Girl's Day

I lounge on my couch, legs outstretched and a champagne glass in my hand, lazily watching the television across the room. It’s just past 10 on a beautiful late-Spring Saturday morning. I tilt the champagne glass to my lips and drain the last of my mimosa, inclining the flute away from me when I finish. From across the room, a house boy gets to his feet from where he was sat on the carpet. I think his name is Matt—he’s on loan from a friend for the training aspects of today’s activities.  He takes the glass from my hand and hurries away towards the kitchen.   

A floor below, I can hear the hum of a vacuum cleaner and the chatter of male voices. I suppose it’s good that the boys are getting to know each other. Many of them are meeting for the first time today, a small offering for the Ladies on their way. Matt returns from the kitchen, a fresh mimosa balanced on his tray. He’s a pretty thing, which is why I’ve chosen to keep him up here while the rest of the boys are tasked with cleaning. All tanned skin and tight muscles, naked but for the collar around his neck and the cage on his cock. As he bends at his waist to offer me the drink, I visibly lick my lips. My friend has good taste. I take the drink and wave the boy back to his corner, I’ll have time to play with him later. 

Sighing, I surf through the channels, nothing in particular catching my attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the house boy shiver. 

“House boy,” I call, looking at him fully. He straightens. “Remind me of your name again.” 

“Mark, Mistress,” he replies softly. 

“Mark,” I purr. “You’ll refer to me as ‘Headmistress’ from now on.” 

“Yes, Headmistress.” Mark drops his gaze, a blush crawling up his neck. 

“How long have you served Goddess Lia?” I follow up. 

“Three months now, Headmistress.” 

I nod, taking a sip of the mimosa as my phone lights up in my lap. It’s a message from the driver, he’s picked up the last of my friends. I grin and pocket my cellular, deciding it’s time to inspect the house boys’ work. I straighten and get up from the couch, careful not to spill my drink. Mark watches me expectantly. I tell him to stay put as I pass. 

The door to my dungeon is a heavy, menacing looking thing—thick black wood with an ancient metal knocker in the shape of a snarling panther that I had found at an estate sale. I haul the door open and step inside. Spread about the room are the other six house boys. Some pause their work as I enter. Most of my kink furniture has been packed up and moved to the far wall in favor of the four armchairs that sit in the middle of the room. My head house boy, Paul, hurries over to me and I grace him with a rare smile. 

“It looks good,” I praise. “The Ladies will be here soon, so make sure everybody is ready.” 

“Yes, Headmistress,” Paul answers, nodding as he turns to the address the other boys. He’s an older man, over 50, the oldest of the boys today. Ever reliable, Paul has been one of my domestic slaves since I moved to the city four years ago. When I started the Artemis Society, a group of dominant women in the city, Paul was an easy choice for head house boy. 

After a quick walk through of the house to ensure all of my given chores were fulfilled, I head to my bedroom. Today is a day about relaxation and pampering and my outfit reflects that fact. My hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail and my makeup is light and natural. I’ve foregone contacts in favor of my light pink Michael Kors frames. I wear a tight black halter top, barely covering my supple breasts, and my favorite pair of black yoga pants. The tight fabric brings the curves of my body into sharp relief, an hourglass with long legs made longer by the four inch heel, ankle-high boots I wear. I turn away from the mirror and head towards the balcony door. 

A Spring breeze refreshes me as I walk out onto my balcony. I close the door behind me and walk to the end of the balcony, leaning against a pillar as I drink more of my mimosa. It’s a beautiful day and I take a moment to enjoy the promise of summer in the air. Warm and lovely, accented by a cool, sweet-smelling breeze. The dogwoods on my block are blossoming, their branches of white flowers looking like bunches of low hanging clouds. Pollen floats along on the breeze, giving the day a hazy, dream-like quality. The perfect backdrop for living out a fantasy. 

After a few more minutes, I finally catch a glimpse of the stretch SUV turning down the street. I met my driver, Lewis, about a year ago. He owns the luxury vehicle, and I had hired him for a Society event. Turned out that Lewis was interested in an invite to said event, and we had come to an agreement. The limo stops before my front gate and Lewis bounds around the side to open the door. 

The door to my dungeon is a heavy, menacing looking thing—thick black wood with an ancient metal knocker in the shape of a snarling panther that I had found at an estate sale. I haul the door open and step inside. Spread about the room are the other six house boys. Some pause their work as I enter. Most of my kink furniture has been packed up and moved to the far wall in favor of the four armchairs that sit in the middle of the room. My head house boy, Paul, hurries over to me and I grace him with a rare smile. 

“It looks good,” I praise. “The Ladies will be here soon, so make sure everybody is ready.” 

“Yes, Headmistress,” Paul answers, nodding as he turns to the address the other boys. He’s an older man, over 50, the oldest of the boys today. Ever reliable, Paul has been one of my domestic slaves since I moved to the city four years ago. When I started the Artemis Society, a group of dominant women in the city, Paul was an easy choice for head house boy. 

