Chapter 24 - Belles of the Ball
The next morning I donned my black corset and thigh-high
boots, deciding that I would wear my tight leather miniskirt and the
jacket to my leather dress, but not the dress itself, adding only a
wide black choker band to hide my throat. The corset forced my chest
up enough to offer just a hint of cleavage and the corset itself
concealed the breast forms, hinting at hidden secrets under the
leather jacket in a decidedly titillating way. Then I sent Kelly off
to get Billie Jo's slave dress and high-heeled sandals while I went to
the specialty shop for Billie Jo's bonds. I still hadn't told Kelly
what her bondage would entail, and didn't want her along when I picked
out Billie Jo's items, either. My plan, though, was for Billie Jo to
wear more traditional leather bonds in keeping with her hunting bitch
persona. I found what I wanted at the same specialty shop I had used
for Kelly's items, though this time the handsome clerk looked at me
with increased interest.
"Pardon me, ma'am, but I remember when you were in here
before. You seem to have interesting tastes," he said diffidently.
I looked at him for a long time without responding, fixing him
with a hard stare that made it clear he was little more than a bug to
me and that I was considering whether it would be worth my while to
soil my boot by squashing him. He wilted under my gaze, dropping his
eyes and nervously shuffling his feet.
"You will address me as Milady Raven, if you find it necessary
to speak to me," I ordered coldly.
"Yes, Milady Raven," he meekly replied. "I'm sorry if I
intruded."
His embarrassed shyness was, if anything, increased after my
comment, but the instant tent pole in his pants showed how excited he
was at the strong personality I was practicing on him.
"Tell me, young man, how old are you?" I demanded.
"Twenty-one, Milady Raven," he replied. "I just got this job
after my birthday last week."
"And what do you find so interesting about my tastes?" I asked
with an elegantly arched brow, still cold in tone yet offering just a
hint of a possible opportunity for a further relationship.
"When you were in before, you bought delicate, beautiful
chains and bonds, as though for a softly feminine person. This time,
you have selected strong bonds suitable for a powerful person. It
seems like a contradiction," he explained.
"I use what is appropriate for each of my slaves, of course,"
I declared with an arrogant toss of my magnificent mane of hair,
dismissing his confusion and implying he was too stupid for my
attention. I opened my purse to get the money to pay for my
selections, but he interrupted me again.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Milady Raven, I should have known. It
would be a tremendous honor to be your slave, you must have many."
I nodded abruptly as I paid for my purchases, interested in
his obvious willingness to become subservient to me. In contrast to
the massive strength of Rocky, or even Dart Tanyon, who had interested
me when I was feeling feminine, this young man (only a few years
younger than me, but definitely much less mature) was slight of build,
trim but not muscular. He would probably transform into a more dainty
woman than I had become, but the dark fantasies that came bubbling to
the surface of my mind when I thought of him didn't include turning
him into a woman. No indeed, I had other ideas for one such as him.
Not that it mattered, I was only practicing my dominatrix personality
and didn't intend anything further. To my surprise, however, when I
looked in the package I found he had included his name and phone
number on a slip with the receipt. Perhaps there was an opportunity
here.
When I got home, I saw that Kelly had gotten the costume items
for Billie Jo, including a red domino mask similar to her white one.
We discussed makeup and hairstyles, deciding on a more strident look
for me than usual, darker eyeshadow, more distinct eyeliner, more
sharply defined cheekbones. For Kelly we would tone down the makeup
to near-invisible subtlety to emphasize her innocence. I would wear
my hair down in its flowing waves, but Kelly would lift hers into a
more controlled style. Since I was already dressed in my costume,
except for the mask, I had Kelly don her own. She also put on a tiny
white thong bikini under her slave outfit, but I didn't comment
. . . for now.
