Bells at the Ball Story 01

The bells ring and the crowd cheers. The bells ring and Mistress is disappointed.

A fine, silk blindfold covered my eyes. A ruffle of big skirts under big dresses, the click of heels on the marble floor and the whipping of capes against men's backs are all I hear. The smell of sex, sweat and champagne fills my nostrils.

The bells mustn't move. I mustn't move. I mustn't displease my Mistress. My chant, mantra: no movement, no sound, no punishment, no pain.

The muscles in my arms pull and burn, bound and tightened almost unnaturally across my back. My knees are pulled high and wide, forcing me to squat low atop a plinth just wide enough to stand on. My toes grip the edge painfully. My unseeing eyes guess the height and hope the fall is not too far.

Had I fallen, the humiliation would be unbearable. The pain I could take, but the crying laughter of the outnumbering audience if my bound body drops into an exposing heap ... I could not stand it.

The harsh bonds linked around my knees and elbows hold me beautifully, making it impossible for my muscles to relax, yet depend on them for balance.

A thick knotted rope hangs from a hook at the back my collar -- a sign that I am my Mistress', tamed and obedient and favoured -- it runs down my spine, through my parted buttocks, around and up between my breasts and latched onto a hook under my chin. With each intake of breath two knots rub and press against my exposed clit and cunt causing shivers, as I command my twitching hips to be still.

Don't let the bells chimes. Please no! No movement, no sound, no punishment, no pain. I breathe in time with each internal command.

Sweat and tears wet my blindfold. The bells had silenced since I was placed on my pedestal, wrapped carefully around my body on invisible strings, by invisible hands. Their cold mental -- balanced on my neck, above and below my breasts, across my back, hanging from my navel, around my parted legs and dangling from my knees -- no longer swayed, desperately silent.

Don't move! Cannot move! Mustn't move! I chant again secretly in my mind.

A curtain is lifted around me and I am seen by the unseen.

Why couldn't Mistress have gagged me? To cry out now would be disastrous. Gags were a security, something to focus on. She was testing me again as she always did.

The crowd -- Lord and Ladies -- were in silent awe. Some sighed or gasped. Some began to whisper. A clap of hands sounded then another and another. Soon the whole audience joined in and were cheering. My heart fluttered at their pride and pleasure, overriding the deep humiliation.

The roar deafened my ears but I endured, I had no choice. In this opportunity I could have moved, adjusted my feet to stop the pain. I dared not, Mistress would notice.

My heart no longer beat, but vibrated. I had been exposed thoroughly by Mistress in the past, alone and amongst all the other pets she possessed. Now however, was entirely different. I was her prize, the one she wanted to show off. All her high ranking friends of society were here to see the entertainment. I could not fail her, I would not. She had made me subservient and beautiful and I loved her for it.

Fear was always present, but never allowed to consume. I stood strong and firm, holding my tongue and letting the silent tears fall freely.

"Why Mistress Merrick, you've out done yourself." A voice called out clear through the rabble.

I strained my ears for a response. Where are you Mistress? Let me hear you.

"Beautiful. Simply beautiful."

"You're too kind Lady Leopold."

Mistress! Speak again I beg you.

"May I ask what purpose the bells serve?"

Before my Mistress could respond another Lady interjected.

"Why I believe it is a game of endurance and temptation, is it not Mistress Merrick? This ravishing girl has been instructed to be unmoving, lest she make the bells chime, am I right?"

"Perceptive as always, Lady Hancock."

"But how is that a fair game? This girl belongs to you, Mistress Merrick. She could be there for hours with your instruction."

"Ah! Mistress! Does this mean you're allowing us to play with your pet? She endures as we tempt?"

I held my breath.

"As I said Lady Hancock: very perceptive."

A girly squeal came from Lady Leopold, "Ah, Mistress Merrick, you're too wonderful, too kind." With a great ruffle of skirts she approached.

Terror's hold tightened on my throat. Others had touched me, played with me. I had fucked and been fucked by every man and woman in Mistress' possession, but they had been pets, these were men and women with the same, or if possible, higher expectations than Mistress. They knew and experienced pleasure as she did. Well, almost. Mistress was the queen as her kind, so it was said and I knew it to be true.

"I'm not sure I dare ... such a precious thing ..." Lady Leopold breathed, warming my face. I inhaled her perfume. Champagne fizzed near my ear.

