"Take your time in the tub," my Master had ordered, when he called to inform me about the cocktail party.
He had the entire house custom built to suit his, now our, pleasures. Luxuriating in a deep whirlpool jet tub, big enough to seat at least four, maybe six if they wanted to get cozy, was just the beginning of the special treats, but definitely one of my favourites. Master knew that, and this command was clearly a gift to me. Like a good slave, I knew I would repay Master in time; in his time, more precisely.
I loved the tub so much that I was tempted to finger myself, but I knew that if I so much as caressed my erect nipples, my clit would ache so badly that I would orgasm. Master had not specified anything about that. I knew Master, and if he wanted me to release my sexual excitement, he would have said so. If I jilled myself off, and later claimed that I thought "take your time" was code, I might earn a solid slap across my face. As much as I loved Master's discipline, I did not want to incur true wrath.
Master had bought me a new little black dress for the cocktail party, and I took my time dressing. Just one look at the dress told me that if I tried to wear it with a bra, or even panties, the lines would show. Master knew my body so well, he had picked a dress which would fit just like a glove, with room to caress my abundant flesh, but no more. Cut low in back and front, a bra would be jarringly obvious and destroy the effect. Panties would be just as superfluous. It still took time to wriggle my hips and tits into the fabric, and to smooth the dress into place. When I examined myself in the mirror, I was pleased, and knew that Master would be even more so. The black silk flowed over my skin like I was wearing just a layer of paint, moulded to my curves. I am not a skinny girl - I have boobs, and hips, but exercise keeps my ass like a shelf. The dress adjusted nicely to the demands of my curves, but there was barely enough to cover my booty, let along my thighs.
What really took the time though was my hair and makeup. Since the dress looked flawless, the rest of me needed to as well. I like to believe Master when he says I'm a natural beauty, but I realized that this party required me to assist nature - the trick, as always, was doing just the right amount to enhance my looks, without overdoing it.
It then took me all the time I had available to select my shoes. I tried on the three-inch black heels, a classic match, but, I concluded, lacking in enough drama. The red cage stilettos went too much the opposite direction. The second I slid my toes into the six-inch pumps, I knew that I was ready for the cocktail party.
Master had sent a car and driver to collect me and deliver me to the party - he worked downtown, and could shower and change at his office. He had told me that he had booked the car so that he would arrive just before me, sparing me any uncertainty about being alone.
The car ride was brief, and uneventful. The air conditioning was on high, making my nipples tingle. I opened my knees slightly, allowing the cool air to bathe my clit, taking the edge off. Master books his drivers from the best livery service - not so much as a glance in the rear view mirror. I gripped my handbag tightly in both hands, to resist touching myself. Even the best driver might react if I started wriggling in the back seat.
I had never been to the house where the cocktail party was being held, so I took extra care navigating the flagstone walkway, and was pleased that my host was waiting at the door. The foyer was mirrored, and brightly lit. I realized that in the light, my large, dark nipples were clearly visible through the sheer fabric of the little black dress - I might as well be topless. The hardness of my nipples from the walk through the nippy evening air just accentuated the effect. I knew though, that Master would have anticipated this when he picked the dress, so I tossed my hair and threw my shoulders back with pride.
Glancing to the side as I walked, I also realized that the cut of the dress left most of the top half of my mounds exposed. Every step that I took made my jugs jiggle. I was not even inside the main room, and men were already ogling my cleavage. I knew that Master was using this display to make the others jealous of the woman he owned. I grinned triumphantly, proud to serve.
My smile widened even further when I saw my Master, halfway across the room, at the centre of a small conversation, looking cool and in control as always - the man all these other men wished they could be.
As I approached, our eyes met, then locked. Our relationship is that tight. I sensed rather than heard the string quartet playing the waltz as Master excused himself and stepped toward me, his arms ready not to embrace me, but to dance.
We immediately moved in time with the music, our hands clasped at shoulder height, and Master softly stroking the small of my back while I rested my arm around his waist. Only then did I appreciate how low the back of the little black dress dipped.
He led me skillfully out of the main room onto the open balcony. Then he leaned over and kissed my cheek just in front of my ear, trailing kisses down to my shoulder and upward again, finally nibbling on my earlobe. By this stage, our bodies were pressed tightly together, his hand holding my loins against his. I could barely breath. His hand slid up my back from my waist, the heat warming my flesh where the fabric ended. When his hand reached my shoulder blade, Master slid it across, caressing the side of my breast. I could not help myself, I had to sigh, express my passion. His fingers closed over my nipple, squeezing it hard as his teeth clamped down on my earlobe with greater force than earlier. That was all it took, after the long buildup, for me to have a tiny orgasm, my knees and clit trembling in the night air, lost in the music, safe in Master's arms.
A moment later, I felt the wall behind me as Master forced me against it. His groin pressed against mine. He had already been semi-erect at the beginning of the dance. Now he was as hard as a rock. His left hand slid down my flesh, slowly caressing me, as if we had all night, ignoring the existence of the cocktail party five feet away on the other side of the wall. He slowed as he traversed the gentle curve of my belly, that little pillow he liked to rest his head on. It seemed like forever, though I doubt that it was actually more than a minute before his fingertips found the hem of the little black dress and tugged it up over my thighs. As my dress rose, exposing my loins not only to the night air, but to anybody else who happened to be on the balcony, I leaned back against the wall, barely able to breathe. Then the tip of a single finger caressed my slit, easing its way inexorably upward to tease my clit.
"I love how wet you are," he breathed into my ear, the first words he had spoken to me at the cocktail party. "And I'm pleased that you knew not to wear panties."
