They were more farcicalversions of French Maids than anything and I think that all four of usfelt funny in our short skirts and multi layer petticoats... tiny aprons andsilly, flounced, hats - but we still had to go out and prove to the ladiesthat we 'knew our true places' and could perform as necessary. Surprisingly, we were allowed to drink. We couldn't drink the amount we'doriginally intended for that night, but I think that the other four feltas I did - there weren't too many chances left. But, he wasn’t ready for any cock play just yet. Our relationship had matured to such an extent that I knew that when Master only took one utensil to the table that I would be eating from his hand. I took my place beside his chair, on my spread knees with palms up-turned on my thighs, and waited for him to offer me food. That is the type of submission and humiliation I crave. Often, his left hand strayed to my right nipple while he shuffled food from the various cartons. No matter what he did. More

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