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“Of course not.” Miles started to leave. “And Damien,” he turned back, “I trust you’ll find her gold rod to your liking.” He didn’t give Tessa the satisfaction of even a single glance, leaving her with the feeling that she was simply so much dust on his feet to be wiped away.
Tessa had no reprieve with Damiena, he was as brusque with her as Miles had been. Turning to his two valets, one male, one female, he ordered, “Get her ready,” then he abruptly left the room.
Tessa was quickly led back through the main French doors, through the foyer into the back of the house. Up two flights of stairs, she was brought into an attic room on the third floor. The room was unfinished, like attics in her imagination, except for a wild variety of leather hanging on the walls, an old fashioned wardrobe like the one in Miles’ garret, and a professional make-up table with bright lights surrounding a mirror.
The valets were silent, shoving her to one side of the room, while they took their places with other valets on the other side. There were two other submissive women standing with her; and they were soon joined by three men, looking like dutiful slaves with the collars fixed around their necks.
A woman of obvious dominant inclinations stood between the two groups.
“You,” she directed her comments to the six submissives, “are sex slaves, nothing more than baubles for the pleasure of the guests at this ball. You are here because you have expressed the will and the desire to be of service in this most humbling way.”
Tessa stared at the woman. Her remarkable garb was the first clue of what to expect. The woman was clothed in black leather, exactly as Tessa imagined the most severe dominatrix. She was statuesque, especially so in thigh-high leather boots with stiletto heels and a waist cinching corset that pushed her generous tits into two jiggling mountains above the leather. To finish her attire, she wore black leather gloves up to her elbows. Her voluminous black hair was teased to an extraordinary height, befitting the kind of character she was striving to portray. She continued her speech in smooth, even tones, thankfully, without the hint of disgust and rancor that Tessa noted in both Miles and Damien.
“From this moment on, you have no will of your own, your needs and desires are of no concern to anyone here—to the valets,” she nodded to the several men and women on the opposite side of the room, “to me, or Damien’s guests. Your sole purpose is to serve in whatever way you’re required. You will be lavishly whipped, fucked and made to perform all manner of acts that you might find hideous in other situations. In this place, however, whatever base and immoral acts are required of you, you will do without question, knowing they will provide great pleasure to your masters.
If you are not gagged, you will not speak. There will be no protests of any kind. The valets may give you a safe word—that is required for certain safety reasons. However,” she deliberately raised her voice so that her message was not missed, “you were chosen to be trinkets, because Damien knows you’ll have few, if any, limits. You will be expected to act accordingly. The Domme paused to let her message register, then continued, “We are not completely without compassion; you can trust the dominants at this party. That in mind, safe words should be unnecessary.
“Your valet will be with you the entire night. You are in their charge between your excursions with the guests of this house. They are there to assist any way they can, to make this a most satisfying evening. As your valet prepares you, put yourself into a mood of surrender; let go and you’ll find the pleasure you seek.” The dominatrix nodded to them haughtily, then clicked her boots together at the heels, and walked briskly out of the room.
Tessa was taken to a corner of the attic by a man only a little taller than herself. He was young, perhaps her age; but what he might have lacked in years, he certainly made up for in his carriage. Tessa imagined a youthful Miles, with eyes as piercing as her own dominant’s, and a jaw that was set as firmly as Miles’ often was. His lean muscled body was clothed in a pair of baggy pajama style pants. He had a leather band around his left arm, and a gold earring through his nipple. His feet were bare.
Quickly, he undressed her, the skirt and top hastily thrown to the floor. Once he gazed at her naked body, he let out a brief gasp, seeing her piercings. He was taken aback by the rod that spread her cunt, but after the initial shock, he proceeded about his business, placing a three-inch leather collar about her neck, a wide leather belt with a half dozen heavy rings about her waist, and wide leather cuffs fixed with rings around her wrists and ankles. She would remain barefoot.
Moving her to the make-up table, he ordered her to sit. Then with efficient, skillful motions, as if he were a make-up artist in his other life, the valet applied heavy rouge, eyeliner and shadows in a palette of color, and a thick coating of red lipstick. There was some pride in his work, for he pushed her chair around so that she could look in the mirror. The results were stunning in a bizarre sort of way. The face looking back at her was Tessa, but so much more. Toying with her long blonde locks, he styled her hair in an inspired work of art, twisting it into a beautifully braided bun that suited her submissive status. The total effect, the leather, the hair and the make-up, transformed her into a seductive creature of the night, half sensuous woman, half seductive animal.
After the meticulous preparations, Tessa and the other trinkets were led on leashes downstairs to Damien’s grand ballroom. At the door, a tag with the number four was clamped to Tessa’s collar. For the remainder of Damien’s ball she would be known as Trinket Four.
With their valets leading them, the six trinkets were taken into a lavish room with gleaming chandeliers, violin music, and the sounds of happily chattering guests.
There were several hundred people inside, dressed, not expressly for sex or for sadomasochistic games, but for a fine dress ball: some in long sequined gowns, others with daring cleavage and skirts slit nearly to the hip. There were some garbed in the finery of sexual domination, leather, chains and lace.
As Tessa was marched through the throng of people, she and the other trinkets were stared at with wide-eyed looks of haughty arrogance. For a moment, Tessa relived the bizarre day at Miles’ luncheon, thinking these men and women were clones of those other horrid people, if not the very same ones. But the further she moved into the room, the more apparent it became that the night was for sex. A glimpse of tit, a pussy flashed, a hand fondling ass cheeks, lust permeated the room with a cloud of sexual expectation.
Each trinket in turn was position
ed at a particular point in the ballroom where there was a pedestal waiting for them. When Tessa reached the two-foot high granite column, her valet pulled her up short on her leash. Helping her up the awkward step, she stood heads above Damien’s guests, exhibited in all her seductive splendor. Trinket Four.
Her valet joined her on the pedestal, long enough to secure her hands above her with her wrists attached to a sturdy hook hanging over her head.
Bound, Trinket Four remained stock-still, as the first rustle of excitement rippled through the crowd and died away. She and her fellow trinkets were left ignored until their services were required, their valets standing patiently beside them.
Chapter Eighteen
“This one,” the woman said.
“She’s a fine one,” the man at her side replied.
“I love blondes, you know that,” the woman said. “They do show their marks much more quickly than brunettes with darker skins.”
The man nodded to the valet and Trinket Four was slowly released from a “hands over head” agony that had gone on for nearly two hours.
“We’ll whip her here to begin with,” the woman said. She herself was a brunette, with hair pulled back from her face and fixed in a bun at the base of her neck. She wore a gown that draped deeply in front and back, the inside of her breasts bobbing into view with each move she made. Her rear cleft was visible as she walked with a sexy swish to her hips.
“Grab your legs,” the woman ordered, looking up at the slave on the pedestal.
Trinket Four strained to comply. Her arms and legs ached, but she was nonetheless determined not to falter, especially when this was the first demand that had been made of her.
She bent down, grabbed her ankles and locked her knees, afraid the lash might cause her to lose her balance. Her muscles clenched, waiting for the first blow to strike.
