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...
********************************
The matron sits at the front of the room, gorgeous and tailored perfectly. She's wearing a tight short black dress and needle point toed high heel boots. It is a harsh and severe look. Her hair is up in a tight bun behind her head, makeup dark and heavy. She looks over the cages before her. She sits and waits, sips from a champagne flute. She is ready for tonight's affair.
The silence in the room is deafening. All the little bitches, all six of us on hands and knees, helpless and locked in our respective dog cages side by side. We don't dare even think about stealing a glance at each other. Or her. If she sees us look up at her it'll be an instant whipping, and then back into the cage. Face full of shame, we'll be whipped inside the crack of our rear end until it's covered with welts, whipped so as not to show, not mar the merchandise for tonight's spectacle, whipped over our soon to be used tight little holes. Whipped so as not to damage and spoil our baby soft cheeks. Mistress insists we look are daintiest and best for her galas.
All bathed, waxed top to bottom, baby soft and sissy smooth, all of us made up and girl-like, lubricated little holes and ready to be 'bred' for the amusement of Mistress Marisa's guests, we don't dare make even the hint of a sound while we wait patiently in our holding cages. All of us are wearing locking dog collars with our names on them. A tiny gold heart tag hangs down off the front of mine, careful not to let it 'tinkle' as I wait, my name engraved on it, 'princess'.
We can hear the slight crowd noise in the room next door, know that our Mistresses and Masters are enjoying cocktails and conversation at one of Mistress Marisa's most fabulous events, it's her annual charity ball. It's her annual 'breeding' party.
The cell phone on the table next to the matron rings. She jumps to attention. She picks it up and listens, then replies, "Yes Ma'am, right away, Ma'am."
The matron puts the phone back on the table, hurries to the wall and takes down a leash. She walks to the first cage, heels of her boots clicking on the cold cement floor as she moves. Opening the small door she snaps her fingers. The first of us hurries to crawl out and have the leash attached to his collar and be led from the room. He is careful, as we all will be, to make as little noise as possible, keep his eyes to the floor. We will all crawl intently watching the matrons left foot for direction to know which way we should move, go where we are being led. If not, a kick from her boot will point the way.
One by one we are taken to the showroom. I am fourth in line, led to a small ballroom with a starkly well lit stage. Six positions soon to be filled by all of us on the platform I will crawl quickly up and on to it. I see the three that went out before me, restrained and in place on the three foot raised padded soft leather platform in the center of the larger stage. Their asses up so high, so spread and so ready.
It's a small stage-on-a-stage, perfect height for the men that will stand behind us and do what they do best. As I am walked up the small ramp to my place in the line I see the soon-to-be filled places next to me.
The room is empty, can hear the restraints, the metal locks 'click' loudly as they are attached to me, feel the matron hold me tightly, twist me into place as I am restrained. The closing shackles reverberate very loudly around the room and off the walls.
I, like the others, am held tight, ass up, arms pulled back under me, wrists locked to a metal bar holding my legs apart. My ankles are locked to the outer ends of the bar. Knees up so tight under my rear it hurts. I am in position. Positioned to be fucked, perfectly in place so that a man standing behind me simply has to lean forward and push himself into me.
This is not my first time here.
Each wrist and ankle restraint spreader bar is locked and anchored to the stage, making any movement impossible. It makes what is about to happen so much easier for the men that will soon join us on stage, at our rears. Buns up high, chin down and tight to the stage, we are kept motionless.
I know what is about to happen, so do the three to my right. The two new bitches to be brought out shortly do not. It's their first 'showing', their first time. One offered by his Master is a new boy. The other, a recent acquisition on the part of an old time member of the 'club', but he's very new to what is about to happen.
I could sense their fear while caged in the holding area, wanted to tell them 'don't worry, you'll get through it, it will be over soon', but didn't dare. Would have been taken out of the show, had the finger screws placed on me, both hands, been taken to the basement and left with a clothes pin on my little penis and suspended on my toes by an anal hook until dinner, released only for the auction that follows later tonight. I know to be a good boy.
One by one all the little best-of-show contestant bitches are put in place.
The matron leaves the room after the last of us is locked and displayed. I see the one to my left glance over at me. I quickly shake my head, motion to him, 'NO!', so quick, so slight. Let him know not to talk, not to look around. I am quick to put my eyes back to the soft black padded leather stage we are on.
And then Mistress Marisa enters, the doors swung open by two men at her party, her guests follow as she leads them into the room. The crowd chatter is loud, fills the room.
