Episode 1: In The Dining Hall

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Romantic, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Coercion, Lesbian, BDSM, DomSub, Spanking, Light Bond, Humiliation, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Exhibitionism, Slow, .

Desc: Sex Story: Episode 1: In The Dining Hall - Young, gorgeous and angry, Pet finds herself under lock and key at the House, a fabulous all-female institution that's part girls' school, part prison, part corporation and part brothel. Includes synopsis. In Episode 10, Pet isn't allowed much time to recover from her secret liaison with her mystery lover. Her Lady arrives to take her pleasure, and she isn't in a gentle mood.

I had to go to dinner with Cissy, and it sucked. If I refused, I'd be punished, and besides I was starving, but why couldn't my maids just bring me something in my room and leave me in peace to eat it? Now I had to get dressed in a stupid slutty dress, and wear a push-up bra that would practically leave welts, and sit in front of the vanity mirror looking at a face that wasn't really mine while a maid did my makeup and hair and even my nails. It took more than an hour, plus the time in the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth and stuff.

Class had been hell, even though it wasn't Posture Class, just Cosmetics, but I'd been asked a question and hadn't known the answer and the other girls all looked at me like I was a retard. If I could have gotten any one of them alone, I would have made her sorry, but of course that would never happen. The duty Trainers watched us like hawks.

Cissy came for me at six, perfectly punctual, and perfectly dressed and perfectly polite and perfectly proper, and I perfectly fucking hated her. She said, "Good Evening, Pet. You look very nice in your new dress." 'It's not my dress and you only think I look very nice because of what the maids did to me, so let's just get dinner over with and never mind the insincere compliments, ' I thought. "Good Evening, Cissy. Thank you, Cissy," I said. I was too tired and too hungry to risk being punished tonight, and I took some cheer from the fact that we were eating in the dining hall, not Cissy's suite, so I might not have to have sex with her afterward. She offered me her arm and I put my hand on it, and she thanked my night maid, who curtsied. I never bothered with any pleasantries where the maids were concerned, after all they were just hired help and their main function was to rag me and spy on me. Although they seemed to be compassionate toward me sometimes, they were clearly on the House's side, so I detested them. On the way downstairs, Cissy asked how my day had gone as she drifted along elegantly like she'd been born in those heels, and I told her the truth, just to see if she would be irritated.

"I'm sorry, Pet," she said with aggravating sympathy. "Are you sure you didn't know the answer?"

Caught off guard, I answered honestly again, but I couldn't help feeling ashamed. "I read it, but I didn't remember until after she told me," I replied sullenly, not meeting her eyes.

"Please don't feel badly. Mademoiselle Kelly told me at tea this afternoon that you have shown an improvement in Cosmetics Class, and I'm sure you simply had a lapse of memory."

Somehow that bothered me more than if she had been angry. "Cissy, when are you going to realize that I really am as stupid as everybody thinks? I never know the answers, and I think the classes are pointless anyway. I'm not trying to make you mad at me, I'm just being honest. If I have to go through this training, why can't I learn to do something useful? I know the House has classes in all kinds of things. Why can't I take History, or Cuisine or Art, or something?"

"I'm sure you know the answer to that, Pet," she said firmly. "You are being trained to become a House girl, and although I am not giving you a choice of classes, I have told you that I will allow you electives when you are further along. First you must show me that you can do well in these more essential disciplines. You cannot be a House girl if you don't understand Cosmetics. Or Etiquette, or Posture, or Couture. It's that simple." She gave me that Cissy look of totally inflexible authority. The Ownership Look, I called it. I almost, almost snapped back at her. The obvious response was that a House girl was a prostitute and I didn't want to be one, and I never would be. But by then I would have been raising my voice and arguing with her and although she would never argue back, I was sure to wind up being punished. I had promised myself that I would get through dinner without that tonight. I ground my teeth and shut up.

"Also, Pet, I want you to stop saying that you are stupid. It isn't true," she added, just to make sure she had the last word. I had the last word in my mind, and it had four letters.

By the time we got to the dining hall, my feet were killing me. I had different shoes for just about every outfit I wore, and they all gave me blisters in different places. The heels were too high, the straps were too tight and some of them were mules, and didn't even have straps so I had to keep them on my feet by scrunching my toes. I saw it as a subtle form of torture designed to make me docile and helpless. And my bra hurt too, and so did my back, because my tits were too big. WAY too big, and they bothered me all the time. I couldn't sleep in certain positions, I couldn't move quickly without them swinging or bouncing and looking really dumb, and they got in the way of everything I did and made me even more awkward than I already was, and they were very sensitive and tender, especially my nipples. It was totally, maddeningly unfair. The House had no right to change my body. A girl's body should belong to her, and nobody else.

Now my body belonged to Cissy. But I had sworn my mind never would.

Cissy held a chair out for me, and I sat down with relief. She hesitated for just a second, and I said, "Thank you, Cissy." Then she went around to her own seat and arranged herself with perfect grace. She picked up her napkin and put it in her lap, and I copied her, wondering what I would be allowed to have. The dining hall wasn't really a hall, like a big open space. It had a lot of columns and archways and potted plants and other stuff that kind of divided it into little rooms, so it seemed more private. The walls were white stucco and the floor was beautiful stone tile, and the soft indirect lighting made it feel very comfortable. I could see two other tables from where I was, and there were couples at both of them, House girls and their Ladies. They all gave Cissy respectful glances, and she smiled at them regally.