Sharply at the appointed time, Billie Jo showed up at our
door. Her eyes widened when she saw the revealing outfit that Kelly
was wearing, but she came in. First, I had Kelly redo Billie Jo's
makeup into a vibrant, intense look, emphasizing the strong features
of her face. We drew her eyeliner extra wide and used a silvery
eyeshadow to give her eyes a wild, excited look. Billie Jo's hair was
still too short for any significant styling, so a few minutes after
her makeup was done she was wearing the red slave costume, though in
her case the underwear hidden by the brief skirt was a pair of red
bikini panties.
"This won't work for me, I don't have Kelly's beautiful tits
to keep the folds in place," she complained about the top of her
dress.
In reply I only gave her the cold stare I had used on the
clerk in the specialty shop. After a pause long enough to make the
point that I was not satisfied with her attitude, I began to give my
orders firmly, with no room for discussion.
"From this point on, you will not speak unless it is clear
that I want you to do so. Is that clear, Huntress?" I asked,
emphasizing her slave name as a sign of the attitude she was to adopt.
"Yes, Milady Raven," she meekly replied, only the abrupt
appearance of the hard points of her nipples betraying her excitement.
She had forgotten the full extent of her role for the night, but
accepted it with alacrity once reminded.
I looked at Kelly, now Angel, with the same glare, demanding
acknowledgment from her as well.
"Yes, Milady Raven," Angel echoed, a small smile lurking in
her eyes as much as on her lips, though she kept her gaze demurely
down. I stared at her until she looked up at me to see my frown, then
she wiped the smile from her eyes, adopting a suitably meek
appearance, but the same signs of excitement were visible through the
upper sections of her own dress.
"You will both keep your heads up, and shoulders back
throughout this evening. I will take it as a sign of disobedience if
you allow your tops to become too revealing. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Milady Raven," they chorused.
"Very well," I said as I picked up two satchels. "These
contain your bonds for the evening. I will not place them on you
until we get to the site of the party. You may not look inside, but
you will carry your own items."
I handed Angel her package, which was quite light and
significantly smaller than the package I handed to Huntress. Both
accepted them and moved toward the door, only to be interrupted before
they reached it by another command.
"Wait. Both of you will remove your panties and leave them
here. They are not part of your costume for tonight," I declared.
Heat flamed in their cheeks, and they looked at each other,
seeing an equivalent response. Breath rasped from each throat and
their excitement began to waft in the air of the room. Without
speaking, they carefully removed their panties, already dripping with
pungent juices, and placed them on the dresser. The soft fabric of
their skirts immediately flowed into the crack of their ass, sharply
defining the cleavage. Any breeze at all and they were going to be
totally exposed since it would only take a few inches of lift to
reveal their naked femininity. In Angel's case her flamboyant tits
were so well outlined by the thin material that she was practically
naked anyway, while the lesser endowment that Huntress owned seemed
non-existent except for two sharp points.
"Now you may go to the car. Put your bonds in the trunk and
get in the car, but do not fasten your seatbelts," I ordered.
When they had complied, I pulled the seat straps up and over
their arms, leaving their hands by their sides. They could escape
fairly simply from this bondage, though it would not be easy since the
backs of the seats would make moving their arms back difficult. The
important thing was that they were bound to any degree, and would be
for the entire trip.
As I drove, I required that they describe erotic, sexual
desires and experiences on the trip, drawing from them their specific
remembered sensations or unfulfilled fantasies. This kept them (and
me) intensely aroused for the entire trip to the neighboring city. It
was hot enough outside that we kept the windows up and the
air-conditioning on for the trip, which kept the air contained and
allowed the scent of their excitement to permeate us, lodging in our
hair and our clothes. Even a brief period outside as we walked to the
party wouldn't hide that sensual smell.