"May I, Mistress Merrick?"

Silence.

"Of course."

My heart thrashed in my ribcage, but the bells didn't ring. The aching in my feet, my muscles and my open straining legs were becoming more unbearable by the second. I was painfully aware of how much I craved the touch of this woman. Any woman. Anyone.

Touch me! Make me feel something other than the bonds and the ropes and the fear of the bells. Unable to plead with my voice, my body or even my eyes I screamed inside my head.

Lady Leopold's fingers made contact, carefully tracing the flesh of my inner thigh, avoiding the bells. Nothing coy about Lady Leopold. Her hands seemed uncommonly cold against my sweating skin. Cold from holding her drink maybe?

Her fingertips glided around to the back of my straining legs, teasing the tender flesh. I ground my teeth. Her hand continued to travel, reaching and grasping my left buttock firmly in one hand and a breast in the other.

"Such beautiful fruit ... I want to taste ..." Her Ladyship's tongue gently flicked my hardened nipple, so hot compared to her hands. Her thumb came back and hooked around the knotted rope and pulled.

My toes were numb, pressing harder to the edge of my plinth, against the feel of the knots rubbing my sensitive clit, already dripping cunt and exposed arsehole. I didn't flinch.

"No fair."

Lady Leopold's teeth bit down on my nipple and her lips pulled the breast high then let it go sharply.

My heart stopped. The bells rang.

No! It wasn't me Mistress!

Everywhere was silent.

"Now, now Lady Leopold. No cheating."

Mistress!

Small laughter broke out in the crowd. With a swaying of her dress Lady Leopold was gone.

"Let the party continue."

Somewhere an orchestra started up, quiet enough for the bells to be heard. No chiming instruments.

Over the course of the party many more fingers, hands and mouths sort to seduce me, move me, make me cry out, come. But after, what seemed like hours, the bells remained silent. The knotted rope cutting up my body was soaked with my fluids, guests' saliva and the champagne a guest had poured over my face.

Through the low music I heard the cries and moans of the doubtless other present slaves that served the Lords and Ladies. They served naked, wearing only a collar about their necks, offering drinks, food or themselves and judging from the sounds of their crying voices, the odd swish of a whip through the air and the laughter and insults or praise of the guests, the ball room was no doubt filled with them.

In my bondage I envied them as they allowed the Lords and Ladies to bend them over tables or sit them between their legs or sit them on their lap. I was the prize of this party I reassured myself, proof of my worth and obedience.

"I yield to you Mistress." The voice of Lord Berthwood sounded, "You truly are a master, maybe the best I've ever encountered."

I'd have breathed a sigh of relief had I dared. Was it over? Had I succeeded?

A round of applause broke out.

I had done it.

But the clapping stopped as quickly as it had started. Fear crept closer to me again.

"It's Lady Blackmore." A voice whispered.

Fresh tears filled from my eyes. Lady Blackmore!

She was known well by the gentry and the pets. All spoke of her harshness and cruelty with her pets. She thought herself above the rules and no one questioned her. Her results were unquestionable and her slaves were proud to belong to her, but some considered her methods inhumane. Only the real pain seekers went to her and unfortunately, for the time being, she had many powerful clients of that persuasion.

She was Mistress' only competition, but she was nothing compared to Mistress. Mistress was refined and beautiful and loved by all her pets.

"I'm glad to see that you made it Lady Blackmore." My Mistress said. I was instantly calmed by her sincere sounding words.

"Always a pleasure, Mistress Merrick," Unlike Mistress, Lady Blackmore's words stunk with obvious falseness. I hated her and I was petrified.

All was silent. The music had stopped. The lazy chatter had died.

Steps echoed off the floor. She was approaching slowly. A throaty chuckle came from her.

"A pretty exhibition Mistress Merrick, the best you can offer, I suppose."

Lady Blackmore's followers joined in her laughter; some did so out of fear, ex-slaves of hers no doubt.

"Lady Blackmore," A man's voice this time, "come now, do not mock things you have not tried for yourself. Let's see you rise to the challenge laid out by Mistress Merrick."

Supporters of my Mistress cheered in agreement.

Silence again.

I hadn't moved, barely breathing in fear of dishonouring Mistress in front of this woman, but terror still gripped me. Surely the beat of my heart could have shaken the flesh atop it, causing the bells to sing out my fear to Lady Blackmore, betraying my Mistress.

