Sonja stood up gracefully and gave me a hard look. "Why aren't you kneeling, slut?" she said.
I began to stammer a reply, swallowed it, and knelt in front of her submissively. After a moment's hesitation, I opened my knees widely, adopting the position that now seemed so natural to me. Hoping to appease her, I pulled back my shoulders and thrust my breasts up and forward. I hoped she liked what she saw.
"That's better, slut," she said. "Follow me and we'll put you to work. But don't rise from your knees - a slut like you looks better on all fours." I padded along behind her on hands and knees as she led the way through the opulently arrayed dining room and into the kitchen, wondering what kind of "work" awaited me. If Sonja really was a slave and compelled to serve her master's pleasure all day, would she not seize the opportunity to abuse a slave girl of her own? So it was with some surprise that I found myself set to menial kitchen tasks - peeling vegetables, slicing bread, cleaning dishes. As Sonja ordered me about, I found myself, surprisingly, becoming mildly aroused. So slavery was not just about being stripped naked, thrown to the ground, and raped as I had fantasized - it was also about cooking and cleaning, attending to every wish a master might have.
Twice more the doorbell rang. Each time Sonja answered the door and came back with another exquisite, scantily dressed woman, collared, presumably another slave girl. One, a tall, statuesque blonde wearing a translucent white minidress, was named Eva; the other, a half-Asian with black hair and deep green eyes, wearing a black lace bra and panties, was named Melissa. I was introduced as Jenny, the "new American slut." As Cristina had warned me, I addressed them as Mistress, which seemed to amuse them.
They seemed to know each other well, and chatted as they worked in the kitchen. I could not make out everything they were saying, but the more I listened, the more certain I was that they truly lived as slaves, as they discussed their masters and the services they rendered to them, seemingly proud of the indignities they were forced to endure.
At a pause in the conversation, I turned to Sonja and said, "Mistress, may I ask a question?"
"Go ahead, slut," she answered.
"Are you all really ... slaves?" I managed to say.
"Yes, of course we are," said Sonja. "As are you, no doubt."
"I mean, do you really belong to masters, all the time, and do you do whatever they ask?"
"Well, we don't do everything they ask, but generally we keep them happy enough," she answered. "But I thought Cristina said you were her slave."
"I'm not really her slave ... at least not all the time," I said.
"Only sometimes."
"You're not really a slave, then?" Eva asked. "You dress like that and wear a collar for fun?"
"Um ... it's sort of like that," I said.
Sonja laughed. "You're a slave girl, all right, if I've ever seen one. I saw the way you spread your knees before me." She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed down, guiding me to my knees. I opened them once again. "Now bend down and get your lovely mouth to work licking my feet," she said. Numbly, I obeyed, secretly thrilled to be lavishing my attentions on the feet of a lowly slave girl. I could hear the other women laughing. "Later we'll find out how good she really is," I heard Sonja saying to them.
"OK, slut, you can stop now," Sonja said. I knelt back on my heels and looked up at her, my knees still widely spread. "Get back to work." I obeyed silently, wondering what kind of girl I really was. Was there really anything that separated me from these three enslaved beauties, so at ease in their collars? I expected I would soon find out.
At dinner there were three men and Cristina. It was our job to serve dinner, to wait on our masters, to attend their every need or desire. When not engaged in serving, I followed the example of the other girls and knelt on the floor to the left of Cristina's chair, my knees open and my back straight as I had been taught. Occasionally she would ask me for more water or wine, which I would fetch from the sideboard and pour for her. From time to time she would give me morsels of food, which I would eat either from her fork or in her hand, not allowed the use of my hands. She fed me as one would feed an animal. The dinner conversation went quickly and, while I could not understand much of it, I could make out a number of subjects - politics, Berlin opera houses, the quality of the wine, and ... slaves. The men were openly discussing the qualities of their slaves, even to the nature of the intimate services they were capable of performing. A slave was clearly permitted not even a shred of privacy. Then, with shock, I realized Cristina was talking about me - about the time at the part when Claudette had tested my arousal, and about my offering my body to Stefan when he took me home that night. I lowered my head, mortified. Then they all knew how wantonly I had begged to be used, and as a slave. Surely they would demand at least that from me tonight.
Kneeling by my mistress's chair, dinner seemed to drag on interminably. All I could think about was what indignities I would suffer once the meal had ended. At one point, one of the men at the table made a brief motion to Melissa, kneeling at his left. To my shock, she immediately crawled under the table and positioned herself in front his seat, kneeling between his legs. Although my view was obstructed, her soft moans helped me imagine only too clearly the service she was rendering to him. He continued to eat, drink, and converse normally - except for one moment when he leaned back, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. A few seconds later Melissa emerged from under the table and resumed her position next to his chair, smiling and licking her lips. He put his hand in her hair and petted her casually. All my fantasies about sexual slavery had not prepared me for what I had just witnessed. I realized that we slaves seated around the table were no more than the food and drink arrayed atop it - objects available to serve the pleasures and desires of the masters seated at the table. Making use of a slave was no more significant than drinking a glass of wine. And I was one of those slaves.
When dinner was over, we cleared the table. Melissa and I washed the dishes while Sonja and Eva served coffee and desserts to the masters in the living room. When we finished with the dishes and joined the others, the masters were beginning to play a game of poker, their slave once again kneeling at their feet, expectant and available. Sonja explained the rules to me. Each person had individually marked chips. When one player had accumulated a certain number of another player's chips, he could "cash them in" for a service ... to be rendered by the other player's slave. The number of chips returned would depend on the service demanded.
"What kinds of services?" I whispered.
She smiled at me. "Oh, anything ... it could range from a little lap dance, to being thrown over a table and raped by everyone in the room. It just depends on how badly your master loses," she laughed.
I knew Cristina had given me a way out if things got too rough for me, but I hoped I wouldn't have to use it.
The hands went quickly, as they were playing a form of the game I knew as "guts" - two cards, no draw, only one round of bidding. And as chips changed hand, debts started to be collected. Eva was kneeling under the table, sucking one man's toes; Sonja did a brief striptease and resumed her position next to her master's chair, nude save for her collar; and then it was my turn.
"Has she ever kissed another woman?" I heard a man asking.
Cristina looked at me. "No, mistress," I whispered.
The next thing I knew, I was locked in a kiss with Melissa, her tongue exploring every corner of my mouth, her hands running possessively over my breasts, back, and hips. When she finally released me from her embrace, my heart was pounding, my mind racing. I had never experienced a kiss like that - so deeply sensual, so passionate, so demanding. And Melissa was only another slave ... I was afraid to find out what it would be like to be kissed by a master.