I pulled into the parking garage of the hotel, following the
signs that identified the location for participants in the bondage
party. Once we reached the area where the participants were getting
out of their vehicles, I checked the apparel of the partygoers. Each
master or mistress did indeed have their slave on a leash, not always
placed about the neck of the slave. In addition, each partygoer was
wearing a mask. Most slaves were bound as well, though some were
constrained only by the leash. The most intense relationships were
those where the slaves wore some dangerously revealing clothes and it
was clear that we would fit in, though at the extreme end of the
visible spectrum. Good, exactly as I desired. With this confirmation
that we would not be foolishly out of place at the party, I got out of
the car and undid the seatbelts for my slave girls, then ushered them
to the back of the car where we would be hidden by the raised trunk
lid from those passing.
"Angel, you're first," I said as I took out her package. The
first item I drew forth was a beautiful gold necklace, made of
flattened chain links about an inch in diameter. I had sized it to be
choker length and placed it snugly around her throat. A tiny padlock
shining in matching gold fastened it around her delicate neck, though
I didn't close the lock immediately. Bracelets followed, each in the
same design, each with golden padlocks that I also left open, then
ankle bracelets as well.
"These are beautiful," Kelly breathed, forgetting for a moment
the restriction on unrequested speech. She held her hands in front of
her and arched her legs to look at the shining links on her ankles.
I knew she expected that I would handcuff her hands before
her, perhaps adding a hobble chain to her ankles. She was surprised,
however, though intensely excited based on the renewed intensity of
her nipple points, when I drew forth a single, long golden chain. The
links in this chain were each about a quarter of an inch in size, more
than large enough to keep her from breaking them, especially since
they were really steel overlaid with gold plate, but still fine enough
to continue the delicate beauty of her collar and cuffs. To her
surprise, however, I pulled her hands behind her back and rotated the
collar so that its lock was behind her neck as well. I fastened the
chain first at her neck, then locked each cuff to the chain at the
length they naturally matched, holding her hands behind her back a bit
below her waist. Finally, I stooped down and fastened her ankle
bracelets to the ends of the chain, which split into two strands and
provided about a twelve-inch hobble. The delicate chain was just
heavy enough for the sound of the links to provide a musical chime
whenever she moved.
Angel was breathtaking. The gleam of gold as it trailed down
her naked back from her elegant throat to her towering sandals made
her seem pure, innocent, helpless, desperately in need of a heroic
rescuer, infinitely desirable. Her bound wrists forced her shoulders
back and her magnificent bust forward, sharply defining them through
the thin material of her slave dress. The exuberant femininity of her
smooth curves combined with the angelic smile she always wore to offer
that matchless combination of innocence and sensuality that only she
possessed of all the women in the world.
I was pleased and thrilled to see her pleasure as well. She
was clearly exulting in the thought of being so desirable, so
feminine, so beautiful. I knew anyone who took undue liberties with
her would cause an explosion of anger, with the sole exception of
myself, for she was not really a slave except to the love that we
shared, but her true freedom was her armor against the degradation of
slavery.
Her triumphal pride reached Huntress as well. Previously,
Huntress had been willing to go along on this as a thrilling lark,
desirable for it's outrageous difference from her real life, her real
persona. However, once she saw the radiant joy on Angel's face her
own interest was roused and she wondered if she might have been
missing out on something, something she was now offered a chance to
share. Without permission, she reached for her own package, anxious
to see what was inside.
"Huntress!" I warned sharply as she moved toward the bag.
"Did I tell you to do that?"
"No, Milady Raven," she admitted, dropping her head.
"I thought I told you to keep your head up and your shoulders
back," I corrected her again with silky menace in my voice.
"Yes, Milady Raven," she said quietly, though she raised her
head and squared her shoulders. "I'm sorry."
"Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness," I repeated the
movie quote. "You especially, Huntress, must always be strong, but
you must also learn to obey."
"Yes, Milady Raven," she repeated.
"It seems it was a good thing I selected bondage for you that
will help you obey," I said quietly, though the menace in my voice
caused a nervous look to appear on her face. Still, from the
excitement and suspense her nipples resurrected to a level that must
have been painful.
