Author’s Note: This takes place several days after Part 52.
Over the past few days Mistress and her friends split their time between skiing and the spa. Thankfully there were no repeats of the earlier events but just to be safe, Mistress bought me a new outdoor outfit at one of the local shops that is passably male. She also changed up my role so that I would accompany them to the chalet when they were skiing and stayed back at the cabin tending to chores while they were at the spa. While I vigilantly kept a lookout for Wonder Woman, our paths did not cross again.
Barb has taken on a more interactive role with me, easily making demands and throwing out the occasional tease. I have to believe that the previous discussions on my submission and submissive sexuality have affected her. She still doesn’t address me by a name other than slave.
This morning seems different from the rest. I feel invisible. It’s an odd feeling to adjust to. While it can be stressful to be overworked and burdened with tasks, feeling idle unnerves me a bit. It’s like my mind already accepts that my role on this trip is to serve, please, and amuse them. If I have no role to fulfill it leaves me feeling… empty.
I watch Sammy and Gordon buzz around the room, rearranging furniture and moving things to and from storage. I approach Mistress as she sits on the sofa and kneel at her feet. I don’t make a sound; I merely kneel and watch her face as she browses on her tablet. She’s beautiful. If we were at home I could sit and do this for hours, perfectly content with existing in her presence. In this environment I can’t help but feel restless.
Mistress slides her foot out of her slipper and wiggles her toes without looking up. I read her cue and shuffle closer, taking her foot gently in my hands. I cherish this duty as I carefully massage her foot, working the pads of my thumbs across the ball of her foot. I detect the change in her breathing as my thumb firmly glides across her arch. My heart flutters and my sex strains against the belt.
I immerse myself in my work, a display of love expressed through my hands. I notice her shift her pelvis as she slouches on the sofa and flexes her thighs together several times. A smile beams across my face. As I reach her heel I allow my fingers to stimulate the sides and back while my thumbs continue to work the bottom. Her breaths are slow and deep. I watch her diaphragm expand and collapse in a slow rhythm. I slowly work each toe. I slide my thumb from base to tip. I separate it from the rest and move it in circles while my fingers apply gentle pressure. As I finish her foot I lean down and kiss its top. She pulls it from my hands and I gentle slide her discarded slipper back onto it.
She extends her other foot. I carefully remove the slipper and repeat the process. I lose myself in her pleasure. My mind finds peace in service… Mistress… the one I love. My sex strains again as she moans and slides her hips around the sofa cushion. I can smell her as her legs part the bottom of her robe. I lean down and kiss the top of her foot. I get greedy and steal a couple of extra kisses up her ankle. Of course she notices and quickly pulls her foot away.
“I think the slave has forgotten its place. Get the gag.”
My brow furrows as my spirit sinks. I disappoint myself. A quick scuttle to Mistress’s room and I return to her, kneel, and present the locking gag. I turn away and kneel as she inserts it into my mouth, pulls the straps tight, and locks it to my harness. I turn to face her when she finishes.
Mistress lets the slipper drop off of her foot. I take her foot back in my hand and work through the process I’ve done so many times before. As I press my thumbs into her soft skin I steal a glance. She continues to focus on her tablet, her fingers tapping and gliding across the screen. My earlier mistake makes me self-conscious… I long to have her eyes meet mine… show me warmth… to let me know that I’m okay. Errors make me insecure… I strive for perfection.
My thumbs slide across her arch. She cranes her neck and takes a deep breath. I notice her hips shift on the sofa. Her eyes stay fixed to the tablet. After the heel I give more attention to the top of her foot. I glide gently, with flat pressure, in an attempt to stimulate circulation and the nerves. Her toes curl as I find just the right spot.
My next instinct is to suck her toe… my loss… my fault. My fingers will have to do. I shorten my motions and caress every part of her toe. I roll the flesh on the bottom gently between my index finger and thumb. She clenches the tablet with both hands and lets out a low moan. Her eyes remain on the screen as she resumes her tapping. Each toe elicits a strong response. Soon her thighs slide back and forth on the sofa.
I gently replace the slipper on that foot and go back to the other foot. She moans on my first pass this time. My penis attempts another erection. Every time her knees part I catch the glorious scent of sex and I long to taste her. Please, Mistress, look at me. Her fingers tap and glide along the screen.
The ball of the foot… then the arch… the heel… the top… onto the toes. I carefully work over every part, continuing with the roll of my thumb and index finger. Mistress’s body reacts but she shows me nothing on her face, her blank expression stares intently onto the handheld screen. .
I continue my work as I watch Barb approach and lean forward on the back of the sofa and she looks over Mistress’s shoulder. I reach her pinky toe. Mistress inhales deeply; her nostrils flare as she arches her hips again.
“Cass, why are you tapping on your tablet when the screen is blank?”
Mistress’s cheeks flush a light shade of red. Her lips part and reveal her gnashed teeth. Mistress tosses the tablet across the sofa and her hand takes the back of Barb’s head, pulling it to hers. Barb’s eyes go wide open with surprise as Mistress consumes her with an open-mouthed kiss. Her off hand gropes Barb’s breast. Primal moans and gasps for air surface each time their lips separate for an instant. Mistress grabs Barb by her shirt collar.
She shoves me with her foot and I tumble onto my side as she struggles to her feet. They are gone in a flash. I return to my knees and pause. A tiny voice calls out inside of me, ‘those were my kisses.” I pull my hands in to my chest and sulk.
Theresa snaps me back to reality.
“fur, if you’re going to just sit there, get up and help Sammy and Gordon set things up.”
