“Get dressed. Something sexy, but not trashy. You have 40 minutes. Be ready when I pull up. I won’t get out, so watch for me.”
“Yes, Sir,” she responded promptly, although her head was already swimming through her clothing, pausing on various options, then rejecting them. She knew better than to press for more details.
The key was in the “sexy but not trashy” comment. He wanted to show her off, but not let the world know she was a slut.
Though she was, of epic proportions.
She didn’t always love what he made her do, while she was doing it, but afterwards, she could live off the buzz for days.
Hanging up the phone she flew upstairs. She had no time for a shower; a quick swipe with a washcloth would have to suffice. She went to her make up table and refreshed her face, brushed her hair, then decided to put it up in a loose bun. He loved that look of her hair, as if it was about to fall and cascade down her back.
She smoothed his favorite lip color across her full bottom lip, traced the curves carefully. In the cinnamon tone, her lips shimmered invitingly. And just barely this side of slut-red, enough to hint, and tantalize, especially if one knew her secret identity as a kept whore.
Her lips smiled to herself as she let the word roll through her mind.
Such a dirty word. It denoted sexual degradation, and perhaps a desperation. She understood her own driving need to be used, sexually, to pleasure them both.
The dress was simple on the hanger, but once she slipped it on, the short flirty hem hinted at secret places awaiting exploration. The bodice cupped her tits like a lover’s hands, while the fall-away back left the long line of her spine bare. His hand would touch her there, mid-back, to guide her through the crowds, she knew. Perhaps his fingers would slip further around to tease the side of her breast. Or deeper, to secretly fondle her nipple as they waited in some secluded corner of a bar.
She painted a variety of scenarios in her head as she fastened her heels, then took one last glance in the mirror. Disdaining a sweater or shawl, she took her purse from the hook and went downstairs to await his arrival.
She slid into the car with grace, and she read approval on his face. His eyes traced the line of her leg as she slipped inside, then the curve of her tits as the seatbelt crossed them.
It wasn’t many words, but they spoke volumes. She’d often read how one “good girl” could replace an entire paragraph of vanilla compliments.
She wondered which restaurant they would go to this evening. Or perhaps some classy bar. Together they would look like the perfect “power couple”, and only they would know the fullness of that power dynamic.
She settled back in her seat, silent as he preferred. The radio was on low, throbbing with Adagio for Strings, which always brought a lump to her throat.
“Put this on.” He handed her a black silk blindfold, pulled from his breast pocket.
“Yes Sir,” she murmured quietly, respectfully.
Slipping it over her eyes, she felt a stirring of excitement. He wanted to surprise her. How delightful!
The car stopped after a brief time. His window went down, there was a murmur of conversation. The window wrrrrred as it went up, the puff of cooler air dancing across her bare arms, and making her regret not bringing a cover-up. There was a crunch of gravel under the tires.
“Remove your blindfold.”
She blinked. It was dark, and the sound of insects chirring came through the windows. They were not in the city.
“We walk. Get out.”
Well damn, she was wearing 5 inch heels! Reluctantly she opened her door, removing her seat belt. He waited impatiently for her to unfold herself and join him.
He took her arm and led the way down a path. There was the smell of fog, of dampness. She shivered. His hand was warm on her arm, but her back was cold. Her nipples rose to form hard peaks under her dress.
She saw him glance at her, smile, then look back at the path they followed. There were lights every so often illuminating the way. The path curved to the right, then veered sharply left. There was a clearing, and a huddle of people, the hum of conversations.
As they drew closer, she saw a few other women, but most here were men.
“Ah, welcome! So glad you could make it! And right on time, too.”
He was a middle-aged man, balding, and round-bellied. His words were genial, but his eyes made her nervous. He checked her out thoroughly, gaze lingering on her tits.
He moved to the center of the group.
“The rules are simple. The gate is being closed now. There are 20 men here, and 4 sluts. They get a 2 minute head start, and then we hunt. When we find you, we fuck you. You are sluts, property of men. You will do as you are told. If you are told to suck cock, you suck. If you are told to bend over, bend over. If you are told nothing, then fight, if you choose. ”
He looked at the women who had been pushed away from their Master’s and stood in a small huddle together.
“You can fight if you choose,” he repeated. “It won’t do you a damn bit of good, for you will be fucked. If someone else finds you while you’re being used, they may jump in and join the party, or they may wait their turn. Twenty men, four women. Good fucking odds. Game ends at dawn.”
He looked at the men.
“No snuff. Other than that, no holds barred. Beat them, fuck them, pinch them, bite them. Tonight, they are prey.”
He clapped his hands.
“Attention everyone. When you hear the bell, your time begins. Run well, little vixens.”
The sound of the horn blasting from some unseen place shattered the night. Bright lights kicked on, casting long shadows of trees from the woods, the shrubs. The women looked at one another, and the group of men eyeing them salaciously.