A Special Day In The Life Ch. 09

Why'd They fix my makeup and hair now and why like this?

I'm having a good time dancing. I keep hoping another of the Dommes that occasionally walk by will like me and want me. I make sure to slide my hands down my body, fondle my tits, roll my hips around when a cute Mistress stops to watch me. The ones that look cruel and strict in their tight leathers get me so hot I can hardly stand it. I want one of Them to take me. I NEED that.

That's what us slaves really want. To be claimed by a Mistress for Her own personal bitch. I want to be owned, not just public property.

Almost all the collars and restraints in the castle are unlocked by a common key. That means any Domme or Guard can easily unlock any restraint or door. All collars and shackles simply click closed and lock by themselves. The key that opens these looks like a common handcuff key but even smaller. Even the heavy cast iron Punishment restraints open with that. Every Mistress has one in Her purse or on a necklace. All restraints are so well made that even the heaviest can be unlocked with that very small key. Excellent craftswomanship I hear, very precise machine work. So every girl wears stuff with a little keyhole shaped like a O=

BUT...

When a Mistress claims a slave for personal use, then the girl gets a collar and restraints that only that Mistress can unlock. That girl's manacles and stuff have a little slot for a high security key. The key is just like a normal house key but tiny. They look something like a little saw blade on one side. So the key slot is shaped like a === I get very jealous when I see a girl's collar like that. It means she is owned, probably the love slave of one Mistress. That makes me just plain envious.

As I bump and grind, I check my reflection in the glass. I love Clitoris Alliance slave makeup. The Alliance is so huge that They secretly own companies like L'Oréal, Estee Lauder, Avon, and most companies that make cosmetics. The products they sell to the public fade and wear off so women must buy more of course. But the makeup They use on us slaves is permanent. It will never smudge or smear or fade. I'll look like a painted whore for years unless special solvent creams are used. I like this. I lick my slick shiny lips seductively with no worries it will come off, ever.

I see "my" chain of slaves come around the corner led by "my" slave driver Mistress. I'm proud and happy and think of them as "mine" now. Mistress Joan looks particularly wicked, as if She dressed up. She wears the tight black skirt, studded motorcycle jacket, corset and stiletto boots of a guard of course, but She added chrome chains looped hanging from the epaulets of Her jacket. There are also medals pinned proudly on Her jacket chest. I know why some are awarded. The bright purple and blood red one is for cruelty above and beyond. The silver and black one is for restraint excellence. She has maybe a dozen others. She must be a very experienced Domme.

The girls in Her chain seem to be dressy too. They all wear fantastic rubber outfits that match their makeup and hair. Juanita looks so hot in a breast-teaser, a skin tight body suit, open crotch of course. The openings for her tits make them pop out even more than usual. Samantha is in a buckled harness that cinches her every which way and does a beautiful job of accenting her figure. I notice that every girl has her pretty wrist cuffs chained to her collar with only about eight inches of chains. They all look like begging dogs with their hands hanging limp near their faces. I can't help but notice that every girl's crotch is exposed and she's topless no matter what she wears. I guess this must be like today's uniform for 9s. I must be next.

Mistress Joan chats with Mistress Matilda very friendly-like for a couple minutes. I can't hear anthing except the dance music in my display case though. I keep dancing not having been commanded to do anything else. I watch my chain sisters parked at their wall ring. Somehow they all look absolutely gorgeous and totally drip sexuality just the way they stand and move around, even with their arms chained up as they are. I see Mistress Joan kiss Mistress Matilda and walk toward my display cage.

My chain's slave driver unlocks the door, reaches in to unlock my leash from the wall ring.

"Stop dancing slut. Come. Heel," She says as she tugs my leash twice. In seconds, I'm at the back of Her chain of slave girls, my collar chained to the back of Sarah's. We hurry to follow our driver Mistress wherever She's taking us. I guess I'm to be prepared next.

It doesn't take long. I was right. I'm removed from the chain and dropped off to be prepared by a small crew of slave girls and a wardrobe Mistress. I love these wardrobe rooms. They're like an almost endless fetish fashion and shoe store. There's always all sorts of stuff from the most up-to-date high-tech rubber to elegant outfits hundreds of years old. I know I'm going be dressed as someone somewhere wants me. I just hope it's not too painful.

