Afterward, there was more rustling. People were moving around again. I tried to stay focused on my task, kissing and kissing Lauren’s foot. Everything that had happened before now happened again. Talking that I couldn’t make out. That odd buzzing, like hair clippers. A few more words. Sudden applause, cheers of congratulations. Then more rustling.
It all happened another time, then another. At one point, Lauren lifted her right foot, the one I wasn’t kissing, and let it rest on my back. Her bare sole felt wonderful on my skin. I’d never expected that sort of physical contact with her. She bent down close to my head, and whispered.
“It’s almost our turn, slave.”
More buzzing. I was nervous now. Lauren appeared to be either excited or nervous. She took her foot off my back, and sighed. Her feet tapped quickly on the grass. She leaned over as the woman seated next to her squeezed her in a quick hug. Oh god, what was about to happen?
The buzzing stopped. More words spoken, applause, more rustling, moving around. Suddenly, two of the guard women stood on either side of me, frighteningly close, looking down at me. Lauren slipped the loop off her ankle, held it in her hand, and spoke softly.
“Slave, stop kissing. Stand up and follow me.”
I obeyed immediately. We walked, weaving our way through tables gradually toward the platform in the center. Two guards, hands ready on their sword handles, walked side by side in front of us. Lauren led me, holding the floral loop in her right hand as I followed close behind her, the viney collar suddenly more noticeable on my neck. Behind us, the other two guards followed side by side. All eyes were fixed on us, and I shivered just a bit, suddenly feeling self conscious, the naked center of this armed procession.
Just ahead of me, Lauren looked resplendent. I’d been looking at nothing but her feet for hours now, and seeing her face again, looking back at me, I melted into a submissive haze. Tendrils of blonde hair framed her sweet face, barefoot in her white dress, holding my leash firmly, she led me through the grass, past the crowd, to whatever was in store.
The platform was painted white. Five steps led to the top, where a chair sat facing the steps. The chair was high backed ornate wicker, painted that peculiar light purple color. It looked like a throne. It looked old, as if it had been used for many years in ceremonies like this one. That color, it occured to me as I saw the chair, it was called “lilac.”
The two guards in front walked side by side up the steps, and stood flanking the chair, facing outward. Lauren the ascended the stairs, and I followed her up. As she reached the top, she motioned for me to stop, standing on the second step. She turned and seated herself gracefully on the throne, still holding my leash.
A middle aged woman stepped up to the platform. She wore a long black gown, draped with a lilac sash. Standing on the ground beside the steps, she spoke to me softly.
“Lauren’s slave, kneel on the stairs before your owner. Place your chin on the platform, with your hands beside your face.”
I obeyed her, letting my knees descend to the third step, my ass sticking out. I lowered my face, letting my chin rest on the platform surface at the edge of the steps, just in front of Lauren’s bare feet. I placed my hands, palms down, on either side of my face. Lauren bent down and slipped the loop around her right foot. I was again bound to her.