True Servitude

When she was done, Horst was already on it, wiping her mouth free of the tiny particles of food that had clung there that she hadn't felt the need to wipe off herself, and after Ben cleared her dishes.

"Kneel," Maria said.

A thrill went through each man. Though had they both chosen to do so, had they both not felt that they had been born to serve, there was still something about her. Even if they had met her at a cocktail party among friends, in the office, at church, a football game, there would have been something about her for sure. But to be addressed by her directly in that offhandedly commanding way, as if their obedience was a foregone conclusion and just so...expected, it was oddly titillating.

"This was very good. The house looks up to standards. If this continues, when I get home, I will remove the cages before your weekly orgasm. It will not have to be failed. In fact, you can resume regular play and I'll be providing little rewards, as well. Understood?"

"Yes, domina." The two men murmured. Ben's accent was from the immediate area, a local boy done good. Horst's accent in English was picking up notes of the region but would forever be foreign. Even still, they always strove to speak with one voice.

"Now line up." They stood by the door. She kissed each of them, this morning on the mouth, before she left.

Ben's heart swelled with love for her. His former master, Max, the Maxter, had never done anything like this for him. And yet Maria kissed each of them, under punishment or not, each and every day, before she left.

Horst was already moodily wandering off to do chores, and the day passed quickly. The foyer needed to be swept clean and scrubbed, so Horst did that first. His talents were more suited towards deep scrubbing, slow and deep mechanical movements without too much flourish. Ben was a duster, a straightener, a mover of heavy furniture, and the laundry was his. The domina was very, very exacting when it came to her clothes, and so the older American only trusted himself to do them.

The candles in the dining room were nearly gone, so those had to be swapped out. Domina liked the big details attended to, figuring the smaller ones would take care of themselves, but Ben was extremely detail oriented. It was his own little way of exercising control though he preferred to give control to others in most other situations. Plus, they had heard talk of a dinner party soon, masters and mistresses and their subs, or maybe a business function. Should that come to light the candles would be one less task they would have to attend to.

Horst stood and waited while Ben inspected. Were it up to the former, a few sprays of household cleaner, a swipe or two with a rag, and a lot of shoving things into closets would have taken place. But the older submissive was more of a neat freak, probably even more so than their mistress, and the house wasn't truly clean until he said it was.

"We're good," Ben said. It was the first words they had spoken to one another all day. Their routine was so ingrained that words were hardly necessary at this point.

They had a few hours. Horst put on a movie, something racy with an attractive female lead who showed her breasts. Endured the torture of the chastity cage. Ben was completing an emphatic, note taking reread of an old novel, something he had been forced to read in school and now wanted to revisit that he was twice as old, could appreciate it more.

Maria worked her own hours, but more or less stuck to a routine. She would be home by 5 PM at the latest, but never wanted to come home to dinner on the table, which had been Ben's experience with every other dominate he had served. Instead, she would relax after a stressful day. Ben somewhat knew where she worked, what she did. Horst only knew she made a great deal of money to afford such a large home, plus the small apartment she kept in the city.

When her car slid into the driveway both men were on point. Standing by the door in the same position they had held when she left, as if they only existed in her mind, only reacted when she laid eyes on them. Which, in a way, was true.

Maria entered, tiredly gave them each a pat on the arm, and said, "Bedroom."

This was unusual, though they each obeyed, holding the door open for her to enter first. Horst was eager to please, curious about the invitation to the bedroom. Ben was worried. Any change in routine was never good.

"Undress."

They each picked a side, Horst kneeling behind her and Ben standing before her. Together, they made her naked. There were no caresses of her breasts, her buttocks, shapely legs, her hips. She doled out those sweet treasures, they were not theirs to take.

"Lay on the bed, over the covers. And remove your cages and plugs."

This was highly unorthodox, Ben thought to himself. Even Horst felt it, doing as he was told and then lying stiffly on the precisely made bed. Ben followed suit, leaving a space in between them. With a lot more casualness than they had ever seen from her, she swung a leg over one of them and laid in between.

"Hold me."

