Bosom Bondage Buddies, Part 2

by Brandy Dewinter

  

Chapter 24 - Belles of the Ball

  

The next morning I donned my black corset and thigh-high boots, deciding that I would wear my tight leather miniskirt and the jacket to my leather dress, but not the dress itself, adding only a wide black choker band to hide my throat. The corset forced my chest up enough to offer just a hint of cleavage and the corset itself concealed the breast forms, hinting at hidden secrets under the leather jacket in a decidedly titillating way. Then I sent Kelly off to get Billie Jo's slave dress and high-heeled sandals while I went to the specialty shop for Billie Jo's bonds. I still hadn't told Kelly what her bondage would entail, and didn't want her along when I picked out Billie Jo's items, either. My plan, though, was for Billie Jo to wear more traditional leather bonds in keeping with her hunting bitch persona. I found what I wanted at the same specialty shop I had used for Kelly's items, though this time the handsome clerk looked at me with increased interest.

"Pardon me, ma'am, but I remember when you were in here before. You seem to have interesting tastes," he said diffidently.

I looked at him for a long time without responding, fixing him with a hard stare that made it clear he was little more than a bug to me and that I was considering whether it would be worth my while to soil my boot by squashing him. He wilted under my gaze, dropping his eyes and nervously shuffling his feet.

"You will address me as Milady Raven, if you find it necessary to speak to me," I ordered coldly.

"Yes, Milady Raven," he meekly replied. "I'm sorry if I intruded."

His embarrassed shyness was, if anything, increased after my comment, but the instant tent pole in his pants showed how excited he was at the strong personality I was practicing on him.

"Tell me, young man, how old are you?" I demanded.

"Twenty-one, Milady Raven," he replied. "I just got this job after my birthday last week."

"And what do you find so interesting about my tastes?" I asked with an elegantly arched brow, still cold in tone yet offering just a hint of a possible opportunity for a further relationship.

"When you were in before, you bought delicate, beautiful chains and bonds, as though for a softly feminine person. This time, you have selected strong bonds suitable for a powerful person. It seems like a contradiction," he explained.

"I use what is appropriate for each of my slaves, of course," I declared with an arrogant toss of my magnificent mane of hair, dismissing his confusion and implying he was too stupid for my attention. I opened my purse to get the money to pay for my selections, but he interrupted me again.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Milady Raven, I should have known. It would be a tremendous honor to be your slave, you must have many."

I nodded abruptly as I paid for my purchases, interested in his obvious willingness to become subservient to me. In contrast to the massive strength of Rocky, or even Dart Tanyon, who had interested me when I was feeling feminine, this young man (only a few years younger than me, but definitely much less mature) was slight of build, trim but not muscular. He would probably transform into a more dainty woman than I had become, but the dark fantasies that came bubbling to the surface of my mind when I thought of him didn't include turning him into a woman. No indeed, I had other ideas for one such as him. Not that it mattered, I was only practicing my dominatrix personality and didn't intend anything further. To my surprise, however, when I looked in the package I found he had included his name and phone number on a slip with the receipt. Perhaps there was an opportunity here.

When I got home, I saw that Kelly had gotten the costume items for Billie Jo, including a red domino mask similar to her white one. We discussed makeup and hairstyles, deciding on a more strident look for me than usual, darker eyeshadow, more distinct eyeliner, more sharply defined cheekbones. For Kelly we would tone down the makeup to near-invisible subtlety to emphasize her innocence. I would wear my hair down in its flowing waves, but Kelly would lift hers into a more controlled style. Since I was already dressed in my costume, except for the mask, I had Kelly don her own. She also put on a tiny white thong bikini under her slave outfit, but I didn't comment . . . for now.

Sharply at the appointed time, Billie Jo showed up at our door. Her eyes widened when she saw the revealing outfit that Kelly was wearing, but she came in. First, I had Kelly redo Billie Jo's makeup into a vibrant, intense look, emphasizing the strong features of her face. We drew her eyeliner extra wide and used a silvery eyeshadow to give her eyes a wild, excited look. Billie Jo's hair was still too short for any significant styling, so a few minutes after her makeup was done she was wearing the red slave costume, though in her case the underwear hidden by the brief skirt was a pair of red bikini panties.

