Slave Girl Emily Ch. 04

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A damp dinner party.
6k words
4.5
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18

Part 4 of the 11 part series

Updated 10/27/2022
Created 05/14/2014
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Author's note: Here's Chapter Four of "Slave Girl Emily." Warning: There's lots of peeing in this chapter! If that kind of thing doesn't float your boat or isn't your cup of tea, then skip this and just paddle on over to one of the other stories in the BDSM section, of which there are many excellent ones. Don't you dare read to the bottom, go "oh ick," and write something nasty! If you do, I'll deep six your comment, because you have been warned.

The year is 2011. Emily is a college girl who's discovered that she has a powerful need to be owned. Finally she has found a Master and has negotiated and signed a contract with him. This chapter opens on the second day of her enslavement. Tags: Slave, Bondage, Humiliation, Oral sex, Lesbian sex, Toys, Watersports, Urine.

* * *

Chapter 4. Damp dinner party

He's attached clamps to my nipples. Wires trail away out of sight. The machine is off, but I'm not at rest, hanging here in my ropes. The room's too hot, or maybe I'm in a fever. I'm tense, breasts heavy; my clit must be huge and obscene.

I don't know how long I've been in this room, tied up, tortured with vibrators, probes, and Master's hands - such beautiful, skillful hands! Meanwhile, my body's normal processes continue.

"I need to pee, Master," I say.

"You may," he says. He's sitting in a chair behind me, legs crossed, trousers neatly pressed.

There's something deliciously humiliating about performing such an elemental bodily function while my Master watches. If I had any power at all over my own body, I'd go to the bathroom and close the door. Peeing in front of Master reminds me of what I've given to him.

But I can't pee, not with probes in my pussy and anus.

"I can't, Master," I say.

"Ah," he says, understanding. He gets up and walks out of sight. The tingling begins again - pussy, anus, nipples . . .

* * *

I didn't want to wear the butt plug on our shopping expedition, but I didn't dare to object, and it turned out to be a nice reminder of the painful anal pounding Master had given me the night before as punishment for my disobedience at dinner. He'd tied me into an obscene knot, face down, bottom up, and fucked me hard on the tiled floor of his playroom. I had fallen asleep on my pallet, tired, sore, and hugging myself for happiness. It was exciting to wear the butt plug in the changing rooms and while modeling clothes for Master.

There were lots of things to do over the following weeks. Waxing was painful, but I liked the way it left my armpits and legs. Master loved my hairless pussy, and I loved it because he did. The hairdresser Master chose for me did a wonderful job with my hair, leaving it feathery and black with a purple streak. I got my first tattoo, a white one, the word "slave" on my right pelvis in an ornate script, with a flourish trailing onto my mound.

Master made sure I kept up with my schoolwork. He hired a driver to take me to and from the university, picking me up at eight in the morning and dropping me off again around five thirty. I thought that was unnecessary, but when I protested he said he'd whip me if I said anything more about it. He devised study schedules for me to make sure I had time for both schoolwork and my duties as his slave. The structure helped: I'd gotten good grades before, but now my work improved.

A typical day might go like this. I'd get up at six, shower quickly, make breakfast, wake Master at seven, and feed him. If all that went well, I might get some of his cum to swallow or even an orgasm before the driver picked me up. I'd attend classes, fitting in a salad somewhere as time permitted, and then read or write in the library till five, when I'd meet the driver at the Broadway gate. I'd get back a few minutes before Master, undress, put on my collar, and have a drink ready for him when he got home from the office. I'd make dinner while he had his drink and read the Times online, and if I'd been good I'd be allowed to eat with him. Evening was always playtime, and Master was inventive when it came to devising games for us. If I'd been bad, I'd have to be punished, of course, but to tell the truth my punishments weren't all that different from our games - only my shame and a bit more violence made them different. Master introduced me to all kinds of things I hadn't had any experience of before: the cross, the table, the riding crop, the paddle, the ball gag - the cabinet in his playroom seemed to be stuffed with endless goodies.

Sometimes we'd go to dinner together, and sometimes to BDSM events. I loved being slavish and submissive in front of other people - mousy and shrinking in restaurants, cringing and subservient at munches, whipped or publicly fucked at play parties. He'd mentioned the possibility of dinner parties, but for a long time they didn't happen. Instead, once a week or so, he'd go to dinner with some friend or other, and if the friend was a kinkster with a submissive in tow, Master would take me along, but otherwise he'd leave me at home to read or watch TV. I think probably no one really expects a bachelor to give dinner parties, even if he does have a live-in slave.

