Degrading Dinner Date

"You should book my dinner date experience," Mrs Michelle suggested a couple of weeks ago. "It perfectally aligns with your kinks. A 3-course interactive dinner of the day prepared by Yours Truly with carefully sourced organic ingredients. And this for the round price of... 1k EUR. It must be really good at that price point, isn't it? A true Michelin star experience."

It was then and there that I paid a whopping 500 EUR deposit to ensure today's reservation. In the now, I rang the doorbell in the pouring rain, waiting for Mrs Michelle to let me in. I was nervous, not exactly knowing what to expect when footsteps approached and the door swung open.

"Hi you, please come in!" Mrs Michelle signalled with a welcoming smile.

"Thanks! Shall I take off my shoes? With this weather..."

"Oh no, don't bother," Mrs Michelle went on while lifting her right boot showing me the sole. "See, all messy as well, I gave up trying to keep the floors tidy with this weather. And after all, I am a restaurant today and people don't take off their shoes in a restaurant, do they? Please let me take your coat and follow me to your table."

Perhaps Mrs Michelle does not ook like a model, but the way she walks and every little thing she does, it oozed sexiness. She made it her side business to exploit that sexiness and turn man into brainless paying puppets she could humiliate. This was the first time she guided me into the living room of her house, which I always thought of as her secondary home - a meeting place for her "clients". Next to the kitchen island, a small round table was positioned with a wooden stool. The table was decorated for one - plates, glasses, napkins, a small vase with flowers, a lighted candle and a handwritten menu on it. Simple but tasteful.

"Please sit," Mrs Michelle said in an inviting tone. "Let me know if the menu is fine with you and what you'd like to drink tonight?"

The wooden stool was not the most comfortable one and the floors were rather dirty, full of shoe prints. As such, the whole setting radiated a casual vibe and I would even feel overdressed for the occasion if it weren't for Mrs Michelle's stunning outfit: a white office blouse with the word "chef" on it, black skirt and leather boots with high block heels that prolonged her beautiful legs. I glimpsed at the menu which read as follows:

3 course menu... 1000 EUR

Creamy clippy courgette soup

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Shepperd's pie à la Michelle

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Trio of home-stuffed chocolates

Wine arrangement... 150 EUR

Water... 25 EUR

The menu seemed interesting to me. However, I expected the drinks (only water and wine?) to be included in the price rather than quoted extra.

"So, what do you think?"

"Ehm, sounds delicious. I'll have the wine and the water please."

"Excellent choice! As for the water, this will be self-service tonight. Please grab your glass and let me quickly show you the water well. Then you can help me prepare the first course?"

"Ehm, sure."

I followed Mrs Michelle back to the hall.

"The well is behind this door. I think it's self-explanatory. See you in the kitchen."

I opened the door and stared at a toilet. The toilet seat was up and a ladle was hanging over the edge of the bowl. A paper taped to the wall read "water well". When reality started to kick in, my mind was producing more questions than answers. Is this a prank? Does she want me to pay 25 EUR for toilet water? And if this is one of the drinks, then what the hell is the food going to be? After giving it some thought, I decided to fill my glass using the ladle and return to Mrs Michelle in the hopes she'd burst out in laughter. However, that didn't happen.

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THE FIRST COURSE

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"Just in time," Mrs Michelle said while emptying a can that read "courgette soup" and had a local supermarket logo on it in a pot. "We need to blend some very personal ingredients with cooking cream to add to the soup. See those small jars? Just add them into the blender along with some of the cooking cream overthere."

I grabbed the jars, each having a handwritten label on the lid: "foot dust", "toe nail clippings", "hair stuck in shower". I removed the jars to witness a glob of long hairs, 20+ nail clippings and the bottom of a jar covered with a sandy substance. Mrs Michelle glimpsed at me with a smile.

"This isn't what you expected, is it? But why not, I wonder? It's still me, you know, chef or not. Have you ever walked out here nót humiliated ánd ripped off? Well, today won't be a difference. On the contrary. Come on, in the blender with those delicious ingredients."

The blender made a hell of a noise and Mrs Michelle added the white/greyish substance that came out of it to the boiling soup and served it in a bowl at my table.

"Now for the wine pairing with the first course, I present you a blend of the cheapest Chardonnay I could find in the supermarket. To be precise, it's a French Chardonnay from 2024 mixed half and half with my yesterday's morning piss."

She poured a small amount in my glass suggesting me to taste it. I swirled the yellowish "wine", sniffed, sipped and savored it as she would expect me to do. It tasted bad, but not as bad as I would expect and nodded it was good. At least it was cold, unlike the toilet water. She then filled up my glass and suggested me not to let my soup get cold.

