Fun with food

I could barely crawl fast enough to keep up with her as she pulled my leashed self to the kitchen. Ordering me to stay on my hands and knees she stood in front of me.

“I think we need to work on your diet.” She put a fat, unquestionably phallic sour pickle on the floor in front of me.

“It reminds me of you, dear.” Her boot poised on top it. Squeezing it gently, releasing it, finally bearing down on it. It flattened, juice squiring out. Repeatedly her heel chopped into it, fragmenting it.

“Now eat it up like a good boy.”

That I didn’t like big sour pickles had as much to do with her choice as the pickle’s shape. As dirt and lint came in with the green mess I knew why the kitchen hadn’t been swept recently. She plans ahead.

When I started to lift my head her boot shoved my lips to the floor. “Lick up the juice.”

I took in as much filth as juice.

Two more pickles followed.

Then cherry tomatoes, two at a time. She didn’t bother to point out the part of my anatomy they resembled.

“Now for some protein.”

Oh, god, a boiled egg.

It crunched as she crushed it and ground it into the floor.

Getting every bit of boiled yoke up from the floor was a long, nasty process.

“Look at this.” I did it was a banana.

“Flatters you I think.” It was a big banana. My stomach knotted. If she ground that into the floor, licking it up would be more disgusting than everything prior combined.

“First I’m going to work a bit on your banana. Then I’ll let you have this for desert.”