And so it was a surprise when he told me, one Friday evening in the third month of my enslavement, that he was giving a dinner party the next night. The guests were Daniel and his wife Karen, the couple who'd thrown the first play party we'd attended. Daniel was a senior partner in Master's law firm, and his wife, as it happened, was the woman I'd seen him cuffing to the Saint Andrew's cross. They'd be bringing their slave with them. Fortunately, Master didn't expect me to cook; instead, he'd engaged a kink-friendly caterer to take care of all the food and wine. The other slave and I would serve drinks and dinner, and we'd be available for play.

The guests arrived at seven. Master, looking impossibly handsome in a dinner jacket, opened the door. I stood behind him, naked except for my collar. Daniel was in his mid fifties, tall and solidly built. Karen was nearly as tall as he was and heavy, not quite fat, with blond hair (expertly dyed) and a colorful and extravagantly patterned dress. Their slave was the pale black-haired girl I'd seen at the play party. I'd thought her beautiful then, and she still seemed beautiful tonight. She stood behind her owners and gazed at me, hardly even glancing at Master.

Master said, "Daniel and Karen! Thank you so much for coming! Please come in." They stepped in, offered little gifts, and made the kind of small talk you make at the beginning of a dinner party. At some point Karen turned to glance at the slave, just briefly, and she shrank a little, as if she'd been struck, and quickly stripped. She was a couple of inches shorter than me, and thin, almost starved, with small, slightly deflated breasts and dark little nipples pierced with silver barbells. On her left breast was a tattoo of a fly, and on her right side was a sad-looking girl holding a bleeding heart. She stood very still, holding her clothes. I went over to her and whispered, "I'll show you where you can put those." Looking grateful, she followed me back to the bedroom, where I took her things from her and put them on a closet shelf.

When I turned back to her, she was staring at me. She didn't look away like most people caught staring, but said, in a voice that was scarcely a whisper, "Piss in my dinner tonight?"

"What?" I said. I wasn't sure I'd heard her right.

"They'll feed us from dog bowls. I'd really like it if you'd piss in mine. They won't get mad, I promise. I'll do the same for you, if you want."

I said, "I guess . . . I'll try. But you don't have to do it for me, thanks."

She hugged me quickly and said, "Thank you." She seemed really grateful. "I've been thinking about you ever since I watched your Master fuck your ass. You looked so . . . I don't know - like nobody could ever beat you? It was such a hot scene. I drank his cum out of the condom. I wish I could have drunk it out of you."

All I could think to say was "Oh," remembering how she'd collected the condom he'd used that night. Her interest in me was making me nervous.

"I'm Mouche," she said.

I said, "I'm Famula."

"We'd better get back," she said, "before they get mad."

When we returned, Master, Daniel, and Karen were sitting in the living room. Master called me to him. "Daniel and I will have Glenmorangie on ice," he said, "and Karen will have gin and tonic. Mouche will help you with the drinks."

We went to the kitchen, where a man and a woman were busy preparing dinner. They took little notice of us as we went to work at a small bar at the far end of the kitchen. I suppose they were used to seeing naked slaves.

Mouche whispered, "Mistress always orders a tall drink. Watch her: she'll drink it fast and ask for another. Then she'll want to piss."

We carried the drinks into the living room and knelt on the floor, watching our owners. It was true that Karen drank fast: within about ten minutes she'd emptied her glass and handed it to Mouche, who scampered off to the kitchen for a refill. Half of that disappeared within another ten minutes, and then Karen rose grandly, said "Come, Mouche," and marched off, slave in tow, towards the bathroom. The men went on chatting, but I didn't pay much attention to what they were saying.

When the women returned a few minutes later, Mouche gave me a triumphant smile, as if to say, "I told you so." She knelt beside me, and I whiled away about a half hour trying to decide whether it was an occasional faint whiff of urine wafting from her direction or just my imagination.

The woman caterer came a few feet into the living room and gestured to Mouche and me. We looked at our owners, who nodded, and we scrambled to our feet and followed the woman back to the kitchen. I had carefully set three places at the dining room table in the late afternoon: now we had to bring out the hors d'oeuvres and pour water and white wine. We did this quickly and called our owners to dinner. When they were seated, I knelt on the floor next to Master while Mouche knelt between me and her Mistress.

