Chapter 3: The Party

I awoke with the late-morning sun streaming into my windows, my sheets damp with sweat. My body was still tired and sore from the exertions of the previous night, but I felt strangely refreshed. I wondered how I would deal with the consequences of my actions the night before - how I would face the friends who had forced me to kneel at their feet and seen me lick the boots of my mistress - but the light of the new day gave me the optimism that everything would be better. I stretched, running my hands over thighs and belly and breasts, luxuriating in the feel of my body. I knew I had sexual needs whose depths I had never before suspected, but that gave me a curious feeling of pleasure and satisfaction, knowing I could indulge those needs when I chose.

Then my fingers encountered the band of steel locked around my neck, and I remembered that neither Cristina nor Stefan had ever removed my collar. The weight of the inflexible collar, which I had grown so accustomed to the night before, felt strange and frightening in the light of day and the softness of my bed. I put my hands to the collar and tried to pull it open, to no avail. I felt carefully around the outside and inside of the collar for a latch, but found only a narrow seam with a small keyhole next to it. I jumped up and ran to look in the bathroom mirror. To my dismay, I saw that it was securely, immovably locked on me. I made a few efforts to pick the lock with a hairpin, but failed miserably in my attempts. My heart began to race. How could I go out with the symbol of my submission locked about my neck for all to see? What did it mean that they had left the collar on me? Would I ever be free of it? But then I began to calm down. Of course it had been a simple oversight. Cristina had amused herself with treating me as a slave at the club, but she could not possibly want to be bothered with a slave all the time. I would just call her, ask her to come over to unlock the collar, and everything would be as before.

Happy with my self-reassurances, I turned on the water and stepped into the shower. Luxuriating in the hot water, I considered my body in a new light. I had always thought myself pretty, but had never given serious thought to how men - or women - might evaluate my naked body as a source of sexual pleasure. I smiled. It might have been my first time, but I was sure that at least some men had found me of interest as a sexual object. I was still deeply humiliated by Stefan's outright refusal to take advantage of my shamelessly offered charms, but surely few men could have turned down the opportunity I had presented. I supposed I was lucky that he was one of them. I wondered how I would feel now if I had truly been help from behind and brutally, forcibly taken, perhaps over and over, of if I had felt and tasted the seed of multiple men on my tongue.

I turned off the water, toweled myself off, and picked up the phone to call Cristina. Suddenly I was overcome with doubt. What would she say to me? Would she still treat me as her slave and demand my unquestioning obedience? Had she lost all respect for me? Could she only see me as the soft, helpless, willing slut I had played last night?

But there was nothing else to do, short of calling locksmith to pick the lock on my collar. I dialed her number and waited, not breathing. She picked up the phone. "Hallo?"

"Hi, Cristina, this is Jenny."

"Oh, hi, Jenny," she said enthusiastically, "how are you feeling today?"

"Great," I said, not sure how she would take that. "I mean, last night was quite an experience."

"You really seemed to be enjoying yourself," Cristina asked innocently.

I wasn't sure how I should answer that one - I couldn't deny it, but I needed to appear the confident, free-spirited person I tried to be. I settled on "Yes, it was very interesting to play that role. Thanks for letting me try it out."

"You seemed to take to it very naturally," she answered. "Stefan said you took it very seriously."

So she knew. She seemed to be giving me the benefit of the doubt, at least. I decided to drop the subject.

"Anyway, you forgot to give Stefan the key to my collar. Can you come over here and unlock it for me? It's a little embarrassing," I said. Now that was an understatement. Less than a visible sign that actually would not have been terribly remarkable in certain districts of Berlin, it was more a constant reminder of the slave girl who had so comfortably inhabited my body the night before, and who lay just below the surface of my current demeanor.

"Well, I'm terribly busy today, and I don't really have time to come over to your neighborhood," Cristina said. "Why don't you meet me on my way?" she asked. "I'm going to be in Prenzlauer Berg around lunchtime and we can meet at the caf. Say at 1:30."

"OK," I said, not wanting to admit my embarrassment. "I'll see you then."

"Great," she answered. "See you."

