Nickel hurried to attend to her duties, whatever they might be today.
Irene needed to think of an entertainment for Saturday evening. She found Cherry sitting alone in the kitchen.
She sat across from her. “You’ve been at more entertainments than me. Tell me about them.”
“What’s to tell?” Cherry asked. “They’re all about the same. You get led into the billiard room with the other slaves. The gentlemen fuck you however they like. You do what they say and keep it up until they get tired. You get led back to the kennel.”
“Have you ever been in any entertainments that were different? That stood out in any way?”
“Not really.”
“Do you ever start out with a little sex show?”
“Huh?”
“You know. A couple of the slaves demonstrate a little girl-on-girl action before moving on to the men.” Irene’s previous owner did that once. And when she was doing solo entertainments, she usually started with a kind of pantomime about starting as a lady and descending into slavery.
“I never heard of that. We go there for the gentlemen to use, not to get each other off.” She frowned. “Not that we would. Nickel is the only one of us who likes to get her cunt licked by another woman and she always does that in private. She wouldn’t consider doing anything like that in front of gentlemen. They’d probably beat her half to death for getting off without them.”
They probably wouldn’t. One thing that Irene had learned from experience was that a lot of gentlemen enjoy seeing two women together. They don’t care if the women like it or not, as long as they go at each other with enthusiasm.
Now she knew why her previous owner had become known for his entertainments. Also, it explained why, the one time that Lord Hoffman had hired a professional entertainment director to stage a sex game, it had been so notable that gentlemen were still talking about it months later.
It seemed that it wouldn’t take much effort to make Lord Snow’s after-dinner entertainments a lot more entertaining.
Muffled sounds were beginning to come from the pleasure room where Nickel was cosseted with Lord Snow. The whiphand’s predilection for female service didn’t matter to the lord. The sounds indicated that he was doing a lot more than talking business in there. Nickel wasn’t expressing her pleasure with exuberant squeals as the other slaves had. She was grunting loudly enough to penetrate the heavy door.
She didn’t sound happy at all.
Cherry and Irene’s eyes met and they exchanged cheerful smiles.
“Pity that Peach is still up at the manor. She’d enjoy this,” Cherry said.
“I’m enjoying it enough for both of us,” Irene replied. Since arriving, servicing Nickel had been a duty that was no longer shared among the slaves, but was reserved for her, exclusively.
“I’m sure you are.” Cherry giggled. “If Lord Snow is as lusty with her as he was with the two of us yesterday, Nickel is getting the workout of her life.”
A sharp crack was followed by a shuddering groan.
“That’s the sound of strap on ass, if I’m not mistaken,” Cherry said.
Another crack and groan.
“Not at full force – Lord Snow is a strong man – but not a gentle one, either.”
Crack! Groan.
“He’s got her full attention now, no question about that.”
Lime and Tamarind entered the kitchen. Their duties at the manor were complete for the day and they’d stopped by their cells to shed their housedresses. Slaves weren’t allowed to sit around the kennels clothed, even briefly.
Another crack of the strap was followed by a shaper groan. This one rose in pitch at the end, edging toward a scream.
“What’s happening?” Tamarind asked.
“Nickel is servicing Lord Snow,” Irene said.
“Irene was in there, raising his lust again.” Cherry giggled.
This time the crack of the strap was followed by a definite scream.
“Nickel is getting her ass tenderized by the sound of it,” Lime said. “I wonder if he’s using her own strap on her.”
Apple and Peach entered in time to hear Lime’s comment.
“I hope so,” Apple said as she took a seat.
Peach said nothing, just glared at Irene. She hadn’t yet forgiven her for getting her cunt tenderized. Even though it had been her doing, not Irene’s.
Irene didn’t care. If Peach tried to start something again, then Nickel would tenderize her cunt again. Peach suspected that all Irene had to do was make a false accusation, either to Lord Snow during one of their private consultations, or to Nickel after eating out her cunt, and either one of them would visit a terrible punishment on her. Neither would bother with an investigation or trial.
Irene thought that Peach’s fears were well-founded.
What Peach didn’t yet know, what none of the other slaves yet knew, was that Irene, having been made the director of entertainment, now had the power to take any one of them on a long tour through hell any time she wanted.
She might just do that, not to punish anyone, but to amuse the gentlemen in some way that they had never been amused before.
It was beginning to dawn on her that she had been given more power over the other slaves than even that which was wielded by Nickel.
The strapping had stopped and now an undulating howl was piercing the door. It didn’t sound like pain, precisely, but it didn’t sound happy, either. It sounded primal like an animal caught in a trap and discovering that it had nowhere to run.
Irene wondered if Nickel took the trouble to keep her asshole stretched and lubed. Maybe not. Probably she thought that no one would dare to use Lord Snow’s whiphand that way.
Just for a moment, Irene felt a pang of pity for Nickel.
Just for a moment.
* * *
The five slaves – Peach, Apple, Cherry, Lime, and Tamarind – were beautiful and utterly nude, but every gentleman in the room was eyeing Irene. She looked stunning in a gold lamé catsuit as she stood on a foot-high platform near the entrance to the billiard room. Gentlemen grew hard just staring at her.
