She looked out the tinted window at the East River as the limo sped into Manhattan. It was early, but already dark on this Solstice night. The falling snow was beautiful in the lights from the bridge, and while the roads were only wet now, she suspected it would start to accumulate soon, because the night was very cold. Absentmindedly, she toyed with the ring on the leather collar around her neck.
"Hands, slave," her Master said. She put her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry, Master, I know better than to touch your collar with my hands." He stroked her hair. "I know events like this make you nervous, but the holiday party is important, and most people are bringing their spouses." Or their slaves, she thought.
"Yes, Master," she said, her eyes down. "Are we going to be there long?"
"I don't think so," he said. "I need to make an appearance, but I've already told Leonard that we have a dinner reservation."
"Thank you, Master," she said. "At least we'll be gone before the serious drinking starts."
He heard the edge of trepidation in her voice. "Don't worry, pet. I'll keep you by my side as much as possible, and Amelia will be there. She can handle anything."
She raised her eyes to look at him. "Does she know?"
"No, love, of course not. All she knows is that I treasure you and want you treated very well." No one anywhere knew about her slavery, had ever seen the marks or restraints or other adornments frequently concealed under her clothing, had ever suspected how often her knees were sore, her ass burning, her jaw aching, her cunt leaking come. But a few close friends knew something was different about them: that they had a strong sexual energy, that she was much more relaxed and quiet around him, that she seemed to let him take the lead in ways she would not tolerate from others. They thought his treatment of her, and her response, was a sexy modern version of old-fashioned chivalry, when in fact it was an owner taking good care of his property. People noticed that she was sometimes quiet and thoughtful, not realizing that she was actually waiting for his permission to raise her eyes or speak.
Amelia, the COO of this startup, or the grownup in the room, didn't know them socially, but had heard him on the phone, giving her instructions about dinner or clothing. She had helped him arrange cars or pickups, relaying his instructions to drivers that they were not to let her off at the curb, but to drive down into their building's garage and leave her at the entrance to their private elevator, and wait until the doors closed. She'd seen the occasional shopping bag from boutique lingerie stores. So she hadn't been surprised by his request to keep an eye on his wife and guide her around. It surprised Amelia that such a powerful woman would need that, but perhaps she held herself back at these functions because it was not her company, not her business relationships. Perhaps this was how two powerful people navigated their separate spheres of control.
In actuality, the slave had no sphere of control at all. Whatever she was doing or wherever she was, first and foremost she was his property. She was not holding herself back in these situations, but rather, was granted permission to behave aggressively in other contexts. Her owner appreciated that side of her, encouraged and supported her success, enjoyed knowing that the woman on stage in front of a conference would later be on her knees in front of him. Tonight, and every night, she would be following orders and obeying her owner's rules.
"May I drink, Master?" she asked. He stroked her hair and ran his fingers over her lips; her mouth opened. "Not on your own. I'll get you a cocktail when we arrive, but if you get a drink on your own, it's sparkling water only. If you want anything else, you come and ask me."
"Yes, Master," she said, around the fingers that were now pushing into her mouth. Her owner's fingers plunged deeper and pulled her mouth wide open. He held her like that for a moment, then used his handkerchief to catch her saliva before it dripped onto her blouse, and released her.
"Remember your hydration rules," he said, drying his fingers on his handkerchief instead of her face or hair. "This will be a long night. If you're with Amelia, you don't need to ask permission to use the bathroom, but you can't go alone."
The car left the highway and stopped at a light. He released her seat belt and positioned a cushion on the floor of the car. She knelt onto it, moving carefully, lifting her skirt so it did not drag on the floor. His hand on her shoulder instructed her to turn around. She knew what this meant, and leaned forward to rest her head on the seat facing them, lifting her skirt above her waist and clasping her hands behind her head. His foot on the inside of her knees told her to spread her legs wider.
The driver kept at or below the speed limit, avoiding bumps as if he were carrying fine china, as he'd been instructed. He owner didn't touch her, just admired the sight of her exposed ass and cunt, her long legs, the boots locked onto her feet. The plug in her ass glinted in the streetlights, the chain hanging from it caressed her wet lips, and hanging from it, a small Christmas ornament between her legs swayed gently with the moving of the car.
