After I show James out, Tim moves to the bathroom and begins drawing a bath. He calls me to him where he tells me, "we may have a late night ahead, so why don't you relax a bit in the tub? I want you clean and nice-smelling for my guests." He smiles, leaves the room for a moment and comes back with a glass of wine for me, and then leaves again, closing the door behind him. I move the wineglass to the side of the tub, and take some bath salts the hotel has supplied and drop them in the hot water before stepping in and relaxing. I hear Tim moving things about in the other room, but my mind turns to thoughts of what has happened, and what is to come.
24 hours ago I was a working mother, like millions of other women. In the past day I have become a strange man's sex slave, been an exhibitionist, made love to a woman, and jacked off a young man. How much more will I be asked to do in the next 24 hours? Will I come to a point where I must use the safe phrase given me? Sides of me I never wanted to admit existed have taken over my mind and body this weekend, and I believe I am embracing the change. Can I go back to my normal life at the end of this weekend?
I continue to think back on my weekend so far, my excitement from the earlier episodes being pushed to new heights as I think back on the past day and imagine what might be next.
The water is just getting cool when Tim comes for me. "Time to get you dressed." I step out to him holding a waiting towel for me, which he uses to dry my skin while I towel off my hair. He soon pronounces me dry and directs me to my makeup with the instructions to apply "just the basics, no need to try and look any sexier than you already are."
I spend some time drying and styling my hair, then apply foundation, a little blush and a little eyeliner, taking him seriously and preparing myself just as I would for a normal day of work. I stop and chuckle at this thought—I guess I will be working tonight, but this will be my first night of waitressing in quite a while, and certainly have never done so in what I think Tim will have me dressed in. I dab a pit of perfume behind my ears, between my breasts—and the bad girl in me moves my finger to do the same just above my sex.
I finish my makeup and move to the find Tim in the bedroom. I catch him just beginning to dress when I enter and he is completely nude, his cock and balls hanging at rest between his muscled legs. He sees me enter and smiles, then asks me to lie on the bed. He tells me to spread my legs and I think I am about to become his plaything again, but instead he moves between my legs with a towel and a pair of scissors and begins to work on my sparse thatch. I thought I had been well-trimmed when I was given to him yesterday, but Tim works for several minutes before pronouncing himself satisfied. "You smell nice," he says, apparently referring to my use of perfume in the area he has been working in, "but I prefer your natural smell more."
I sit up and look at my crotch to see that while I am not bare, my mons and lips are even more apparent than they were just a short time ago. I do notice that his cock has regained some firmness, and realize his work had an effect on him as well.
With that, Tim moves to the table beside the door and selects the tap pants, camisole, and peignoir I tried on last night. Handing them to me, he instructs me to dress. I breathe a small sigh of relief that I will be able to retain a small sense of modesty in front of his friends. While I am dressing, Tim retrieves my shoes from yesterday afternoon, and my outfit is complete. Or so I think.
Tim goes to his own bag, allowing me to watch his muscled ass flex as he walks away. He rummages around for a moment, finds what he is looking for, and returns to where I am standing next to the bed. I see he is carrying something red and seemingly made of velvet, and think it is a bow of some sort until he grabs each end and begins to reach to my neck. I realize then with fascination it is a collar or choker of some sort! I catch a glimpse of metal—the buckle, or a stud, perhaps—as he wraps it around my throat and fastens it. He straightens it a bit, then steps back and admires the look. When he is satisfied, he asks if I would like to look as well, and without bothering to reply, I turn to the mirror.
It is indeed a beautiful red velvet collar and goes well with my lingerie, but I quickly see what the flash of metal was—a loop, like you would see on a dog collar!
I look at Tim, unsure of the meaning, and he seems to understand my confusion.
"You are mine," he says, and I want my friends to know that—that you are mine, not theirs."
I take this statement to mean that for tonight I will be "eye candy" only, and am somewhat relieved by the thought.
With that, Tim further directs me as to what my tasks will be tonight. "You will not speak unless directed to, or spoken to. You will address my friends as 'sir', and will do whatever they ask. I will decide whether I wish to permit you to follow their suggestions or instructions, not you. These are very good friends of mine, and you should trust them as much as I do. Do you understand?"
I voice my acknowledgement and he finishes dressing, choosing a pair of exercise shorts and a t-shirt. We head back into the living room and Tim allows me to pour myself a glass of wine and relax as much as the situation will allow while he finishes putting cards and poker chips on the table. He is finishing up when there is a knock on the door.
"Get that, please," he asks, and I take a deep breath and do as I'm asked. My modesty takes over for a moment and I hide behind the door as I open it to find 3 men roughly the same age as Tim standing there. Even though most of my body is hidden, part of my camisole and filmy robe are visible to the group in the hallway and it causes them to hesitate, giving me a chance to get a better look at them. The man who knocked is blonde and about 6 feet tall, slim, and dressed in a pair of jeans and a golf shirt. Behind him and to his left is a blacked-haired man about 5'6", dressed in golf shorts and shirt, stocky with a bit of a pot-belly. To blondie's right is a black man, about 5' 10" and obviously well-toned, dressed in a pair of windpants and a tight t-shirt.
We both continue to stare at each other, me taking in the men before me and they temporarily at a loss what to do. Blondie eventually breaks the stalemate and says, "we're looking for our friend Tim—he said this was his room—"
Tim calls out from around the corner, "You've got the right place—c'mon in!"
I open the door wider, still remaining behind it, and they file in, each greeting Tim in turn while they continue to discretely check me out.
After they have all entered, I close the door behind them, my shield now gone. Once again I am thankful of the outfit Tim has chosen for me—while sexy in what it represents, it is not especially revealing.
Tim finishes with his handshakes and greetings and takes a moment to introduce me.
"Folks, this is Karen, our server for the evening. Karen, this is Ian—" motioning to Blondie—"Vince—" gesturing to the stocky man, "and Elliott," waving to the last member of the group.
"Jesus, Tim," Vince exclaims. "When you said you were having a waitress for this, I didn't have this in mind. Is she, y'know..."
"No," he laughs, "she's not a poker player. She's also not a pro waitress, or anything else you might think. She's on loan to me this weekend from a friend."