She sparkles. She is dressed in white silk, a very form fitting gown, off the shoulder, clings to the curves of her body, the gown gathered at your breasts, rear of it showing that she is naked underneath. A very minimal train, just a hint, bottom of the dress to the floor, large white pearl choker around her neck, huge gold earrings, she is stunningly beautiful.
And she is on the arm of your lover. He bends to kiss her exposed shoulder as she smiles up at him, see it all as the two of them stay in the middle of the room as her guests filter in from the bar, chat and mingle as they pass her and mix into the large room.
The room fills with laughter, high chatter, clinking cocktail glasses, the room fills with Mistresses special guests, I count at least fifty or so, maybe more. The chosen ones that know the secrets of this place, the ones that relish these salons and the high and elegant eroticism that is always offered here.
But this night is special. It's Mistress Marisa's annual 'breeding' party.
Most of her guests have been here before. The new ones are honored to have been chosen to join the most secret of erotic societies, the most coveted of erotic S&M club memberships. Vetted, screened, only the elite get into these halls. Only the trusted ones, the moneyed, connected, and somewhat jaded, they are all here tonight. Many fly in for this annual ball, the event not to be missed.
The money raised at this event goes to a children's charity. So delightfully decadent on the inside, so very worthy and generous on the outside, my Mistress has been pledged over $200,000 so far and the dinner and auction haven't even yet begun.
Two appear in front of us. They hurry into the room and move right up to the front of the stage, the girl pulling a man by his arm.
"Wow."
She looks at the sissy boy second down on my right, end of the stage.
"You are fucking not going to believe this, honey, no show anywhere like it!"
I hear the older gentleman talk loudly to his date, a barely eighteen year old starlet type. She looks all of us over from the edge of the main stage. We all see her snotty little glare as she looks at us. Then she focuses on me.
I see her but am careful not to lock eyes with her, quickly avert my struggling and plaintive eyes. I look away. The man at her side is already slightly drunk, it's obvious, runs his hand up over her rear. He pets her ass.
"This is a show like no other, honey. I told you."
He sips his cocktail, looks into the glass.
"I need a refill.
She looks at the boy to my right, he's her age at most, maybe younger.
"Look at that little pencil dick, he's like a baby."
She giggles, looks to me.
"And this one, even smaller, they're all tiny."
See her eyes dart around, bends down to look up and under us.
"Like my little baby brother when my mom changed his diapers, look at those tiny little balls."
She chirps, girlish, somewhat surprised by what she sees as she points to the boy next to me.
"They're not for fucking, dear. They are here to be fucked. These are sissy boys, twinks. Wait'll you see them later when they're all dressed and pretty, serving dinner. You won't even be able to tell that they have those little dicks, look like baby girls. Marisa outdoes herself every time she puts one of these sexy parties on. Last year they all had full fox tail butt plugs, real fox tails, pinned up skirts in the back during dinner service. You're not going to believe it. I have to get a drink, do you want anything?"
He looks, jaded, somewhat bored, runs his hand down her back, over her rear end again. He pats her. They drift off into the room.
And then the sound of Mistress Marisa's bell fills the room.
"I'd like your attention. We're going to get started. Please feel free to walk up to the stage, but please do not go up onto it. Only bitch dogs allowed on the stage, and their boyfriends too. I don't want any of you ladies getting cum on their pretty dresses by accident. That happens later is you so desire, girls."
Laughter around the room, as Mistress Marisa motions to the matron standing off in the wings of the stage.
The matron walks to a door across from where we were led into the room, opens it. The room cannot hear her, but we can.
"Let's go. And remember gentlemen, even though you might have a big dick doesn't mean that you can't be put in your place. Give her guests a good show."
She talks to one of the men as he passes.
We hear him laugh, "You wish, bitch. Maybe I'll fuck you later, after the party, you know you want this."
He looks at her, smiles, pushes his semi erect cock out at her, holds it up in the wings away from the crowd's eyes.
We hear her slap him on his naked rear loudly as he walks passed her.
"Promises, promises, Eric. I may make you make good on that later tonight."
All this off to the side of the stage, no guest sees or hears this. But we do.
One at a time the twenty four males walk onto the stage. All as dominant as the matron, equals serving a very different purpose, capable of the same quick discipline she delivers, if necessary. These are real men. Each completely naked except for a very hot little hint of an outfit, these men are here to put on a show.
They are all dressed the same, in bachelor party sexy and teasing attire, Chippendale's dancer-types, collars and bow ties, dress shirt wrist cuffs only and over accentuated gold cuff links, polished black boots, naked and finely chisled men, not an ounce of fat on any one of these men. They fill the back of the stage behind us. We hear them make comments the guests can't hear, comment on us, our tight and pinched slippery little holes staring up at them.
