"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 time 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.