"This won't work for me, I don't have Kelly's beautiful tits to keep the folds in place," she complained about the top of her dress.

In reply I only gave her the cold stare I had used on the clerk in the specialty shop. After a pause long enough to make the point that I was not satisfied with her attitude, I began to give my orders firmly, with no room for discussion.

"From this point on, you will not speak unless it is clear that I want you to do so. Is that clear, Huntress?" I asked, emphasizing her slave name as a sign of the attitude she was to adopt.

"Yes, Milady Raven," she meekly replied, only the abrupt appearance of the hard points of her nipples betraying her excitement. She had forgotten the full extent of her role for the night, but accepted it with alacrity once reminded.

I looked at Kelly, now Angel, with the same glare, demanding acknowledgment from her as well.

"Yes, Milady Raven," Angel echoed, a small smile lurking in her eyes as much as on her lips, though she kept her gaze demurely down. I stared at her until she looked up at me to see my frown, then she wiped the smile from her eyes, adopting a suitably meek appearance, but the same signs of excitement were visible through the upper sections of her own dress.

"You will both keep your heads up, and shoulders back throughout this evening. I will take it as a sign of disobedience if you allow your tops to become too revealing. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Milady Raven," they chorused.

"Very well," I said as I picked up two satchels. "These contain your bonds for the evening. I will not place them on you until we get to the site of the party. You may not look inside, but you will carry your own items."

I handed Angel her package, which was quite light and significantly smaller than the package I handed to Huntress. Both accepted them and moved toward the door, only to be interrupted before they reached it by another command.

"Wait. Both of you will remove your panties and leave them here. They are not part of your costume for tonight," I declared.

Heat flamed in their cheeks, and they looked at each other, seeing an equivalent response. Breath rasped from each throat and their excitement began to waft in the air of the room. Without speaking, they carefully removed their panties, already dripping with pungent juices, and placed them on the dresser. The soft fabric of their skirts immediately flowed into the crack of their ass, sharply defining the cleavage. Any breeze at all and they were going to be totally exposed since it would only take a few inches of lift to reveal their naked femininity. In Angel's case her flamboyant tits were so well outlined by the thin material that she was practically naked anyway, while the lesser endowment that Huntress owned seemed non-existent except for two sharp points.

"Now you may go to the car. Put your bonds in the trunk and get in the car, but do not fasten your seatbelts," I ordered.

When they had complied, I pulled the seat straps up and over their arms, leaving their hands by their sides. They could escape fairly simply from this bondage, though it would not be easy since the backs of the seats would make moving their arms back difficult. The important thing was that they were bound to any degree, and would be for the entire trip.

As I drove, I required that they describe erotic, sexual desires and experiences on the trip, drawing from them their specific remembered sensations or unfulfilled fantasies. This kept them (and me) intensely aroused for the entire trip to the neighboring city. It was hot enough outside that we kept the windows up and the air-conditioning on for the trip, which kept the air contained and allowed the scent of their excitement to permeate us, lodging in our hair and our clothes. Even a brief period outside as we walked to the party wouldn't hide that sensual smell.

I pulled into the parking garage of the hotel, following the signs that identified the location for participants in the bondage party. Once we reached the area where the participants were getting out of their vehicles, I checked the apparel of the partygoers. Each master or mistress did indeed have their slave on a leash, not always placed about the neck of the slave. In addition, each partygoer was wearing a mask. Most slaves were bound as well, though some were constrained only by the leash. The most intense relationships were those where the slaves wore some dangerously revealing clothes and it was clear that we would fit in, though at the extreme end of the visible spectrum. Good, exactly as I desired. With this confirmation that we would not be foolishly out of place at the party, I got out of the car and undid the seatbelts for my slave girls, then ushered them to the back of the car where we would be hidden by the raised trunk lid from those passing.

"Angel, you're first," I said as I took out her package. The first item I drew forth was a beautiful gold necklace, made of flattened chain links about an inch in diameter. I had sized it to be choker length and placed it snugly around her throat. A tiny padlock shining in matching gold fastened it around her delicate neck, though I didn't close the lock immediately. Bracelets followed, each in the same design, each with golden padlocks that I also left open, then ankle bracelets as well.

"These are beautiful," Kelly breathed, forgetting for a moment the restriction on unrequested speech. She held her hands in front of her and arched her legs to look at the shining links on her ankles.

