Ratu Eats Out
By Parry Yak

I shook the table cloth straight with one snap and laid it evenly over the table that was reserved for a party of two. It was important that I do my job in one easy motion. Additional noise might upset the extremely well-tailored guests. Their eyes were meant to focus on their company, or perhaps the stonework on our sterile-looking white walls or glasswork that hung from the ceilings. And, after each table was clear, we replaced everything regardless of whether or not it was touched. The job of resetting the tables was to be a quick and efficient one, providing our guests with the illusion that nothing in this building every got dirty.
I set the table for two, a reservation placed under the name Ratu. She specifically asked for this seat. It was the closest seat to the fogged glass window that gave the back of house a peak at our various upscale clients. Other than the fact provided excellent access to our restroom facilities, I couldn't imagine why this table would have been reserved so far in advance. Perhaps it was the privacy it afforded. It was a corner seat, meaning that the path to the facilities was on one side, the wall on the other. But it was very close to far busier tables, ones generally reserved for corporate gatherings. 
It wasn’t too crowded that night, at least comparatively speaking. Wednesdays were the slow nights, and when some of the wait staff ended up doing double duty bussing tables as well. The head Chef let his protégé take over, and the Maître D’ because the de Facto Manager since the assistant manager only received his role through nepotism. The staff had been working long enough that we all knew our tasks and could pick up the additional tasks as needed. My Dear Lilac's, known to most usually as "Lilac's" or “My Dear’s” but never the entire name.
My first glimpse of Ratu came when the Maître D’ brought her around the corner. She was, to say the least, a massive beast. She stood some eight feet tall, with a massive belly and breasts atop of it. She kept it all in her suit, which she wore with a not-so-slimming bow tie. With such height, I gathered she was a Komodo Dragon. Her skin was a smooth shade of green. Her hair was quite unusual for a guest of this establishment; it was black in the center of her head, shooting up like a Mohawk for three inches, then going out and around and down to her ears, where the ends were dyed a bright green. 
Her plus one was a small horse, who looked absolutely minuscule compared to her. He didn't have the muscle tone of then our usual equine clientele, let along any at all. He did the bare minimum to meet the dress code. Some black slacks, a white button-up shirt, and an ill-fitting blazer.  His gait was somewhat awkward, always trying to stay exactly three inches behind the large reptile. I noticed why as I bent over to adjust the arrangement of the silverware; he appeared to have a small black strand of leather protruding from the zipper. I followed the strand to the loop, which Ratu held in her hand. 
The closer she came the smaller I felt. I only stood some five feet tall. She had sharp incisors and a mouth large and wide enough that she could likely chomp my head clean off if she wanted to. And, from all appearances, she exhumed enough authority to be able to lead a full grown man by his cock. By the time they reached their table, I was averting my eyes. Or, should I say, making an attempt. My eyes kept disobeying the orders my brain was sending them. The Maître D’ pulled out the chair for Ratu. The horse made his way to the other seat, but a flick of the leash-holder’s wrist beckoned him to move right next to her. 
“Come, Horse,” she said. He was already on his way. I put the chair underneath him. He gritted his teeth as the rump hit the seat. The padding was minimal, as the aesthetic was far more important than comfort. Even still, that sort pained inward hiss couldn’t have been from the seat alone. I don’t know if it was done with a paddle or hand- perhaps a riding crop- but she inflicted it on him.  The scrawny horse was probably bent over her thick green knee. Smacks so hard they busted capillaries. Maybe it was covered with welts. 
It wasn't right to speculate though. No, just ignore whatever was going on with these two just like the Maître D was.  Just give them the menus, take their order and hope that for putting up with them I am rewarded with a large tip. We would talk about this later, as we did with any rude, weird, or otherwise unique customer. She was already shaping up to be quite notorious. I considered handing off the task to somebody else; see if I could get switched to table sixteen instead.
