"But my fate may be considerably worse than one more night of starvation. At the end of the evening, I will ask you to decide how much pleasure you have received. You will be asked to vote on whether you have enjoyed this evening more than most entertainments or not. If the majority of you do not believe that I have provided you with more pleasure than you receive at other entertainments then you may decide that I will not be permitted to eat anything all day tomorrow or the following night. No breakfast or dinner for me. If I have not made you happy, you may decide that there will be two slaves in Lord Snow's kennel who suffer a third day of fasting. And I will suffer even more than the slave who loses tonight because my fast will not have been broken, even by so much as a single canape."

The gentlemen were appraising Irene with frank interest. Her slender slave body was displayed to advantage in the gold lame dress. More than one of them was wondering how much leaner she would be if she were starved for another thirty-six hours.

Irene was wondering the same thing. She prayed that she would not have to find out.

"Gentlemen, I give you slaves eager to serve you."

The five slaves wasted no time approaching the gentlemen and offering their bodies.

Irene had primed the pump well. Not a single one of the slaves was taken in the a.s.s or c.u.n.t. Every one of them was ordered to her knees and told to start sucking c.o.c.k.

They looked ravenous in their eagerness to get something in their mouths. Like a flock of vultures bobbing their heads over carrion.

Irene hoped that none of them tried to take a bite of meat. The slave who let a tooth graze a c.o.c.k would be punished cruelly. Irene had once heard a story about a slave who had been accused of hurting a gentleman with her teeth. Every tooth in her head had been pulled so that she could never bite again and a permanent tracheotomy valve installed in her throat so that she never again needed to breath through her nose or mouth. After those modifications, her mouth could be raped for hours at a time without a break. She spent the rest of her life on her knees in a brothel lubricating men's c.o.c.ks with her tears.

Irene hoped that the story was apocryphal a cautionary tale whispered between slaves late at night to warn each other against letting their attention wander when performing f.e.l.l.a.t.i.o but she couldn't be sure. It was entirely possible that such a horror had been visited upon some poor slave.

Tonight, there were five slaves available to twelve men. To the slaves' dismay, not one of them was offered a treat after sucking off their first c.o.c.k because another was already waiting to fill her mouth.

For the first twenty minutes, the slaves ate nothing but c.u.m by the spoonful.

Once all the gentlemen in the room had been sucked off at least once, the fun began. The men began drifting over to the buffet and picking up a canape or two.

The slaves stayed on their knees when a gentleman approached with a dab of salmon mousse on a cuc.u.mber slice or bits of mushroom and caramelized onion piled on a rice cracker. The slave nibbled it directly from his hand. Irene had told them that they were not to take any food into their own hands but could only eat it directly from the gentlemen's fingers.

It was natural that they would lick the gentleman's fingers clean and kiss them dry afterward.

The gentlemen seemed to get as much pleasure out of that as from getting their c.o.c.ks sucked dry. It was natural for them to pat the slaves' heads and stroke their hair because they were at waist level.

Irene had given instructions to the cook that the canapes would be exotic and delicious, tasty enough to please a baron, but not filling. There would be no deviled eggs or steak on toast triangles here. A slave could eat a couple dozen of these dainty morsels bits of flavor on thin slices of vegetable or light crackers and not feel even slightly full. Even the slave who was the most successful at begging treats would still be hungry by the end of the evening.

As the slaves were being treated like pet dogs, they were soon being f.u.c.ked like b.i.t.c.hes. They stayed on their hands and knees while men mounted them from behind and f.u.c.ked them like animals.

Irene couldn't see if the men were using the slave's c.u.n.ts or a.s.sholes. It didn't matter as long as the men were happy.

Judging by the smiles on the men's faces, they were having a great time.

Irene had not prohibited the slaves from standing up, but none did. Once they went down on their knees, they stayed there. It was a natural response when they were being hand-fed, patted, and f.u.c.ked like dogs.

Slaves are always subservient, but this entertainment elevated subservience to the highest level of artistry.

Irene not only envied every bite that the slaves ate, she envied every violation of their c.u.n.ts, mouths, and a.s.sholes. She hadn't been f.u.c.ked in weeks. She desperately wanted to feel a c.o.c.k inside her inside any orifice but there was no hope of relief in her foreseeable future.

She silently d.a.m.ned Lord Snow to h.e.l.l where the fires of Satan's furnaces would soon boil him into Lord Steam.

When the festivities wound down and most of the slaves were begging treats by nuzzling the nearest gentleman's hand rather than needing to offer service, Irene gestured discreetly to Lord Snow. He nodded in approval. She mounted the small dais again. "Gentlemen, if I can have your attention please. Our entertainment is drawing to a close. I hope that you enjoyed yourselves." There were some nods. "I mean, I really, really hope that you enjoyed yourselves." She looked toward the canape buffet with longing and earned some quiet laughter.

"Our first order of business is to select the slave who pleased you less than the others. Slaves, form a line along the wall next to me."

The slaves rose to their feet and strolled to the wall to form a line.

