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From: danawilliams7979@yahoo.com (DW)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 5 Jan 2002 22:04:55 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} My Berlin Summer, Chapter 3 (MF/F, bd, nc, slavery)
Date: Sat,  5 Jan 2002 20:10:04 -0500
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This is the third chapter in a story about an American college student
who gets in over her head during a summer abroad.  The basic themes
are slavery, domination, humiliation, etc., with something of an
action theme (not yet apparent) and relatively less sex than most such
stories.  The influences will be obvious to many.  Earlier chapters
were posted to alt.sex.stories, alt.sex.stories.bondage, and
alt.sex.stores.moderated.

This is my first story, so please send feedback to
danawilliams7979@yahoo.com.  Thank you to those readers who have
already sent me messages.  My apologies to those whose expectations
for the story's development will not be met.

Please feel free to save and distribute copies as you wish, so long as
you maintain proper attribution.

***

My Berlin Summer
by Dana Williams

Chapter 3:  The Party
I awoke with the late-morning sun streaming into my windows, my sheets
damp with sweat.  My body was still tired and sore from the exertions
of the previous night, but I felt strangely refreshed.  I wondered how
I would deal with the consequences of my actions the night before -
how I would face the friends who had forced me to kneel at their feet
and seen me lick the boots of my mistress - but the light of the new
day gave me the optimism that everything would be better.  I
stretched, running my hands over thighs and belly and breasts,
luxuriating in the feel of my body.  I knew I had sexual needs whose
depths I had never before suspected, but that gave me a curious
feeling of pleasure and satisfaction, knowing I could indulge those
needs when I chose.

Then my fingers encountered the band of steel locked around my neck,
and I remembered that neither Cristina nor Stefan had ever removed my
collar.  The weight of the inflexible collar, which I had grown so
accustomed to the night before, felt strange and frightening in the
light of day and the softness of my bed.  I put my hands to the collar
and tried to pull it open, to no avail.  I felt carefully around the
outside and inside of the collar for a latch, but found only a narrow
seam with a small keyhole next to it.  I jumped up and ran to look in
the bathroom mirror.  To my dismay, I saw that it was securely,
immovably locked on me.  I made a few efforts to pick the lock with a
hairpin, but failed miserably in my attempts.  My heart began to race.
 How could I go out with the symbol of my submission locked about my
neck for all to see?  What did it mean that they had left the collar
on me?  Would I ever be free of it?  But then I began to calm down. 
Of course it had been a simple oversight.  Cristina had amused herself
with treating me as a slave at the club, but she could not possibly
want to be bothered with a slave all the time.  I would just call her,
ask her to come over to unlock the collar, and everything would be as
before.

Happy with my self-reassurances, I turned on the water and  stepped
into the shower.  Luxuriating in the hot water, I considered my body
in a new light.  I had always thought myself pretty, but had never
given serious thought to how men - or women - might evaluate my naked
body as a source of sexual pleasure.  I smiled.  It might have been my
first time, but I was sure that at least some men had found me of
interest as a sexual object.  I was still deeply humiliated by
Stefan's outright refusal to take advantage of my shamelessly offered
charms, but surely few men could have turned down the opportunity I
had presented.  I supposed I was lucky that he was one of them.  I
wondered how I would feel now if I had truly been help from behind and
brutally, forcibly taken, perhaps over and over, of if I had felt and
tasted the seed of multiple men on my tongue.

I turned off the water, toweled myself off, and picked up the phone to
call Cristina.  Suddenly I was overcome with doubt.  What would she
say to me?  Would she still treat me as her slave and demand my
unquestioning obedience?  Had she lost all respect for me?  Could she
only see me as the soft, helpless, willing slut I had played last
night?

But there was nothing else to do, short of calling locksmith to pick
the lock on my collar.  I dialed her number and waited, not breathing.
 She picked up the phone.  "Hallo?"

"Hi, Cristina, this is Jenny."

"Oh, hi, Jenny," she said enthusiastically, "how are you feeling
today?"

"Great," I said, not sure how she would take that.  "I mean, last
night was quite an experience."

"You really seemed to be enjoying yourself," Cristina asked
innocently.

I wasn't sure how I should answer that one - I couldn't deny it, but I
needed to appear the confident, free-spirited person I tried to be.  I
settled on "Yes, it was very interesting to play that role.  Thanks
for letting me try it out."

"You seemed to take to it very naturally," she answered.  "Stefan said
you took it very seriously."

