The Server By Alexis S. (ealexissiefert@yahoo.com)

"Nice piece, Jonathan.  Is she new, or have you had her in storage
waiting for tonight?"  Thomas' fingers lingered briefly over her taut
nipple as he spoke.  He gave it a parting tweak as he reached for a
cocktail napkin nestled between her bound breasts.

Jonathan, tonight's host, chuckled before he responded.  "Look
closer, Thomas.  Take your eyes off her tits and look at her face."

Thomas set his highball on the tray resting on her taut belly.  He
walked to the head of the table to peer more closely at the newest
serving dish in his host's collection.  There was an angry flush in
her cheeks; and, even though her eyes were shut, Thomas figured from
the tight way they were clenched that if she were to open them, she'd
burn holes in whatever she set her gaze upon. As he stroked his
finger over the small scar on her pronounced cheekbone it came to
him.  "Holy shit, Jonathan!  If it weren't for the mark on her cheek,
I'd never have recognized her in this position.  What's Bailey doing
on your table?"

"She overextended herself in last week's poker game, then misjudged
her ability to bluff.  Three sevens to my ace-over-kings full house
landed her as you see her.  I've got her and her handmaiden for
tonight's party and the clean-up tomorrow."

"Maura's here also?  Where?"  Thomas' head swiveled as his eyes
searched the room.  

Thomas put a hand out to calm his friend.  "Patience, Thomas.  Maura
will be out with dessert tonight.  Until then, enjoy your drink."

The two men stood next to the bar, discussing the inconsequential
matters that usually get discussed at such parties.  Bailey struggled
to relax her tense muscles, knowing that the longer she fought it,
the more likely she'd be to spill something.  The forced calm gave
her a rare opportunity to reflect.  Normally at these events she was
as busy as the rest of the guests, sampling the offerings, playing
with the toys, and doing her best to keep the upper hand in whatever
game was being proposed.  There were very few dominant women in her
social circle, and the men were still adjusting to dealing with her
as an equal, not as a piece of property.  It was a constant struggle
to maintain her position, and tonight wasn't going to help much. 

Damn.  The game last week had started off so well for her.  After
several hours, she was ahead both in her monetary bets and the
"favors" that were so often the staple of the game's side-bets.  She
had watched her bank build steadily with each hand, and although she
lost a few dollars every couple of hands, overall she was sure to
come out ahead by several thousand at the end of the evening. 
Additionally, Michael was terribly deep in debt to her after the last
hand ("He really must work on his bluffing skills," she had confided
to Jonathan between rounds.  "I wonder if he'll ever figure out that
we can all read his tell, his habit of scratching the back of his
hand when his cards are empty.")  Everyone knew that Michael's
manservant gave the most perfect deep-tissue massages, and Bailey
fully intended to take advantage of them when she cashed in her side-
bet chits with Michael.  That's the way the favor-bets usually
worked, although the guidelines weren't exactly set in stone.  Her
current situation was really her fault for not specifying when she
and Jonathan bet on the outcome of that last hand.  In addition to
the use of the other's favored slave, Jonathan had suggested "a small
service" from each other.  Bailey had assumed, wrongfully, that they
had both been referring to a professional service, not such a
personal one.  

She was so rarely overconfident in her poker playing.  She still
couldn't believe that Jonathan had had the other ace.  Although she
couldn't prove it, and she'd never make a public accusation for fear
of appearing a sore loser, she knew that he had been cheating. 
There's no way he had been dealt both of those aces in that hand. 
She can count the cards better than that.

She shifted slightly; mindful of the tray of drinks balanced on her
belly. The bindings were beginning to itch, but Bailey knew that the
evening was far from over.  She consciously slowed her breathing,
trying to match it to the rhythm of the music in the background of
the room, Saens' "Aquarium and Fossils" if she wasn't mistaken.  A
little dark for her taste and not quite appropriate to the party's
Valentine theme, but it was typical of Jonathan to take the
unexpected route when creating the setting for his gatherings.  She
sighed and took stock of her position trying to figure a way to use
it to her advantage.

She was lying, naked, on her back.  Fortunately, Jonathan seemed to
be slightly cold natured (which, Bailey couldn't help but think, went
perfectly with his reptilian personality), so the house was always
kept a bit on the warm side, and the polished mahogany surface of
Jonathan's wet bar wasn't overly uncomfortable under her back.  In
keeping with the February theme of tonight's gathering her bindings
were red velvet sashes, deceptively strong despite their cushy
appearance.  Her ankles were wrapped several times in the velvet
ropes then lashed to her thighs, forcing her knees to bend up and
spread slightly.  Red velvet circled her wrists as well, which were
then bound tightly to her ankles and thighs, and a wide velvet band
was strapped across her forehead and secured to a ring beneath the
bar's overhanging ledge.  The effect was similar to being hog-tied,
effectively immobilizing her without appearing crude.