I spent the next couple hours puttering around my apartment, trying unsuccessfully not to think about my upcoming encounter with Cristina. Our relationship had seemed quite normal during the call, except for the scarcely-hidden implications of her casual remarks. Did she think I was a natural slave? What did she think of the fact that I had shamelessly offered my body to Stefan, pleading on my knees like a slut? I imagined her forcing me to strip off my clothes at an outdoor table and kneel at her feet, occupying my tongue with the work of cleaning the dust off her boots. But I knew I had no choice. I would have to confront her at some point.

I decided to dress in as un-slave-like a fashion as possible. I put on jeans, a T-shirt from a 10K I had run a few months before, and a UCLA sweatshirt, wrapped a dark silk scarf as best I could around the steel collar, and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I wore no makeup at all. Looking in the mirror, apart from the somewhat incongruous silk scarf, I saw a completely normal, well-adjusted college student. Steeling my resolve, I left the apartment and got on the U-bahn for Prenzlauer Berg.

When I got to the caf, Cristina was already seated at an outdoor table, casually sipping a cappuccino and looking over what looked like photographs. As I approached, she put them back in a large envelope, rose, and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, my little slave," she said with a wink and a smile, as if it were all pleasant joke among friends.

"Hello, mistress," I tried to say with the same casual air. She indicated a seat to me and I took it.

"I had a really good time last night," Cristina began. "I trust you did, too?"

I responded with the line I had worked on in the subway on the way over. "Yes, I did. I've always liked trying new things, and this was definitely new. I'm not sure I would do it again, but I'm glad I did it."

"I think you liked it a bit more than that," Cristina said with a knowing smile. "I'm not sure I've ever seen a girl as heated as you were bound to that table. Although that was probably nothing compared to when Stefan took you home." There was silence. Luckily, Cristina changed the subject. "Hey, look at these," she said, pushing the envelope toward me.

I opened it and pulled out a small stack of black-and-white 8x10 photos. I gasped. There I was, wearing the slave's clothing that Cristina had given me to ward, licking the boots of doorman on a public street. Then I was kneeling at the table where Cristina and her friends were happily chatting, my head down, my knees spread. Then I was bent over and bound to that leather table, my body completely exposed to the camera. Then I was seen from the front, my lips wrapped around the whip handle that Cristina was thrusting deep into my mouth.

I looked up. "Where did you get these?" I asked.

"Oh, the guy who runs the club is a friend of mine. He usually has a photographer take a few pictures of the star attractions. You should be happy. He clearly thought you were one of the hottest girls there last night." I couldn't speak, too shocked by the idea that last night's adventure in submission had been recorded for posterity. "You're really quite beautiful as a slave," Cristina said, smiling again. "Much more than in those heavy clothes and silly ponytail."

"What are you going to do with the pictures?" I asked, as a new fantasy rapidly unfolded in my head, in which I was blackmailed into becoming Cristina's personal slave, or perhaps the property of the club itself, constantly available to any of its guests. I had reached the point where I had been tied again to that same table, but now was being used repeatedly by one man after another when Cristina interrupted my horrifying yet fascinating reverie.

"They're for you," she said. "I thought you might want them as... as a souvenir."

"But what about the negatives?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Cristina said dismissively. "My friend is extremely discreet. The last thing he wants is a reputation of exploiting the people who pay his cover charges and buy his drinks. If he put those pictures up on the Internet, people would stop going to his parties."

That felt like a rather paltry measure of security to me, but I decided there was little I could do about it. For all I knew, he had a right to take the pictures, as I had freely entered his club dressed the way I did, and had freely engaged in the activities I was now shocked to contemplate in images. "Thanks, I guess," I said. "By the way, " I continued as casually as I could, "did you bring the key for my collar?"

"Yes, I did," she answered, "but there's one favor I'd like to ask in exchange."

"What is it?" I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer.

"I've been invited to a dinner party on Tuesday, and I wanted to know if you would go as my date?"

"As your date?"

"Well, actually, each person has to bring a slave." The words struck deep into my heart and body. I could feel warmth beginning to simmer between my thighs. "You would just have to act like a slave, just like last night," she continued reassuringly. "Everyone will know you aren't really a slave."

