Finally Cristina turned to me and said, in English, "He says that if you get on your knees and kiss his feet, he'll let us in without waiting in line." She was laughing. I glanced for a moment at the long line of people and decided that a moment's humiliation was better than having to wait outside. Cristina tugged me forward. Standing before the large, well-muscled man, I suddenly felt small, and soft, and weak, truly only a plaything to give him whatever pleasure and amusement he might find in a woman's body. Not daring to meet his eyes, I lowered myself to my knees, bent my head forward toward the ground, and began to lick and kiss at his feet. I closed my eyes and again tried to lose myself in the delicious submissiveness of licking the hard, dusty leather, imagining that I was a slave girl desperately trying to please a master, trying to arouse his interest, inviting him to throw her on her back and rape her. I don't know how long I lavished my attentions on his feet before Cristina tugged up on the leash, saying, "That's enough, slut," and pulled me to my feet. The man gestured that we should enter. As I walked in front of him I felt his hand lift up the back of my garment and feel my body. My hands chained as they were, I was powerless to stop him. Now I knew even more deeply the openness of a slave's body and the casual uses to which she will routinely be put.

We entered the dark, cavernous club. I had been here several times, but never before half-naked, my hands chained behind my back, trailing behind the mistress who held the leash to my collar. I felt all eyes in the club turn towards me as we stepped across the threshold. I tried to lower my eyes and let my hair drift across my face, hoping no one would recognize me. Surely anyone who saw me could hardly recognize Jennifer Nevins, the all-American college girl, in this submitted, collared slave. Or could they? I looked around. The club was busy but not filled. There were people who looked like masters, people who looked like slaves, and a majority of indeterminate status. The predominant dress was black leather in all its forms - halters, miniskirts, boots, body suits, harnesses, gloves, masks, cuffs, whips ... Scattered through the room a few slaves were partially or fully naked, their breasts or their intimate regions exposed to public view. But in general, few people were as openly, vulnerably exhibited as was I, the curves of my body easily visible through my thin white garment, my bound hands helpless to protect me. I could depend only on the goodwill and protection of my mistress.

We had stopped. I looked up. We had reached a table, and Cristina was chatting with the people seated around it. With a shock, I recognized some of the German friends I had made in the past few weeks: Iris, the quiet but friendly violinist; Stefan, the doctor in a local hospital; Frank, the tall political activist I had secretly admired. I blushed deeply, lowering my head. Now, I knew, I could never hope to go out with him as an equal.

I was startled by the silence, all the eyes focused on my exposed body. "Yes," Cristina said, "our American friend makes a lovely slave. You should have seen her licking my boots in the car." They laughed. I realized she was speaking English for my benefit. I wanted to run away and hide. But I was held in place by her firm hand on my leash.

"I just thought it would be interesting," I started to say, before being rudely cut off by a backhanded slap from Cristina.

"Slaves do not speak unless spoken to," she reprimanded me. "Everyone here is your master or mistress," she continued. "You will show them complete deference, or you will be whipped."

"Yes, mistress," I sobbed. Well, I had asked for this - to be dominated and humiliated in public. I would just have to endure the night somehow and then rebuild my life in the morning.

I felt a sharp downward tug on the leash. "Slaves kneel in the presence of free men and women," Cristina reminded me. I lowered myself to my knees and sat back on my heels. Not wishing to be slapped again, or worse, I opened my knees. Cristina's boots pushed them further apart. "Thrust out your breasts, Jenny," she ordered. "Let's see what you've got." I obeyed, sobbing softly, pushing my breasts forward against the thin fabric that was all I wore. I knew my nipples were clearly visible to all of my friends.

"Have you used her at all," asked Iris. I was shocked to hear shy, quiet Iris ask such an open question. But, I realized, I was just a slave. That is what we are for - being used by our masters.

"No, not yet," Cristina answered. "This is just her first time, remember. But she has a lot of potential. You should have seen her licking the bouncer's shoes - you could tell she wanted something else in her mouth. Right, slut?"

"Yes, mistress," I answered.

"Have you ever pleasured a man with your mouth?"

"Yes, mistress," I whispered, reddening even more.

"Are you any good?"

"I think so, mistress." I supposed that at some point soon I might be put to the test, and I did not want to be accused of misrepresenting my abilities. On the other hand, judging from my performance with Cristina's boots, I expected that I would throw myself into the task with passion.

"Well, there's plenty of time to find out about that later," Cristina laughed. She took an empty seat and continued talking with her friends, in German.

I continued to kneel by her chair, knees still widely spread, hands behind my back, chest thrust forward - a forgotten slave at her mistress's feet. I felt heat growing between my thighs. I wondered what my friends thought of me now. Were they shocked to see me here, dressed as a slave, obedient to a woman's wishes? Did they think I was just playing a role, that tomorrow I would be the carefree, innocent American student they had known? Or had they somehow already known that inside that stereotypical exterior there already lay the heart of an admitted, secret slave, who longed only for this - to be displayed openly, humiliatingly, by a firm master? I wondered if I would ever be able to face them again. Would I ever be able to say to Frank, "Of course, I was just experimenting to see what it would be like." Or would he simply say, "I know you are a slave, Jenny, now strip off those clothes, bend over, and grasp your ankles," and then use me brutally as the slave girl he knew me to be?

I lifted my head slowly to look at Frank. He was staring intently at my body, which was scarcely hidden from his gaze. He smiled when he caught my eye. I lowered my eyes again, blushing. "Yes, Jenny, you are even lovelier than I had thought," he said softly. I lifted my eyes again and smiled, relishing his compliment. "I'm sure you're even lovelier naked."

"Thank you, master," I said, having been reminded of my status in relation to him. Then, daring myself to go further, I continued, "This slave is happy if her body pleases you, master," and tried to smile up at him.

He laughed and playfully ran his hand through my long, brown hair. "What a slave you are, my little slut," he said. "It will be a great pleasure to use you."

"Use me?" I stammered, momentarily forgetting my new position in life.

"When?"

"Just wait and see, my little plaything," Frank said, and turned back toward the conversation.

Waiting for my mistress to see fit to pay attention to me, I realized what the life of a slave might be like, unable even to interest her master unless he chose to be interested in her, desperately striving to be found worthy of attention. The thought made me feel warm and wonderful. Perhaps this was really what I was meant to be. I looked shyly up at Cristina - so dark, so strong, so self-assured. Well, if this was a game, I would play it to the fullest, I decided. I carefully inched closer to her, maintaining my open-kneed position, turned my head towards her, and began to kiss and lick the tops of her boots, just under the knee. I moved from there to her bare thigh, using my tongue as delicately as possible, fearful of bothering her. I closed my eyes and indulged myself in my submission.