Her Outing 1: The Holding Area

Part 1: The Holding Area

She turned the handle and pushed on the door which swung smoothly open. Moving from the greasy odor of a hotel kitchen she could suddenly smell vanilla, and was that roasted almonds? The inside of the room was dark and she turned to the inside wall by the door hoping to find a light switch. She found none but a movement sensor obviously kicked in and an overhead fluorescent fitting crackled into life filling the room with a stark blue grey light. She turned back to the room and almost yelped in surprise.

Her quick hand over her mouth stifled any sound but it seemed very little would have disturbed the three ladies standing in the room. They stood patiently and silently while she took in the tableau. All three were completely naked apart from black hoods, two in Spandex and one in leather, and broad black leather collars tethered to hooks on the wall by shiny chrome chains. But it was not patience that kept them waiting so calmly.  Each of them had their hands fastened behind their backs, one with handcuffs and the other two with leather wrist cuffs chained and locked together. Without their hands they couldn’t unhook their tether chain, they couldn’t take off their hood or collar, they couldn’t do anything until someone else decided otherwise.

She recognized the arrangements at once and not without some wistfulness. Master had required she prepare herself for use this way several times before - two or three empty hotel rooms - an executive office with city view picture windows - a cavernous disused factory building. As she recalled those events the way these ladies waited calmly and quietly became clear. She remembered her fear and the shivers in each of those places as she had pulled on her hood and fastened her leash to her collar. But she also remembered the peace flooding over her when she clicked the last padlock onto the wrist cuffs chain. Once that was done all she could do was wait to be moved or used or released. Patience was not required. She had been able to hear noises nearby, able to listen to people talking and even feel movements of air but also knew there was nothing whatsoever she could do about what was going to happen. The hood, the cuffs and the collar – they removed all autonomous action, removed all rights but also all responsibility. All she could and would and wanted to do was serve Master.

But despite the apparent impassivity before her no doubt behind these hoods there was some frantic curiosity about what was going on. What did the tiny noises of her shoe scrapes mean? What did the prior slight creak of door hinges herald? She looked more carefully at the three compliant little playthings. One was slightly taller than the others and her body seemed a shade sparer with more obvious ribs and muscle tone. Her skin was an even light olive with no tan lines and the closeness of her wrists in the handcuffs pulled her arms together and pushed out her breasts – a little fuller than her body would suggest and somewhat pendulous with large dark nipples. All head hair was hidden but a neatly trimmed pussy bush hinted at blond to red. The hood obscured the outline of her head but one could imagine a bravely thrust out chin welcoming all that would be done. She stood with legs parted and with evident pride in the irrevocable gift of her body.

At the other end of the range of body types was the slave who was the shortest and clearly also the lightest but who still seemed fuller built than the tallest.  The skin was white with very faint tan lines only around the waist, and the breasts small and compact. Unlike the others her nipples were somewhat hidden by clamps that showed only little white bloodless nubs and which had obviously hurt earlier and clearly would hurt considerably more when removed later. A Master’s taste is seldom equitable – the slave with the smallest breasts and least prominent nipples had them clamped! Her stature hinted at Asian but perhaps that was ignorant stereotyping based on her bare smoothly shaven pussy slit. Her posture seemed a little apologetic with slightly hunched forward shoulders while her knees were held close together - incongruous when every other part of her naked body was entirely accessible to any passing stranger.

The third body was by no means fat but certainly the fullest with generous curves and plenty of flesh that seemed to invite handling. The height was between the shortest and the tallest while the breasts were full and firm with large nipples within small dark circles. Her skin was the darkest with a satiny sheen showing some pinker streaks around the ass and the top of the breasts possibly from a recent encounter with a crop. The pussy bush was dark and full but shaped neatly fading to nothing around the lips.

They had little sexual appeal for her but she had to admit that they (perhaps including her?) made a good-looking pack of very inviting bodies. Then she realized time was flying by as she was surveying her neighbors. Each of them except the first had found at least one other slave already prepared when they entered the room and set about their own preparation tasks. They had each then waited, sensed another person entering, and imagined that slave preparing themselves for use until joining the group in their communal wait. It was time for her to complete her preparation and join that progression. Where were her fastenings?