I started out on Huntress with a red leather collar, decorated
with golden studs and closed by a small golden padlock, similar to
those already adorning Angel. The snick of the lock closing seemed
especially loud in the echoing garage, signifying an undeniable change
in status for Huntress. Next, I added ankle restraints in matching
leather, also fastened by golden padlocks, but these I didn't close.
"Turn around and put your arms behind your back," I ordered.
Huntress complied, though she tried to look back over her
shoulder at the item I was removing from the package.
"Keep your eyes to the front," I demanded.
She snapped to something like attention, her head up,
shoulders back and square.
"That's better," I complimented her.
Then I took the next item from the package, provoking an
astonished gasp from Angel who could see it. Huntress twitched as
though she had started to turn around again, but caught herself with
only the smallest of motions so I let it pass. She was learning, and
that was sufficient, for now. The item was an armbinder in stiff red
leather, and I held it under one arm as I made Huntress clasp her
hands behind her back. Then I slid the armbinder on over her hands,
wrapping it around her arms up almost to her shoulders. The eyelets
of the armbinder were the fast-lacing kind that are really small
hooks, so I was able to quickly string the laces up to the top, then
began to pull out some of the slack. I knew that an armbinder could
be too intense for extended periods, especially for someone new to the
experience, so I didn't tighten it very much, just snug enough to give
her a constant reminder of her status, and to pull her shoulders back
even more sharply.
"There, that should keep your posture proud and upright," I
declared.
The last item in the package for Huntress was a golden chain
like the one that Angel wore, except much shorter since it only had to
reach from the ring at the tip of the armbinder down to her ankles,
where it split into a matching twelve-inch hobble. I quickly fastened
the chain into the open locks on her ankles and a similar one on the
armbinder and Huntress was completely, inescapably bound.
She was more shocked than excited at the moment, her face red
with embarrassment rather than the boundless joy and pride on Angel,
but her nipples were still obviously erect, obviously excited.
"Now remember, Angel, you are innocent and pure. Huntress,
you are a barely contained hunting bitch, responsive and obedient only
to me. Think of your armbinder as the equivalent of a muzzle on a
wolf, to keep you from attacking someone. Now let's see, what else?"
While I was looking at the remaining items in our treasure
trove, I watched Huntress absorb her role. A sneer of power appeared
on her lips, twisting them into a challenge. She allowed the hunting
look back into her eyes, but transformed it somehow from a woman
hunting for sex into an animal hunting for food, meat, something to
devour. It was magnificent, shocking in such a powerful way that I
dropped out of character for a moment.
"Billie Jo, that's outstanding! You're perfect!" I cried,
then struggled back into my dominatrix persona. "I mean, very good
Huntress, see that you remember your place."
I drew forth the domino masks, first working the elastic band
for mine under my waves of lustrous hair, then placing it over my
eyes. I had a small mirror in the trunk and checked the arrangement,
pleased to see that the vibrant colors highlighting my eyes showed
beautifully. Angel was next, the white mask easily placed around her
upswept hair style, then Huntress received her red mask. Finally, I
added the leashes, golden chains similar to those binding their arms
and legs, except fastened to their collars with a simple hook. I
wrapped the loose ends of their leashes around my gloved hand, the
gold shining in bright contrast to my tight, black leather gloves, and
checked our appearance one last time.
Individually we were beautiful. Angel innocent in white and
gold, happy and excited at her outing, unaware that there could be any
other condition than servitude, existed only to please her owner.
Huntress was intense in red, hungry and restless, untamed except
through an uncompromisingly greater force of personality that she
could respect, only found in her owner. I was in control in black,
powerful and confident, my towering thigh-high boots reinforcing
rather than contradicting my elegant appearance as they declared I
would set my own style and let others copy it, rather than copy the
look of lesser women. Together, as a trio, we were matchless,
unsurpassed in beauty and in persona, defining at a new higher level
the entire concept of mistress and slave. I closed the trunk,
revealing ourselves to the other partygoers still making their way to
the entrance, and walked forward, pulling my slaves behind me on their
leashes.