The dinner was formal, with lots of courses, and we were up and down a lot, bringing food, taking away dishes, pouring wines. Having spent the summer before working as a waitress, I knew what I was doing, and Mouche seemed just as competent. But we slaves ate nothing, and by the time we'd served the last course except for dessert, I was really hungry.

The caterers brought out the dinners for Mouche and me. We weren't going to get all the courses, but just some salad, potatoes, and pork tenderloin, all cut up into bite-size chunks and jumbled together in two large dog food bowls, which they set on the floor next to the entrance to the kitchen. One was a plain plastic bowl of the kind you can buy in any pet store; the other was silver and had "Mouche" engraved in large letters on the side.

The owners turned to watch, and the caterers loitered just inside the kitchen, where they could see. Clearly our eating was going to be part of the evening's entertainment. Master had told me the rules: we had to eat not only without silverware, but also without hands. We were expected to raise our asses high while we ate, displaying our pussies and anuses to our owners. I'd never done anything like this before, and I was intensely embarrassed before we even began.

It didn't help that Mouche leaned close to me, as we were getting up from our stations by our owners, and whispered, "Remember, you promised!"

Karen said to Master, in a stage whisper, "Mouche had a special favor to ask Famula." Then she said to me, "You will do that, won't you, dear? It means so much to her!"

Blushing even more furiously than I had before, I squatted over Mouche's bowl. I looked at Master, who smiled at me, clearly amused. My pee wouldn't come. It will come as no surprise to anyone who's ever tried to pee with four people looking on avidly that I was completely locked up.

I strained and strained, my face getting redder by the second. After about a minute it occurred to me that it might be easier to do this favor for Mouche if I turned around and faced the wall. I did that and tried to forget the watching people. If it were just Master, I thought, I could do it. Behind me, someone poured water into a glass - and it was like some mysterious valve had opened up inside me, and I started to pee into Mouche's bowl. Our owners all applauded, and Mouche herself made a weird but obviously delighted mewing sound.

I decided not to empty my bladder completely, but even so, after I'd cut off the flow and stood up, I saw that Mouche's dinner was swimming in a substantial pool of urine. She hugged me as she had in the bedroom, tightly and enthusiastically. Maybe it was the strangeness of her that made me aware of the beauty of her small, desiccated body in a way I hadn't been before.

We set to work eating. People really aren't designed to eat without tools or hands. We don't have snouts like dogs and cats, so we can't do it without getting our faces messy. It was easier for me than for Mouche: The chunks of my dinner were more or less dry, and I could pick a lot of them up with my teeth and lips without getting sauces and juices on my face. But she had to submerge her face from the nose down in the puddle of pee to get at her food, and so she was making quite a mess of herself. And yet the loud slurping noises coming from her direction signaled that she was enjoying her dinner.

For myself, the best I can say is that I didn't like it but got through. We both had dirty faces, but our smuttiness was part of the entertainment too, and no one offered us towels or bathroom breaks so we could clean up. Instead, we served coffee and dessert, crepes with berries in a sweet syrup, and knelt by our owners while they ate and occasionally fed us tidbits, smearing our cheeks and chins with the dark, sticky syrup and laughing at the mess they were making of us.

After dessert and coffee it was time to play. The game that night was Truth or Dare. The three owners would play among themselves: the truths would be the usual naughty questions that adults ask each other, while for the dares, players could be made to do something either to or with the slaves. After all, the Doms at any BDSM gathering are there to play with the subs, and the subs are there to be played with. By tonight's rules, any of the owners could be dared to play with either of the slaves. That was scary, even though we slaves could be vaginally or anally penetrated only by our own Masters or Mistresses.

The oldest player (Daniel) was the one to start the game, and his victim, decided by coin flip, was Master, who chose Truth. Daniel said, "Tell us about the first time you struck a lover."

Master was quick with a reply: "You know the answer to that one very well, Daniel. When I first joined the firm, you saw how overbearing I was with my girlfriend. You saw me lose my temper with her and slap her face at a party in your apartment. You and Karen taught me to channel that negative energy in a positive direction."

The victim became the next questioner. Master's victim was Karen, who chose Dare. "Put a butterfly vibrator on your slave," he said. "I know you brought one."

