My Berlin Summer Page 5

  "You may desist, slave," Cristina said. I tried to look up at her. "Kneel as you were before." I obeyed. She pressed her crop to my lips and I kissed it fervently. "That was a test of your obedience and docility," she said. She paused. "You passed with flying colors. You clearly have the makings of a truly submissive slave." I blushed deeply. Not only had I obeyed her least command instantly, but in the process I had actually become aroused. Just crawling across the floor, licking my mistress's shoes, and kissing her whip had left me weak with desire. I wondered if Cristina could sense my piteous state.

  Cristina reached down and snapped the end of a chain leash on the ring on my collar. "Now we're ready to go," she said. She picked up my keys from the kitchen counter and led the way out of the apartment, locking the door behind her. I followed her down the stairs and out the door to her waiting car. Groups of people turned and stared as the collared and leashed slave girl followed her mistress into the limousine, her scanty clothing hardly concealing the delights of her body. Instead of sitting on the seat, I instinctively knelt before my mistress, my knees spread, awaiting her command. She smiled. I expected her to draw my head toward her and command me to serve her. Now was the moment when I would begin to pay the ultimate price of my slavery, when I would begin learn how to satisfy my mistress's every pleasure. But instead, she reached down to adjust my clothes, revealing even more of my breasts and hips, accentuating my figure even further. "Yes, you make a wonderful slave," she said softly, her hands caressing my naked flanks. "It will be a pleasure to finally take you." My heart fluttered in anticipation.

  Eventually the car stopped. The driver opened the door and Cristina stepped out, her slave trailing behind. We were in the large, circular driveway of what looked like late-nineteenth-century mansion. Cristina turned to me. "Remember, you are a slave here. If anyone says anything to you, you obey immediately. Anything less will be punished." She paused. "If anything goes beyond your limits, let me know and I'll take you home. OK?"

  "Yes, mistress," I said.

  Satisfied, she walked up the steps to the front door. I followed, my heart beating furiously. What lay beyond that door?

  Cristina rang the doorbell and the door opened almost instantly. Inside was a young, beautiful, red-haired woman, wearing a low-cut, short-skirted, black sheath dress - and a metal collar. I felt a lump in my throat. Was she truly a slave, or was she just playing a role? Was there a difference? She knelt gracefully, her knees widely spread, lowered her head to the floor before Cristina, and straightened up again. "Thank you for coming, mistress," she said. "My master asks you to join him in the library."

  "Thank you, Sonja," Cristina said. "Can you take this slut and make her useful?" she said, indicating me. "Her name is Jenny, and she has almost no experience. You may treat her as you would your own slave." I began to feel afraid. With Cristina I felt some reassurance, but I had no idea what this woman might demand from me. Of course, being given or loaned to another master is something a slave girl must be prepared for and accept. It is part of what it means to be a slave.

  "Of course, mistress," the kneeling slave said - with what I thought was a hint of a smile. "I'll take care of her as if she were my own."

  Cristina turned to me and said, "Remember to obey her - and anyone else - immediately and absolutely. You only exist to serve and please them."

  "Yes, mistress," I said, and she handed my leash to Sonja and walked away through the archway to our left.

  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 t
ime 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.

  "How was she?" I heard the same man ask.

  Melissa looked straight at me. "Hot and wet," she said, smiling. "I think she wants more." Everyone at the table laughed, masters and slaves alike. I lowered my head, blushing.

  Cristina seemed to be playing recklessly, staying in almost every hand even with poor cards. I wondered if she was consciously trying to test my limits tonight. "I'd like to see her naked," another man said the next time. Cristina looked at me, her eyebrow raised. I nodded my head numbly.

  "Well, get on with it," Cristina ordered. I rose to my feet, stood as straight as I could, untucked the cloth behind my back, and let it drop to the floor. I stood bare-chested before a room full of virtual strangers. My eyes still on the floor, I reached behind my hips and unwrapped my final veil. I hesitated and looked at Cristina. Her eyes were hard. I lowered my head and dropped the cloth to the floor. Now I wore nothing more than my collar, a naked slave at the mercy of her masters. Conscious of their gazes on me, I sucked in my stomach, pulled back my shoulders, and pushed my chest forward. I hoped they liked the naked body they saw before them. No doubt they were speculating about what uses they would put it to later that evening.

