The Twelve Days of Kinkmass

"How does this actually work, anyway?" Marianne asked, then remembered herself and lowered her eyes. "My Lord," she added.

"They amp up the bottoms," Derwent said. Marianne knew that her Master had an impressive poker face, but that couldn't possibly be right.

"My Lord is having fun with me, surely?" Marianne said. Derwent's face melted. He leaned forwards and kissed her.

"Your Lord always has fun with you, slavegirl. Remember that."

"Thank you, my Lord," Marianne said. Suddenly she felt a lot better about having her bottom used as a percussion instrument in front of a crowd.

"Some sort of contact amplifier, apparently. It sits in the bumcrack where it can pick up the vibrations of both buttocks."

"And this isn't an excuse for some herbert on the organiser's staff to get to fondle competitive grade bottoms?" Marianne said. It had always amused her that she was a lot less likely to get her bottom pinched in a fetish club or play party with her bum exposed than she was in a nightclub or pub with it covered.

"It better not be," Derwent said. "Somebody might get lynched in that case."

"Has my Lord considered what tune me will beat out upon his chosen instrument?" Marianne asked, realising that hadn't been a smart question and wanting to change the subject. Nobody would dare pull something like that for much the reason Derwent had stated.

"I was thinking of Spinal Tap," Derwent said. "Hopefully no more than half of the other contestants will go for Big Bottom."

"I prefer your Stone'enge, my Lord," Marianne said.

"I noticed," Derwent said, grinning. "Now shall we get a drink while we wait for the competition to start?"

Marianne bit her lip and tried not to look nervous as they waited for their turn. There had only been nine entrants to the contest, much to her surprise, and one couple had already been disqualified when the top had used a pair of drumsticks to beat out a Mo Tucker rhythm on her sub's buttocks. That might have been a lucky escape for the rather skinny submissive, who did not have what you'd call a bubble butt.

Nobody had gone for Spinal Tap yet, to her surprise. The current contestants, another male Dom/female sub couple, were doing a glam rock boom boom splat, which worked well, but had one bumcheek reddening twice as fast as the other, for obvious reasons. The camera perched over the bongo couch was picking up on this, while the played rhythm, which the contact mike picked up rather well, was staying in time with Joan Jett's I Love Rock'n'Roll. There was a graphic on the screen showing the blow up of the bottom and the moving hands mounted over the stage that showed a computer bum with buttocks that flashed in time with the real ones being slapped. Mercifully that would be behind Derwent while he was doing his thing so he'd not be distracted by it.

The song built to its climax and the Top tried, and failed, to play a two drum roll on the bottom's bottom. It was a noble attempt, but he fluffed it completely. The song ended, and the contestants stood up, faced the audience and bowed. The bottom, who was the first of the evening's contestants to have gone completely bottomless during the contest, and who Marianne suspected might have won more points for that than they did for her play partner's percussive skills, wriggled back into the white latex shift dress she'd been wearing, and winced theatrically as it clung to her bottom. Marianne wondered if her slave tattoo and spanking skirt would be worth a point or two from the audience as a whole.

They were up next. Marianne walked on hand in hand with Derwent, then bent over the bongo couch while Derwent rolled his sleeves up. Marianne smirked. She'd suggested that he wait until he was onstage to do that as a bit of theatre couldn't hurt. She was going to go down on all fours and kiss the toes of his boots, making sure to point her freshly reddened bum at the audience while she did so as well.

As three or four basslines started up and Derwent started spanking her, seeming to actually be in time for once in his life, Marianne imagined a blown up image of her bottom filling the screen behind her, and felt pretty good about that. Maybe they were actually in with a chance of winning. Maybe not. Either way, her Lord and Master was going to spend the next four minutes slapping her bum really hard, and she could think of much less appealing ways to listen to a novelty song.

...Ten Pipers Piping...

Trent felt a little queasy as he took his place. The ring of naked men was less frightening than he'd feared, but some of what went with it was scaring him a lot. While he'd liked the idea of taking part in a daisy chain in theory, the actual reality was harder to deal with. He stamped down hard on his feelings and told himself that he'd just have to cope. At least he'd be too busy paying attention to the cock in his own mouth than whoever was sucking his.