I hop to my feet and nod before tracking them down and assisting with things. We move the sofas to the outer wall and replace them with a semi-circle of ‘thrones’ around the fireplace. We replace the normal dinner table with a longer banquet table. We hang decorations around the room. I’m a bit at a loss for why we are doing this. I simply follow directions; it doesn’t really matter to me since I couldn’t ask questions with the gag in place anyways.
I have forgotten how distraught I start to feel with the gag in place. For a while I was accustomed to it but the events of this past week make me acutely aware that it reduces my status even further. It feels like the dividing line between service and servitude… do I serve with pride or am I bound to serve?
We set up another large table behind the dining table and cover it with a tablecloth. It looks like we are getting ready for a feast or a party.
Mistress returns to the living room and plops down on one of the thrones. Barb takes the seat next to her. They slouch and tease each other back and forth with their hands, their disheveled hair flopping around as they poke and prod at each other. Mistress is beautiful in afterglow. Her smeared makeup and signs of perspiration display the intensity of her sexual passion. I feel the belt block my arousal. I approach quietly from behind, ready to attend to her. She calls out without looking my way.
“slave, go re-shovel the walkways and chop firewood until the caterers arrive.”
I nod and bow out of habit, as I know that she cannot see me. I change my boots, put on my coat, and head outside. Once outside my mind slides easily. The shoveling takes very little time, it is merely a cleanup of snow blown around by the wind. The repetition of the axe and the wood… with so many logs to split and no end in sight… this is what I do.
I put down the axe and stack up the most recent pile of wood. A series of vans pull up the driveway with the name and logo of the catering company on the side. I make my way quickly back to the cabin and stow my coat and boots in the closet.
Sammy and Gordon direct the workers as they set up serving platters and warmers for a wide array of food on the back table. The aroma makes my stomach growl. I haven’t eaten yet today. I’m not even sure what time it is. The final item on the table is a large cake that looks almost like a wedding cake.
As the caterers depart I watch Mistress return from her room. She wears a black version of her robe and has done up her hair and make-up. Barb follows her wearing a blue robe. The others aren’t long behind them, each in their group color from their monthly trips to the fetish club. Theresa in gray, Lisa in purple, Dominique in Red. B appears in gothic black gown with a fur-trimmed jacket. I’m never sure if this is B’s natural style or if it’s what Theresa likes.
I assist Mistress into her chair at the head of the table and continue with the others. Barb sits to her right and Theresa to her left. Upon finishing, Sammy, Gordon, and I begin to serve the food and wine. My stomach growls again. The wine flows quickly. After the main course is served, Sammy and Gordon fill up plates for themselves and head to the kitchen to eat. Dominique doesn’t keep them on a food restriction. I take my attention position back and to the right of Mistress. I feel myself fade out again to cope with the hunger pains.
Theresa’s knife on the wine glass snaps me back to the present.
“I wanted to make a toast to my best friend, Cassandra… for giving us time off to take this vacation and paying us well enough to be able to take time off whenever we want it… so that we could be here to celebrate this occasion. Also, to Dominique for letting us stay at this beautiful cabin and introducing us to a spa that will surely become an addiction for most of us.”
The sound of clinking glasses has me spring to attention anticipating refills. My instinct is correct and I hurry around the table topping everyone off. Lisa’s palm smacks me on the rear and I jump with a small grunt from behind the gag.
“He doesn’t even know, does he, Cass?”
“I was checking to see if he would notice, but I don’t think it has sunk in yet.”
A round of laughs follows from the table as I look at Mistress with a blank stare. Mistress motions to me with her hand and I approach her with caution. She releases the locks on my gag. I move my jaw back and forth to relieve its stiffness. She looks me in the eyes with a wide grin. I swallow and fidget as I recognize her predatory expression.
“This party is for me to commemorate the birthday of the slave I own.”
My expression shifts to bewilderment. I lose track of the days so easily when Mistress isn’t at work.
“The slave may eat the food that is in the oven. There’s a juice box in the fridge.”
I smile and nod at Mistress, ignoring the jeers about the juice box. I make a quick trip around the table topping off their wine. Barb speaks up.
“God, Cass, I can’t believe he found out it’s his birthday and he has a special meal waiting for him after you starved him all day but he still refills our wine first. Just how much did you have to flog him to make that his first impulse?”
Mistress laughs before responding.
I set the bottle on a cart near the table and quickly retreat to the kitchen. Gordon opens the oven and retrieves a foil-covered plate with a hot pad. I retrieve the juice box from the fridge. I peel the foil away revealing… fried chicken and mashed potatoes. A quick inspection of the aroma and the texture leads me to one conclusion… the Colonel.
I spend the next 7 minutes in heaven enjoying a rare treat. Soon after I return myself to wine duty. Barb continues to feed her curiosity.
“Am I the only one that thinks it’s strange that it’s Cass’s party even though it’s the slave’s birthday and that he rolled with it like it was normal? And why are all of you acting like it’s normal as well?”
A roar of laughter shifts Barb’s complexion to a deep shade of red. I quickly shift my position and get ready to pour as she empties her glass in a series of large gulps. It seems the alcohol is taking effect on everyone. Lisa pounds the table with her fist causing the silverware to clank against the plates. It surprises me when she is the first to answer.
“Oh Barbie… think about it. Seriously, who would celebrate a birthday party for a slave? It’s not like they’re people.”
Her last sentence feels like a knife in my chest. I refill Barb’s glass and quickly drift into the background. The pain changes into humility as I realize… that Lisa is right.