“Can I get either of you a drink?” I asked, handing her a menu. I tried to hand one off to the horse, but the green one blocked it with her hand, shaking her head.
“He’ll eat what I say,” she said, putting down her menu to look me in the eyes, “Bring him two pitchers of water. And I’ll be having a cola.”
I nodded, and made my way into the back. I filled to pictures to the brim and watched them through the fogged glass. Whatever she was doing, she was doing it under the table. The clean cloth I had just decorated the table with was flicking as she twisted the leash around her wrist, pulling on the appendage it was attached to. It was all very discreet until the horse lost control and slammed his two split-hoof fingers on the table.
She jerked the leash as I was coming out with the beverages. Her stern gaze pierced into her companion. He was gripping onto the table cloth. I couldn't make out the words that were hidden behind her role grumble, but I could tell her companion was bright red under his brown fur. What I couldn’t figure out was whether or not he wanted to be there. The horse put a straw in the cola and raised it to his master's lips. She drank about half of the glass in one gulp. I placed one of the pitchers at the center of the table and one in front of the horse. He may very well have been enjoying himself under all that embarrassment, but I couldn't tell from my position.
Personally, though, I was feeling uncomfortable about the whole affair. Needless to say, all our other clients were turning their heads. I could hear them better than I could hear her. One choice line of dialog that rested in my brain was ‘How could they let deviants like them in a place like this?’ The most favorable comments were along the lines of ‘can’t they take that shit somewhere else?’ I couldn’t help but agree with the critiques. This place had a reputation to uphold. I made my way over to the Maître D.
He was not very helpful.  "You're still fairly new here," the white-furred feline said, "That's Ratu. You smile, nod, you're polite, you pretend nothing is happening, and the bigger mess they leave the bigger tip you get, and we don't see her for another year or so."
“But sir!” I protested, agitated enough to cause my bushy, ringed tail to jump up. I gathered from the turning of heads that I was also far too loud, “But sir, she is going to drive away all our customers.”
“Henry,” he said, “You know One/Five Bank?”
“She works for One/Five?” I asked, pretending I understood the implication.
“No. She’s the one who destroyed them.”
I opened my mouth to start a counter argument but decided I would let it be. I went back to the table with my pad in hand to finish the order. One of the pitchers was already empty, and the horse's shirt was wet enough to show off soaked brown fur underneath. He must have tried drinking it all in one massive gulp. Maybe she forced his mouth open and dumped the pitcher in. Regardless, his shirt and the cloth managed to pick up all that didn't make it down his throat.
 "I'm having the 18-ounce sirloin. Don't bother cooking it, the heat burns my throat,” she said, trailing off a bit to add “It is a shame you don’t have pet chow.” Her voice went back up a notch to inform add “So, you can just get him a green salad, no dressing, no croutons. Because of that embarrassing display back there, all he gets are the leafy bits, you understand, right?" 
	“I understand,” I said, writing it down.  I didn’t understand. I just did as the Maître D’ said and played along with whatever game they were playing.  It wasn’t even necessary for her to explain, just order the salad. I never understood how anyone could possibly enjoy that sort of embarrassment. Having known my fair share of bullies, of course, I knew very well how people could get off of providing it. 
	I slipped into the back where the Chef was already picking out some choice cuts of meat. The big bulldog was prepared for Ratu. His kitchen staff seemed perplexed. A few kept looking out the window to see what she would do to him next. Others insisted on cooking and seasoning the meat. This was probably the only instance in which the meat was ready before the salad, which I had to insist come without croutons, even on the side, as instructed. 
	I turned the corner with the two plates in, and Ratu withdrew her arm from underneath the table. The Horse was a few inches closer. His package was within reach of her hand. She didn’t seem to be the type to do something just for his pleasure.  More than likely she was digging her claws into his part, seeing just how much pain she could inflict before he made a sound. 
 "18-ounce sirloin," I said placing the plate, "And salad greens." 
