The Lilac Society Ch. 04

"Yes. Yes, Lauren."

I felt ridiculous. This felt weirder than being naked. I basically was actually naked - most of my ass was showing, or could be seen from the side. My legs were, of course, naked. I just had this strip, the center of my torso, front and back, covered by a strip of fabric, a loop around my neck, my cock free floating inside a not-quite-secure little pouch, and my ass crack stuffed with cotton. Lauren, perhaps feeling the need to explain, spoke.

"This is the perfect outfit for a slave. It leaves your arms and legs free to move around while you're working, and doesn't get in the way. And it gives your body enough protection, without letting you feel like you're actually, well, dressed. Like a free person would be dressed. So you still feel like a slave. How is it?"

"It feels strange, Lauren."

"You'll get used to it. Come on - let's go in."

Lauren opened the door, and I followed her in. We were standing on surprisingly nice tile, at the base of a staircase. I followed her up the stairs, then down a hardwood corridor, staying close behind Lauren, her blonde ponytail bopping in front of me. I still felt ridiculous. After a few seconds, we emerged in what had to be the center of the main building, a great room two stories tall with several living rooms flanking it.

The room was magnificent. Rich hardwood, finished and recently polished. Elegant yet contemporary furniture. Fresh flowers everywhere. And approaching us, another young woman, maybe a few years older than Lauren.

"Lauren, hello!"

"Oh my god Hi Jamie!"

They hugged. They laughed. They caught up. Eventually, Lauren gestured toward me.

"And of course this is my slave."

The woman, Jamie, sized me up. "It's nice to have you here, Lauren's slave." She continued to look at me, as if waiting. Lauren jumped in to help.

"OK slave. Here's what you do in this situation. Whenever a woman, besides me, speaks to you, you call her ma'am. If she asks you a question, you say yes, ma'am or no ma'am. If you just need to respond, you thank her for talking to you. So you say thank you ma'am. And you bow deeply at the waist while you do it. Got it?"

"Yes, Lauren." I bowed deeply to Jamie, feeling strange. "Thank you, ma'am."

"OK good, but don't look up toward her. Look at the floor. Try again."

I bowed deeply at the waist, looked at the floor, and spoke. "Thank you, ma'am." I remembered what happened last spring, reminded myself that my actions reflected on how Lauren was perceived, and promised myself I would do my best. Jamie spoke.

"That's much better, Lauren's, but make sure you keep practicing."

I bowed deeply, trying to make my posture as submissive as possible. Looking toward the floor, I spoke. "Yes, ma'am." I held my pose for a second before standing up straight. What had she called me, I thought? Lauren's?

As Lauren and Jamie spoke, I noticed from the corner of my eye another man dressed just like me. Wearing the ridiculous thin-sheet getup. He was in one of the adjoining living rooms, apparently dusting. This man looked to be a few years older than me. I felt extremely self-conscious. I'd never been around another guy while actively serving Lauren. This was weird. I tried to watch him. Did I look as stupid dressed this way as he did? I was sure I did. I noticed something else. Whenever he moved from place to place, to dust a different piece of furniture, he moved oddly. It looked strange and sort of embarrassing. He stood up straight, almost an exaggerated good-posture stand, then walked softly, an over-doing it sort of gracefulness, before stopping, pivoting toward what he was going to work on, pausing, then working. And when he knelt to dust something low, he knelt softly, descending in one slow, continuous motion. It looked hard. How did he do it? It also looked stupid. Then again, I was a slave too, dressed like him. I had a suspicion I'd be learning to move like that soon.

Eventually I heard Lauren tell Jamie that she was going to show me her room. They parted, and I followed Lauren up another set of stairs, then another, to the top floor. We walked down a long hallway. The rooms here appeared to be bedrooms, and as we approached the end of the hallway, they appeared to be newly assigned. Each door had a white sheet of paper taped to it, with a single first name, a woman's name, printed on it. Finally we came to the room whose sheet read "LAUREN".

"Here it is!" I walked into Lauren's room. A nice bed, with nice bedspread filled the center. She had a dresser and a small desk/table with a vase of fresh flowers. I detected the scent of fresh paint. The walls were a barely noticeable light peach. Everything looked shiny and new.

