The Serf

Below that she has a very neatly trimmed bush of dense black curls. I tell her to turn around slowly. She immediately does, showing me her backside. She has a very nice backside, too, with a somewhat small and firm bottom, more rounded than flat, but not so rounded that it sticks out. More of a naturally-rounded "spank me" look to it. And it's firm enough that she has a defined crack between her cheeks, where they touch just enough to hide her asshole from my eyes.

I wait until she's turned in a full circle and shown me her breasts from both sides as well. It lets me see that the tips of her mounds have s very gentle rounding to them, almost perfect, and her nipples stick up about ¼ of an inch. I deem her an attractive middle-aged woman. She certainly has offers of dates. With her body, there will be plenty of those. So I wonder why she was putting up with that absolute donkey's tail she was with. She so clearly must have passed up better.

I take a seat behind my desk. It's off in a corner of the living room, a small, but elegant, hand-carved Amish piece that I use mostly for my studies and the little time I spend managing my businesses. The businesses that support me and Sophie so well. Beside my desk, on my left side, there's a matching stool with no back and a small seat to it. I point to it, telling the woman, "come. Sit." She almost hurries to the little stool, and quickly she's perched on it, sitting up straight and properly. The same way I had her sitting in the club. It has her facing a wall and more at my side than in front of me. Where I want her.

"I am Miss Rodgers. This is my neighborhood. Here, I am the Mistress of the realm. Like any Queen, those in my realm serve and worship me. I will give you one last chance to ask for your clothes back and to be dismissed. Beg for them now, or forever be my property..." I pause, and the woman sits still and silent. But still wearing the tinge of a grin on her face. After a half a minute passes, I say "What is your first and middle name, serf?"

"My name is Joyce Catherine, Ma'am." She answers very politely, and I notice very correctly. It tells me she's not new to being owned by someone, just unsure what my specific expectations for my subs are going to be. Her voice is also exceptionally demure, but with that so-hopefulness laced throughout.

"Thank you for being so polite, Joyce," I say with a touch of sweetness in my voice. I want her to know, to believe, that she doesn't need to be scared of me. Plus I prefer to be kind to those who chose to wholly devote every fiber of their being to my pleasure. Unlike the overgrown turd she was with, I want my subs to know I appreciate the gift they've given me. Themselves. "What is your birth date, Joyce?"

"My birthday is January 11th, 1994, Ma'am."

I do the math in my head, noting down her birthday for future reference as well as her age of 35. exactly where I'd guessed it seeing her dressed. But now that I can see her nude, that toned body of her could easily be in its 20s. Clearly Joyce has taken care of herself.

I ask about "the time before her new life began a couple of hours ago." She tells me that she was owned by a very nice Master since she was 17. He took good care of her until about six months ago he died in a car accident. Utterly lost, she went through three more Masters very quickly, finally ending up four months ago with the "He whom you took me from, Ma'am." I ask if she's ever served a Mistress before, or only Masters. She says she's never even been shared with a woman before. Her Master, as she still refers to her first owner, didn't care to share her. The three after him didn't have much of a chance to do anything with her before deciding she was too much trouble and dumping her. To me that explains why she was clinging to the mule; she's desperate not to be tossed aside yet again. She says no one ever tried to "take her" before, and admits that she liked the feeling that I might actually want her enough to challenge him for her. But she says she knows I did it out of pity, not a desire for her, that she could tell I pitied her being with Him. She thanks me for that.

She tells me, as I keep asking her questions, that she doesn't have a place to go. She lived him with Him, so unless I wish to send her back to Him, she doesn't know what she'll do. She has a job, as a receptionist at the health department's free clinic, but it doesn't pay well. Her things, the few boxes of memories she has from her first owner, are in a storage unit off Moffet road. The road I know, but not the storage place. Then again, there's like a dozen such places on that road. Except for things like her clothes and her makeup, that's at the jerk's trailer. I can't help but giggle, he is so a trailer-park kind of guy! And I don't mean that as a compliment.

