5 - 16 - Sex~Kitten.net

She always kept five to sixteen. Slaves, that is. She never kept less than five slaves at her beckoning call and never more than sixteen. Anything under would translate to a lack of servitude and anything over would require too much of her energy keeping them subservient. She would own specialized slaves and keep others that would serve in different ways. The wealthy slaves took care of her clothing, jewelry, and expensive nights full of elaborate dinners, limousine rides, and classy nightclubs where the famous and wealthy drank cocktails and did massive amounts of cocaine. The foot worshippers spent hours giving her lengthy foot massages and applied nail polish. Others allowed her to tie them up for days at a time removing the ball gag very few times. Slaves came and went through the years but most would be loyal servants for several years to their domineering master. When she was pleased, they were elated. It was a giving relationship for the master and her slaves.

There were rooms available for the slaves who she demanded full time servitude from. This was considered an extreme honor by the other slaves. There were four rooms in her dungeon. All of them were six foot wide and long with a single mattress on the floor. There was a sink and a book shelf and a light bulb in the ceiling.

I didn’t know all of this the first time I met her, of course. I was working my way through college doing catering gigs. It was mostly the uptight rich giving stuffy dinner parties. One night my assignment landed me at her house helping serve champagne for a party she was hosting. It was to be just another night for me, until I walked in to her massive living room that had ice sculptures of men on their knees, hands bond behind their back, head lowered and phallic chocolate fountains. Where am I? The couches were plush and elegant and there was a man in the corner wearing nothing but what looked to be leather pants but the material was shiner and cleaner than leather, nipple clamps, and a full mask. He was handcuffed and secured to a hook on the wall. What was I doing here? This room begged for a closer look. The walls were a deep almost velvet red and there was an opaque quality to the lighting. One wall had a cabinet displaying whips of all lengths and sizes. There were hand restraints in the doorways. What was I doing here?

As I was walking, memorized, to the whip case I felt a single fingernail ran hard and slow lengthwise down my back. I froze in panic. "What are you doing in here," She demanded. "I’m working here" I stammered still in shock from the surprised nailing. "Well you should be in the kitchen with all the other slaves." "Slaves?" I jokingly questioned. "Are you laughing at me? If you were to mock me I will fire you right here, servant." She had me in the corner of the room. I didn’t realize I had been retreating and she had been aggressively approaching. As my back hit the wall I wasn’t able to get a word out. She turned from me and walked off. Right before leaving the room she ordered me to pour her a glass of champagne and deliver it to her bedroom.

This was my moment; I could retreat. I could get the hell out of there if I didn’t need the money. Fleeing from this job would probably not be best for my part time catering career. Having little choice, I poured a glass of champagne and got directions to her bedroom. For every ounce of me that was scared of this woman there was the same amount of me that was excited about the mysteriousness of her. I walked up to the door and put my ear up to the door to have a listen. I could hear voices and people shuffling about but could make nothing out. A voice boomed above the rest of the chattering, "Servant, you may enter." She was talking to me. Shit, how did she even know I was out here? I sheepishly cracked the door and peaked in. She was encircled by men and women who were preparing her for her dressing. They were all wearing identical full body black rubbery outfits. It was a hurricane and she was the calm eye in which the chaos erupted around. "I said enter, servant." I threw the door open almost knocking the tray out of my hand.

Pressing through her attentive slaves, she demanded for me to present the drink to her on bended knee, head down. Well, I made it this far I thought as I lowered myself to the floor balancing the tray slightly below my head, resting my elbow on my bent leg. She rose from the chair and asked to be disrobed. The tray I was holding was impressively shined silver that acted as a perfect mirror to the events going on above me. A slave approached from behind and gently removed her robe. Now I will be prepared for dress she ordered. Another slave produced a bottle of lube and poured a healthy amount in his hands and the hands of a slender woman. The two began to apply the wet solution to her ankles. They carefully rubbed the oily substance all over calves, moving up to her curvy thighs, and rhythmically like it had been practiced, up around her hips. They slowly, methodically ran their hands around her curving ass. No one spoke.

The two stepped away as another slave approached her with a fabric that I had never seen before. It was an electric blue that shined like it was wet and slippery. My hand was losing blood and my fingers began to go numb making the tray lightly tremble. A slave was busy readying the clothing at her feet. Through my mirror I could see my face, and the slave encircling her, and herself. She had created this beautiful scene. Her slaves gathered around her, a servant on bended knee with a glass of champagne. She is disrobed, a moisturizing of her wondrous body, and then a ritualistically beautiful dressing of that body. It was a wonderfully visual experience for anyone who was lucky enough to be there to witness it. It was a larger than life moment that somehow made life larger. It was theatrical and beautiful. It was surreal and captivating.

