She walked with a beatific smile on her face, a serving tray under one arm, a notebook tucked in the other. Her breasts bounced slightly in their bright yellow strap-top with every step, as well as the inflated ‘thorax’ strapped on her similarly enhanced ass. Her antennae swayed as a mountain breeze wafted through the open air lounge, its whistle lost in the bustle of expensively clothed guests and her fellow serving wenches navigating the maze of tables and chairs almost shoulder to shoulder.
She danced her way through the shifting morass, twisting past a pair of occupied chairs here, spinning around a clump of gossipers there. Table 14 wasn’t quite on the opposite end of the lounge from the kitchen, but it was enough so that she had to cover most of its length to get there. Any opportunity she had to bypass an obstacle rather than turn around and find another way, she took.
The fact that she was putting on a show for any guests that cared to look was just a bonus.
“...I’ve got a multi-billion dollar business making slave girls to order, aren’t I allowed some fun?” She perked up a little more, if that was even possible, when she heard that voice. Master was here! “Besides, it’s thematically appropriate for our new acquisition model.” She discreetly glanced towards his voice. Then looked again, carefully schooling the shock off her face. Professional role, had to keep up appearances.
Still, she didn’t dare believe—but it was true! She was serving Master’s table! Oh, she had to think up a thank-you for the waitress dispatcher—one of the other Slaves, she couldn’t quite remember a name. Someone named Claire? Oddly familiar...
She noticed she had stopped in the middle of the aisle. She shook herself, smiled again, and walked up to the table.
“Hello, ladies, gentlemen, Masters.” She addressed those seated, giving them each a good look for the first time. Master, of course, she already knew. The man next to him, a rail-thin one in a business suit who she immediately labeled Thin Man, was unabashedly staring at her. She winked and leaned down a little to give him a view, bringing her face a little closer to that of the fat-looking middle aged woman in a red dress who she similarly labeled Fat Lady. “What would you like?”
“Umm...” Thin Man looked a little startled, glanced at his menu. “Ah, I’ll have a bottle of the Demi Sec, please.”
“Just water for me, please.” The Fat Lady smiled a little, then turned back to Master. “So, how complete’s the control, exactly?” she asked, faux-casually.
“Total.” Master turned to Emily with a knowing smile. “Slave. What’s your name?”
“My name is Emily, Master!” The response came completely automatically, no thought required. One simply did not disobey Master. Not on pain of anything, mind—no punishment was needed when the very thought was anathema.
Master nodded as if he already knew that. “Emily, cluck like a chicken.”
She smiled, and tucked her hands under her armpits to make wings, and flapped them as she pranced and clucked. He smiled a bit more at this display, and her cunt began to drip.
“Stop.” She stopped, instantly coming to attention. “Good girl. Cum.”
Slave bit back a moan, but couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling in their sockets. Oh, Master! He always treated his Slaves so kindly. “Oooooh, thank you Master!”
“Very good.” And that almost, but not quite, elicited another orgasm. Which was good, Emily guessed, since she wasn’t sure she could have kept standing through two of them. “On your way then!”
“Yes, sir!” She spun on her heels, arching her hip so the ‘thorax’ bounced and jiggled against her ass, and started for the kitchen.
The trip back was relatively uneventful. There was an assgrab by an overenthusiastic guest, which she allowed herself to melt into a little before pulling away and wagging a finger at the culprit with a naughty smile. Other than that, however, she was unimpeded until she walked through the chest-high swinging door and stopped at the small queue of serving wenches that had formed before the kitchen counter.
“Table Nine!” A tray was passed over the counter, and another came back with glasses and a number of bottles.
“Table Five.” This time the tray came back with three steaming dishes of some sort,
And then it was her turn. “Table Fourteen!”” She slid the notebook onto the counter.
“Lucky you! Right, let’s see...” The kitchen matron glanced through the notebook and handed it back to her. “Igor! Fetch the Demi Sec!”
“Yes, ma’am.” A throaty contralto recited tonelessly back. Emily suppressed a giggle while her cunt clenched. Some Slaves were so, so sexy when they were completely mindless and obedient. She envied them, sometimes.
Glass clanked against plastic. “Here you go!” A tray was handed over the counter, weighed down with glasses, a pitcher of ice water, and two white, gilded bottles. “Annabelle, be a dear and spank the lucky girl’s ass for me, will you?”