I thought for a moment about what that could mean. Were there really women - and men - who were truly slaves, fully owned, compelled to utter obedience to their masters, open and available to any of their whims or desires? Or did she only mean that there were people who had more experience playing the role of slaves, who perhaps would surrender themselves unconditionally for the span of an evening?

In any case, I could tell from the heat in my belly that I was clearly interested, but I did not want to let on to Cristina the extent of my desire. "Would I have to go completely naked?" I asked, trying to buy time.

"Not if you don't want to," Cristina answered. "I'm sure what you wore last night would be appropriate."

"What kind of service would I have to provide? Would I have to sleep with anyone?"

"That depends on what you want, Jenny," my friend said seriously. She waited. "What do you want?"

"Well... I might want to in some circumstances" - I could hardly deny that, since she knew all about my attempts to interest Stefan - "but I'm not sure I like the idea of being forced to please anyone who wants me."

"You won't have to do anything you don't want to," Cristina promised. "If you want to call it off, just say so and I'll take you home."

"OK, then, I guess I'll try it. But only because it's you," I said, trying to sound less excited than I was.

Cristina smiled. "I knew you'd agree. You'll have lots of fun."

"Now will you take of this collar?" I reminded her.

"Of course." She got up and stood behind me. "Bend forward and hold your hair out of the way." I obeyed, realizing the submissiveness of this posture, even here at a sidewalk caf table, baring my neck before Cristina. She pulled off the scarf, exposing the steel collar to public view. I felt a bolt click and then the soft breeze on the back of my neck as she lifted the collar away.

"Thank you," I whispered, finally free of that most compelling symbol of my bondage.

"Any time," Cristina answered. "Why don't I just give you the key, so that doesn't happen again," she said. I looked at her, wondering what she meant. "Well, it's your collar now," she explained. "You can take it home and put it on whenever the urge takes you."

The urge? Did she realize the depth of attraction that collar held for me? "Well, ok," I said.

"It's settled, then," Cristina said, gathering up her things. "I'll pick you up at your place on Tuesday around 6:30."

"What should I, uh, wear?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said. Seeing the shock on my face, she said, "No, I don't mean you should go nude. Just don't worry about it. I'll bring you something... suitable." I wondered if that meant I would be granted more or less modesty than I had enjoyed the night before, when my most feminine secrets had been clearly on view and open to all. I wondered if it were possible to be more naked yet not completely nude. But I would be going to this party as a slave girl. I slave has no control over what, if anything, she is allowed to wear. She must simply abide by her master's will, even if that means displaying her charms openly to all comers. That is the least a slave must expect.

"OK, see you then," I managed to say. Clutching the collar in my hand, I began to retrace my journey to my apartment.

The next few days went by in a blur. I could think about nothing except the party to which I would be going and, I suspected, at which I would be a considerable part of the entertainment. I was afraid to see Cristina or any of the friends who had seen me at the club, for fear of how they might treat me. I found myself constantly wondering what other people, particularly men, thought of me. Did they find me attractive? Would they like to have me kneeling naked at their feet? If I begged them to rape me, would they do so?

When Tuesday came, I felt almost sick with nervous anticipation. Last time Cristina had exposed me in public, virtually naked, forced me to kneel before and lick her feet, bound me bent over a table - in short, had treated me as a slave. What would she demand of me tonight? I assumed she command at least as much, and probably more. I expected I would find myself completely nude before strangers, my charms open and exposed. But would I be compelled to serve them with my body, surrendering the last vestige of my freedom, my soft flesh a mere vessel for their pleasure? And if I were so commanded, would I obey? I spent much of the day trying to decide how I would respond. On the one hand, I was deeply, viscerally attracted to the thought of being used as a helpless sexual plaything, taken casually in multiple ways by strong masters intent only on their own pleasure. On the other hand, I was frightened to fully admit my inner nature to the world, to Cristina, and even to myself. At the time, I thought that it was still possible to turn my back on this new world, to return to the person I had been just a week before; but I sensed that if I truly surrendered my body, I would be crossing an line of significance, searing a mark in my body that would be impossible to erase. Then, I sensed, I would truly be a slave, for there would remain nothing to separate me from that condition of complete bondage and sexual servitude. What I failed to realize was that I was already a slave, that there could be no turning back.