I'm pleased but surprised it's not painful at all. The wardrobe Mistress supervises as the girls efficiently take off my cuffs, dress me in light beige latex hosiery and shoulder length gloves. Then I'm cinched into a tight darker taupe rubber corset. Next taupe rubber ballet booties that match the corset are laced on my feet. I comply meekly to whatever is done to me even if I have no idea what's going on.

The Mistress puts my cuffs back on me, but differently. Now like the other girls in my chain, my wrist cuffs have only eight inches of chain each. My ankles cuffs have a very generous eighteen inches or so. Except that I look like a begging dog, I'm hardly retrained at all. I'm baffled but happy. My ankle chain will jingle on the floor when I walk and I think that's sexy. We've all practiced endless hours under the whips of Trainers so we had better be sexy in chains or else!

A dim awareness grows in my consciousness. Why these colors? Sure it all looks nice but have I seen this color combination somewhere before? A cute but useless skirt is buckled around my waist. It's taupe too. It looks like a tutu a ballerina might wear, stiff and sticks straight out. But its's not crinoline. It's PVC or something shiny like that. I think it goes really well with my makeup and nail polish which are mainly tans and golds. I wonder why but I know it doesn't matter what a slave thinks. I'm just happy it's nicely color coordinated.

I'm led back to my driver Mistress still wondering why I'm dressed this way. I strut proudly, head high, making my hair wave down my back. She looks us all over, cracking Her whip occasionally at one or another of us commanding, "Sexier! Be sultry! Be seductive! You are NINES. Stand better than that bitch!" I hear Her whip crack and cringe but She wasn't aiming at me. Whew! Of course we all try desperately to look sensuous. I'm starting to understand that being a 9 means. I'm held to a higher standard now. My brow gets a bit sweaty as I smile as brightly as I can, batting my long silky eyelashes whenever She glances at me, while gently rolling my hips around, always animated, never quite standing still. Much to my relief, the Mistress seems satisfied and leads us down the corridor.

As we're led through the corridors we start to climb stairs. I actually see sunlight! OMG! I blink. It looks unnatural until I remember that flickering torches in the dungeons are what most people would think odd.

Shafts of warm colorful sunlight pierce the dusty gloom to pool on the floor. I look up to see the stained glass windows. I love them. It's rare, but I've been up here a few times before. We are in the main castle. The stained glass windows are beautiful. They show famous Mistresses and even slaves of the Clitoris Alliance over the last eight thousand years. I am awed to see the one of Mistress Sabina of Rome standing on the backs of two slave girls. THE founder of the alliance, Rhodopis, was a slave in a village before ANY civilization began. Clitoris Alliance history proudly states that it was her, a mere harem girl, who caused all trade and civilization to begin. The stained glass window of her makes her look like a saint, but topless in sheer silk and chains. Thousands of years ago They called Themselves "The Daughters of Rhodopis."

I now have an idea what's going on. This must be a feast day. In the Clitoris Alliance there are many festivals on important days. There's a big fancy dinner for the Dommes in "The Great Hall." Even us slaves get leftovers to eat! Yummy! The founding of the very first training and command center in caves in Thebes is celebrated July 4. Pagan holidays like Roodmas May 3 and Saturnalia December 17 are big days. Of course on this island Commandant Mistress Jane's birthday, September 10, is a biggie.

So I've served many many times before. Every rank of girl 5 and above has a very specific role to play. As we're led down a service hallway behind the kitchens and then into them, I watch the other girls at work. I've done all their jobs before myself.

There's a line of girls doing hard menial chores. They must be class 5 girls.

They're all kneeling on the smooth polished stone floor, their ankles locked into stocks bolted to the floor. They have no choice but stay kneeling in exactly one place. Still, they wear the heavy half inch thick cast iron manacles and collar, all three inches wide, of a low slave.

One grade 5 girl is scrubbing the burnt mess from the inside of a kettle, her manacle chain clanking as she scrubs. For her sake, I hope she don't dent or scratch that kettle. "Of course why would they have a dishwashing machine in this castle?" I think. "They have us slaves." The Mistresses just design sinks and counters in the floor. Very simple, for the Mistresses. Another girl is peeling potatoes, carrots, and other veggies. One is stirring very hard and slow with both hands to make dough. That's hard work. There are no electric appliances, only slaves.

