Message-ID: <29072asstr$983088604@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <017801c09e99$e6931e40$e102fc3e@enterprise> Reply-To: "Hecate" From: "Hecate" X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.50.4133.2400 Subject: {ASSM} <2ndS> The Server by Alexis S (D/s MF n/c(?)) Date: Sun, 25 Feb 2001 03:10:04 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: assm-admin <1st attachment, "The Server by Alexis S.txt" begin> story codes: D/s MF n/c(?) Respectfully submitted for adult readers. Please, if you are a minor, if it is not legal, or if you are offended by sexual content, do not continue. This story was written by me, Alexis. Please respect this. If you wish to distribute or repost this story (freely and in its original form) I ask only that you keep my name and e-mail address attached The Server By Alexis S. (ealexissiefert@yahoo.com) "Nice piece, Jonathan. Is she new, or have you had her in storage waiting for tonight?" Thomas' fingers lingered briefly over her taut nipple as he spoke. He gave it a parting tweak as he reached for a cocktail napkin nestled between her bound breasts. Jonathan, tonight's host, chuckled before he responded. "Look closer, Thomas. Take your eyes off her tits and look at her face." Thomas set his highball on the tray resting on her taut belly. He walked to the head of the table to peer more closely at the newest serving dish in his host's collection. There was an angry flush in her cheeks; and, even though her eyes were shut, Thomas figured from the tight way they were clenched that if she were to open them, she'd burn holes in whatever she set her gaze upon. As he stroked his finger over the small scar on her pronounced cheekbone it came to him. "Holy shit, Jonathan! If it weren't for the mark on her cheek, I'd never have recognized her in this position. What's Bailey doing on your table?" "She overextended herself in last week's poker game, then misjudged her ability to bluff. Three sevens to my ace-over-kings full house landed her as you see her. I've got her and her handmaiden for tonight's party and the clean-up tomorrow." "Maura's here also? Where?" Thomas' head swiveled as his eyes searched the room. Thomas put a hand out to calm his friend. "Patience, Thomas. Maura will be out with dessert tonight. Until then, enjoy your drink." The two men stood next to the bar, discussing the inconsequential matters that usually get discussed at such parties. Bailey struggled to relax her tense muscles, knowing that the longer she fought it, the more likely she'd be to spill something. The forced calm gave her a rare opportunity to reflect. Normally at these events she was as busy as the rest of the guests, sampling the offerings, playing with the toys, and doing her best to keep the upper hand in whatever game was being proposed. There were very few dominant women in her social circle, and the men were still adjusting to dealing with her as an equal, not as a piece of property. It was a constant struggle to maintain her position, and tonight wasn't going to help much. Damn. The game last week had started off so well for her. After several hours, she was ahead both in her monetary bets and the "favors" that were so often the staple of the game's side-bets. She had watched her bank build steadily with each hand, and although she lost a few dollars every couple of hands, overall she was sure to come out ahead by several thousand at the end of the evening. Additionally, Michael was terribly deep in debt to her after the last hand ("He really must work on his bluffing skills," she had confided to Jonathan between rounds. "I wonder if he'll ever figure out that we can all read his tell, his habit of scratching the back of his hand when his cards are empty.") Everyone knew that Michael's manservant gave the most perfect deep-tissue massages, and Bailey fully intended to take advantage of them when she cashed in her side-bet chits with Michael. That's the way the favor- bets usually worked, although the guidelines weren't exactly set in stone. Her current situation was really her fault for not specifying when she and Jonathan bet on the outcome of that last hand. In addition to the use of the other's favored slave, Jonathan had suggested "a small service" from each other. Bailey had assumed, wrongfully, that they had both been referring to a professional service, not such a personal one. She was so rarely overconfident in her poker playing. She still couldn't believe that Jonathan had had the other ace. Although she couldn't prove it, and she'd never make a public accusation for fear of appearing a sore loser, she knew that he had been cheating. There's no way he had been dealt both of those aces in that hand. She can count the cards better than that. She shifted slightly; mindful of the tray of drinks balanced on her belly. The bindings were beginning to itch, but Bailey knew that the evening was far from over. She consciously slowed her breathing, trying to match it to the rhythm of the music in the background of the room, Saens' "Aquarium and Fossils" if she wasn't mistaken. A little dark for her taste and not quite appropriate to the party's Valentine theme, but it was typical of Jonathan to take the unexpected route when creating the setting for his gatherings. She sighed and took stock of her position trying to figure a way to use it to her advantage. She was lying, naked, on her back. Fortunately, Jonathan seemed to be slightly cold natured (which, Bailey couldn't help but think, went perfectly with his reptilian personality), so the house was always kept a bit on the warm side, and the polished mahogany surface of Jonathan's wet bar wasn't overly uncomfortable under her back. In keeping with the February theme of tonight's gathering her bindings were red velvet sashes, deceptively