At the time, I told myself that I would not let masters have complete sway over my body, that I would protect my last and most intimate assets from their attentions. But I could not be sure that I would comply with that decision.

A few minutes after 6:30, just when I was beginning to wonder if Cristina found me sufficiently pleasing, I heard a knock on the door. I opened it, and there she was, wearing an elegant black dress and high heels. "Hi, Cristina," I started to say when she interrupted me.

"Shouldn't you be on your knees, slut?" she said coldly.

I swallowed my excuses and lowered myself to my knees. I spread them widely, even though I was wearing jeans. I looked up at my mistress, already feeling the now-familiar stirring between my legs. "Yes, mistress," I said. "I'm sorry, mistress."

She brushed her hand in through my hair. "That's ok, Jenny," she said. "You have a lot to learn, but you show great potential." I wondered what she meant by that. "Well, my car's waiting, so let's get you dressed and let's get out of here."

She opened her bag and pulled out two bands of dark blue cloth. "This one goes around your breasts, and the other goes around your hips," she said matter-of-factly. "You tuck the loose end in back." I looked at the cloth. At least it was opaque this time, I thought. "You can use the bathroom," she said, smiling.

I rose to my feet, took the clothes, and went into the bathroom. Well, I should have known it would be something like this. I took off my clothes and looked in the mirror. There was really nothing there that hadn't been on display to hundreds of people last week. I wondered how long it would be before those full breasts and soft hips would again be exposed to view. I wondered if this evening's dinner guests would find them satisfactory. I hope they would.

Each band of cloth was long enough to wrap around my body almost twice. The one for my hips was about six inches wide, allowing me to cover the area from the tops of my hip bones down to a couple inches below my crotch. I started it at my left hip, and wrapped it in front of my body twice before tucking it as tightly as I could in back. I simple tug, I knew, and it would be around my ankles, baring my charms to view. I wrapped the top, which was only about four inches wide, around my breasts twice and, after a bit of a struggle, managed to tuck it in as well. I looked at myself again in the mirror. Most of my breasts were visible above and below the cloth, their curves clearly delineated. My hips were more or less covered, but I knew if I were to bend over that my modesty would be entirely compromised. Just as last time, my garment was open at the bottom; there was not even the flimsiest shield of cloth to stand between me and a master's predations. I supposed that was as it should be. A slave girl should always be open and available for use.

I walked out of the bathroom, stopped in front of Cristina, and knelt as she had taught me, my knees widely spread, my breasts lifted up and forward for her inspection. I lifted my eyes to her, hoping for a favorable reception. She looked down at me and smiled.

"You look marvelous, my dear. Any man who sees you will be tempted to tear off your clothes and take you on the spot."

I shuddered, thinking about how dangerous it would be to be a beautiful slave. In my ordinary life I could usually protect myself from the demands of men who might desire my body. As a slave, however, I would be at risk of forcible usage by any man or woman who cared to possess me. I would simply have to comply with his or her wishes, fully and submissively.

"Down on all fours," Cristina ordered, pulling her riding crop from her belt for emphasis. Terrified, wondering what I had done, I lowered myself to hands and knees, my hair falling over my face. "Now, crawl away from me to the other side of the room and turn around." I did so, my breasts swaying gently under me. I turned and faced her. "Now get down on your belly and clasp your hands behind your back." I obeyed, my breasts now pressed against the hard floor, my head lifted off the ground to see her. "Very good," Cristina said. "Now crawl back to me on your belly and kiss my feet." Why was she doing this to me? What was she putting me through my paces like a trained animal? Tears in my eyes, I began to inch across the floor on my belly. "Hurry up, slut!" she shouted, and snapped the crop in the air. I redoubled my efforts, squirming towards my mistress's feet, utterly humiliated. When I reached her, I began licking and kissing frantically at her shoes, hoping through sufficient passion to convince her of my sincere obedience. I felt the end of the crop tracing lazy circles across my back and moaned softly.