I remember my first day as a 5 in the kitchen like it was yesterday. I had to shell and devein shrimp, pick crab meat for hors d'oeuvres. I was told that if one single tiny bit of shell found it's way into a Mistress's mouth, i would be hung upside-down by my toes and thumbs while live crabs were shoved in my pussy. I was careful.

I study one girl 5 sympathetically.

The black iron chastity belt she wears still look terribly heavy. I know. I remember how the big front plate chaffed the creases at my thighs really badly. I unconsciously straighten my back remembering how the rough curved bar felt in my asscrack. Since she's working the kitchen, she also has an iron head cage gag called a brank locked around her head. Mistresses make it impossible to steal food or be too chatty while a low slave works. Drool dribbles down her chin. An inch thick iron bar between her teeth will not let her close her mouth. That hurts a lot I know. The back of the brank is padlocked directly onto her rear collar ring. That makes her tall collar and brank one solid unit. The poor dear can not move her head much at all. As she is, she can not do much of anything but look straight ahead at her work.

There are more girl that i guess are 6s judging by their three inch wide stainless steel cuffs. I guess they're 6s anyway. They could be higher grades being punished. That happens too.

They're shackled so they can only crawl. Twenty inch chains from their ankle shackles to the sides of their chastity belts let them move a bit. I guess those are about twelve inch chains from their front collar rings to their wrist cuffs too. If they did kneel up, they'd look a bit like begging dogs. That seems to be popular with the Mistresses They are not chained in one place but I know they don't kneel up and why. Each girl has a tray standing up on little legs on her back. Each leg is part of the sides of her waist cincher. The tray is level when she crawls, if she's careful. These slaves crawl from one work station to the next carrying the kettles, bowls, dirty dishes, food to be prepared, and platters of roasted meats. They're living food carts. They wear branks too but at least they're lighter steel.

Most of the other kitchen staff, like cooks, must be grade 7 girls.

Their manacles and shackles are the sort I expect, two inch wide cuffs and collar of shiny polished stainless steel. They're granted a whole foot of chain between their cuffs. Also, they're only ankle chained to where they work and can stand and move maybe a whole three feet or so around their work. Even their branks are not so heavy. The bar between their teeth is only about a half inch thick. They're cooking everything under the sun all at once. The Kitchen Mistress all in a white latex chef uniform stands over them with a whip, making sure everything is perfect, taste testing, lashing a girl occasionally. "Sprinkle more parsley on that slave!" She yells. "Present that better slave! It must look like a dish from the finest restaurant anywhere!"

Scurrying around must be the class 8 girls.

Just yesterday that would have been me I realize. They do look pretty. I know most of them. Tonight they get to take food and drinks out to the Mistresses. Each girl has her wrists cuffed behind her back, locked to the back ring of her chastity belt. What makes them so pretty is that they are permitted clothes, of a sort. They get a lovely rubber corset, rubber hosiery, rubber shoulder length gloves, and the ever-popular ballet booties. They get the pretty ankle shackles too, with an entire eighteen inches of nice shiny chain. It is hard to see the cool corset though. There's a serving tray strapped tight around their waist. Other than that strap, the tray is supported by two cute shiny chains from the front corners of the tray to their nipple rings. They do look so glamourous with their hair up as it is. That's so they can serve without hair getting in the way, but it still looks nice. Because of the tray hanging from their nipples and the ballet boots, they walk leaned over backwards. We, I mean they, do look cute that way.

Reminiscing about slave grades really takes me back. I remember being a 1. Whenever we were not in class or scrubbing our dungeon we were kept shackled and collared to a wall, ONE link of chain, spread eagle, standing, you're considered just about worthless. Gagged and plugged in both holes all night. All of us grade 1's in one dungeon like a dank cold warehouse. Some girls would cry a lot. They were whipped the most. We NEVER got out of that dungeon.

To finally get to be a 2 was a big deal. We were chained and gagged the exact same way but at least laying on the floor. Oh what a relief! By then you must have learned not to cry, at least keep your mouth shut and show some respect or maybe plain terror is acceptable.