"Well," Lady Blackmore again, "I was never one to back down from a challenge, though I use the word 'challenge' in its broadest term." She let loose another chuckle, but all else was silent in apprehension.

Her clicking heels grew louder, as did the thumping in my chest. I was still. My tears fell. I longed once again for a gag.

Her heat was on me fast, her hot breath. She was examining me closely, carefully. She brushed the fallen tendrils of my hair through her fingers. She breathed in my champagne soaked skin. Her lips were on mine, sucking hard, licking my clenched teeth.

I longed to kiss her back, but feared the seduction of a single kiss, wanting to taste the inside of her mouth, sample its earlier delights: food and drink, men and women. I would have taken it all.

I didn't falter.

Lady Blackmore lived up to her reputation. She was cold and firm, handling me roughly, whilst at all times keeping my mouth covered with her own. She pinched my nipples between her thumb and forefingers, causing pain, but no sound. She rolled and pulled hard at the small bud, pressing it with her nails.

My jaw began to ache as I clamped harder. She would force a reaction out of me. She wanted to shame me and Mistress. Never!

Next she moved to something that the other guests had only teased. She leaned in close, not touching the bells, reached for the knotted rope, round to my backside and entered, dry, rough and dangerous.

Of course, this was not my first experience of such a thing. Mistress had thoroughly opened me to all and any sexual activity that she deemed acceptable for me and I had loved it. But this was for pain to make me move.

Two fingers were forced into me, hard and deep within seconds. In fear of falling from my pedestal I kept my muscles tight. I had to take the pain. But I was weak with exhaustion, weak from sexual tension, overwhelmed by the torturing fingers inside me.

Please give in, I wanted to cry, screaming it in my mind, but she wouldn't have it. Lady Blackmore's fingers parted and I felt the flesh burn. My blindfold was soaked to my face with fresh tears and sweat.

Mistress let it end.

I toyed with the idea of letting her win. End my suffering. But that subjected my Mistress to the wrath of the mob and me to the wrath of Mistress. She had chosen me for this. She knew I was ready, that I could take it, that I would enjoy it, and that I would grow to love it. She was right. I loved it: the pain in my aching muscles, the humiliation of being anyone's plaything, yet having them love me for it. Oh yes, she knew me very well.

Further and further Lady Blackmore pushed and probed and pinched. She bit down hard on my lower lip, pinched the lips of my sex, pulled hard at my nipple and widened my hole further.

I tasted blood.

She had made me bleed. A cardinal sin in our world when playing and fucking in large groups. Oh yes, our games had rules. Never break the skin. Beat to bruise not to bleed. Too obvious, too unskilled, too dangerous.

She lapped up the blood. No one spoke out. The game continued.

She tugged at the knotted rope as Lady Leopold had done, but with more skill, rubbing both holes and clit simultaneously with added brutal pressure.

The pain was becoming too much, the torturing pleasure too intense. I was sore inside and out. My legs had begun to tremble. The bells gave me away. They jingled lightly against my thighs.

I'm sorry Mistress. I failed you.

Trembling all over as my orgasm rippled through me, my body falling, unseen hands catching my limbs, I cried out hurting my aching jaw. The waves of pleasure caused through me and each wave bought with it the shameful jiggling of bells until I stilled, but my heaving chest rolled the bells around my breasts. It was over. I failed.

The bells went on unheard as an applause rolled out through the audience. I heard nothing but the clanging of the bells, as if they were inside my head.

At some point the curtain concealed me again. Unknown arms lifted me and removed me from that place. Hands loosened some, but not all, of my bonds. The damned blindfold and the leather that held my arms and ankles together remained. At last the bells were gone, but I still heard them sounding my humiliation, my failure.

I was carried somewhere else. For a moment I was lost until I smelt Parisian rose water perfume, in the patterned Persian rug in which my face was pressed -- Mistress' bed chamber. Naked and bound on the floor.

Momentarily relieved, I breathed in deeply, savouring the familiar smells and picturing my surroundings. Gilded black and blood red draped and laced curtains covering the windows. Golden candelabras lit the room. The smell of candle wax filled my nostrils. The walls were littered with numerous toys and contraptions for different types of play. You could fill two walls with the toys Mistress had used with me, for my training and her amusement.

