It was late afternoon, and the warm afternoon sunshine slanted through the blinds into the study. You looked up from your laptop and smiled slowly as you saw me enter the room. “Are you looking forward to the party this evening?”
I smiled and nodded.
We’d been together for several whirlwind months now, and our fiery romance showed no signs of slowing. I had been eagerly anticipating meeting your friends all week. This evening’s party was just a small gathering of a dozen or so, but you loved to entertain and had hired caterers and a bartender. The house already smelled amazing, scents of garlic mingling with citrus and burnt sugar. It was just going to be cocktails and appetizers, but you had chosen the selections carefully, and I couldn’t wait to taste one of the tiny pastries I had glimpsed the caterers remove from the oven as I passed the kitchen.
You closed your laptop and beckoned me closer, pulling me onto your lap as I came within reach. One strong hand brushed my cheek.
“Do you trust me?” you asked.
“Yes,” I replied, the nearness of you undoing me, as always.
“Will you allow me to be your master?” you continued, a glint in your eye making me swallow before answering a soft, “Yes.”
In my mind, I wondered just why you were teasing me with these questions here and now. You had asked them before, but only when we were playing in the bedroom. But I liked the look of satisfaction on your face when I answered, and I meant it. I adored you, and nothing made me as hot as those times we played at master and slave, so if you wanted to play right now, I wasn’t going to ask questions.
You looked into my eyes. “Then will you trust me to be your master tonight, from now until dawn?”
I paused, seeing a seriousness in your eyes. I thought of how you treated me, and how you cherished me, and I looked back at you and said, “At the party?” I considered, imagining lacy underwear and a remote control toy, and smiled as I said, “Sure!”
I felt bold as I continued. “If you wish to play at being my master, then I will be your slave and do your bidding.” Saying it out loud made an ache of desire blossom, deep inside, and I leaned into you hopefully.
“If you change your mind,” you said solemnly, “you will use your safeword.” I nodded, realising that something more than flirtation was happening. “Do you understand?” After a moment, I answered.
“Yes.”
My mind was racing and I felt my nipples tingling as my body reacted while my mind wondered just what you were up to.
Before I could ask follow up questions, you grinned, and kissed me, hard and thoroughly, one hand firm on my waist.
“Go, get dressed. Guests will begin arriving in 20 minutes. You may wear what is laid out on the bed.”
A few minutes later, in the bedroom, I realised that this was absolutely not going to be an ordinary evening of subtle flirtation. I pulled my phone from my jeans and texted you.
Did you leave part of this outfit in the closet?
Your reply came quickly. No, I told you, you may wear what is on the bed. Nothing more. Less, if you feel daring.
My heart was in my throat. This was not what I expected.
Neatly laid out on the bed were a suit jacket and a pair of shoes. That was all.
The jacket was soft, beautifully tailored of something drapey that had a subtle sheen and was probably woven by highly educated vegan spiders or something equally classy. It was a dark charcoal, lined with an impossibly pretty paisley in soft greys. The shoes were ruby red, a suede so luscious I almost wanted to bite it, with a heel just high enough. You had a great eye- they would make my legs look miles long, but I would still be able to walk in them.
I took a deep breath and began slowly undressing, my mind racing as I contemplated this turn of events. I slid the jacket on over my naked shoulders. The cool lining on my skin felt like a caress, and I shivered as the lapels brushed over my breasts.
I put my hands in the pockets and found a pair of sheer red panties tucked into one. Relieved, I pulled them over my ass. I smiled wryly. To think I’d be so excited over a pair of panties.
Finally, I slid my feet into the shoes. They fit perfectly.
Catching a glance of myself in the mirror, I saw that they did make my legs look amazing. I turned away quickly, feeling strangely self-conscious at seeing a glimpse of myself.
After a moment and a deep breath, I composed myself and turned back, taking in my reflection standing tall. If you really were serious, well then, I was going to be the best damn slave you could imagine, and I wanted to know what people were seeing when they looked at me. I had no doubt that they would look. I know I would, if the tables were turned.
That confidence evaporated as soon as I faced the bedroom door. I stood, with my hand on the knob, for what seemed ages, and nearly jumped out of my skin when it turned under my fingers and you entered.
I stepped back nervously, not sure where to put my hands. I settled on pulling them up into the sleeves of the jacket and trying to be small.
You shook your head. “Oh no, you can’t go out there hiding like a turtle in a shell. Stand up, shoulders back. If you disappear into the jacket again, I will take it away.”
I hurried to obey, loath to lose my only real garment. You looked me over approvingly, then took my hands and kissed me, once on the lips and once on the forehead.
“Come, the guests have begun to arrive”.
And so, I swallowed my fear and walked beside you, down the hall and towards the stairs. Before we descended, you stopped and spoke, your tone matter-of-fact.