"So this is my room, slave. Now, you need to listen. When we're here, every morning, after you're finished with whatever breakfast duties you have, you will come in here and take care of my room. On Saturdays, you'll make my bed. On Sundays, you'll take off the sheets and take them to the common laundry. When they're clean, you'll get them out, and then come make my bed. You'll also pick up any clothes that I've left laying around, and take them down to the common laundry. Got it so far?"

"Yes, Lauren. Except where is the common laundry, Lauren?"

"You'll see. So anyway, after you get my clothes, just straighten up. Put away anything I've left lying around. I want the room to look perfect when I come back to it. Understand?"

"Yes, Lauren."

"OK, Chris - I mean slave, kneel."

"Yes, Lauren." I knelt. Lauren winced.

"Stand back up and try again. Graaacefuuuly." She drew out the word, long and slow. "When you descend, lift your palms slightly so that it looks like you're not plopping down all at once. One knee, slowly, then immediately on the other, then in a smooth motion, you move your hands gracefully behind you. Your knees will probably hurt going down so slow, but it's important to make it look effortless. Try again."

I tried again. I honestly tried my best. Lauren wasn't impressed.

"That was maybe a little better. You'll be spending some time tomorrow, practicing it a few dozen times." From her look, Lauren didn't seem to be exaggerating. She sat on her bed, in front of me, looked at me, and took my chin in her hand. "Listen, slave. This, all this here, it's going to be so amazing. But you have to do your part. This place, slave, this house, this society - it's all about beauty. What we do here is create a life that's beautiful. And it takes the effort of slaves like you to make it all happen. You're part of it. Even slavery itself, men submitting to being enslaved by women, it's beautiful. Don't you think it's beautiful?"

I took a deep breath. "Yes, Lauren. I honestly do, Lauren." I was telling the truth.

"We're going to have such a beautiful life here, Chris. Slave."

Our reverie was broken by a loud greeting at Lauren's door. "Oh my god! Oh my god! It's so good to see you!!! Look at you!"

At the door, another young woman was holding her arms out, walking toward Lauren. Lauren let go of my face, stood, and greeted her, hugging her close. I could tell by their hug that they were close friends. Lauren beamed, asked how the other woman was, and hugged her again. This woman was about Lauren's age, it seemed. She was quite good looking. Taller than Lauren, of course, she was very thin, with long reddish brown hair, and big brown eyes. Her pale skin shone, and unlike Lauren, her face was expressive, showing every emotion. Lauren whispered to me. "Stand, slave."

I stood, hands behind my back. Lauren gestured to me. "So this is my slave."

The young woman took me in. I felt hot under her curious stare. "Nice to meet you, Lauren's." I remembered my training from moments earlier. I bowed deeply, feeling ridiculous doing so in front of this young woman, feeling stupid in my folded and twisted sheet. Looking toward the ground, I half-whispered.

"Thank you, ma'am."

I waited a second, then two, then three, before again standing up straight. She was already distracted, talking to Lauren about something. "Come on, I'll show you my room!"

The next moment, I was following Lauren and this other young woman down the hall, to the central part of the building, down a flight of stairs and across to the other wing, down another hall. Finally we reached the rooms at the end of that hall, a few of them with the familiar name-papers taped to the door. Lauren smiled as the other young woman threw open a door, and gestured broadly with a big grin, at the room inside. We followed her in, as I glanced at the paper taped to the door. "ELYSE".

Inside, Lauren and Elyse sat together on the bed, catching up. I heard Lauren ask Elyse where her slave was, and Elyse answer that she was going to bring him tomorrow. They asked each other what they'd done over the summer. They talked, vaguely, about something called "the ceremony." I stood, and watched, and waited. Finally, I realized that Elyse had asked me a question.

"So, Lauren's, are you excited about serving here?"

I bowed deeply toward her, and looked at the floor, a pit in my stomach. "Yes, ma'am." Before I had straightened up, she peppered me with more.

"Isn't Lauren just amazing? Aren't you happy to be HER slave?"

I remained in my bow. "Yes, ma'am. And yes, ma'am."

Elyse giggled, and as I rose, I watched her little nose scrunched up with her laugh. I again felt self-conscious standing in front of her mostly naked, trying to be submissive and gracious. Eventually, Lauren broke off the conversation.

"Well, I'd better finish showing my slave around. See you around later, ok?"

"OK!"

I followed Lauren down some more hallways. Outside Elyse's presence, Lauren seemed her normal, stoic self. We passed a few other slaves, men like me, dressed like me, performing chores, or walking from place to place, trying to be unobtrusive, moving with a sort of practiced fluid grace.