When my bowl was finally empty, I somehow felt proud that I was able to finish it.

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THE MAIN COURSE

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"This will be mostly showcooking," Mrs Michella announced cheerfully. "However, I will need your assistance at some point."

She put on some rather loud dance music via her phone, closed her eyes and did a little dance - the kind you might do when you're alone in the room and nobody is watching. Then she took one of the two small pots on the stove and crouched down behind the kitchen island, disappearing out of sight apart from her hands holding on to the kitchen top. Despite the music, I could clearly hear her piss hit the steel of the pot, followed by the sound of the pot filling up. She then put the pot back on the stove, added some water and started boiling it.

"As you can see we are an environment-friendly restaurant. By boiling potatoes in naturally preheated liquid, we save on energy and thus CO2."

She then danced towards a closet, grabbed a small bag of potatoes and emptied it on the beats of the music straight into the pot without washing them or removing their skin. In the other pot, she added a bit of oil and a small pack of minced meat from the fridge, ocassionally stirring it. A full red pepper that she showed me from a distance would end up in there as well.

"Her name is Reaper. Carolina Reaper. Okay... time to mix and mash."

She turned off the stove, took a pot and walked with it towards me but once she passed the kitchen island threw it upside down such that the potatoes fell out on the ground. Exactly the same happened with the meat. Then she stepped on top and started mashing everything with her boots on the dirty floor, while holding on to the kitchen island. This dancy show started with little steps but soon escalated in violent stomps and even jumps, ocassionally causing the food to splatter all over the ground. After considering everything "mixed and mashed" to perfection, she would hop on the kitchen island in a sexy pose with her legs crossed with a considerable amount of mash sticking under her shoe soles.

"Come with your plate and fork, time to scrape your delicious main dish from my shoe soles. Don't you think this serving technique is Michelin-worthy?"

I... Well I just did it. And it took a while as she wanted me to scrape off as much as possible. I went back to the table with my plate and started to eat, but after one bite my mouth was already on fire. The only way to make it go down was with lots of water and eating very slowly. All this time she was watching, smiling and occasionally singing along with the music, still seated on the kitchen island. When I was down to my third glass of the "water well", I finally managed to swallow the last bit of the "pie". Mrs Michelle asked if I wanted another portion.

"Thanks but no, I..."

She then jumped off the kitchen island, one foot next to the remaining mess on the ground but one right in it.

"Oh but it's just a small extra portion, see?" She lifted her right leg on the table and rested the heel right in my plate. This pose caused her skirt to lift and made me look. She ignored it and recommended me to eat this portion fast and without fork as "it's not the most comfy serving pose, you know." I removed chunks from the sole with my mouth and tongue. Fortunately not many pepper shreds made it to this "extra portion" as it was considerably less spicy.

"Good boy, we can't let you go home hungry and leave a bad review!"

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THE DESSERT

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"Oh my favorite round, this one," Mrs Michelle cheered. "You can follow me to the bathroom where I'll harvest the necessary ingredients from you."

"Harvest ingredients???"

She didn't respond and I just followed her in the bathroom which was pretty basic.

"Now undress and go lay in the bath tub."

"What?"

"Do I have to repeat myself? Undress... Then bath tub..."

I

"But...?"

"Honey, this ain't rocket science. Just do as you're told. Don't you think the chef knows what's best for you?"

Hesitantly I started to unbutton my shirt. This was followed by removing my shoes and pants.

"Good, go on, all out."

"Would you mind to turn around?"

Mrs Michelle stepped forward and grabbed my balls with her left hand and squeezed a bit.

"Yes I would mind," she nodded. "You see, as a chef I need to inspect the source of my ingredients."

She started pulling my underwear down while tightening her grip on my balls. I quickly started to help remove my underwear and she released her grip. Then I entered the bath tub and laid flat on my back, knees angled as the tub was not very big.

"Good. Now we'll start with cleaning your palate. Let's reset those taste buds of yours so you will be able to experience the full range of flavors of your dessert. I've been wearing my boots since yesterday, so you can imagine the aromas that are trapped inside," Mrs Stella went on whilst removing her boots.

She stepped next to the bath tub and hovered her left foot over my mouth.

"Open up and suck my toes. I also need you to wank and cum. You can do that while cleansing your palate or afterwards, whichever you prefer." Before I could breath her toes had already entered my mouth and a salty flavour hit my taste buds.

"Oh I can tell you are aroused. Is sucking my sweaty toes turning you on just enough or do you need to watch porn to cum? Don't be shy, you can tell the chef."

"Ehm, I won't need porn."

"Glad to hear that, go for it boy."

I started wanking with her foot still in my mouth and came rather fast.