The room had no furniture and nothing except a thin rug covering the center of the floor. Nine chrome hooks were fixed to the wall at around shoulder height – three on each wall to the left, to the right and opposite the door. Each hook had a shiny red shopping bag hanging from the hook together with coat check plastic tags numbered one through nine. The other slaves were chained to hooks four, five and seven and their shopping bags seemed a little fuller with jeans and sweaters peeking over the top. She held a coat check plastic tag numbered two in her hand that the driver has given her. She moved toward the middle hook on the left hand wall with the twin of her plastic tag. She knew she would soon be immobilized herself and with a mischievous speck of rebellion she let her coat brush against the nipple of the slave with the fullest figure.  The touch caused a tiny shudder in her neighbor and she suddenly hoped and hoped and hoped that someone would do exactly the same thing to her in a little while.

She looked into the bag on hook number two to find her own well used & familiar wrist and ankle cuffs, a collar, a hood, a short chain and a long chain together with two padlocks and a couple of small carabineer style snap hooks. She had been given no instructions (other than directions to this room by the driver when he dropped her at the back of the hotel) but it was pretty obvious what she was supposed to do. First she put on the ankle cuffs snapping one of the spring loaded clips onto the hasp projecting through a slot on each cuff. With the number of locks and chains in the bag she knew they were simply decorative and took a moment to admire them on her ankles compared to the bare ankles of her peers.

The favorable comparison gave her a warm tingle in her chest as she gave thanks for Master’s thoughtfulness. Although she had to admit (with a shiver in her belly and groin) they were not entirely for decoration but provided for the convenience of whoever would be using her and their possible need to chain her legs together or apart. Just a glance at her legs by any prospective dominant and the contrast of the black cuffs and white skin erotically confirmed her readiness for serious use. Beside that she loved the way the aluminum clips tinkled on the metal hasp as she walked!

Then she remembered time was passing and she should get back to her preparations. It took only a moment or two to put on one wrist cuff and lock one end of the short chain to it with a padlock. With the other cuff wrapped around the other wrist (and an open unlocked padlock dangling from the hasp that projected through a well-worn slot) she lifted the rest of the accessories out of the bag and laid them on the floor. She stripped off her street clothes and folding them quickly slid them into the empty bag followed by her shoes. She put the bag back on the hook together with both coat check tags followed by the small ring at the end of the long chain. At first glance simply hooking the tether chain to the hook that way didn’t seem much of a restraint but she knew once she was hooded with her hands fastened behind her back it might as well be welded there. At shoulder height she knew from past experience she couldn’t shake or pull the chain off the hook and the ring and hook were chosen to need a deliberate careful action to disconnect the chain from the hook. Not something easy to do with hands that were fastened behind her back and that she couldn’t raise above waist level.

This sequence of actions and steps had seemed terribly complex the first time Master had instructed her years ago but with a dozen or more runs they were now becoming second nature and could be done in three minutes or less. Next was pulling on the Spandex hood (unlike the others hers had an oval opening around her mouth and she hoped the difference gave her an edge in whatever was ahead) and fitting the collar snugly around her neck. Reaching blindly to her left she snagged the long chain. Pulling slightly she felt which end had the chrome ring hooked on the wall hook and let the rest of the chain slide through her hands until she felt a spring loaded carabineer style clip at the other end. With a click she snapped the clip to the hasp projecting through a slot in the leather of her collar. The clip through the metal loop secured her collar in place and the chain tethered her to the wall hook. It was still possible to easily lift the chain’s ring off the hook or unsnap the hook at the other end and remove her collar - but not for much longer.

