Mistress Nancy daintily raises one finger slightly. Both Elisha and I jump to attend Her. She ignores us, leans toward Mistress Carolyn, half whispering in Her ear. “What are you going to have darling?” She coos sweetly to Her lover “I haven’t decided yet myself,” She says while caressing Carolyn’s forearm.
Mistress Carolyn smiles, turns and lays Her other gloved hand over Nancy’s hands that are on Her arm. She stares deeply into Nancy’s eyes, “I will start with porta bella mushrooms stuffed with lobster. Then I will have… ummm… just a cup of French onion soup. A nicely marbled ribeye steak, medium rare… hmmm… 6 ounces. A small Caesar salad too. I will have… hmmm… curly cut Cajun french fries with that.” She says this never taking Her eyes off Nancy, knowing that two slaves must hang on Her every word.
Mistress Nancy smiles softly. “That sounds delightful dear. Girl, fetch another Sauvignon blanc for me. I will then have… ummm… three small Maryland crabcakes with cocktail sauce. Ummm… cream of broccoli soup with cheddar cheese, just a very small cup. I want grilled Ahi tuna… from the South Pacific… with lemon sauce, broiled scallops, a sliver of grilled flounder… ummm… braised asparagus tips, just the tips, not the stalks… Oh! A medium size baked red potato with sour cream and chives, not too large.” She never even looks at us slaves.
She sips the last of Her wine and I immediately get it to place on Elisha’s tray. I bend low to take Her linen napkin, I kiss it, unfold it, and place it in Her lap. With my anklet chain jingling, my long chain tinkling across the floor, I sashay around to Mistress Carolyn’s throne with a sultry sway of my hips. I kiss and unfold Her napkin too, kneel to place it carefully in Her lap.
Now I’m happy. By serving always from the left, I’m now between the two Mistresses, Carolyn to my right, Nancy to my left.
I’m sure Elisha will remember Their orders perfectly. Slaves do not have little note pads and pencils. Besides, Elisha’s hands are manacled behind her anyway. We MUST memorize commands. To not place Their order perfectly would be horrible. I’ve been locked into stocks hanging upside-down and the bottoms of my feet were whipped with a springy cane until they bled for bringing the wrong wine once when I was an 8. Also, there’s nothing like a menu. They order anything They want. It had better be found or made fast and it had better be exactly as They wish, or else. They all carry whips even at dinner. I notice Mistress Nancy’s quirt dangling from Her skirt belt matches her purse and has a jeweled handle. Dainty and stylish, but very effective I’m sure.
“Yes Mistresses. Certainly Mistresses. Right away Mistresses.” Elisha says and curtsies cutely. she backs away respectfully, turns smartly in her ballet booties, and trots toward the kitchens to recite the order to the appropriate grade 7 cook slaves. I’m sure she’ll hurry back by way of the bar to fetch the wine.
I just kneel quietly, deferentially. A waitress slave should be almost invisible. They’re chatting pleasantly about Clitoris Alliance business, like secret plans to control entire countries without anyone realizing it. I discover that Mistress Carolyn controls several huge communications conglomerates. Mistress Nancy seems to have something to do with trading precious or rare metals like gold and titanium in international markets. I try not to let my chains be noisy and distract Them.
I glance down below the salt. I shouldn’t. I should be totally focused on the pleasures of the Mistresses I’m serving. But I can’t help it. The Guards are LOUD!
They’re mainly eating spare ribs and BBQ chicken, swilling beer, swigging whiskey straight out of the bottles. Some are arm wrestling. One is squatting on the mouth of Her grade 9 slave splayed out on the table with the slave’s head hanging over the edge… while the Guard whips the girl’s pussy. A freaking platoon of serving tray girls are running around constantly with pitchers of beer for Them. Some of the Guards start singing boisterously. It takes a minute to make out what the words are They’re so drunk, but I realize right away that the tune is just like “99 bottles of beer on the wall.” Standing arm in arm to hold each other up, swaying, almost falling face down on the floor They sing… “99 manacled sluts in the cage, 99 manacled sluts. Take one out and whip her cunt, 98 manacled sluts in the cage…” They go on and on while laughing uproariously.
