I am one of several slaves my Mistress Marisa keeps in her household. I am completely owned as are the other slaves that serve her. These episodes are written with her permission. It is my, our story...
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"Butt's up ladies." She walks behind us, feel her slap my rear as she goes by. Muffled sound of her hand being brought up from beneath, hand-to-the-the-elbow full length black rubber glove catches the curve of my right cheek. I wince, keep it to myself, remain silent.
"Posture, princess, posture." She continues down the line.
All six of us bent forward in a painful half-bend, our hands restrained by stainless steel rubber padded cuffs behind out back, fastened each to a stainless steel chain hoist pulling our arms up off our backs as far as they will go, up toward the hoist track in the ceiling. There are another four empty places in this painful line but only six are required for tonight's gathering.
We are all completely naked, except for nail polish on fingers and toes. No makeup, just polished little feet and hands on each of us 'party' girl sissy boys. That, and bare naked baby soft and smooth bodies, we are to be 'cleaned'.
We are on a cold cement floor standing in a six inch deep trough that runs the length of the room. Directly behind us are toilets, stark, and prison like, metal with no seat. The hoist positions are laid out such that all The Matron has to do is lower the chains in unison and we are sitting on the toilets. This is as far removed from dignity as it gets, and is as close to deliciously wicked as it is nasty. It is sadistic and humiliating. And it is necessary preparation for Mistress Marisa's party.
We all have been here before, some like me many times, even without the gala tonight. I have been here prior to being sent to entertain one of your gentleman friends, many times before. Two of us are here for the second time. Trevor is struggling to not cry. The Matron won't tolerate that.
Everybody knows the rules. Squirm, whine, cry out, and get whipped way late tonight after our performance, maybe when returned after the auction bidders are through with us. But viciously whipped we will be if we 'cause trouble', as The Matron says. Stay still, be calm, we can get through this. It is for our own good. 'Nobody wants a dirty little party girl.', we are told over and over.
The Matron steps to the first one on the end to the right of me. She inserts the nozzle into his butt, pushes it up into his tiny hole. She is so careful not to damage us little 'showgirls', uses a deft and surgical touch. In less than five minutes we are filled and bloated to the point of discomfort with warm soapy water. We all move slightly on our toes, do our best to not let any of the cleansing liquid seep out, try our best to hold it all. The only sound it the room is the huge air filtration system, industrial level fans at each end of the room to keep the air fresh during this hideous but necessary cleaning process.
"Ten minutes, ladies, the clock is ticking."
She walks to the boy next to me, reaches up and takes his balls in her hand. Bounces them then cups them. She holds him gently.
"You shit on my hand and I'll beat you within an inch of your life, send you out there bloody. Now relax and stop squirming. You will get through this."
She releases his scrotum, pats his butt gently, strokes his back, pets him.