Lady Sarah's Holiday

She told us it didn't matter what we wore, for we wouldn't be wearing it long. Still, I had put on a light gray suit, sans boxers, for no other reason than it would show off the bulge in my pants. An artificial bulge, as Lady Sarah had ordered we three slaves to wear wide rubber cock bands that pushed our packages out against the linen. I'd already gotten a few curious glances from the PYTs who stood as permanent fixtures in the lobby of the Delano, and I wasn't even hard yet. Most of the men scoffed, though, at the stainless steel slave collar hanging prominently around my neck. The thing screamed "SLAVE".

Metro Slave stood a yard from me, though we didn't speak. Still, even a ditzy South Beach model could tell we were together from the duplicate collar around his neck, not to mention the bulge in his pants. Was he hard already?

My cock stirred a second later as Lady Sarah exited the elevator in a whoosh. Every eye in the crowded lobby inspected her, from the high-heeled leather boots, the fishnet stockings, the short black dress, and the awesome cleavage, to the smile on her face. I'm sure my cock wasn't the only one stirring and I'd guess that a few of the girls might have gotten a bit of a moist twinge themselves. I love how My Lady even turns on women, just by being herself.

Did I mention Lady Sarah's cleavage? Wow! There they were, freshly tanned cantaloupes pushed together and up, framed cleanly by what I now realized was a black leather dress; just another reason why I worship this fine woman. I'm definitely a breast man. Of course, I'm also a leg, hair, stomach, ass and foot man, too. Though I admire those attributes, or assets, in many women, this is the one I worship; Lady Sarah.

She embraced Metro Slave first. Lady Sarah put her left arm over his shoulder and around his neck. Her lips met his and they kissed, hungrily, and her tongue penetrated his mouth. They stood there, almost melded together, enjoying the moment as dozens of curious onlookers gawked openly. Clearly, their relationship surpassed a mere friendship.

If you didn't know what to look for, you'd have missed it. Her right hand never came anywhere near his neck. Rather, it swooped down and found its mark, right on Metro Slave's hard cock. Her grin signaled approval.

I looked at the spectacle for a second, then at the crowd, then at Cunt Slut and his matching slave collar. Then down, at his hard cock as it threatened to break loose from his pants. We locked eyes and nodded cordially.

Lady Sarah broke from Metro Slave, turned to me, and called loudly, "Crayon! How nice to see you, my pet."

In a flash, she stepped to me and repeated her embrace. Arm around my neck, wet tongue in my mouth, and the hand to my groin. She missed her mark and pulled her mouth from mine. She groped again toward my cock, then plunged her hand lower, encircling my not-yet-ready member. "You're not hard."

"My apologies, My Lady. I'm working on it."

She smiled, kissed me quickly, then spoke softly, "I'll help."

What would you expect at this point? A nice, sexy rub on my shaft, right? Yeah, you probably would, because you've never met Lady Sarah.

She grabbed my balls and squeezed. Hard. Before I could yelp out in pain, her mouth smothered mine and the cry was lost. That got me hard, believe me. Of course, I'm a perverted freak and I caution you: don't let me anywhere near your wife's underwear drawer.

What did all the people think of our show? Well, this is South Beach. If you don't see stuff like this on a Saturday night, you get disappointed.

The four of us turned toward the lobby doors and I found myself on Lady Sarah's right, with Metro Slave on her left. As a good bye present to the throng behind us, Lady Sarah grabbed our asses. One hand on my right cheek and one hand on Metro's left cheek. And what a grab it was: it hurt! But I'm sure the people liked seeing an obviously self-assured Lady enjoy her property. Wouldn't you?

The club had sent a limo for us, along with a petite Latina driver dressed as a Playboy Bunny. I loved watching her seamed stockings as she bent over to open the door for us. If I weren't such a pitiful, groveling slave, I'd have liked to bend her over the hood and stick my cock up her ass, right there on the spot.

As we drove off the Delano's property, the Latina's sing-song voice came over the intercom. "Lady Sarah and slaves, we should arrive at Club Stiletto in about 45 minutes. Tonight is our annual Black and Blue Balls Ball, the biggest night of the year. Sit back, enjoy the complimentary champagne, and remember: Always obey your mistress!"

We laughed, then obeyed Our Lady when she ordered us to strip.

"Driver," Lady Sarah spoke before we'd left the beach. "Pull over and pop the boot."

Remember, that's what they call the trunk over in Britain.

Then she spoke to me. "Your cock was not hard when I found you in the lobby. You know that's inappropriate behavior for a slave."

"I apologize, Lady Sarah. But, I'm hard now."

"You deserve punishment."

"Yes, of course, My Lady."

"Beg for it."

"My Lady, this slave deserves to be punished for not greeting you with a hard cock. Please, My Lady, please punish me. I beg you, Lady Sarah: cane me, whip me, crush my balls with your heels. Please."

"Very well, slave. But, I have something different in mind for you."

"Thank you, My Lady. Whatever pleases you."

"Take this pile of clothes and place it in the boot. Now. Get out of the car naked with your silly little cock blowing in the breeze, and do it."

I looked around. Traffic everywhere. Cars blocked behind us honking their horns, taxis charging past the side, and two filthy homeless people pushing a shopping cart on the sidewalk. Shit!

"Now, I said."

"Yes, My Lady."

I bunched up the clothes into a pile, pulled on the door handle, and ran to the trunk. As my bare feet hit the pavement, I held the clothes low to cover my erection and hide at least part of my nudity. Thankfully, the limousine wasn't one of those 40-foot monsters!

I dropped the load into the trunk, covered my prick with my hands, and ran back to the open door.

"You forgot one of Cum Slut's boots," Lady Sarah called to me. I looked up to see the shoe come flying out the door, skid on the sidewalk, and come to rest underneath the homeless men's shopping cart.

"Double shit!" I swore aloud and ran up to the two men. "Excuse me, I've got to get this thing."

Then I dove down onto my knees, scraping them a bit, felt around, found leather, and pulled. I stood up, bare-ass naked in front of the two men. As they looked me up and down, I turned around and headed back toward the trunk.

"Got a quarter?" I heard one of the bums ask, and they both broke out in hysterical laughter.

I'm sure all of this created quite a stir in the surrounding vehicles. I just hoped there were no undercover police cars hidden in the bunch, though "under cover" sounded pretty good to me right now.

That's when I heard it: a high, shrill whistle like a construction worker would make, only construction workers don't work on Saturday nights. Nope, the whistle came from an older Buick filled with twenty-something year old black girls.

"Hey, come here!" one of them shouted.

Then another, "Yo white boy, you need a ride? C'mon over here with us! We'll treat you good."

Another, somewhat confused. "What's that shiny thing 'round yo' neck? I'll give you five bucks for it. You could buy you some pants."

Laughter, from their car and other cars. I heard one last shout from the black girls before I dove through the open door of the limo. "Looks like what they say about white boys is true."

Oh, the humiliation. I made up my mind in that instant that if Lady Sarah ever dumps me, I'm getting myself a black mistress.

My Lady loved it. Metro Slave looked disgusted at the whole episode, but Cunt Slut seemed jealous that it wasn't him.

So, what do three naked slaves and a fully clothed woman do in the back seat of a limo for 45 minutes? Anything she wants, of course, but that's a different story. Some other time I'll tell you about how each of her slaves stood up naked through the open roof while she squeezed our balls tightly. See, it was a competition. The slave who screamed the loudest as we drove up I-95 would be victorious. I won, but only because she shoved the bottle of White Star up my ass while kicking me with the toe of her boot.