“Righto!” And as Emily took the tray she shivered as the smack smashed pain/pleasure straight into her cunt. She very carefully held still as the tremors settled down, then hoisted the tray up over her head on one hand and quickly exited the kitchen before more mischief could occur.
It had been an exhausting four hours later when Emily returned again to the kitchen, worked her way through the queue, and handed a tray of dirty dishes over the kitchen counter—and didn’t get a tray back.
“Your shift’s up. You’re on break.” The matron explained. “I heard something about a special event, so don’t get too comfy.”
“You got it!” Emily threw a two-finger salute, then paused as something struck her funny. “Uh, is the dispatcher still on duty? We haven’t heard a changeover.”
“Claire’s still on duty. Some sorta punishment detail.” The matron waved her off. “Now get going, you’re holding up the queue.”
“Oh! Uh, sorry, sorry—” She shrunk away. The serving wench behind her shrugged eloquently and passed her tray over the counter as she passed out the kitchen exit
Claire. Where have I heard that name before? The question came unbidden as she turned left instead of right, towards the break room.
As she walked down the hallway, pondering, she passed a nondescript wooden door, with a paper label taped on.
Then she stopped, turned around and gave it a closer look. The label read Dispatcher’s Office.
She cocked her head. Then she glanced down one end of the hallway, and then the other. An intermittent stream of serving wenches were dipping into the corridor on their way to the lounge, but no one was looking her way.
She looked down at the door handle. A quick chat wouldn’t hurt. Right?
She shrugged, twisted it, and casually pushed the door in.
The dispatcher knelt in the middle of the room on a compact pillow bed, naked except for looked like a hundred different cables wrapped around her muscled, voluptuous body, wiggling across the floor and into phones sitting on coffee tables around her seat. One phone was strapped to her ear with a length of surgical tape around her forehead, and another to her cunt by wires that looped around her body and her legs together. Two more phones were taped to her nipples with big crosses of surgical tape that overlaid the wires wrapping around and around her massive breasts. Her arms were tied together and strapped to another coffee table in front of her, where a keyboard sat under her hands. She stared at an LCD screen that scrolled with words paired with numbers, too fast for Emily to read, occasionally pushing down a key in front of her as she barked table assignments.
Emily stepped into the room. “Hey, Claire, thanks for setting me up with Master’s—“
Then she looked again.
The dispatcher stopped suddenly. She slowly blinked and looked up, moaning and dragging a phone after her as the wires tightened around her breasts. Then she blinked again, more rapidly, as she looked into Emily’s eyes.
Emily didn’t remember how many eternities she stood there for before she threw herself at Claire. They laid there, tangled together, arms wrapped awkwardly around each other’s shoulders, breasts mashed together.
Eventually, they came apart. Or tried to. When Emily made to stand up, the wires tangled around her legs tugged at her. A few of the phones groaned ominously as they scooted towards the edge of their tables, and she quickly decided to stay where she was.
“I...I...“ Emily wiped away a tear. “I forgot all about you.”
“Me too.” For a brief moment Claire smiled contently. Then she frowned, puzzled. “Uh...were we lovers before this?’
Emily lightly shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. “ She looked away briefly, chewing her lip. A nostalgic smile flashed across Claire’s face and was gone before she could really register it. “Ah, I think we were roommates? At, you know, the—“
The door banged open. “Hey, dispatch, what’s with the holdup—whoa.” They looked up as Annabelle stood there in the doorframe, blinking at them. “Ah. Huh. “ A nervous smile broke out on her face, dimpling her cheeks. “Could you, ah, wait there a moment?”
Claire attempted to shrug, but stopped as the phones groaned ominously. Emily looked down at the tangled mess of wires around her legs, tried to lift one, and winced as one of the phones crashed to the floor. “Uh. Sure. We’re not going anywhere.”
The serving wench snorted a half-laugh and gently shut the door.
They stared at each other. “We might’ve been lovers.” Claire muttered.
Emily cocked an eyebrow. “Uh. Not sure where you—“
She stopped. Blinked. What’s your thoughts on lesbians?
“...Claire? “ She began again, softly, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. “Did you love me then?”
Claire blushed bright red. “Yes.” She glanced away, then forced herself to meet Emily’s gaze. “ I mean, you’re energetic and you’re funny and you’re an idiot sometimes but absolutely brilliant at others and—“ She glanced away from Emily’s eyes again. “But, it’s not gonna work, is it? You’re straight.”