Her bindings and display were enough to make her burn with
embarrassment, however Jonathan had apparently decided to take full
advantage of his one-night dominance over her.  

Earlier in the afternoon, as he finished securing her to the bar
top, Jonathan handed a tube of K-Y and instructed his housemaid to
"be generous but not necessarily gentle."  It wasn't until the maid
began pushing her gelled fingers into Bailey's pussy that Bailey had
her first inkling she wasn't going to be merely "displayed" at the
party tonight.  Bailey had bit her cheek hard as the maid twisted her
fingers roughly between Bailey's nether lips, spreading them and
opening her pussy wider than any cock had previously stretched her.
Although she stifled her small wimpers as much as possible, the glint
in the maid's eyes told Bailey how much the servant was enjoying
Bailey's predicament. It was a rare occasion indeed that one of the
slaves had this type of opportunity.

Between her spread thighs Jonathan had placed a tall, thin metal
container. At first glance it appeared to be a scaled-down champagne
ice bucket, rounded at the bottom with a slight lip at top.  Her
first verbal protests, the one that earned her the leather-covered
bit between her teeth, had come when Jonathan began pushing the
rounded end of the container between her legs, into her dilated
pussy.  He didn't stop until the metal was resting against her cervix
and the lip of the container was pressed firmly against her swollen
pussy lips.  He had then unceremoniously dropped a handful of swizzle
sticks and stirring straws into the container.  

Jonathan moved to her breasts.  Even to his overly-critical eye they
were perfect.  Large, but not unnaturally so.  Just over a c-cup, he
had figured.  With a wide strip of velvet he bound them up, almost
together.  He laughed slightly at her discomfort when he swiped her
nipples with an ice cube.  "Must keep up their appearance, Bailey
dear.  After all, everyone knows that my home is always perfectly
furnished and accessorized." Between her bound breasts he had placed
a stack of linen cocktail napkins, using her perfect tits like pale
bookends to hold the cloth squares upright.

Over her flat tummy he had draped a small felt cloth--to protect his
silver from the oils in her skin.  "And," he had explained, "it will
help keep the tray from slipping.  However, dear, you might wish to
keep your abs tight tonight.  Wouldn't want the guests' drinks to
drop, now would we?" Had she not been so effectively gagged by the
bit, she would have told him exactly what he could do with his
guests' drinks.  Unfortunately, the best she could do was mumble a
few incoherent obscenities at him as he rested the silver serving
tray on her stomach.  On the tray he had placed several crystal wine
and drink glasses.

His maid had then braided her long, midnight black hair into a rope,
doubling it into a loop and securing it to her head with wide
hairpins.  From this convenient handle, Jonathan had hung various
implements for the bar; primarily a couple of sets of ice tongs and a
sharp ice-pick for his guests who preferred their ice shaved fresh
off the block rather than processed into cubes by the freezer.  

He stepped back to inspect his handiwork.  "Bailey, darling, tonight
is sure to be a success.  I can't tell you how grateful I am that
you've made yourself available for me.  Oh, I realize that this isn't
what you had in mind when I requested your appearance at my home
tonight, but we must be gentlemen--err, gentlepeople--about honoring
our bets, mustn't we? Now, just a few more hours and this will all be
over and we can go back to the way we were."

For some reason, Bailey doubted that things would ever go back to
the way they were.  Certainly, she would return to her rightful
position in the group, and her status as a dominant would never be
openly questioned.  After all, a bet is a bet.  There's not a one of
them who wouldn't take full advantage of the others given half a
chance.  That's what makes their association with each other so
exciting and fulfilling.  However, after tonight's gathering, Bailey
suspected that the men in the group would always look at her in a
slightly different manner.  Not a one had previously been granted the
right to touch her perfect skin, to enjoy her perfect body so
completely exposed.  Although none of the "guests" would be permitted
to do anything more than fondle her bound tits and "accidentally"
brush her clit, she felt as exposed and vulnerable as the playthings
Jonathan always has available for general use during these parties.  

The slight splash of cold vodka on her ribs brought her thoughts
back to the party.  She opened her eyes slightly and took stock of
the party now in full-swing around her.  Thomas was still standing
next to her, his back turned slightly.  He had rested his hand absent-
mindedly on her breast as he talked to their host.  The two men were
making arrangements for Thomas' later use of her handmaiden, Maura. 
Bailey sighed again and began to envision the set-up for next week's
poker game.  This time, she was going to ensure she could keep a
better eye on Jonathan's dealing.  After all, if she was going to
make up the ground she'd lose with the group tonight, she had a bet
to win.