So she knew.  She seemed to be giving me the benefit of the doubt, at
least.  I decided to drop the subject.

"Anyway, you forgot to give Stefan the key to my collar.  Can you come
over here and unlock it for me?  It's a little embarrassing," I said. 
Now that was an understatement.  Less than a visible sign that
actually would not have been terribly remarkable in certain districts
of Berlin, it was more a constant reminder of the slave girl who had
so comfortably inhabited my body the night before, and who lay just
below the surface of my current demeanor.

"Well, I'm terribly busy today, and I don't really have time to come
over to your neighborhood," Cristina said.  "Why don't you meet me on
my way?" she asked.  "I'm going to be in Prenzlauer Berg around
lunchtime and we can meet at the caf .  Say at 1:30."

"OK," I said, not wanting to admit my embarrassment.  "I'll see you
then."

"Great," she answered.  "See you."

I spent the next couple hours puttering around my apartment, trying
unsuccessfully not to think about my upcoming encounter with Cristina.
 Our relationship had seemed quite normal during the call, except for
the scarcely-hidden implications of her casual remarks.  Did she think
I was a natural slave?  What did she think of the fact that I had
shamelessly offered my body to Stefan, pleading on my knees like a
slut?  I imagined her forcing me to strip off my clothes at an outdoor
table and kneel at her feet, occupying my tongue with the work of
cleaning the dust off her boots.  But I knew I had no choice.  I would
have to confront her at some point.

I decided to dress in as un-slave-like a fashion as possible.  I put
on jeans, a T-shirt from a 10K I had run a few months before, and a
UCLA sweatshirt, wrapped a dark silk scarf as best I could around the
steel collar, and pulled my hair back into a ponytail.  I wore no
makeup at all.  Looking in the mirror, apart from the somewhat
incongruous silk scarf, I saw a completely normal, well-adjusted
college student.  Steeling my resolve, I left the apartment and got on
the U-bahn for Prenzlauer Berg.

When I got to the caf , Cristina was already seated at an outdoor
table, casually sipping a cappuccino and looking over what looked like
photographs.  As I approached, she put them back in a large envelope,
rose, and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.  "Hello, my little
slave," she said with a wink and a smile, as if it were all pleasant
joke among friends.

"Hello, mistress," I tried to say with the same casual air.  She
indicated a seat to me and I took it.

"I had a really good time last night," Cristina began.  "I trust you
did, too?"

I responded with the line I had worked on in the subway on the way
over.  "Yes, I did.  I've always liked trying new things, and this was
definitely new.  I'm not sure I would do it again, but I'm glad I did
it."

"I think you liked it a bit more than that," Cristina said with a
knowing smile.  "I'm not sure I've ever seen a girl as heated as you
were bound to that table.  Although that was probably nothing compared
to when Stefan took you home."  There was silence.  Luckily, Cristina
changed the subject.  "Hey, look at these," she said, pushing the
envelope toward me.

I opened it and pulled out a small stack of black-and-white 8x10
photos.  I gasped.  There I was, wearing the slave's clothing that
Cristina had given me to ward, licking the boots of doorman on a
public street.  Then I was kneeling at the table where Cristina and
her friends were happily chatting, my head down, my knees spread. 
Then I was bent over and bound to that leather table, my body
completely exposed to the camera.  Then I was seen from the front, my
lips wrapped around the whip handle that Cristina was thrusting deep
into my mouth.

I looked up.  "Where did you get these?" I asked.

"Oh, the guy who runs the club is a friend of mine.  He usually has a
photographer take a few pictures of the star attractions.  You should
be happy.  He clearly thought you were one of the hottest girls there
last night."  I couldn't speak, too shocked by the idea that last
night's adventure in submission had been recorded for posterity. 
"You're really quite beautiful as a slave," Cristina said, smiling
again.  "Much more than in those heavy clothes and silly ponytail."

"What are you going to do with the pictures?" I asked, as a new
fantasy rapidly unfolded in my head, in which I was blackmailed into
becoming Cristina's personal slave, or perhaps the property of the
club itself, constantly available to any of its guests.  I had reached
the point where I had been tied again to that same table, but now was
being used repeatedly by one man after another when Cristina
interrupted my horrifying yet fascinating reverie.

"They're for you," she said.  "I thought you might want them as ... as
a souvenir."

"But what about the negatives?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Cristina said dismissively.  "My friend
is extremely discreet.  The last thing he wants is a reputation of
exploiting the people who pay his cover charges and buy his drinks. 
If he put those pictures up on the Internet, people would stop going
to his parties."

