“We’d better get back,” she said, “before they get mad.”
When we returned, Master, Daniel, and Karen were sitting in the living room. Master called me to him. “Daniel and I will have Glenmorangie on ice,” he said, “and Karen will have gin and tonic. Mouche will help you with the drinks.”
We went to the kitchen, where a man and a woman were busy preparing dinner. They took little notice of us as we went to work at a small bar at the far end of the kitchen. I suppose they were used to seeing naked slaves.
Mouche whispered, “Mistress always orders a tall drink. Watch her: she’ll drink it fast and ask for another. Then she’ll want to piss.”
We carried the drinks into the living room and knelt on the floor, watching our owners. It was true that Karen drank fast: within about ten minutes she’d emptied her glass and handed it to Mouche, who scampered off to the kitchen for a refill. Half of that disappeared within another ten minutes, and then Karen rose grandly, said “Come, Mouche,” and marched off, slave in tow, towards the bathroom. The men went on chatting, but I didn’t pay much attention to what they were saying.
When the women returned a few minutes later, Mouche gave me a triumphant smile, as if to say, “I told you so.” She knelt beside me, and I whiled away about a half hour trying to decide whether it was an occasional faint whiff of urine wafting from her direction or just my imagination.
The woman caterer came a few feet into the living room and gestured to Mouche and me. We looked at our owners, who nodded, and we scrambled to our feet and followed the woman back to the kitchen. I had carefully set three places at the dining room table in the late afternoon: now we had to bring out the hors d’oeuvres and pour water and white wine. We did this quickly and called our owners to dinner. When they were seated, I knelt on the floor next to Master while Mouche knelt between me and her Mistress.
The dinner was formal, with lots of courses, and we were up and down a lot, bringing food, taking away dishes, pouring wines. Having spent the summer before working as a waitress, I knew what I was doing, and Mouche seemed just as competent. But we slaves ate nothing, and by the time we’d served the last course except for dessert, I was really hungry.
The caterers brought out the dinners for Mouche and me. We weren’t going to get all the courses, but just some salad, potatoes, and pork tenderloin, all cut up into bite-size chunks and jumbled together in two large dog food bowls, which they set on the floor next to the entrance to the kitchen. One was a plain plastic bowl of the kind you can buy in any pet store; the other was silver and had “Mouche” engraved in large letters on the side.
The owners turned to watch, and the caterers loitered just inside the kitchen, where they could see. Clearly our eating was going to be part of the evening’s entertainment. Master had told me the rules: we had to eat not only without silverware, but also without hands. We were expected to raise our asses high while we ate, displaying our pussies and anuses to our owners. I’d never done anything like this before, and I was intensely embarrassed before we even began.
It didn’t help that Mouche leaned close to me, as we were getting up from our stations by our owners, and whispered, “Remember, you promised!”
Karen said to Master, in a stage whisper, “Mouche had a special favor to ask Famula.” Then she said to me, “You will do that, won’t you, dear? It means so much to her!”
Blushing even more furiously than I had before, I squatted over Mouche’s bowl. I looked at Master, who smiled at me, clearly amused. My pee wouldn’t come. It will come as no surprise to anyone who’s ever tried to pee with four people looking on avidly that I was completely locked up.
I strained and strained, my face getting redder by the second. After about a minute it occurred to me that it might be easier to do this favor for Mouche if I turned around and faced the wall. I did that and tried to forget the watching people. If it were just Master, I thought, I could do it. Behind me, someone poured water into a glass—and it was like some mysterious valve had opened up inside me, and I started to pee into Mouche’s bowl. Our owners all applauded, and Mouche herself made a weird but obviously delighted mewing sound.
I decided not to empty my bladder completely, but even so, after I’d cut off the flow and stood up, I saw that Mouche’s dinner was swimming in a substantial pool of urine. She hugged me as she had in the bedroom, tightly and enthusiastically. Maybe it was the strangeness of her that made me aware of the beauty of her small, desiccated body in a way I hadn’t been before.