Becoming a 3 made you really feel good because then your limbs were no longer shackled to the wall or floor. Only your collar was padlocked to the floor and that makes sleeping so much nicer even if you still could not lift your head. But you could move your arms and legs at least. We must have learned to thank Mistresses for our discipline to earn this

When you get to grade 4 you got two feet of collar chain and feel like a queen. You can turn over or sleep on your side and everything! To earn this we must have mastered certain rituals and phrases of submission.

At grade 5 you get a whole three feet and maybe, maybe, if you've been good, your own litter pan! When you're a 5 you finally get to serve and be used instead of just constant training. Finally you are taken out of the dungeon for the first time. It's surprising how easy it is to be promoted from 4 to 5. All you have to do is beg to serve and be pleasing, but They can tell if you really mean it. We were amazed how big the castle is when we were taken out on a chain of our slave sisters to work.

After you earn 6 you finally get out of the punishment collar and shackles of thick cast iron. Stainless steel feels positively silky, like air against your skin by comparison even if everything still is three inches wide on your wrists and ankles, three inches tall under your chin. By now you must have learned to pose seductively in your bondage. You must become aroused by the jingle of chain, the sound of a lock clicking closed. They can tell if you are sincere.

By grade 7 you're finally getting up in the world. your collar and cuffs are only two inches wide. It makes you proud. Some Dommes must like your servitude to be getting good grades and you know it. You really try to be seductive. You want to be desirable. It can not be faked.

I do not know how They can tell but They are invariably correct. A grade 8 slave has fallen deeply in love with being dominated. We can no longer help ourselves. Bondage is a hug that never ends for 8's. Manacles are security and safety. Your collar is your identity. Your restraints might be beautiful jewelry now. Your cell is home. Guards are awesome, Mistresses are Goddess, other slaves are BFF and you love it all.

It's sad that all grade 1 through 4 girls must be shackled in their dungeons right now. I bet the Mistresses watching them are pissed too since those Mistresses will miss the feast. I shiver a bit remembering how cruel They are when They miss a feast day.

Still just looking around the kitchen while the Mistresses chat, I smile watching Juanita, an 8 girl, pull a little trick i used to do too. When the Mistress is not watching, she winks at a 7 girl chained to the counter decorating a cake. Juanita backs up to the pastry slave and slides her fingers, with her hands cuffed behind her, under the pastry slave's chastity belt, all while still carefully watching for the Mistress. Juanita gives the pastry slave a nice finger job despite the belt. Then the pastry slave, who is gagged and can not eat anything herself, gives Juanita a little glop of the cake icing on the end of her finger, which Juanita licks off gratefully. Juanita blows her a kiss before the Mistress notices a thing. Cute. Girls just wanna have fun.

While I've been watching the girls work, our slave driver is having a grand old time with the Kitchen Mistress. They both taste soups, a bit of roast pork, a little of this and that, sample a wine or two or three, chat and laugh like great friends.

Mistress Joan wraps Her arms around the Kitchen Mistress and gives her a friendly kiss, which slowly turns into a passionate embrace. Lots of tongue too I notice. They fondle each other quite nicely, then pull apart to go about Their business like nothing happened. "Mistress Joan seems to have a lot of buddies," I conclude silently to myself. I think I love Her.

She leads us out of the kitchen into "The Great Hall." We all pause a moment in hushed silence. Even we slaves don't let our chains jangle or clink.

It never fails to awe me. It's the grandest place I've ever seen. Colorful sunlight streams in through stained glass windows like a cathedral. The shafts of light look almost alive with the silent swirls of dust dancing in them. You have to crane your neck to see the high vaulted ceiling. Graceful arches of dark highly shined wood frame the lovely complex concave curves of the stucco far above.

Intricately carved wood, as ebony as a raven's wing, as ancient as an Etruscan tomb, sets the somber mood. The door frame near my shoulder, the pillar that extends to the ceilin, glistens almost as if wet they shine so. I admire the fantastic carvings, women in bondage in a daisy chain of oral sex, intertwined and wrapped around each other adorn the woodwork as far as I can see up into the gloom above.

I know why everything is so shiny. Teams of class 6 girls dust and clean and oil the wood almost daily. I've done my 16 hour shift a couple times. To get the woodwork high up, a girl is clamped onto poles and lifted by other slaves. I shudder rememberin where the end of one of the pole goes.