That felt like a rather paltry measure of security to me, but I
decided there was little I could do about it.  For all I knew, he had
a right to take the pictures, as I had freely entered his club dressed
the way I did, and had freely engaged in the activities I was now
shocked to contemplate in images.  "Thanks, I guess," I said.  "By the
way, " I continued as casually as I could, "did you bring the key for
my collar?"

"Yes, I did," she answered, "but there's one favor I'd like to ask in
exchange."

"What is it?" I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer.

"I've been invited to a dinner party on Tuesday, and I wanted to know
if you would go as my date?"

"As your date?"

"Well, actually, each person has to bring a slave."  The words struck
deep into my heart and body.  I could feel warmth beginning to simmer
between my thighs.  "You would just have to act like a slave, just
like last night," she continued reassuringly.  "Everyone will know you
aren't really a slave."

I thought for a moment about what that could mean.  Were there really
women - and men - who were truly slaves, fully owned, compelled to
utter obedience to their masters, open and available to any of their
whims or desires?  Or did she only mean that there were people who had
more experience playing the role of slaves, who perhaps would
surrender themselves unconditionally for the span of an evening?

In any case, I could tell from the heat in my belly that I was clearly
interested, but I did not want to let on to Cristina the extent of my
desire.  "Would I have to go completely naked?" I asked, trying to buy
time.

"Not if you don't want to," Cristina answered.  "I'm sure what you
wore last night would be appropriate."

"What kind of service would I have to provide?  Would I have to sleep
with anyone?"

"That depends on what you want, Jenny," my friend said seriously.  She
waited.  "What do you want?"

"Well ... I might want to in some circumstances" - I could hardly deny
that, since she knew all about my attempts to interest Stefan - "but
I'm not sure I like the idea of being forced to please anyone who
wants me."

"You won't have to do anything you don't want to," Cristina promised. 
"If you want to call it off, just say so and I'll take you home."

"OK, then, I guess I'll try it.  But only because it's you," I said,
trying to sound less excited than I was.

Cristina smiled.  "I knew you'd agree.  You'll have lots of fun."

"Now will you take of this collar?" I reminded her.

"Of course."  She got up and stood behind me.  "Bend forward and hold
your hair out of the way."  I obeyed, realizing the submissiveness of
this posture, even here at a sidewalk caf  table, baring my neck
before Cristina.  She pulled off the scarf, exposing the steel collar
to public view.  I felt a bolt click and then the soft breeze on the
back of my neck as she lifted the collar away.

"Thank you," I whispered, finally free of that most compelling symbol
of my bondage.

"Any time," Cristina answered.  "Why don't I just give you the key, so
that doesn't happen again," she said.  I looked at her, wondering what
she meant.  "Well, it's your collar now," she explained.  "You can
take it home and put it on whenever the urge takes you."

The urge?  Did she realize the depth of attraction that collar held
for me?  "Well, ok," I said.

"It's settled, then," Cristina said, gathering up her things.  "I'll
pick you up at your place on Tuesday around 6:30."

"What should I, uh, wear?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said.  Seeing the shock on my face, she said, "No, I
don't mean you should go nude.  Just don't worry about it.  I'll bring
you something ... suitable."  I wondered if that meant I would be
granted more or less modesty than I had enjoyed the night before, when
my most feminine secrets had been clearly on view and open to all.  I
wondered if it were possible to be more naked yet not completely nude.
 But I would be going to this party as a slave girl.  I slave has no
control over what, if anything, she is allowed to wear.  She must
simply abide by her master's will, even if that means displaying her
charms openly to all comers.  That is the least a slave must expect.

"OK, see you then," I managed to say.  Clutching the collar in my
hand, I began to retrace my journey to my apartment.


The next few days went by in a blur.  I could think about nothing
except the party to which I would be going and, I suspected, at which
I would be a considerable part of the entertainment.  I was afraid to
see Cristina or any of the friends who had seen me at the club, for
fear of how they might treat me.  I found myself constantly wondering
what other people, particularly men, thought of me.  Did they find me
attractive?  Would they like to have me kneeling naked at their feet? 
If I begged them to rape me, would they do so?