A King sized, oak, four-poster-bed took up most of the floor space, this too had many levels and added mechanics -- none of course visible under the Venetian bedspread. Hooks chains, robes and leathers, wrapped themselves around the bed's posts and roof. Giant, gilded frames hung between the larger toys, sometimes holding positioned, naked slaves as the main subject matter, strapped to the canvas.

I knew all this, but was unable to see it. Had Mistress set something up for me? I couldn't help but squirm in excitement of being alone again with my Mistress. My flesh was still on fire from my earlier torments, ready and wet, but unfinished.

Suddenly a terrifying thought choked me. What if I was ignored? What if Mistress shunned me? Starved and wanting, a useless heap on the floor, whilst she amused herself with other slaves, unable to see, only able to hear and smell and guess. It was maddening.

I lay there for what seemed like hours. I felt the vibration of music coming up through the floorboards. The party continued. No doubt that the guests were now all nicely drunk on drinks served by the slaves Mistress had provided. I grew jealous once more of the slaves downstairs, they would serve as the guests saw fit. Men and women pulled powerlessly into a variety of different games, plays and positions by the Lords and Ladies.

All slaves wore colour coded collars, indicated the levels in which the guests could indulge. Greens were the terrified fledglings, in their first weeks of training, handled by junior trainers and always a favourite at these events. Red collar wearers were sent to senior trainers -- the marks of their training far more evident. Some would serve under higher level slaves. Red lead to black, far more privileged, for they began their training with Mistress, but they still belonged to the senior trainers or the Lord and Ladies and some stayed with them.

Some Lords and Ladies owned their own slaves, but sent them to Mistress to receive the best training before going back to them or staying with my Mistress. Most followed my Mistress' example of coloured coding their slave by their collars and sought her advice regularly.

I was among the highest class. After three years since I entered slavery, Mistress presented me with my fur lined sterling silver collar, with her and my name carved beautifully into it. I was hers.

Mistress had many slaves. She favoured no particular sex. Men and women were equal. Though I noticed she had a strong taste for men with other men. She could spend hours watching an orgy, whilst I knelt hidden under her skirts, applying lips, tongue and fingers to her slit. She liked to watch her most subservient slaves transform into rampant, aggressive animals fighting or pleading to fuck or be fucked. Oh yes, she liked it very much, the taste on my tongue could testify to that.

I think I slept, unsure in the constant darkness. The clip-clopping of horse hooves and the crunch of gravel startled me. The guests were leaving.

The click of the door being unlocked. Mistress!

I squirmed helplessly, remembering my bonds. The small squeak of hinges and a second click, followed by the heavy steps of heeled slippers proved me right. I lay still, unwilling to move. Complete submission. I even lowered my hidden gaze should she rip the blindfold from me. She was close.

Was she looking at me? Please look at me. Don't spurn me Mistress. Forgive me.

Layered skirts swept over my legs before they dropped, covering my lower half. She was undressing. Such a rare thing and I was unable to witness it. Usually she left the job up to silver collared slaves like me. Mostly she stayed clothed when she tortured and fucked. Another demonstration of control: power over the naked and vulnerable. Simple but effective.

God damn those bells! Damn Lady Blackmore!

My mind's eye saw what I could only hear. Mistress' legs were beautiful, pale and slender, but strong with powerful thighs. Next came the loosening of lace holding her corset in place. Fine lace, most likely blue or red, her favourite colours. Maybe gold to match the occasion. That too fell on top of me. Mistress' warmth clung to the fabric. I breathed in her heavenly scent.

Next she would sit back on the bed -- indeed, the matrass squeaked under her small weight -- slowly rolling down her stockings. More unthreading. Her under garments were thrown over me. I breathed in deeper.

Her breasts were delicious, pale like the rest of her, maybe a little too large for her small frame, with rose nipples the same colour as her lips. Surprisingly sensitive and always beautiful.

It was unbearable. I could picture and hear it all. Mistress continued to ignore my presence. I expected the wardrobe door to open and she would dress for bed or for another pet. But what happened was much worse.

Mistress moaned. The slick wetness of her fingers or a toy pleasuring her tortured my ears.

I let out a whimper of desperation, legs squirming, muscles clenching, clit twitching. Breathing in, smelling her again. My hips bucked against my bonds.