We set to work eating. People really aren’t designed to eat without tools or hands. We don’t have snouts like dogs and cats, so we can’t do it without getting our faces messy. It was easier for me than for Mouche: The chunks of my dinner were more or less dry, and I could pick a lot of them up with my teeth and lips without getting sauces and juices on my face. But she had to submerge her face from the nose down in the puddle of pee to get at her food, and so she was making quite a mess of herself. And yet the loud slurping noises coming from her direction signaled that she was enjoying her dinner.
For myself, the best I can say is that I didn’t like it but got through. We both had dirty faces, but our smuttiness was part of the entertainment too, and no one offered us towels or bathroom breaks so we could clean up. Instead, we served coffee and dessert, crepes with berries in a sweet syrup, and knelt by our owners while they ate and occasionally fed us tidbits, smearing our cheeks and chins with the dark, sticky syrup and laughing at the mess they were making of us.
After dessert and coffee it was time to play. The game that night was Truth or Dare. The three owners would play among themselves: the truths would be the usual naughty questions that adults ask each other, while for the dares, players could be made to do something either to or with the slaves. After all, the Doms at any BDSM gathering are there to play with the subs, and the subs are there to be played with. By tonight’s rules, any of the owners could be dared to play with either of the slaves. That was scary, even though we slaves could be vaginally or anally penetrated only by our own Masters or Mistresses.
The oldest player (Daniel) was the one to start the game, and his victim, decided by coin flip, was Master, who chose Truth. Daniel said, “Tell us about the first time you struck a lover.”
Master was quick with a reply: “You know the answer to that one very well, Daniel. When I first joined the firm, you saw how overbearing I was with my girlfriend. You saw me lose my temper with her and slap her face at a party in your apartment. You and Karen taught me to channel that negative energy in a positive direction.”
The victim became the next questioner. Master’s victim was Karen, who chose Dare. “Put a butterfly vibrator on your slave,” he said. “I know you brought one.”
It was true: Karen had brought one in a cloth bag I’d mistaken for an outsized purse. She strapped it on Mouche, hiding her pretty mound. “Did you want me to turn it on now?” Karen asked.
Master said, “I’m sure you’ll find a good moment for it.”
It was Karen’s turn, and her victim was Daniel, who chose Truth. She said, “Tell everyone what I did to you last time we had sex.”
Daniel said, “She spanked my cock with a ruler and made me jerk off while she pissed in my mouth.”
Mouche leaned close to me and whispered, “They’re both switches.”
Karen said, “Shut up, toilet-slave,” and turned on Mouche’s vibrator. The slave shivered and fell silent. I shivered too, hearing the vibrator buzz.
Daniel’s victim was again Master, who chose Dare. “Put Famula on the table,” Daniel said, “and we can play the rest of our game in the playroom.”
I thought I’d probably be immobilized for a long time. I hadn’t emptied myself into Mouche’s dinner, and now it seemed a good idea to pee before this game went any farther.
“Master,” I said, “may I visit the bathroom first?”
Mouche turned to Karen and Daniel, eyes shining, and said, “Oh! Can I go too?”
> Master, Karen, and Daniel chuckled indulgently, and Master said, “Of course, Famula. The two of you run along, and we’ll play when you get back.” Karen turned Mouche’s vibrator off.
I wasn’t sure I wanted Mouche with me while I peed, but it seemed I didn’t have a choice. I headed for the bathroom, and she followed close behind me. She didn’t wait outside, but came into the bathroom with me and closed the door.
“You first,” she whispered, breathless with excitement, and stared as I sat on the toilet.
Of course I locked up again. Not a drop came out of me. After a minute I looked at Mouche mournfully and said, “I’m sorry. Could you—”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” she said, bustled over to the sink, and started to scrub her mouth.
Even with Mouche occupied at the sink, it took another minute or so for me to pee. As soon as my pee started to splash into the toilet, Mouche rushed over, crouched in front of me, and stared between my legs, entranced. She reached in to wet her fingers in my stream, and put them in her mouth.
I was relieved that nothing stranger happened before my bladder was empty. I washed my face and touched up my makeup while Mouche sat on the toilet and peed. Then I waited while she wiped, washed, and touched herself up. We returned to our owners, who all grinned at us as if one of them had just told a good joke at our expense.