When Tuesday came, I felt almost sick with nervous anticipation.  Last
time Cristina had exposed me in public, virtually naked, forced me to
kneel before and lick her feet, bound me bent over a table - in short,
had treated me as a slave.  What would she demand of me tonight?  I
assumed she command at least as much, and probably more.  I expected I
would find myself completely nude before strangers, my charms open and
exposed.  But would I be compelled to serve them with my body,
surrendering the last vestige of my freedom, my soft flesh a mere
vessel for their pleasure?  And if I were so commanded, would I obey? 
I spent much of the day trying to decide how I would respond.  On the
one hand, I was deeply, viscerally attracted to the thought of being
used as a helpless sexual plaything, taken casually in multiple ways
by strong masters intent only on their own pleasure.  On the other
hand, I was frightened to fully admit my inner nature to the world, to
Cristina, and even to myself.  At the time, I thought that it was
still possible to turn my back on this new world, to return to the
person I had been just a week before; but I sensed that if I truly
surrendered my body, I would be crossing an line of significance,
searing a mark in my body that would be impossible to erase.  Then, I
sensed, I would truly be a slave, for there would remain nothing to
separate me from that condition of complete bondage and sexual
servitude.  What I failed to realize was that I was already a slave,
that there could be no turning back.

At the time, I told myself that I would not let masters have complete
sway over my body, that I would protect my last and most intimate
assets from their attentions.  But I could not be sure that I would
comply with that decision.

A few minutes after 6:30, just when I was beginning to wonder if
Cristina found me sufficiently pleasing, I heard a knock on the door. 
I opened it, and there she was, wearing an elegant black dress and
high heels.  "Hi, Cristina," I started to say when she interrupted me.

"Shouldn't you be on your knees, slut?" she said coldly.

I swallowed my excuses and lowered myself to my knees.  I spread them
widely, even though I was wearing jeans.  I looked up at my mistress,
already feeling the now-familiar stirring between my legs.  "Yes,
mistress," I said.  "I'm sorry, mistress."

She brushed her hand in through my hair.  "That's ok, Jenny," she
said.  "You have a lot to learn, but you show great potential."  I
wondered what she meant by that.  "Well, my car's waiting, so let's
get you dressed and let's get out of here."

She opened her bag and pulled out two bands of dark blue cloth.  "This
one goes around your breasts, and the other goes around your hips,"
she said matter-of-factly.  "You tuck the loose end in back."  I
looked at the cloth.  At least it was opaque this time, I thought. 
"You can use the bathroom," she said, smiling.

I rose to my feet, took the clothes, and went into the bathroom. 
Well, I should have known it would be something like this.  I took off
my clothes and looked in the mirror.  There was really nothing there
that hadn't been on display to hundreds of people last week.  I
wondered how long it would be before those full breasts and soft hips
would again be exposed to view.  I wondered if this evening's dinner
guests would find them satisfactory.  I hope they would.

Each band of cloth was long enough to wrap around my body almost
twice.  The one for my hips was about six inches wide, allowing me to
cover the area from the tops of my hip bones down to a couple inches
below my crotch.  I started it at my left hip, and wrapped it in front
of my body twice before tucking it as tightly as I could in back.  I
simple tug, I knew, and it would be around my ankles, baring my charms
to view.  I wrapped the top, which was only about four inches wide,
around my breasts twice and, after a bit of a struggle, managed to
tuck it in as well.  I looked at myself again in the mirror.  Most of
my breasts were visible above and below the cloth, their curves
clearly delineated.  My hips were more or less covered, but I knew if
I were to bend over that my modesty would be entirely compromised. 
Just as last time, my garment was open at the bottom; there was not
even the flimsiest shield of cloth to stand between me and a master's
predations.  I supposed that was as it should be.  A slave girl should
always be open and available for use.

I walked out of the bathroom, stopped in front of Cristina, and knelt
as she had taught me, my knees widely spread, my breasts lifted up and
forward for her inspection.  I lifted my eyes to her, hoping for a
favorable reception.  She looked down at me and smiled.

"You look marvelous, my dear.  Any man who sees you will be tempted to
tear off your clothes and take you on the spot."

I shuddered, thinking about how dangerous it would be to be a
beautiful slave.  In my ordinary life I could usually protect myself
from the demands of men who might desire my body.  As a slave,
however, I would be at risk of forcible usage by any man or woman who
cared to possess me.  I would simply have to comply with his or her
wishes, fully and submissively.