I knew she expected that I would handcuff her hands before her, perhaps adding a hobble chain to her ankles. She was surprised, however, though intensely excited based on the renewed intensity of her nipple points, when I drew forth a single, long golden chain. The links in this chain were each about a quarter of an inch in size, more than large enough to keep her from breaking them, especially since they were really steel overlaid with gold plate, but still fine enough to continue the delicate beauty of her collar and cuffs. To her surprise, however, I pulled her hands behind her back and rotated the collar so that its lock was behind her neck as well. I fastened the chain first at her neck, then locked each cuff to the chain at the length they naturally matched, holding her hands behind her back a bit below her waist. Finally, I stooped down and fastened her ankle bracelets to the ends of the chain, which split into two strands and provided about a twelve-inch hobble. The delicate chain was just heavy enough for the sound of the links to provide a musical chime whenever she moved.

Angel was breathtaking. The gleam of gold as it trailed down her naked back from her elegant throat to her towering sandals made her seem pure, innocent, helpless, desperately in need of a heroic rescuer, infinitely desirable. Her bound wrists forced her shoulders back and her magnificent bust forward, sharply defining them through the thin material of her slave dress. The exuberant femininity of her smooth curves combined with the angelic smile she always wore to offer that matchless combination of innocence and sensuality that only she possessed of all the women in the world.

I was pleased and thrilled to see her pleasure as well. She was clearly exulting in the thought of being so desirable, so feminine, so beautiful. I knew anyone who took undue liberties with her would cause an explosion of anger, with the sole exception of myself, for she was not really a slave except to the love that we shared, but her true freedom was her armor against the degradation of slavery.

Her triumphal pride reached Huntress as well. Previously, Huntress had been willing to go along on this as a thrilling lark, desirable for it's outrageous difference from her real life, her real persona. However, once she saw the radiant joy on Angel's face her own interest was roused and she wondered if she might have been missing out on something, something she was now offered a chance to share. Without permission, she reached for her own package, anxious to see what was inside.

"Huntress!" I warned sharply as she moved toward the bag.

"Did I tell you to do that?"

"No, Milady Raven," she admitted, dropping her head.

"I thought I told you to keep your head up and your shoulders back," I corrected her again with silky menace in my voice.

"Yes, Milady Raven," she said quietly, though she raised her head and squared her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness," I repeated the movie quote. "You especially, Huntress, must always be strong, but you must also learn to obey."

"Yes, Milady Raven," she repeated.

"It seems it was a good thing I selected bondage for you that will help you obey," I said quietly, though the menace in my voice caused a nervous look to appear on her face. Still, from the excitement and suspense her nipples resurrected to a level that must have been painful.

I started out on Huntress with a red leather collar, decorated with golden studs and closed by a small golden padlock, similar to those already adorning Angel. The snick of the lock closing seemed especially loud in the echoing garage, signifying an undeniable change in status for Huntress. Next, I added ankle restraints in matching leather, also fastened by golden padlocks, but these I didn't close.

"Turn around and put your arms behind your back," I ordered.

Huntress complied, though she tried to look back over her shoulder at the item I was removing from the package.

"Keep your eyes to the front," I demanded.

She snapped to something like attention, her head up, shoulders back and square.

"That's better," I complimented her.

Then I took the next item from the package, provoking an astonished gasp from Angel who could see it. Huntress twitched as though she had started to turn around again, but caught herself with only the smallest of motions so I let it pass. She was learning, and that was sufficient, for now. The item was an armbinder in stiff red leather, and I held it under one arm as I made Huntress clasp her hands behind her back. Then I slid the armbinder on over her hands, wrapping it around her arms up almost to her shoulders. The eyelets of the armbinder were the fast-lacing kind that are really small hooks, so I was able to quickly string the laces up to the top, then began to pull out some of the slack. I knew that an armbinder could be too intense for extended periods, especially for someone new to the experience, so I didn't tighten it very much, just snug enough to give her a constant reminder of her status, and to pull her shoulders back even more sharply.

"There, that should keep your posture proud and upright," I declared.

The last item in the package for Huntress was a golden chain like the one that Angel wore, except much shorter since it only had to reach from the ring at the tip of the armbinder down to her ankles, where it split into a matching twelve-inch hobble. I quickly fastened the chain into the open locks on her ankles and a similar one on the armbinder and Huntress was completely, inescapably bound.