With just one step left she realized her hands were trembling. The trembling that came with fear, the type of fear she loved - the type of fear that swirled around her belly turning into an almost unbearable excitement and anticipation that settled in her pussy. Savoring the silky darkness of her hood she reached behind her and locked the other end of the six or seven inch chain (still attached to the one locked cuff) to the unsecured wrist cuff with the dangling padlock. With that single soft click her arms were locked behind her back and a physical peace flowed over her body. Everything that would happen to her from now until she was released was no longer her responsibility. Everything had and would be decided by her Master or his agents. She could no longer move her hands beyond a small area around her ass. She could no longer touch her breasts or her pussy. She could no longer lift her leash chain off a simple hook. She could no longer move more than two or three feet away from her hook. She could certainly never recover her street clothes and put them back on. In fact she was never going back to the world outside this room until somebody else decided she should - or not.

If she had done something incorrectly she could do nothing about it now but she still ran through a mental check list reviewing her bonds, the bag on the hook, the tether, the hood, the collar. Had she omitted putting something on? Had she left anything on the floor that should clearly be in the bag? She realized she was second guessing herself and told herself to calm down - to wait to be of service to her Master or whomever he had gifted her to. She felt her pulse slowing nicely when a sudden click stirred a little panic. She soon realized it was simply the motion sensor light timing out and switching off. Now the four of them, each in their own personal darkness, were also in a communal darkness. They now all waited for the next slave to enter and join them in their prospective service or use. Were there five more to join them or less? Perhaps one or more would join them at the same time?

The tether meant she could only move around a few feet and certainly not sit down or squat so she stood keeping her back straight knowing proudly it made her breasts all the more obviously available. In her darkness she noted with curiosity that even though none of the group was gagged not a single word had been exchanged by the four women despite their very similar circumstances. She had said nothing while stripping and they had said nothing while standing by.

When the next subject entered and joined them that subject would likely say nothing and none of the current ladies would say anything either. Even if two subjects entered at the same time they would probably say nothing to each other. There was nothing for any one of them to say to any other. Their thoughts did not extend to each other or the group but only to the future services they could provide their Masters. They would wait, in silence, as objects for use or rearrangement or removal elsewhere. They would wait to fulfill their purpose.

It was clearly not temerity or shyness that caused their silence - how much reticence or embarrassment could a naked, hooded, collared and tethered slave have? It was actually the impossibility offinding a subject two of them could start talking about in what she acknowledged were pretty bizarre circumstances. Anything that sprung to mind was banal or incongruous or downright stupid. Do you come here often? Terrible weather we’re having. What is that perfume you’re wearing? A peaceful stillness or quiet reverence was more appropriate for these women with their sense of purpose and duty toward Master. Not that this situation was only bizarre or just reverential. It was emotionally charged and considerably arousing as her moistening groin demonstrated. God, she wished she could use her hands now but she had forsworn that freedom a little while ago. It was a time for meditation or perhaps fantasizing but definitely not idle chatter with the group.

In the sightless darkness she cataloged the state of her other senses. The cool roughness of a concrete floor under one foot contrasted with the soft worn carpet under the other. The slightest of delightful breezes came from behind and above her shoulders. She felt the spots on her body where leather or Spandex pressed and held her. A prisoner might wish for them to slacken or be removed. She wasn’t a prisoner and only regretted there weren’t more, that they weren’t firmer. The more impossible the action the more luscious it was to lust after it – perhaps her own fingers on her clit, her hands on her breasts, her hands on another slave’s breasts - all delicious ideas but to be indefinitely denied.

That light vanilla scent wafted by once more and she thought it might come from the slave with the dark bush, maybe triggered by her arousal? Perhaps they were all noticing her body’s musky scent and its cinnamon overtones themselves. She nearly giggled at the incidence of so many food spice perfumes in what was (in all but name) a dungeon, so close to a kitchen. She wondered what others might work as a slave’s silent signature. Would sage be a good marker for a voracious body? Could nutmeg indicate submission and subjugation?

Five minutes or an hour later the tiny sound of the door handle turning caught her attention and jerked her back to the present. With little effort or intention she had achieved an intoxicating reverie without a single thought in her head – a state she imagined was like that transcendental meditation so talked about. But now the door handle sound was followed by soft footfalls and the slightest of scrapes of shoe on concrete. She imagined exaggerated mimed efforts at silence just like hers had been some time before. Moments later the light crackled on and she smiled with the smugness of an old hand at the tiniest of gasps to her left. She laughed inwardly at the insanity of simultaneous jealousy and bonding she felt taking place between the four existing slaves upon the entry of the fifth. Had the first felt this ambivalence on the arrival of the second? Had they felt it when the third arrived? There was a regret or even anger at the dilution of the core members by the intrusion of a neophyte and at the same time a palpable rise in esprit de corps with the induction of a new comrade, a satisfaction of an increase in ranks.