If he was honest, he was here mostly out of dumb machismo. Felicity had told him there was no way he'd go through with this, and guaranteed that he would. She hadn't, so far as he could tell, been trying to manipulate him into this, and had given him every chance to back out, even asking him if he wanted to go through with this in the car park outside. It hadn't occurred to Trent before now that failing to get it up might be more humiliating than abandoning the whole thing.

The set up had been interesting, and had distracted Trent's attention for a minute or two. He wasn't sure of the numbers, but it had looked like more of the participants had come with female Dominants than male ones. Several of those guys had been wearing chastity devices, so would probably have agreed to anything in order to be allowed to come, or were very well trained by their tops already. Trent sort of hoped he'd taken his position behind one of them because they were likely to come long before he did and he wasn't sure that he'd be able to keep sucking on a cock after he'd come. This was the sort of thing he should have thought of sooner, he reminded himself.

Trent wondered if it was fair to assume that the better looking guys were the ones with Masters rather than Mistresses. That was probably an unpleasant bit of stereotyping. It was likely that almost all of the ten of them in a ring on the floor of the warehouse were exhibitionists, and that was a much handier signifier for vanity than being gay. Of course, it wasn't necessarily that easy to tell: felicity had had him shave from head to foot, painted his finger and toenails a deep tarty red and put some eyeliner on him before they'd come here. Trent kept his eyes down, rather than rubber necking and looking for Felicity. There were more people standing around than the ten tops who'd come with the participants and the media presence could account for so maybe a few guys who'd been planning to take part had wimped out at the last minute. That was a thought that made Trent feel a lot better about himself. He could hear cameras clicking, and realised that his first gay experience being filmed was another pressure he didn't really need. He told himself that he really fancied the guy in front of him, and being ogled, or at least seen, by the crowd was a turn. Trent wasn't sure he had convinced himself of that.

An air horn sounded and the circle tightened, everybody crawling forwards until their head was past the next guy's waist. Then it sounded again and everybody laid down, and shifted until they had a cock in their mouth. The movements weren't exactly synchronised, and Trent heard giggles. He got his own mouth filled without too much trouble or wriggling. The cock he sucked into his mouth was circumcised and tasted of some citrusy soap or shower gel, so he realised he could have done a lot worse as he started to suck. The owner even shaved his balls. To his relief, Trent did feel himself stiffening as the guy behind him started in on his own cock. Now he just had to make sure that the guy he was sucking came before he did himself. Trent had practiced a little with one of Felicity's dildos, but knew he couldn't take it that deep without choking, so he concentrated on the head, tonguing the slit, humming and nipping gently with his teeth. Thinking about what he was doing, and the blow job he was receiving himself, helped get him more into it. Trent wondered if this was the sub space he'd heard about, or whether he had more bi tendencies than he'd thought. More likely, he decided it was just that whole thing of objections to sex acts vanishing with arousal, which meant that he'd better bring the cock in his mouth off before coming in the mouth that was sucking on him. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could taste precum. Maybe he should have swilled his mouth out with some mouthwash outside: Felicity always seemed to appreciate that and it might work on cocks as well as it did on pussies. He supposed it was the slight alcohol content in the brand he used.

Trent sucked as hard as he could and hummed as he sucked. He wished he had practiced more with Felicity's dildo and could take it deeper without gagging. He wasn't sure that the cock was any bigger than his own, but it felt enormous in his mouth. He took it a little deeper, and was relieved not to gag as he opened his mouth a little wider and licked the shaft. Trent wondered if he would start choking and gagging if he came before this guy did, then realised that thinking like that was getting a response from his own cock, and whoever was sucking it, straight bi or gay was a lot better at this than Trent was. He reminded himself that he wasn't gay and wasn't enjoying this.

The penis in Trent's mouth started to spasm. He felt relieved, and a little smug, and braced himself, then felt semen flood his mouth. He did gag as he choked that down, keeping the penis in his mouth as best he could as he did so, but it didn't seem to matter now. He backed off it a bit and licked the glans clean, then went back to sucking it. Nobody stopped until everybody was finished was the first rule. As Trent wondered if that meant he'd be here for hours sucking a softening penis, or maybe even reviving it and having it come again, he felt his own control slip, and ejaculated into the mouth that was sucking him.

