"You will wear the blue skirt!" she tells me, reaching to pull it out of the closet.
I am already wearing the corset; black satin, laced, long suspenders linked on to sheer black stockings. Fishnet, she says, is tacky. Personally I think the whole suspenders-and-stockings thing is tacky, and much prefer bare flesh, but then, it's not for me to decide.
I am feeling smooth and soft and sleek. She personally shaved me, earlier, a hair-raising (hah-hah!) experience as it always is, to let someone else loose with a razor around your most vulnerable bits. I had lain, legs akimbo and surrendered, as she had gently soaped and scraped, the sharpness against my skin as erotic as the submission. She had then anointed me with frangipani body butter, deliberately lingering, making it a sweet torment in itself.
Now she pulls the little skirt around my waist, snagging the Velcro fastening and standing back to admire the ensemble. Hmmm...she smooths her hands over my nipples and then naughtily darts in to give one a little nip with her small, white teeth. We laugh. She strokes my face. "My little slut!" she says lovingly. And we kiss. I easily fit into her lush body, head back, throat stretched, straining up to her greater height. I dare to slip my hands around to caress her generous bottom. She scolds me – "NO!" - and steps away, swatting at my hands.
She pulls me over to the chair in front of the dressing table and I sit down. She always likes to do my party makeup; she's better at it than me. She smooths on foundation, blusher, a little mascara, smoky eyeshadow, and eyeliner – nothing too burlesque – and finishes it all off with a lovely warm red lipstick, lining the lips first, painting them in with the tiny lip brush, blotting, painting again. "It's smudge-resistant" she says with satisfaction, before expertly slicking some onto her own lips.
She is already dressed and made up. My Honey, my Darling; she's a big, strapping Saxon of a woman, six foot one in her bare feet, broad of shoulder, big of bosom, slender of waist and generous of hip. Her gold-blonde hair, usually snared in plaits, is tonight loose and wavy and falling halfway down her back. She is wearing the most heavenly little dress – a copper-coloured little wrap that ends just below that gorgeous bottom of hers – and a pair of caramel-coloured stay-ups. Nothing else. Her face is beautifully made up to a glow - a honey-beige foundation and light sheen of tawny blusher, coppery eyeshadow that complements her warm blue eyes. And lipstick – our lipstick. Yum. I want some of her, but I know I have to earn her.
Now she pulls our shoes out of the closet – hers copper kitten heels and mine black patent stilettos. We sit side by side on the bed to pull them on, and then stand up and loop our arms around each other as we admire ourselves in the mirror. What a pair we are – she a golden goddess, tall and tawny and magnificent, me tiny and dark with short black spiky hair. I fit in easily under her arm.
Time to go. We clippety-clop to the front door and pause for a moment as she slips on the last, vital piece of my outfit – the wide, black satin slave band that cinches around my wrist. It marks me as a subordinate, or sub. She is the dominant, the Dom (note the capital "D"!); her bare wrists say it loud and clear. Tonight I will do as she requires. If I do well, I will be rewarded, if I don't, I will spend the night where 'bad slave' always spends the night – on a blanket on the hard floor beside the bed.
She drives to the party – I can't in my high heels. We park a bit down the road – we've been doing this for a couple of years now, but we are still a bit shy of making ourselves too identifiable to our playmates so we feel a bit protective of number plates, last names, day jobs, and so on. Out of the car, we smooth our coats over our skirts and check each other's lipstick in the late evening light. We take deep breaths and grin at each other before consciously adopting our party personae. She leads the way, striding forth in all her golden glory, whilst I dutifully trot behind, feeling a bit undignified as I have to do one-and-a-half bird steps to each of her leggy strides. We arrive at the front door and ahem and shuffle a bit, doing a quick last check before she rings the bell.
The guy who answers the door is a stereotypical hunk; shirtless, wearing rather obvious black satin short-shorts outlining what can't possibly be a mother-nature cock, he has tanned and hairless designer abs and a chiselled Dan Dare jaw. I suppress a quick stab of jealousy as my Honey gives him the once-over. I'm not that into cock; she is. I imagine she's mentally putting him on the sex-party equivalent of her dance card.
He graciously takes our coats, and I see him giving me the once-over, his eyes stalling on my rounded bottom which is pushing out the back of my skirt. He glances at her for permission; she gives him a curt little nod. His hand slides under my skirt and his fingers probe slightly into my bottom cleavage. "Mmm!" he says, the fingers of his other hand glancing over my nipple.
We move through into the 'reception room'; big, open, a few chairs scattered about. Warmish coloured walls and gentle lighting, trays of drinks and a table full of light nibbles; as the night goes on we will need them to keep up our stamina. There are about eight or nine people there already; as a sub, I keep my eyes down though; it's not my place to make too much eye contact. I just have to keep an eye on my Honey and follow her cues.
Greetings and air kisses between the Doms; then laughter as they admire each other's subs. She takes a glass of champagne for herself and a fruit punch for me; I'm going to be working – and certainly worked! – hard tonight and she wants me sober so I can do her proud.
We circulate a little in the reception room, me sticking close to her and feeling nervous, as I always do at this stage. I wish I could have just one drink so I feel a bit more relaxed, but it's not allowed. More people arrive; in the end probably about nineteen or twenty fill the room with body heat, perfume and nervous, slightly over-loud chatter. I surreptitiously check out the genders. Probably about seven males and the rest females. Great, I do so much better with pussy! I feel a bit more relaxed and manage to catch Honey's gorgeous blue eyes. We smile at each other lovingly.
Dan Dare has come up. Surprisingly he's a sub; I hadn't noticed his slave band when we arrived. Maybe he's only just put it on. His Dom stands nearby, sending him signals, standing back to watch with enjoyment as his slave glances at my darling for permission to fuck me. She makes eye contact with the Dom, nods and gestures towards the inner room. We go through.
