I was at the birthday party of a close old friend with whom I had no current common friends. Out of sixty or more people I knew the host and he had introduced me to his girlfriend when I arrived. Though well known in my field, I was as anonymous as a person can be. My dress was not a display of my acquired wealth. I wasn't particularly witty or charming. Outside of tech talk or a deep dive into some socio/political discussion that would have a person wishing they were somewhere else, or at least in a conversation with someone who didn't know it all, I was boring. Why would you invite me, a person you hadn't seen or talked to for years, to your party? And once there, why abandon me to the throngs of strangers. I didn't do well in situations like that.
I'm Jeff. I was the tech techys called when they couldn't solve a problem. I was unaffordable to most, but if it had to be up and running or you were losing big money, you'd go with a proven commodity, and that was me. Thanks to an innovation that helped people do their own troubleshooting, my patented software, I became wealthy, learned to invest that wealth and now lived comfortably with very little time spent working.
Why did I accept the invitation if I'm so socially awkward? Work had always been a great distraction from my libido and the fact that I had no female interaction to subdue it.
Nerds like me can be so horny and yet so bad at getting laid. I felt like there were clues that if unraveled would open a door to understanding attraction on a whole new level. I hoped this was true and I became an observer, watching closely for the movements, the facial expressions the progression of body language in the direction of sex. What did he do to signal his intensions, and what did she do back.
Occasionally I was close enough to overhear the dialogue of desire. I would overhear a mildly suggestive comment and see the smile it engendered, notice the direct eye contact, notice the hand a woman placed lightly on the man's forearm, which basically conveyed that touching is okay. How many times had I seen strangers know each other well enough in thirty minutes to leave together with anticipatory smiles?
I was in the biggest room of my friend's Victorian house, a room designed for people to sit or stand and mingle. I was leaning against the wall near one of the corners of the room. It made for a perfect place to kind of hide and observe the fifteen or more people occupying the room. I also observed people coming and going from the room. I might as well have pulled a floor lamp in front of me for camouflage.
At the time of this party, work kept me busy and internet porn was my sex life. I wanted pussy badly and that's why I foolishly decided to attend that party, not that I knew how to accomplish my mission once I got there. I was a nerd. I came because my dick said to get out there and find something.
I was in my corner, against the wall and sipping on a scotch-rocks that was becoming my date for the evening. My eyes were doing a continuous scan of the room, which I hoped was somewhat inconspicuous. In the middle of a scan my eyes landed on a new person in the room leaning against the wall, kitty-corner to my position. She was one of those rare beauties that you almost can't pull your eyes from.
I would have guessed five foot eight, but beyond six feet with the heals she was wearing; easily two inches taller than myself. Nipple length blond hair fell behind and in front of her shoulders. Nicole Kidman came to mind. Her eye makeup was a little heavy but looked professionally applied. The top of her dress was a thin white material that exquisitely exposed her nipples and connected to spaghetti straps. From under her smallish breasts the dress connected to a dark green silk that flared out from where it cinched under her breasts. It was so short that it looked like any sudden movement would have it fanning out and showing some panty or whatever was underneath. Her legs were unbelievable and on display to within a couple inches of her pussy.
So I'm there in my corner praying for sudden movement. I wondered if my drink had been spiked and the whole vision was a hallucination. Looking at her made me think of a huge, well lit billboard that just said LEGS. Not skinny, not thick, just unimaginably perfect legs, the kind of creamy smooth thighs you wanted to lick on your way up to better things.
I didn't dare approach her. I'm the kind of guy that, given the right circumstance, where a lot of one-on-one conversation is possible, and the woman is similarly nerdy, I can maybe score. Being slight of build and nominally handsome wouldn't be so bad if I had a huge cock to bolster my courage. As it was, I felt privileged just looking at her. As people moved about the room clearings would momentarily appear and I would get a peak at the totality of the vision, from her high heels to her sultry eyes, with lots of leg in between. I noticed that she seemed to be scanning the room the way I was. By her attire I'd guess for cock.
Then she looked my way with her large light gray eyes. I turned away of course, not wanting to lock eyes and stare a hole in her. She wasn't just out of my league; she was a league unto herself. I fought the urge to stare at her long legs and beautiful face, and turned away every time she caught me looking. I watched as she started to walk toward the center of the room, perhaps thinking she had spotted someone she knew. Then she kept walking toward me and I could swear she was looking at me as she did. I dared to maintain eye contact, saying to myself, what the fuck. Finally she reached me and looking directly in my eyes asked if I needed a closer look. I thought I was about to be scolded for staring.
I struggled to make my mouth work. "I'm Jeff," I said.
She looked at me with contempt and said, "I know. You're friend recommended you."
"My friend?"
"Yeah, the guy that owns this old dump. How much do you know about his private life?"
"We're old friends. I guess I don't know a lot about his current private life. What did he recommend me for?"
"He thought you'd make a good sex slave. I think you're a bit scrawny and generally lacking in the esthetics department, but those aren't deal breakers when we're talking about slaves."
Here was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, insulting me in a most objective way, not vindictive in the least but just rather matter of fact, and all of it framed in the most intriguing idea about sexual servitude. I knew this was no time to go speechless.
"If you're suggesting that I might be a good sex slave for you, then yes, Master, I think you might be right."
"Excuse me," she said.
"I'm sorry, Master," I said, suspecting there might not have been enough groveling in my comment. Having had an intimate relationship with internet porn of all genres I scoured my memory banks for what to say in this unbelievable situation. I felt like the proverbial pizza delivery guy who is met at the door by a naked housewife needing sex more than pizza. "I meant to say, 'may I please be your sex slave, Master.'"
She had moved in beside me so she could talk low into my ear. Within a minute of sauntering over she had complete control of the situation, the situation being me. I had fantasized about being the submissive servant of a beautiful woman, but this was more than I had ever dreamed possible. It is true that I was wealthy enough to buy such a fantasy, but I had never had the courage to do so.
"You're not worthy of being my sex slave," she said, "but that's what might make you a good one. I've been downing glasses of champagne since I got here and you actually don't look half bad after enough alcohol."
"Thanks, I think."
"For now, can you pretend to be my boyfriend? I'm tired of being hit on. If I see something I like I want to do the hitting. Until then I want to be left alone."