"Down on all fours," Cristina ordered, pulling her riding crop from
her belt for emphasis.  Terrified, wondering what I had done, I
lowered myself to hands and knees, my hair falling over my face. 
"Now, crawl away from me to the other side of the room and turn
around."  I did so, my breasts swaying gently under me.  I turned and
faced her.  "Now get down on your belly and clasp your hands behind
your back."  I obeyed, my breasts now pressed against the hard floor,
my head lifted off the ground to see her.  "Very good," Cristina said.
 "Now crawl back to me on your belly and kiss my feet."  Why was she
doing this to me?  What was she putting me through my paces like a
trained animal?  Tears in my eyes, I began to inch across the floor on
my belly.  "Hurry up, slut!" she shouted, and snapped the crop in the
air.  I redoubled my efforts, squirming towards my mistress's feet,
utterly humiliated.  When I reached her, I began licking and kissing
frantically at her shoes, hoping through sufficient passion to
convince her of my sincere obedience.  I felt the end of the crop
tracing lazy circles across my back and moaned softly.

"You may desist, slave," Cristina said.  I tried to look up at her. 
"Kneel as you were before."  I obeyed.  She pressed her crop to my
lips and I kissed it fervently.  "That was a test of your obedience
and docility," she said.  She paused.  "You passed with flying colors.
 You clearly have the makings of a truly submissive slave."  I blushed
deeply.  Not only had I obeyed her least command instantly, but in the
process I had actually become aroused.  Just crawling across the
floor, licking my mistress's shoes, and kissing her whip had left me
weak with desire.  I wondered if Cristina could sense my piteous
state.

Cristina reached down and snapped the end of a chain leash on the ring
on my collar.  "Now we're ready to go," she said.  She picked up my
keys from the kitchen counter and led the way out of the apartment,
locking the door behind her.  I followed her down the stairs and out
the door to her waiting car.  Groups of people turned and stared as
the collared and leashed slave girl followed her mistress into the
limousine, her scanty clothing hardly concealing the delights of her
body.  Instead of sitting on the seat, I instinctively knelt before my
mistress, my knees spread, awaiting her command.  She smiled.  I
expected her to draw my head toward her and command me to serve her. 
Now was the moment when I would begin to pay the ultimate price of my
slavery, when I would begin learn how to satisfy my mistress's every
pleasure.  But instead, she reached down to adjust my clothes,
revealing even more of my breasts and hips, accentuating my figure
even further.  "Yes, you make a wonderful slave," she said softly, her
hands caressing my naked flanks.  "It will be a pleasure to finally
take you."  My heart fluttered in anticipation.

Eventually the car stopped.  The driver opened the door and Cristina
stepped out, her slave trailing behind.  We were in the large,
circular driveway of what looked like late-nineteenth-century mansion.
 Cristina turned to me.  "Remember, you are a slave here.  If anyone
says anything to you, you obey immediately.  Anything less will be
punished."  She paused.  "If anything goes beyond your limits, let me
know and I'll take you home.  OK?"

"Yes, mistress," I said.

Satisfied, she walked up the steps to the front door.  I followed, my
heart beating furiously.  What lay beyond that door?

Cristina rang the doorbell and the door opened almost instantly. 
Inside was a young, beautiful, red-haired woman, wearing a low-cut,
short-skirted, black sheath dress - and a metal collar.  I felt a lump
in my throat.  Was she truly a slave, or was she just playing a role? 
Was there a difference?  She knelt gracefully, her knees widely
spread, lowered her head to the floor before Cristina, and
straightened up again.  "Thank you for coming, mistress," she said. 
"My master asks you to join him in the library."

"Thank you, Sonja," Cristina said.  "Can you take this slut and make
her useful?" she said, indicating me.  "Her name is Jenny, and she has
almost no experience.  You may treat her as you would your own slave."
 I began to feel afraid.  With Cristina I felt some reassurance, but I
had no idea what this woman might demand from me.  Of course, being
given or loaned to another master is something a slave girl must be
prepared for and accept.  It is part of what it means to be a slave.

"Of course, mistress," the kneeling slave said - with what I thought
was a hint of a smile.  "I'll take care of her as if she were my own."

Cristina turned to me and said, "Remember to obey her - and anyone
else - immediately and absolutely.  You only exist to serve and please
them."

"Yes, mistress," I said, and she handed my leash to Sonja and walked
away through the archway to our left.

Sonja stood up gracefully and gave me a hard look.  "Why aren't you
kneeling, slut?" she said.

I began to stammer a reply, swallowed it, and knelt in front of her
submissively.  After a moment's hesitation, I opened my knees widely,
adopting the position that now seemed so natural to me.  Hoping to
appease her, I pulled back my shoulders and thrust my breasts up and
forward.  I hoped she liked what she saw.