Though covered from collar to ankles, the elastic fabric fit so snugly that it could have been painted on. Every muscle was perfectly delineated. Her body was a visible as if she were nude, but the metallic sheen made her appear armored – inaccessible for carnal use.
It was a costume designed simultaneously to tempt and to frustrate the male libido.
She had to give Lord Snow credit. He had chosen the perfect costume for his director of entertainment. The degrading golden collar around her neck looked like it was part of the costume. Just a bit of jewelry added to complement the dress.
She assumed that Lord Snow had consulted a professional designer. No highborn gentleman would know this much about haut couture.
The gentlemen’s reaction to her appearance made her proud of her body. It had been lovely when she was a lady, but now with her diet strictly controlled, it was trim and fit enough to stun gentlemen into drooling silence.
The other slaves watched her with naked envy. And no small amount of trepidation. And some considerable anger.
“Gentlemen, if I can have your attention, please.” It was a silly thing to say. Not one of the dozen men had given their attention to anything else since she had walked into the billiard room.
“I am Lord Snow’s director of entertainment. Tonight, I offer these five slaves for your enjoyment. But, before we start, I’d like you to understand their situation.
“These poor slaves are starving. They received no food yesterday nor today. Not one of them has had a single bite to eat since dinner on Thursday. Not a single bite. Their bellies are as empty as empty can be.
“You can be certain that they noticed the buffet of wonderful canapés by the far wall as soon as they entered the room. You can be certain that they smell those delicious odors wafting across the room. If you look closely, you can see their noses twitching. Their mouths are w
atering freely. Some of them are even drooling down their chins.” She turned to Cherry and wiped a drop of spittle that was hanging from the corner of her mouth. She had intended to mime the action with a pretend bit of drool, but found that she didn’t have to. Cherry was salivating so much that it was dribbling out of her mouth. And she wasn’t the only one.
“These slave’s mouths will be plenty sloppy when you choose to use them that way.” There was light laughter from the gentlemen. “And you can expect them to swallow what you deposit with exceptional gusto tonight.” More laughter. “Don’t be surprised if they thank you for the delicious treat with tears of gratitude in their eyes.” The gentlemen found her hilarious.
“Of course, these slaves wouldn’t dare touch the canapés that we have provided for you. They would starve themselves to death, first.” She wasn’t entirely sure about that, but the gentlemen would believe it. “But if you find that a slave is giving you exceptional service. If she has given you pleasure beyond your usual expectations, you may choose to reward her with a morsel. Tonight, gentlemen, you will have these slaves eating out of your hand.”
There was scattered applause that swelled into an ovation.
“But these slaves will have an additional incentive to please you. At the end of the entertainment, you will be asked to indicate which one of these slaves provided the most pleasurable service. The slave who is least appreciated will endure a third day of starvation. She will be forced to watch the others eat breakfast and dinner tomorrow, but will not be permitted to put even a single crumb in her mouth until Monday morning.
“Every one of these slaves will work to earn as many canapés as possible tonight, for fear that she will be the one selected to fast again tomorrow.
“Do you have any questions, gentlemen?”
A voice from the middle of the group: “Are you going to shed your clothes and join the others?”
“No, Sir Lawrence.” Irene knew that knight. He wasn’t a bad fellow overall, but he had a bit higher opinion of himself than he merited and that annoyed some of his peers. “As the director of entertainment, I will not be available for service.”
There were a few groans of frustration.
That was a compliment to her desirability but it contained dangerous undercurrent. No slave should ever make a gentleman think that she was denying him anything. She had to offer something in place of sexual service. So she was prepared to offer myself as a sacrifice. “But let me tell you about the other part of tonight’s entertainment. As a slave in Lord Snow’s kennel, I, too, have been starved for two days. Believe me, I would like nothing better than to drop to my knees and serve you and hope to earn one of those wonderful treats from your hand.” Irene looked over at the canapé buffer with undisguised longing. “I will envy these other slaves every time I see one of them enjoy a delicious morsel of food. I will feel it especially keenly because, unlike them, I already know that I will go to bed tonight with nothing but unrelieved hunger gnawing at my belly. The best that I can hope is that I will be fed again at breakfast.
“But my fate may be considerably worse than one more night of starvation. At the end of the evening, I will ask you to decide how much pleasure you have received. You will be asked to vote on whether you have enjoyed this evening more than most entertainments or not. If the majority of you do not believe that I have provided you with more pleasure than you receive at other entertainments then you may decide that I will not be permitted to eat anything all day tomorrow or the following night. No breakfast or dinner for me. If I have not made you happy, you may decide that there will be two slaves in Lord Snow’s kennel who suffer a third day of fasting. And I will suffer even more than the slave who loses tonight because my fast will not have been broken, even by so much as a single canapé.”
The gentlemen were appraising Irene with frank interest. Her slender slave body was displayed to advantage in the gold lamé dress. More than one of them was wondering how much leaner she would be if she were starved for another thirty-six hours.
Irene was wondering the same thing. She prayed that she would not have to find out.