It was true: Karen had brought one in a cloth bag I'd mistaken for an outsized purse. She strapped it on Mouche, hiding her pretty mound. "Did you want me to turn it on now?" Karen asked.

Master said, "I'm sure you'll find a good moment for it."

It was Karen's turn, and her victim was Daniel, who chose Truth. She said, "Tell everyone what I did to you last time we had sex."

Daniel said, "She spanked my cock with a ruler and made me jerk off while she pissed in my mouth."

Mouche leaned close to me and whispered, "They're both switches."

Karen said, "Shut up, toilet-slave," and turned on Mouche's vibrator. The slave shivered and fell silent. I shivered too, hearing the vibrator buzz.

Daniel's victim was again Master, who chose Dare. "Put Famula on the table," Daniel said, "and we can play the rest of our game in the playroom."

I thought I'd probably be immobilized for a long time. I hadn't emptied myself into Mouche's dinner, and now it seemed a good idea to pee before this game went any farther.

"Master," I said, "may I visit the bathroom first?"

Mouche turned to Karen and Daniel, eyes shining, and said, "Oh! Can I go too?"

Master, Karen, and Daniel chuckled indulgently, and Master said, "Of course, Famula. The two of you run along, and we'll play when you get back." Karen turned Mouche's vibrator off.

I wasn't sure I wanted Mouche with me while I peed, but it seemed I didn't have a choice. I headed for the bathroom, and she followed close behind me. She didn't wait outside, but came into the bathroom with me and closed the door.

"You first," she whispered, breathless with excitement, and stared as I sat on the toilet.

Of course I locked up again. Not a drop came out of me. After a minute I looked at Mouche mournfully and said, "I'm sorry. Could you . . ."

"Oh, don't mind me," she said, bustled over to the sink, and started to scrub her mouth.

Even with Mouche occupied at the sink, it took another minute or so for me to pee. As soon as my pee started to splash into the toilet, Mouche rushed over, crouched in front of me, and stared between my legs, entranced. She reached in to wet her fingers in my stream, and put them in her mouth.

I was relieved that nothing stranger happened before my bladder was empty. I washed my face and touched up my makeup while Mouche sat on the toilet and peed. Then I waited while she wiped, washed, and touched herself up. We returned to our owners, who all grinned at us as if one of them had just told a good joke at our expense.

"Time for the table, Famula," said Master.

We went to the playroom where, after some debate, they decided to lay me on my back with my arms tied down at my sides. They frogtied my legs, ankles to thighs, so my knees were high, and they tied my ankles to fittings on either side of the table, forcing my legs far apart, exposing my pussy and anus to their gazes. Mouche stood rigid against the wall beyond my feet and stared. When she made her little mewing sound, Karen noticed and turned on her vibrator. Her mewing got louder.

Now the game resumed. Master's victim was Karen, who chose Dare. It occurred to me that in a group like this Dares would be much more popular than Truths.

Master went to the cabinet and got out a vibrating butt plug, a remote control, and a bottle of lubricant. We'd often used the butt plug together: it was delicious to have it vibrating in my ass while he fucked my pussy or ate me out. I thought of it as one of our personal toys, and it felt like a violation when he handed it to Karen and said, "Put this in Famula's ass."

Her touch was different from Master's - less caring, somehow - as she lubricated my crack and anus, pushing two fingers in, making me gasp and twitch. Then she pushed in the plug - not gently or slowly, it really hurt - and switched it on.

She handed Mouche's remote to Daniel and said, "Here, you can take over this one."

Even though I hadn't liked Karen's touch, the butt plug felt as good as it ever had. I had a little trouble paying attention to the game as Karen said to Daniel, "Truth or Dare?"

Daniel said "Dare."

Karen rummaged in her bag of toys, pulled out a pair of clamps with wires attached to them, and handed them to Daniel. "Put these on Famula," she said. While Daniel put the clamps on my nipples, Master went to his cabinet and came back with a little electrical box with a pair of dials.

Master had put clamps on my nipples before, so I knew the kind of mild stimulation they gave. But then Daniel attached Karen's clamps to the box and turned on the power. First there was a tingling in my nipples, but as he slowly turned a dial, tingling gave way to humming and humming to throbbing, and with the vibrator going in my ass, my whole body was a dynamo, lit up, strobing. Oh fuck, I was going to come . . .

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