Quentin leered broadly at her, eyes switching between her chest, undulating hips and contorted face in swift succession. There was something incredibly perversely satisfying about seeing her so stripped of control of her own body that even when it wasn't him directly doing it, it excited him. That and, while abuse worked well enough to make sure she was subservient, this was a far better method to make sure she was similarly aware of her duty. So it was that any notion of sparing her the device once she came to the dining hall got swiftly overridden by his wonder of just how often he could get away with coercing her into wearing it.<br/><br/>The mans leg started to bob beneath her. At first it was a small motion that got masked thoroughly by Zoey's own actions, but as time passed he made it more insistent and more prominent. His foot rose up onto it's ball, and then dropped back flat to the floor, temporarily losing Zoey her perch and finally making her crash back down against his thigh. The drop was barely half an inch, but it was certainly enough to disturb the gadget, and make it nudge further into her. Soon enough the action became rote, and Quentin barely gave it a second thought while incessantly continuing with it.<br/><br/>"Is that so?" He mused, still watching her while the chef was absent. It was rare enough that their gazes locked while he was speaking, but if Zoey's eyes could wrench themselves open it would've happened then. "I hope, then, that it won't drain you completely. I have better uses for you than just having you cum your pretty little brains out before I have even finished my supper."<br/><br/>The large chef had left and returned, now carrying several platters which he piled onto the long table at the end occupied by Quentin. Without being privvy to the gadget affixed to Zoey's twat the man was rather stunned at quite how much pleasure she seemed to derive from being bobbed on her Master's lap. He could still enjoy the two bare, luscious tits as they bounced in the same rhythm - albeit out of sync and constantly trying to catch up - but the reason was a mystery. What had Quentin done to her, he mused?<br/><br/>Finally he remembered himself thanks to a pointed glance from Quentin himself, and announced the meal - "Partridge stew, with fresh bread and potatoes, sir." - before sweeping out of the room with what little grace he could muster.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>