A Special Day in the Life

The sermon in The Great Hall

"I see Them! I see Them" I think, bubbling over with joy. If I had a tail, it would be wagging. Since I'm a slave girl, I arch my back to stick my tits out as far as I can, spread my knees wider.

I'm jealous that server girls greet Mistress Carolyn and Mistress Nancy and I can't, but of course that's the way it's set up. I have my anklets chained together by eighteen inches of chain and a ten foot chain locked to the leg of a table that probably weighs eighty tons. I could not run to Them myself if I wanted to, and I do want to run to Them. I wait instead.

"Settle down slave girl," I think to myself, "Stay calm. I can't drool all over Them. That won't do. I must be perfect," I remind myself with determination.

They are so beautiful. I think I love Them. I certainly hope They want to claim me. I'd love to be Their bitch. I can't take my eyes off Them as They saunter into The Great Hall arm in arm.

Mistress Carolyn is in a dreamy blood red leather ensemble. She must like red. I can plainly see it's really a corset, skin-tight chaps, a studded thong buckled over that, a halter top above the corset, shoulder length opera gloves, a bolero jacket over all of that, stiletto boots,. many separate items of wicked dark red leather with many buckles and laces and chromed spiked studs so it covers Her from Her neck to Her toes. I'm freaking dripping on the floor. My bosom rises and falls. My nostrils flare. That is THE wickedest set of leathers I've ever seen. I want to worship Her. I want to beg to kiss Her whip, which hangs handily from Her belt slung low on Her hips and matches Her outfit purrfectly. I bet it tastes Devine!

Mistress Nancy is so feminine, so pretty, so gorgeous I yearn to beg to lick every inch of Her body. She's wearing the most lovely skirt, blouse, and jacket. Very simple. Very elegant. The skirt and jacket fit Her wonderfully and are a medium taupe rubber. Her blouse is amazing with a frilly open collar in light beige latex. Her slick shiny hosiery matches the blouse. Her gorgeous Oxford shoes with five inch heels match Her skirt, jacket, and purse. I admire Her sense of style. I'm very proud that it must have been Her that chose my outfit that matches Hers. I get a bit lightheaded imagining what that might mean.

I'm nervous. I'm worried if I'm good enough. My eyes never leave Them for a second as Elisha begs to fetch Their drinks. That I see Mistress Carolyn eat a spring roll with sweet duck sauce and that is THE most important thing in my universe at the moment. I wish i could have dipped it in the sauce for Her.

Elisha is scurrying to the bar. They must have ordered drinks. They're walking this way! Towards me and Their place cards!! I hope I don't faint.

"Welcome Mistresses!" I coo sweetly. I bow low and kiss Mistress Carolyn's boots. With a jingle of my chains I turn to Mistress Nancy and slowly, lingeringly lick Her shoes. I'm totally fucking wet. I can't help saying,"May this slave beg to say That You look gorgeous Mistresses?" That's not a usual thing to say but I must say it.

Mistress Nancy reaches down and ruffles my hair. "That's my good girl" She says.

"O H M Y G A W D!!!!!!" I think, "She said 'MY' good girl!" My heart skips a beat.

Elisha minces up to us with her ankle chain jangling. she stands there very pretty with two drinks on the tray hanging from her nipple rings. As sensuously as i can, I slither to my feet. My long chain jingles sliding across the polished marble floor as I reach for the brandy. The chain between my anklets tinkles merrily as it bounces across the floor. I just know, don't ask me how, that brandy is for Mistress Carolyn.

I bend over at the waist and place it on the table directly between Her waiting fingers. I straighten and turn back to Elisha's tray. "The white wine just must be for Mistress Nancy," I think. Very strangely I feel I must kiss the wine glass. I take it in my hands with my short little bit of chain to my collar, and passionately kiss the side of the glass, repeatedly, passionately, like I'm seducing a lover. I just can't stop. I don't know what I'm doing or why.