"This is the common laundry, slave."

"This is the dining room, where you will serve me as I eat with the other women. Over here is the kitchen, where you'll help, and you'll eat a little after we are finished eating. I'll go over the serving protocol later."

"Here's the massagerie."

Eventually, I had to ask Lauren a question.

"Lauren, may I please have permission to use the restroom?"

"Do you really have to go?"

"Yes, Lauren. I promise, Lauren."

"OK, I'll take you to the slave toilet."

To my surprise, we left the building. On the grounds, several hundred feet behind the house, behind a clump of trees, we approached an outhouse.

"Here you go. First you take off your garment, and hang it here."

Oh god. I was going to have to take this thing off and put it back on every time I used the restroom. I figured out quickly how to undress, and again stood naked before Lauren. Hanging my garment carefully over the tree limb she had shown me, I stepped to the outhouse door.

The outhouse was nice, for an outhouse. Constructed of treated wood, it was well-made. But it was an outhouse. I opened the door and stepped inside. An immediate odor. It smelled like an outhouse. There was a wide bench with a hole. I aimed, and peed into the hole, careful not to touch myself enough to, well, to get in trouble again.

Stepping out, Lauren showed me a bucket of water behind the outhouse.

"You wash your hands here."

I plunged my hands into the tepid water. No soap. I just scrubbed them the best I could.

"Now hurry up and get dressed."

"Yes, Lauren." I tried doing it myself this time. It was a little awkward, and took a little time, but I figured it out and again felt ridiculous.

Back inside the house, it was almost sundown. Lauren told me she was taking me to the kitchen to help prepare dinner.

"But - I don't know what to - "

"Don't worry. The other slaves will show you."

Just outside the kitchen was a station where I could wash and sanitize my hands properly. I was thankful for the opportunity. After washing up, Lauren led me into the large, industrial kitchen, and spotted a slave she recognized.

"Slave, this is Katie's. He can show you what to do. Katie's, you can put my slave to work."

The slave, dressed just like me and all the other men in this house, bowed deep and stiff. "Yes, ma'am." Lauren turned on her heel and walked out.

"So..." I started. "How does this work?"

"First, introductions. You're Lauren's, right?"

"Yes, that's what I'm understanding."

"Ha! Funny. I'm Katie's. This is Alexa's."

"What's up, Lauren's?"

"Hey. So how long have you all been here serving?"

"Eight years."

"Six years."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Still new like you." I took a quick inhale at that.

"Let's start easy. You can chop vegetables for the appetizer soup." Katie's was assigning me a task. Alexa's, meanwhile, was looking up at a whiteboard with several courses of food written out in a script that was obviously from a female's hand. "Over here. Grab a cutting board."

Before long, I was hard at work chopping a surprisingly large number of vegetables, and placing them in shiny bowls. The man working next to me wasn't talkative, but made a quick introduction.

"Hi. What's your name?"

"Hi, I'm..." It seemed awkward to say it, to say it THAT way. "I'm Lauren's." After saying it, saying my name out loud, it felt more natural.

"Nice to meet you Lauren's. I'm Lexi's."

We worked silently after that. After we were done chopping, Katie's asked us to start washing the prep dishes. About ten minutes into that, Alexa's made an announcement.

"Appetizers are up. Appetizers are UP! Come grab a soup bowl and serve your owner."

I felt nervous. I asked Lexi's, beside me, what to do.

"Just carry it gracefully out to the dining room. Find your owner, then kneel to her left. Both knees. Lift the dish up over your head with both hands. Carefully, don't get in trouble. As soon as she takes it from you, walk back. Gracefully, of course."

"OK, yeah."

"Just follow our lead."

These men were walking with inimitable posture, but I did my best. They seemed to walk in a slow manner while holding the soup perfectly steady, not even a ripple on the top, while looking forward, head immobile. How the hell? I grabbed a bowl of soup and did my best. As I followed the line into the dining room, I was amazed at how many women were seated at the long tables. Everyone must have been arriving while we were cooking. How would I ever find Lauren?

