Hot

Nikki was hot. She felt the little beads of sweat forming at her
temples, a drop was starting to run down her nose. Now it was
hanging, pregnant, from the tip of her nose, itching and making her
crazy. It seemed like it was about to fall, but it stayed there,
almost magically.

Instinctively, she moved her right hand towards her nose to wipe the
drop. It wasn't a conscious move, just something that happened. She
soon realized that it was impossible. Her hand was pulled up to
shoulder height and pulled slightly back, her shoulder blades moving
towards each other, her breasts pressed outward.

She was bound. Bound to the slave next to her. They formed a human
chain; lined up next to each other, thighs spread, knees tied to the
knee next to it. Their arms were lifted behind the shoulders of the
slave next over and bound to the arm of the slave beyond that, each
one bound to both sides.

The slaves to each side of Nikki were men. Even though she was tall,
her arms were held upwards to pass over the shoulders of the slave
next to her, his arm passing over her shoulders and bound to that of
the slave two slaves over. All in all, a clever scheme. It was
impossible for them to move.

It was hot, partially because they were so close together. The
armpits of the slaves next to her were right at the level of Nikki's
chin. But also because they were in the kitchen. In some kind of a
trench at the hottest end of the kitchen, beyond the stoves.

So far, it was really just the heat that was the problem. There had
been a few bits of waste –some onion skins and potato peels dumped on
their heads. But soon, soon dinner would be over and all the workmen
would be coming in to scrape the remains of their dinners over the
slave's faces. Their heads were tipped back, a thin strip of plastic
running the length of the trench held them in position and made it
impossible to even shake her head to get the sweat to fall off.

Each slave had an "O" shaped gag in his or her mouth. That would make
it impossible not to have some of the garbage run off into their
mouths.

Nikki moaned and tried to shift her weight a little, move her stiff
knees and tired arms. This was not comfortable. But it wasn't
designed to be comfortable. It was supposed to strip her of her
pride, make her feel more elemental. And it was working.

Nikki thought back to the reason she was here. She was guilty of
pride. She saw herself as highly skilled, pleasing, an achiever. In
this position, performing this task, there was no such thing as
achievement. Whether she was smarter, more strategic, more motivated,
more competitive, than any other slave was totally immaterial. Here,
in this moment, she was a body.

It didn't matter if she was beautiful or ugly, smart or stupid,
skilled or doltish. She was just Nikki. Just a slave.

It was an important lesson. Good for her to learn, now, before she
became part of a household or owned by an individual Master. It was
true that when she became part of a household she would have to deal
with other slaves, other family members. If she always reverted back
to her former ways of being, was competitive and hierarchical, it
would come back to haunt her.

She needed to learn how to integrate herself into a dynamic, and a big
part of that was humbling herself. Recognizing that she was not too
good for anything, not better than anybody. Yes she had some talents
and some capabilities, but she wasn't to use them except when
instructed to. She certainly was not to use them to try to impress.

So different! All her life she'd been "the smart one" – she'd worked
hard and done well, all based on being able to maneuver and scheme and
manipulate. Now that was no longer rewarded, no longer allowed. Now
she was going to have to just hand herself over and get what she was
going to get.

And right now what she was going to get was the leftovers and waste from dinner.

The workers were starting to come into the kitchen, their plates and
glasses in their hands. Nikki couldn't see them but she could hear
them. Talking and laughing, glasses and plates and utensils clinking.
It was getting louder. They must be almost there.

The first of the workers loomed into view.

"Ahh, these are the proud ones, hunh?" He looked over the slaves.
"Look at them now!" He snorted. "Fat lot of good their
competitiveness did them…" He and the others started laughing.

Then they started pelting the slaves with big pieces of food from
their plates. A piece of bread hit Nikki in the right breast. She
could feel it bounce off her, her flesh shaking and jiggling.

The men were laughing now. Really getting into it. Taking aim. Slinging food.

Nikki heard a wet "slap" as some kind of gelatinous mess hit the slave
next to her. The laughter roared up again. Now they had run out of
big pieces of food and were just scraping dishes directly onto the
slaves.

Nikki breathed through her nose. Tried to center herself. She was
this. She was a garbage can. She was whatever they wanted her to be.
She was here to serve. Here to please. And this was pleasing.

The dregs off coffee ran from her forehead down over her right ear.
Cold liquid of some kind ran between her breasts. Scraps from
somebody's plate were decorating her chest. She felt her skin flush
with the humiliation of it.

The men had all finished scraping their dishes. They stepped back and
admired their handiwork. They had been quite effective.

The slaves looked ridiculous. Bits of spaghetti. Meat scraps. All
matter of drinks. They were covered. And since they were
immobilized, many of them had bits of food precariously hanging from
various appendages.

The men laughed.

"Someone's got to hose them down. We're not done with them yet." One
of the workmen said in a laughing tone.

"I know just what hose to use…" Another one laughed.

Oh no! It was going to happen now. Nikki wasn't ready. She thought
they were going to be taken elsewhere for toilet service. But
actually it made some sense. This was a garbage trench. And urine
was actually sterile – no bacterial contamination or disease risk.

She could see them. One by one they dropped off their now clean
plates and empty glasses, and scraped off utensils and they returned
to face the slaves.

Each of them opened his fly and took out his penis. Nikki had never
seen so many flaccid penises in one place. She took a deep breath and
prepared herself.

She could see the piss coming. A yellow arc. It hit her right in the
face. Hot. Pungent. The guys were playing. Aiming for the slaves'
noses. Mouths. One was pissing right on her face, running the stream
in a circle between her eyes and her mouth. She couldn't breathe, was
scared she'd aspirate piss. She felt it running between her breasts.

Now a stream was hitting her square on the pubis. She squirmed.

The men were laughing even harder. She supposed the slaves looked
pretty ridiculous.

Finally it was over. And yes much of the food was off them now,
sitting in the bottom of the trench.

The men filed out, still laughing and joking. Not paying any more
heed to the slaves than they would have to the porcelain fixtures in
the bathroom. Nikki felt a wave of humiliation run over her. This
was her reality now. She was whatever they wanted her to be.

The kitchen workers left the slaves there. Piss drying on them.
Nikki could feel it, tightening on her skin. The stench! The food
smells mixed with the urine. She knew her hair was soaked. That it
would take a lot of washing to get it out.

But this was her.