“It’s alright. They, uh. “ A vague memory of an ebony face, an eager tongue, floated up into her mind’s eye. She tried to focus on it, but it sank back into the depths and she stopped trying. “I think they turned me bisexual.”
Claire blinked and looked down and away. “ I think they turned me bi too.” She turned her head away. “I remember sucking cock. And liking it. Like popsicles. So delicious, so hot.” A dreamy smile spread over Claire’s face before she shook herself back to the present. “They’re gonna be back soon. “ She forced her head up and looked Emily in the eye. “I, uh, I don’t wanna be alone again. If, ah.” Her mouth hung open as she struggled for words. “If, uh, you know...”
Emily laid a hand on Claire’s shoulder. “It’s fine, Claire. I don’t want to be alone again either.”
Claire’s eye’s blinked, bulged, and she jerked in Emily’s arms. Voices mumbled beyond the door. Emily looked up. They were gonna take her away. How could she stop them? She was a Slave—she had to obey.
Then Emily smiled. Maybe, maybe there was a way after all. She hugged Claire again, resting her head on her shoulder, and rubbed her back with a free hand. “Claire? I have a plan, OK? Just—just let me do the talking, alright? Claire mumbled something unprintable and tried to open her arms and pull away, but Emily tightened hers and she got the idea. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”
The door opened again. “...so, anyway, that’s why Dispatch has been down. They, uh...” Annabelle waved a hand at at the pair as the kitchen matron looked on. “...you know.”
Emily smiled at them. “We were friends before our capture.” She rubbed Claire’s back, trying to soothe her as Claire stared at the wall with a panicked expression. “Maybe more than that? But...”
The matron shook her head. “Emily, we have two more hours before we close and we don’t have another dispatcher. I’m gonna need you to leave.”
“Ma’am, look. I don’t have to be just a distraction. I can help her with the job, I—“ But then the matron made a cutting motion with her hand and Emily fell silent.
The matron shook her head, snorted an exasperated sigh. Emily blanched, and gripped Claire tighter as—
“Hey now, what’s all the fuss?” Annabelle spun around and beamed. The matron blinked, shut her mouth, and turned around as Master walked up to them.
“Master, “ She began to explain. “one of our serving wenches has taken a fancy for our dispatcher, and—”
“Claire. Her name’s Claire Polson.” She stopped briefly as she steeled herself, then launched back into it before Master could recover. “We were roommates at this college, uh, Oakland! Oakland University, I was studying Pysch and she was doing Ecology and she had a second job as campus security and she did all this cool stuff tracking endangered plants and she knows Krava Maga and helped me with math homework and I helped her hunt down flowers and we shared a bed together, and, I, uh.” She stopped, the words sticking in her throat, but then she forced them out with an almost physical effort. “I think she loved me. I think she loved me then, and I know I love her now.” Master reeled back slightly, and she drew a deep breath and pressed her advantage. “Sir, I like being a Slave. And I know she’s been through the same as I have, so she likes it too.” Claire looked at her oddly, then shrugged slightly as her fingers drummed against Emily’s thigh. “I don’t mind being a Slave, sir, if I could just be with her. If we don’t have to be alone.” Master stared at her. “Please?” She finally pleaded.
He stared. And stared. Emily almost wilted before that piercing gaze, but then steeled herself and stared back.
Claire leaned her head around Emily’s and stared at him too.
Then he shrugged. “OK. Claire, was it?” She nodded, hesitantly. “We still have two hours to go. Can you handle the rest of your shift if Emily keeps you company?”
Claire blinked, stared at him incredulously. Then turned to Emily. Then to him. Then to Emily.
Then she turned to Master and nodded. He nodded back. “Then you’ve got a deal. Annabelle, Rose, I believe you two have a job to do.” He turned around and walked down the kitchen hall out of sight. Emily gasped out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
The matron stared at his retreating back, glanced at Emily, then sighed and began to exit. “We better not fall behind because of this, Claire.” She pushed past Annabelle, who stared at them in something akin to awe. She shook herself, smiled nervously, and closed the door behind her.
“So...” Claire broke the silence. “That was, uh. Wow.”
Emily smiled a little contently, a little sadly. “Sorry I couldn’t ask your feelings about—“ but then she stopped as Claire tossed her head.