These musings seemed almost profound when the next thought flew into her mind. She, together with the other three, were being examined and evaluated by the newcomer in exactly the same way she had done when she had been fully dressed and staring at the naked bodies already prepared. She was not ashamed of her body, even cautiously proud of it, but she must look really, really awful in this cold grey light. She knew how fluorescent light made the best of complexions sallow and the harsh intensity of that light brought out every tiny flaw of her skin and even seemed to create a few new blemishes. She must look goddamn awful and there was nothing one could do against such cruel lighting. Then it occurred to her there was actually nothing she could do about anything in her position. It was pretty silly to be concerned with appearance when one was naked, hooded, collared and chained to the wall. And besides the newcomer was just another slave in a holding area.

Shortly after the gasp she heard the tiny crinkle of a shopping bag being opened, the tinkle of a chain being extracted, the rustle of clothes being removed and the crunch of the bag being filled and returned to the hook. All the soft slight sounds that followed probably involved a hood, a collar and two cuffs. A tinkling sound was quite distinct after all the rustling and was almost certainly the tether chain now being put in place. A small but definite click seemed unnaturally loud, probably a tiny final padlock, but all present knew the newcomer was now irrevocably a member of the group of naked tethered slaves peacefully waiting in silence to fulfill their Masters’ wishes. After that click the room fell unnaturally quiet and she was sorely tempted to launch into a facile conversation starter as one might at a lull in a cocktail party. But the silence was broken once more by the louder click of the motion sensor timing out and killing the lights when she knew the room had been plunged into inky darkness and that she and her peers were now simply stored away in the dark until required.

Another five minutes or an hour later the same pattern of sounds replayed themselves once more as one more member joined the inventory of slaves. She pondered if the repetition had been comforting or just boring when she realized one member of the party had heard it five times. She thought about patience and quickly dismissed the thought. They were not patient, rather they waited quietly because they were bound, hooded and tethered.

The tether chains were too short to collapse on the floor or even squat so she moved a little to keep her circulation going and exercise stiffening muscles. She knew she was clearly now waiting for three more females to enter and discover their fate but soon realized that might not be the case. She had joined an all-female group but the newest entrants could have been of any sex. Keeping naked male and female slaves in one place was by no means unusual – they were simple objects of use and pleasure so their nakedness and proximity was unimportant to all who mattered. Sometimes it was even done deliberately – perhaps by a dominatrix to humble her male slave.

She had once seen a naked hooded man with his hands chained behind his back and his genitals in a chastity device have his collar attached to that of a naked hooded female slave with her hands chained behind her back. His mistress was giving him full physical body contact to all the glorious parts of a female who if his Mistress wished it could be instructed at a moment’s notice to suck his cock or fuck him to distraction. Instead he could neither fondle the female nor detach himself from her warm body nor even have an erection despite her glorious breasts and the musky odor between her legs. If he had not understood his Mistress’s control and ownership of his body before he did now! The female had been chosen because she had expressed the tiniest of misgivings when the Mistress suggested, mostly in jest, she be employed to suck her slave’s semen out through his chastity device – something akin to eating cornflakes through a straw.

Returning to the present she realized whether the group was coed or not was pretty meaningless when each was hooded and tethered but nonetheless concluded she sensed little testosterone in the room. She was going to assume they were all females. The next arrival arrived very shortly after the last and it seemed she put some haste into her joining of the ranks. In minutes her preparations were done. Why so quickly? Had she been given some timetable or deadline? Was she working against the clock?

