Discovery

The door opens, and we are greeted by a beautiful blonde woman in a French maid uniform. Well, that figures. Her hair is in a simple ponytail near the top of her head, her make-up is Goth-inspired but not totally spooky, and while her outfit is undoubtedly sexy and revealing, it still manages to look proper somehow. "Good evening! Welcome to the Manor. Won't you come in?"

We step into the foyer, and she closes the door behind us. It makes a deep thud and a loud click as it shuts, and I try not to imagine that I've just been locked away in some medieval dungeon. I'm only partly successful. She turns and looks at me, "Hello, dear. My name is Nadia. I understood there was a chance you wouldn't be able to make it tonight. That would have been a shame. I'm delighted you could join us." I don't know how to react: I smile, then look down. Did she just make a pass at me? Am I blushing? "Please, walk with me to the main room." We follow, and she keeps talking as we go down the hallway, getting louder to be heard over the music ahead of us. "You've arrived at a good time; things are really getting underway." She's so nice, but then what should I expect from a maid at a pervert party?

The hall opens up to a huge room, almost the size of a conference suite at a hotel. The music is driving and sensual, full of dark energy and layered rhythms, hypnotic. It's loud, but not like at a club. We can still talk, but we don't have to. I guess we are a bit late: the room is full of people, mostly couples like us by the look of it. That is, there's pretty much a 50/50 split of men and women, and everyone's dressed like models for a fetishwear catalogue. Many of the women, and some of the men, are in varying stages of bondage and restraint, and a few are wearing masks. Not to mention, like every exclusive gathering for rich people, pretty much everyone is hot. It's a carnival of perversion with only the finest perverts, what every kinky club wishes it could be. And to think, I hesitated.

After I'm done gaping at the spectacle before me, I look back to my man and our guide. I'm mortified to see that they've been smirking at me the whole time I've been all starry-eyed, like I'm some hick from the sticks. Nadia beams a warm smile at me: "Yes, I know, it's kind of overwhelming the first time you see it, isn't it?" Then before I can answer, my sweetie asks, "So what do you think, darling?"

"What can I say? This is fantastic! It's all so bizarre, and yet I kind of feel like I've come home! I need a drink, then we need to dance."

The blonde has a quick laugh at my reaction, and then says, "OK, well, I guess you two don't need me anymore. The bar is over toward that corner, or you can pick up a glass from one of the... volunteers serving drinks. Talk to me or the bartenders if you need anything else; otherwise, have a great time!" And with that, she heads off into the crowd.

"Wow, sugar, this is... so hard to believe! Who are all these people, and how do you know them?"

"Well, it's not like I know everyone. There's a couple of people here I know through work, and a couple I've been friends with since university, like Nadia."

"Nadia? She went to university, and now she's a maid?"

"Not exactly. She went to university and got an arts degree while her husband was getting his MBA, and now he runs a big securities firm. This is their house."

"Get out! Well, she's a great hostess. What did she mean by..." I imitated her dramatic pause with a grin, "...volunteers, anyway?"

"Ah, well, some of the Kept are required by their masters to serve drinks for a while. It's great fun. I might get you to do it for a bit."

"Taking drink orders doesn't sound like much fun to me, not even for this crowd."

The easy smile he'd been wearing since we arrived drops off his face, and he fixes me with a hard-edged look. "Have you forgotten the rules already? We've only been here five minutes."

"Oh, no, of course not, I was just saying --"

"Don't worry, darling. I don't plan to throw you into something that hardcore on your first night out. We'll save that for another time. Let's go get a drink."

As I walk with him to the bar, I have to wonder what's so hardcore about serving drinks? But then we pass a girl with a drink tray, and it all becomes clear. Her wrists are tied behind her back, and her elbows are pulled in a bit, forcing her to arch her back. Besides the metal collar of her (no, our!) vocation, she's wearing a scary-looking latex collar thing that fits around her whole neck, lifts up her chin, and completely covers her mouth! But the worst thing is the drink tray. It's attached to a belt around her waist, and there are two fine little chains attached to the other end of the tray, running up to two shiny metal clamps on her nipples to hold the tray up. There are four martinis on the tray, and the weight is pulling her nipples out. Not painfully so; they're not too stretched out, but oh my God. I can't help but stare. It looks wonderfully, deliciously awful. Our eyes meet, and I see the discomfort and humiliation of her situation written there. But there's more: she's pushing her breasts out way more than she has to, and the way she's standing there, swaying and squirming, unable to keep still: it's obvious she's incredibly turned on by the way her Keeper has put her on display. She looks so sexy like that, so vulnerable and helpless, anyone here could just reach out and touch her, caress her, fondle her, and she couldn't stop them. Could I do that? Do I look like that with these cuffs on, as alluring as her? Will anyone here stare at me like this?