Unlike with the toys who come to play here, I haven't a clue what excites this woman and what doesn't. I could ask, but I wouldn't get a usable answer. I can already see that she simply did whatever her Master told her to do, and her tastes became irrelevant. I can guess that she did the same with the next three, none of whom sound to me like they're anything but wanna-be pretenders. Like the moron, I took her from. He is so clearly clueless. He was using fear to cow and control her. A Domme would never want a sub to be afraid of her. I want my subs to obey me because they want to. Because they get what they desire by giving to me. And that takes kindness, not fear.

I don't need another slave. Sophie is plenty for me. But in taking Joyce from that man, I've become responsible for her. I knew that when I took her. If she chose not to leave, then she's my problem. It's the unwritten "Domme-code." If you take a sub, it's yours. You don't take one just to kick it to the curb. That would be cruel. It would leave Joyce homeless and rudderless downtown tonight with nowhere to turn. I wouldn't do that to anyone. I'll figure out something to do with her, sometime. Keeping her for a bit won't strain my budget one iota. I make enough to afford a dozen slaves if I could figure out what to do with a dozen of them that is!

I ask if the clown "fed her supper." She tells me no, he never offered her anything. "Supper isn't an option here. My slaves are always fed properly. You will go sit at my table. My slave will feed you. You will eat everything you are given. You will thank my slave for giving it to you. She will bring you back when you are done. Go now, Joyce." Once Joyce is on her feet, I tell Sophie to "get this slave a proper plate of supper," and Sophie is off to the kitchen.

Joyce sits at the table. She sits naked. She sits properly. She waits as if she doesn't have a care in the world now. Sophie sets a plate in front of her, and Joyce very nicely and humbly thanks Sophie for making it for her. She takes one bite and I hear a light purr from Joyce. Clearly she likes the food. But then I've taught Sophie to cook, and my cooking has been called gourmet by all who've tried it. It's not long before Joyce's plate is very clean, and her glass of sweet tea is drained. Sophie gets the dishes, then has Joyce stand. She takes Joyce by her hand and brings her back to the stool beside my desk. I've spent the time talking with Reagan, who still doesn't believe I "just knew" about Joyce. Or that I took her from that guy. She thought for sure there was going to be a fight over Joyce.

"I'm certainly not going to abandon you, slave-candidate. But know this now, if you're ever a traitor to your Queen, and worship, serve or even obey, another, you'd best not return to my realm. Traitors are whipped mercilessly and exiled immediately here. You belong to me, and me only. You, that body, your everything is mine and only mine. If I want you to mind someone else, I'll tell you myself. If I want to give you away, I'll tell you myself. But don't worry, you will be taken care of in my realm. Of course you will know your place as a worthless little slave-girl and humbly serve my every inane whim. Behave that naughty little bottom of mine and you'll earn so trust here, as my slave has. For now, wait here. When I'm done with my company, I'll get you cleaned up to my standards. In case you can't see it, I keep all of my possessions very neat and clean. Since I haven't a clue what utterly hideous realm you've come from, I won't spare anything in de-skanking you. We'll start with a good full enema and work from the bottom up." I grin.

"Yes, Ma'am, as you wish, My Queen," Joyce says very humbly. I can hear a faint note of resignation in her voice as if she's accepted that she's doomed to suffer an uncomfortable enema, but no fear. She's clearly not afraid to suffer it. And I can hear some glee lacing her voice. I'm sure that's not from the idea of an enema, but from the certainty that I will be keeping her a bit, that I care enough to clean her up so fully, and that I will not be cruel with her. She doesn't fidget as she sits and waits. Which tells me it won't be her first enema. I won't ask. I know. Everyone is very nervous at the thought of their first one.

I chat with Reagan, Sophie serving us, for another half-hour or forty-five minutes before Reagan decides to head to her mom's where she's staying this weekend. Once Reagan is gone, I have Sophie fetch me a cup of coffee to sip while she gets the playroom ready "to begin de-skanking this wannabe-slave."

In a few minutes, a very un-jealous Sophie comes to tell me she has everything ready for me. I tell Joyce to stand, hands behind her always, and come along for her enema. She obediently follows without hesitation.

Sophie has everything perfectly laid out for me. The massage table is ready for Joyce. The little rolling table is up beside it with everything for me on it. I tell Joyce to get up onto the table and lie on her left side with her legs pulled up as if she's sitting, one arm under her head for a pillow, and the other lying loose on the table in front of her. She doesn't hesitate to get in place and lies still as I pull on my latex gloves behind her. She doesn't look all around anxiously, as most try to do. She just lies there awaiting the unpleasantness her newfound Mistress has condemned her to.