“Tonight, you are to serve my guests. Make sure they have drinks and anything else they request. They have been told that you are here for their enjoyment, and they won’t hesitate to make their wishes known. Make me proud.”
You kissed me, deeply, one hand drifting to my breast, naked under the lapel of the jacket. Then you leaned back and looked me in the face, pinching my nipple for emphasis as you added, “And whatever you do, don’t spill any drinks, or I shall be very upset.”
I bit down a yelp and nodded, too confused, nervous, and turned on to speak. Taking my hand, you led me down the stairs.
The room was large, long and low, with patio doors along one side open to the warm night air. One end had a fire burning in the hearth despite the summer’s warmth, but a cross-breeze kept the room comfortable. While there were sofas and chairs throughout the area, the first of the expected guests mingled outside on the tiled terrace. Lanterns were artfully suspended in the trees surrounding the terrace, and it was magical already, even though the last of the daylight hadn’t faded away.
If you hadn’t been holding my hand, I may have turned and fled at the bottom of the stairs, but you just kept walking as though nothing was unusual. The eyes of the bartender in the corner of the room briefly went wide, then he resumed mixing something in a tall, slender glass.
You pulled me gently alongside you and we headed out onto the terrace to greet the guests already there, two men dressed in dark slacks and tailored shirts, and a tall woman wearing a simple dress and sensible flat shoes. My heart hammered in my throat, but they must have been expecting this, me, because they didn’t bat an eyelash. Instead, as introductions were made (James, Bruce, and Liza I repeated to myself) they inquired about the ordinary things everyone always inquires about at things like this. Well, not quite like this, I thought. I stammered out responses on autopilot- I worked for an architecture firm, lived in the next town over, loved the low beams in this room… the whole time barely aware of what I was saying.
I had nearly relaxed when you excused yourself to go and greet a new arrival, patting my bottom as you walked away, leaving me alone with James, Bruce, and Liza,. As soon as you were out of earshot, Bruce took a long ostentatious look at me, while Liza winked and kept chatting. After a minute or two, James said that he would like another drink, and I guessed that was my cue.
I asked each of them what they would like, then headed to the bar for two old fashioneds and a moscow mule. Another wave of guests had arrived, and were moving slowly towards the terrace, and I had to walk past them, all the while conscious of my barely covered skin and my very red face. I delivered the order to the bartender and willed myself to disappear as I stood waiting, watching you move through the small group, chatting and smiling.
And then the drinks were ready, and for the next hour, I found myself repeating the same tasks. Small talk, drinks, small talk, more introductions, drinks, until I had met everyone and forgotten most of their names again. I even mastered holding myself so my jacket covered my breasts, and I was feeling a little bit smug. The caterers circulated, people ate dainty foods and laughed comfortably.
The guests had drifted into the long low living room as the evening began to cool. I was walking through the room, with a drink of my own in my hand for only the second time all evening when a handsome man with a neat beard (Mark.. Matt.. no, Max, maybe?) caught my arm.
I startled, but he kept his grasp, gentle yet firm, and bent down to my ear. Softly, he said “Open your jacket. I notice you’ve been trying to keep those lovely nipples covered, but that’s not really in the spirit of things, is it?
I turned to face him, my cheeks hot, and hesitantly pulled the jacket open with one hand, revealing my breasts, one then the other, dark nipples standing out against my pale skin. He smiled, then reached out and put his hand around one, his thumb pressing gently against the nipple, while with his other hand he brushed his icy glass over my belly and up, over the fullness of my other breast, up brushing my collar bone. He smiled, feeling me shiver under his touch. Then, still holding my breast, he leaned down and kissed me, whiskey on his breath, and I remembered you looking at me, telling me to make you proud, and I gathered my boldness and kissed him back.
My pussy throbbed as I leaned into the kiss, all fear vanishing finally as my brain and body finally organized themselves and realised that this was going to be very fun.
The adrenaline that had been flooding me all evening kicked up a notch, and I wondered if you were watching. Of course you were watching.
A moment later, still dizzily kissing M (I didn’t know what his name was, but I was sure it began with an M), I felt a hand brush my waist, down over my hip, and then slip between my legs. I don’t know why I hadn’t expected that, but I hadn’t, and in my surprise I pulled away from the kiss and dropped my glass. The shatter as the glass hit the slate tiles caused every head to turn. They saw M lean down and lift me up, stepping us both back from the broken glass and spilled drink.
His arms felt awfully good, and feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on me made me feel at once horribly awkward and very turned on. And the feeling in the pit of my stomach as I searched the faces and found yours, gazing calmly at me from your seat in a leather armchair, that feeling was complicated and unsettling and I wanted more than anything to kiss you and apologize, on my knees the way we’d played many times alone.
“Bring her here, Mason,” you said. I squirmed instinctively, but Mason (now I would never forget his name) just grinned, scooped me up, and stepped across the room, then set me carefully on my red shoes, one hand squeezing my ass as he did.
