Some hours later, Mrs. Dodge returned. This time she was carrying a green print dress and flat shoes. She hurled those at Flame the dress fluttered ineffectively through the air but the shoes struck her solidly in the chest and said, "Report to the back door of the house in five minutes for your afternoon duties."

The dress was a standard cotton housedress that slaves were given when they were required to come to the house. The shoes were the usual low flats.

There was no underwear.

As a lady, Irene had always seen the slave's housedress as a demeaning garment that covered the slave's body with a shapeless, poorly-tailored sack that made the slave almost s.e.xless.

Now, as a slave, feeling the housedress from the inside, Flame saw it entirely differently, though no less demeaning. It was nothing but a curtain to hide rampant s.e.xuality from public view. And, like a curtain, it could be raised in a flash to bare the naked flesh underneath for quick and convenient use.

She had never realized that if James had cornered one of his slaves in the laundry or pantry, he could have raised her skirt, f.u.c.ked her, and dropped it back over her in less time than it would have taken Irene to unlace the bodice on her dress.

She wondered if James had ever done that.

She wondered if Dodge were going to do that to her this evening.

The life of a slave was far less predictable than the life of a lady. That's what she had wanted and that's what she was getting. Unpredictability by the shovelful. Which included getting a rock-hard c.o.c.k shoved into her hot, steamy c.u.n.t at any time without warning.

The standard layout for houses with kennels was for slaves to move between them by one of two paths. For daily activities, the slave exited the kennel by a door to the outside and entered the house through an exterior door in this house, a door directly into the kitchen as opposed to James' manor, which had a kitchen courtyard with doors to both the kitchen and the service hallway.

For special events slaves providing entertainment in the drawing room after dinner, for example they used a covered corridor between the kennel's pleasure room and the drawing room or parlor in the house.

In James' manor, that corridor had been sunken below ground level; in the Dodge house, it was above ground and had the appearance of a high stone garden wall.

Because Mrs. Dodge had requested Flame's presence for "legitimate" service, Flame was expected to go outside and enter directly into the kitchen.

There were no windows in the kennel. When she opened the door to the outside, she was surprised to find that it was raining not a drizzle, but a downpour.

She sprinted from the kennel to the house as fast as she could but she couldn't avoid getting wet. When she entered the kitchen, the light cotton was clinging to her legs, b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and b.u.t.tocks.

Mrs. Dodge looked at her in disgust but didn't deign to comment.

"You'll b.u.t.terfly a chicken for dinner. You will serve it with asparagus with orange sauce, roasted new potatoes, and a tomato-sweet pepper-onion salad. We'll have creme caramel for desert. We eat at six."

Flame stared at Mrs. Dodge in horror.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Get that chicken marinating."

Flame shook her head slowly.

"Are you refusing to work?" Mrs. Dodge's voice was low and menacing.

The punishment for refusing to work could be as severe as the owner wished. Disfigurement, mutilation, or even death was not unheard of.

Flame fell to her knees in terror. "Please. I want to do it but I can't."

Mrs. Dodge kicked her, swift and sharp, in the ribs. It hurt. "What do you mean, you can't?"

"I can't cook. I don't know how to cook. I've never cooked a meal in my life."

Mrs. Dodge kicked her in the ribs again. "Useless c.u.n.t."

Actually, Flame's c.u.n.t was the one part that Mr. Dodge found most useful.

"What can you do?"

"Embroider. Tat. I can paint in watercolors and oils. I play the flute and clavier. Some of my lyric poetry is pretty good."

"Useless c.u.n.t." Mrs. Dodge kicked her a third time.

"Please. I want to learn to cook. Please. Show me how so I'll be able to do it the next time."

"You don't know how badly I want to cut your t.i.ts off and make you fry them in b.u.t.ter for your own dinner."

Flame knew. She had wanted to do horrible things to James' slaves, too. But Mrs. Dodge wouldn't do it. She wouldn't destroy property that was worth a hundred-thousand plaqs. Or so Flame hoped.

"However much Frank paid for you, it was way too much, I'm sure of that." Mrs. Dodge kicked her again.

