I am nervous as I approach your door. The bus was late and I had to run to get here by the appointed hour. I glance at my watch, I did well-I even have a minute or two to cool down and wipe the perspiration away. It wouldn't do to arrive looking anything less than perfect!
I press the bell and wait, wondering exactly what this evening holds. Before long the door opens and, smiling, you invite me in. You are wearing a very soft, luxurious robe. Obviously you are not yet ready for the dinner party. I begin to suspect that I will be helping you prepare.
As the door closes, you stand there, the smile gone, waiting. I understand, and so very quickly remove all of my clothing, my watch, everything. I place all of it into the box you keep near the door for this purpose, having first removed the large collar. I then lock the chest and turn to kneel before you, head down, offering you the key and collar.
You take them and I hear you hiding the key. I am now totally in your control, unable to leave. I must await your pleasure and serve you well! Your cool hand raises my head and I stretch my neck up to allow you to place the collar around it. It feels so good, this sign of your ownership of me. I know that until you remove it my only responsibilities are to obey swiftly and completely, and to try to anticipate your needs before you have to vocalize them.
You raise me up and lead me through the house to your bathroom. With a glance, you indicate that you need a shower, so I start the water, adjusting the temperature to that just-hotter-than-warm setting you prefer. You stand waiting until I come up behind you and hold your robe as you step out of it and into the shower. Now we are both without clothes, but, somehow, you still retain the mastery here-you are nude, I am naked!
A hand summons me and I go to the far end of the shower and get in. Your back is to me as I take the shampoo and begin to work it into your hair. This is so hard: watching you luxuriate under the shower, rubbing your hair, I cannot avoid getting an erection, but I know I will be punished if it touches you now or if, God forbid!, I should come. Somehow I manage to stand back and continue with your ablutions. I am almost undone, however, when you turn around and hand me the soap. How can I lather your torso-your breasts, your pussy-and not get too distracted? I know you will not allow me to avert or close my eyes: This is one of your tests. I run the soap over you, then follow with my hands, generating a good lather, massaging your taut body. I want to beg you to let me stop and yet I want it to continue forever!
Eventually you turn around and I work on your back. This is easier-not a lot, but enough. Then, as you rinse, I get out and stand ready with your towel. I wrap you tightly as you step out of the shower and then add another towel to your hair. You smile at me and then walk to your bedroom. I, of course, follow. It is clear I am to be your "maid" and help you dress and get made up. These are skills you have taught me during my service to you. I know how to brush and fix hair and am adept at putting on your makeup for you. It is still hard (and so am I!) to be so close and in such physical contact with you, but not as bad as in the shower.
Soon you are ready to dress and I help you into the beautiful lingerie and dress you have chosen. Then, kneeling, I put on your shoes and fasten them. Then I stand and you pose for me, letting me get the full effect of what we have wrought.
"Well?" It is the first word either of us has spoken tonight. "Perfection!" I answer. "It is almost time-open the wine"
I nod and go to the kitchen. There I find your instructions for the dinner written out and locate the wine you have chosen for before the meal. I open it and allow it to breathe, knowing that your guests will be here soon-they, too, will make sure they are prompt!
Indeed, within minutes the doorbell rings. I go through the living room and see you arranging yourself there to greet your guests. I understand that this means I must get the door and so hasten to do so before you need to ask. I know you would disapprove if I tried to do this in a shy way, trying to hide behind the door, so I stand boldly and open it wide-let passersby see, if there are any! Certainly the two women standing there miss nothing. Nor do they seem too surprised-they are old friends of yours and know to expect the outrageous from you. The taller of the two is a brunette, the other a blonde. Clearly the blonde "belongs" to the brunette.
I usher them into the living room where you welcome them (and I discover that the brunette is Jill and the blonde is Talia) but before I can offer them wine your third guest arrives and I must repeat my performance for her. This woman is a striking raven-haired woman, slightly older than the others (I later find out her name is Sharon). She smiles and then laughs as she sees me, being so bold as to caress my member as she passes by on her way to the living room.
Now all are here, I serve the wine then stand attentively as everyone goes through the greeting and settling rituals we all develop. Eventually I am sent for the hors d'oeuvres and I spend the next half hour walking around offering them and refilling wine glasses. Other than accepting my offerings, I am pretty much ignored for the time being, as a good servant should be.
Eventually, the time for the meal arrives and I lead you and your guests to the dining room, helping each of you to sit. Then I begin to serve the meal. It is strange-I feel like an old-fashioned English butler, but I am naked. And whenever I start to get used to it, to feel "normal" someone does something to remind me of my state: A hand caresses my buttocks as I pass, someone swats my member, or else just looks at me in a way that says "you are naked and I can look all I want and you are powerless to stop me!"
This continues throughout the main course, but once that is cleared you beckon me to stand beside you.
"Dessert tonight is something very special!" You announce. "If you ladies would adjourn for five minutes to the living room, I will prepare it myself."
After they leave you have me clear the table completely.
"Lay on the table" You command.
I obey, lying on my back on the cold wood. You take my left foot and move it sideways, then I realize that you are tying it to the leg of the table. Then my right foot is tied to its table leg. As you move up, I understand what you require and spread my arms so you can tie them too. Now I am bound, spread, on the table.
"No matter what, you are not to utter a sound until I give you permission!" You say. "And if you come during dessert, I shall punish you more severely than I ever have!"
