Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
...
"James! How are you doing on this fine night, my old man?" The governor had maneuvered through the crowd of extravagantly dressed gala attendees, finding an open spot next to her and her master.
"Susan! You look ravishing tonight, as always! I'm sure you have plenty of eyes on you tonight, young lady!" The governor always conversed with loud, forceful phrasing, and he was generally enthusiastic, even though she could see the dark bags under his eyes that hinted at the long nights he worked out of his office. Even with the grizzled features of a hard working politician, he was an attractive man, his gray-flecked hair swooping back over his receding hairline, dark eyes piercing like a hawk. He flashed his pearly whites at her, a smile she assumed helped him climb the ladder of politics ever since he was a young high school jock.
He smells nice, she thought.
The master shook his hand firmly, clasping his other hand over their grip. The two men shared so many similarities, although the master was twenty years the junior of the elder statesman.
She mock curtsied, thinking about how her zipped up pink dress jacket covered the cleavage of her cum stained tight black dress, and what all the proper people would think if she happened to unzip here and now, showing everyone around her she was nothing but a wanton whore covered in the thick jizz of her master.
"What a lovely gathering you have here, governor. So many familiar faces, and some delicious food, too. Who did you have cater?" She smiled, eyes flashing. She knew she was able to mesmerize most men with her smile, as well as her voluptuous figure. Only the master wasn't affected by her feminine wiles.
She felt her pussy throb underneath the tight material of her dress. She hadn't worn any panties at the request of Mr. Aragon. Now, she felt naked, exposed in this sea of the well-dressed and wealthy.
The ballroom at the convention center was packed with the city's elite, snatching champagne and hors d'oeuvres from the passing waitstaff who carried silver trays in sinuous pathways through the young and old attendees. Susan snatched a tall, bubbly glass of champagne from a young waiter with slicked back blonde hair, and downed the drink in a single swallow. The governor watched her movements with interest, and raised his eyebrows.
"My, my, isn't somebody thirsty tonight?" He chuckled and turned back to James Aragon, who locked eyes with the powerful man and gripped his right bicep in earnest.
"Chuck, I need to ask a favor." The governor, Charles Hemsworth the Third, looked into the master's eyes with interest.
"Tell me more. Anything I can do for you, old man." They began to talk in low, serious tones.
Susan knew this was her cue to excuse herself.
"Excuse me, Chuck, I have to go powder my nose! Ha, ha, women always need to go to the bathroom, isn't it true." She patted the governor on the shoulder affectionately and walked toward the ladies restroom in the corner of the grand ballroom.
She could feel the eyes of young and old men follow her round behind as it writhed like two jaguars in a silk bag, her thick ass roiling behind her, leaving an imperceptible wake of lust as she passed through the murmuring crowd, all sipping and noshing and smelling of expensive perfumes in the dimly lit room.
She shivered with excitement, thinking about what her master had told her that she must do tonight, for him. She knew she didn't deserve such a treat, but she felt expectant and ready, as only a slut like her would.
When she reached the door of the lady's restroom, she passed by it, her heels clicking purposefully on the tile floor, and made her way to a service door that she knew was barely used for events like this. She made sure to shut the door behind her, and walked in the dim illumination to the janitor's closet she had inspected earlier that week. She tried the doorknob, half expecting to find it locked securely, but was relieved to find it open, and she went into the darkness.
She felt around the small room, making sure that the mop bucket was positioned over the drain as it was before, and the shelving unit was directly behind that.
She unclasped her leather handbag and withdrew her collar and chain, fastening around her neck with a sigh of contentment. She attached the chain to the metal shelving unit with a small padlock. Then she threw the key into the corner of the room, where she couldn't reach it.
Now she was truly at the mercy of the master's whim.
She had just enough chain to kneel on the cold linoleum tiled floor and rest her fleshy haunches on her heels. Her black suede pumps where uncomfortable in that position, but he had told her to leave them on the entire night.
She closed her eyes and let the darkness settle all around her. It was very quiet, and she could just hear the hum of the gala in the background, the quartet playing a sonata that sounded like Bach.
Minutes passed, then hours. The hum had gradually receded as her consciousness began to fade and and she felt herself drifting off when all of a sudden there was a jangling noise as the door latch was manipulated from the outside.
"Hello, is anybody in there?" There was heavy breathing and the voice sounded a tad drunk.
Then the door swung open and rested on her thigh, and a presence entered the small cleaning room, which had smelled vaguely of bleach and ammonia, and was now inundated with the scent of cedar, the main note in a man's expensive cologne.
