I’m not sure how to write about Sunday at Master M’s. There was football. And there were men.
Master had friends over, three of them, strangers to me. I would say all were in their fifties. I served snacks and drinks in high heels, carrying trays between the kitchen and the media room and making drinks at the bar.
I was collared with the heavy titanium and leashed with a half chain. The men seemed already to know what I was, and Master M provided no explanation of me as his slave. It seemed to be common knowledge.
He had me in an orange-red flared skirt, not short-short as Master sometimes prefers but mid-thigh nonetheless.
The main thing was that he had me topless.
I would realize later that this was a kind of training of me as much as an entertainment for the men.
I had been topless before in the company of strangers at the mansion — the retreat of dominants last year — but that was highly structured with rules and pedagogy, and I was mostly a kind of “classroom” practice model of sorts. This was different, random, very testosterone-y, and I didn’t know at first if there were any rules for anyone.
Objectification and sexualization are experiences that Amanda loves to create for me, obviously. She has made them common in my life, in front of the whole the neighborhood and trash men and landscapers, but to say these are common experiences doesn’t mean I have become inured to them. I am ever aware of my exposure and my sexual vulnerability even just with Mistress A, much less other neighbors. Here, in the company of strangers, I was experienced enough to handle the situation well enough (like I didn’t freak out or anything), but I was self-conscious all the same.
The men were already in front of the big TV when Master led me in. I was introduced to each one by an initial — Mister A, Mister H, and Mister Z. I have no idea if those initials correspond to their real last names. They, of course referred to each other by first names, but addressed them as “mister” and last initial, or simply “sir.”
One said to McKenna, “We wondered where you were keeping her.” Another said sarcastically, “Nice outfit.” There were comments about my tits. Also interest in my metal collar, with a short conversation about slave collars with combination locks. Master M instructed them I would be taking their drink orders. Which I did, asking each one by name/initial, what he would like. One said, “What I’d like I’m not permitted to have.” The others laughed. I blushed.
The innuendo aside — it was an afternoon and evening filled with them — his response suggested to me that they had some limits previously placed on them by Master McKenna. I have long reached a point of trust in him, and yet I know at some point I he will share me with friends, that is, for actual sex. I didn’t know if this on Sunday was the time for that.
The one thing I am good at is taking drink orders, making drinks, and being a bar maid. In fact, this is a skill I’ve developed entirely within my years of slavery, first to Master Michael, then to Mistress A, and now to Master McKenna. It was never a need or opportunity for me in my vanilla life in my twenties.
In some respects, I welcome the task of being a bar maid in group situations like this. On Sunday, it gave me a focus in the midst of randomness and a touch of rowdiness.
The interesting thing to me was how the men avidly watched the football game even though I was buzzing around them, my jiggly breasts bared, serving drinks and eats. They actually watched the game. This amused me — it seeming like a bachelor party with the proverbial stripper popping out of the cake naked, but the men lining up to get servings of the cake.
Still, there were commercials and half-time.
Apparently it was permissible for the men to have me to sit on their laps. In the process there was fondling, of my breasts and legs. Each of the men talked to me personally while I was lap-sitting, but somehow my college education and degree in literature never came up. One was interested in my nipple piercings, and he toyed with my nipple rings. One expressed curiosity about what was underneath my skirt. I said to him teasingly, “Well, sir, if you don’t already know that, then you probably have no business having me on your lap.” He smiled and the men laughed. I looked over at Master M, and he was grinning. Apparently, my retort was still within the bounds of approved submissive response.
Hands went under my skirt, as it happened, along the inside of my thighs, but never touched my pussy. Perhaps that was one of their rules.
I probably have never been so extensively fondled in a single day in my entire life.
In the midst of football, the doorbell chime rang, and Master M ordered me to answer it.
Big surprise: my eyes opened wide. It was Amanda.
“I hope you’re behaving yourself,” she said breezing in past me.
“I don’t think the others share your concern,” I said. I walked her to the media room, and introductions were made. Amanda seemed to already know one of the men. It was clear that Master M was expecting her, and that they had arranged her appearance together.
Amanda said to the group, “I hope you’re enjoying our toy.”
Two things were interesting in those moments.
One was that Amanda’s appearance did not especially comfort me about the situation I was in. That is, I didn’t need to be comforted — I trusted Master M to ensure my safety and control the scene. If Master M gave the men more liberty with me, it was no different than what Mistress A might allow.
This was not a negative about Amanda at all — I trust her implicitly to ensure my safety, both physically and mentally. It’s just that in these moments, I realized how far I’ve come with Master M that I trust him just as implicitly as I do her.
The other interesting thing was Amanda’s statement to the group: “I hope you’re enjoying our toy.” The word “our.” I belong to Amanda and McKenna both. This also came out at the retreat, but I felt then it was more of a postured statement to establish Master M’s rights to me. Here it was more a matter of fact.
That doesn’t trouble me. Amanda will always be my primary, with other forms of relationship and different benefits. But as a slave girl, I belong to her, of course, yet also to Master M.
Amanda could care less about football, but she enjoyed watching me being manhandled by these men. This is why she came. There will be more of this. She has cultivated me all along so I will be safely submissive in sexual situations that she can watch.
There isn’t much more to say. I didn’t know there was another football game in the evening, and so the fondling party continued. Master M gave me some time between games to freshen up, some time apart, and I appreciated that. Amanda left halfway through the second game, needing to prep for the week’s business work. I would be coming home to her the next morning.
I have further thoughts from this experience on Sunday but will ponder them more and share them here in future posts.