Summer had picked out a dress and lingerie for her date and was about to put them on when a box arrived by messenger. The label said, "Wear this, and nothing else. S."
"Well, so much for that," she said aloud. S stood for the Society. She didn't even know the name of her date. She only knew it would be a so-called Alpha-seven, the sort of male she was supposedly attracted to as a beta-four. So far, they hadn't been wrong. It was like them not to give her any time to think about it, or any way to respond. Just open the box and put on what a stranger told her to wear. Simple. A part of her wanted to rebel, but she knew she wouldn't. She opened the box. Inside was a pair of shoes, some black underthings, and a short black rain slicker. It wasn't raining out. She shrugged. Under the slicker was a bottle of lube, and a black rubber butt plug.
An hour later, she was dressed as directed. She wore a demi-bra that gave her a little support but didn't quite cover her nipples, a garter belt, seamed silk stockings, and four inch black heels. Over that, only the shiny rain jacket. Even if it had been a dress, it would have been dangerously short. It revealed a flash of thigh and the twin vertical lines of suspenders on each leg between the bottom of the jacket and the lace stockings. The two top buttons on the slicker had been removed, so it didn't do much to cover up her cleavage, either, but at least it didn't gape and give an uninterrupted view of her nipples. As long as she didn't bend over, she would be sort of decent. If she did, there was no guarantee someone wouldn't see the plug in her ass. It had taken her five minutes to work that thing in, but at least she knew it wasn't going anywhere.
At eight o'clock on the dot her phone chimed. "Parked out front. Get into the passenger seat. S." said the text.
She walked down the steps, to the sidewalk, and crossed it to get to the red two-seater convertible that waited. The man in the driver's seat was a big, broad shouldered man with a close haircut, and he watched her every move from behind dark sunglasses. He looked more like a Secret Service agent than what she expected a Master would look like. But then, Secret Service agents were sexy in their own way. She didn't look left or right to see who was watching. She couldn't do anything about it, anyway, and she didn't want to make eye contact with a stranger, or worse an acquaintance. Instead, she opened the door and sat in the passenger seat.
The plug felt extra uncomfortable sitting down, and she squirmed. "Are you my Alpha?" Sometimes the Masters had a chauffeur. She couldn't assume this man was her date.
"Yep. Blake." He moved the stick and the engine roared to life. He kept his eye on the road until he spotted a narrow opening in traffic, and then pulled out into the street. "And you're Summer."
"Yes."
"I read in your file you've always considered yourself to be prim and proper."
"Well, not a prude, but..."
"And now you're a slut."
"Well, I wouldn't..."
Brock laughed. "You gave two blowjobs to strangers your last date. You're wearing a raincoat that hardly covers the plug in your ass. Don't deny it, own it. You're happier this way, aren't you, Summer?"
Summer sighed. "Yes."
"That would be yes, Sir."
"Yes, Sir," she said, feeling the familiar tingle between her legs starting up again.
He drove several miles and then pulled into the driveway of a large house. Trees secluded the driveway and the house from the street.
"Jacket stays here," Brock said.
Glad no one was watching, she took it off. As she did, a black Cadillac pulled in behind, and a man in a tux walked toward the car. So much for no one watching. What she had left on emphasized her nakedness rather than concealed it.
Brock got out, walked around to Summer's door, and opened it, gesturing her to join him. He tossed his keys to the man in the tux, who drove off with it, but not without an admiring glance at Summer. Brock steered Summer toward the steps leading to the house itself, which was huge. The Cadillac pulled into the space vacated by Brock's sports car. Summer glanced behind, wanting to know if the people inside were like her and Brock. The man was dressed in a dress shirt and a sport coat, and the woman wore an elegant evening gown.
"Summer, since you're so curious, turn to face them."
Summer sighed. She didn't want to give them the full frontal view, although she didn't know why going into the house was any better. Nonetheless she turned.
"Hands laced behind your neck, feet apart, chest out," Brock directed. "Give them a good show."
"Is she like me, Sir?" she asked, as she followed directions.
"No. She's an adjunct. Do well and I won't let her play with you. She likes to leave marks."
Adjuncts. Neither Masters nor Submissives, they might be assigned to play either role by the Masters of the Society.
In a minute, the valet returned, and the man got out of the car, as did the woman. Her dress was floor length, and the man offered her his elbow.
"Come along, slut," said Brock, and turned to head to the door. "They'll appreciate the back view, too."
Summer hurried to keep up with him. He didn't slow down his long strides, just because she was wearing heels.
Brock pressed the doorbell. "For tonight, you have no name. You are just number four. I trust you can remember a single number?"
"Yes, Sir."
The couple caught up to them before the door was answered. "Who is the pretty thing," asked the woman.