	Ratu nodded her thank you. The horse got to work cutting her food for her. The blood poured on to the plate while he cut. One drip ran down the side of the bite-sized morsel he cut for her. Her sharp, shark-like teeth tore and gnashed it.  The horse kept up a good pace getting the next slightly larger piece ready for her. A bit of blood ran down the side of her lips. He put down the fork and knife and picked up the napkin and wiped the red from the green. The horse didn’t even look at his own food.
	Another guest signaled me over to take his dishes away from. I offered him a flustered apology. I made a couple remarks about it being a strange night, but he didn’t seem to be accepting it. He was right to be upset. I’ve been focused on getting the large one and the tiny horse in and out as fast I could. Halfway through berating me, his head turned and jaw dropped. 
	“Forget it,” he said, “I’m leaving.”
 I admit I was expecting something far lewder when I turned my head. I was actually relieved to see her thick green drumstick of a leg landing on his lap. He took off her shoe and put it on the table. He worked the ball with one hand, and the heel with the other. I figured that it must take a lot of pressure to be able to work through those scales. I moved to another table I was working, fellow raccoons, who were doing their best to avoid the metaphorical elephant in the room. 
	“Dessert?” I asked, fighting my curious eyes for control.
My view was from a couple tables away, at an angle that gave at the massive woman's back and a little bit of the horse's lap. It was obstructed by parts of her leg and the cloth. Though I could swear I could see the outline of an equine cock sealed away in plastic poking out from underneath the corner of his untucked shirt. My suspicion was confirmed when she jerked the leash, which was attached to a small hole at the end of the encasement. My eyes came back to the couple, an older gentleman with a younger, thin blonde woman, just in time for their response. 
“No, just give us the bill,” said the blonde headed raccoon as she pulled her card from her purse.
As I walked away I heard a few remarks about their affair. She was insisting that he at least let his wife know, but it was clear she wasn’t going to draw a line in the sand.  Compared to that, the horse’s exposure didn’t seem too indecent after all. I printed out the total bill some sixty dollars per plate. I checked up on the dragon and horse and watched him get out of his seat and on his knees. This was responsible for a loud murmur as the horse got to work sucking on her toes. For me, it was worth a bit of a chuckle.
Ratu signaled me for another drink while I was leaving the bill. I nodded and went back into the kitchen, where I answered a few questions about what it is they thought was going on. I gave tepid replies, following the Maître D’s instructions to just let her be. I claimed I didn’t see anything, or that they were just a bit obnoxious, though anyone leaving the kitchen could get a view of horse meat when they turned the corner.
At least until he closed his legs to hide the dangling package. He had moved from the ball of her foot to the heel. I gave her the drink. She put the straw in.  I don’t know what it was that came over me, but when she said “do you think you can” and pointed to the glass, I raised the straw to her lips. She drank the sugary concoction while her plus one pulled her other shoe off.  I signaled for her partner to take them off the table, but he ignored me. On this foot, he was going heel up.
“Look, Miss Ratu,” I said, “We can be pretty flexible for some of our guests here. But still, I think you could be a bit more discreet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Horse, put my shoes under the seat. And scoot in a little bit, that tiny package of yours is making people upset.” Her words came out like a stage whisper. She was announcing it to the nearby tables with a facsimile of discretion. It was good enough, though at least for me to play along. The horse let out a very casual “Yes, Goddess”. If he didn’t sincerely believe her to be some deity, he certainly desired it to be true. 
I cleared the two empty water pitchers from the table. I don’t know when the horse had the time to finish it but I was impressed that he could do it. Perhaps such things come easy when you believe your partner to be almighty. I put the two over the by the sink and had to do a double-take. In the second pitcher, all the way at the bottom was a large condom. She put a condom in his drink and made him drink from it. I picked up the container and dropped it in the trash.  The dishwasher came back from her break as I walked away. She looked in the trash to see why I would toss a seemingly intact piece of glasswork. 
