Mindi woke up in her own bed, disappointed by that fact and vaguely ashamed. Since Katrina had accepted her as a slave, Mindi had awakened in a variety of locations, including Katrina's doghouse, Katrina's dungeon, and on a few glorious occasions, Katrina's bed. To wake in her own bed seemed like she'd been found wanting somehow. Last night, Katrina had not chosen to make use of her oh-so-willing slave. Mindi couldn't help but feel that she might have disappointed the Mistress somehow.
Then she remembered the party. Katrina and some other slaveholders were going to have a get-together. It was an annual event for exchanging news, gossip, and advice, and for showing off their latest acquisitions. There was no official competition, but the slaves would definitely be on display and under judgmental eyes. For the past week, Katrina had deprived herself of her slave's company so that Mindi could get some much-needed rest. In addition to her usual duties for the Mistress, she had spent eight months learning many new lessons in preparation.
From the Beverage Chief at the Brookwood International Hotel, Mindi had learned to make dozens of commonly ordered cocktails and a few unusual specialties. Under Chief Cesar's tutelage, Mindi had even developed two cocktails of her own invention. One was a sweet-but-strong fruity concoction designed to make the panties drop. Mindi had named it Sexual Consent. The other was a whiskey-based rocket fuel intended to give a man the courage to ask for that pretty girl's phone number, bet his life savings on a single hand of poker, ride the motorcycle blindfolded, or get up and sing karaoke. She called it Lion Piss.
Katrina had arranged two months of 10-hour-day, 6 days a week instruction at the Culinary Art Academy. Annalise had taught her to bake. Ian had taught her sauces and dressings and glazes. Alexia had trained her how to cook with any meat from rabbit to bison, starting with the live animal and finishing on the plate. Chordette had schooled her on desserts.
From Andrea and Raul, Mindi had learned to dance like a professional. From the archaic Gavotte and Tarantella dances to the still-popular Waltz to the spicy Latin Tango, Mindi could foot it with the experts. Her lessons had even included Classical Burlesque, Modern Striptease, Pole-Dancing, and four styles of Lapdancing, two of which were illegal in 49 states.
Katrina wanted Mindi to be healthy and look good, but instead of simply sending her to a personal trainer, she had insisted that Mindi be certified as a personal trainer herself, which took much greater knowledge, effort, and commitment. This was quickly followed by professional licenses as a dietician, and a massage therapist. Mindi was now knowledgable in the workings of the human body and highly skilled in making anybody's body feel good.
And finally, Sugar & Spice had trained her to run their living room product parties. She knew how to wear every scrap of lingerie they produced and how to demonstrate every sex toy they sold. And as a thank-you to the company, Katrina had bought one of every item in their catalog. These had been presented as a gift to Mindi, but the message was clear. Like the pots and pans and the complete set of bar equipment and the free weights, and the lessons themselves, Mindi was to use them to make herself of better service to her Mistress.
For Katrina, a slave should be so much more than a sex toy. A Mistress should be able to come home from a hard day's work, and have a ice-cold dirty martini handed to her by the time she's put away her coat and briefcase. If she wants to go out dancing, the slave should be ready to partner her. If she needs a massage or a crème brûlée or a lap dance, the slave should be able to accommodate.
And Mindi was more capable than she'd ever been. Before she'd met Katrina, Mindi had worked in a small office, processing various Internet catalog orders. It had been a decent job with a crappy boss who'd downsized Mindi in the deluded belief that it was the company rules against employee fraternization that kept her saying no to his sleazy propositions. A bequest from Mindi's grandfather had left her financially independent, so she'd never be at the mercy of men like Eddie Weiss again. But if she ever did re-enter the job market, Katrina had given her a huge set of skills to trade on.
But the future was dim and vague. Right here and now, Mindi had a duty to her Mistress. At 7:30, she took a long, lingering shower, taking care to shave off every tendril of body hair and to fully clean out her ass, just in case the Mistress wanted to stick her tongue up there. She used the deodorant soap to strip away any stench, then the floral to replace it. The smells of a human body could be as delightful as the touch. But fresh human sweat gets old and begins to stink.
After the shower, she dried herself thoroughly and rubbed a cinnamon-scented body oil over every inch of her skin. It left her supple and smooth and made her smell like candy. In the Nuru style massage, the masseuse uses her own naked body to caress every inch of the other person's body. Katrina occasionally enjoyed that and Mindi wanted to be ready. She had no idea what happened at these parties, but she would not disappoint the Mistress.