I looked desperately around, then saw her at the far table, talking with Elyse and another young woman. Relieved, I walked to the side of the room, then down the long aisle toward where Lauren was sitting, careful not to trip over other slaves already kneeling beside their owners. On the way, I caught a glimpse of a dark haired girl, and nearly froze. THAT girl. She was one of the ones who took me away last spring, along with Lauren to that barn where they hung me up to be... But I couldn't think about that now. I had to concentrate on serving Lauren. I could swear I saw her grin wickedly when she saw me walk by, as if she were savoring the memory. Finally past her, nearing Lauren, I found my spot and knelt, one knee then two. Bowing my head, as carefully as I could, I lifted the bowl up, over me, and held it for a second, then another, and a few more, before I felt Lauren lift the weight wordlessly from my hands.

I stood carefully and turned to walk back to the kitchen. A few steps away, I heard Lauren call for me over the din.

"Slave?"

I turned around. "Yes, Lauren?"

"Bring another bowl, for Elyse. Her slave isn't here."

"Yes, Lauren."

I quickly made the trip back to the kitchen, grabbed a bowl, then returned to the dining room. Walking one spot past Lauren, I knelt just to the left of Elyse, and lifted the bowl, feeling her take it from me. I took a deep breath as I returned.

Back in the kitchen, Katie's had me wash cutting boards, knives and cooking pots until another announcement came.

"Clear the appetizer bowls! Clear your owner's bowl and spoon!"

Again I followed the crowd, watching their example. I tried to step gracefully until I was beside Lauren, then knelt, this time on one knee only as I'd seen the others do. Lauren set the bowl and spoon in my hands. Without being asked, I then knelt beside Elyse, and took her dishes. Walking back to the kitchen, I felt proud of myself for catching on.

We all repeated the procedure for the main course, then for dessert. After clearing the dessert plates, there was lots of dish-washing to finish. And finally, with everything finished, I joined the rest of the slaves, kneeling in small circles in the kitchen, taking little paper plates of leftovers, eating on our knees, with our hands. The cut of roast was already completely cold, but I was hungry, and it tasted good. I used one of the disposable cups to get water from the sink, and poured it down.

By the time Lauren retrieved me from the kitchen to finish touring the house, it was already getting late. I tried to remember the location of all the parlors, the various outdoor gardens, the workrooms, the supply closets. Eventually, Lauren realized the time.

"Oh my god. It's slave bedtime. We need to get you to the cell."

Lauren led me to an area of the house on the east wing that wasn't as nicely appointed as the rest of the house. Smooth concrete floors led down a hallway of bare cinder-block walls. Lauren motioned to a sort of open-air restroom on the left. There was no door, just an open area with several sinks against the wall and a shower area.

"In there. Brush your teeth."

"But Lauren, my toothbrush..."

"There are toothpaste dispensers. Use your finger, slave."

"Yes, Lauren."

I waited in line for a sink. When my turn came, I held my finger just under the automatic dispenser, which extruded a small dollop of plain white toothpaste. Sticking my finger in my mouth, I scrubbed. The paste tasted gross. It was cheap toothpaste with no flavor. Eventually, I rinsed off my finger, and bent down to the sink to get a mouthful of water and rinse.

Teeth clean, Lauren led me to a door at the end of the hall. All along the wall outside the door were rows of wooden pegs. Some of these held white cloths, the unfolded version of the garment I was currently wearing. I followed Lauren as she looked at the empty pegs, each of which had a small print-out taped above it. We passed "avery's" and "maddie's" and "samantha's", name after name after name, until we came to a peg labelled "lauren's."

"Your garment stays here for the night."

"Yes, Lauren."

I began undoing the twisted, knotted sheet, then, standing naked, hung it over the peg. That sheet had been so ridiculous, and covered so little, that it surprised me how exposed I felt now. Lauren was already walking back toward the door. She led me through it, down a set of stairs that turned to the right, to the bottom. Apparently this was "the cell."

We stood before a long room, walls and floor painted black. The walls were cinder block, the floor cement, all black, and illuminated by a series of bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. On either side of the room, thin black gym mats were lined along the wall, facing toward the center, leaving a narrow aisle down the middle. On some of these mats, naked men lay on their backs, slaves without their garment, like me.

Lauren led me to an empty mat about three quarters of the way down the room, on the right.

"Here's your mat. There's a bucket at the end of the room. If you have to go to the bathroom, use it. Good night, slave."

I looked at the thin, plastic-like black mat. Just above it, near floor level, was stenciled in white paint "lauren's." I took a deep breath. I was telling Lauren good night. I thought I should kneel first, so I descended as gracefully as I could.

"Good night, Lauren."