"Apple, step forward." She did. "Gentlemen how many found Apple exceptionally pleasurable? A show of hands, please."

She made a quick count. Eight.

"Step back and Lime, step forward." When she did, Irene asked for a vote. Nine.

When the gentlemen had voted on all five slaves, Irene announced the final tally. "Gentlemen, Tamarind has received only seven votes. Though most of you found her pleasing, she was not quite as pleasing as the others. Therefore, she will not be eating another bite until the day after tomorrow."

Tamarind began to weep softly.

"Hey," one of the gentlemen said someone that Irene did not recognize. "She was d.a.m.ned good. As good as any slave that I've ever had. She doesn't deserve to be punished."

"Yeah," Sir Lawrence said. "There are only twelve of us and seven of us thought that she was exceptional."

Someone else chimed in. "They were all great. They all deserve to eat."

Irene was shocked. She hadn't expected the gentlemen to show such compa.s.sion for a slave. It was completely out of character. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but all the slaves understood the rules before we started. It wouldn't be fair to the others if I changed the rules now, would it? I can't do it."

The grumbling sounded menacing.

Lord Snow stepped forward and faced his guests. "Irene is right, gentlemen. She can't let Tamarind eat tomorrow." There were groans of dismay. "But I can," he said. "For her exceptional effort, and for the exceptional effort of all these slaves, Tamarind will not have to watch the others eat breakfast, she will join them."

The guests applauded Lord Snow's generosity.

Tamarind fell to her knees and kissed her owner's hand.

When the hubbub began to subside, Irene raised her hands. "Thank you, Lord Snow. Now, the last item of business. Did any of you gentleman find the entertainment tonight less pleasurable than most of the entertainments that you have attended?"

No hands were raised.

But before Irene could breathe a sigh of relief, Sir Lawrence spoke up. "That was not quite the question that you said that you would ask. You said that you would ask if tonight's entertainment was more pleasurable than most, not less. It's my understanding that you need a majority vote on that question before you will be permitted to eat tomorrow."

"You are right, sir." The gentleman is always right when his opinion differs from a slave's. "So let me ask you"

"Before you call a vote, I would like to make a point. I think that we can all agree that tonight's entertainment was out of the ordinary and we all took much pleasure in it. But our pleasure was marred just now. I think it was quite clear to all of us that we wished the rules to be bent in favor of the slave who gave so many of us so much pleasure and you refused to do it until Lord Snow intervened. I take no pleasure in being defied by a slave.

"I will not forget how you stood around in your lovely dress, untouchable, while these eager naked slaves served our every desire and then you decided that one of them should starve while you eat.

"So I, for one, will vote that you not be fed tomorrow."

There were mutters of agreement among the guests.

Irene's heart fell, but she mustered her courage and put the question to the a.s.sembled gentlemen. "Gentlemen, how many of you found tonight's entertainment more pleasurable than most of the entertainments that you have attended?"

Five gentlemen raise their hands. Seven did not.

Irene would not eat breakfast or dinner tomorrow.

She wanted to weep as Tamarind had done, but steeled her courage and said, "I'm sorry to have failed you. I will starve again tomorrow, as is your wish. Goodnight, and may luck be with you always."

When she turned toward the other slaves, she saw looks of satisfaction on their faces. She had put them through a considerable ordeal for the night's entertainment an ordeal that they thought completely unnecessary and they found it just that she continue to stave while they filled their bellies with breakfast and dinner tomorrow.

Peach, in particular, looked positively gleeful.

Breakfast was a misery. Irene had told the slaves that the loser would be forced to watch the other slaves eat. But after Tamarind was pardoned by Lord Snow, she was the only loser.

Nickel took pleasure in ordering her to sit at the breakfast table in front of an empty plate while the other slaves slurped their porridge in exaggerated delight, slurping loudly and telling each other how exceptionally delicious it was this morning.

Then they commented on how wonderful the canapes had tasted the evening before, just to remind Irene that she had not been able to sample even one of those morsels.

They were merciless. For two hungry days, they had resented Irene for depriving them of food. It didn't matter to them that she had deprived herself equally. As far as the slaves were concerned, it was all her fault. She had designed the horrible entertainment and she deserved to suffer for it.

After breakfast, Apple and Lime washed the dishes. Nickel would have ordered Irene to do them herself, just to torture her by having to watch the leftover porridge get washed down the drain, but she feared that Irene might manage to sneak a couple of bites by wiping her finger on the dirty bowls and licking it off.

She was determined that Irene wouldn't taste even a crumb of food until another twenty-four long hours had pa.s.sed.

When the dishes were finished, Nickel told Irene that she was to wait in the pleasure room for Lord Snow.

Irene waited alone on her knees in the center of the room for several minutes.

Lord Snow couldn't be pleased by the outcome of the entertainment. The majority of his guests had decided that it was so badly handled that she, as director of the entertainment, should be starved for a third day in a row.

As soon as he entered from the billiard-room tunnel, she said, "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"For failing you. For failing to provide an adequate entertainment for your guests."