To his relief, Trent didn't start gagging and choking as soon as he came. He kept sucking, as did the guy still sucking him, and everybody else in the ring. He wondered who'd come first, and who would come last, and listened out for the klaxon. He was glad he'd done this without disgracing himself, but he knew there was time to mess up completely yet. He just hoped that Felicity would want reassuring that he hadn't lost his taste for pussy when they got back home. If he'd read her right, watching this should be turning her on a lot.

...Eleven Ladies Dancing...

Shawna was a little wary of how nice the rest of his Lordship's stable were. She supposed the fact that the ten of them were involved with the same man, and in an entirely submissive position might help to minimise cattiness, but that didn't really tie in with her own experience. She'd been expecting a lot of passive aggressive snarkiness and wondered where it was. On her visits to the manor house, the naked women who'd waited on her Master and her hand and foot hadn't even rolled their eyes or sneered when his back was turned. Shawna's fantasies about brainwashing and the pornography she'd read about induced brain damage by asphyxiation or trauma had crossed her mind, but they wouldn't have been trusted to serve afternoon tea if they were zombies, and it had been obvious that none of them had any brain surgery or been beaten about their heads recently. They didn't have the dull, pinned or glassy eyes she associated with drugs either.

The fact that Lord Morphail had all of his harem's heads shaved was something that unsettled Shawna more than a little. On one level, it was just hair, would grow back after it was shaved, and she knew that rocking a bald head was a heavily submissive gesture for a female sub or slave, but she'd always been proud of her long blonde mane, even if she couldn't get the idea that his Lordship's slaves were mocking her over it. She'd heard all sorts of rumours and whispers, both in person and on social media and some of the stone age messageboards devoted to BDSM, about that including mentions of electrolysis and lasering. Shawna didn't really buy that one, as she was sure that if his Lordship's live in slavegirls didn't need to shave their heads, he'd have tattooed their scalps. The story she particularly liked was that Morphail only shaved the heads of his harem because the Marques of Bath didn't do that to his wifelets. Shawna would have thought that keeping the complete works of DeSade rather than an illustrated copy of the Kama Sutra on his bedside table would be enough of a distinguishing point, but maybe members of the landed gentry didn't make semiotic distinctions between sex-type books.

It had repeatedly crossed Shawna's mouth over the last month and a half that all of his Lordship's indulgences and treats had been less to woo her than to convince her that she couldn't live without him. That wasn't to say that she hadn't enjoyed the ballet and the incredible costume he'd given her for Iron and Gold back on the twenty second, but they could be interpreted as displays of power from a man who'd spent decades finding the best ways to throw his weight around and flaunt his influence without seeming vulgar, bullish or hectoring. A refined display of power, rather than a vulgar one. Shawna had fretted over that until deciding that if her becoming part of Morphail's stable was a fait accompli, then she might as well just go with the flow and try to enjoy it. She just hoped that it wouldn't involve any more ballet heels.

The door was answered, before the thought of fleeing could cross Shawna's mind. One of the bald slavegirls (Shawna hadn't been introduced to any of them: she supposed that would come later when she was officially added to their number) curtsied and invited her in. Shawna didn't think it was one she'd met before. This woman was a little plumper than the ones she'd met before.

"Please follow me, Ma'am," she said. "It's time for your final test before you're officially entered into the rolls as one of our Lord and Master's slaves. I'm to prepare you first."

Shawna realised that she'd touched her hair without thinking about it. The slave smiled. "Not yet, that's afterwards. Try not to worry about it. The role is yours if you want it. I'm not the only one of us who is tiring of our Lord and Master and ready to go off elsewhere."

"I don't understand," Shawna said.

"It's like this, Ma'am. The manor only has room for ten slaves. Or ten of us domestic slaves, I should say. There's the geese down in the dungeons, hucows in an outbuilding. The ponygirls don't even live on the site. So to add you, one of us has to go. A few more might want to go as well now that the opportunity has come up. I know I do, and I'm pretty sure that eighteen and thirty do as well."

