Only 33 wee hours separate us from the long awaited Mistress Dinner. We are all sharpening our claws for the tender slave feast which awaits. I imagine it will go something like this:
Upon arrival the slaves will be stripped of their clothing and privilege, examined for physical integrity, and groped for approval before being granted their collar, and number. They will be taught strict slave commands which they must demonstrate flawless understanding of. Once properly introduced, they may clean themselves to standard and begin setting the table for the Priestesses.
The slaves eat on the floor, naked. If they should make themselves privileged, perhaps near their favorite Priestess. Upon completion of the meal, there will be a moment of pause for the purpose of tidying up, and serving with foot massages while the ladies digest over light libations.
Soon enough, the caffeine coursing through Our veins will awaken the kinky beasts inside of Us and We will drag the meat-cicles to the dungeon. Or perhaps ride them like tiny steads of subordination. Never the less, the evening will conclude in a festive display of Female Supremacy and Sadomasochism. Cries of bittersweet devotion will pierce the chilly night sky, frightening the squirrel inhabitants of the otherwise vacant land surrounding the Temple of The Order of Indomitus.