If there was a deadline it was ruse - after the last member of the group had hurried though her stripping and tethering there was the longest of waits before anything else happened. An hour passed or was it ten minutes? She’d heard the door open three times before but when they were startled again by the sound of the door handle turning she sensed it was far less timid than every time before. A fast movement of air and a waft of the kitchen odor signified the door had been thrown back and kept open with purpose. The kitchen was coming alive and the gentle sounds of faraway food preparation and indistinct instructions drifted in through the door while it was held open. But there was no sound in the room until the crackle of the motion controlled fluorescent light. The latest arrival clearly knew it was going to happen and had waited for the illumination before closing the door. This was not one of the final two slaves expected to come to prepare their body and wait in servile solitude. This was someone versed in the process and pattern of the slave preparation. A soft rhythmic ticking near her right shoulder (was that toward the door or away from the door?) was perplexing until she nailed it down to a pen or pencil tapping a clip board – perhaps the eraser end of a pencil? It was confirmed for her when she heard what could only be a generic fiberboard and metal clip board being hung on a hook nearby. She was beginning to be pleased with the audio detective work when someone grasped her collar chain and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

She quickly smothered a gasp and pushed away the impertinence of shock or fear that a slave was not permitted to experience. She found she was being led forward, perhaps to the center of the room. She was desperately unsure of her footing but knew she must trust her new custodian and did her best to walk smoothly forward albeit with tiny steps when a hand pressed lightly her chest just below the chin to halt her. The hand seemed quite soft and on the small side – perhaps a woman?  At first that dismayed her – women were invariably rougher and more casually cruel with a female captive body – male jailers might be brutish and enjoy a female body in many harsh ways but even while carrying out a required whipping of a woman they would often still show considerable fraternal protectiveness. But then she also remembered irrespective of their treatment of their own sex women were more sympathetic to minor (and major) points of female presentation. It looked like today was to be a public forum and she would be alongside other slaves - if Master was there she wanted him to be proud of her and perhaps, she guessed, this person would be preparing her body – better a woman than a ham fisted man. Appearance pleasing her Master was far more important than any discomfort a vindictive jailer could deliver.

Male or female she thought of the person guiding her as simply her warden with a capital W - an agent of her Master who had conferred on all the wardens all the freedom to treat her body in any way they saw fit. They unclipped her collar chain and hooked or clipped something in its place that sounded small and perhaps made of plastic. It was infinitely lighter than the tether chain and as it swung she suddenly recognized it with a groan. Damn! It was one of the coat check tags. They needed to keep track of which clothes should be returned with which slave so the bags and the slaves were both numbered – it was obvious. Why hadn’t she thought of that when she returned both to the hook? Had any of the other slaves had a number tag on their collars when she entered? Should she really have known or thought to do that? She decided yes and filed away the practice for the future pushing away the thought of failure now lest it diminish her service in the moment.

And why had she been cut from the herd anyway? She was fourth to arrive but the first to be processed. That had to be bad, didn’t it? Or maybe it was good? What she didn’t think of was that of all the nine hooks tethering a slave the second hook with her number two coat check tag was the first in the series with an actual slave – number one had not been occupied. But whatever the reason she knew she was just starting a panic spiral that must be stopped before it started. She knew she could and would do all that was humanly possible to please her Master and make him proud of her. That would have to be enough. If things outside her control diminished her efforts then she would have to accept them.

And fortunately Master was never irrationally angry or unreasonably cruel. He had whipped her and left marks that lasted for weeks, he had left her in tortuous positions of pain for hours on end but never because of spite, or judgment or caprice. He disliked Masters who referred to a whipping as punishment for some trumped up misdemeanor or because of some bad intrinsic characteristic of their submissive. If he inflicted pain it was because he chose to and nothing else. He might do it to increase her tolerance or test her submission or as a rehearsal for an important event but he never punished her for any failing as a human being.

She felt the tether chain being reattached to her collar. She gave a tiny jump when she felt the cold chain fall against her belly and pussy. She acknowledged with a wry smile warders were unlikely to warn about such things. She felt nothing more for a while. She strained to interpret sounds she could catch from some other side or corner of the room. Maybe it was her imagination but they sounded similar to her recent appropriation - a chink that could be a chain’s ring being taken off a hook, that tinkle could be the chain raised as a leash, that soft scuffing sound could be a slave’s bare feet on concrete.