“It’s fine. Now help me out here. The screen’s got table numbers, a list of guests at that table, and status of that table’s orders, in that order going left to right, in that left column. Servers and their status are on the right. We need to match free servers to unserved tables. The pink phone on your left, that’s our spare dispatch phone. “
Emily blinked. “OK then.” She picked up the phone. “Uh, do I—”
“Oh, sorry, forgot. Each server has an extension next to their name, just dial ’em up.”
She searched the screen, found a table and a free server, and dialed the extension. Besides her, Claire tapped away on the keyboard and dialed up another. In moments, they were both in the zone, directing orders to servers and servers to tables.
Sometime during the long two hours that followed, Emily had started leaning against Claire. And she had started leaning back.
Emily finished directing another server, looked at the screen, and almost dialed the phone again before she stopped. All the tables with guests were getting served, and the tables that emptied out didn’t get filled again.
Emily stared at the screen. Then, slowly, slid the pink phone back in its holder. Besides her, Claire blinked away and looked at her.
“That, uh.” Claire tossed her head at the screen as the tables switched from SEATED to EMPTY, one by one. “That worked. That worked really well.” She smiled. “Good work.”
Emily smiled back. “We’re both good girls, aren’t we. “ They both shuddered a little and blushed. Then she looked down. “Um. We should get untangled.”
Claire made a mock-sad face. “But it’s so comfy here. “ She blushed again and made an embarrassed little smile. “Especially when they call back. The servers, I mean. The phone on my cunt rings.” She wiggled and moaned as it did exactly that. “It’s a....surprisingly effective prompt. ’Scuse me.“ She turned back and punched the to-talk button again.
Emily looked down at the wires wrapping around her feet as Claire spoke calmly and firmly into the phone, apparently at a panicking server who’d spilled someone’s caviar. Then she reached down and carefully began untangling herself.
She was halfway done when Claire praised the server and hung up. “Sorry about that. Caroline, uh, she’s eager to please but she panics at the drop of a hat. Like a dog my mom had.” She looked down as Emily resumed trying to untie some Gordian knot of a yellow, a blue, and a red wire that had, somehow wrapped itself around her knee. “They had someone tie me up in all this, one of the not-Slave employees. They’ll probably send him around again to untie us. Or someone like him.”
“Can’t wait that long.” She lifted away a red wire to show the angry red mark where the cable had squeezed tightly against her skin.
Claire shrugged again. “I dunno, it’s kinda comfy for me. For some reason.” She looked around, then leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “I think he gave me a suggestion. In addition to, you know, being an expert. And putting me to sleep for the tying. And not a clumsy git.”
Emily made a face. “Oh, I’m getting you back for that. Ah!” The knot finally came undone as she feed the red wire through a yellow loop.
The door swung open again. “Shift’s over—Oh. Okay then.” They looked up. A lanky man in the yellow-on-black T-shirt and hat of a non-conditioned employee stood in the doorway. “You, ah, you both need untying then?”
Emily looked down, at the wires still winding around her legs, and huffed. “You might say that.”
He nodded. “Alright then. I’m gonna trigger you both, that’ll relax you and keep you pliant. And from moving around and entangling yourself more. You know?” Claire nodded, and after a moment so did Emily. He tapped his chin. “Oh, one more thing. Can you two dream of each other? Pleasant dreams? It’s an order from the boss.”
They looked at each other. Then they smiled at him. He nodded. “Alright then. Sleep.”
Her eyes slid closed.
Her eyes slid open. She was lying on her back, scattered clumps of sunflowers stretching over her into the sky like pines.
She slid upright. Claire stood in front of her, stark naked, staring with an intensity that pinned Emily in place.
She took a step forward. Then another. Emily stood there, frozen, as Claire cautiously, haltingly advanced on her, until she stopped within arm’s reach. She leaned in, arms straining at her sides, silently pleading.
Emily smiled, stood on her tiptoes, and threw her arms around Claire’s shoulders. She dragged her down those last crucial centimeters.
They kissed. It lasted for a century, and not quite long enough.
Eventually, Claire broke away, and it was only when her iron-banded arms snaked out from under Emily’s own that she noticed how they had been wrapped around her back. Or how safe she had felt in them.
Claire glanced across the fields, at her tent struck out on a flat plateau a little ways down the hill. She said something Emily didn’t quite catch, but she smiled and nodded anyway.
Their fingers interlaced. They walked.