“Why hello!” Sally said, opening the front door of the mansion. Standing on the porch was a tall, thin man, dressed in a bright red suit. His mask was also red, with horns and a long, thin mustache and goatee. “Do come in, Ma…Sir.” At the last minute, the slave girl remembered that, among each other, the members of the Society never referred to each other as “Master” or “Mistress”; that was how their slaves addressed them. They called each other “Sir” and “Madam”, equals amongst each other, set above those who served them. “Welcome. I hope you will enjoy my little party tonight.”

The man stepped into the room. He handed Sally an embossed card, his invitation, which identified him as a Master Saxon. “Why my dear Dewitt, I would not miss this for the world. You’re annual party is the highlight of the season.”

Beside Sally, the real Mistress Dewitt groaned loudly through her hood, trying to get her fellow Master’s attention. The man glanced over at the naked woman, hooded, gagged, hands and feet cuffed. Behind his mask, he sneered. “I think your slave needs to learn how to keep quiet. A good thrashing ought to teach her a lesson.”

“Perhaps later this evening.” Sally replied, enjoying the muffled whimper of fright coming from Dewitt. Saxon merely shrugged and made his way towards the table of food and drinks.

Following after him was a short, dark haired girl. She wore a small, black domino mask, a pair of black high heels and nothing else. She kept her hands crossed behind her back, though they were unbound, and her head lowered as she stepped across the threshold. “Mistress.” She said quietly, giving a low bow to Sally before turning and hurrying after her Master who was examining the spread of food and drinks laid out.

Master Saxon wasn’t the only guest to bring along his personal slave. Just about every guest arrived with at least one or two slaves in tow, showing off their privileged status in the quality of the young men and women the Society had given them.

A short while after Saxon had arrived, the doorbell rang again. Standing at the door was a tall woman in a cream pantsuit with a white mask that covered her entire face; the Mistress Oberon. After handing over her invitation, she strode into the mansion, tugging sharply on the leash in her hand. The woman at the other end groaned as she stumbled after her Mistress. She wore a white leather hood that covered everything except her eyes. It matched the cuffs on her wrists and ankles.

Fat Master Kent arrived ten minutes later, dressed as a Renaissance Prince. He was accompanied by a short, teenage slave girl dressed as his jester. The bells on her motely hat jingled merrily as she skipped after him.

While Kent was greeting Sally and handing over his invitation, a car was dropping off the next two guests: the two Mistress’ Barrington, twin sisters, dressed in costumes of black and white that mirrored each other. True to their theme, their slaves were a pair of twins, young brunettes, chained together at the neck.

Master Westmont was next, dressed like a Chinese prince complete with a trio of eastern beauties dressed in colorful silk dresses. Mistress Dominique was not far behind him, dressed the part of a southern belle, dragging along two dark skinned, male slaves on leashes. As they shuffled after her, Sally noted with sympathy the chains ran to two curious cage-like contraptions locked to the slaves’ manhood’s. Dominique literally led her two playthings into the party along by their balls.

The clock chimed six o’clock. Time for the party to begin. Fifteen minutes later, a swarm of guests began to arrive, fashionably late. They soon began to blur as Sally greeted each one of them in turn, taking their invitations, accepting the bows from their slaves. Finally, she decided the last few guests could show themselves in, so she turned back to the party to mingle. She tugged on her chain. “Come slave, let’s get a drink.”

Dewitt groaned into her hood, but shuffled after Sally, with more speed, not that she’d had practice walking in ankle fetters. The Mistress had given up on trying to get any of the other Masters to recognize her. Indeed, more than a few of the Masters, as well as a couple Mistress’ had groped her breasts and fingers her crotch as they passed, without realizing they were fingering up the Mistress Dewitt, not her slave Sally.

Drink in hand, Sally slowly worked her way around the ballroom, listening to the other Master’s and Mistresses talking, nodding along or offering vague words of agreement here and there. Dewitt trailed after her, glumly, able to watch the party she had been looking forward to for months, but unable to take part in it…except to get groped by the guests, while she was unable to protect herself, chained up.

Near the refreshment’s table, Saxon was talking with one of the Barrington sisters. “I took the old pony-cart down to the docks.” He told her. “Saw the latest shipment of slaves being brought in from the mainland. Looks to be some prime pieces of flesh among them. Got a good look while they were being led off the ship and into the pens. Can’t wait for the trainers to get to work on them…” He glanced over at one of the new girls, as she set a tray of hors-d’oeuvres on the table. He smiled, watching her turn and walk back towards the kitchen, hips swaying.