Unexpectedly (and of course without warning) she felt the back of her collar being grasped. Then she felt and heard one of those spring loaded clips being hooked onto a ring set in the back of her collar. Right away she felt a slight drag on her collar. She dared a tiny to and fro of her neck and shoulders disguised as a stretch and felt the drag vary up and down. Got it! It was another tether chain like the one that lay on her belly and it was swaying back and forth. But why let her front leash dangle and duplicate it with one in the back? Another sequence of chink and tinkle and scuff and click was definitely yet another slave being maneuvered and tethered.

What she believed was the chain clipped to the back of her collar felt as if it was swaying again but without her movement. It was swaying just as it had when she moved her shoulders. How could that be? Then it came to her and the obviousness made her ashamed of her not so brilliant detective work to date. There was another slave and their collar on the end of the chain! And likely there was another slave behind that. And likely, by now, there was another slave behind that. Yes, it all fit together. They were being reined to each other by the collars. Lined up in a row ready to march or at least stumble like a small single file platoon. Again she suppressed a giggle at the military imagery juxtaposed to her imagined row of naked, hooded, collared slaves.

But there was no one tethered to the front of her collar? How could that be? Then there was another flash of insight. She was the first in the line. Was that good? Was that bad?  She tentatively decided it was a good thing. Or at least that conclusion was the most pleasant! If they were to be presented in sequence, perhaps on a runway, her collared hooded nakedness would make her entry dramatic and the most memorable? The subsequent slaves would be at the disadvantage of little surprise at their appearance on their entrances. Right or wrong she hung on to the warming smugness of a possible advantage over her peers. They might be sisters under the skin, or more accurately under the hood, but not one of them would pass up any advantage of appearance, of presentation, of staging. Not one of them would pass up the chance to impress Master.

After a little while it seemed that all slaves had been arranged as needed and a quick sharp tug on her tether chain directed her to start walking forward. As she was completing the first tiny step she felt the chain attached to the back of her collar tug and then release as the slave following her started her own tiny steps. Hoods meant none could see where they were going and cuffs denied them the usual darkness safety net of outstretched arms and hands. Moving forward confidently with the possibility of crashing into an unknown hazard is impossible. It was a tribute to the compliance of the slaves they were making any progress at all. The Warden’s pull on her collar and the fear of a tumble made her steps very small, very tentative and one at a time. It was a little easier on the slaves behind her as they could each sense someone directly in front of them clearing the way without mishap. Then she realized the Warden had her tether held high (probably over their shoulder) and kept it quite short to serve the same purpose – the sound and sense of someone protectively blazing a trail directly at the head of the column. With a little more confidence she lengthened her hurried little steps a shade. She thought maybe the Warden knew how to provide assurance of path clearing for the slave leader and was practiced in this. She then realized the idiocy of coming to that conclusion. A neophyte Warden was a contradiction in terms.

Not that progress was ‘blazing’ but bit by bit assurance grew and soon they were making slow but certain progress. Master had taken a couple of photographs for a slave auction that never happened so she could easily imagine what she looked like in her naked, hooded collared state. That helped when she idly imagined what the whole group looked like from the outside. Like everything else it was very much in the eye of the beholder. A neutral observer might see a line of shambling, shuffling captive waifs. Another slave (particularly a female) or a Master or perhaps a Mistress would enjoy an erotically charged troupe of perfectly restrained, sexually primed slaves. A throng of human toys specially prepared for unhindered carnal use or unrestricted torment by riding crop or whip. Given what she remembered was a pretty high standard of good looking bodies even a heterosexual male or a lesbian who didn’t identify themselves as a dominant would be hard-pressed not to have some serious lust for these naked compliant slaves so fully exposed, so fully ready for their sexual satisfaction!