Guards sure do have fun at parties. I love rough strong women. They’re cute… except for the cattle prods.
I turn my head just a little, hoping no Mistress sees, to look at the head of the table. Mistress Jane is holding court. Other Dommes titter and laugh at Her jokes. She has two server tray girls holding hors d’oeuvres and one more just for Her ashtray plus two waitress slaves like me attending Her. The ashtray girl scurries around to be under where ever She wants to flick Her cigarette ash. The two waitress slaves trot around, bent at the waist to dip the little spring rolls into whatever sauce She nods toward. She looks like a queen. So elegant, such a stern facial expression. She makes me cream.
I hear a whoosh behind me and a lash slashes down my back. The Maîtresse d’ is behind me and not at all happy! my left shoulder blade down to the small of my back sears with pain.
“PAY ATTENTION SLAVE!” She bellows at me and lashes me again, right to left this time.
“Yes Mistress, thank You Mistress, slave begs forgiveness Mistress,” I whimper really distraught that I was not serving properly. I deserved the lashes and I’m truly sorry.
I start to turn around to lick Her feet but Mistress Nancy reaches down and absentmindedly strokes my hair. I snap back to devote myself to whatever She and Mistress Carolyn might want. I’d purr if I could. The Maîtresse d’ turns to walk away. Whew! Mistress Nancy must have decided that my sleek, shiny dark brown hair is nice after all. I remember Her original disappointment I’m not a brunette. I turn my head slightly and kiss Her fingers. She smiles down at me, caresses my cheek. She saved me from the Maîtresse d’ flaying the skin off my back. I think I love Her.
Elisha trots back to us. As gracefully as I can, I unfold myself from kneeling to see what’s on her tray. She’s got the wine of course, various hot fresh rolls, small bowls of butter, and the hors d’oeuvres.
I spend the next several minutes swaying sensuously back and forth between her tray and the Mistresses. I must bend far over at the waist despite my corset to place items at Their fingertips. Mistress Carolyn glances at me and nods toward the rolls. I pick one, break it open with my fingers and butter it for Her. When I’ve finished I kneel quietly again. Elisha scurries back to the kitchen for the next course and the second brandy Mistress Carolyn just ordered.
Mistress Nancy turns to smile down at me while She eats. She brings a morsel of crabcake to my lips and hand feeds me. I take it delicately in my teeth gratefully, chew it. We slaves are not allowed to use our hands when we are hand fed. “Oooo! This is good!” I think. I lean in and nuzzle Her hand with my cheek, kiss Her soft sleek latex-clad thigh. She gives me another piece.
Elisha returns with the brandy and the next course. I serve again while she stands patiently like a good table should. I kneel again and she returns to the kitchens for the next course.
The Mistresses chat about controlling world events, assassinations, the weather, redecorating Their rooms, shoe sales, all sorts of things, and then the conversation seems to turn to some pet Nancy wants!
Elisha returns with the next course and I’m quivering as I serve diligently, silently hanging on Their every word. They speak as if I’m not there. Like I’m a house plant or piece of furniture, which is normal I guess cause a slave IS just an object.
“… but honey,”Mistress Nancy wheedles, “the slave would be no trouble. I’d feed her and we could have low slaves come to clean her litter box.”
“I’m not sure Nanc. Rattling chains might keep us awake at night,” Mistress Carolyn answers uncertainly.
“If the animal is too noisy, we could always add a steel sculpture in the sitting room. We could use a bench by the front door anyway.” Mistress Nancy suggests.
Mistress Carolyn just shrugs and continues eating.
