CHAPTER FIVE: "Food for Thought"
DINNER WAS FORMAL. It began promptly at 8:00 p.m. after cocktails in the
dining room. Lady Meranda Augusta's guests had flown and/or driven in from all
over the world for this exceptional and unusual tourney.
Masters and Mistresses sported their finest dinner jackets and formal
gowns. Although elegant fabrics were the order of the day, there were some
spectacular creations in leather and latex.
Lady Meranda Augusta, as hostess, was resplendent in a piercingly blue
latex formfitting sheath. It fit her as smooth and snug as the famous "Happy
Birthday Mr. President" dress adorned its wearer. Happily, Meranda shared the
same lush hourglass-shaped female form as that renowned blonde: at slightly over
5 foot 4 and 130 pounds, she too was all voluptuous curves.
With a toss of her honey coloured shoulder length hair, Meranda
sensuously glided to the podium placed at the picture window overlooking the
"Ladies and gentlemen," she began. Her voice boomed overtop the
chattering of conversations and clinking of glasses. "Dinner will be served in a
few moments, and then we will all have an opportunity to know one another. And
tomorrow of course, " she paused, the room still with anticipation, "Tomorrow we
will have our game."
Lady Meranda smiled at the outburst of applause and cheers from her
"But there are one or two rules I would like to mention. Tonight, after
dinner, we will have the annual parade of slaves." Meranda paused as hoots and
hollers broke out. "Remember, tonight there is to be no trading, swapping or
selling of slaves. Neither a lender nor a borrower nor a seller be!" She smiled
sweetly. "Tonight, that is. Tomorrow night, who knows?"
Meranda nodded at the footman, then wiggled her way back to her table,
greeting several of her guests as she passed. The footman, in turn, knocked on
the swinging doors behind him.
The serving teams began entering the room, two at a time. Male slaves,
each naked from the neck down, hooded, arms bound tightly behind in a single
glove, carried trays fastened by chains to their neck collars and waist belts.
Females, obviously the servers, high stepped en pointe, their naked buttocks
jiggling as they pranced along in ballet boots. Each female led a male, their
pairing joined by a length of chain locked to their respective neck collars. The
females had some mobility in their arms although they too were in bondage.
Chains leading from wrist cuffs to waist belts allowed the female slaves just
enough movement to take a plate from a tray and present it to the awaiting
Master or Mistress. Of course, they had to be very careful not to droop the
chain dangling from their nipple rings across a plate, let alone drop the dish.
Alison scanned the room looking for Julia. She spotted her pet slavegirl
serving some tables over. Alison smiled at the sight. Julia had excellent table
manners. She had trained Julia well. "Pity she isn't wearing her maid's
costume", Alison thought. "She looks so cute in it."
With the ringing of a bell, the conversational buzz in the dining room
quietly softened, then stopped. Still at her table, Lady Meranda Augusta had
risen to her feet, a small black box in her hand.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she began over the clatter of silver on china.
The room slowly stilled. "I have a new diversion for your dining pleasure. You
will notice a small black box like this one," she raised her hand, "in the
centre of your table. It is a remote control device. Here's how it works."
Lady Meranda pushed a button on the device.
"nnNNNHHHhh!" A female slave in the corner of the room suddenly began
to moan and groan.. The plate she was holding fell to the floor with a crash.
"Oh! Unh! Ohhhh!" the girl was gasping out. Her hips bucked
The room came alive with startled conversation. Lady Meranda rang her
bell once more.
"You'll notice all the servers are wearing what look like chastity
devices. For your amusement, some of them are fitted with either vibrating
dildos or electroshock stimulators."
The gathering "oooed" their surprise. Several applauded Lady Meranda's
"Thank you," she said modestly. "But here's the amusing aspect to this
bit of dinnertime entertainment.
"First, your table's remote will not necessarily activate the slave
serving you - you'll just have to watch and see who reacts when you press the
button. It might be a female, it might be a male server whose belt is set for
"And here's the part I'm sure you'll like best: any slave dropping a
plate or otherwise not fulfilling his or her duties, even if they are being
stimulated, will be severely punished - and I will determine the punishment."
More scattered applause interrupted her words.
"For example, look for this lovely" - she indicated the now trembling
serving girl being held roughly by the footman - "on the 12th hole tomorrow.
Enjoy your dinner!"
The room burst into applause as she sat down. Instantly there was a
scramble at each table. Male and female slaves alike were suddenly subjected to
painful pleasurable stimulation as buttons were clicked around the room. No one
knew who was stimulating whom, and no one cared - it was too much fun watching
plates and glasses and wine bottles being juggled, and often spilled. The cry of
"this one!" and "she spilt my dinner!" mixed with hoots of raucous laughter
created a din in the room. The footman was busy scurrying from slave to slave,
marking those who were doomed with a bright red 'X'.
The Master seated next to Alison, a Bedouin dressed in formal dinner
jacket and white burnoose, jumped back as the slave girl serving him started.
She reached for the meat entree with her bare hands as it slid from the plate
and launched itself like a sauteed projectile toward his lap. Alas for both, her
wrist chain pulled taut and the meat slipped from her grasp. With a plop! it
landed on his thigh. Demonstrating amazing aplomb, the Master rose, muttering
oaths in Arabic. He picked the meat from his lap and wiped it across her breast
and chest. The meat left a greasy 'X' on her naked flesh. The slave girl
"Hassan, why not have her lick it off your leg?" amused one of the other
table guests. "It's not as good as dry cleaning but ever so much more fun!"
The footman appeared and surveyed the scene. He bowed respectfully.
"Sir, we will of course have your trousers cleaned overnight."
The table laughed as Hassan smiled and unzipped his fly and began
removing his pants.
"Well, if I'm going to go without dinner," he said, "I'll have to be
satisfied some other way!"
Alison and the others at the table howled their glee.
"I'll have a new plate brought to you, Sir," the footman said ignoring
Hassan's dangling member. "Perhaps Sir would care to retire and change while a
new dish is prepared?"
Hassan growled his agreement, and zipped his pants closed.
"But what will Hassan have for his 'just desserts'?" mocked Alison. "Pun
Lady Meranda's footman turned to Alison.
"Dessert will be my Lady Meranda's favourite: fresh local strawberries,
soaked in liqueur and their juices, atop sweet biscuit drizzled with rum and
garnished with creme fraiche, Mistress."
Alison's face lit up. She clapped her hands with delight. "Strawberry
shortcake!" she exclaimed.
"Indeed, Master Hassan will have 'strawberry shortcake', Mistress" the
footman said with a bow, his expression blank.