strong despite their cushy appearance. Her ankles were wrapped several times in the velvet ropes then lashed to her thighs, forcing her knees to bend up and spread slightly. Red velvet circled her wrists as well, which were then bound tightly to her ankles and thighs, and a wide velvet band was strapped across her forehead and secured to a ring beneath the bar's overhanging ledge. The effect was similar to being hog-tied, effectively immobilizing her without appearing crude. Her bindings and display were enough to make her burn with embarrassment, however Jonathan had apparently decided to take full advantage of his one- night dominance over her. Earlier in the afternoon, as he finished securing her to the bar top, Jonathan handed a tube of K-Y and instructed his housemaid to "be generous but not necessarily gentle." It wasn't until the maid began pushing her gelled fingers into Bailey's pussy that Bailey had her first inkling she wasn't going to be merely "displayed" at the party tonight. Bailey had bit her cheek hard as the maid twisted her fingers roughly between Bailey's nether lips, spreading them and opening her pussy wider than any cock had previously stretched her. Although she stifled her small wimpers as much as possible, the glint in the maid's eyes told Bailey how much the servant was enjoying Bailey's predicament. It was a rare occasion indeed that one of the slaves had this type of opportunity. Between her spread thighs Jonathan had placed a tall, thin metal container. At first glance it appeared to be a scaled-down champagne ice bucket, rounded at the bottom with a slight lip at top. Her first verbal protests, the one that earned her the leather-covered bit between her teeth, had come when Jonathan began pushing the rounded end of the container between her legs, into her dilated pussy. He didn't stop until the metal was resting against her cervix and the lip of the container was pressed firmly against her swollen pussy lips. He had then unceremoniously dropped a handful of swizzle sticks and stirring straws into the container. Jonathan moved to her breasts. Even to his overly-critical eye they were perfect. Large, but not unnaturally so. Just over a c-cup, he had figured. With a wide strip of velvet he bound them up, almost together. He laughed slightly at her discomfort when he swiped her nipples with an ice cube. "Must keep up their appearance, Bailey dear. After all, everyone knows that my home is always perfectly furnished and accessorized." Between her bound breasts he had placed a stack of linen cocktail napkins, using her perfect tits like pale bookends to hold the cloth squares upright. Over her flat tummy he had draped a small felt cloth--to protect his silver from the oils in her skin. "And," he had explained, "it will help keep the tray from slipping. However, dear, you might wish to keep your abs tight tonight. Wouldn't want the guests' drinks to drop, now would we?" Had she not been so effectively gagged by the bit, she would have told him exactly what he could do with his guests' drinks. Unfortunately, the best she could do was mumble a few incoherent obscenities at him as he rested the silver serving tray on her stomach. On the tray he had placed several crystal wine and drink glasses. His maid had then braided her long, midnight black hair into a rope, doubling it into a loop and securing it to her head with wide hairpins. From this convenient handle, Jonathan had hung various implements for the bar; primarily a couple of sets of ice tongs and a sharp ice-pick for his guests who preferred their ice shaved fresh off the block rather than processed into cubes by the freezer. He stepped back to inspect his handiwork. "Bailey, darling, tonight is sure to be a success. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you've made yourself available for me. Oh, I realize that this isn't what you had in mind when I requested your appearance at my home tonight, but we must be gentlemen--err, gentlepeople--about honoring our bets, mustn't we? Now, just a few more hours and this will all be over and we can go back to the way we were." For some reason, Bailey doubted that things would ever go back to the way they were. Certainly, she would return to her rightful position in the group, and her status as a dominant would never be openly questioned. After all, a bet is a bet. There's not a one of them who wouldn't take full advantage of the others given half a chance. That's what makes their association with each other so exciting and fulfilling. However, after tonight's gathering, Bailey suspected that the men in the group would always look at her in a slightly different manner. Not a one had previously been granted the right to touch her perfect skin, to enjoy her perfect body so completely exposed. Although none of the "guests" would be permitted to do anything more than fondle her bound tits and "accidentally" brush her clit, she felt as exposed and vulnerable as the playthings Jonathan always has available for general use during these parties. The slight splash of cold vodka on her ribs brought her thoughts back to the party. She opened her eyes slightly and took stock of the party now in full- swing around her. Thomas was still standing next to her, his back turned slightly. He had rested his hand absent-mindedly on her breast as he talked to their host. The two men were making arrangements for Thomas' later use of her handmaiden, Maura. Bailey sighed again and began to envision the set-up for next week's poker game. This time, she was going to ensure she could keep a better eye on Jonathan's dealing. After all, if she was going to make up the ground she'd lose with the group tonight, she had a bet to win. <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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