She was more shocked than excited at the moment, her face red with embarrassment rather than the boundless joy and pride on Angel, but her nipples were still obviously erect, obviously excited.

"Now remember, Angel, you are innocent and pure. Huntress, you are a barely contained hunting bitch, responsive and obedient only to me. Think of your armbinder as the equivalent of a muzzle on a wolf, to keep you from attacking someone. Now let's see, what else?"

While I was looking at the remaining items in our treasure trove, I watched Huntress absorb her role. A sneer of power appeared on her lips, twisting them into a challenge. She allowed the hunting look back into her eyes, but transformed it somehow from a woman hunting for sex into an animal hunting for food, meat, something to devour. It was magnificent, shocking in such a powerful way that I dropped out of character for a moment.

"Billie Jo, that's outstanding! You're perfect!" I cried, then struggled back into my dominatrix persona. "I mean, very good Huntress, see that you remember your place."

I drew forth the domino masks, first working the elastic band for mine under my waves of lustrous hair, then placing it over my eyes. I had a small mirror in the trunk and checked the arrangement, pleased to see that the vibrant colors highlighting my eyes showed beautifully. Angel was next, the white mask easily placed around her upswept hair style, then Huntress received her red mask. Finally, I added the leashes, golden chains similar to those binding their arms and legs, except fastened to their collars with a simple hook. I wrapped the loose ends of their leashes around my gloved hand, the gold shining in bright contrast to my tight, black leather gloves, and checked our appearance one last time.

Individually we were beautiful. Angel innocent in white and gold, happy and excited at her outing, unaware that there could be any other condition than servitude, existed only to please her owner. Huntress was intense in red, hungry and restless, untamed except through an uncompromisingly greater force of personality that she could respect, only found in her owner. I was in control in black, powerful and confident, my towering thigh-high boots reinforcing rather than contradicting my elegant appearance as they declared I would set my own style and let others copy it, rather than copy the look of lesser women. Together, as a trio, we were matchless, unsurpassed in beauty and in persona, defining at a new higher level the entire concept of mistress and slave. I closed the trunk, revealing ourselves to the other partygoers still making their way to the entrance, and walked forward, pulling my slaves behind me on their leashes.

The hobbles restricting their ankles, coupled with the towering heels we all wore, forced our strides to be shorter than an ordinary walk. They scurried to keep up, but I sauntered casually along, allowing the flowing waves of my long, silky hair to highlight the graceful sway of my orbiting hips. As other partygoers saw us, conversations stopped in mid word, motion stopped in mid stride, and a path was cleared for us to the entrance to the party.

My first inclination had been to adopt a demanding, dissatisfied attitude to show that no one could reach my uncompromising standards, but I realized that this would imply a mistake on my part for coming to the party, since of course the slaves would have had no say in the decision. Therefore I realized that I should be amused rather than complaining and adopted the cool smile that so often reduced men to incoherence. When we reached the registration table, I paid the entry fee for the three of us, but took a single registration card and signed it only as Raven + 2, without listing the names of my slaves.

"I'm sorry, but you must put down their names as well," the man behind the table informed me. He wore a name tag labeled "Master Simon" but he was hardly dominant, short and fat, completely out of shape. Surely Ran had not been that bad, even before we started on our strange odyssey.

"Really? I don't believe there is much that I must do," I declared, allowing the coolness of my smile to reach a frozen ice intensity, determined to establish my dominance of all situations we encountered.

"No one will speak to my slaves without my permission," I continued, "and my slaves will not speak unless it is my desire that they do so. Their names are unnecessary."

"Your pardon, mistress," the man replied. "No one will speak to slaves without permission. It is for the judging. Each participant is allowed to vote for the best master or mistress and for the best slave. The winners get a thousand dollar prize taken from the entry fees and the name tags allow others to know whom to vote for. You should have an excellent chance at the prizes, if you choose to participate."

"Ah, now I understand. I do allow my slaves to earn money for me. By all means, tag them. This is Angel, and this is Huntress."

