Other hands came and went, softly caressing or firmly probing the unprotected curves of my flesh. Men and women lifted my chin so to better see my face, to see whether this slave was pleasing to the eyes, or one simply to be used from behind. Some commanded me to lick and suck at their fingers, or to kiss their whips lingeringly and tenderly. I obeyed as best I could, fearing nothing more than to displease a master. One forced the handle of a whip lengthwise into my mouth, ordering me to hold it with my lips, pleasuring it with my tongue. I complied, tears in my eyes as I contemplated my utter degradation. What kind of girl would so willingly accept such compounded humiliation, and even be aroused by it? I knew the answer, but scarcely dared admit it to myself.

Still devotedly swirling my tongue around the whip handle, I heard Cristina's voice above me. "I see you found something to keep your mouth occupied, slut." I lifted my eyes to her, but did not stop my work. She reached down, grasped the whip handle, and began to slowly slide it in and out of my mouth. Sobbing, I continued to lavish my intimate attentions on the leather shaft. She pushed it deeper and deeper into my mouth, almost forcing me to gag. I closed my eyes and imagined it was a master I was serving. This was what I was good for, I thought ...

"She's quite talented," I heard a man say.

"Yes, isn't she?" answered Cristina, withdrawing the whip from my mouth. "You'd hardly know this is her first night as a slave."

I looked up and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man in a simple black T-shirt and black jeans. Kneeling at his feet was a stunningly beautiful Latina woman, wearing nothing but a skimpy bra, garter belt, and stockings. She was looking up at me with a knowing smile.

"And she enjoys it, too," Cristina continued. "Claudette can check."

"Go ahead, dear," the man said. The beauty lowered herself to all fours and crawled around the table to somewhere behind me. I waited, my body tense. Suddenly I felt something warm, and wet, and soft probing my most tender regions. My body shook, involuntarily straining to reach toward the new sensation. Cristina and the man laughed. My body continued to quiver.

Claudette was back again, kneeling at her master's feet. "I think she is about to explode, master," she said. I wanted to bury my head and cry but, of course, there was no such possibility. I was chained in place, and until Cristina saw fit to release me, there was no place for this slave to hide. I moaned in arousal and frustration.

"She is clearly full of passion, but I'm sure she's not nearly as skilled as Claudette," Cristina said, eyeing the kneeling slave.

"She is yours for the asking," said the man graciously. I could not believe what I was hearing. Was he simply bequeathing his slave to Cristina for her pleasure? Is that what slaves were subject to? Would Cristina be offering my body to him in exchange? If she did, would I comply?

"Your offer is most generous," Cristina said. Looking at me, she continued, "I would return the favor, but I fear this little slut is new to her collar, and is not yet ready to serve your pleasure." I supposed I should have felt relieved to be spared the indignity of being forced to serve a man, as a slave girl. But at the same time, I felt frustrated, knowing that my submission would not be consummated tonight.

"She seems ready enough to me, but I respect your wishes," he answered.

"But Claudette is woman enough for both of us," Cristina said, leading the three of them away. Turning her head over her shoulder, she called out, "Don't worry, someone will come for you."

Then I was returned to waiting in my state of helpless arousal, simultaneously dreading the casual attentions my body was open to and hoping that someone would consent to bring relief to my sexual needs. Instead, however, I found myself mostly ignored in favor of other bound beauties promising more than the simple pleasures I could offer, left to my own tumultuous thoughts. What would I do when Cristina finally release me? Would I be an indignant, self-righteous professional woman, demanding to be released and returned to her world? Or would I instead be a soft, willing slave girl, kneeling before her mistress and begging to serve her and be used by her? I went back and forth, one moment hating myself for what I had already let myself endure, the next telling myself that this once I should let myself indulge my fantasy in as complete a form as possible - even to include true, abject, unquestioning, unconditional sexual servitude.

Hands came and went, exploring parts of my body never before so shameless exposed to the world. I lowered my head to the surface of the table, feeling its cool padding against my cheek. Never before had I felt so abandoned - naked, chained helplessly, left to the mercy of anyone who cared to pay attention to me.

Then I felt a hand in my hair, lifting my head up off the table. I gasped in shock. It was Stefan, the doctor who had befriended me a few weeks before. He was smiling.

"Cristina said I should pick you up and take you home," he said. I looked at him, baffled. "It seems she had to take that slave Claudette home with her. Couldn't resist." I was shocked to hear that Cristina hadn't been joking, that she really would be making use of Claudette's most intimate services, that Claudette really was so willing and available to apparently any person. Then I was relieved that it was not I who would be chained at the foot of Cristina's bed tonight, perhaps forced to beg to serve her mistress. At the same time, though, I felt something close to jealousy as well. What did Claudette have that I did not? Was I not beautiful, and obedient, and willing to serve? Had I not been a perfect slave tonight? Why didn't Cristina want to take her pleasure from my lips and tongue, why had she not chosen to imperiously have her way with my body?

I felt Stefan releasing my wrists and ankles from the restraints. For the first time in what felt like hours I could close my legs. But still I remained in place where Cristina had put me, awaiting a command.

Stefan slapped me on the bottom and decorously pulled the hem of my garment down to cover the little it could. "Come on, let's go," he said, picking up my leash and heading toward the door.

"Stefan," I began. "You know I only came because I was curious, right?"

He stopped and turned to me. He looked into my eyes, hard. I had never before noticed how tall and strong he was. Even though he was more or less average in build, he seemed to tower over my small, soft, scantily clad body. I lowered my eyes. I felt his hand pushing down on my shoulder. Tears in my eyes, I lowered myself to my knees and spread them before him. Stefan, too, would enforce my condition on me.

"There, that's better," he said. "Now what were you saying?"

"I said I came because I was curious, master," I whispered.

"Well, I hope you learned something, then," Stefan answered.

"Yes, master," I whispered.

Then he tugged sharply on the leash, signaling me to my feet, and again headed toward the main room and through it to the door. I followed on my bare feet, my eyes lowered, a slave trailing behind her master. Perhaps the onlookers thought he was taking me home to consummate the evening, to exact from my captive flesh the price of my slavery, to use me for what I was worth. Suddenly I wondered if that was exactly what he intended, if he would take advantage of my near nudity and helplessness to have his way with me. I felt a thrill go through my body and heat welling up between my thighs. I imagined him forcing me again to his knees, this time to serve his pleasure, throwing me on my back and kicking my legs apart, or turning me to all fours for casual ravishment. I wondered how I would respond. Would I protest at the invasion of my rights? Or would I revel in the chance to serve a man, to reveal that I was a hot, willing slut only too happy to take her rightful place at his feet?