"Well, darling, do you want a martini or not? She's waiting." My Keeper's voice jolts me out of my reverie, and again I feel like some kid who just fell off the turnip truck. Our 'waitress' shines smiling eyes on me, and then silently urges me to take a drink and lighten the tray. I smile back, regaining my composure, and take the closest one. She gives me a little nod of gratitude, then turns to my man, offering her goods to him by thrusting her chest up and out even further.

He picks up the closest drink, then says, "Oh wait, sorry, I don't want this one," as he sets it back down. But then, while he makes a big show out of looking over the other two drinks, he 'absent-mindedly' pushes down on the tray so her poor nipples are pulled out a bit more. Her body tenses with the pain of the extra tension on her breasts, and her eyes clench shut with the effort to keep standing. Finally, my evil man finds the drink he wants, and he lets go of the tray to grab it, identical in every way to the other two martinis. "That's the one. Thank you!" Even with the music, I can hear her moan her relief from behind her gag. After a moment, she opens her slightly glazed eyes and looks a little disoriented until she meets his gaze. Her face glows as she stares at him for a heartbeat or two, then finally she nods at us, and with careful little steps heads off into the crowd.

We press on, making the rounds. There's so much here to catch the eye, something new demands my attention before I can fully take in the last sight. Like that tall, good-looking boy who looks like he stepped right out of the pages of a Japanese comic book, with his slim build, sharp features and big spiky hair. He's wearing a long black coat with no shirt underneath; it wouldn't work for a lot of guys, but it works for him. We walk past a man in a black military uniform, complete with cap and crop. There's no insignia on it, but there's no mistaking that look: Nazi SS. He looks eerily at home in it, and it suits him entirely too well. When our eyes meet, he gives me an evil grin that makes me more than a little nervous, like he can already picture me in his interrogation room. I clutch on tightly to my man's arm and let him lead me safely away.

My Keeper strikes up a conversation with a woman who stands out in this crowd because her features are actually kind of plain, and she's more full-figured than most of the people here. If I saw her out in the world, I probably wouldn't look twice. But here, she exudes sexiness and power. It's a quality that would be difficult to capture in a photograph, but it's very real in the flesh. It makes her radiant. The outfit certainly helps: a red satin corset over a lacy black shirt, black miniskirt, and thigh high leather boots. And then there's the fact that she has not one, but two pretty little slavegirls at the ends of two chrome leashes, standing before her with their wrists cuffed behind their backs. And I mean slaves: a lot of the other Kept here look like the type who just play these games for fun, when the mood strikes them. But anyone can see in their body language that these two are owned by this woman; they even manage to somehow make themselves seem smaller, even though they're all roughly the same height. They're almost identical, like mirror images of a Gothic wet dream: long, black hair in a Cleopatra cut, white skin, red lips, and dark eyes with an Eye of Horus painted on one's left eye and the other's right. They're each wearing a blood-red, long-sleeved minidress, indecently short, tight above the waist then flaring out at the hips. Shiny red corsets blend in nicely with the dresses, binding their figures into perfect hourglasses, and the obligatory fishnets and heels complete their stunning outfits. They're the first people I've seen here who look as nervous and wound up as me, and we stand together in silent communion, exchanging furtive glances as our Keepers exchange pleasantries, drawn together by the mutual experience of being Kept.

It's too loud here for me to hear what our Keepers are saying, and I'm too busy making eyes at the twins to pay attention anyway, but she catches our attention when she makes an introduction: "These are my new pets, Sasha and Svetlana. It took us forever to get them ready, but I think it was worth the effort, yes?"

She speaks with an accent that must be Russian, and her voice is so deep and rich, it makes each word sound like it's been dipped in chocolate. She should be an opera singer. Maybe she is. I find myself responding to her, drawn to her, and I catch myself actually moving closer. So that's what people mean when they talk about a magnetic personality.

"Absolutely, they look wicked. Don't you think so, darling?"