Across the ballroom, Sally got in a conversation with a woman Mistress Toulouse. “I noticed your slave isn’t pierced, Madam Dewitt.” Toulouse told her, running her hands over the real Dewitt’s body. “I can take care of that for you, if you’d like. It’s not hard. I’ll send my girl back to my house, pick up my kit.” She nodded her head towards the tall, dark girl standing beside her. The ebony beauty sported piercings all over her naked body. “By the end of the night, I’ll have her ears…her nips…her pussy…all pierced and ringed, just say the word.”

Sally grinned behind her mask, imagining her Mistress sporting a golden ring between her legs. Dewitt whimpered into her gag, at the thought of being pierced down there… Sally was just considering whether to take Toulouse up on that when another woman walked up. It was Mistress Oberon. She walked up to Sally, her own slave trailing after her.

Leaning close, the Mistress whispered to her, “I see you’ve gone up in the world since the last time I saw you, Sally. Meet me in the west parlor in five minutes. We need to talk…” She straightened up, giving a curt nod, before turning and walking away.

A jolt of fear ran through Sally as she realized that she had been recognized. All of a sudden, it seemed her little switch was going to be revealed in front of half the Society. The thought of what kind of punishment all the Masters and Mistress present might devise for her filled her with terror…

“Madam Dewitt, are you alright?” Toulouse asked.

Sally nodded, forcing herself to calm down. Mistress Oberon hadn’t revealed her yet. Sally didn’t know why, but for the moment there was still a chance. “Yes, I’m fine.” She told the other woman. “Just some personal business that I need to take care of. Come slave!” She snapped, tugging on the real Dewitt’s leash.

As she walked out of the ballroom, Toulouse shrugged. “None of my business, I guess.” She turned to join one of the other conversations nearby. Her slave hurried after her with appropriate haste given where her leash was attached…

As Sally stepped out into the hallway, the babble of voices diminished slightly. Nervously, she walked to the end of the hallway and opened the door to the West Parlor. Mistress Oberon was there, standing in the center of the room with her slave kneeling. She turned as Sally entered the room, dragging Dewitt with her.

“How good of you to join me.” Oberon said. “I must admit I was surprised at this turn of events. I was expecting to see you occupying the position your companion is in.” she nodded to the woman at the end of Sally’s leash. “I take it she’s the real Mistress Dewitt?”

Sally nodded, realizing there was no sense in lying. “I figured a change in position, if only for one night, might do us both a bit of good.” Dewitt’s angry groan said she disagreed, but she was ignored.

“What an extraordinary coincidence…” Mistress Oberon said. “A similar arrangement brought me here tonight…” she reached up and removed her mask.

“Agatha!” Sally exclaimed, struggling to keep her voice down as she recognized the woman behind the mask.

Agatha grinned. “Surprise!” She said cheerfully.

“Oh my god! I haven’t seen you in…” Sally began.

“Two years.” Agatha finished for her. “That party at Master Nago’s mansion, when Mistress Dewitt wagered me when she only had a pair of sevens.” Agatha had been one of Dewitt’s house slaves, along with Sally, but Mistress Oberon won her in a card game.

“So I take it she’s…” Sally asked, nodding to the hooded slave kneeling at Agatha’s feet.

“The real Mistress Oberon, yes.” Agatha replied. “Amazing how a hood, some shackles and very little else completely changes a person’s appearance, from a proud Mistress to a humble slave.” The captive at her feet groaned miserably. “I could get used to this. Too bad we can’t keep this charade up after tonight.”

“Yeah…” Sally replied glumly, imagining the punishment she’d get tomorrow for this. She shrugged, her smile returning. “Still, the night is young. We might as well enjoy ourselves.”

“That’s the spirit!” Agatha replied, putting her mask back on. She tugged sharply on the leash in her hand. Mistress Oberon groaned into her gag, struggling to get to her feet while cuffed. The two Slaves and their captive Mistresses slowly made their way back to the ballroom.

“Let’s see if we can get a game of ‘Pin the Tail on the Slave’ started. We’ve already got two volunteers right here…”

“Alright. And maybe after that, we’ll take Mistress Toulouse up on her offer…” Sally replied. The two girls giggled, planning the rest of their night gleefully. Trailing behind them, their two captives glanced at each other with mute expressions of horror. Their night was far from over…