Mistress had invited someone over. That alone was not a surprise. She did it all the time. The apartment where she kept me and all her other belongings was blessed with plenty of space, which was hard to find in Denver nowadays. It was bigger than any of her friends' homes, so inevitably when she and her friends gathered, they gathered here. Sometimes a single lady friend would come over, and I only needed to cook one extra meal. Other times, a whole pack of friends would arrive, and I would scamper between the kitchen and the table to get everyone's meals to them without running out of counter space—not made easier when Mistress' friends fondled and spanked me as I walked by.
Of course I loved the attention, and since Mistress dressed me like a boy-toy every time, I couldn't pretend to be surprised—but being good eye candy is one thing. Hosting dinner is another. Doing both at once requires a kind of self-discipline and self-awareness that we man-slaves never get enough credit for. When Mistress' friends brought their own man-slaves with, it was a different story. Vika's man Gordon was an excellent partner in the kitchen, and with all of us men serving at once, no one had to hurry. While the women ate, they usually allowed us to retire to the living room, and we men would enjoy the opportunity to talk to members of our own sex.
Tonight would be easy. Mistress hadn't said who was coming, but she had referred to our guest in the singular. It also boded well that Mistress was excited. Of course, it always raised her spirits to have friends over, but somehow, through the language of tone and innuendo, she conveyed that tonight would be special. And my life was always easiest when Mistress had a good time.
In the minutes before the guest was expected, Mistress sat by the front door and read a book while I knelt at her side. That she had me kneel should have been a clue. Some women liked their men to kneel when a guest came in, but Mistress preferred me to stand, and so did all of her regular friends. For that matter, so did almost everyone I knew. And yet, tonight, I waited on my knees.
A fast little knock echoed on the door, and Mistress pulled it open.
"Tanya, welcome!"
"Janet!" squealed the new guest, "what's happening!" And she was barely in the door before she gave Mistress a tight, sweet, feminine hug.
Tanya. I knew that name. I also knew that long black hair, the jackknife jawline and that open, loud, smiling mouth.
Tanya, who I met at Greeley West High School. Tanya, the girl who had taken my virginity. Tanya, the girl whom I'd last seen with tears in her eyes, screaming that I didn't love her and that I was a mistake. Miss Tanya Blakemore, now an honored guest at Mistress Janet's house.
I must have given her a long look, because when Tanya saw me, she laughed. Back when we had dated in high school, I had only ever worn work shorts and blank T-shirts, or pants instead of shorts if I felt like changing things up. Now I wore a leather D-ring collar, a black vest, blue jeans, cowboy boots and nothing else (Mistress had been on a biker-boy kick lately.) My outfit wasn't any racier than what most man-slaves wore around the house, but to Tanya, who'd only ever known me as the good boy at school, I must have looked like a whore. I tried not to blush as she laughed, but I knew by the tingling in my cheeks that I failed.
"Nick!" said Tanya. "You're all grown up now!"
So she was not still angry with me. Relieved, I cracked a smile. "Hey, now, I was a full-grown adult before, and you know damn well."
She hummed in that way women do when they're reliving sensual memories. "Hm, I guess so. Now that I think about it, you might have proved it once or twice."
Mistress put an affectionate hand on Tanya's back. "We tripped over each other after that meeting, and then I realized, she was the same Tanya you told me about!" Mistress said it without any sign of jealousy. It shouldn't have been a surprise, knowing her, but still it was a relief.
"And guess what? I get to meet you again," said Tanya, grinning at me the way you'd grin at a favorite meal.
A year ago, I would've said something stupid and plain like, 'well, here I am,' but now I was a little more sophisticated. "I'm pleasantly surprised to see you. And I'm also surprised to see you alone." I looked down at my collar indicatively.
She took it as a complement, as I'd hoped. "Hm, not yet," she said simply. "The guys where I work are just so lazy." It was a stealthy complement. Of all the complaints Tanya had ever had about me, back in the day, laziness had never been one of them.
"Want to tell him what you've done in the last fifteen years?" said Mistress. She inclined her head and beamed, eager to hear what came next.
"Hm... nah," said Tanya.
Mistress blinked. "What?"
"I'm a little more interested in hearing you explain yourself," she said to me, hands on her hips. Her smile darkened a little.
'Oh,' I thought. 'Shit,' So Tanya really was still upset. Back when she and I knew each other, we had been equals. Now she was free, and I was married and collared. Instead of Mr. Nick Jamison, I was Mr. Janet Anderson, a legally registered submissive. And Mistress Janet Anderson was not interested in scaring Tanya off. Every moment I hesitated, Tanya's vindictive smile became a little more vindictive and a little less of a smile. "I know we had differences," I began, "but splitting up was right for us both. For what it's worth, I'm glad I knew y-"
"Uh-uh," said Tanya. "I'm not looking for your sob story."
That got under my skin. It was emphatically not a sob story.
"I'm looking for your apology," said Tanya. She pointed at her boots. "Crawl to me. Take 'em off, kiss my feet and tell me you're sorry for breaking up with me."
I glanced at Mistress. She allowed other women to fondle me or even kiss me, but to give me direct orders was a privilege she almost always kept to herself. Mistress nodded me to obey.
Slowly, I prostrated myself, giving a show of tightening core muscles and strong, steady arms as I belt down. With my groin and my chin scraping the carpet, I crawled to her, undid her boots and held them as she stepped out of them. Then I cradled her calves as I unrolled her socks.
Holding her legs in my hands gave me a thrill I hadn't expected, but was familiar. Tanya's dominance had always been a forceful kind. Predatory. Now that I was touching her, and revealing her bare feet, it occurred to my body, not just my brain, that I was in the predator's power again. I had knelt up in my momentary reverie. I re-flattened myself, kissed the warm tops of her feet with soft but audible kisses, looked up at her and said, "I'm sorry, Miss Tanya, for breaking up with you." The words tasted horrible on my tongue, because I didn't mean them. Tanya was not a bad person, but breaking up with her had been the right thing.
"Hm," said Tanya, with a mean little smile. "I always liked the way you did that."
"Wanna see more?" said Mistress.
I looked at Mistress and was shocked. I knew she was serious, because she wore the kind of lopsided grin she got when sex was on her mind. She was offering my body to Tanya! A few times, she had gifted me to her bachelorette friends, but only on their birthdays, and she had usually dropped me a few hints beforehand. This came out of nowhere.
Looking down at me, Tanya gave another of her aloof little 'hm's. "Nothing there I haven't seen... but for old times' sake, why not?"
Mistress ordered me to stand, and like a man being washed down the Rio Grande, I followed my ex-girlfriend into the bedroom, where she could do anything to me she wished.