"Oh yes, they're beautiful." There's more I'd like to say, but I'm still not completely used to the idea that one could just casually refer to people as 'pets' here. Now they're blushing a little, looking even more fetching in their modesty.

"I thank you, and I'm sure my little dvotchkas do too, yes?" The girls shyly nod, not daring to speak, barely able to look up at us. "It was lovely to meet you."

"Yes, likewise. I hope we see you again." He looks at each of the twins as if studying them, then focuses on the one on our left and asks, "This is Sasha, and that's Svetlana, right?"

The mistress gives him an enigmatic smile. "Yes, that one is Sasha." Under this scrutiny Sasha blushes so furiously I can almost feel the warmth of her blood from where I stand, and she even starts to fidget, the poor thing.

"Yes, you've done a wonderful job with them. You should be proud. Come on, sugar, I need another drink."

The other Keeper says goodbye, as eager to keep making the rounds as we are. Once we're away, I ask him, "What was all that about? Why did it matter which one of those girls was which?"

"Do you know any Russian?"

"Besides da, nyet, and vodka, no. Why?"

"Well, darling, in Russian, Sasha is a boy's name, short for Aleksandr."

"No way!" I whip around to try and see them again, but I just catch a flash of metallic red as they're swallowed up by the crowd. "Really? No! Wow, he looked good. Or I guess I should say 'she', right? But, he had curves! Was he taking hormone shots?"

"I don't think so, the facial features were still boyish if you looked hard enough. That dress went right up to his neck; she must have put some kind of padding in it, or had it custom made."

"I guess. Okay, I need another drink too. Let's go."

We have another drink, and we even take some time to dance. But he's not interested in dancing with me for long. "Come over here, sugar. I want to change your handcuffs around." I move closer to him and steal a kiss. He grins at me and unlocks the cuffs, and even lets me rub my wrists for minute.

"You're the best, baby. I can hardly believe you're mine."

"Believe it. Kiss me again."

He laughs. "Yes, ma'am, whatever you say, ma'am!" We share a nice long kiss and I finally have a chance to wrap my arms around him and hold him close. Ah, bliss.

"OK, ready?"

"Yes."

"Good. Turn around, love." Oh oh. I turn my back to him and put my hands behind my back. "Good girl, I didn't even have to ask." He locks a cuff on my left wrist, then leans in to speak softly in my ear, "Do you love me?" I nod, not trusting my voice. He locks the other restraint on my right wrist, and I shiver with the click of the metal. "Do you want me?" Hell yes! I answer him by grabbing for his crotch, and he yelps, then spins me around to face him. We stand pressed together for a while, my Keeper's hands freely roaming over my body, my hands locked behind me. Damn, I really think of him as my 'Keeper'. That didn't take long, did it? In fact, despite how anxious I was before we got here, it seems to me that I've been ready for this for a while now. But there's something that doesn't make sense here. I'm not just some bimbo or pretty arm candy -- I'm an intelligent, accomplished, mature woman! So why am I standing here dressed like a hooker, wearing handcuffs and a collar, and calling my boyfriend my Keeper? And more to the point, why do I love it so much that thinking about what he might do to me next makes me so hot I can barely stand it?

He lifts his head up from kissing my neck, and steps back from me a fraction. I'm surprised at the depth of my disappointment; I guess I thought it would go on forever. But someone's coming our way, and it seems my Keeper knows him.

"Hello, my friend, so glad you could make it!" They shake hands. "And this girl of yours! She's spectacular. Just look at her! Gorgeous." He's about the same age as us, with dark hair and a face better described as 'cute' than 'handsome'. He's talking to my Keeper. He's talking about me. I blush, despite myself.

"Thank you, Martin, thank you. You're too kind as always. But yes, she is lovely, isn't she? Beautiful, sexy and... pliant. A rare treasure."

"Indeed. And how long have you known this dazzling creature?"

"Oh, not that long now, a few months only. I haven't been hiding her from you if that's what you think."

And so on. OK, the compliments are nice, but he's not going to introduce me, and they're talking about me as if I'm not here. Hmm. If we were anywhere else I'd kick his ass for this. But tonight... I should be appalled, but being treated like a sextoy makes me feel sexy. I mean, I wouldn't get to be treated like a slave if they didn't think I was 'dazzling'. I am special and privileged, but I have no rights. How can this be?

"Just look at that skin, it's flawless."