  "Turn around slowly, my dear," Cristina said. I obeyed, displayed like any decorative object. "Put your hands in your hair. Spread your legs. Bend over and grasp your ankles. Now get down on all fours. Crawl all the way around the table." I obeyed her every command, tears in my eyes at the humiliation. I could feel my breasts swaying beneath me as I circumnavigated the table. My hair was falling about my face, thankfully preventing me from seeing the expressions on their faces. "On your back. Split your legs and grasp your ankles." Now I was completely exposed to them, and as a slave, unable even to close my legs together. I could hear them discussing the details of my figure and anatomy. Most of what I heard was complimentary, but some was directed at my shortcomings, which were clearly apparent in the company of Sonja, Eva, and Melissa.

  "OK, you can kneel here again," I heard Cristina say. I dutifully crawled back to my position and knelt as I had been taught. Now kneeling nude, I was even more conscious of the symbolism of this position, my charms brazenly exposed to view.

  Eva was made to dance nude to an apparently Arabic melody before the group, her hips and belly swaying sensuously to the music, expressing her complete submission and availability, promising unlimited depths of pleasure. Melissa gave one man a lap dance, nude, caressing his body passionately with her thighs and breasts.

  But Cristina kept losing. The man who had first made me kiss Melissa held her chips. "I think we should give her what Melissa said she wants." He paused. "I want Melissa to pleasure our new guest with her mouth."

  "Well, Jenny, what do you think?" Cristina asked. This was something I had never anticipated. I had expected to be the one kneeling on the floor, putting my lips and tongue to their most appropriate use - not to have a lovely slave serving my pleasure. Perhaps this didn't count as being raped, since I was the one benefiting - or perhaps it was just that I had become so aroused already that I desperately wanted some form of release.

  "Yes, mistress," I said. "I'm willing."

  I was laid down on my back over a glass coffee table, my wrists bound above my head to the far legs of the table. Melissa knelt between my legs. "I'd like to shave the slut first," she said, a wicked gleam in her eye. And so, bound over a table, in full view of all assembled, my most private regions were shaved completely bare, leaving me more naked than I had thought possible. And then I felt Melissa's mouth on me, alternately soft and hard, slow and fast, cool and hot, bringing me to a state of piteous arousal but never giving my body the release it needed. "Please ... please ..." I whimpered after a few minutes, no longer caring what anyone thought. I heard laughter and voices, sounding distant as though at the far end of a long tunnel.

  "Look at the slut. Watch how the arches her back and thrusts her hips out."

  "This is a new slave, Cristina?"

  "Where did you find her?"

  Then Melissa withdrew, leaving me to my humiliating arousal. So this was one of the ways that a slave could please her masters - entertaining them with her helpless, captive arousal, only to be cruelly frustrated. Whether I was satisfied or not mattered not to them. My wrists were released from their bonds, and I returned on all fours to my post next to Cristina's chair, sobbing quietly. I knew already that pleasuring myself would be grounds for punishment. I could only kneel mutely and hope that the next master to claim my services would use me in such a way as to permit my own satisfaction.

  The stakes were increasing and the end of the game nearing. One man amassed large numbers of each person's chips and announced a special hand to determine which slave he would claim next. In preparation, all four slaves knelt with our heads to the
floor, our hands clasped behind our heads, in position to await the outcome. We heard the cards being dealt and played to determine which of us would be raped. I alternately prayed and dreaded that I would be chosen, torn between my shreds of dignity and my body's desperate yearning for release. I heard the man rise from his chair and come around behind us. My body was wet in anticipation, ready to be penetrated and used. But instead, it was Eva who was the subject of his attentions. Not yet released from my position, I listened to her moans and cries as she ultimately yielded. I was thankful that I had not been forced to so clearly demonstrate my helplessness and submission. But at the same time, I was incredibly envious of her rape.

  Fortunately or unfortunately for me, Cristina's luck seemed to turn. Sonja was commanded to take up her place under the table, serving each master in turn while they continued to play. Melissa was thrown on her back over the coffee table and forcibly used by one of the men, she also yielding to his powerful thrusts. I then saw her rise from the table, kneel before her rapist, and clean him with her mouth.

  And then the party was breaking up, the masters having satiated themselves with the slave flesh available to them. Cristina indicated that I should dress myself. I looked at her, pleading with my eyes. Was I not to be raped? Could she not see my overwhelming need? But clearly she could see how aroused I was. It was her decision, as my mistress, that I would not be satisfied.

  I rearranged the bands of cloth about my breasts and hips. Cristina reattached the leash to my collar and, having said her good-byes, led me out the door and back to her limousine.

  Without being asked, I knelt before her and removed the cloth from my body, stripping myself naked before my mistress. "Mistress, your slave begs to please you," I pleaded, tears running down my cheeks. "Please let me demonstrate my submission. Use me any way you want."