The increasing noise and smell of a hotel kitchen indicated they were leaving their comforting little anteroom and she felt herself being led around a turn. The Warden was taking them in a wide curve through the doorway and was careful to make it wide enough that no one would bump into the doorframe. They had a lot of latitude but bruising a slave was frowned upon, or at least it was frowned upon if it had been done accidentally. The sounds and smells reminded her she had seen or heard people – maybe men, maybe women – working in the kitchen. They were some way away but no doubt they were viewing the group exactly as she had imagined the group appeared earlier. Whatever their response it didn’t seem to diminish the noise of their labors. This could not be the first time. They had probably seen it once or twice before. Perhaps a hundred times before?

Whatever their level of disinterest it couldn’t match the total lack of discomfiture shown by the slaves. Their demeanor showed no embarrassment or shame - quite the reverse. Within the limits of the tiny steps necessary in their darkness they held themselves and their heads high. This immodesty came from many things. One was the hood which hid the world from the slave but also hid the slave from the world. They knew they were each just an anonymous faceless body. Hopefully a fine naked example of a body but an anonymous faceless body nonetheless. All expressions were concealed under the bland blackness of their hoods. They also knew they were there simply because their Masters or their agents had required them to be there. You can’t feel badly about something that wasn’t of your making and out of your control - they knew they had no choice in how or where or when they were used. And of course they were doing what their Masters wanted and there was no greater pleasure, no greater pride than that. Nothing was more right.

Her ponderings were interrupted by an abrupt “Stop” and a hand on her chest clearly intended to bring her to a halt. She stopped and the slave behind her bumped into her but without much force. The warmth and softness of another human’s touch was surprisingly touching and she secretly and seditiously hoped the breasts would be pushing against her back a little longer. Each successive slave had a little more warning from the command than the one in front of them and most managed to stop short of bumping into each other.

A hand on each shoulder rotated her clockwise about 90 degrees and then guided her backwards until first her ass then her back pressed against something very smooth, very cold and very hard. A few moments before the stop she had noticed a subtle change in background noise. Tiny echoes of feet shuffling or chain tinkling had become a shade sharper. She would be hard pressed to explain exactly why but she sensed they had gone from an open space to a smaller enclosed space. The former open space was no doubt some type of corridor in that hotel kitchen but she had no idea what the new enclosure could be.

The chain attached to the back of her collar pulled a little. Then tinkles and shuffles directly in front of her suggested the slave tethered to the back of her collar was being maneuvered into position. She suppressed a little yelp when a naked back was suddenly pressed against her breasts and a pair of hands touched her groin. She could feel cuffs, probably leather, against her pubic region and a chain swung into her bush and between her legs. Warm skin pressing against her hard nipples and fingertips inches away from her clit was kicking her simmering libido into high gear. She resisted a temptation to whisper an intimate request to her new found friend. More and more chain tinkling and foot shuffling signaled the maneuvering of all the slaves over the next two or three minutes.

The slave up against her breast and belly was pressed a little firmer against her several times as she was pressed backward while the naked shoulder of another slave started to press against her own shoulder. It all seemed to confirm a small enclosure filling with naked slaves. She felt the tips of fingernails lightly scratching her skin amongst the bush of her pussy. The flesh pressed against her nipples and the fingertips so close to her clit were continuing to stoke her arousal. Arousal of her favorite kind – gratification to be denied indefinitely without a single thing she could do about it. If this was the only reason why the troupe of slaves had been gathered she approved heartily.

One final squeezing of all the bodies was accompanied by a familiar but elusive mechanical noise. Moments later there were seven tiny yelps as the floor jerked upward. And it all became obvious in an instant. The earlier sound was of sliding doors. They were in an elevator and judging by the crush one designed for two or three passengers not seven. And that cold, hard, smooth wall was likely mirrors lining the elevator. Her mind was suddenly struck by the thought of all that flesh reflected back and forth amongst all those mirrors. Another arousing idea but they all seemed to be arousing right now.

She could not know this but they were in a luxurious elevator built for only three people that served only two floors – the basement and the penthouse. Unknown to hundreds of other guests (and most of the staff) the hotel kept a discreet suite of rooms at the top of the building for a handful of very special guests. Guests whose arrival and departure through the lobby was unthinkable. Guests who were quite familiar with coming and going via a kitchen entrance at the back of hotels. And guests whose evening visitors could never ever be seen in the lobby or indeed anywhere near the guest.

