We met at the my hotel, in the bar. She sashayed in, her red hair in curls, wearing a simple black sheath, looking like a million dollars in new bills. Her husband was following her, as a good sub should.
She was medium height, very pretty, and her figure was as good as her pictures. Her husband was shortish and slim, definitely dwarfed by me. I rose and beckoned to them; they recognized me by the flower in my sports jacket lapel. Not too many of them worn today, so they're a good signal.
She walked up to the table, smiling, confident. He walked behind her with his eyes downcast. I could not tell if he was happy to be here or was merely following her orders. I caught him glancing up at me scrumptiously once or twice.
Introductions were made, and he briefly met my eyes. We sat, and he assisted her, pulling out her chair. She sat in the chair I indicated, but when he began to sit next to here, I looked at him and told him in a low voice not to sit there, to sit at the other side of the table. He immediately complied.
"You have him well-trained, I see," I observed.
"Yes, I like to think so," she answered.
I took her hand and kissed its back. "You look stunning tonight. Your pictures don't do you justice," I told her. We both ignored him. When the waitress came for drink orders, she ordered, then I, and when it was his turn, he looked at her for permission. She cocked an eyebrow at me questioningly and I said by all means he should have one.
I asked him if he was happy to be with us, and he said yes. "Yes, what?" I prompted.
"Yes, sir, sorry, sir," he shot back.
I smiled. "That's better. Stand up." He stood. I could see he had a raging hard-on. "You may be seated," I told him, anxious to have him sit before someone noticed the bulge in his pants.
I looked back at her; she was smirking at his discomfort. I wondered how long it had been since she'd let him have an orgasm. I reached up and slipped my hand under her red hair, sliding it across the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, and rolled her head back, lost in the sensation. My thumb stroked her ear.
Our drinks arrived, and we drank them, she and I making chit-chat. We (she and I) decided that we needed no more alcohol, so I paid the tab and we headed up to my room.
Once there, I put on the "Do Not Disturb" sign and double locked the door. I asked her to sit, and she accepted. I reached in the bedside table drawer and took out a small flail. Looking at him, I said, "Undress."
His hands actually quivered as he hastened to comply. I told him to start with his pants, and when he had them off, I stroked him across the back of his upper thigh and told him to hurry. I could see a wet spot where the head of his cock tented his undershorts. He stripped in record time, but not without getting two or three additional strokes to spur him on and assure neatness in folding his clothes, not an easy task when you have a raging erection and someone is beating you on the ass with a flail.
Finally he stood naked, almost at attention. He wanted to cover his cock with his hands but was too well-trained. "Slow and clumsy," I told him. "Look at your wife. She's still dressed and having to play with her pussy through her clothes. Take care of that."
Obviously, it was not his first time as serving her as "handmaiden." He took off her shoes and unzipped the dress, occassionally earning a flick of the flail for lack of speed. By the time she was naked, his ass was nice and pink, and she was wearing a big smile. I leaned down and kissed her long and hard, squeezing her nipples and rolling them in my fingers. By this time, I was as hard as her unfortunate wretch of a husband.
"Do you think I intend to stay dressed all night?" I asked him. "Undress me, too!"