Name tags were pinned to the thin material of the slave dresses, the slaves helpless in their bonds as I added a tag to my own lapel. I noticed that one of Simon's hands was beginning to wander down from where he had placed the name tag on Angel toward her spectacular tits with their obviously protruding nipples. Angel's eyes showed a building panic, not wanting to be fondled by this unattractive stranger but helpless to stop him. I grabbed his wrist in my free hand, using the masculine strength I truly possessed regardless of how feminine I looked to clamp down on his pudgy arm.

"Keep your paws to yourself, dog!" I demanded. "No hand feeds my slaves but mine. No hand caresses my slaves but mine. No one pleasures my slaves but me, unless I allow them to pleasure each other. Is that clear?"

I had spoken in a loud enough voice that all those near the table could hear, especially since my trio had been the magnet for all eyes since we had entered the hall. My demand was not limited to Simon and my question was intended for all as a means to protect Angel and Huntress from unwanted advances. It worked beautifully, the titters of the crowd confirming that my comments had spread throughout the assembly. While I had been talking, I had also been squeezing Simon's wrist tightly enough to make his fingers show red from the restriction on his circulation. Now I dropped it, wiping my gloved hand on the tablecloth covering the registration table as though to rid it of a particularly disgusting slime. Simon clutched his throbbing wrist in his other hand and seated himself again behind the table, blushing furiously, thoroughly cowed.

Then I laughed to release the tension. "Besides, if you tried that on Huntress, your fingers would provide her dinner. It is for your own safety as well as for their proper training that I restrict access to my slaves."

With that we strolled into the main part of the hall. Just inside the doorway, there was a slave tied to a post, her wrists chained closely to a leather belt, her hands holding a tray of champagne. In order to elevate the tray to a convenient height for the partygoers, the server wore platform shoes with heels even higher than those worn by my slave girls and myself. Though I had learned to walk easily and gracefully in towering heels, I wouldn't have wanted to try those platforms which must have been at least eight inches high, plus the added height of the heel. However, the tray was now conveniently placed and I nonchalantly took a glass of champagne, as though the sight of the bound woman were completely unremarkable.

After a sip or two I turned to Angel and offered the glass to her lips, giving her a small swallow. Huntress received her sip next. Our eyes met and for just an instant the wild, intense look was replaced with both pleased excitement and gratitude. She was clearly reveling in her role.

I whispered quietly to her, "Doing okay? That armbinder's not too tight, is it?"

Her eyes told me that she was fine, then resumed the angry hunger of a barely controlled predator. A glance at Angel returned the same assurance, though her bonds were much less severe so I had not really been worried about her. We strolled through the assembly, remaining the focus of all eyes, stilling conversations we approached, provoking intense, whispered comments as we passed. Whenever I felt like drinking or nibbling on the refreshments held by the distribution of tightly-bound slaves, I would negligently offer some to my slave girls as though it were merely a training regimen, not intended to provide them any relief or pleasure. Still, they received as much and as varied a fare as I did. Again, the inversion of roles appeared, where my slaves were being served by their mistress.

We passed displays of bondage devices ranging from those with so little restriction on movement that they were merely symbolic, to those that appeared so painful they made me uncomfortable just to look at them. I watched my slaves to see if any items were especially interesting to them, but we saw nothing better than the choices I had made. Prominent among the many booths was a slave block, complete with bound slaves and a large For Sale sign. There were both men and women chained to the block, each wearing a short gray tunic slit to the navel. I paused to regard the slaves at the block as though contemplating a purchase, which offered an opportunity for another dominance battle.

A tall man dressed in leather, his shirt open almost to his own waist to reveal a number of gold chains approached me. His attitude was almost a parody of the stud patrol member who had approached Billie Jo when she was just beginning to come out of her shell. The beard that covered a hint of sag at his chin and the careful looseness of his shirt were inadequate attempts to conceal his deteriorated physique and it became immediately apparent that he was hunting for a slave out of need, since he had lost his ability to acquire companionship out of desirability.

"How much for that blonde slave?" he asked.

"It's not for sale," I curtly replied, reading his tag to see his assumed name, Master Ajax.

"I'm serious. I'll pay you a couple of thousand for her, or name your own price," he demanded.

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself," I dismissed his demand and turned away.

