Chapter 7

"Where were we?" He inquired, his hand reaching for the napkin on the table, lifting it to dry his moistened hand, and carelessly tossing it back onto the tabletop. Imogene couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't chosen to clean up in the restroom rather than at the dining table. The thought of it was utterly repulsive to her.

"You said heaven isn't in me, but hell is. The clergyman was disgusted by me, prompting him to wash himself."

"Yes, indeed!" He responded, his eyes trailing off for a brief moment. Imogene could feel her patience wearing thin as his words continued to grate on her nerves, the visible veins on her face painting a clear picture of her growing frustration.

"Tell me, clergyman, if I were to step into your place of worship and found myself overwhelmed by urges, would you be the one to help me resist them?" Imogene posed the question, her tone saturated with a seductive allure that was hard to miss.

He swallowed hard, a nervous chuckle escaping him as he replied, "I would, for it is my solemn duty to provide spiritual guidance and support to those in need."

"But wouldn't that make you a sinner?" Imogene countered, her voice laced with a hint of mischief.

"Why would I be a sinner?" he inquired, clearly intrigued by the direction of their conversation.

"I am impure, and by helping me, you would risk becoming tainted yourself," Imogene explained, a mischievous giggle escaping her lips. "So, tell me, clergyman, if I were to discreetly spread my lap beneath the table, would you dare to steal a glance?"

Once more, he gulped nervously, shaking his head adamantly. The temptation she presented was palpable, and he knew he had to stand firm in his beliefs. "I would never succumb to such ungodly temptations!"

As a sly smile played on Imogene's lips, she crossed her legs beneath the table, her fork-heeled shoe aligning perfectly with the angle of his manhood. With a subtle nudge, the fork made contact with his most sensitive area.

"Ouch!" he yelped, the sudden outburst drawing the attention of the entire restaurant. Realizing his blunder, he offered a weak smile and apologetic glance to the surrounding diners.

"Something just bit me down there!" he whispered to Imogene, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and fear, a hint of embarrassment colouring his expression.

She maintained a stoic silence, her lips pressed against the back of her hand while her elbow rested on the table. Suppressing a bubbling laughter within her, she willed herself to maintain composure. As an impulsive movement, she extended her leg, inadvertently making contact with the sensitive tip of his manhood.

A muffled exclamation escaped him as he swiftly covered his mouth, a silent cry of discomfort evident in his expression. Leaning closer towards her, he whispered, "Something is causing me pain beneath the table. I must investigate." With a sense of urgency, he attempted to steal a glance under the table.

"Refrain from looking, for it is inappropriate. To gaze upon such would be deemed sacrilegious. My unders are laid bare," she cautioned, her nod emphasizing the gravity of her statement.

Caught in a moment of inner turmoil, he chewed on his tongue, visibly conflicted. After a brief pause, he nodded in reluctant agreement. A tear, unexpected and unbidden, escaped his eyes, which he swiftly wiped away with his hand, conceding, "Very well."

With precision, she delivered another swift kick, this time striking his scrotum, eliciting a pained yelp and causing him to recoil from his seat, his hands instinctively clutching his injured manhood. Upon glancing beneath the table, he caught sight of her retrieving a fork from her shoe.

"You are responsible for this agony!" he accused, his voice filled with a mix of pain and indignation, the intensity of his outburst drawing the attention of the diners.

Amidst the laughter and curious gazes of the onlookers, a waiter approached, inquiring with a puzzled expression, "What seems to be the matter, sir?"

"She used a fork on me!" he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger in her direction.

Perplexed by the bizarre situation, the waiter responded, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

"She intentionally forked my manhood!" he reiterated, his frustration palpable in his tone.

"Well, that is indeed an unusual occurrence," the waiter remarked casually, offering a nonchalant thumbs-up. "Not every man can boast of such an encounter with a lady in this day and age."

"No, you fail to comprehend the gravity of the situation! She deliberately inflicted harm upon me with a fork! Do you now grasp the severity of the matter?" he insisted, his agitation mounting.

The waiter turned his attention to Imogene, his gaze searching her face for a glimmer of understanding. In response, Imogene nonverbally communicated her thoughts by delicately rolling a finger to the side of her head, a gesture subtly suggesting that she believed the clergyman's actions or words bordered on the irrational or delusional. This silent exchange of gestures added an air of intrigue to the encounter, leaving the waiter along with the crowd present to ponder the dynamics at play between the two individuals in the midst of the wintry ambiance.

"Sir, this is a public establishment, and there are limitations to what can be done," the waiter explained calmly, attempting to diffuse the escalating tension.

"You must ensure that customers are treated with respect! She must be held accountable for her actions!" he demanded, his voice rising in frustration.

"Sir, your behaviour is causing a disturbance in the establishment," the waiter informed him, signalling for security to intervene. The security personnel promptly approached and escorted him away from the table, leading him towards the exit.

"I am a clergyman, and this public disgrace is utterly unacceptable!" he proclaimed loudly as he was ushered away. "You shall all face the consequences of your actions!"

Imogene offered him a contented wave and softly giggled. The waiter directed his attention towards her with a hint of concern in his voice.

"Are you feeling alright, madam?" he inquired.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine," she reassured with a casual tone.

"Shall I take your order then?" he inquired further.

"No, thank you. I was planning to leave anyway. This evening has left me feeling rather desolate," she remarked, retrieving her purse before making her way out of the restaurant. John, too, rose from his seat and trailed behind her as she exited.