"That's better, slut," she said.  "Follow me and we'll put you to
work.  But don't rise from your knees - a slut like you looks better
on all fours."  I padded along behind her on hands and knees as she
led the way through the opulently arrayed dining room and into the
kitchen, wondering what kind of "work" awaited me.  If Sonja really
was a slave and compelled to serve her master's pleasure all day,
would she not seize the opportunity to abuse a slave girl of her own? 
So it was with some surprise that I found myself set to menial kitchen
tasks - peeling vegetables, slicing bread, cleaning dishes.  As Sonja
ordered me about, I found myself, surprisingly, becoming mildly
aroused.  So slavery was not just about being stripped naked, thrown
to the ground, and raped as I had fantasized - it was also about
cooking and cleaning, attending to every wish a master might have.

Twice more the doorbell rang.  Each time Sonja answered the door and
came back with another exquisite, scantily dressed woman, collared,
presumably another slave girl.  One, a tall, statuesque blonde wearing
a translucent white minidress, was named Eva; the other, a half-Asian
with black hair and deep green eyes, wearing a black lace bra and
panties, was named Melissa.  I was introduced as Jenny, the "new
American slut."  As Cristina had warned me, I addressed them as
Mistress, which seemed to amuse them.

They seemed to know each other well, and chatted as they worked in the
kitchen.  I could not make out everything they were saying, but the
more I listened, the more certain I was that they truly lived as
slaves, as they discussed their masters and the services they rendered
to them, seemingly proud of the indignities they were forced to
endure.

At a pause in the conversation, I turned to Sonja and said, "Mistress,
may I ask a question?"

"Go ahead, slut," she answered.

"Are you all really ... slaves?" I managed to say.

"Yes, of course we are," said Sonja.  "As are you, no doubt."

"I mean, do you really belong to masters, all the time, and do you do
whatever they ask?"

"Well, we don't do everything they ask, but generally we keep them
happy enough," she answered.  "But I thought Cristina said you were
her slave."

"I'm not really her slave ... at least not all the time," I said. 
"Only sometimes."

"You're not really a slave, then?" Eva asked.  "You dress like that
and wear a collar for fun?"

"Um ... it's sort of like that," I said.

Sonja laughed.  "You're a slave girl, all right, if I've ever seen
one.  I saw the way you spread your knees before me."  She put her
hands on my shoulders and pushed down, guiding me to my knees.  I
opened them once again.  "Now bend down and get your lovely mouth to
work licking my feet," she said.  Numbly, I obeyed, secretly thrilled
to be lavishing my attentions on the feet of a lowly slave girl.  I
could hear the other women laughing.  "Later we'll find out how good
she really is," I heard Sonja saying to them.

"OK, slut, you can stop now," Sonja said.  I knelt back on my heels
and looked up at her, my knees still widely spread.  "Get back to
work."  I obeyed silently, wondering what kind of girl I really was. 
Was there really anything that separated me from these three enslaved
beauties, so at ease in their collars?  I expected I would soon find
out.

At dinner there were three men and Cristina.  It was our job to serve
dinner, to wait on our masters, to attend their every need or desire. 
When not engaged in serving, I followed the example of the other girls
and knelt on the floor to the left of Cristina's chair, my knees open
and my back straight as I had been taught.  Occasionally she would ask
me for more water or wine, which I would fetch from the sideboard and
pour for her.  From time to time she would give me morsels of food,
which I would eat either from her fork or in her hand, not allowed the
use of my hands.  She fed me as one would feed an animal.  The dinner
conversation went quickly and, while I could not understand much of
it, I could make out a number of subjects - politics, Berlin opera
houses, the quality of the wine, and ... slaves.  The men were openly
discussing the qualities of their slaves, even to the nature of the
intimate services they were capable of performing.  A slave was
clearly permitted not even a shred of privacy.  Then, with shock, I
realized Cristina was talking about me - about the time at the part
when Claudette had tested my arousal, and about my offering my body to
Stefan when he took me home that night.  I lowered my head, mortified.
 Then they all knew how wantonly I had begged to be used, and as a
slave.  Surely they would demand at least that from me tonight.

Kneeling by my mistress's chair, dinner seemed to drag on
interminably.  All I could think about was what indignities I would
suffer once the meal had ended.  At one point, one of the men at the
table made a brief motion to Melissa, kneeling at his left.  To my
shock, she immediately crawled under the table and positioned herself
in front his seat, kneeling between his legs.  Although my view was
obstructed, her soft moans helped me imagine only too clearly the
service she was rendering to him.  He continued to eat, drink, and
converse normally - except for one moment when he leaned back, closed
his eyes, and sighed deeply.  A few seconds later Melissa emerged from
under the table and resumed her position next to his chair, smiling
and licking her lips.  He put his hand in her hair and petted her
casually.  All my fantasies about sexual slavery had not prepared me
for what I had just witnessed.  I realized that we slaves seated
around the table were no more than the food and drink arrayed atop it
- objects available to serve the pleasures and desires of the masters
seated at the table.  Making use of a slave was no more significant
than drinking a glass of wine.  And I was one of those slaves.

When dinner was over, we cleared the table.  Melissa and I washed the
dishes while Sonja and Eva served coffee and desserts to the masters
in the living room.  When we finished with the dishes and joined the
others, the masters were beginning to play a game of poker, their
slave once again kneeling at their feet, expectant and available. 
Sonja explained the rules to me.  Each person had individually marked
chips.  When one player had accumulated a certain number of another
player's chips, he could "cash them in" for a service ... to be
rendered by the other player's slave.  The number of chips returned
would depend on the service demanded.

"What kinds of services?" I whispered.

She smiled at me.  "Oh, anything ... it could range from a little lap
dance, to being thrown over a table and raped by everyone in the room.
 It just depends on how badly your master loses," she laughed.

I knew Cristina had given me a way out if things got too rough for me,
but I hoped I wouldn't have to use it.

The hands went quickly, as they were playing a form of the game I knew
as "guts" - two cards, no draw, only one round of bidding.  And as
chips changed hand, debts started to be collected.  Eva was kneeling
under the table, sucking one man's toes; Sonja did a brief striptease
and resumed her position next to her master's chair, nude save for her
collar; and then it was my turn.

"Has she ever kissed another woman?" I heard a man asking.  

Cristina looked at me.  "No, mistress," I whispered.

The next thing I knew, I was locked in a kiss with Melissa, her tongue
exploring every corner of my mouth, her hands running possessively
over my breasts, back, and hips.  When she finally released me from
her embrace, my heart was pounding, my mind racing.  I had never
experienced a kiss like that - so deeply sensual, so passionate, so
demanding.  And Melissa was only another slave ...  I was afraid to
find out what it would be like to be kissed by a master.

"How was she?" I heard the same man ask.

Melissa looked straight at me.  "Hot and wet," she said, smiling.  "I
think she wants more."  Everyone at the table laughed, masters and
slaves alike.  I lowered my head, blushing.

Cristina seemed to be playing recklessly, staying in almost every hand
even with poor cards.  I wondered if she was consciously trying to
test my limits tonight.  "I'd like to see her naked," another man said
the next time.  Cristina looked at me, her eyebrow raised.  I nodded
my head numbly.

"Well, get on with it," Cristina ordered.  I rose to my feet, stood as
straight as I could, untucked the cloth behind my back, and let it
drop to the floor.  I stood bare-chested before a room full of virtual
strangers.  My eyes still on the floor, I reached behind my hips and
unwrapped my final veil.  I hesitated and looked at Cristina.  Her
eyes were hard.  I lowered my head and dropped the cloth to the floor.
 Now I wore nothing more than my collar, a naked slave at the mercy of
her masters.  Conscious of their gazes on me, I sucked in my stomach,
pulled back my shoulders, and pushed my chest forward.  I hoped they
liked the naked body they saw before them.  No doubt they were
speculating about what uses they would put it to later that evening.

"Turn around slowly, my dear," Cristina said.  I obeyed, displayed
like any decorative object.  "Put your hands in your hair.  Spread
your legs.  Bend over and grasp your ankles.  Now get down on all
fours.  Crawl all the way around the table."  I obeyed her every
command, tears in my eyes at the humiliation.  I could feel my breasts
swaying beneath me as I circumnavigated the table.  My hair was
falling about my face, thankfully preventing me from seeing the
expressions on their faces.  "On your back.  Split your legs and grasp
your ankles."  Now I was completely exposed to them, and as a slave,
unable even to close my legs together.  I could hear them discussing
the details of my figure and anatomy.  Most of what I heard was
complimentary, but some was directed at my shortcomings, which were
clearly apparent in the company of Sonja, Eva, and Melissa.

