The small egg in my pussy vibrates urgently. I snatch my phone off my desk, both aroused and slightly annoyed at the Bluetooth vibe and look surreptitiously around the classroom to see if anyone noticed my awkward reaction to seemingly nothing. The same bored looks at the board. I open the message and the vibe goes off again, and with a slight feeling of terror at being caught, I realize that you're texting me instructions, one word at a time. I pack up my stuff quickly and leave, finding a quiet place to sit outside. I bite my lip to keep from moaning as the texts keep coming, the vibe going crazy. I sit and open the text messages and string them together.
"I'm bringing friends over tonight. I expect you to be presentable and kneeling by the door at 7. Blindfold on. Wet. I want all of the toys displayed, ready to be used. Make sure there's fresh batteries. Do not disappoint me tonight, cumslut."
The last word—my name—is sent one letter at a time, bringing me just to the edge of an orgasm and leaving me short. I whimper, knowing I won't get another text. A quick look at the time sends me scampering home.
It's five minutes to seven and I finish setting out all of our toys after carefully cleaning each one with nervous hands. Master hasn't ever brought friends over before—at least not in this sort of sense. Sometimes his playing with myself while they are over have led to interesting situations, but never anything as direct and planned as this. I kneel a few steps back from the front door and pull the mask over my eyes, securing the straps to keep it in place to a few rings on my play collar. My breath quickens as I mentally run over my body again, hoping that I am what Master considers to be "presentable". Fishnet stockings lace up my legs to tie together just above my shaved pussy with a soft black ribbon, and a matching lace bra—more for show than anything—that accentuates my piercings, rings for playing tonight instead of my regular barbells. My hair is tied up in tightly braided pigtails, the way you like. My nice leather cuffs—both ankle and wrist—are comfortably secure.
I bow my head as I hear you approaching and straighten my back. Shivers run down my spine that make my tits stand on end, and I present them proudly as you unlock the door and swing it open. I hear several appreciative murmurs from the doorway and a feeling of terror goes through me. It apparently shows in my body because there's a very swift—but not particularly hard—blow from a crop on my bottom, presumably from my master by the way there was no hesitation. It must have been the one we keep behind the door. I bite back a squeal and habitually answer, "Thank you master."
A tug on my hair makes me get up, and I hear your soothing voice as you run your hands over my goosebumps.
"We're having an exhibition tonight, cumslut. My friends here don't seem to believe me when I say that you're just my little fucktoy when I want. Isn't that right, my whore?"
"It is, master," I respond humbly. At the sound of your voice, I relax slightly. I know things will be fine.
"You're completely blindfolded and cannot see anyone?"