“Look what I had made,” Mistress Nancy says happily, bending down to open Her purse on the floor. She brings out the most glamorous collar and shackles I ever saw! Gold! Elegant fillagree design! I see with delight the tiny high security key slots on them. I almost wet myself. She holds it out for Carolyn to see. “Aren’t they just perfect for her?” She asks.
I almost drop a plate but catch it real quick. I kneel as fast as I can so I don’t faint, but still remember to do it sensuously.
Mistress Carolyn puts down Her fork, takes and examines the collar, turning it over in Her gloved hands. “This isn’t just gold is it?” She asks.
“No silly!” Nancy says with a smile. “Of course it is 14k gold plated but it’s chrome vanadium steel inside. Extremely strong. That’s what they use to make the best quality tools. Dear, You could not cut through these with a hack saw in a week. The saw blade would wear out first. Look how well it goes with her hair and makeup.” She holds it near my face. I have no idea what to do and freeze, remembering to smile meekly though.
“I’m still not convinced Nanc,” Carolyn says shaking Her head slowly in the negative. “I want a 9.5. It’s a matter of prestige. I won’t have just any old alley cat.”
Mistress Nancy pouts, returns the lovely slave jewelry to Her purse. They stop talking. It’s obvious to me that Carolyn runs Their household.
I hesitantly lean in to kiss Mistress Carolyn’s leg. I don’t have permission to do this and could be slapped across my face and pushed away at the very least. I look up at Her with puppy dog eyes. She looks down at me blankly but not unkindly. I dare to kiss and lick Her leg more. I rub my cheek against Her. She ignores me and continues to eat. I don’t have any idea how She took that. I suppose that a house cat doing the same things would have simply been tolerated.
My mind races. It is literally BEATEN into us how the grade points for slave ranks work. Records from ages ago are shown to us so we understand it’s always been this way and always will be. In the castle museum They have ancient slave records in glass display cases. Every Clitoris Alliance facility has some. There’s a clay tablet written in cuneiform from Phoenicia. There’s carved ivory from Egypt, funny, it’s shaped like a dildo. In later ages, a girl’s record could be an engraved armlet or charm bracelet, locked on her of course. There are adorable Japanese anklets like strings of beads showing scores of different things in different colors.
All slaves are drilled over and over again that our lives are at the mercy of Mistresses. A girl can go up or DOWN in rank by how she serves. The Dommes take this seriously. Most take the time to study you and grade you every time They use you. It’s important to Them because They want to see what kind of slave meat you are as judged by Their peers. We girls know that Mistresses just might possibly be… ummm… errr… cruel bitches… not that I’d ever say that, out loud. ONE sour facial expression, ONE spilled drink, accidentally rake Her clit with your teeth ONCE and the Domme might give you two hundred zeros, especially if She’s at “that” time of month! A girl could find herself back in a dank slimy dungeon in Punishment restraints in a heartbeat.
A Mistress can do anything. We love Them deeply, we obey Them without hesitation, and we fear Them terribly. Most Mistresses are fair though because They respect and use the sensible time honored system. And women are fair and smart anyway of course. That’s why there’s so many 5, 6, and 7 girls, average realistic scores. A slave would have to be out of her mind to never graduate to 5. But sadly some don’t. The sun bleached bones at the bottom of the castle walls tell that tale.
My mind races trying to figure what I must do to raise my score. Since almost everything a girl does is graded, thousands of events go into her record, especially with modern electronic records. A slave learns to beg to serve, beg to be whipped, beg to be tortured, anything to be used often and hopefully improve her bondage. But to raise her score a tenth of a single point, she must get like a hundred tens! My heart sinks. Without realizing what I’m doing, I whimper sadly.
The rest of dinner seems less happy to me. I serve dessert and coffee demurely with a soft smile glued on my face even though I feel like a truck ran over my heart.
Mistress Nancy still reaches down to stroke my hair occasionally, hand feeds me some cake too. But I do my job with no hope.
Eventually They stand and leave. They don’t take me with Them.
© hotbox 11/11/12