"Okay," Shawna said. She felt a tingle at the thought of her identity being stripped down to a number. That Patrick McGoohan had obviously been a top if he didn't fancy that.

"A lot of the time, he has had less than ten of us, of course. So if he adds you to his stable and loses three, then he'll be looking out for a couple more."

"Should I be worried that I'm squeezing people out?"

"Of course not. Pleasant as the arrangement is, nobody wants to do it indefinitely. And this isn't the only way out, either. Don't worry about that. Just in here, please."

Shawna followed the slave into a small reception room with a tile floor and a couple of leather sofas flanking a table that was a bit too big for a coffee table. There was a picture window overlooking the garden and incredibly '70s avocado paint on the walls, which didn't really go with the burgundy leather on the sofas. "Okay," the slave said. "If you'll just undress, I'll get us ready."

"So what is this contest?" Shawna asked, a little relieved that she'd showered before heading heading out. She stripped naked as quickly as she should, remembering to remove her earrings, but leaving the stud in her nose and the sleeper post in her right nipple.

"A whip dance. I think his Lordship heard that mentioned in some context and doesn't understand what it means. We dance, and he whips us. In theory, the first person to loose their groove is out, but deliberate missteps, falling over and even fainting have been known to happen."

"I'm not expected to know the dying swan or anything fancy like that?" Shawna didn't like the sound of this. She could just about waltz, but that was as far as her formal dance training went. A nasty thought that the private ballet performance might have been some sort of veiled warning or sneer crossed her mind, and proved impossible to dismiss.

"Of course not." the slave said. "Just twerk, belly dance, shake your hips, whatever. We're supposed to do it around his Lordship in a circle while he whips these off us." She held up a handful of sparkly pasties from a tub on the tabletop. Shawna felt the blood drain from her face at the thought of a whip taking out her piercing and splitting her nipple at the same time as it removed a pastie, and changed her mind about leaving the bar in.

The slave read Shawna's face. "Relax," she said. "These go on the buttocks, not the boobs. Bend over."

Shawna did. Two were spirit gummed to each buttock, and then she returned the favour. The spirit gum drying felt strange.

"So I leave the circle when these drop off?" Shawna said.

"You leave the circle when ordered to by Himself," the slave said. "He can take a lot of convincing, sometimes. If you've changed your mind, going down and doing the worm might convince him."

"That what you have planned?"

"Oh no, I'm going to pull these off, throw them at him and dance facing him to see if he even dares to whip me before ordering me gone."

"That should do it."

"We shall see. Shall we?"

Shawna followed the slave out of the room, wondering if she wanted this. "Of course, you could just win, and then refuse to sign the contract. That might cause bad feeling, though."

"I thought slave contracts weren't worth the paper they were written on, and were just there to stop people getting taken to court for assault?"

"Yeah, but there's an employment contract. Set up to pay into our accounts. We're not charged board, so even minimum wage adds up fairly quickly. The last of us who left split the second she had enough for a deposit on a bigger flat than her ex husband's."

That was kind of an incentive. Free room and board was one thing, but a living wage as well? Shawna found the fact that his Lordship paid minimum wage a bit shocking, given what he was worth. She supposed that was the traditional aristocratic practice of paying as little as they could for as much as they could possibly demand. She believed they called that sort of attitude "entitlement" on the other side of the pond. Still, it probably helped him to pay for staging performances of Swan Lake in rubber.

The corridor Shawna was following the slave down opened into a large circular conservatory. There were nine naked women with shaved heads there already along with Lord Morphail, who was sitting on a wood slatted garden chair with a wrought iron frame at the centre of the room. He wore leather trousers, a silk shirt and suede chelsea boots, all in black. The whip that had been mentioned was over his knee. It wasn't a type Shawna had seen before, and looked like a short cane with a tawse on the end. The tongue looked like it was some sort of plastic, rather than leather. There was a table that matched the chair sitting next to it, with an iPod touch in a dock with built in speakers sitting on top of it.