“Time for the table, Famula,” said Master.
We went to the playroom where, after some debate, they decided to lay me on my back with my arms tied down at my sides. They frogtied my legs, ankles to thighs, so my knees were high, and they tied my ankles to fittings on either side of the table, forcing my legs far apart, exposing my pussy and anus to their gazes. Mouche stood rigid against the wall beyond my feet and stared. When she made her little mewing sound, Karen noticed and turned on her vibrator. Her mewing got louder.
Now the game resumed. Master’s victim was Karen, who chose Dare. It occurred to me that in a group like this Dares would be much more popular than Truths.
Master went to the cabinet and got out a vibrating butt plug, a remote control, and a bottle of lubricant. We’d often used the butt plug together: it was delicious to have it vibrating in my ass while he fucked my pussy or ate me out. I thought of it as one of our personal toys, and it felt like a violation when he handed it to Karen and said, “Put this in Famula’s ass.”
Her touch was different from Master’s—less caring, somehow—as she lubricated my crack and anus, pushing two fingers in, making me gasp and twitch. Then she pushed in the plug—not gently or slowly, it really hurt—and switched it on.
She handed Mouche’s remote to Daniel and said, “Here, you can take over this one.”
Even though I hadn’t liked Karen’s touch, the butt plug felt as good as it ever had. I had a little trouble paying attention to the game as Karen said to Daniel, “Truth or Dare?”
Daniel said “Dare.”
Karen rummaged in her bag of toys, pulled out a pair of clamps with wires attached to them, and handed them to Daniel. “Put these on Famula,” she said. While Daniel put the clamps on my nipples, Master went to his cabinet and came back with a little electrical box with a pair of dials.
Master had put clamps on my nipples before, so I knew the kind of mild stimulation they gave. But then Daniel attached Karen’s clamps to the box and turned on the power. First there was a tingling in my nipples, but as he slowly turned a dial, tingling gave way to humming and humming to throbbing, and with the vibrator going in my ass, my whole body was a dynamo, lit up, strobing. Oh fuck, I was going to come . . .
“Better turn it off for now,” said Master, and I whimpered, “No!”
But Daniel turned off both the clamps and the vibrator, and Mouche gave a strange little high-pitched chuckle, there against the wall.
Master chose Dare, and Daniel said, “Piss in Mouche’s mouth.”
She mewed again.
“Here?” said Master.
“We should put down a towel or bathmat,” said Daniel, “but otherwise you don’t need to worry about the floor. There won’t be much of a puddle.”
Master left the room briefly and came back with a big beach towel. I wondered if he’d take me to the beach if I asked. He spread the towel on the floor near me, so I could see well. He stood on one end, and said, “Come here, Mouche.” She got to her knees on the towel, gazed up into his face, and waited.
Master didn’t have nearly as much trouble getting started as I’d had. Almost immediately his pee splashed on Mouche’s lips and she opened her mouth wide to receive his stream, shifting her gaze from Master to me. When she was full, she closed her mouth to swallow—pee splashed on her nose—and then she leaned forward, took his cock in her mouth, and swallowed again and again, like a greedy child drinking lemonade through a straw. And all this time she stared into my eyes.
Watching her drink Master’s pee, I was almost as turned on as I’d been with the clamps and vibrator. Her dark eyes were so beautiful, and what she was doing was so degrading—yet she seemed euphoric, glowing so much with happiness that I could almost swear I saw an aura around her.
Now Karen said, “Dare,” and Master said, grinning wickedly at me, “I want your slave to give mine a kiss.”
Mouche climbed onto the table and sat beside me, legs tucked under her. Her eyes gleamed; her breaths were short and sharp; her dark lipstick was glossy, her breasts wet. She smiled at me happily, and I thought of what she’d been doing tonight, drinking Karen’s pee, and mine, and Master’s—how could it give her so much pleasure?
She leaned forward and kissed me. She smelled like an unclean toilet, and as she thrust her tongue into my mouth she tasted salty and acrid, not at all nice. And yet my body responded to her taste, her smell, her little pierced nipples brushing my skin. Even tied up as I was, I couldn’t help moving my hips a little.