When the garment was laid out perfectly she stepped into the middle and her slave began slowly inching up the tight blue pants. The fabric was almost suctioning to her skin, breathing her into it. It was almost hypnotic to watch the process. Her slave was being extremely careful to not tear the material, while being attentive to her shape. The material had a distinctive glossiness and tight grip that brought the body together and made lines that resembled the rawness of being completely naked while being fully clothed. I instantly wanted to touch her. I wanted to rub my hands up and down her hips and thighs and legs. The material resembled soft, slippery skin. I longed to press my body against her and feel the cold, rubber against me. I wanted to lick her calf and up her thighs. And then I dropped the tray. Shit. I had gotten lost in the scene unfolding and I must have tipped the tray too far causing the glass to fall backwards spilling all over my catering uniform, falling to the ground, the glass shattering. Everything going on in the room came to an abrupt stop.

I was collecting the glass shards as she calmly walked over to me. "Stand up. Now." I reluctantly stood fearful of what she was going to do to me. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I just." She cut me off, "you do not need to clean because I have slaves to do that. You are to serve me champagne." She was so collected and I was a mess. "Now, I did not hire you to spill and break things. I expect more from you. Fetch me another glass of champagne. And if you drop another glass I will fire you on the spot. Slave M?" she commanded "Go with the servant and make her aware of the rules." Slave M nodded subserviently and followed behind me as I fled the room.

Slave M was Matthew. He lived at the estate. As we made for the kitchen he briefed me on the rules. No names. They are known only as Slave M, Slave S, Slave R and R2 if there were two with similar names. Do as she says. Do not talk to her unless spoken to. Never touch her without permission but do not ask to touch her. "Oh yeah," he added "and we can’t go to the bathroom unless she tells us we can." More important than her rules was what she was wearing. It was latex. Latex was essentially colorful full body condoms that protected the skin, and the wearer, from the world around them. Brilliant, I thought. When one thinks of a condom they instantly associate it with a sexual act. To adorn yourself in latex was like wrapping your body in a dangerous, passionate act.

As I poured more champagne, Slave M asked me what my fetish was. At a lame attempt at humor I told him chocolate, but he seemed to take me seriously. His fetish was wearing women clothes. He loved to wear women’s underwear. He established for me what was going to take place that night. Once a year she throws a gala to celebrate herself and her slaves. She had her maximum amount at the moment. 16 men and women serving her completely. The guests of the night were to be her old slaves. People flew in from around the world for this gala.

When we walked back into the luxurious bedroom that was covered in flowers and various baskets of fruit and candies as she was having her top placed on by a different slave this time. She referred to him as Slave R. He was a muscular man with strong hands and was more confident in dressing her. He began zipping the corset, shaping her body to the latex. Making sure she was smooth, he was pulling her hard into the corset. Gently, but firmly. The zipper crept up to her stomach curving her figure into a handsome hour glass shape. When he reached her breasts he confidently cupped and slid them into the latex making them perfectly round. When the zipper snapped to the top her pert nipple stood at hard attention through the latex.

She turned to me saying nothing. I must have had my mouth gapping in awe. A slave approached from behind her with a pair of 5 inch stiletto heels. He knelt beside her, prepared the shoe, and waited. Without taking her eyes off me she lifted one foot up. He quickly put her heel on and secured the strap. Eyes still on me, piercing through me, she rose her other foot and the slave followed suit. She softly dropped her foot to the ground and the slave remained on his knees beside her. He asked if he could. “Could what?” I thought. She said he was permitted. He slowly lowered his face to her foot and took a long, gratifying lick of the shiny leather.

Cutting him off mid-lick, she stepped elegantly towards me with her hips swaying erotically. Never once did she take her eyes off me. "Now get on your knee, servant, and present me with my champagne." I dropped down, careful not to have another accident. She reached down and removed the glass from my tray. "Now thank me." And I did. "Now, stand." And I did. "What do you think servant, if my hired help was to be serving the finest champagne my slaves could buy me in soiled clothing?” Not waiting for my answer she continued, "What would that say about me?" Not waiting for my answer she continued, "Go into my closet and pick out something to wear. Be quick, guests will be arriving shortly." She walked off sipping her drink and commanding Slave M3 to apply her makeup.