Flame's ribs were suffering acute pain. If Mrs. Dodge kicked much harder, she might break them. It could happen. Flame realized that Mrs. Dodge had no idea that she was kicking a hundred-thousand plaq slave around her kitchen. She probably thought that her husband had paid ten or fifteen thousand for her.

Flame should have guessed that Mrs. Dodge would be ignorant of her value. James had never told her how much he paid for his slaves, either. Irene never knew that a slave could cost more than a hundred thousand. If the cost of Feather were any indication, James might have paid nearly half a million for his stable.

Flame's mind boggled at the thought.

Her more immediate concern was that Mrs. Dodge might kill her if she thought that she wasn't worth very much.

"Please let me learn to cook. Please. I'm begging you." She was begging for her life. Literally.

"I'm not teaching you to cook. You need something to do? You get a bucket and a scrub brush from the laundry and you scrub this floor. You start scrubbing in here and you keep scrubbing until every inch of tile in this whole house is clean enough to eat off. And it better be because you're going to be eating off it tonight."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." The servile grat.i.tude in Flame's voice was sincere.

Flame didn't rise to her feet, but scrambled across the floor to get out of the kitchen as quickly as she could.

Mrs. Dodge hurried her on her way with a parting kick to her b.u.t.t. She connected hard. It hurt because Flame was still bruised from Mr. Dodge's paddling last night. Flame squealed in pain.

She found the bucket and filled it with hot water in the set tub.

When she returned to the kitchen she asked, "Do I just use water, or should I put some soap or something in it?"

"Stupid, useless c.u.n.t. Put in a cup of vinegar."

"Yes, ma'am." Flame returned to the laundry room and found a bottle of vinegar under the sink. She didn't have a cup measure, so she poured a generous amount into the bucket.

The tiles were hard on her knees but she ignored that and scrubbed with vigor. While she was scrubbing, she kept an eye on Mrs. Dodge's boot.

Recipes. Of course. Mrs. Dodge had laid out recipes on the counter and consulted them as she cooked. If Flame had realized that, she would have tried to follow them rather than admitting to Mrs. Dodge that she was helpless in the kitchen.

She saw Mrs. Dodge add spices to oil in a bowl and then put the chicken into it and leave it there. That must be the marinating that she had mentioned.

Next, she chopped vegetables. Two tomatoes, a long red pepper, and half an onion went into a bowl. Mrs. Dodge poured oil and vinegar into another, smaller bowl and whisked in various herbs and spices. When it was well mixed, she poured it over the vegetables.

Then she left the room.

It was easier for Flame to clean the floor when she didn't have to dodge around Mrs. Dodge's kicks.

Her knees and back were aching by the time she finished the kitchen floor but she couldn't stop. She still had the service hallway, laundry, and bathrooms to clean. The remaining rooms had rugs over wood flooring. She was sure that she'd be cleaning those, too, before long. But not with a scrub brush and vinegar water. Most likely with a vacuum cleaner.

In James' manor, they had machines to clean floors and chop vegetables. She had a.s.sumed that everyone had the same and was surprised that the Dodges scrubbed their floors on their hands and knees with a brush. Surely they weren't that poor.

When she opened a closet in the service hallway to clean the tile inside, she found the floor-cleaning machine. Mrs. Dodge didn't scrub her floors on their hands and knees. Only Flame deserved that special treat.

When Mr. Dodge came home and found Flame scrubbing the bathroom floor, he said nothing about it. Housework was his wife's business.

But he did reach down and fondle Flame's c.u.n.t for a minute while she continued to scrub. That was his business.

When he went to the kitchen to greet his wife, Flame had to go back down the hallway and clean up his dirty boot prints.

She could hear the Dodges speaking in the kitchen but their voices were too low for her to make out the words.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Dodge told her to get cleaned up and serve them in the dining room.

Flame's back and knees were stiff but she forced herself to get moving as quickly as she could. She had never served dinner before but she knew exactly how it was done because she had been served her whole life.

It took her a few minutes to find a tablecloth, dishes, and cutlery because she didn't want to bother the Dodges with her incompetence any more than absolutely necessary. She set the dining room table for two and then announced dinner.

She served the wine and then returned to the kitchen.