Everyone seemed to be anticipating something, and it occurred to me that this may not have been the first time that you had hosted parties like this. I began to sink to my knees, but you shook your head.
“Stand up. That’s better. What did I ask of you this evening?” you asked in your best master voice.
I answered shakily. “To serve your friends, and not spill anything.”
“Well,” you replied wryly, “I see that you were trying to serve, but you certainly managed to spill spectacularly. I guess that you’ll have to do penance.”
I stood frozen, ashamed, and excited, my face impossibly red now.
“Take off that jacket,” you directed, “and come here.”
I slipped my arms out of the shelter of the jacket, and felt someone take it from my hands.
Then, right there in front of all your guests, you pushed me down over your knees like a naughty child. You pulled the red panties, thoroughly damp now, down just far enough to bare my ass, and then you began to administer the most painful spanking I’d ever had. The smacks were no harder than usual, but somehow being humiliated like this in front of so many virtual strangers made every nerve sing, probably adrenaline, some distant part of my mind suggested, and soon I gave up trying to be dignified and was yelping and squirming.
You stopped after 10 solid smacks on each cheek, and I sighed in relief, until I heard you say, “Mason, would you like a turn, seeing as she carelessly spilled her drink on your shoes?”
Mason responded with enthusiasm, and I felt his hands lift me again, this time setting me on my feet behind a nearby sofa.
“Bend over, love,” he chuckled, pulling my panties the rest of the way down, leaving them around my ankles in a damp tangle. He patted my bum as though to warm up, and before he began, a curvy brunette with big round glasses climbed onto the couch, facing me. She leaned in to kiss my red cheeks while her hands slid to find my breasts. She brushed them with her palms and I shivered as Mason began to spank me, gentler than you had, seemingly more interested in caressing and teasing between smacks than actually spanking in earnest. I moaned, and the woman pinched my nipples in response.
I was vaguely aware that a couple of others had moved in, and soon lost track of the hands tugging, pinching, rubbing, and smacking. Someone nibbled my neck in a way that would have made me weak in the knees at the best of times, and I felt the room spin. I held tightly to the back of the sofa and saw stars.
Then, you spoke. “Don’t give her too much, not yet.”
The teasing stopped, and all that was left was a series of firm smacks and a final pinch of my now-tender nipples. The room was quiet except for my frustrated moans accompanied by a soft jazz standard playing over the speakers. I idly wondered if the caterers were still circulating with those pastries… I squirmed, hoping for more touch, but felt nothing except the burning of my ass cheeks.
“Stand up,” you said, and I obeyed shakily, realising that my thighs were damp to my knees. I was naked except for the red shoes, and I wouldn’t be able to walk without disentangling myself from the panties. I looked at you and saw you smile, and despite all the conflicting emotions, I knew in that moment that I would do anything, anything at all, to see you smile at me that way again.
“Please,” I said after a long, still moment. “Please.”
You looked past me, at Mason, and nodded. Before I could react, Mason moved behind me, pushing me down over the sofa again, one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck. I felt a hard cock nudge me, waiting.
“Yes, please!” I cried, and he took me, hard.
The eager hands reappeared, and I didn’t know if my feet were even on the ground, the sensations were so overwhelming. I began to shudder, and cried out at the orgasm building. Mason growled deep in his chest and kept fucking me, deliciously, relentlessly. Another orgasm overtook the first, and soon the waves were shuddering through me almost non-stop. I wasn’t sure I could take any more when I finally felt him press against me, deep and still, as he shuddered and came with a low moan.
When he slipped from my wet slick pussy, I collapsed bonelessly into waiting arms, and let myself be lifted onto the sofa, ending up cuddled between the woman with the glasses and a lean man with salt and pepper hair, who I suspected had been responsible for some rather sinful caresses.
When the shaking subsided and I opened my eyes, you were still seated in the chair where you had spanked me, watching. You looked me in the eyes as the salt and pepper man slid the jacket around my shoulders, kissing my brow, and you said, “Well done, little slave. I think my friends have been well served.”
I smiled contentedly, then closed my eyes again, leaning sleepily into the warmth of the woman beside me, glad of the fire.
Chatter began to fill the spaces between the crackling of the fire and the lyrics flowing from the speakers, as your guests returned to their conversation, though perhaps there was a bit more electricity in the air. 3 or 4 retreated to a quiet corner, and soon soft moans mingled with the horns in the sultry jazz that was playing. The others settled on the sofas and chairs, drinks were refilled, and conversation swirled around me.
When the night ended and the guests had all gone home, you carefully hung the jacket in the closet, then tucked me into bed and climbed in beside me. While you held me, you told me all the parts of the evening you had enjoyed.
I dozed, listening to your voice and marveling that you were describing me, because I would never have imagined doing what I had done tonight. The last thing I felt before I slept was a kiss, soft and gentle, on my cheek.