The hobbles restricting their ankles, coupled with the
towering heels we all wore, forced our strides to be shorter than an
ordinary walk. They scurried to keep up, but I sauntered casually
along, allowing the flowing waves of my long, silky hair to highlight
the graceful sway of my orbiting hips. As other partygoers saw us,
conversations stopped in mid word, motion stopped in mid stride, and a
path was cleared for us to the entrance to the party.
My first inclination had been to adopt a demanding,
dissatisfied attitude to show that no one could reach my
uncompromising standards, but I realized that this would imply a
mistake on my part for coming to the party, since of course the slaves
would have had no say in the decision. Therefore I realized that I
should be amused rather than complaining and adopted the cool smile
that so often reduced men to incoherence. When we reached the
registration table, I paid the entry fee for the three of us, but took
a single registration card and signed it only as Raven + 2, without
listing the names of my slaves.
"I'm sorry, but you must put down their names as well," the
man behind the table informed me. He wore a name tag labeled "Master
Simon" but he was hardly dominant, short and fat, completely out of
shape. Surely Ran had not been that bad, even before we started on
our strange odyssey.
"Really? I don't believe there is much that I must do," I
declared, allowing the coolness of my smile to reach a frozen ice
intensity, determined to establish my dominance of all situations we
encountered.
"No one will speak to my slaves without my permission," I
continued, "and my slaves will not speak unless it is my desire that
they do so. Their names are unnecessary."
"Your pardon, mistress," the man replied. "No one will speak
to slaves without permission. It is for the judging. Each
participant is allowed to vote for the best master or mistress and for
the best slave. The winners get a thousand dollar prize taken from
the entry fees and the name tags allow others to know whom to vote
for. You should have an excellent chance at the prizes, if you choose
to participate."
"Ah, now I understand. I do allow my slaves to earn money for
me. By all means, tag them. This is Angel, and this is Huntress."
Name tags were pinned to the thin material of the slave
dresses, the slaves helpless in their bonds as I added a tag to my own
lapel. I noticed that one of Simon's hands was beginning to wander
down from where he had placed the name tag on Angel toward her
spectacular tits with their obviously protruding nipples. Angel's
eyes showed a building panic, not wanting to be fondled by this
unattractive stranger but helpless to stop him. I grabbed his wrist
in my free hand, using the masculine strength I truly possessed
regardless of how feminine I looked to clamp down on his pudgy arm.
"Keep your paws to yourself, dog!" I demanded. "No hand feeds
my slaves but mine. No hand caresses my slaves but mine. No one
pleasures my slaves but me, unless I allow them to pleasure each
other. Is that clear?"
I had spoken in a loud enough voice that all those near the
table could hear, especially since my trio had been the magnet for all
eyes since we had entered the hall. My demand was not limited to
Simon and my question was intended for all as a means to protect Angel
and Huntress from unwanted advances. It worked beautifully, the
titters of the crowd confirming that my comments had spread throughout
the assembly. While I had been talking, I had also been squeezing
Simon's wrist tightly enough to make his fingers show red from the
restriction on his circulation. Now I dropped it, wiping my gloved
hand on the tablecloth covering the registration table as though to
rid it of a particularly disgusting slime. Simon clutched his
throbbing wrist in his other hand and seated himself again behind the
table, blushing furiously, thoroughly cowed.
Then I laughed to release the tension. "Besides, if you tried
that on Huntress, your fingers would provide her dinner. It is for
your own safety as well as for their proper training that I restrict
access to my slaves."
