Halloween Munch (1)

She looked at herself critically in the mirror. She looked over her shoulder, checking the fit of the skirt over her ass. Sleek. Curvaceous, but sleek nonetheless. Turning forward again, she smiled at how the velvet corset teased in her waist, lifted her tits. And that wisp of lace across the top added a hint of mysterious cleavage.

She was HAWT.

The munch was going to be fun. Her Master would be there, she knew that having to work a bit later than He’d expected was frustrating to them both, but they’d survive. She’d never gone to a D/s event alone before, and there were a few butterflies swimming in her tummy. She smiled again, wondering if that was all that would be swimming there, later.

She slipped her collar into her handbag, grabbed her keys and headed out.


Arriving at the club alone, she scanned the parking lot. Halloween munches brought everyone out, it seemed. She could feel the thrumming music as she approached the door, a tickle across her skin.  She took a deep breath, then pulled the thick brass handle. It opened with a moan. She jumped, and the door guard (and he was in full guard regalia, circa Roman empire) let out a throaty laugh.

“Who goes there?”

She looked up at him with a cheeky grin


“Not in that outfit, missy,” He replied with mock scowl. “You, later, here.”

“Sorry, taken,” She replied, patting him on the arm as she stepped in.

Into a very strange wonderland. A few sub-fairies, several with wands and wings only, as well as the leather crowd were moving through the lower levels. Upstairs, she knew from previous visits, was the dungeon, atypical from the idea of a more traditional dark and gloomy space. Window-filled, it could play to the humiliation crowd by having the darkening curtains pulled wide, or, for the traditionalist, pulling them tight and shutting away the world beyond.

She was greeted by the host and Hostess, a couple she had met a few times at these events. Mistress was bedecked in a very brief skirt, over-the-knee boots, and a white full-blouse with a black corset over that. She looked…delightful. If she was into women, this would be the one for sure! Her slave was none-to0-shabby in his elegant suit and tie. His hands were cuffed to his belt loops, a separate cuff for each hand, giving him some limited mobility with his arms. He held his Mistress’ pinky finger with his. They were so sweet.

“Where is Master Pene this evening?” he asked. “I thought he didn’t like you out and about at these types of soiree’s? Called you ‘trouble on sticks’ as i recall…”

She laughed aloud. It was true, she managed to get into an inordinate amount of trouble. She was happy-go-lucky, free-spirited, and touchy-feely. Her 5 inch heels were the ‘sticks’ Sir had been teasing about.  She had originally hated the idea of such ‘mile high’ heels. But gradually, His fetish had won her over, and she was able to walk without teetering.  Her worst habit, however, was gawking. She couldn’t help herself, it seemed. Fairly new to the lifestyle, there was so much to take in. So many fetishes. So many varieties of D/s. And she loved looking at cocks. Sometimes so longingly that the owner thought she had other intentions.

“He was just about ready to leave work when he got called from…somewhere in Europe? Asia? I forget. Anyway He called and asked me to meet him here…”

“Well, Cassie, we’ll try to keep an eye out for you, make sure you’re doing okay.”

She smiled, gave each a brief hug, then progressed deeper into the swarming mass of people. She stopped to watch a woman she knew by sight but not name. A Dom was slowly drizzling wax along her tits, her nipples peaked and coated,  already hardened  from previous passes.

The candle sizzled and sputtered, as she moaned under the steadily dripping liquid. A thin trail led from her tits to a ring around her belly button. There were large drips heading down to the very top of her cleft.

He tipped the candle back up, setting it to one side, and taking up another with a large pool of molten wax. To the delight (and no doubt, kindling lust) of the onlookers, He poured it into her belly button.

The scream was so fucking erotic.

She moved on, heading for the ladies room. Once inside, she slid into a stall, trying not to disturb the two girls who were fetched up against the stall wall, hands in each others cunts, mouths entwined, moaning and humping together.

Quickly she texted Master.

“Permission to pee, Sir?”

She held the phone and her bladder. A minute went by, then another, as her right leg began to jitter.  As she was breathing deeply and slowly, thinking about tight sphincters, His text rang in.

“Yes, slut, you may pee.”

‘OMG’ she thought, ‘just in time!’ She texted him her thanks as relief spread through her throbbing bladder. Sometimes being an owned slut was hard work!