The closet was the size of my apartment. It was massive and the scent of latex consumed the air. I fumbled around till I found the light switch. It was a weak bulb that did a poor job of lighting the room. Rows were lined with amazingly designed latex gowns, blouses, pants, and uniforms. Nurse, police woman, nun, delivery person, everything was covered including a French maid outfit. This seemed to be the most appropriate for me to wear. Finding a mirror and a bottle of lube, I removed my champagne soaked clothes. Where are my slaves to dress me? I would have to go at this alone. Maybe I was getting a little lost in the surrealism of what was happening. I never thought I would find myself naked in the closet of a dominatrix. Could this be some kind of far fetched joke? I began to look at myself in the mirror, enjoying the subtle lines of my body. I fantasized about being surrendered by people who wanted to serve me. They would dress me and take care of me. I started wondering what a tight fitting piece of rubber would feel like against my pale skin. It was time. Why not? I have gone this far, and probably better to blend in as much as possible working at this party.

I squeezed a generous amount of cold lube onto my legs and breast, spreading the lubrication all over my breasts, as much as I could reach on my back, hips, butt, and legs. Hurried for time I didn’t spend the same amount of time the slave had worshipping every inch of her skin. I did take a second to admire my wet body in the mirror and feel the chills when the air mixed with the lube causing goose bumps all over my body. I took the maid outfit over my head and slid my arms and head through their respective holes. I grabbed onto the bottom of the skirt and pulled down slowly but with a sense of urgency. The latex was entrapping me, shaping me, owning me. When I got the short skirt all the way down it sounded like the last bit of air that is suctioned out of a space leaving my body in the shape of a perfect balloon the second before it pops. I admired my body in the mirror. I had curves that made my body look wildly feminine. I ran my hand down my hips and admired the way the latex made my breasts beautifully pear shaped. I longed for someone to be in the closet with me celebrating my body, pressing against me, slapping my tight ass. I walked out of that closet like a different person. I was no longer a part time caterer, I was the French maid. I had borrowed the power of the flirtatious sexy maid with an exotic accent.

"Very good" she noted as she traced her hand along my lower back playing lightly with the ruffles, now you are ready to be my servant." She said nothing to complement what I looked like but for some reason it felt like I had pleased her. That was a feeling that far outshined an easy compliment. The sexy French maid then left the room ready to serve.

The night was like one long hurried trip from the kitchen with a tray full of drinks back to the kitchen to fill my tray again. There was what seemed like hundreds of people dressed in elaborate dresses and tuxedos. Men wore beautiful long cloaks and the women were scampering about in intricate lingerie ensembles. She stole the show. People fawned over her, bringing her priceless presents. She spoke to everyone, giving them all a little bit of herself in exchange for their lavish attention and endless treasures. The harder I worked the more I sweat. Latex does not allow for breathing so the sweat was accumulating inside my outfit. It was an almost squishy effect that begged to be touched.

At one point she took a slave and bound his hands in restrains that hung from the ceiling. He stood strong readying himself for what was to come. She opened her case of whips, which she kept locked, and chose a riding crop. She approached him and leaned in close, whispering in his ear. After saying a few things that only he could hear, she walked a few steps away, pulled back the crop and began a beating that was ruthless yet compassionate. As raw she was with his body she was the equally tender and attentive. Well, as tender and attentive as one can be with an instrument of pain.

The last guests wandered out at about five in the morning. It had been a party that I’m sure everyone would remember and talk about for years to come. I was collecting the empty glasses and throwing away trash when my friend, Slave M approached me. She has requested your presence in her quarters immediately. I was tired and ready to call it a night. I was also a bit nervous as to what would happen in her quarters. Immediately, Slave M repeated her order. When I entered the room there was, for the first time, not a slave in sight. "I have sent them away for the night. Come here, servant." I went obediently. "I would like you to undress me." Well this was not on my list of job requirements, but she didn’t seem to think that mattered. I tried not to show that my hand was shaking as I pulled the zipper of her corset down. She knew I was nervous and I felt like that excited her. I slowly unzipped it freeing her skin from its sexy self imprisonment revealing her clean, gleaming skin. I gently removed the corset from her body.

Now it was time for the pants. I was doing alright so far, and the zipper for the pants was in the back. "You may touch me, servant." I could touch her. Remembering her rules I knew she was bestowing an honor to me. Why was she allowing me to do this? Was I somehow being tested? I wanted to touch her, to feel her latex infused skin. I trailed my limp hand down her hip and shapely thigh. She felt strong and powerful and feminine and beautiful. I stepped in closer to her and ran both of my hands down her thighs, taking time to press her harder and then touching her softly. Nothing was being said. It was just me and her and the latex.

"I have something for you." she said as she moved towards a black case sitting on a table. "Your shift is over. You have served me well." She took a key out and unlocked the box. "You may stay if you would like." Opening the box, she sorted through and pulled out a long bull whip. "Will you stay?" she asked, and without hesitation I said, "Yes."

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