With that we strolled into the main part of the hall. Just
inside the doorway, there was a slave tied to a post, her wrists
chained closely to a leather belt, her hands holding a tray of
champagne. In order to elevate the tray to a convenient height for
the partygoers, the server wore platform shoes with heels even higher
than those worn by my slave girls and myself. Though I had learned to
walk easily and gracefully in towering heels, I wouldn't have wanted
to try those platforms which must have been at least eight inches
high, plus the added height of the heel. However, the tray was now
conveniently placed and I nonchalantly took a glass of champagne, as
though the sight of the bound woman were completely unremarkable.
After a sip or two I turned to Angel and offered the glass to
her lips, giving her a small swallow. Huntress received her sip next.
Our eyes met and for just an instant the wild, intense look was
replaced with both pleased excitement and gratitude. She was clearly
reveling in her role.
I whispered quietly to her, "Doing okay? That armbinder's not
too tight, is it?"
Her eyes told me that she was fine, then resumed the angry
hunger of a barely controlled predator. A glance at Angel returned
the same assurance, though her bonds were much less severe so I had
not really been worried about her. We strolled through the assembly,
remaining the focus of all eyes, stilling conversations we approached,
provoking intense, whispered comments as we passed. Whenever I felt
like drinking or nibbling on the refreshments held by the distribution
of tightly-bound slaves, I would negligently offer some to my slave
girls as though it were merely a training regimen, not intended to
provide them any relief or pleasure. Still, they received as much and
as varied a fare as I did. Again, the inversion of roles appeared,
where my slaves were being served by their mistress.
We passed displays of bondage devices ranging from those with
so little restriction on movement that they were merely symbolic, to
those that appeared so painful they made me uncomfortable just to look
at them. I watched my slaves to see if any items were especially
interesting to them, but we saw nothing better than the choices I had
made. Prominent among the many booths was a slave block, complete
with bound slaves and a large For Sale sign. There were both men and
women chained to the block, each wearing a short gray tunic slit to
the navel. I paused to regard the slaves at the block as though
contemplating a purchase, which offered an opportunity for another
dominance battle.
A tall man dressed in leather, his shirt open almost to his
own waist to reveal a number of gold chains approached me. His
attitude was almost a parody of the stud patrol member who had
approached Billie Jo when she was just beginning to come out of her
shell. The beard that covered a hint of sag at his chin and the
careful looseness of his shirt were inadequate attempts to conceal his
deteriorated physique and it became immediately apparent that he was
hunting for a slave out of need, since he had lost his ability to
acquire companionship out of desirability.
"How much for that blonde slave?" he asked.
"It's not for sale," I curtly replied, reading his tag to see
his assumed name, Master Ajax.
"I'm serious. I'll pay you a couple of thousand for her, or
name your own price," he demanded.
"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself," I dismissed his
demand and turned away.
Huntress warned me of his continued advance with a low,
wordless growl just before I felt his hand on my shoulder. My mind
flashed through my options. I couldn't continue to argue with him
without destroying the cool superiority of my character and I
certainly couldn't get into a drawn-out fight while wearing high
heels. All it would take would be one good pull on my hair and I
would be completely revealed, while if he knocked me down and my brief
skirt flew up I would be just as completely unmasked. Even as I
decided how to respond, a part of my mind was noting with surprise how
much playing a character can begin to control your actions, the
typical, softly feminine manner in which I would normally react
covered over by the dominatrix attitude I had adopted for the evening.
I slammed my fist directly into his crotch, sending him
sprawling on the floor clutching at his damaged jewels. In an
instant, my heel was at his throat, the spiked length a serious
threat. Ajax froze once his pain subsided enough to let him recognize
his predicament.
"No one lays hands on me!" I announced, letting the cool
amusement of my smile transform into cold anger, my midnight blue eyes
now glinting with dark ice, frigid, uncompromising, showing a window
into the darkest, coldest hell ever imagined.
"Listen to me, worm," I said quietly, the menace in my tone
bringing shocked looks to all who could hear. "You're not worthy of
an honorable name like Ajax, let alone of master status. I will offer
you your last free choice. Either leave this place immediately, or
strip and join the slaves on the block. In either case, remove that
inappropriate and undeserved name tag."
