It seemed only fitting that I was dressed in the same outfit that had gotten me into trouble in the first place, though, perhaps “dressed” wasn’t the right choice of words, seeing as how it consisted of a pair of black floral lace stockings held up by a garter belt. Oh, and heels tall enough that I wasn’t about to go skipping down the street without having to worry about face planting. She gave me one of her shirts to wear. On me it was more of a short dress. A very short dress. Short enough to show off the top of my stockings. She’d fussed over me, buttoning each button carefully. Not every button. The top three were left undone. Afterwards, she gave me one of her coats.
“You look delicious.”
“Thank you, Mistress. We’re going out, aren’t we?” I asked, my face already warm with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. “You look… stunning.”
And she did. A royal blue dress hugged her like a second skin. Black leather boots covered her shapely calves. A black leather jacket contrasted wonderfully with the waves of blonde hair that spilled over her shoulders.
“Thank you, pet.” She pulled me to her, one hand cupping my ass through my borrowed coat, kissing my nose tenderly. “I think you’ll enjoy yourself. I know my girl isn’t used to going an entire week without being allowed to come.”
I remained silent, thinking back on how she’d teased me nightly, sometimes playfully, sometimes cruelly, masturbating as we talked and making me listen to her orgasm over the phone, sometimes going silent, savoring the sound of her building moans and shaking voice as I played along, knowing that I wasn’t allowed to go over the edge…
She mussed my hair fondly, chuckling, her voice sweet and full of promises. Truth was, I liked being treated like this. Not a lover as much as a favorite pet. Or a plaything when the mood struck her, which was often.
It was rare that I knew, ahead of time, what the night would entail. Usually, I was just given a time to arrive (and god forbid I should show up even a minute late; too early was fine, as long as I didn’t mind standing outside her door until she was ready to let me in) and instructions on what to wear. Tonight it had been, "Stockings and garters. The new ones. And four inch heels. Oh, and I suppose a dress. Doesn’t matter what. It will be coming off the moment you arrive.” And they had, leaving me feeling exposed and off balance as I got into the passenger seat of her car. Wisely, I didn’t inquire as to our destination. I’d found out the hard way that good girls didn’t ask. And I wanted, very much, to be a good girl. You see, good girls got to come while bad girls didn’t. It was a simple, yet effective, motivator.
“I want to whip you in the worst way. Been thinking about it all week. Whip you until your throat is raw from screaming.”
“Oh.” I managed to fill that single syllable with infinite longing.
“Not tonight, kitten. But soon. And only if you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now,” I managed, the words barely a whisper.
My pulse suddenly tripled, pumping sexual adrenaline through my veins, short-circuiting my muscles, my tongue, my ability to form coherent thoughts… everything.
“Not tonight!” she repeated with a sharp laugh, using my silence as an invitation to monologue. “We’ll pick a date, though. You’ll need a couple of days to recover, I’m thinking.”
And she left it there, leaving me a mess. Knowing she was leaving me a mess. Knowing that I wouldn’t have room in my little kitten brain for things like embarrassment, humility, shame, or inhibitions.
As I mentioned, I never really knew what the night would bring. Tonight was very different. Tonight, I got to meet some of her friends for the first time. Not work friends. Not the ‘hang out and have a beer' friends. The ‘we know her deepest, darkest secrets’ friends…
“I’ll take your coat.”
“Err,” I responded, looking quickly to my Mistress before remembering our little talk in the car moments earlier; “Everyone you’ll meet tonight knows about our relationship. You don’t need to be shy.”
“It’s her favorite word. I am sure you’ll hear it a lot,” she said, amusement coloring her voice as I turned my back to her so that she could help me out of my coat, leaving only the borrowed, barely decent shirt protecting my modesty.
It was… a nice night, once I relaxed enough to enjoy it. I spent a large portion of the time kneeling at her feet (my choice – it just felt right and I was more comfortable) and mostly listening in. There were five other women, four of them couples. A few glasses of wine later I found myself in the hall, backed against the wall, her weight against me, kissing me hard while she unbuttoned my shirt. I couldn’t keep myself from moaning, knowing that the others could probably hear me, not caring once I felt her hand against my neglected pussy, her fingers slipping easily between my puffy lips, her palm mashed against my clit, fingering me until my knees grew week and I came, hard, crying out inarticulately. Certainly loud enough to announce my orgasm. And the one that followed on its heels as well.
She swatted my hands away when I tried to rebutton my top. I knew better than to protest, so I simply resumed my place at her feet when we rejoined the others, aware of the looks of approval and appreciation as I knelt there, on display, my cheeks burning with embarrassment as well as a sense of pride at her claiming me as hers in front of her friends.