At 9:00, Mindi grabbed her keys and walked out her front door. Naked, she stood there and locked up her house. The outside light was off, and it was a quiet, early to bed community, but she still felt as if every eye in the neighborhood was on her. Turning to face the empty street, she walked out to the sidewalk and turned toward Katrina's.
She felt vulnerable and exposed. She wanted to run for the shelter of Katrina's carport. But running didn't fit the dignity of her role right now. Katrina might be watching, but even if she wasn't, this was not a good time to break discipline. She would be tested tonight, the whole point of the party was to show off the slaves and demonstrate how well-trained they were. To start the evening off by giving in to cowardice would make the rest of the night's challenges that much harder. So she walked slowly, with pride and dignity, as if she walked naked through her neighborhood every night.
At last, Mindi reached the carport. Tonight, they would be using Katrina's executive car, a special black mini limo. It had all the luxury, but was small enough to fit in any parking space and maneuverable enough to slide easily through traffic. Mindi unlocked the car and retrieved the chauffeur's hat from the top of the dashboard.
Wearing only the hat, she went to Katrina's front door and knocked. The Mistress was quick to open the door. She was dressed in a simple black sheath with a bold red collar and a light, cream-coloured jacket. Her hair and makeup looked professionally done. She was model perfect. "Right on time, and looking absolutely gorgeous" she said, looking Mindi up and down critically. "We're off to a fine start."
Mindi led the way, returning to the car and opening the rear door for the Mistress. Once Katrina was settled, with her cocktail and a novel, Mindi got in the driver's seat and started the car. She had been given the address two weeks ago and driven the distance nine times to find the best route. Mindi was determined to be the very best slave she could be and make Katrina shine in front of her friends.
The drive was simple and fast, light traffic this time of night. Driving barefoot was still new to her, but Mindi had been practicing, so there were no problems of that sort. She had one minute of panic, realizing that if a cop stopped them, she had nothing to cover herself with. Her clothes were miles away.
But under Katrina's hand, Mindi had learned to appreciate panic. It got the heart racing. It made the mind hyper alert. It made the pussy wet and tingly. Once she had learned to welcome fear, the panic attacks lost their grip. She could enjoy the excitement, but not be frozen in indecisive terror.
And Mindi was a good driver. A year ago, she had a suspended license and could barely pump her own gas. But Katrina had sent her to Mark Atherton. Now she could rebuild an engine, European or American, diesel or gasoline or hybrid. She had her chauffeur's license, her CDL, her pilot's licenses for both fixed-wing and rotary craft, and was scheduled to start training on watercraft in another week. The drive to the party was an easy, enjoyable forty minute ride through the rural outskirts of the city.
Their destination was an eccentric mansion built in the 50s by a retiring film star. Mindi maneuvered the car up the long drive to the front door, where a valet staff waited. If she'd had any doubts at all about why they were here, Mindi could not possibly get out of the car, naked, in front of a strange man and a strange house, more than twenty miles from her own home.
But she had long ago decided to trust Katrina implicitly. She would not stop now. Schooling her face to show no emotion, like a professional chauffeur or a well-trained slave, Mindi opened her door and stood by the car. The valet was opening Katrina's door and offering his hand to help her out. Mindi handed the keys to a second valet and walked around the car to stand behind her Mistress.
Katrina led the way up the steps to the door, which was opened by someone from the inside. Mindi followed, as calmly as she could, but burning with nervous curiosity. Just through the door was a very large space, clearly designed for parties and large receptions.
But it was like no party Mindi had ever been to before. More than half the people milling around were naked or nearly so. Some of them wore leashes or blinders or handcuffs. A few were in leather or rubber fetish gear. But the slaves at this party had their nipples exposed and their genitals on display. The Masters and Mistresses were in upscale night-on-the-town clothes, no different than if this was just an ordinary party at an ordinary mansion.
Most of the slaves were female, which Mindi approved of. She loved being dominated by Katrina, but she felt that deep down, women were better suited to the submissive role. Men were intended to be dominators. There were many, many, many ways for people to have sex, but only one was specifically designed by Mother Nature. In that basic sexual activity, the female was invaded by the male. Even when sex was consensual, he forces his way through her gates and sends his soldiers in to set up an occupation. In Mindi's opinion, men were intended by nature to be dominant over females.
But she might be wrong, she conceded. There were still plenty of males who felt better and more true to themselves when on their knees. Mindi was not a psychologist, though Katrina was about to enroll her in the University and had already picked Psychology and Communications Technology as Mindi's double major. Several of those submissive male slaves were in attendance at this party, and Mindi considered that they might make a good subject for those classes once they began.
As they entered the room, a large man with a deep, booming voice announced them, "Doctor Katrina von Eriksson and Mindi Katrina Alpha."