As Joyce lies there, a very puffy pussy mound pokes back at me from between her thighs. It lets me see it's very long, thin and narrow lips. Those are covered by a moderately-thick coat of her short, deep-black, fur. Her lips meet fully making a slit like a long deep-purple line that I can barely see behind the fur. It is a very attractive pussy. And judging by its slit, a very wet pussy right now. Then again, I figured it would have to be: her nipples have been just so-stiff since that dress came off.

Her bottom looks just a firm and toned as she lies there. With a nod from me, Sophie hangs the one-liter bag of fluid up and takes the cap off its nozzle. She holds it out to me. I lift Joyce's top cheek, feeling that its muscles are as toned as they look to be, but also have a touch of softness to them. And her skin there is very delicately soft. I lift her cheek gently, but fully, up to bare the deep-purple-brown ring of her butt. It's pretty small, like a teensy little funnel, and tight, but not clenched nervously tight. There's no sign of any tunneling inward, which is a sure sign of "high-traffic," nor is there any puckering to it. While it's not fully relaxed as if inviting me to enter her bottom, it's not cinched up to resist me as it would be if she were nervous or unwilling. I gently ease the six-inch pencil-thin tube into her bottom.

Joyce lies there still, not even flinching, as the tube enters her bottom and slips to her depths. She doesn't even grunt or groan to let me know me she's uncomfortable with the entry. Which isn't physically uncomfortable, the tube is too thin and slippery with lubricant for it to be uncomfortable. I release the clamp and the clear laxative fluid begins to flow into her backside.

At first Joyce merely lies there allow her bottom to be filled up. She lies still for about the first six ounces of it, which I know is the point where she'll start to feel uncomfortable. She shows that by letting her breathing take on a growingly strained note to it. But she lies still. In a couple of more ounces I hear a bit of a groan creeping into her voice. I stroke her side at her hip and thigh, telling her "good girl. That's a good girl, just lie there for me and let's get you all filled up. I like good girls."

It seems to reassure her a little, maybe just because it lets her know what I expect of her. I didn't scold her for her noisy breaths. I just let her know I want her to stay still and take this. I think the jerk was just the kind of a jerk to set unrealistic expectations of her, then punish her strictly when she didn't meet them. As if anyone could have met them. He seemed like that kind of a jerk. I keep stroking her affectionately, letting her know that she's pleasing me by behaving. As she fills, she grits her teeth a little and groans a little more, both of which I ignore. Her bottom stays right where it is for me, making this easy for me. I give her half the bag of fluid. That's the point where it'll do all it will do. More of it only makes her even more uncomfortably full for no added cleansing benefit.

As I slide the tube from her bottom, holding her cheek up high again, I see her ring tense tight as it slips from her. Joyce doesn't let even a drop out of her. She keeps all of it. I tell her to sit up on the table and let her legs hang over the edge. She groans loudly, once, as her legs move and change the angle of the bend to her hips. I know that will cause a cramp in her stomach, but she works through it and is quickly sitting up. With her hands behind her back and her legs crossed without my having to tell her that. She lets the strain of her discomfort show on her scrunched face, and creeping into her sharps breaths, but sits still and properly for me.

It's enough that I can see Joyce is desperate to please me. I know she's uncomfortable. But she's pushing that back and doing what she thinks I want her to do. As if my pleasure with her is far more important to her than her comfort. That's a sign of a true slave, like Sophie. For the first time, I wonder if I lucked into a very valuable woman. I'm lucky, but not usually that lucky. For the first time I have thoughts of Nikolai's house, how he has three slaves, and how he alots the chores among them. And for the first time, I picture myself with two slaves, as I know I'll have for the time being anyway, and imagine the uses I would have for Joyce.