It might be the luxurious penthouse elevator but she found the ride a little nerve-racking. The holding area had been a quiet refuge where her mind had wandered so pleasantly. Even the kitchen corridor had become something of a familiar comforting place. Where were they going? The rise of the elevator made her think they were to be thrust into something. Amongst a group or equals it was easy to get comfortable but now she remembered her vulnerability and a delicious fear crept through her belly - fear that turned into excitement and then desire. This was a feeling she recalled from so many times with Master. It was this feeling that kept their Master and slave relationship burning but she knew there were also adoration, admiration and respect in spades. An outsider might be forgiven for not realizing those all flowed in both directions.

She might have been even more afraid if she knew the chasm of power between her compatriots and Master’s peers. The penthouse was designed for and often used by high ranking influential politicians with a need for absolute privacy. Other times the residents came from the seamier side of the city with other reasons for complete discretion. Today the suite had been booked for a guest that had a foot in both those camps. The last Thursday of every month this gentleman always used the penthouse suite for two days. His reservation trumped every politician and even royalty. The private exit and entrance helped but the fact that every member of the hotel staff in the know, including the kitchen crew, was always a lot richer just after the last Thursday of the month provided the real privacy. There was total solidarity with the staff policy of no rumors, no gossip and no tales out of school. It was literally not worth your life to do otherwise.

There were 32 floors between the subterranean kitchen and the penthouse and she could be forgiven for thinking the trip was extremely long and curiously short on stops but her attention was generally fixed on the flesh pressing on her own. When you’re naked in your own cocoon of darkness overcrowding takes on a new meaning. Especially with seven people in a space designed for three. She was almost enjoying it. After a period in the basement each body was cool to the touch. And although there was inevitably some muskiness amongst so many females they were generally sweet and fragrant. She had decided earlier there were only female bodies present and this confirmed it. Just one single man would have entirely altered the bouquet of the elevator. And one single naked male body would have created an entirely different group dynamic in a grossly overcrowded elevator.

The elevator finally came to a halt and the doors opened automatically. With that much flesh crammed into such a small place the opening doors provided a sudden release. Two or three of the slaves literally fell out of the elevator and desperately tried to find their footing – not easy with hands chained behind your back, a hood over your head and a collar chained to the collar of one or two other passengers. The penthouse (and larger) version of the basement Warden stepped forward and with a little experience and a lot of strength caught the unlucky stumbling slaves and set them standing up steadily on their own two feet.

Slowly and with much maneuvering the slaves were drawn out of the elevator one by one, the first out taking the rearmost position, until she was the last to be extracted and the first in line with a cool chain swing slowly across her belly. They stood once more tethered to each other in a line ready for another stroll. Perhaps not ready for everything they imagined but their readiness was irrelevant to that. Somebody (the penthouse Warden?) came to her, smoothed down the Spandex hood and turned the collar a little. She couldn’t know it but the collar was rotated so that the metal rings were exactly front and back. Then her cuffs got the same treatment - neatness of cuffs and collars seemed to be the key to the Warden’s preparations. Then she almost jumped back when she felt fingers in her modestly trimmed pussy bush. After a moment she realized someone was trying to fluff it up!

Again without warning both her nipples was grasped and twisted back and forth until they were hard and the sequence (preparation for a presentation?) ended with a hard back and forth slap to each breast presumably to give them some color. Finally something soft and grease like was drawn over her upper and the lower lips. She remembered that when she arrived she had been the only slave with an opening in the hood which provided access to her mouth. Womanly instinct kicked in as she pursed and smacked her lips to smooth and even out the lightly strawberry flavored lipstick or balm. She wondered if the color was matched to her existing lipstick – fiery carmine red. She couldn’t know it but in fact she (and one other slave) was having clear lip gloss applied for an extra sparkle to the invitation that was their mouths.

She sensed the Warden moving to the next slave in line and heard some very muted whimpers behind her followed by the sound of a couple of skin on skin slaps. They were being prepared for something that was moments away. After her there were six more slaves to prep and they would be ready to go!

What was ahead?

To be continued ….

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