The following story was inspired by a Greek slave's fantasies and it is told from a slave's point of view.  Although Sotiris never made the jump from fantasy to reality, he enjoyed reading stories that featured him.

 To Be There for Her

© Contessa dei Fiori

‘Sotiriiiii!’

Her voice boomed like a bell piercing the quietness of the house making me jump.  Mistress was not happy and I wondered what it was that I had done wrong this time.  I rushed to the bedroom and found her in a state of panic.

‘I can’t find my shoes!’ she said frantically going through the wardrobe.  ‘What did you do with them?  I need my shoes!!’

‘You will find them by the entrance, where you last left them.’ I replied and bit my lip.

‘What?’  She looked at me, her eyes like burning daggers.  I realised I had spoken without thought but it was too late to do anything about it.  I felt sweet fear rushing through my body as she approached me and grabbed me by my hair.

‘What are you saying, you worthless piece of scum?’

‘I.. I am sorry, Mistress!  I – ouch! – didn’t mean to say –‘

‘You didn’t mean to say but you did infer it, didn’t you?  You suggested that your Mistress is a lazy bitch who leaves her shoes here and there!’

‘No, no Mistress, you are not a lazy bitch, I did not, please Mistress my HAIR!’ I cried out, overcome by pain.

I loved it when she forced me to my knees by my hair.  I loved every minute of pain and humiliation she gave me, as I was her slave and she was my Mistress.

‘So what are you saying now, you filthy piece of shit?  Are you saying that I am not a Bitch?’

It was our favourite word play game.  No matter what I said, she’d outwit me.  She’d lash out on me verbally and sometimes she’d do more than pull my hair.  Sometimes she’d kick me and I’d lose my balance and fall on the floor.  I ached for her to kick me.  I had fantasies of having my genitals mashed to a pulp under her spiky shoes.  I want her to kick me mercilessly and spit on me and burn me with cigarettes and use me as her toilet but she is a responsible sadist and most of the times she just uses me and then discards me.

‘Get my shoes, NOW!’ she yelled at me and I scrambled to my feet and rushed out of the bedroom.  I grabbed hold of the shoes and run back to her like an obedient dog.

‘Here, Mistress, I got them for you!’

She sat on the edge of the bed and offered a black stockinged foot to me.  I kissed her foot lovingly, envying the man that would be performing foot worship on her that night.

‘Don’t do that!’ she said pulling her foot away.  ‘You are slobbering all over my clean stockings!  Just put the shoes on, all right? Not a difficult task, is it?  I am not asking for too much, am I?’ she said sarcastically.

‘No Mistress; sorry, Mistress.’

‘What an idiot!  If it weren’t for the goodness of my heart, you’d be out in the streets living rough and offering your ass to strangers to fuck for your drink money!’

I blushed.  It was all a fantasy of course as I had a very good job and a good standing in society.  Mistress used to threaten to take me to a bridge and whore me to strangers to make me pay for my keep.  I have often wondered how I would react if she did more than threaten me… what would it feel to be fucked by a stranger.  To this point I had only been invaded by Mistress’s finger and a few small toys.  Although I had bought her a strap on, she refused to use it on me, saying that it was too good for the likes of me and that when she decided my ass was ready for a full invasion, she’d get a man to do it properly, possibly a well hung, 6’5’’ black man.  The thought always made me shudder with excitement.

‘Well, how do I look?’

She stood towering over me in her high heels, her ankles just showing under the hem of her slinky skirt, a white lacy blouse and a jacket completing her dress.  She wore a double set of pearls along with matching pearl earrings.  Her hair was pinned up with a couple of strands sensually framing her well made up face.

‘You look stunning, my Lady!’

She leant over me and I could peek inside her blouse, her large breasts bulging from a white demi cup bra.

‘Do I smell nice?’ she asked me with a twinkle in her eyes.

Did she smell nice!  She smelled divine, her signature perfume stirring my senses each time I smelled it in a shop, invading my dreams when I was home alone as it lingered on the pillows.

I pressed my legs together to hide my erection and she laughed.

‘I see by your reaction that there is no need for me to ask.  Come, we’ll be late!’

We got in the car and I drove her to the Park Lane hotel where she was meeting one of her clients for dinner.  I waited in the underground car park, like a good chauffer, thinking about what might be going on in there.  My mobile was switched on in case of emergency but it did not ring once.  Mistress must have been having a good time.  I figured that dinner would be over within two hours max and she was already gone four.  Was she in his suite?  What were they doing now?  How long does it take for a man to worship a Mistress’s legs?  Did she allow him further worship?  What were his fetishes?  Was he dressed in women’s clothing, acting as her maid?  Was he lying in a bathtub drinking her champagne? Or were they perhaps making love? 

I found the last thought to be very disturbing.  I felt very possessive of my Mistress, which did not make sense, as I was just her slave and had no rights on her whatsoever.  Still, when we lay in the same bed the nights that we spent together, me listening to her even breathing as she slept, I ached to put my arms around her, to kiss the soft contours of her body and ... yes, why deny it? Go beyond and claim her body for myself.  The man in me ached to make love to her, whereas the slave in me felt unworthy of such an honour.  But I lived in hope that one day… perhaps…  Miracles do happen, don’t they?

I heard female footsteps on the concrete floor and saw Mistress approach the car in my rear view mirror.  I hurried to get out and open the door for her.  She sat in the rear seat and turned towards me, spreading her legs.

‘Clean me!’ she said simply.

I slipped to my knees in the empty car park and lifted her skirt above her knees.  I could smell her excitement and could see the glistening juices on her pubic hair.  I pressed my face between her plump thighs and began licking her, experiencing both her and possibly the other man, my hands massaging the soft skin above her black stockings.  Oh how sweet my Mistress tasted that night!  How arousing her little moans of pleasure were!  How proud I was for the honour she did me and how calm I felt that night when she turned round in bed and nested into my waiting arms!

I don’t expect people to understand our relationship and my deep need to serve this Lady.  My parents nag me to get married and produce an heir to carry on the family name.  I can’t get married.  I can’t let anyone get between my Mistress and I.  My destiny is to live and serve her.  To be her guinea pig, her outlet for life’s frustrations, her protector and most devoted fan.  To be there for her…