She was hungry lunch had been her only meal in more than twenty-four hours and working with the food made her mouth water. But she dared not sample even a bite. There could be hidden cameras and the punishment for stealing food would be severe.

She plated two salads as neatly as her own staff would have done and carried them to the dining room. Serving from the left was automatic.

While the Dodges were eating their salad, she carved the chicken and put the potatoes and asparagus in serving dishes. As soon as the Dodges had finished their salad, she cleared the salad plates from the right and then served each of the main dishes in the proper order.

She stood in attendance until the dinner was done. Watching the Dodges eat was a torture in itself. When they were finished, she cleared the dinner service and returned to the kitchen to fetch the creme caramel. She found them in the refrigerator. She knew that she wasn't supposed to serve them in the ramekins in which they'd been baked.

Turning them upside down on a dessert plate accomplished nothing. The creme caramel remained stubbornly in the ramekins. Casting about in desperation, she saw the recipes stacked on the counter. The creme caramel recipe was on the bottom. It said to loosen the custard from the side of the ramekin by running a knife around the edge.

Flame cursed herself for not thinking of the obvious.

Again, she stood in attendance while the Dodges ate. When she was clearing the dessert plates, she asked, "Would sir and madam like coffee, tea, or an aperitif?"

Both wanted coffee. Decaf.

Flame lowered her eyes. "I beg your indulgence, ma'am, but if you would be so kind as to show me how to make coffee this once, I promise that I'll never have to ask again."

Mrs. Dodge glared at her husband. He grinned and shrugged. "Just this once, dear, if you would be so kind."

She rose and marched into the kitchen.

Flame scurried to keep up.

While she was filling the pot with water, Mrs. Dodge said, "I should scourge every inch of skin from your back for this."

"Yes, ma'am," Flame said. "I deserve no less and will endure any punishment that you wish to inflict upon me."

"You certainly will."

Flame was afraid of what Mrs. Dodge would do to her, but forced a brave face.

When the coffee was ready, Mrs. Dodge said, "Serve us," and returned to the dining room.

Flame served the coffee with cream and sugar on a silver tray that she found in a cupboard.

Mr. Dodge instructed Flame to stand before him while he sipped his coffee. "Tell us how this dinner differed from the way dinner is prepared and served in a lord's home."

"Obviously, the lord's wife would not have to cook the meal," Flame said. "That was my failing. I will learn to cook as quickly as I can and Mrs. Dodge will not have to cook again. Your food was not served as hot as it should have been. Again that was because Mrs. Dodge had to do the cooking. With experience, I will be able to time the dishes so that they finish cooking just before they are served and you will have more enjoyable meals."

"Anything else."

Flame shook her head.

"That's not good enough," Mr. Dodge said. "Do you know why I paid so much money for you?"

At the mention of money, Mrs. Dodge's head snapped around to glare at her husband.

"No, sir."

"Because you grew up as a lady. Your experience will be invaluable to me, but only if you share it. Listen to me very carefully. You must tell me exactly how our behavior differs from that of a lord and lady. Exactly. Do not fear offending us. You will not be punished for correcting our table manners or deportment." He glared back at Mrs. Dodge. "But if we do not learn to behave correctly, if we entertain guests from the peerage and make any errors of etiquette, however minor, we will blame you and you will be disciplined swiftly and terribly. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your job your real job is to make sure that Mrs. Dodge and I behave exactly as a lord and lady would behave. So do your job. Tell us, in detail, what we did wrong during the dinner."

Flame licked her lips and summoned her courage. "There were a few minor things. Barely noticeable. Not at all serious. But some things that would be done a little differently at a lord's table."

"Tell me."

"You ate your food in larger bites than a lord would. A lord would never fill a spoon more than half full. He would never put a piece of meat larger than a thumbnail in his mouth."

"I see. What else?"

"A lord would never put a bite into his mouth until he had finished chewing and swallowing the previous bite. In fact, he would clear his mouth and make a few words of conversation before taking the next bite. At a lord's table, the conversation is considered more important than the food. Or, at least, that's the impression that the lord tries to give."

"Is there more?"

"The most important thing is that a lord or lady would never open his mouth when there is food in it. He chews with his lips closed and swallows before opening them again. Every time."

"And we don't?"