“Is that a-“, she started.
“Yes.”
“Wait, is that used?”
“I’m not going to ask.”
I grabbed a couple of square dishes with small bits of meat and just enough sauce for it to be aesthetically pleasing. I took it a table where I overheard two mares talking about the disreputable types that were starting to move into their neighborhood. Since I didn't hear the conversation, it was easy enough for me to pretend that I was just coming in at the wrong time.  There was quite a bit of that at this job. Most of the customers tipped well, and that enough for me to convince myself that they were at least somewhat decent. 
On my way back somebody grabbed my sleeve. “Excuse me,” he said through a long beak, “But do you intend to do anything about those freaks over by the kitchen?”
“I’ve had a word with them,” I told him, “And I’ll have another.”
“For God’s sake, he’s got his dick hanging out.”
“I didn’t notice,” I said.
“Well, if they aren’t gone in five minutes I’m calling the police.”
“Yes. Do that. Just let me talk to them first, see if I can’t get them to behave first.”
By the time I made it back to where Ratu was sitting, the two were gone. Part of me hoped they decided to split on the bill, even if it meant losing out on a much-deserved tip. Unfortunately, their leftover food was an indicator that they would be back. Besides, I was told a big tip was to be expected from her arrival. Not to mention that she really didn’t seem to be the type, especially when she knew she had to stay in our favor if she wanted to continue with her perverted game.
My break consisted of checking in on the mares and seeing when the guests at table seventeen were set to arrive. I was still preoccupied with Ratu and her horse. I got the impression that she was an important figure, like a lawyer or attorney or something.  I figured she had to be wealthy to get away with this sort of thing, and she was more than willing to just throw money around.  She certainly knew what it was she wanted. So did her partner. I couldn’t help but like that about them. Despite how obnoxious she was, and how much harder they made things for me, they seemed to be happier than any other guests. Things weren’t complicated for them like it was for me.
Part of me wished I could be like the horse. Or like Ratu. I spent most of my life afraid to tell anyone what I wanted. I spent most of my life afraid to tell myself what I wanted. I mean, here I was approaching thirty and having only been living as a man for a few months. Still didn’t even know how to explain what that meant other than putting on a binder and being referred to by a name that suited me better. I worked at one of the top restaurants in the city and even got free meals, but still, couldn't look at the menu and decide what is appetizing to me. I'm probably the only adult here who orders the macaroni and cheese. Romantically, I went back and forth with my dates, mostly because it was hard for me to tell the difference between liking them or liking the idea of being with them. 
I picked up a few dishes from an empty table wondering how much of that was true and how much of it was me projecting. It did make their deviant behavior seem almost wholesome to me. I passed Ratu again on my way to bring the plates to the dishwasher. She shot a wicked grin at me like she was trying to tell me a secret. I turned around to ask but she was already in her seat and finishing her steak.
Rather than confront her, I followed my gut and went to the bathroom. I let out an annoyed sigh when I saw the two hoofs on the ground on the ceramic tiles, with two black paws right behind them. There was an “oompf" sort of sound coming from the occupied stall. Then a butt plug hit the ground. The paws moved closer to the hooves. The metal doors began to clack as though somebody was pulling on it. The plug was kicked by the constantly readjusting foot paw.It rolled to my feet. The sheer girth of it made me clench. 
Whoever was in there with the horse must have been rough with him. The cries he was making must have been heard throughout the restaurant. Even with whatever gag was muffling him he pants, moans, and screams were not easily silenced. His play partner, whoever he was, spoke a few words between masculine grunts. His vocabulary consisted entirely of combinations of ‘Fuck’, ‘Yeah’, ‘Bitch’, and ‘Take it.’ I told myself I was staying to find out who this was, and once they walked out of the stall I would finally get him, the horse, and the Dragon to leave. 