With my heel at his throat, he had no real choice. He slowly
removed the tag, handing it to me. I let a sneer curl my lip to
indicate my disdain for his offering and he dropped it to the floor.
Then I stood back and brushed my free hand through my hair in a slow,
sensual gesture, signaling that the power I had displayed had excited
me, but that I was completely in control of my own emotions and body,
demonstrated by not even needing to drop the leashes of my slaves as I
dispensed with an unwelcome advance. The ex-Ajax stood up carefully,
still bent over with the residual pain in his crotch, and slid warily
away toward the exit. The audience burst into applause, slaves who
could not clap their bound hands cheering with appreciation, those
that weren't gagged at least. My own slaves began to cheer as well.
"Oh, Milady Raven," Angel called. "You are so wonderful."
The call from Huntress was more of a growl of pleasure than
articulate words, but her eyes shone with excitement.
"Next time, Huntress," I said, directing my comments to her to
demonstrate I appreciated her perfect, in-character response, "I will
let you handle any scum who approach too closely. You need the
practice more than me. I'm more of a man than that worm, but you
might find it useful to have another sparring partner."
My smiling declaration of manhood, at least relative to the
vanquished intruder, shocked my slave girls but the very audacity of
it prevented anyone else from even considering the truth beneath the
boast. Their mouths hung open for a second, then smiles lit up their
faces at the secret we shared together even in the midst of the crowd.
Angel's smile reinforced the sunlight she carried with her at all
times, but the smile that lit the face of Huntress provided a blend of
pleasure and respect that declared to all those that saw it her
intense worship for the one being who could master her. For a moment,
I imagined I saw a true respect within that gaze, not caused by the
role she played, but she was so excellent an actress that I couldn't
be sure.
After that incident, the voting for best master or mistress
was merely a formality. I had it in the bag. Those who had witnessed
the incident spread the word throughout the gathering, the story
growing with each telling until it seemed I was some sort of Kung Fu
expert who had dispatched my assailant with lightning, head-high kicks
though I wore those incredible heels and tight skirt. It seemed that
each master or mistress in the hall needed to talk with me about
technique or ask for guidance while their slaves whispered to my
slaves with tones of envy. The time flew by and my feet began to hurt
from the extended time without rest. I couldn't really sit down while
Angel and Huntress were bound, though, since their bonds were too
restrictive for them to rest as well and for all that I was really
into my dominatrix role, still they were my lovers and I wouldn't
provide myself with pleasures that would keep me from staying attuned
with their condition. I had about decided to leave when a loud voice
came over the speakers.
"Masters and Mistresses, could I have your attention please.
Keep your slaves quiet as well, if you would, while we announce the
winners of tonight's contest. As those of you who regularly attend
our parties know, we typically identify the top three places for both
Master or Mistress and for slaves, based on your votes. The third
place winner gets a free entry into our next party for both owner and
slave, two if the same pair has won both contests. The second place
winners receive free admission for a year, including admission at the
parties of organizations with which we share our interests. Finally,
the first place winners each receive a thousand dollars, which we hope
will be used, in part, to provide entrance to our future contests."
The speaker was the inadequate 'Master Simon' who had tried to
fondle Angel when we entered. His slave was an overweight woman,
dressed in a too-tight outfit and bound with simple handcuffs. It
appeared they wanted to be part of this type of gathering, but had
neither the creativity nor the physiques to carry it off.
Nonetheless, they must have been willing to contribute the time to
organize it, so they were allowed their moment of glory.
"After we compiled the votes this evening," he continued, "we
found an unprecedented situation. With the exception of a very few
ballots which the judges are declaring to be spoiled and invalid,
every vote for master or mistress has been cast for a single person.
For best slave, there is essentially a tie, with all votes shared
equally between two slave women. Can you guess who the winners are?"
