We exit the car, enter the hotel lobby and walk toward the bar.
"Get us a couple of spots at the bar, pet" you tell me. "I'm going to visit the ladies' room."
The bar is only semi-crowded, so I easily find two adjacent stools. I suck in my breath as I sit uncomfortably, the unforgiving butt plug reminding me of its presence as I settle my weight on the bar stool. Not sure what you might want to drink, I defer the bartender's question and scan the patrons.
The bar seems to draw an attractive, but eclectic crowd. Urban professionals - classy, but nonetheless a meat market.
A few minutes later, you stride into the bar with confidence, and I notice the not-so-subtle gazes you attract. They admire the dress that hugs your curves, and the features that it reveals - your toned legs, your strong arms, and the defined features about your head and neck. You've worked hard to achieve your level of fitness, and the result is impressive. Some might be intimidated by you, but those who are simply aren't worth your time.
I'm a bit shocked as you walk past the vacant stool beside me, and settle instead on one a little further down the bar. I start to stand up from my stool to follow you, but my phone buzzes and I see your text:
[Stay, pet]
I swallow hard, glance in your direction, and see that grin, that tilt of your head. I've no doubt that the next phase of the evening will prove uncomfortable for me, but I'm powerless to resist. I settle back onto the stool as easily as I can, the butt plug and cock cage reminding me of who is in charge.
Your intricate tattoo sleeves never fail as an icebreaker, and it's not long before you draw a small crowd of curious onlookers, both male and female. You entertain their questions with grace, tolerating the ignorant ones ("Why did you want to do that?") and indulging the more serious ones ("Wow - what do you have planned next?"). Most of the women around you seem a bit insecure as they hold their own dates a little closer, intimidated by the aura you exude and its obvious effects on their male partners. A couple of men who are on their own actively vie for your attention, and you string them along, identifying no obvious favorites. You spread your legs slightly as you sit on the stool, revealing subtly that you are wearing no panties. Was this for my benefit? Those standing around you are no doubt too close to see, but it was obvious to me from several feet down the bar.
A drink appears in your hand, and you sip it with appreciation, smiling coyly as you do. It wasn't from me - which of your suitors bought it for you? You still deftly avoid picking a favorite, toying with all of them as you enjoy the hunt.
I catch the bartender's eye, order a drink, and turn my attention to the TVs behind the bar. Over time, the crowd around you thins a bit, and the women succeed in dragging their partners away from you, hinting at the lectures each will receive later for succumbing even slightly to your charms.
Only two men remain, and you flirt with them mercilessly, playing them off against each other, before ultimately dismissing them both abruptly. Puzzled at your seemingly sudden change of heart and not realizing that they never really stood a chance, they collect their drinks, tuck their tails between their legs, and wander away from the bar, searching for less discerning companions.
I start to rise from the stool, again to join you where you sit. But again, my phone buzzes and I see your text:
