A Special Day In The Life Ch. 10


Almost dinnertime… but not yet

I kneel pretty. Head up high and proud. Smiling and batting my eyelashes at any Mistress who looks at me. Shoulders back even though my wrists are shackled close to my collar. Back straight, Tits out. A coy “Mona Lisa” half-smile on my face when I don’t know if any Mistress is watching or not. I scratch my nose and hope a Mistress didn’t see my slip-up. I wait patiently. A slave has to be patient. Sometimes we’re chained for days in a cell praying someone remembers to feed us. I think of a million things and nothing. That’s what you do besides try to look pretty so you avoid the whip.

Other class 9 girls all kneel chained to table legs like me. I think they all look fabulous and hope I look as good.

I watch the preparations continue but there’s not much more to do now till the Dommes chose to arrive. I see a class 8 girl burdened with like nine or ten bottles of wine. Her serving tray strapped around her waist and held up by chains to nipple rings sags down low, pulling her boobs far down. She has to lean back ever farther than usual to keep from spilling her tray while still walking in ballet boots and her eighteen inch ankle chain. I’m sure she’s sweating bullets praying she doesn’t drop a bottle. She’d be tortured for that for sure. She’s finishing stocking one of the two bars in The Great Hall. Along the two side walls are fully stocked mahogany bars. At each one a grade 7 girl is ankle chained to be the bartender. “Grade 6 girls could carry more on their backs,” I think but I know they’re not allowed in The Great Hall unleashed. I know that no Mistress would want the bother of leading a 6 girl around.

Back before I was enslaved I’d seen photos of regular castles, not Clitoris Alliance castles. Some of them have suits of armor standing up on display in their main hall. We’ve got something like that. Between the pillars along the walls all around the room are what look like suits of armor or metal statues. They’re not. Inside each one is a low slave, locked into the form fitting highly polished steel.

One looks rather like the hood ornament of a Rolls Royce, the famous “Spirit of Ecstacy,” sometimes also called “The Flying Lady.” That steel sculpture has the girl standing leaning way forward, tuzla escort her arms held out straight back, her tits stick straight out and high in front.

Another chrome steel sculpture has a girl inside with her body bent over backwards in an arch, tummy up, just her fingertips and toes on the floor, her pussy thrust high up in the air.

There are others but those are the ones I’ve been in. They all look beautiful from the outside. They all completely enclose a girl except some featured body part. Luckily for us slaves, there are hidden air holes in aesthetically correct places. The girl who’s locked in the “Flying Lady” for example, just her nipples and areolae are not covered. You would have to look hard to find her air holes hidden oddly behind her stylized flowing hair.

The girl bowed like an arch, her twat is exposed. I’ve been in that a few times when i was grade 5. I guess They have to do something with all the grade 5 slaves. It’s really not bad at all. You’re completely supported even if you can’t move a single millimeter. Rather comfy actually, as a slave judges things. Besides, the Dommes do come over to toy with you. Those are popular spots for Them to stand around chatting, sipping Their drinks before dinner starts. When you’re in the arch one you’re frequently used for a bench to sit on and a Domme might idly doodle around fingering you for a while. Nice! Just pray that if you’re the arch, a Mistress doesn’t use your twat for an ashtray!! They can not hear you scream through the steel and the long convoluted air passages, not that They would really care anyway.

Juanita, Samantha, Sarah, and the other grade 8 girls are being herded to different spots around the hall by a Mistress who is the Maîtresse d’ of the feast event, all in leather with a quirt in Her hand. She’s placing girls near the entrance, near the bars, near the steel sculptures. I become nervous. The event must be about to start.

Somewhere in the distance, from a couple different directions, several antique clocks all chime seven o’clock. Very pretty. They all chime in unison. That’s good. Otherwise the slave girl who winds and sets them would be punished for sure. That’s a job a 6 girl might get to do.

My tummy fills with göztepe escort butterflies. I get to serve as a 9 for the first time. “I must be perfect,” I think. I hold my back perfectly straight, I smile pleasantly, spread my knees a bit more, and wait, and wait, we all wait.

They’re never on time. They’re women. They’re dominant women. They secretly control the world. They keep slaves. They do exactly whatever They please and we had better make it work perfectly for Them.

Three Guards come in first. They’re laughing loud and slapping each other on the back, obviously this is a big treat for Them. They head straight for a bar.

Samantha greets them quite nicely I think. “Welcome Mistresses! This slave begs if You require drinks please.”

Another serving tray girl walks toward them with Swedish meatballs and little spring rolls on her tray, various dipping sauces for the rolls.

“BASS ALE!” One Guard shouts with a grin and slaps Sammi’s ass. “DOUBLE SHOT OF FOUR ROSES, UP!” another shouts. “I WANT A SCREAMING ORGASM!” the third Guard shouts. They all laugh uproariously, punching each other’s arms.

I try to hide a smile. Guards are so cute…. except for the cattle prods.

Samantha scurries to the bar. she repeats the order to the ankle chained bartender even though the shouts must have been heard down in the dungeons they were so loud. The bartender places a huge frosty silver stein, a big shot glass, and the murky colored cocktail on Sam’s tray.

The Guards have wandered over to the table to find Their name place cards. They’re below the salt of course but they still have a heavily madeup 9 girl to wait on them. I don’t know the girl but she cheerfully greets Them and licks Their stiletto boots correctly. I approve.

Sam minces over to Them with Their drinks on her tray, her ankle chain jingling on the polished marble floor. Their waitress 9 girl stands to take the drinks off the tray for Them. She must bend over since her wrists are cuffed so close to her collar. She sensuously sways her hips, jiggles her boobs as she serves, her long ankle chain makes small metallic sounds as it slides along the floor following her. One Guard reaches between the waitress’s legs and slides Her finger üsküdar escort along the slave’s slit. “Careful girl! Don’t spill it,” She roars hilariously. They all think that’s the funniest thing in the world. the girl wiggles her rump more and smiles softly, bent way over to place the drinks. “She’s good,” I think.

My eyes dart to the entrance arch. A Domme is arriving. She’s SO elegant i almost cream right there on the floor. She wears the most glamorous cocktail dress I’ve ever seen, but in purple latex and it shines like a mirror. Then more arrive, alone or in pairs. Some of the couples hold hands which I think is lovely.

Each Mistress is greeted by a server girl with her tray, maybe another server with hors d’oeuvres. I hear a lot of cheerful welcomes and begging to fetch drinks from the girls. Only once do I see the Maîtresse d’ lash at a servers butt. The girl had failed to see a Mistress arriving so she deserved it.

Most of the Mistresses look for Their places while servers fetch drinks from the bartenders. No Mistress would even dream of standing in line at a bar. That’s what we slaves are for. No Mistress would consider going through the bother of even reaching for Her drink on a server’s tray. That’s what we 9 girls are for.

Most of the time, we get the drink and kneel, offering it up to the Domme with our hands as high as our chains allow. We must try to place the drink directly in Her hand or exactly where She’s going to want it before She even tells us. We have to just learn to anticipate what a Mistress wants. You DO learn that quickly. It’s life or death to be perfectly servile or thrown over the castle wall, or be bound hand and foot to be fed alive to rats, or locked in an internally spiked iron maiden and forgotten forever, or any one of a gazillion ways They have to tell you you’re not quite what They demand. You DO learn.

I keep my eyes on the entrance. Maybe I’ll be punished for cheating by reading the cards. Maybe They wanted me to know who I’m supposed to serve. I don’t know. But I can hardly wait to see Mistress Carolyn and Mistress Nancy again. They almost killed me, but They didn’t. They must have found me appealing. They must have rated me very high too. They must like me. I find myself getting wet just wanting to see Them, hoping They like me, praying They’ll use me. It’s a slave’s fondest desire to be judged as pleasing. I know that seems weird, but it’s what I am, how I feel. I keep my eyes glued on the entrance arch, waiting, watching intently.

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