I went to a fancy-dress party with my sister on New Year's Eve, 2 months after my 18th birthday. She was back from her first term at University and they were all her friends, lots of people I didn't know well. Everybody was dressed up in outlandish costumes. The gladiator I had dressed as was revealing more skin than I was comfortable with! The tunic was way too small for me, not surprising, since I had had it since I was nine. My boxer shorts hung out below the hem when I first put it on, which looked ridiculous.
The party was busy, hectic and rowdy and full of people I didn't really know. I was struggling to fit in and was feeling foolish in my tiny tunic with my plastic armbands. My sister dragged me around saying Hi to a bunch of people who were delighted to see her and not at all interested in me. I found a bottle of vodka in the kitchen and hit it with two big gulps before making myself a strong mixed drink. It hit me within a few minutes and dulled my anxiety and self-consciousness a bit. When we met the hostess, the mother of one of my sister's friends, she eyed me up and down and slurred "You look more like a roman slave than a gladiator, cute though, very cute!" Apparently, she was really into the whole costume thing and had been adjusting peoples costumes all night. When she suggested some changes to mine, I was relieved.
She took my hand and led me into the hallway to a table covered in a variety of costumes, she turned and took a long thorough look at me and said: "Yummy! If only I was 20 years younger!" Then she put her cocktail glass down and rummaged through the pile. She came up with leather manacles for my ankles and wrists and a collar. Losing the stupid plastic sword and armor was a relief.
She tugged at my boxer shorts: "Slave, these have to go!"
I complained and argued that the tunic was way too short, but she continued to tug, and they were soon below my knees. I tried to pull them back up but began to lose my balance and the battle. I was scared, my bare buttocks were now completely exposed to anyone who walked around the corner. The fight went out of me and I let her win. But with little more than a thin piece of fabric covering from my waist to the tops of my thighs, I felt more exposed than ever.
"There, that's much more authentic!" She said, grinning with mischief
"Please, I can't walk around like this all night!" I complained.
She stepped back and looked at the tiny skirt-like sarong around my waist. "Yummy!" She said again with a laugh. "You're right, of course. Wrong crowd for this sort of costume!" She bent down and put her hands up under her own skirt and pulled down her panties, stepped out of them and handed them to me. "There you go!"
I stood looking at her, dumbfounded. They were tiny, warm and a hint of her scent drifted up from them. It was the most startling and arousing moment of my life.
"Well, put them on before someone comes out here and asks what you're doing with my panties in your hand!"
Dumbly I did as she commanded. They were pink, silky with lace edging, tiny in my hand they were almost nonexistent when I put them on. They didn't cover more than a third of my buttocks and in the front my cock and balls were very tightly confined, I felt my cock hardening a little both at the confinement and the feeling of the silky covering that was still warm with her body heat. It was embarrassing to be so aroused but at least I was no longer dangling low and uncovered.
Mrs. Dawson stepped back again and looked me over. Then stepped forward and tugged a little at the costume. Settling it down lower, her hand stroked first my buttocks and then my cock. "Somebody isn't objecting!" She grinned at me knowingly and turned and walked back into the living room.
She offered me a drink and I jumped at the chance to take the edge off my self-consciousness.
Mrs. Dawson seemed delighted with her changes to my costume and was very attentive as she again adjusted what little I was wearing. I put it down to the drink, but it was cool getting all this attention from the only true adult in the house. We chatted and when she was done with me, she patted me on the butt and sent me off into the party.
It was hard to mingle, I'm not very outgoing, and my eyes kept drifting back to Mrs. Dawson who was dressed as a show girl in a black and red corset and matching skirt, long at the back but very short at the front, revealing stocking tops and a garter on her thigh, she wore a feather head-dress that stood a foot above her head and subconsciously I could see it above the crowd all the time. I kept looking her way, she was an attractive woman and fully enjoying herself, I was fascinated and couldn't stop gazing at her. She caught me a couple of times and grinned. The third time she crooked her finger and beckoned me over. Sheepishly I went to her.
"You look a little under occupied for a slave! Do you mind helping me by making sure everyone's drinks are topped up?"
Mind? I was delighted. Now I had a task, the time passed much more quickly. There were plenty of drinks to serve and lots of cleanup. Mrs. Dawson was very cheerful and chatty, and she kept me busy and playfully slapped my butt a couple of times as I passed her. She also playfully told me to stop calling her Mrs. Dawson and that a good slave would call his mistress "m'lady" or "mistress".
After a while the crowd started to thin out and before we knew it, the last 8 or ten were leaving, including my sister and Mrs. Dawson's daughter Emily. They tried to persuade me to go with them but the idea of crossing town in the cold winter night to another party where I knew nobody, dressed as I was, held little attraction. I was in the middle of begging off when Mrs. Dawson came out of the living room.
"Leaving me with all this mess, Emily?" She said, tongue in cheek. "Surely you don't expect me to clean up on my own!" She was playing up the sympathy with great show.
"I have to go now, or I'll miss my ride!" Emily pleaded. "Leave it and I'll help you clean up in the morning."
"I've heard that one before! What about you, slave, are you leaving too?"
"Uh, I ..."
"Twenty quid if you stay and help me clean up!" She cut in, seeing my hesitation.
"That would be great if you would." Chimed in Emily "You didn't really want to come with us anyway!"
"Twenty quid!" Said Mrs. Dawson, grinning at me wickedly.
And so the deal was done. The party animals left, still in all their funky costumes, out into the cold wet night. Mrs. Dawson stood there with her ear to the slightly ajar door listening to their conversation as they gathered themselves up to leave. She looked at me and smiled, putting her finger to her lips. Her eyes were still on me as their voices began to fade into the distance. She ran her hand playfully and seductively down her side, to her stocking top, fingers tracing the lace. My eyes flittered from her fingers to her gaze locked on me. She bit suggestively on her lip and her fingers slid up to the very short hem at the front of her skirt and lifted it to expose little red lace panties beneath. She was an incredibly erotic sight, large breasts held tightly inside the corset top, narrow waist, sexy tanned thighs clad in black lace stockings all the way to her stiletto heeled boots. I felt myself harden inside the thin fabric of my sister's Calvin Klein's. I was surprised she had panties on but she had had plenty of opportunities during the evening to slip upstairs and replace those she had given me.
She pushed back on the door and the latch locked closed. "Wanna play?" She said, leaving no doubt in my mind what she was suggesting.