"OK, you can kneel here again," I heard Cristina say.  I dutifully
crawled back to my position and knelt as I had been taught.  Now
kneeling nude, I was even more conscious of the symbolism of this
position, my charms brazenly exposed to view.

Eva was made to dance nude to an apparently Arabic melody before the
group, her hips and belly swaying sensuously to the music, expressing
her complete submission and availability, promising unlimited depths
of pleasure.  Melissa gave one man a lap dance, nude, caressing his
body passionately with her thighs and breasts.

But Cristina kept losing.  The man who had first made me kiss Melissa
held her chips.  "I think we should give her what Melissa said she
wants."  He paused.  "I want Melissa to pleasure our new guest with
her mouth."

"Well, Jenny, what do you think?" Cristina asked.  This was something
I had never anticipated.  I had expected to be the one kneeling on the
floor, putting my lips and tongue to their most appropriate use - not
to have a lovely slave serving my pleasure.  Perhaps this didn't count
as being raped, since I was the one benefiting - or perhaps it was
just that I had become so aroused already that I desperately wanted
some form of release.

"Yes, mistress," I said.  "I'm willing."

I was laid down on my back over a glass coffee table, my wrists bound
above my head to the far legs of the table.  Melissa knelt between my
legs.  "I'd like to shave the slut first," she said, a wicked gleam in
her eye.  And so, bound over a table, in full view of all assembled,
my most private regions were shaved completely bare, leaving me more
naked than I had thought possible.  And then I felt Melissa's mouth on
me, alternately soft and hard, slow and fast, cool and hot, bringing
me to a state of piteous arousal but never giving my body the release
it needed.  "Please ... please ..." I whimpered after a few minutes,
no longer caring what anyone thought.  I heard laughter and voices,
sounding distant as though at the far end of a long tunnel.

"Look at the slut.  Watch how the arches her back and thrusts her hips
out."

"This is a new slave, Cristina?"

"Where did you find her?"

Then Melissa withdrew, leaving me to my humiliating arousal.  So this
was one of the ways that a slave could please her masters -
entertaining them with her helpless, captive arousal, only to be
cruelly frustrated.  Whether I was satisfied or not mattered not to
them.  My wrists were released from their bonds, and I returned on all
fours to my post next to Cristina's chair, sobbing quietly.  I knew
already that pleasuring myself would be grounds for punishment.  I
could only kneel mutely and hope that the next master to claim my
services would use me in such a way as to permit my own satisfaction.

The stakes were increasing and the end of the game nearing.  One man
amassed large numbers of each person's chips and announced a special
hand to determine which slave he would claim next.  In preparation,
all four slaves knelt with our heads to the floor, our hands clasped
behind our heads, in position to await the outcome.  We heard the
cards being dealt and played to determine which of us would be raped. 
I alternately prayed and dreaded that I would be chosen, torn between
my shreds of dignity and my body's desperate yearning for release.  I
heard the man rise from his chair and come around behind us.  My body
was wet in anticipation, ready to be penetrated and used.  But
instead, it was Eva who was the subject of his attentions.  Not yet
released from my position, I listened to her moans and cries as she
ultimately yielded.  I was thankful that I had not been forced to so
clearly demonstrate my helplessness and submission.  But at the same
time, I was incredibly envious of her rape.

Fortunately or unfortunately for me, Cristina's luck seemed to turn. 
Sonja was commanded to take up her place under the table, serving each
master in turn while they continued to play.  Melissa was thrown on
her back over the coffee table and forcibly used by one of the men,
she also yielding to his powerful thrusts.  I then saw her rise from
the table, kneel before her rapist, and clean him with her mouth.

And then the party was breaking up, the masters having satiated
themselves with the slave flesh available to them.  Cristina indicated
that I should dress myself.  I looked at her, pleading with my eyes. 
Was I not to be raped?  Could she not see my overwhelming need?  But
clearly she could see how aroused I was.  It was her decision, as my
mistress, that I would not be satisfied.

I rearranged the bands of cloth about my breasts and hips.  Cristina
reattached the leash to my collar and, having said her good-byes, led
me out the door and back to her limousine.

Without being asked, I knelt before her and removed the cloth from my
body, stripping myself naked before my mistress.  "Mistress, your
slave begs to please you," I pleaded, tears running down my cheeks. 
"Please let me demonstrate my submission.  Use me any way you want."

Cristina smiled down at me.  "Not now, my dear," she said.  "There
will be plenty of that later."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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