Mistress Nancy actually takes the glass from my hands. I'm mortified that I failed to serve Her properly. She should never have to reach!

"Awwww! Isn't she sweet Carol? I told you she's something special," She says to Mistress Carolyn with a smile.

"Eh, I told you Nanc, I will not take less than a 9.5. This animal is barely a 9.0," Mistress Carolyn states in a matter-of-fact disinterested way. My heart sinks. "They've actually discussed ME???" I think in amazement.

I kneel quietly, settling back on my heels, just a waitress slave waiting for the next command. I'm nothing, not good enough. I try not to cry. I can't cry. It's forbidden. That means bad torture or maybe death.

Just then Mistress Jane walks into The Great Hall.

All the Dommes and Guards stand. They applaud. Some of the Guards wolf-whistle and cheer.

Mistress Jane strolls confidently to the head of the table. She is magnificent in a black latex gown, long flowing train, Her cloak swirls dramatically around Her legs. She carries Her usual long elegant cigarette holder. She has Her very own leashed serving girl with an ashtray at Her side. With a regal flourish of Her cloak, She sits. All The other Mistresses sit too. Slaves, including me, all try to look more servile.

"Let the festivities begin," Mistress Jane commands in a clear voice. She snaps Her fingers and a serving girl runs in her eighteen inch steps to bring Her Scotch and soda. Mistress Jane has two grade 9 waitresses to offer that drink to Her.

At the arched entrance, The High Priestess leads Her procession into The Great Hall. She is resplendent in flowing robes of earth-color satins. Slave girls precede Her, hands shackled behind their backs, censers of burning incense swaying side to side hanging from their nipple rings. Another Priestess follows, holding a golden standard mounted on a golden shaft high for all to see. It looks very much like an open vagina. The clit is enormous.

"Praise be to the Mother Goddess," The High Priestess intones solemnly. Everyone bows her head and mutters reverently, "Praise be to the Mother Goddess." Even gagged slaves mumble it as best they can.

She opens an ancient book, kisses it, and looks around.

"Today we celebrate the Feast Day of Priscilla's Revenge," She begins.

I would have slapped my forehead if my wrists weren't chained so close to my collar. "Duh! Of course," I think, "how silly of me to not remember what day it is."

The High Priestess clears Her throat, begins to read from Her scripture....

"April 15, 1692; Swampscott Massachusetts

'Thee stand before me, wicked harlot, accused of vile witchery. How plead ye?' demands Deacon Matthew Wallace.

'Nay Reverend,' the accused woman replies, 'Twice or thrice I hath lain with my love, Priscilla Smythe, nothing more. I be no witch.'

'Constance Williams, this day I decree thee a foul servant of evil,' the Deacon bellows in a voice quavering with threat, pointing his long bony finger at her, 'Ye shall be tested this day!'"

The High Priestess pauses, looks up to explain the text.

"The only true love there is, the glorious love between women, was thought to be certain evidence of witchcraft in that century," She pauses to let that incredibly sad, nonsensical truth sink in.

She continues, "Women accused of being witches were tested for their 'purity' by these barbarians. A common test was to bind her and throw her into deep water. If she floated, she was guilty. If she sank, she was innocent. I swear by the Mother Goddess, this is true!" She states emphatically.

"But Constance was of the Alliance. She was quite intelligent. She knew she was going to be accused and prepared for it. She and Priscilla sewed lead into the voluminous skirts and undergarments women wore in that era. Constance found smooth oblong river stones and inserted them into herself," the High Priestess states proudly, obviously pleased Constance was so brilliant.

"The men of the parish under the direction of the dastardly Deacon tied her right thumb to her left big toe tightly with a leather thong. They then tied her left thumb to her right big toe the same way. They carried her to the harbor dock and four men swung her back and forth, then threw her into the water." The High Priestess pauses to let the scene become more vivid in the minds of the assembly. A woman would be totally helpless that way. Unable in any way to swim or save herself, only able to thrash about in the water hopelessly.