	And I managed to convince myself of that for almost a minute. I started rubbing myself through my pants. I couldn’t put my finger on why this appealed to me. Sex had always been very formulaic before.  We lay down, there is touching, building up, and then we engage for mutual satisfaction. And then we would repeat if we chose to see each other again, or I would question whether or not it was what I wanted. Sometimes it was better than others, but I always sorta knew what to expect.
	Little bits of splooge hit the ground and the Maître D’ walked out, buttoning his shirt. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed to see me there. Honestly, I couldn't say I was too shocked either. He was the one who insisted I look the other way.  The only surprise was that those guttural vulgarities came from a man who I had always known to be quite soft spoken. He was laughing to himself as he passed me by. 
	“Don’t take too long now,” he chuckled, “She’s going to be looking for her dessert soon.”
	I walked around to the stall. The door was open and there he was. His gaping hole twitched and bits of semen dripped about the sides. I finally had more than a partial glimpse at the cage, which let his testicles hang out freely. The least at the end was held up against the flushing mechanism, keeping the equine’s part pulled straight. His arms were bound up from, and the toilet in his way kept him bent over. I took a few steps closer and saw something in his mouth. It appeared to be a large pair of panties rolled up in his mouth. I detected the faint odor of urine, and it wasn’t coming from the bowl. The panties were stained yellow.  
 I reached above him to untie his ropes. He shook his head violently, letting out muffled ‘no's'. I should have expected he wanted to be in this position, but my first instinct when happening upon somebody tied up is to let them free.  I backed away slowly and fixated on the large flared tip dripping and pressing up against the end of the cage. I followed the shaft down to his testicles, which seemed to have taken their fair share of abuse. A plastic ring separated them from the cage, and a second latex ring was there to stretch them further.  
My hand rubbed between my pants and I reached out to touch the stretched purple orbs. I didn’t consider what I was doing until I made contact with his flesh. He inhaled deeply as a means of enduring the pain that just came with grazing him. His eyes clenched closed. I pulled my hand back, and his eyes opened. I put my hand back, cupping the testicles.
 I wondered how long she had been working his brown and purple sack. There were only a few points where it would have gone unnoticed, save for when they left the table. Probably gave them a few swats and squeezes before they left. With her weight, she could do a lot of damage with that fat foot of hers. The way the horse seemed to crave punishment, I realized that the Komodo Dragon had been showing a great deal of restraint. A grasped on to the balls and pictured them popping in my hand.
‘What am I doing?’ I thought to myself, stepping back. I was trying to get out of the stall but it felt like I hit a pillar. Ratu was large but she wasn’t soft, at least compared to creatures with fur. It didn’t matter how long she was standing there. Just being in there was enough to have my flesh turn hot with shame.  
“Normally I wouldn’t mind,” she said, “That’s what he’s here for. But I was waiting for that dessert menu.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I’ll get that right to you.”
“I think I’ve changed my mind anyway,” she said, “I think it’s time we cleaned him up and got him home.”
“Excuse me?”
“Can’t take him in my car if he’s going to be dripping cum all over my seats,” she said, scraping her index finger claw around the quivering anus, showing off the mess that was left inside of him, “Maybe you can clean him up, or I can leave him here for you.”
“Are you for real?”
Her neck bobbed back with a hint of confusion and a dash of offense. “Well, no. I’m trying to be enticing. Maybe I got the wrong idea, but you seemed a bit like you would enjoy playing around a bit. I’m sorry if that was a mistake, I’m usually pretty good at figuring out what people want.”
I chuckled. “I don’t even know what I want.”
“I know you want to give his jewels squeeze.”
She gestured her hand forward, offering her plaything up to me. I laid my palm flat. I ran it under the scrotum. And then they were resting in the middle of my palm. I closed my hands around them. I massaged them with my fingertips, adding little bits of pressure, gradually turning into a squeeze. Ratu’s chest pressed up against my back. She ran her arm along mine, matching my grip. She added the pressure that I was afraid to. The horse’s cries echoed through the bathroom.