Then they turned on all our devices. My body exploded with the sensations. Mouche’s kiss became wild and frantic, and she mewed into my mouth.
Somewhere in the far distance I heard Daniel say “Dare,” and Karen said, “I want to see Mouche eat Famula’s cunt,” and things were getting rearranged, I don’t know how, and my pussy, already damp and hot, was the center of the galaxy, everything whirling around it. And somehow Master was up on the table, and his cock was in my mouth, and I was gagging on it as he thrust, craving it, and Daniel was humping Karen against the wall.
I screamed around Master’s cock and came with an orgasm beyond any I’d ever felt; excited, he fucked my face hard till he came in my mouth, and I gulped down his cum. Mouche sat up between my legs, and we all watched as Daniel and Karen finished up against the wall.
The owners laughed and talked as they untied me and took the devices off Mouche and me. They dressed, and we slaves trailed them back to the living room. They relaxed on sofas and chairs. Mouche sat huddled in a far corner of the room, knees up, looking miserable. She was the only person in the room who hadn’t had an orgasm. I sat near her, leaned against the wall, and watched the owners.
They seemed deeply engaged in their conversation. I looked at Mouche: she was staring at me again, head lowered, eyes sad. I didn’t want to make love to her. I wasn’t aroused and didn’t think I’d like eating her pussy. But I felt obliged to her somehow—for the orgasm she’d given me, for her strange devotion to me this night, for the mere sight of her, which had moved me and given me so much pleasure.
I crawled towards her on elbows and knees, quietly, trying not to draw attention. She spread her legs for me: her pussy was bare, her outer labia thin and pale, inner labia dark pink and forbidding as they opened. I went flat on my stomach between her legs. She made a thin, tiny whine in her throat as my tongue touched her clit.
I’d never touched a woman there before, never seen, smelled, tasted a woman so close up. I was terrified and repelled by her damp, her pissy, cunty smell, her desolation and need. But, oh, I wanted so badly for her to have an orgasm. I closed my lips over her clitoris and massa
ged it gently with my tongue.
And I discovered a need of my own—to give pleasure to this slave whose wretchedness, like mine, was no less real because she had chosen it, whose pain was no less intense because she embraced it, and whose desires were no less beautiful for being strange and rare. And in my own need, her pussy became beautiful to look at, and its warmth and wetness felt delightful on my lips and tongue, its smell divine, its taste a heaven beyond description. This was Mouche—woman, slave, lover—and I kissed her womanhood as passionately as I’d ever kissed any man.
She responded to me, clit and labia swelling, growing warmer, wetter—and she slid forward into me and moaned, just a tiny moan—but that’s what must have drawn the attention of our owners.
“Famula, stop that!” Master’s voice was the crack of a whip.
“Mouche! Bad slave!” said Karen, shrill and scolding.
I shrank away from Mouche’s pussy, suddenly small and ashamed. She drew her knees up and pressed them together, folded her arms over her knees, put her head down, and sobbed. I thought my heart was going to break.
The owners were standing over us. “We’d better take Mouche home,” said Daniel. “It’s getting late. We’ll deal with her punishment there.”
“Get Mouche’s things,” Master said.
I ran to the bedroom, got her clothes from the closet, and brought them to her.
“Go to the bedroom and wait for me,” Master said.
I slouched away, stomach sinking. I turned in the entrance to the hallway and looked back. Mouche was staring at me, but the others were talking among themselves. I met her gaze and licked my lips, then turned and ran to the bedroom.
I curled up on my pallet. I was hot, tense, and unhappy, yet still aroused and unable to dismiss from my mind the image of Mouche’s pussy, pierced nipples, pale skin, and dark eyes—the haunted, needy look of her and the excitement of that second of rebellion when looked into her eyes and licked my lips.
From where I was, I couldn’t hear the voices from the living room, but I knew they were saying their goodbyes and leaving. Minutes passed; they seemed like hours.
Manhattan Kink: A Boxed Set Page 7