They would have held her for a thousand years, contained between them, a cocoon of warmth and love that would have caused even the stoniest heart to flake away its necrotic tissue and be forever healed. If they had felt content before with service, happy to be kissed each day, now they were ecstatic and made whole.

One by one, their breathing, little movements, heartbeats all became one. When she finally spoke Ben felt an absurd pang of resentment toward her for ending it.

"I was fired today." Maria told them both. "I have a severance package. I will be home more, looking for jobs. It may take a while."

Sympathy. Sympathy and panic.

****************************************************************

At first, domina was not home a great deal. She had lunches to attend, hours long affairs in the deepest, most expensive part of the city, with old friends she needed to catch up with. Her office allowed her to pack up her belongings. She saw more movies, went to the gym for longer. So not much but the morning breakfast routine was altered.

Even the nights, at first, were highly pleasurable. After breaking the news of her firing, that night Maria bade her slaves to worship her as they saw fit, for hours, until they could do no more.

Ben took it as a professional challenge, and Horst as a personal delight. The sun had nearly come up by the time the three of them were exhausted. The slaves didn't even have the energy to go to the bed they customarily shared, that first night.

The second day, Maria returned home very late, and more than a little drunk. Though the men had sufficiently recovered, Horst more so than Ben, they both were slightly unbelieving when she ordered them to bed yet again.

Domina took them each that way in a night she never had: letting them hold her down, bend her over, moaning uncontrollably as each man took a joyous turn. It felt to Ben, later as if they were all neighbors, had had too much to drink one night after a block party, and ended up having a bit of fun in bed. As fun as it had been, he was wary of all this newness.

By the end of the first week Ben was convinced, vocally so, that she was drinking too much.

"This isn't like her," He said slowly to Horst one morning after she had left. "She has a glass or two of wine or champagne sometimes, but nothing like this."

"So, she is letting loose," The young German said in his rapid fire, exuberant English. "She hasn't spanked us, caged or plugged us. She didn't complain about the house not being clean. She's fucking us blind. And you're complaining?"

Crude as he was, Horst had a point. Since she had lost her job Maria had been too drunk to notice much of anything, and a great deal more generous and caring than she had ever been. It strained his principles, and his desires, but Ben let himself relax.

The entire first week was like that. By day, Maria was popping in once or twice to change, shower, or take a short nap in between appointments. By night she would come home tipsy or drunk, and make such passionate love to her slaves that nearly all pretext of their arrangement was lost. It was sweet, dangerously sweet, and it flew in the face of every instinct Ben had.

Finally, some semblance of normalcy returned. Maria ran out of friends she hadn't seen, and going to the gym so religiously wore on her. She spent more time at home, and returned to somewhat of her old self. She inspected the bookshelves, found them disorderly, and gave Ben a pegging session that he internalized, seuxalized, and fantasized about for days after. She didn't like the way Horst made coffee one morning and when it had cooled to a safe temperature threw it in his face.

Their domina was back.

***************

Slowly, surely, the old spirit returned to the household. Maria wanted to do some consulting on the side, and commanded that her old, barely used home office be restored to functionality. That took most of a day, and she was home for every bit of it, clucking, redecorating, muttering to herself and scolding the two men for mistakes, real and imagined. They bore it stoically with only a bit of resentment.

"She's messing us up," Horst said quietly to Ben one morning. "How can she punish us for maintaining things the way we always have?"

Silently, the older man agreed. But that day was the worst of it. After Maria had a place to work she confined herself mostly there, trying to scare up work that occasionally came in. She dressed in yoga pants and t-shirts, no shoes, and would draw eloquently on the vaporizer filled with some strawberry tasting marijuana influenced concoction that she loved. But other than that she was normal again. No more drinking, no more recklessly emotional lovemaking.

Maria felt so normal and strong, in fact, that they were not surprised when she told them about the dinner party she wanted to throw, a mere ten days away.

"Plan on twelve guests," She told them over breakfast. "These are customarily a bring your own, potluck style of evening, but I have something more special planned. We will be viewing the meteor shower on the back patio. And it will be catered."