"Wow, that was fast, but congratulations - we got our first ingredient! Now, harvesting the second one may feel a bit uncomfortable as it involves reusing past ingredients," she spoke with a soft voice while turning around and now letting her right foot rest on my lips. This time she took her time, long enough to inhale multiple times and let's say the "trapped aroma" was pretty intense. Instinctively, I opened my mouth again but instead of wiggling her toes inside she shoved her foot in as deep as she could in one go. This caused me to gag and I had to concentrate as not to throw up. She then removed her foot and pushed it in again with force, causing me to gag again.

"Don't fight it," Mrs Michelle advised. This time she shove her foot in and concentrated her full weight on it such that she was literally standing on my throat which was painful. I gagged and couldn't prevent throwing up this time. "Haha, let's do this again, just for fun this time," and her foot went in again causing another eruption.

"Excellent, be right back."

Mrs Stella quickly stepped in the shower and rinsed the mess of her feet. After drying them with a towel and putting on her boots again, she disappeared briefly and returned with two jars and a spoon.

"Here, scoop your ingredients in those jars and clean yourself and the bath up. I'll see you in the kitchen. Oh and there's a third jar under the sink, bring it too."

I first used the spoon to scrape the cum of my belly and let it drip from the spoon in a jar as requested. Then I scooped a bit of my own vomit from the tub and dropped it in the second jar. I let the bath run for a bit, using the minimal amount of water needed to clean up myself and the tub. I felt exhausted and sick at the same time. After dressing up again, I grabbed the two jars and headed to the bathroom's door while I remembered Mrs Stella mentioning a third jar.

"That took you long enough. All fine?"

"Yeah, I just feel a bit dizzy. Here are the jars."

"Excellent, now let's fill these chocolate halfs from which I removed the filling with your own fillings and glue them together again with some sugar water."

On the kitchen top six praline-sized chocolate halfs were waiting with a small bowl and a brush next to it - probably the sugar water. But why six halves instead of four?

"Oh and while you were cleaning up in the bathroom, I did a dump in your water well. You will find a delicious truffle you can use to fill up the third chocolate."

Mrs Michelle warned me not to melt the chocolate while filling halves with my freshly harvested ingredients and gluing them together in two pralines, before sending me to the "well" with the remaining two halves, the bowl of sugar water and an instruction not to flush.

In the bathroom the window was opened and there was no smell. The water in the well had a light brown color in which toilet paper was floating. Instead of the earlier laddle, a small spoon was now hanging from the seat. This was definitely outside of my comfort zone and even more disgusting than my own vomit. I decided to simply glue the halves together without filling them up.

Unfortunately for me, Mrs Michelle had anticipated this possibility. When I returned to the kitchen she asked me to put the third chocolate on a kitchen scale and quickly discoverd the fraud.

"Why are you messing with my recipes? I'll have to add a fine for this on the bill. Let's try this again, shall we?"

Back in the toilet, I pushed the toilet paper away. It almost felt like opening a curtain to the view of a turd. I digged into her waste, held my breath, and added some of the substance to the chocolate halves. This was a very messy operation, where I used toilet paper to clean my hands and the spoon before finally washing them with soap when the praline was composed again. This time it passed the scale test. Mrs Michelle served the three chocolates in a small paper box. There was no saying which chocolate had which filling.

"Before digging in the dessert, let's first handle the bill. These chocolates are best savoured outside while I watch you enjoy them."

I derived that - oh irony - she didn't want me throw up when tasting them or smell my shitty breath.

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THE BILL

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On a handwritten note it read:

3 course menu... 1000 EUR

Wine arrangement... 150 EUR

Water... 25 EUR

Fine for messing with recipe... 350 EUR

Total... 1525 EUR

Deposit... -500 EUR

Due... 1025 EUR

Tip:... %

"I suggest you pay me 1025 EUR now, and a tip later at home after reflecting on the unique flavours and service?"

"Mmm, the fine is... steep..."

"Of course it is, silly. We don't want you to make this mistake again should you come back, so it should hurt a bit."

I didn't go in a discussion and grabbed my phone to wire her 1025 EUR after which she handed me my jacket back and let me out.

"Come on, taste one of your desert chocolates and let me know what's in it?"

I picked a random one, put it in my mouth and bit on it. The praline broke apart exactly where it was glued. In a second bite the chocolate crumbled and my teeth grinded through its foul tasting filling. As soon as the pieces were sufficiently small I swallowed them immediately to avoid the revolting taste to make me throw up.

"Nothing more rewarding for a chef to see you enjoying it! So which one was it?"

"The... the truffle one."

"Aw, lucky you! You know what, why don't you eat the other two at home after sending me my tip? Feel free to call me then I can guide you on my tipping etiquette. Bye for now and thank you again for dining at Michelle's!"