Friends: This is the first in a series, primarily to set the tone. Base it on such. If it pleases you I'll continue.
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The convention was as it always was: People parading around in their skimpies trying to garner the attention of everyone else dressed in their skimpies trying to be the center of attention. Dommes led their subs around on lengths of rope, in chains, with dog collars, tied up, trussed up, smacked, herded and led throughout the hotel, often to the surprised and sometimes terrified reactions of the mundane guests.
Mistress Brianna sat in a chair with her twentyish sub standing beside her silently. Geoffrey wasn't even a favorite of hers, but he was adequate, and a delight being about half her age. He was eager to please and not so dim-witted as others she had had, but there wasn't anything really spectacular at this convention. Sure, she could show off at one of the parties, but it usually degenerated into a pathetic display of oneupsmanship. Yawn. She admired a male sub that sauntered by on all fours, being walked by a girl who looked more like his daughter than her Domme. Whatever pays the bills and brings the thrills. Sigh. Here she was, just another forty-something Domme in a room with other hopeless wannabes and neverwases. She slapped her riding crop against her thigh absently. Maybe it was time to switch. Nah, a movie would have been better, she thought. Maybe something funny. She seriously considered dropping her con badge in the trash and strolling out, dumping Geoffrey at the door for some other power hungry freak to snatch up when they entered.
And it just about changed her life.
A hush fell over the room as the couple entered, the man, resplendent in a faux snakeskin match of vest and pants, the light arcing of the shiny surface, his arms rippling as he held the two leashes that ended in two men, one cut like Adonis, wearing a light cotton garment that alternatively hid and covered his beauty and another, more chubby and loutish, but firm in a barrel-chested European sort of way. Two female subs who escorted her lady were just as different to each other. One was almost majestic in her posture and bearing, long auburn hair trailing down her back and conservatively dressed in a velvet green gown slit up both sides to the hip. The other was shorter, more delicate, with a girl's cropped blonde hair and porcelain skin, her small breasts lifted by a white corset, her legs caressed by matching stockings. Her eyes were downcast, and so Brianna could not gauge their color, but the other's green eyes pierced the room, daring Dommes to challenge her, or perhaps fiercely warding them from her Master and Mistress.
Despite the sight that their Master was with them linked to him, it was the Mistress who stopped traffic. Tall and slender, shining dark hair to match her black attire, with rising breasts straining at her thin black tank top, her raven skirts swaying as she strode, slit and open at the front displaying her firm pelvis and belly. She wore tiny boots with chrome stiletto heels, raising her above the gaping and staring crowd, and just level to her darling escort.
Brianna watched awestruck as the parade strolled through the ballroom, stopping to have drinks fetched for them and to chat with a tired pair of antediluvian Dommes who looked as if they survived on cigarettes, hairspray and bourbon. Eventually they peeled away and came towards her, the auburn-haired sub staring at her the whole way. How impudent, and such a lack of control on their young masters' part! They couldn't have been out of their mid-twenties and surely were not experienced in the art of control. Then it occurred to her. The fiery, albeit impudent, beauty was not staring at her, but rather past her, at, or through, Geoffrey. She heard his silent apprehension and then he spoke, perhaps reading her mind.
"What shall we do, Mistress?"
"Nothing, Geoffrey, be patient."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Then, remembering her own standards. "And you did not request permission to speak."