During dinner, I tried to keep up with Cissy's occasional comments, but mainly I paid attention to my table manners because I knew she was watching closely. This was probably the biggest pitfall of the evening. I knew how to do this stuff after endless training at Etiquette Class, but it was complicated with all the different utensils and glasses and I would fuck up if I didn't concentrate. That had often been the excuse she needed to punish me. She seemed in a pretty good mood tonight, but if I took a bite with the wrong fork that wouldn't matter.

Cissy ordered for me like she always did, as if I couldn't even decide for myself what I wanted to eat. She knew I didn't like beef, and she was kind enough to pass up the filet mignon on the special card, but she also knew I liked chicken and contrarily ordered me grilled salmon, with lemon. It was good, of course, as everything served at the House was, but it wasn't what I wanted so I didn't enjoy it. I ate all there was, though, because I was so hungry and the little bit I got wouldn't have satisfied a cat. There were veggies too, and I ate them all, and I got one piece of warm bread, with a trace of butter, which was the high point of my meal. Dessert was out of the question.

Cissy gave me a couple of casual criticisms during dinner, one about my posture and the other when I didn't finish chewing before taking a drink of water, but I didn't let them irritate me very much. At least I was eating, and she wasn't truly lecturing me as she often did. She had the same thing as me, in the same dinky portion, which was probably to show me that it wasn't too little. Of course, there was nothing stopping her from eating as much as she wanted later when she got home, if she was still hungry. Presumably I wasn't supposed to be smart enough to figure that out.

After the main course was cleared, I really did feel a little better. I was embarrassed, of course, with my huge boobs practically bursting out of my slinky dress and the tops of my stockings clearly visible beneath my too-short hemline, but I was only with Cissy so I didn't really care. In spite of the tense dislike I had for spending time with Cissy, we knew each other well by now. You can't sleep with someone at least twice a week, and have meals with them even more often, without forming some kind of relationship, and we had one, although it wasn't a comfortable one. When I wanted to, I knew what to do to get along with her, and since I had made it through dinner without getting in trouble I just decided to "be good," as people at the House were always telling me, and hope that I wouldn't have to go to bed with her. A maid came and asked if we wanted coffee. The maids who served in the dining hall and on the two terraces where meals were available had little fitted black uniforms with white buttons, collars and cuffs just like the personal maids and the day and night floor maids, but their aprons were white instead of black with white lace trim. Cissy surprised me by ordering me a cappucino. She knew I liked that. Had I really been that well-behaved, or was she trying to soften me up for something I wouldn't like later on? I decided it might be a reward and enjoyed it. She had coffee.

She asked how I was coming with a novel she had given me, and I really was reading it and it had turned out to be pretty good. It was all about the history of these imaginary vampires and was kind of Gothic and spooky, and there was a lot of sex in it, but it was romantic too in a kind of tragic way. I told her which chapter I was on and she asked a couple of questions about it, how I felt about this and that, and I told her, and the next thing I knew we were talking almost like friends for a minute. Then another Lady came by our table to say Hello, with a cute, submissive typical House girl in tow, and she greeted Cissy like she was a celebrity and even said Good Evening to me. I was flustered for a second, not having expected to be noticed, but I said, "Good Evening, Mademoiselle," and dropped my eyes as I was supposed to, and that got me by. The only Lady of the House that I didn't have to call "Mademoiselle" was Cissy, and that was because our relationship was personal as well as official, although there were still rules about how I was supposed to respectfully address her. I paid attention to them sometimes.

After dinner, I got what I had been telling myself I wanted: Cissy walked me back to my room instead of to her apartment. I felt a little more calm than I had on the way down, and I didn't really mind when Cissy put her arm around me. She smelled nice and the warmth of her felt good. Inside my door, though, she kissed me Good Night right in front of my night maid, who happened to be in my room straightening up or something. I had to do it, but it made me feel so ashamed. Cissy smiled a little Mona Lisa smile that was an affectation of hers, because she knew I was embarrassed, and I suppose I was blushing. Her kiss had sent a flash of familiar excitement through my body and she knew it. My overactive hormones and the conditioning of being her unwilling lover for so long betrayed me, although I insisted to myself that I didn't want her. She said, "Good Night, Pet," softly and I murmured, "Good Night, Cissy. Thank you for dinner," against her neck, my eyes closed.

"It was my pleasure, Pet," she said, so proper, and then she turned and closed the door on her way out. I stood looking after my owner for a second. I looked at the maid standing by the bathroom door, and then I walked over to my bed and picked up a pillow and flung it against the door so hard it bounced halfway back across the room. The maid looked at it stupidly and I said, "Look, there's a pillow on the floor. You'd better pick it up. I need a shower." And I went into the bathroom and took one, throwing my clothing a piece at a time back into the bedroom for my maid to pick up if she felt like it. In the shower, I could cry all I wanted, and no one would know.

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