“No need to be so timid about it,” she said.
“Sorry.”
She gestured as if it were no big deal at all. She let go of my hand and I kept the pressure on. I released every few seconds and attempted to double my grip. “So, do you like being in control?”
	“What’s it like when you’re not?”
	“I don’t the experience to tell you. But you do know he does talk. I just prefer the sound of his voice filtered through wet panties.”
 I reached for the soaking wet makeshift gag. The horse loosened his jaw to allow me to pull. Ratu grabbed my hand and pulled it back. 
	“I changed my mind,” she said, shaking her head, “I think it would be more fun for you to experience it yourself. Well, more fun for me, anyway.”
	“I’m at the work.”
	“That didn’t seem to matter while you were trying to pop his testicles. But it is up to you. For what it’s worth it really has been a fantastic night.”
	She untied the horse. She put his pants on him and stopped right before putting it over his put. She looked at it as though something was missing. I grabbed the butt plug from the floor. I handed it over to her and she just shoved it right back inside of him. The pants came back up. She turned him around and zipped him up, hiding his package. The loop of the leash hung out of his pant leg. She buttoned up his shirt. She finished off by pressing the wet panties into his lips
	“Well, I expect you out there with the desert menu. And if you do want to come home with us, well, don’t tell us. Show us.”
	“How?”
	“Piss yourself,” she said, adjusting her plaything’s blazer.
	“What?”
	“I was clear,” she said, “Piss yourself. I’ll give you the address and I’ll leave my door unlocked for you.”
	Then she left the bathroom. They left the stall a mess, but I didn’t even care to clean it at this point. I was physically and mentally exhausted, and it wasn’t even worth reporting to the maintenance staff. Some uptight upset customer would do it for me. With what I now had on the Maître D’ I doubted I could really get in too much trouble for just coasting through the rest of my night.
	I closed the door behind me. I could see the horse and Ratu back at their seats, acting like perfect guests. I handled a few other guests firsts, none of whom had anything more to say about Ratu and her horse. No more threats to call the police. No more leaving in a fit of anger. I went back to the normal routine. I went from table to table taking orders and clearing plates. When I came close enough to the Maître D’ he would shoot me a smirk. Then it was back to Ratu with the dessert menus.
	She looked it over for about a minute, dragging out some “umms”, “oohs”, and throwing in a maybe here are there. “I can’t decide,” she said, “Horse, order for me.”
	“Ed Elfet” is what his order sounded like through the panties.
	“What’s that?” she asked, “I don’t think he can hear you.”
	“ED ELFET!” he said again, turning the heads of the table to the immediate right. I didn’t hide how amused I was. 
	“Nobody can hear you, Horse,” she said, “And I’m not leaving without my dessert.”
	I had already put down a slice of red velvet cake down on my pad. He said it one more time and most of the restaurant looked. I pretended to scribble it down. “I’ll have that for you right away.”
	All it took was just a cut to the pastry that was in the display case. I cut a bit wider than usual, even though I had doubts she would actually eat the thing. I made my way back over to her with a smile on my face. I placed it on the table in front of her.  I must admit that I was a little bit touched when she handed it over to the horse. She even remarked that he had earned it. She did, however, force him to eat with the panties still in his mouth. He awkwardly maneuvered the fork around to get it in on his tongue first then down his throat, taking bits of fluid with the cake.
	That’s when I made my decision. The warm feeling of my own piss running down my legs was far more comfortable than I expected. It didn’t show on my black pants, but I hoped that she could smell it. It was all I could smell, but then again I was the one who was soaking in it. Based on the odor it was a very light yellow color. It was more than likely going to stain my pants. Ratu leaned into my crotch and inhaled. She smiled ear to ear as she leaned back.
	“Waiter, I think It’s time for that check.”