I take a look around, I’ve known him years, but only been here a few times, this might be the third. The room is almost perfectly square, with the windows on two sides and the other two being internal walls. Sparsely decorated, but a large piece of art hangs on one wall, its not something I recognise, but I know nothing about art. The table is laid with cutlery for four courses and a huge candelabra as the centrepiece.

He returns with a box that looks suspiciously like it used to contain printer paper in his hands it has a long metal pole laid over the top of it. He places the box on the table, then takes the pole in his hands, he’s behind me before I realise its purpose. “Abby, I require you to remain in the position I put you in, so I have a few tools to assist us.” He places the pole between my ankles, adjusting its length to fit before locking it in place, he then fastens the ends around my ankles. It’s heavy and hard, the ends made of hinged metal circles with snap locks on them.

Next he slides the top off the box, looks inside for a moment before pulling out a pile of black leather and buckles. I can’t tell what it is. He still looks disappointed as he looks at it, clearly he had intended not to use it. He walks behind me, I feel him sliding a leather strap under the back of the bra then I hear a buckle fasten. He takes my arms, bringing them behind me until my hands are touching the opposite elbows, letting them rest against the leather contraption. He starts to wrap it around my forearms, buckling it in place so my arms can’t move.

“Abby, this is already more than I wanted to do, please keep your head up and your eyes forward. I wouldn’t want to have to resort to desperate measures and ruin the perfection of your look.”

I do as he says without question. My feet are not slightly wider than shoulders width apart and unable to move. My arms restrained behind me with each buckle pulling them tighter together. As he finishes, he walks around me once more, adjusting my hair a little. He finally seems content. “Good. Now, don’t speak, move or do anything unless I instruct you to. My friends will be here shortly and I do not want you to show me up. If you impress me, I will make it worth your while at the end of the evening.”

With that he walked out of the room, leaving me alone once more, taking my empty champagne glass and the box with him.A moment later the lights dim, he returns and lights the candles, not looking my way even once. The door bell sounds, he looks up and down the table once more, before giving me a cursory glance over and heading back the way I came in. I hear voices from the other room, lots of voices. Men and women, some have french accents, but most are English.

The guests assemble in the next room, champagne corks pop, glasses clink and conversation starts. The main topic seems to be work, finance, the stock market. I can see a large clock over the fireplace, but only by moving my eyes, which I won’t be able to do once they enter the room. Twenty minutes has passed since they arrived.

Eventually, he stops talking, did I hear someone else enter? I can’t quite tell. The conversation ebbs away a little, then he announces that dinner is to be served shortly and that they should take their places. I revert to the position he put me in as the group enters the dining room. My heart is racing, I wear they must be able to hear it as I realise that I am about to be on display in front of such a large group of people.

They file in and gradually take their seats around the table, each of them taking their time to admire me, men and women alike. The last woman to enter the room can’t help herself, she approaches me from the side and caresses my breast before speaking to one of the other men in French. The group nods in agreement. I’m not entirely sure if they are aware that I am fluent in French. She seems to be happy that my breasts are real.

They take their seats and two waiters appear, they begin pouring wine for each guest. The conversation is initially about me, although indirectly, they compliment him on me, the way I look and the pose I am in. But gradually conversation drifts back to finance. When he is talking to the people either side of him, I dart my eyes down the rows of people. They all appear to be male and female couples, the two nearest me are sat opposite each other and are the owners of the accents. The woman seems barely able to take her eyes off me.

The waiters disappear and then return a moment later with starters, placing them on the tables in front of each person, I don’t risk looking down. One guest compliments the lobster, but the course is small and the conversation is more interesting to them. My mind wanders, trying to stay in position, but not focus on anything specific, almost meditating. My heart rate has calmed a little, but spikes every time the women near me looks my way…which is often.

It starts to dawn on me that this is incredibly bizarre. I am stood in the dining room of a man I have normally been very intimate with, being almost entirely ignored, but yet also highly regarded. I’m very conscious of the fact that I am quite naked and that there is a butt plug filling my tight arse.

The waiters return and clear the table before bringing out more plates. One guest brandishes a fish knife to add weight to his point. More wine is poured and drunk and poured again, the guests are pouring for themselves instead of waiting and the conversation is starting to become a little more raucous. The main course comes and goes, conversation slowing while they eat, but picking up as each guest finishes.

Mid topic, the french woman interrupts loudly “Is she good in bed?”. The conversation stops, almost abruptly. Everyone turns to look at her and me, then back to him, waiting for his response. He smiles smugly, making eye contact with me as he contemplates his answer. “Not only is she obedient, she is also very good in bed.” The french woman seems content and conversation returns to whatever the previous topic was as if nothing had happened.

The main course is cleared away, along with most of the glasses and cutlery, the empty wine bottles are replaced and shortly afterwards dessert is served. I can see out of the corner of my eye that the french woman is toying with hers, instead her eyes roaming up and down my body. Eventually she gets up and comes to stand right in front of me, perching on the edge of the table as she eats her dessert, the plate in one hand, a fork in the other. “Can I feed her?” he responds with a laugh.

“Abby, this is Amelie, I’ve told her all about you, she was keen to meet you…and Amelie, please, do as you wish, but respect her boundaries.” She scoops up a forkful of what appears to be a chocolate cake, places the plate down and offers it to my mouth. I glance at him over her shoulder and he nods. I open my mouth and she feeds me the chocolate cake, it tastes incredible. I can still remember that taste now, it was sweet and bitter, tinged with alcohol and had the lightest cake.

Amelie smiles, putting the fork back on the plate. Intent on taking him up on his earlier offer, she looks at the fingers of her left hand, then places her finger tips on the top of my underwear. She looks up at me, my eyes still looking forward avoiding eye contact, then she slides them inside, slowly pushing her fingers over my smooth pussy, caressing it, sliding them between my folds. I wasn’t particularly horny, or at least I didn’t think I was…and then I was. I can my pussy almost instantly getting very wet at her touch, my juices coating her fingers as she explores me. The slightly awkward standing position making it harder for her, but she doesn’t seem bothered.

Then she pulls her hand away, holding her fingers up, coated in my juices and bringing them to her lips. She sucks my juices from them and makes her way back to her seat. Her partner asks her a question in French and she blushes, evidently she likes me a lot.

​

I wasn’t planning on there being a part three, I was hoping. I could make this part brief enough that I made it through the entire evening in one go, but its late and I am a little too drunk to continue.

Abby x

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/sr1vda/f_abby_on_display_part_two