I tenderly stroke Joyce's cheek, facing her, and keep a lot of honey in my voice as I firmly tell her "you will wait five minutes. That's how long it takes for the enema to do a thorough job washing your bottom out. I want your bottom washed out of whatever that rodent's bottom might have put in there or fed you. Here, you will be clean inside and out, and healthy, every second. I certainly can't say I believe that sewer rat's tail took care of you. You're being a very big girl for your enema, Joyce, and I like big girls. Just sit still and wait while it cleans you out." I see the smile grow a hair wider on her face as I tell her that I'm pleased. I stay with her, my hand stroking her thigh, as she sits and waits. Joyce breathes hard, but she doesn't move as her discomfort grows.

A few seconds before the time is up, I tell Joyce "You've been a very good girl. Thank you for that. Now my slave will take you to the bathroom and you may get comfortable again. Obey her, she knows what I'd like you to do. After that, she will wash you and clean my new body up the way I wish it groomed. Behave for my slave."

"Yes, Ma'am," Joyce says in a tone that's firm enough to let me know she'll behave for Sophie despite the discomfort that laces it. "Thank you, my Queen, for being so kind and taking good care of the worthless old bitch, Ma'am."

"You're welcome. Go with my slave now."

Sophie takes Joyce by the hand and walks her to the bathroom across the hall. We have two here, the one across the hall, and one off of my bedroom which is reserved only for me. I know Sophie will take good care of Joyce in there. I've had her clean toys too many times to count. She knows to teach Joyce how I want her to sit the toilet, with her knees and feet spread wide, her back up straight and her bottom over the center of the seat; it allows full visibility of her body as she relieves herself. Then Sophie will scrub every speck of this woman.

It's a full hour before Sophie returns, leading Joyce by her hand. Sophie kneels humbly before me, and to my surprise Joyce kneels down beside Sophie. Kneels properly, exactly the way I like. There's a little smirking grin on Sophie's face when Sophie notices how that raises an eyebrow on me. That tells me that Sophie planned it; she taught Joyce how to kneel before me. Without being told to. But she did it to please me. I grin and that lets Sophie know her treat is appreciated. And it is. Kneeling was next on the lesson plan for Joyce. Sophie would know that, too. She's been my slave long enough.

I leave Joyce on her knees and send Sophie to the playroom to fetch a training collar for Joyce. Sophie's collar is pastel green and fringed with a very delicate white lace. It's also a very soft and plush leather and locked around her neck with a shiny brass padlock. The training collars I use for toys while they're here to amuse me. They're soft leather, but more like dog collar that the uber-girly elaborate one I have for Sophie. They have a plain, but locking, buckle that opens with a standard handcuff key. They're pastel-pink and baby-blue. Sophie brings me one of the pink ones, appropriate for a girl-slave. I fasten it around Joyce's neck, locking it there slightly loosely around her.

"This is a training collar. While it does denote you are my property, it's not a sign of permanent ownership as my slave's is. You'll wear this one while you prove yourself to be a properly humble, obedient, selfless, and trustworthy slave. That way the world will know you belong to me but aren't worthy of being my slave.

"It's clear to me that you've served before, and likely served well. I'm sure your former King found some small pleasure from your devotion and service. I have exceptionally high expectations of my serfs, but never anything you're incapable of meeting as long you remember your place in the universe -- which obviously as at the very bottom just behind a garden slug -- and utterly devote your useless being to my service. You've shown me tonight you're capable, thus I will expect you to continue putting all of what little you have into everything.

"I know your pussy is aching for attention. I could see that. In this Queendom, orgasms are sweet rewards for lowly serfs such as you. They must be earned, and they are not easily earned here. Such a great reward will require absolute devotion to your Queen Mistress. While you have been a very good girl, you haven't had an opportunity to display such exceptional worship as to be close to deserving of such an intense reward tonight. However, I am a kind Mistress. I will not make you suffer tonight, at least not any more after the miserable start to your evening. I will allow you to diddle your sloppy pussy, so long as you behave that slutty bottom while you do. You do not want to disappoint me be acting like a gutter whore in my home. Stand up now and I will supervise while you play with yourself."

"Yes, Ma'am, and thank you Ma'am!" Joyce says with true happiness to her voice, "You are far too kind to the worthless bitch, My sweet Queen, thank you!" Joyce is up to her feet, and has her hands behind her. She waits patiently for instructions.

"Have you ever play with yourself properly supervised before my little serf bitch?"