Huntress warned me of his continued advance with a low, wordless growl just before I felt his hand on my shoulder. My mind flashed through my options. I couldn't continue to argue with him without destroying the cool superiority of my character and I certainly couldn't get into a drawn-out fight while wearing high heels. All it would take would be one good pull on my hair and I would be completely revealed, while if he knocked me down and my brief skirt flew up I would be just as completely unmasked. Even as I decided how to respond, a part of my mind was noting with surprise how much playing a character can begin to control your actions, the typical, softly feminine manner in which I would normally react covered over by the dominatrix attitude I had adopted for the evening.

I slammed my fist directly into his crotch, sending him sprawling on the floor clutching at his damaged jewels. In an instant, my heel was at his throat, the spiked length a serious threat. Ajax froze once his pain subsided enough to let him recognize his predicament.

"No one lays hands on me!" I announced, letting the cool amusement of my smile transform into cold anger, my midnight blue eyes now glinting with dark ice, frigid, uncompromising, showing a window into the darkest, coldest hell ever imagined.

"Listen to me, worm," I said quietly, the menace in my tone bringing shocked looks to all who could hear. "You're not worthy of an honorable name like Ajax, let alone of master status. I will offer you your last free choice. Either leave this place immediately, or strip and join the slaves on the block. In either case, remove that inappropriate and undeserved name tag."

With my heel at his throat, he had no real choice. He slowly removed the tag, handing it to me. I let a sneer curl my lip to indicate my disdain for his offering and he dropped it to the floor. Then I stood back and brushed my free hand through my hair in a slow, sensual gesture, signaling that the power I had displayed had excited me, but that I was completely in control of my own emotions and body, demonstrated by not even needing to drop the leashes of my slaves as I dispensed with an unwelcome advance. The ex-Ajax stood up carefully, still bent over with the residual pain in his crotch, and slid warily away toward the exit. The audience burst into applause, slaves who could not clap their bound hands cheering with appreciation, those that weren't gagged at least. My own slaves began to cheer as well.

"Oh, Milady Raven," Angel called. "You are so wonderful."

The call from Huntress was more of a growl of pleasure than articulate words, but her eyes shone with excitement.

"Next time, Huntress," I said, directing my comments to her to demonstrate I appreciated her perfect, in-character response, "I will let you handle any scum who approach too closely. You need the practice more than me. I'm more of a man than that worm, but you might find it useful to have another sparring partner."

My smiling declaration of manhood, at least relative to the vanquished intruder, shocked my slave girls but the very audacity of it prevented anyone else from even considering the truth beneath the boast. Their mouths hung open for a second, then smiles lit up their faces at the secret we shared together even in the midst of the crowd. Angel's smile reinforced the sunlight she carried with her at all times, but the smile that lit the face of Huntress provided a blend of pleasure and respect that declared to all those that saw it her intense worship for the one being who could master her. For a moment, I imagined I saw a true respect within that gaze, not caused by the role she played, but she was so excellent an actress that I couldn't be sure.

After that incident, the voting for best master or mistress was merely a formality. I had it in the bag. Those who had witnessed the incident spread the word throughout the gathering, the story growing with each telling until it seemed I was some sort of Kung Fu expert who had dispatched my assailant with lightning, head-high kicks though I wore those incredible heels and tight skirt. It seemed that each master or mistress in the hall needed to talk with me about technique or ask for guidance while their slaves whispered to my slaves with tones of envy. The time flew by and my feet began to hurt from the extended time without rest. I couldn't really sit down while Angel and Huntress were bound, though, since their bonds were too restrictive for them to rest as well and for all that I was really into my dominatrix role, still they were my lovers and I wouldn't provide myself with pleasures that would keep me from staying attuned with their condition. I had about decided to leave when a loud voice came over the speakers.

"Masters and Mistresses, could I have your attention please. Keep your slaves quiet as well, if you would, while we announce the winners of tonight's contest. As those of you who regularly attend our parties know, we typically identify the top three places for both Master or Mistress and for slaves, based on your votes. The third place winner gets a free entry into our next party for both owner and slave, two if the same pair has won both contests. The second place winners receive free admission for a year, including admission at the parties of organizations with which we share our interests. Finally, the first place winners each receive a thousand dollars, which we hope will be used, in part, to provide entrance to our future contests."

