After Dinner

When the sedan arrived at the Chateau, one of the Valets, Pierre, met it and took the suitcase from the trunk and politely asked Lady Pamela to follow him. Although the Valets took great care to phrase their orders in a most courteous manner, it did not mask the fact that they would not hesitate to use brutal violence if they were not obeyed. Of course, he did not call her “Lady Pamela”, just Pamela.

As they entered Madame Desclos’s office, the Chatelaine of the Chateau extended a welcome to Pamela and they chatted amicably for a few minutes. Pamela was informed that after she had changed into the proper attire of a Chattel, she was to sweep the third-floor hallway, where the Chattels lived, and the second-floor hallway, where the Masters lived. Also, the rear set of stairs that the Chattel used, and the front set, which only the Masters used. As well as the main-floor hallway. Pierre would show her where the broom closet was.

All the Chattel were assigned minor domestic chores when they were not engaged in seeing to the needs of the male members.

As Pamela arose from the chair in front of Madame Desclos’s desk, the Chatelaine added, “There is no rush, of course. You have the rest of the afternoon before dinner to do your task. You may take a bath first, if you wish, after your journey.”

*****

When the Senior Valet announced the end of the evening meal, the eight women sitting at the long table, four per side, silently rose. Two of them, whose turn it was to serve dinner in the Dominant’s dining room, headed down the hallway. The other six started for the rear stairs to return to their rooms. There, each would wait for a valet to chain her to her bed for the night, unless one of the Masters summoned her.

Pamela was lying on top of the narrow cot that was shoved up against the wall, wondering how her family was back in England. A wry smile curled across her lips. If she knew her husband, he was probably down in London whooping it up with the lads. It was he would had enticed her into this lifestyle, about the time that Elizabeth, her eldest, was two. (Her only daughter, actually. Edith had not yet been born. Or even conceived.) Then, eighteen years later, when Elizabeth sat down at the dinner table wearing the ring, Roland nearly had a stroke. She chuckled as she remembered that meal.

Further musing was interrupted by Pierre opening her bedroom door without knocking. The Valets never knocked on any of the Chattels’ doors. Chattels did not have a right to privacy or concealment at the Chateau.

“Would you be so kind as to accompany me to the basement?” Pierre asked. “A Master has requested you for entertainment,”

Immediately Pamela was on her feet, her gaze down turned as was proper. She longed to ask who the man was, but she had been a member of The Society for far too long to make that break in etiquette. Despite her calm demeanor, as she followed the Valet meekly down the stairs, her heart was racing in anticipation.

Upon entering, Pamela risked a quick scan of the room but saw no one else was present. That probably meant the Valet had orders to bind her in some fashion in preparation for the... entertainment.

“May I have your dress, please?” he asked, holding out a calloused hand for the finely sewn garment. He nodded in approval when he saw that she had on thigh-high stockings, held up by the silicone bands at the tops, and black stiletto heels.

He guided her over to some strange contraption made of wrought iron pipe. Two stanchions of pipe were threaded into flanges that were bolted to the floor. A cross-length of pipe connected the two upright sections. On each end of the cross-piece were two ninety degree elbows, loosely fastened. Also near each end of the transverse pipe were heavy metal shackles attached to an o-ring by a single link of chain.

Following Pierre’s instruction, she bent forward, resting her chin on the rubber tape that was wrapped around the center of the cross-length, and extended her arms. After the shackles had been bolted shut around Pamela’s wrists, the Valet placed another section of pipe across the back of her neck, and inserted each end of the pipe into the loose elbows. Once all bolts were tightened, locking her in place, he went around behind her and knelt down. Two more shackles, with a foot of chain that was attached to eye-bolts in the floor, were secured around her ankles.

Pamela had extremely limited movement, but she craned her neck as best she could to look at the Valet squatting almost directly behind her nether regions. With her legs chained wide apart, and she trapped between the two pieces of cold iron, forcing her to lean far over, she knew that he had a ring-side seat to the secrets of her vagina and anus.

By this point in her life, Pamela had been in countless humiliating positions and the fact that the Valet was scrutinizing her intimate openings so intensely was causing her to become arouse. Surely the man could see the moistening of her sex. She wondered if he could smell it as well.

The sounds of the door opening and foot-steps descending on the stairs shifted her attention elsewhere.

“Yes, that will do quite nicely, Pierre,” a deep, rumbling voice said. A familiar voice that Pamela recognized. “Thank you.”

Those words and the nod of the man’s head served as a dismissal for the Valet, who departed to leave the two alone.