Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Just as I put the last of the glass into the garbage I hear you descending the stairs. Your footsteps turn toward the kitchen and I look up as you open the door. You meet my gaze and nod, letting me know that although there will be some form of punishment, you have forgiven me and won't be administering the punishment out of anger, but as a way to remind me that I belong to you, and you expect better of me. And I have to admit that I make my fair share of mistakes.
You go to the game room and I hear you say, "Well, gentlemen, shall we get started? I'll have my little slave slut bring in the refreshments and get you some new beers."
"Wait a minute," exclaims the quiet one, "aren't we short a player?" "Yes, we are," you reply. "I spoke with him earlier, and he will be arriving late. One of his pets has taken ill, and he is getting her settled before coming over."
"Why don't you decide who will be dealing first while I tell our hostess that we are ready for the goodies she has prepared."
You walk into the kitchen, wrap your arms around my waist, and tell me that you can't wait until the men see just how well I can obey your every command. All I know is that you're holding me, and that I will do anything to be able to continue to be yours.
I close my eyes and rest my head on your chest, and you quickly bring me back to reality with a swat. "Get a move on. We don't want to keep our guests waiting." You take the tray with the beer and I pick up two platters of hors d'ouvres. You walk back into the game room and are greeted with laughter from the loud man. He asks why you're doing your slave's work, and you reply,"I know, but as often as I try to convince her differently, she still insists that she has only two hands."
I can't help smiling just a little as I walk in behind you with the platters of food. I place them on the table, ask if anyone needs anything else and watch from behind your left shoulder as the game begins.
You play a couple of hands and are up just a little when we hear another knock on the door. You turn your head to instruct me, but I am already moving toward the door.
I do my best not to react when the last party enters the house. I take their coats and escort them into the game room. I ask if either of them would like something to drink, and the man says,"I'll have a beer, and I would appreciate it if you could bring my pet a brandy - I think she needs to warm up a bit."
He leads her to the sofa, and instructs her to remain there until he calls for her. While he makes his way to the poker table, I am getting his beer, and pouring a large brandy for her. She must be freezing, because all she had on under that coat were shoes, a jeweled collar and a leash.
You go to the game room and I hear you say, "Well, gentlemen, shall we get started? I'll have my little slave slut bring in the refreshments and get you some new beers."
"Wait a minute," exclaims the quiet one, "aren't we short a player?" "Yes, we are," you reply. "I spoke with him earlier, and he will be arriving late. One of his pets has taken ill, and he is getting her settled before coming over."
"Why don't you decide who will be dealing first while I tell our hostess that we are ready for the goodies she has prepared."
You walk into the kitchen, wrap your arms around my waist, and tell me that you can't wait until the men see just how well I can obey your every command. All I know is that you're holding me, and that I will do anything to be able to continue to be yours.
I close my eyes and rest my head on your chest, and you quickly bring me back to reality with a swat. "Get a move on. We don't want to keep our guests waiting." You take the tray with the beer and I pick up two platters of hors d'ouvres. You walk back into the game room and are greeted with laughter from the loud man. He asks why you're doing your slave's work, and you reply,"I know, but as often as I try to convince her differently, she still insists that she has only two hands."
I can't help smiling just a little as I walk in behind you with the platters of food. I place them on the table, ask if anyone needs anything else and watch from behind your left shoulder as the game begins.
You play a couple of hands and are up just a little when we hear another knock on the door. You turn your head to instruct me, but I am already moving toward the door.
I do my best not to react when the last party enters the house. I take their coats and escort them into the game room. I ask if either of them would like something to drink, and the man says,"I'll have a beer, and I would appreciate it if you could bring my pet a brandy - I think she needs to warm up a bit."
He leads her to the sofa, and instructs her to remain there until he calls for her. While he makes his way to the poker table, I am getting his beer, and pouring a large brandy for her. She must be freezing, because all she had on under that coat were shoes, a jeweled collar and a leash.