After a quick walk through of the house to ensure all of my given chores were fulfilled, I head to my bedroom. Today is a day about relaxation and pampering and my outfit reflects that fact. My hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail and my makeup is light and natural. I’ve foregone contacts in favor of my light pink Michael Kors frames. I wear a tight black halter top, barely covering my supple breasts, and my favorite pair of black yoga pants. The tight fabric brings the curves of my body into sharp relief, an hourglass with long legs made longer by the four inch heel, ankle-high boots I wear. I turn away from the mirror and head towards the balcony door. 

A Spring breeze refreshes me as I walk out onto my balcony. I close the door behind me and walk to the end of the balcony, leaning against a pillar as I drink more of my mimosa. It’s a beautiful day and I take a moment to enjoy the promise of summer in the air. Warm and lovely, accented by a cool, sweet-smelling breeze. The dogwoods on my block are blossoming, their branches of white flowers looking like bunches of low hanging clouds. Pollen floats along on the breeze, giving the day a hazy, dream-like quality. The perfect backdrop for living out a fantasy. 

After a few more minutes, I finally catch a glimpse of the stretch SUV turning down the street. I met my driver, Lewis, about a year ago. He owns the luxury vehicle, and I had hired him for a Society event. Turned out that Lewis was interested in an invite to said event, and we had come to an agreement. The limo stops before my front gate and Lewis bounds around the side to open the door. 

Domina Akasha climbs out first, taking Lewis’s hand and unfolding. As usual, her gothic look is in stark contrast to the sunny day around her. She’s is a mirthful woman, always smiling and laughing, but she can be crueler than anyone I know. She brushes her scarf over her shoulder and makes a face at Lewis before spotting me up above and waving wildly. I smile back as Lewis helps Mistress Nikki out next. She’s a calm woman with a kind face, but I witnessed her wielding a whip like some sort of mythical creature only three nights ago. Last out of the limo is Goddess Mirror, her skin shining in the sun. Mirror is a cut throat investment broker by day, Dominatrix by night. She adjusts her mirrored sunglasses and throws a lazy salute my way before following the other Ladies to my front door. 

I settle into one of the patio chairs. From downstairs, I can hear Paul answering the door. I toy with my empty glass, wishing that I had brought Mark out here with me but not wanting to get up and find him. It doesn’t take long for the Ladies to get up to the balcony. I give Paul my empty glass and tell him to gather the other house boys.   

“I’m so glad we’re doing this,” Mirror announces, dropping into one of the patio chairs gracefully. She toes off one of her shoes to reveal her bare foot, the paint on her toes chipped and peeling. “As you can see, I’m in desperate need of a pedicure.” 

“Oh, please,” Akasha counters, sitting down as well. “You just like to have your toes licked.” 

Nikki laughs, taking the last remaining seat. Paul returns with my drink and the other house boys. I smile wickedly and wave them out onto the balcony, not caring who sees them in their various states of undress. There’s two boys for each Lady. I take Paul and Mark and leave the rest to be divvied up. Akasha is the first to act, pointing at two of the boys—Greg and Lewis. Greg she sends to make her a drink and Lewis she directs to rub her feet. Nikki and Mirror are quick to follow. 

We spend about thirty minutes on the balcony, the sun filtering through the verdant canopy above warming our skin. Mirror prattles on about the stock market before Akasha cuts her off to instead talk about how she tortured her paypig last night. After thirty minutes of chatting casually, we decide to move inside for the main event. 

The boys prepare the pedicure tubs in the bathroom, filling them with hot, soapy water as the Ladies and I take our seats in the armchairs set up in the dungeon. A few minutes later, my feet are soaking in an Epsom infused bath. Paul gives an excellent, precise pedicure and it’s not long before I’m sinking into the worn leather of my chair. For a while, I say nothing, I simply enjoy a moment to relax, listening to the voices of my friends as they discuss lovers and spouses. I roll my eyes and send Mark to fetch me an espresso. 

“So, Ladies,” I finally sigh, sitting upright to address the group. “What do you think of my humble offerings today?” I wave a lazy hand towards the men kneeled at my friends’ feet. 

Domina Akasha lifts a sudsy foot from the bath and presses it against the face of the man before her. His name is Stew or Steven, a middle aged man sneaking away from his family on a Saturday to strip naked and rub Akasha’s feet. Stew or Steven goes absolutely rigid, not even daring to breathe. Akasha digs her toes into his cheek.  

“I think they’ll do just fine,” Akasha purrs, the vicious gleam that is her namesake dancing in her dark eyes. She pats Stew or Steven twice on the cheek with her foot before dropping it back into the tub with a soapy splash that leaves him dripping. 

Mark returns, a cup balanced on his tray. My eyes slide over his body, my lip working between my teeth. My gaze lingers on the pathetic cock dangling, trapped between his legs. As I wonder if I’m going to let him out today, my fingers slip between my thighs. I’m quickly growing bored of pedicures. I want to play. 

When Mark bends to offer me the drink, I eye the way he grips the tray. My lips pursed, I take the small mug from the tray. But I reach out with my other hand also and trap Mark’s wrist in my grip. 

“Is that a thumb on my tray?” I ask in a crisp tone, eyes on the offending digit. 