With his question, a cheer went up from the crown, which began
to chant, "Raven! Raven!" then added "Angel! Huntress!" as the second
part of the vote was considered. Some of those around us moved to
shake our hands, or clap us on the back, until a warning growl from
Huntress reminded them that we did not allow others to touch us. The
crowd surged back and a path opened up for us to the podium, where
Simon waited with a couple of handfuls of money.
However, when we reached the steps leading up to the dais,
Huntress gave a small whine of dismay, and Angel stopped, causing a
tug at the leash.
"Milady Raven," Angel cried softly, "we cannot climb these
stairs in our bonds."
I was frantically trying to figure out a solution, when a
couple of mistresses nearby recognized the problem and offered to
help. They unhooked the leashes on their masculine slaves who quickly
moved forward, ready to lift Angel and Huntress in their arms but
waiting for my permission to touch them. I nodded, then mounted the
stairs myself, careful not to reveal the secret hidden beneath my
skirt. In a moment, we were on the stage. The crowd cheered happily,
lifted by the demonstration in reality of an ideal that had previously
only existed in their fantasies. After a few minutes of bedlam, Simon
waved his arms to get the partygoers to quiet down.
"Since this situation has never occurred before, the officials
in your organization have decided on a special prize. First, the cash
awards have been increased to $1500 since there are no second or third
place prizes to be awarded. Angel and Huntress will have to share
their award, but we all recognize it is really Milady Raven's prize
anyway. Second, we are awarding Milady Raven free lifetime admission
to our parties, throughout the country, along with any slaves she
wishes to bring. All you slaves out there that like to come to these
occasions might want to see if Milady Raven is taking on any new
trainees."
At this, offers flew up from the crowd. I noticed that even
several of the mistresses were offering to become my slaves, and it
seemed like nearly every male in the audience wanted to please me.
Certainly all of the slaves were excited at the idea, for once not
reprimanded by their owners at speaking without explicit permission.
I let the enthusiasm build for a few minutes, the look of cool
amusement holding on my face as though this adulation was only to be
expected, then I reached for the microphone from Simon, who
surrendered it immediately. Even before I began to speak, the crowd
quieted, anxious to hear what I had to say.
"Sorry," I began, my dominant smile showing no sorrow at all,
"I'm not taking on any additional slaves . . . at this time."
My announcement caused an initial groan, then a resurgence of
interest as I dangled the hook of possible future opportunity.
"Besides," I continued, "I haven't seen anyone here tonight
that is in the same class as either Angel or Huntress. If I allowed
them to speak, they could tell you of unimaginable changes in their
lives since our relationship began," at this, my slaves nodded
enthusiastically, "but they were incredibly sensuous, vibrant, HOT
women before we started. You'll need to work on your own attitudes
before you will be worthy of training."
With that I handed Simon the microphone, took the cash, and
moved back toward the steps, my slaves trailing behind me on their
leashes. Their hobbled, scurrying steps reinforced the graceful sway
of my own beautiful form and a hush fell over the crowd as though they
were in the presence of a legend. I expected that they were. The
story of our appearance would undoubtedly circulate through the
bondage parties for years to come, whether we ever appeared to
reinforce it or not.
The slaves who had helped Angel and Huntress to the stage
reappeared to carry them down, forestalling an army of strong-limbed
men who had wanted to take their places. As soon as my slave girls
were on the floor of the hall their helpers stepped back and I began
to saunter toward the exit, haughtily disdaining any and all comments
tossed in from the sides of the aisle that had cleared for us. We
were escorted all the way to our car, so I couldn't release Angel and
Huntress from their bonds entirely. I merely released them from their
ankle hobbles to allow them to sit, their arms still fastened behind
them, placed the seat belts around them, then moved to the driver's
seat and entered myself. When I started the car, the crowd moved back
to provide us room and in a few minutes we were out of the parking
lot.
