No, let her play with your cock as you feed her food

You pick up your fork and stab a piece of lettuce. You could fight back. You could tell her to stop, to get her foot off your lap, to stop touching you. You could show Abella and Cecilia, Mr. Tatum, everyone, that you are not Ella's pet. You are not a joke.

But you don't. Instead you pop the piece of lettuce into your own mouth, and then you pick up a french fry from your plate, dip it in ketchup, and you hold it out to your girlfriend.

"Feed me," Ella said. Her foot is grinding harder now.

You hold the french fry to her lips, and she takes it in her mouth. Her tongue darts out, licking your fingers. She moans softly, and the vibrations travel from her foot to your cock, making you twitch again. Your knuckles are white where you're gripping the fork. Your knuckles are the only parts of you that are fighting back.

"Good boy," she whispers.

You feed her another fry. And then another. You can feel the eyes of the entire cafeteria on you. You can feel the humiliation. You can feel the shame. But you also feel her. You can feel Ella. And you are not sure which feeling is stronger.

"Do they have pudding?" Ella asks.

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