"Constance sank of course," the High Priestess says and returns to reading the scripture.

"Priscilla implores the Deacon, mightily distressed, 'What wilt thou say? Wilt thou then antedate some new-made condemnation? Or say that now we are not just those persons which we were?'

'Nay wench, hasten me not. She may yet rise. The sands of this glass still run,' the Deacon declares with snide smugness.

'Whilst thus to ballast justice,' Priscilla pleads, 'some fitter act must be sought!' Even the men of the parish turn and mutter amongst themselves at her words."

The High Priestess closes Her book, looks around the room, explains again.

"The Deacon had failed. Even his men believed Constance was innocent by the insane test of 'purity' they used. She was pulled out of the water, gasping and sputtering, but thankfully alive," She says and bows Her head.

"Praise be to the Mother Goddess," She intones solemnly. Everyone bows her head and reverently chants, "Praise be to the Mother Goddess."

She continues, "What is not in the record of that trial is what happened afterwards. We refer to Priscilla's later diary for that. Constance left to meet a ship to bring her to this very island. She was the third Commandant here. Priscilla delayed leaving for a while.

Secretly studying Deacon Wallace's habits, she found that the Deacon used his outhouse every morning just before sunrise. Priscilla was waiting one morning.

After the Deacon went inside and boards creaked when he sat down, Priscilla silently opened the lid of the pit that is below all outhouses. She emptied her wicker basket into the pit.

That basket contained forty-seven half-starved, very hungry, highly poisonous spiders. The late night air was chilly. The only warmth those spiders would find was that portion of the Deacon dangling down into the pit. To those spiders the Deacon must have seemed like a neon sign advertising a McDonalds. Within seconds, dozens of spiders had latched onto his rump, testicles, and penis."

The High Priestess smiles wryly. "Priscilla wrote in her diary...."

'Scream but till sleep, death's justice unloosed. Your own end to justify for having purposed change and falsehood, you can have no way but falsehood to be true. Vain lunatic, against these 'scapes I could conquer, if I willed; which I do, for by morrow light I may think so too.'"

The High Priestess clears Her throat, looks up. "There is much more, but in more modern English, basically Priscilla taunted the Deacon while he screamed in horrific pain until sunrise when he died of extreme poisoning to his bloated, inflamed, discolored genitals, his trousers still around his ankles."

"Praise be to the Mother Goddess," The High Priestess intones solemnly. Everyone bows her head, Domme and slave alike, and chants reverently, "Praise be to the Mother Goddess."

The High Priestess then bows to Mistress Jane, turns and leads Her procession out of The Great Hall.

The clatter of drink glasses and jovial chatter resumes. From below the salt, much "yahoo-ing" and other exclamations of bawdy glee are heard. Above the salt, genteel and dignified discussions begin afresh.

However, I just kneel. my hands dangle limply below my chin. I know i'm supposed to look like a begging bitch, and I do. I keep my back straight, my tits out and high. I smile pleasantly. I make sure my thighs are spread wide enough so any Mistress can do anything to me She might like. I keep my eyes on Mistress Nancy and Mistress Carolyn.

Even a slave thinks. I believe Mistress Nancy wants me as Her pet or toy or maid or something. The important thing is that She wants me. I'm fairly sure of this, as sure as a mere slave can be about anything that is. This means I'm thrilled, honored, excited, aroused, but very nervous. I must be whatever She wants and I don't know what that is, yet.

Then there's Mistress Carolyn. I want to please Her. I guess I'm not good enough for Her. That makes me sad. It must be my fault. I must be a terrible slave. I must do better somehow. "I know! I will beg to serve Her. I haven't served Her pleasure yet. Yeah, that might do it!" I decide.

This is what runs through the mind of a trained slave girl as she silently kneels chained to a table leg to serve.