Chapter 11: Welcome Party

Once the parade is finished the proceedings become more relaxed and informal. Mistress Matilda congratulates me on my performance before leaving me to socialise with the other DVs. My hobble dress discourages me from wandering too far, and I politely decline the offer to join those dancing. Apparently only Mistresses are allowed to drink alcohol, so I content myself with mineral water. Fortunately there are no restrictions on the plentiful food on offer.

“Rumour has it that you are ranked third overall, and top among the three newcomers to this DominasKongress,” says Helen, when she joins me at the food table.

“Ranked?” I ask. “How does that work?”

“It’s nothing official, but the mistresses all put wagers on those they think will win the competition. We are ranked by the odds that are assigned to each of us. There are side bets as well; best newcomer; best male; most individual challenges won, worst overall performance. The list is endless. If you can think of a category that people will bet on, then it’s likely someone will accept bets. The parade is designed to give the mistresses an idea of each competitor’s abilities.”

“Walking blindfold along a forty foot walkway is hardly a good indicator of how someone will perform in different challenges,” I muse.

“True. But they also judge how you look in your clothing. Some challenges will depend on your ability to look alluring. The DominasKongress challenges aren’t the Olympics or a Mastermind quiz. We are all submissive by nature, and our dedication to the world of obedience and submission is what the judges are scoring.”

I take in what Helen is telling me. How I can use that information is an unknown at the moment. Michelle comes over to join us.

“Laura, I need you to settle an argument between David and Franz,” says Michelle in her lilting French accent, pointing to two of the male DVs. “Are you wearing panties under your dress?”

Normally I would be shocked at such a question, but I’m feeling a part of a world far bigger and exciting than I previously imagined.

“No, I’m not,” I reply nonchalantly. “This dress is too tight fitting over my arse to avoid the outline of underwear being noticeable.”

“Hah! That’s what I thought,” laughs Michelle before shouting across the room. “Hey! David! You’re right! Laura’s sans culotte!”

I cringe at Michelle’s words. When I admitted to not wearing panties, I wasn’t expecting it to be broadcast to the world. However the news of my naked cunny draws a small cheer from the gathered crowd.

“Another point to you,” laughs Helen. “Don’t worry, you’ll not be the only one here who isn’t wearing underwear. I don’t think Michelle knows what panties look like.”

Over the next hour my arse is ‘accidentally’ groped several times as both men and women DVs check my statement for themselves. In other circumstances, their blatant sexual approach could be regarded as sleazy, but the atmosphere in here is far more atuned to our personalities. I talk to all the DVs during the course of the evening, each of us gauging the strengths and weaknesses of the other. The Mistresses pretend to ignore us completely, but I catch most of them appraising us as we socialise before their watchful eyes.

The party looks set to go on until well after midnight. However, not everyone is a night owl. One by one, Mistresses call their Sub away from the gathering in order to have a good night’s sleep. Unlike most of the others, Mistress Matilda looks ready to party until dawn. I don’t dare retire to bed before her. Eventually I need to answer a call of nature. I find a small sideroom labelled “Toiletten für Sklavinnen” in keeping with the German theme of the event. Inside is a chemical toilet, an enamel bowl and a jug of water. Compared to the facilities upstairs, the toilet is basic and crude. However, it saves a trek upstairs. I enter the room. It’s impossible to pee with my hobble dress on, so I’m obliged to remove it. The strangeness of being able to pee without my chastity belt almost outweighs the sensation of being naked. I can’t resist toying with my clit when I’ve finished. I’ve been denied an orgasm since New Year, and I’m torn between my desire for one, and my obedience to Mistress Matilda’s wish to keep me sexually needy. It’s a testament to my obedience that I halt what I’m doing and dress myself.