I can hear the sharp intake of air of Mark’s gasp. I watch him struggle to correct his grip, but I don’t let him, squeezing his wrist hard instead. From my left, I can hear my friends take interest. 

“I asked you a question, house boy,” I snap, looking up at Mark’s wide eyes. “Is that a thumb on my tray?” 

“No, Headmistress!” Mark gasps, again trying to right his mistake. 

“Are you calling the Headmistress a liar?!” Mirror, the closest, cries. “We both see the thumb right there!” 

Mark looks back and forth between us, sputtering. 

I knock the tray from his hands. It hits the ground with a loud clatter and I follow it by overturning the mug in my hand. The dark liquid splashes against the tiles around Marks feet. 

“Clean that up,” I bark. 

“Yes, Headmistress,” Mark mutters, going to his knees. He hesitates for a moment before prostrating fully. Cautiously, he begins to lap up the spilled espresso on the floor. 

I direct Paul to dry off my feet. I’m much too eager for doling out punishments to let Paul finish the pedicure. I cross the room to my armoire, throwing it open to reveal my collection of toys. 

“Well, Ladies,” I call over my shoulder to my friends. “What do we think an appropriate punishment is for a thumb on my tray?” 

“You should make him hold that tray for an hour,” Mirror suggests, laughing wickedly, “with weights.” 

I twirl one of my locks around my finger, thinking. It’s a good idea, but I can do her one better. I dig through a drawer for what I want. 

“I like that suggestion,” I reply, turning to show what I’ve selected. “But I think he should do it while wearing a humbler.” 

Mark glances up at me, fear and anticipation in his eyes and it makes the predator inside of me growl hungrily. I feel myself growing wet. I move quickly, putting one hand at the back of Mark’s neck and pushing his face down as I crouch behind him. 

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” I warn, reaching between Mark’s legs. I set the device in place, tightening the thing until Mark winces in pain, and then tightening it a little bit more. “This is a humbler,” I explain, withdrawing my hands and straightening. “Do you know what it does?” Mark shakes his head, no. “Try to stand up.” He does just that, quickly finding his balls caught in a vice and trapped behind his thighs. Crying out, he falls back onto his knees. “Now you know what it does,” I chuckle. 

I settle into my chair. Mark, on his hands and knees, watches me carefully.  

“Grab your tray,” I direct. The other house boys watch us, some with excitement, others with pity. 

Mark does as I ask, reaching for the discarded tray nearby. I beckon him closer with a finger, and he crawls cautiously towards me, struggling to adjust to the humbler.  

“On your knees,” I command, “hold the tray out in front of you with both hands…straight in front of you…good.” I inspect Mark’s form with a critical eye. “Don’t sit on your haunches. Show me that your Mistress has trained you well.” He adjusts himself and I nod. 

“How long do you think you could stay like that?” Domina Akasha asks. 

“Uhm,” Mark says nervously, eyes flitting towards Fae. “Maybe five minutes, Mistress.” 

“Just five minutes?!” Akasha cries. 

Mark balks. 

“Maybe…maybe ten minutes,” he corrects. 

“Ten minutes?” Akasha repeats. Mark nods. “Ten minutes it is. Who has the timer?” 

“I do,” Nikki chimes, holding up her phone. “Ten minutes, starting now.” 

I get to my feet and head back to the armoire. From within, I produce a bag of small weights. Pulling three one pound weights from the bag, I drop them onto Mark’s tray. He looks up at me with surprise. 

“Did you think we’d make this easy for you?” I ask. 

“N-no, Headmistress,” he stutters, and I laugh.  

I drop back into my chair and the minutes begin to pass. Every thirty seconds or so, I add another weight to the tray. It’s not long before the tops of Mark’s arms are beginning to shake. I check the timer, four and a half minutes.  

“What are you going to do when he drops the tray?” Mirror asks, the cadence of her voice light and full of laughter. 

I turn to look at her and find that she’s cradling a crop in her lap. All of my friends look like hungry wolves, licking their lips, ready for the kill. Mark is beautiful in distress and my black lace panties are entirely soaked from the small, breathy sounds he makes. His arms are seriously shaking now, he’s going to drop the tray.  

The corner of my mouth curls into a crooked, Cheshire grin. I palm a two pound weight for a moment before leaning over and dropping it noisily onto the tray. Immediately, Mark’s elbows buckle and the tray and the weights go tumbling to the ground, smashing into the tile with a loud clatter. My friends laugh. Marie announces that it’s been just over seven minutes. I leap from my chair and without a moment of hesitation, I lift the foot tub from the ground and upend it over Mark’s head. He gasps as he’s soaked with the cooling water and the other Ladies howl with laughter behind me. 

I admire the scene I’ve made. This beautiful boy on his knees before me, panting hard and entirely soaked, he stares up at me with wide, apprehensive eyes. I can’t wait to watch his flesh turn pink and purple. I can’t wait to leave him a gasping, pleading mess on the floor. I can’t wait to witness the horrible things my friends are going to do with him. I reach up and pull the elastic from my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders. I run a hand through my bangs and smile down at my victim.  

“Ladies,” I purr, turning to look at my friends, each of them sitting upright and watching me with hungry gazes, “let’s begin.”