"Yes, pleasing to the eye and wonderful to touch, it's true."

"Well then, if I may..."

Say what? Before I can even think about how to react, Martin puts his hand on my waist, and then runs it down until he grabs my ass. I know I'm supposed to be ready for this, but I jump at his touch just the same.

He talks to my Keeper, but keeps his eyes on mine as he says, "Ah, a little shy, is she?"

"Go easy on her, Martin. I think she's doing very well for her first time out." He looks to me and smiles broadly. "Very well, indeed." I melt in the warmth of his gaze. I can't believe how good it feels to please him.

"Really? Well, yes, I suppose... you startled but you didn't pull away from me; a lesser woman might have. I'm sure you'll improve with time." Why thank you, Martin. Don't be a pompous ass just because you're a Keeper. I am not yours, and I don't need your approval. "It was lovely to meet you. I hope I'll see more of you soon." Not if I have anything to say about it, you won't. Ta-ta!

"So, who was that?" I remember him reminding me about 'the rules' earlier, so I try to keep the distaste I feel for Martin out of my voice.

"Ah, how do I describe Martin? He's a pretty big name in the pervert community; he's one of those guys who knows everybody. He used to run this big house of domination in New Orleans, but Katrina wiped it out. Now he's not sure if he should rebuild or relocate."

"I see." So, he's a pimp? I bite my tongue, and choose my words to say out loud more carefully. "That's too bad. It's hard for me to picture him as part of this crowd. He just doesn't seem the type."

"Well, he's more of a silent partner, working the business end. He likes the people, he likes the parties, and he's basically a good guy, but I don't know how much of all this he really understands. We keep trying to pull him in and make him a part of it. I'm sure some day soon he'll get it."

I don't know what to say to that, so I say nothing. He's a rich guy with connections, sure, but he's still a hanger-on as far as I'm concerned. I just hope my man doesn't think he's going to get my help to try and pull Martin in.

"Darling, come with me." Now that's a tone I like much better: casually taking charge, confident that I will follow. The way he speaks to me sets Martin apart from all the other Keepers. I am Kept, but I am not just property. That's what Martin doesn't get. No one else feels the need to talk down to me or put me in my place. I put myself there, for my Keeper. And for me. I follow him away from the dancefloor to a separate, quieter room, like a den or a library.

At first, I just see a few little knots of people in here, talking and laughing. But as I get closer, it looks like the Keepers are holding court, pretending to socialize when they're really just showing off their pets and trying not to look smug when they provoke envy in their peers.

We approach a little group of people and my man is immediately drawn into a friendly argument about which artist's music is the more sensual, Enigma or Delerium. He sits in an armchair and offers up his opinion, leaving me standing next to him. He says something about Enigma being more sexual than sensual, while Delerium was always more covert, more subtle. By the time he's finished, a few people are nodding their heads sagely at his words, and a few more people are giving me some hungry looks that are anything but subtle. I still feel a slight urge to blush and be demure, but by now it's only from the force of habit. The truth is I love the attention, especially from this crowd. He looks up at me with a big grin, then reaches up and hooks my collar with his index finger. He starts pulling me down to face him, but when I get ready to kneel next to him he says, "No, baby, keep standing, just bend forward." I bow down to him, and he whispers, "You're wonderful, you know that? I am so proud of you." Then he holds my chin in his hand and kisses me, a long deep kiss, and I feel such heat rising in me I'm surprised I'm not glowing. Standing here with my hands tied behind me and my ass up in the air, with everyone staring at me... I want to stop playing now. I want to go and --

"My god, she's lovely." A woman's voice behind me interrupts my thought. My Keeper glances up at her, but he doesn't break off our kiss, thank the stars. "May I?"

He doesn't say anything, but he must have answered her in some way because suddenly I feel long nails scratching their way up the inside of my thigh. Oh God! I nearly fall to my knees from the shock of her touch, but I stay in position, because this is how he wants me. Fingers run up my other thigh, then over my ass, so delicately, so lovingly. My legs start to shake, and a sound I barely recognize escapes my lips. More hands join in now, soon I can't tell how many: on my hips and my back, touching my breasts, teasing my nipples. There are no words to describe this feeling; my brain is almost ready to turn off. I'm making all sorts of little noises now, and I can feel my body straining, flooded with too much sensation but hungry for more. Finally I can stand it no longer.