He looked around. "Are you all alone?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then stop talking like an idiot. Get off our knees and sit down in a chair."

He stepped out of the room and then returned with a picnic basket. The most wonderful odors in the world drifted out of it. Her mouth filled with drool.

"Eat up," he said, handing it to her.

"Sir? I can't eat today."

"I told you to stop talking like an idiot. I own you. I can feed you anything I like any time I like and you d.a.m.n well better eat it or I'll have my whiphand take a strap to you."

She opened the basket.

She hadn't seen food like this since she had sold herself into slavery. Her last owner, a commoner, ate well, but he didn't eat like a lord.

She tried to be dainty as she devoured the roast quail, asparagus with orange sauce, roasted new potatoes, and cuc.u.mber salad, but failed. The most that she could do was to force herself to take the plate out of the basket and use the knife and fork provided. She wanted to dig into the basket with both hands and shove the food directly into her mouth.

The food was fresh and still hot. These weren't leftovers; someone had been cooking the meal since early this morning.

"Thank you so much," she said when the plate was clean. "That was the best-tasting food that I ever ate."

Lord Snow laughed in delight. "Starvation would make offal palatable."

"That was no offal," she said. A small burped erupted from her throat. She blushed bright red at her indiscretion. "Excuse me."

Lord Snow grinned. "You are excused. But it's my honor to thank you for the entertainment last night. It was splendid. My friends will remember it for a long, long time."

"I'm happy to hear you say that. But they voted against me. They voted that it had not been their most pleasurable entertainment."

"You know d.a.m.n well that was a bulls.h.i.t vote."

She knew no such thing. She hadn't attended enough entertainments to judge them objectively.

"In that gold outfit, you were the s.e.xiest thing that most of them had ever seen. They were frustrated as h.e.l.l because they weren't allowed to rip your clothes off and hump you like a b.i.t.c.h in heat. But even that wouldn't have made them vote against you if that d.a.m.ned Lawrence hadn't stirred them up. He made them feel like they had to prove that you weren't in charge. It was a bulls.h.i.t vote. Believe me, they loved your entertainment. I loved your entertainment. I can hardly wait to see what you come up with next time. Which will be on Sat.u.r.day."

Irene was barely listening. He lost her attention when he made her think about having her clothes ripped off and getting humped like a b.i.t.c.h in heat. G.o.d, she wanted that so badly she could barely stand it. She'd have gladly forgone the picnic basket if Lord Snow had been wiling to f.u.c.k her long and hard instead of feeding her.

She had to drag her attention back to the topic at hand. "Sat.u.r.day?"

"Right. Sat.u.r.day. I'm hosting a dinner for twenty-one couples. I'll ask Lady Snow to borrow a couple more slaves if you think they are necessary to entertain that many. It's a special dinner so I'd like everything to go well."

"We have five slaves, not counting me, so that would be less than one slave for every four gentlemen. I think we will need at least three more. I like to have at least one slave per three gentlemen."

"I have six slaves, not counting you. I want Nickel included in the entertainments. My kennel isn't large enough to justify a whiphand who isn't also available to service my guests."

"She isn't going to like that, much."

"Do I care?"

"Of course not. I'll find a place for her."

"I'll inform her myself. Don't worry. She'll know that it's not on your initiative that she'll be entertaining my guests. It'll be on my direct instruction."

"Thank you. She'll be more eager to partic.i.p.ate if she understands that." Irene knew that Nickel was going to blame her regardless, and would look for some way to get revenge. She would have to deal with that sooner or later.

Lord Snow looked at her for a time. "I'm not sure why your entertainment worked so well. It did. No question that it did. I've never seen guests look so content at the end of an evening. But I'm not sure that I understand why starving the slaves made a difference. Slaves are always eager to please and there are only so many ways to have s.e.x with one. A gentleman can get a b.l.o.w.j.o.b any time he wants. Any gentleman can order a slave to get on her hands and knees while he f.u.c.ks her. No slave would dare show anything less than complete enthusiasm. Two days of food deprivation made it special in some way that I can't pin down. How did you know that?"

"I didn't know for sure that it would. I was scared stiff that the entertainment would fall flat. That's why I was willing to endure the punishment of further starvation if it didn't work. So that you would know that I tried my best and was willing to put myself on the line."

"I knew that you would try your best anyway. And it didn't fall flat. But you must have had some inkling, some instinct, that starvation would make the slaves act in some special way."

"I had hopes. Slaves are almost always working to avoid punishment. I wanted to change that. When they were starving, the food was a reward. Slaves don't get many rewards and it showed. There's a big difference between falling to your knees in front of a man because you're afraid that he'll beat you and sucking up to him because you're hoping for a treat.

"The slaves couldn't help but express that difference in all kinds of subtle ways, from fawning at a man's feet to kissing his fingers. They were more willing to be forward. To beg for favors. The gentlemen liked it because it's something that they don't normally see. They don't often get their fingers kissed and they certainly don't get much sincere grat.i.tude from slaves.