The speaker was the inadequate 'Master Simon' who had tried to fondle Angel when we entered. His slave was an overweight woman, dressed in a too-tight outfit and bound with simple handcuffs. It appeared they wanted to be part of this type of gathering, but had neither the creativity nor the physiques to carry it off. Nonetheless, they must have been willing to contribute the time to organize it, so they were allowed their moment of glory.

"After we compiled the votes this evening," he continued, "we found an unprecedented situation. With the exception of a very few ballots which the judges are declaring to be spoiled and invalid, every vote for master or mistress has been cast for a single person. For best slave, there is essentially a tie, with all votes shared equally between two slave women. Can you guess who the winners are?"

With his question, a cheer went up from the crown, which began to chant, "Raven! Raven!" then added "Angel! Huntress!" as the second part of the vote was considered. Some of those around us moved to shake our hands, or clap us on the back, until a warning growl from Huntress reminded them that we did not allow others to touch us. The crowd surged back and a path opened up for us to the podium, where Simon waited with a couple of handfuls of money.

However, when we reached the steps leading up to the dais, Huntress gave a small whine of dismay, and Angel stopped, causing a tug at the leash.

"Milady Raven," Angel cried softly, "we cannot climb these stairs in our bonds."

I was frantically trying to figure out a solution, when a couple of mistresses nearby recognized the problem and offered to help. They unhooked the leashes on their masculine slaves who quickly moved forward, ready to lift Angel and Huntress in their arms but waiting for my permission to touch them. I nodded, then mounted the stairs myself, careful not to reveal the secret hidden beneath my skirt. In a moment, we were on the stage. The crowd cheered happily, lifted by the demonstration in reality of an ideal that had previously only existed in their fantasies. After a few minutes of bedlam, Simon waved his arms to get the partygoers to quiet down.

"Since this situation has never occurred before, the officials in your organization have decided on a special prize. First, the cash awards have been increased to $1500 since there are no second or third place prizes to be awarded. Angel and Huntress will have to share their award, but we all recognize it is really Milady Raven's prize anyway. Second, we are awarding Milady Raven free lifetime admission to our parties, throughout the country, along with any slaves she wishes to bring. All you slaves out there that like to come to these occasions might want to see if Milady Raven is taking on any new trainees."

At this, offers flew up from the crowd. I noticed that even several of the mistresses were offering to become my slaves, and it seemed like nearly every male in the audience wanted to please me. Certainly all of the slaves were excited at the idea, for once not reprimanded by their owners at speaking without explicit permission. I let the enthusiasm build for a few minutes, the look of cool amusement holding on my face as though this adulation was only to be expected, then I reached for the microphone from Simon, who surrendered it immediately. Even before I began to speak, the crowd quieted, anxious to hear what I had to say.

"Sorry," I began, my dominant smile showing no sorrow at all, "I'm not taking on any additional slaves . . . at this time."

My announcement caused an initial groan, then a resurgence of interest as I dangled the hook of possible future opportunity.

"Besides," I continued, "I haven't seen anyone here tonight that is in the same class as either Angel or Huntress. If I allowed them to speak, they could tell you of unimaginable changes in their lives since our relationship began," at this, my slaves nodded enthusiastically, "but they were incredibly sensuous, vibrant, HOT women before we started. You'll need to work on your own attitudes before you will be worthy of training."

With that I handed Simon the microphone, took the cash, and moved back toward the steps, my slaves trailing behind me on their leashes. Their hobbled, scurrying steps reinforced the graceful sway of my own beautiful form and a hush fell over the crowd as though they were in the presence of a legend. I expected that they were. The story of our appearance would undoubtedly circulate through the bondage parties for years to come, whether we ever appeared to reinforce it or not.

The slaves who had helped Angel and Huntress to the stage reappeared to carry them down, forestalling an army of strong-limbed men who had wanted to take their places. As soon as my slave girls were on the floor of the hall their helpers stepped back and I began to saunter toward the exit, haughtily disdaining any and all comments tossed in from the sides of the aisle that had cleared for us. We were escorted all the way to our car, so I couldn't release Angel and Huntress from their bonds entirely. I merely released them from their ankle hobbles to allow them to sit, their arms still fastened behind them, placed the seat belts around them, then moved to the driver's seat and entered myself. When I started the car, the crowd moved back to provide us room and in a few minutes we were out of the parking lot.

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 1996 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.