Maria must have felt Ben's disappointment, because she went on, "You are a fine cook, slave, but I want this affair to be special. We will have a chef for the night, his staff, a crew of decorators a few days before. The guests will be other masters and mistresses, their subs. Other than that, you will both be performing all of the preparations. I just learned that there will be a meteor shower that night, so the sun deck will have to be cleaned and prepared."

"Yes, domina," They said as one.

"You have tonight off," She said generously. "The next nine days will be busy and I want you both rested and ready to work."

Horst took to the idea of a night off very well. As soon as Maria had left, he indulged in a long hot shower, dressed in a faded pair of jeans, a polo shirt, a windbreaker and announced his intention to have a nice lunch and see where the day took him. He ended up, fourteen hours later, drunk and high but not visibly drunk and high enough to preclude him from entering a private men's club in the city, where he did salacious things to other men and had them done to himself.

Ben too left the house, but in his case it was to the local rifle range. He owned a bolt action rifle, among others. Maria had originally asked him to keep the weapon off premises, but Ben managed to convince her otherwise. He always respected the rules of the homes of others when it came to his guns, especially one that he would be serving. But range storage was a bitch and expensive to boot, and it gave domina a reason to use her biometric safe for more than her personal documents and some sentimental family heirlooms. He spent the day methodically firing round after round down range, mostly hitting his targets. When evening fell he cleaned his weapon before heading home.

It was always strange to run into Maria when they were technically off duty, whatever that meant. A nod of recognition, nothing more. No orders, no scraping or bowing. It was understood that he should spend his time elsewhere. So when Ben brushed by her on his way back inside he knew better than to make small talk.

****************

The day of the dinner party was predictably hectic. Their domina introduced the chef: a swarthy man named Laszlo Dobos and his team of caterers, none of whom spoke English or looked like they spoke English. The menu of the night was rustic and expensive: venison tenderloin, baked sweet potatoes, and Brussels sprouts rubbed with honey and salt. An imported Belgian chocolate cake and a simple chop salad with sesame garlic dressing rounded out the meal for those unable or unwilling to eat meat.

Ben was tasked with orienting Laszlo and his staff to the kitchen. He was asked about his background and let it slip that he had been a sommelier at a fancy downtown restaurant once upon a time. He was grilled about the lady of the house and her wine, food and mood pairings. Ben recommended a Mourvèdre for its smoky, earthy overtones.

Horst had been put into the unenviable position of chief cleaner. Though Maria probably had money squared away for months, she had elected to forego a professional cleaning service and relied on the two of them to ensure that the house was spotless for their guests. They were largely successful.

Privately, Ben wondered whether all of this preparation was going to mean anything. He had attended these types of parties before. In his experience the dominates were more concerned with lording over their property, the hostess more about showing off, and the entirety of the guests bogged down in rituals and flesh for anyone to notice what side dish was served or how clean the house was.

He ended up being correct. The first to arrive that evening was a squat, charismatic man with olive skin and big dark eyes. He introduced himself as Master Bobby. With him he brought a slim but muscular black woman with inky dark skin, wearing nothing but a metallic set of bunny ears and matching bikini.

"This is Shantell," Master Bobby announced in a voice like a knapsack full of flint. "Also known as Stunning Shantell."

"The professional wrestler?" Ben murmured at Horst. "Unbelievable."

The young German did not know who that was, but he did thoroughly approve of Shantell, a woman who did look on the cutting edge of fitness, like a prize fighter the day of a championship bout. All kinds of people, Horst reflected, have all kinds of habits.

Next came the Spider Mistress, so called because of her height and spindly build. She was older, the leather and metal cupping the plucky flesh and thrusting it upwards for inspection. With her came her Flies, two cowering redheaded men who Ben thought were twins, until they came closer. The two men looked enough alike so that only a bit of makeup and probably hair dye was needed. The Spider Mistress had modified them to appear not just as twins, but the same man. It wasn't the most extreme case of submissive modification that Ben had ever seen or heard of, but it was still plenty jarring.