II
With her head down and her skirt raised, she felt his eyes on her. She was used to being exposed like this, but had never before had a holiday decoration hanging between her legs. Its presence, its significance, and its motion all aroused her, and she felt her wetness starting to run down the inside of her thighs.
Earlier that evening, before she'd gotten dressed, he'd bent her over the bed and fucked her ass thoroughly. After he came, he withdrew his cock and swiftly replaced it with a steel plug, the one that had a little ring in it. Then he told her to lie back on the bed facing him. He raised and spread her legs. "Hold your ankles. Pull them as far open, and as far back, as you can." She did so. "Lift your hips more," he said, and she did so, fully exposing the plug.
She felt him remove the pendant — his monogram — that usually hung from her pierced clit hood. She heard him reach into the bedside drawer, then felt him attach something else to the ring in her piercing. A slender chain draw snug against her cunt lips as he attached the other end to the ring in the plug. He put his finger underneath it, pulled gently, and seemed satisfied.
"Stay there," he said. He went to the dresser, then returned and leaned over her, holding a small box, from which he removed what looked like a miniature old-fashioned Christmas ornament, like the ones that fell off the tree that the Grinch stole. It was a silver ball with a ring in the top. He dangled it above her face. "Feel it, gently," he said. She released one ankle, keeping the leg up as much as she could, and placed her fingers around it. It wasn't metal or glass, but seemed like it might be soft. It hardly weighed anything. Attached to the top, where an ornament would have the wire hook to hang from the tree, was a short chain to which was attached a largish jewelry clasp.
He moved back between her legs and she grabbed her ankle again, spreading wide. He lifted the chain from her cunt lips, squeezed the clasp ring open, and closed it around the chain. She felt every small tug on her clit ring as he worked.
He stood back, and the ball fell against her cunt. "It's made of a fairly thin plastic that will crumple and crease if it's squeezed," he said. "You must ensure that it is as smooth and undamaged at the end of the evening as it is now." He lifted it gently with his fingers. "Let your legs go, and sit up slowly." She did so, keeping them spread, while he held the ball. He released it to rest on the bed between her thighs. "I was making sure that it didn't get caught under your legs as you moved, but that will be your job, and you may not touch it with your hands except when using the bathroom."
"Yes, Master," she said. The ball was small, but as high as it was between her thighs, it would be an effort to keep her legs open enough not to squeeze it. He gave her his hand. "Stand up, and look at yourself."
She saw herself in the full-length mirror, naked except for her collar, and this new adornment. It hung between her thighs, swinging gently. She was decorated. Her owner had decorated his property for the holiday.
The clasp had enough play to move forward and back on the chain, so it hung from its lowest point, near the opening of her cunt, touching her open thighs on each side. If she leaned forward, she could close her legs tightly and keep it in front of them, rather than between them, but she knew better than to close her legs like that in front of her Master.
"May I touch it, please?" she asked softly.
"Yes, pet," he said. "Gently." It was very light, and she already felt her juices on it where it had rested against her shaven cunt lips when she'd been on her back. She lifted it, and the clasp brushed her lips as it moved, then again when she let go. The motion of the chain, the gentle tugs on her piercing, and the feel of the motion communicated through the plug in her ass, all served to arouse her intensely, as did this new experience of being used — being ornamented, like a tree or a mailbox.
"Get dressed, pet. The rest of your clothes are on the bed." A soft dark green blouse, thin and delicate like silk, but synthetic. Underneath it, a black lace bra, presumably for modesty in front of his colleagues at the party. A green slip, similar in color and material to the blouse, that would fall above her knee, and a longer skirt, black, with a lining, full enough to swing around her legs. The slip and the lining meant there would be no underwear; underneath were just a pair of wine-red stockings and a black garter belt.
Alongside them was a silver bracelet in a simple pattern, thicker and heavier than most. She placed it around her wrist, and held her hand out for her Master to tighten the Torx screw that closed it. With the matching watch band on her left wrist, they were cuffs that could be worn in public, both strong enough to serve as restraints, each loose enough to attach a ring or a clip. He took a blazer from the closet, similar in color to her stockings, and placed it on the bed.
When she was dressed, she walked carefully to the entry hall, stepping oddly, almost as if she were walking on railroad tracks, keeping her legs open for the ball. She tried walking faster, and found that if she kept a rhythm, the ornament would bounce out of the way of her legs with each step, but it wasn't easy, so she slowed down again.