“Gentlemen, I give you slaves eager to serve you.”
The five slaves wasted no time approaching the gentlemen and offering their bodies.
Irene had primed the pump well. Not a single one of the slaves was taken in the ass or cunt. Every one of them was ordered to her knees and told to start sucking cock.
They looked ravenous in their eagerness to get something in their mouths. Like a flock of vultures bobbing their heads over carrion.
Irene hoped that none of them tried to take a bite of meat. The slave who let a tooth graze a cock would be punished cruelly. Irene had once heard a story about a slave who had been accused of hurting a gentleman with her teeth. Every tooth in her head had been pulled so that she could never bite again and a permanent tracheotomy valve installed in her throat so that she never again needed to breath through her nose or mouth. After those modifications, her mouth could be raped for hours at a time without a break. She spent the rest of her life on her knees in a brothel lubricating men’s cocks with her tears.
Irene hoped that the story was apocryphal – a cautionary tale whispered between slaves late at night to warn each other against letting their attention wander when performing fellatio – but she couldn’t be sure. It was entirely possible that such a horror had been visited upon some poor slave.
Tonight, there were five slaves available to twelve men. To the slaves’ dismay, not one of them was offered a treat after sucking off their first cock because another was already waiting to fill her mouth.
For the first twenty minutes, the slaves ate nothing but cum by the spoonful.
Once all the gentlemen in the room had been sucked off at least once, the fun began. The men began drifting over to the buffet and picking up a canapé or two.
The slaves stayed on their knees when a gentleman approached with a dab of salmon mousse on a cucumber slice or bits of mushroom and caramelized onion piled on a rice cracker. The slave nibbled it directly from his hand. Irene had told them that they were not to take any food into their own hands but could only eat it directly from the gentlemen’s fingers.
It was natural that they would lick the gentleman’s fingers clean and kiss them dry afterward.
The gentlemen seemed to get as much pleasure out of that as from getting their cocks sucked dry. It was natural for them to pat the slaves’ heads and stroke their hair because they were at waist level.
Irene had given instructions to the cook that the canapés would be exotic and delicious, tasty enough to please a baron, but not filling. There would be no deviled eggs or steak on toast triangles here. A slave could eat a couple dozen of these dainty morsels – bits of flavor on thin slices of vegetable or light crackers – and not feel even slightly full. Even the slave who was the most successful at begging treats would still be hungry by the end of the evening.
As the slaves were being treated like pet dogs, they were soon being fucked like bitches. They stayed on their hands and knees while men mounted them from behind and fucked them like animals.
Irene couldn’t see if the men were using the slave’s cunts or assholes. It didn’t matter as long as the men were happy.
Judging by the smiles on the men’s faces, they were having a great time.
Irene had not prohibited the slaves from standing up, but none did. Once they went down on their knees, they stayed there. It was a natural response when they were being hand-fed, patted, and fucked like dogs.
Slaves are always subservient, but this entertainment elevated subservience to the highest level of artistry.
Irene not only envied every bite that the slaves ate, she envied every violation of their cunts, mouths, and assholes. She hadn’t been fucked in weeks. She desperately wanted to feel a cock inside her – inside any orifice – but there was no hope of relief in her foreseeable future.
She silently damned Lord Snow to Hell where th
e fires of Satan’s furnaces would soon boil him into Lord Steam.
When the festivities wound down and most of the slaves were begging treats by nuzzling the nearest gentleman’s hand rather than needing to offer service, Irene gestured discreetly to Lord Snow. He nodded in approval. She mounted the small dais again. “Gentlemen, if I can have your attention please. Our entertainment is drawing to a close. I hope that you enjoyed yourselves.” There were some nods. “I mean, I really, really hope that you enjoyed yourselves.” She looked toward the canapé buffet with longing and earned some quiet laughter.
“Our first order of business is to select the slave who pleased you less than the others. Slaves, form a line along the wall next to me.”
The slaves rose to their feet and strolled to the wall to form a line.
“Apple, step forward.” She did. “Gentlemen how many found Apple exceptionally pleasurable? A show of hands, please.”
She made a quick count. Eight.
“Step back and Lime, step forward.” When she did, Irene asked for a vote. Nine.
When the gentlemen had voted on all five slaves, Irene announced the final tally. “Gentlemen, Tamarind has received only seven votes. Though most of you found her pleasing, she was not quite as pleasing as the others. Therefore, she will not be eating another bite until the day after tomorrow.”
Tamarind began to weep softly.
“Hey,” one of the gentlemen said – someone that Irene did not recognize. “She was damned good. As good as any slave that I’ve ever had. She doesn’t deserve to be punished.”
“Yeah,” Sir Lawrence said. “There are only twelve of us and seven of us thought that she was exceptional.”
Someone else chimed in. “They were all great. They all deserve to eat.”
Irene was shocked. She hadn’t expected the gentlemen to show such compassion for a slave. It was completely out of character. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but all the slaves understood the rules before we started. It wouldn’t be fair to the others if I changed the rules now, would it? I can’t do it.”
A Gentlemen's Agreement (Slave of the Aristocracy) Page 5