Once those two were seated the final guests appeared. The dom was a husky man, well over six feet tall and over two hundred pounds, with a jutting beardless jaw and a luxuriant blond mustache that was echoed in a shock of pale hair. He moved with all the grace of a panther, as if he walked on springs, ready to pounce.

"Evening," Max said to the assembled guests. "This is Thrall."

Thrall was a small, furtive man, rat like, with a narrow and pointed face and a subservient, cringing demeanor. The fact that he came across to everyone as such was remarkable, as all of the submissives acted their parts, but Thrall was on another level. He had heard about this man before. Allegedly he was one of the most skilled surgeons in the city, but all Ben saw now was his ratlike face, shining eyes and nervous, long fingered hands.

"Evening, slave," The big man went onto Ben, his former property, causing him to shiver deep in his bones.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming. No pun intended," Domina said to a handful of dutiful laughs. "If you'll join us out on the deck, we will have the cocktail hour and the meteor shower will be beginning shortly. It may be a bit dark, but you can use a cigar to illuminate, if you are so inclined. Submissives can accompany, if you wish. Now, please, this way."

The procession of dominants met this news with a happy laugh of approval and much chatter. The majority of the subs also joined them, walking behind their doms, in their place.

Maria passed by Ben to murmur, "I didn't invite him. He's got a lot of friends. I heard how he treated you. I can't kick him out, but this will be the last time he is ever in our home. And whoever invited him, as well."

The rush of affection he felt for her somewhat covered up his dread. A deep seated fear, the kind a man might feel as he was running naked from a wolf pack, had settled into Ben from the moment he laid eyes on the cruel face of his former master.

The meteor shower was spectacular and dinner went off without a hitch. The Hungarian caterer and his crew knew their stuff. The venison was grainy, fragrant, the sweet potatoes crisp on the outside and soft in the middle, but the Brussels sprouts stole the show. The submissives had the option of their own area, if their owners chose, or seated at their master or mistresses's side or on the ground beside them.

Shantell was clearly the bossiest, most "dom" sub here. Within a few minutes of sitting down she had the Flies feeding her forkfuls of superbly cooked venison and the Thrall, holding her hand in his own crabby, skeletal fingers, was muttering something soothing and quasi flirtatious with her.

"Exquisite creature," Thrall said through his thin, colorless lips. His face was pointed somehow, and Horst spent quite a few minutes figuring out if the ratty looking sub had undergone skull modification or if he looked that way naturally.

"I really enjoy your work," Ben told the toned black woman. He felt bereft of his domina's presence. They never ate apart, but she had shunted him and Horst off to the subs table tonight to make sure that portion of the party went well. Frankly, Ben was glad. He didn't want to be near Max at all, ever again, let alone have to sit through what was bound to be a long dinner party.

"You watch professional wrestling?" Horst asked, overplaying his shock.

"Yes, I do." Ben said in his quiet, dignified way. "It's incredible theater."

"Theater? More like a circus," The young German said. "No offense, Shantell."

"My name is Stunning Shantell, or if you insist, Miss Shantell or 'miss.'" She said with careful, icy courtesy, but with plenty of threat underlying her words. "Lots of people you wouldn't expect like wrestling. Just like plenty you wouldn't expect enjoy our pastime."

"Like you," The Thrall said, skinning his lips back in a rictus of a smile. "You aren't in it 24/7 like the rest of us?"

"I can't be," Shantell admitted. Her outfit was shiny, futuristic, settling off her skin tone and her quintessential black beauty. "I am on the road a great deal. I was lucky enough to be home this evening and invited to this wonderful party."

"We worked hard," Ben admitted. "I am glad you're having a good time."

Ben then asked Shantell about her match against Sally the Shooter at WrestleRiot last year where she had nearly lost an eyebrow and if that had been intentional.

"Completely," She said, sipping her wine. "The crowd was cold, so I told my opponent to bust up my brow like a chifforobe."

"The crowd was dead so she asked her opponent to punch her hard enough to lay her eyebrow open and bleed," Ben translated for the table, and everyone quietly gasped.