Over the next few weeks I got used to the rhythms of the household. She showed me how they liked breakfast and dinner, how she expected laundry done, and other such chores. She had me dress in the sweatpants and hoodie that were in my closet, and showed me which grocery stores and malls my collar was programmed to allow me to visit. They had a small car that I could use for these errands.
After breakfast each morning, while she started dealing with emails in the study, he would take me to their bedroom and use me. It was usually from behind, bent over the bed, but when he was in a more leisurely mood he would take me in the shower with him and have me wash him. I delighted in washing his thick black hair, and soaping up his muscles. Then I sank to my knees in front of him and sucked him off. He liked it when I slipped a soapy finger into his ass and massaged his prostate. The first time he warned me that semen shouldn't be allowed to go down a shower drain, so I always made sure to swallow and relish every drop.
She used me less frequently, maybe twice a week having me lick her to orgasm, but she sometimes took me into the huge bathtub with her, where I carefully washed her hair and body, then reached around her and rubbed her clit until she sighed back against my tits and rested her head on my shoulder, gently whispering "good slut...". It would shock the old, free me to see how much I hung on every positive word from her.
Since then, I'd been punished twice, once for something I genuinely did wrong, and once when I deliberately spilled a drink because I was craving the paddle. Each punishment ended with them letting me come, so not exactly discouraging bad behaviour...
Other than those two times I'd only been allowed to come between 11 and 12 on thursday evenings. Any other time I got close to coming, the collar started to apply increasingly menacing tingles to my neck until I forced my arousal to retreat. Servicing my master every day without being granted release was a nightmare, but it made the orgasms I did have explosive.
One Saturday afternoon, the mistress called me to her.
"It's my husband's turn to host poker night tonight. I always make myself scarce, so it'll be up to you to be the hostess. Go take a shower and shave especially carefully."
I guess I knew what my role would be, then. I followed her instructions and took extra care shaving in the shower, then joined her in the master bedroom. She examined my body thoroughly, stroking my armpits and legs, and carefully fingering my labia and asshole for stray hairs. When she was satisfied, she directed me to the bed, where there was some underwear folded. "You'll be clothed tonight, so put that on."
It was a pretty black lace bra and panty set, but the panties were special - instead of a cloth gusset, there was a row of pearls in the front! I wriggled into them, and let the pearls rest between my pussy lips.. They slid up and down and rubbed my clit when I walked around, and it felt amazing. She then had me put on hold-up stockings and black high-heeled shoes.
She looked me up and down and nodded. "Yes," she said, "I think this will show everyone that we have the best slave." I glowed with pride.
She had me sit at her makeup table and did my hair - carefully piled on top, with a sexy whisp dangling over my face. She let me do my own makeup, then handed me a pair of long black teardrop earrings.
Finally, she brought out a little black dress. It was utterly beautiful, and I could tell from the fabric that it was very expensive.
"I had this specially made for you, so it should fit perfectly."
"Thank you, mistress," I said, "it's gorgeous!"
As she helped me into it, she said, "just be sure not to get cum on it."
"Yes, mistress," I replied, "is there any particular way you'd like me to behave tonight?"
"Be as classy as you can, while giving them everything they want. For this one night, you may also make eye contact with the guests, but not your master."
She had me walk up and down the room, while she watched. In the mirror I could see that the dress just about came below the stocking-tops when I was standing still, but showed them when I walked - very sexy!
She examined me closely once again, stroking the fabric so it lay perfectly, then took hold of my face with one hand and lifted it up to meet hers - usually a punishable offence.
"Now listen carefully - your collar will remain switched on until I get home, and under no circumstances are you to wash yourself in any way until then, understand?"
"Yes, mistress," I stammered. So no orgasm for me, no matter what the guests did to me.
Next, she had me help her dress. She put on much more elaborate underwear - a full bustier top that I had to lace up for her, and matching panties, garter belt and stockings. On top of that, I helped her into a glorious gold lamé ball gown that was delivered that afternoon. She looked incredible - I wondered where she was going, but it was not my place to ask.
She left shortly thereafter. The master was working in his study and didn't need me, so I prepared for the evening. I took the extra leaves out of the dining table so that it was round, and set out the poker chips and cards, then prepared all the appetizers, chicken wings and drinks.
At seven-thirty he took a shower (without me) and comes out dressed office-casual - slacks, collared shirt with no tie.
"You look very nice," he said. I blushed. "Thank you, master." It was rare he complimented my appearance - he usually showed appreciation of my body in much more physical ways.
The phone rang, and I answered it. It was the concierge downstairs announcing that the master's guests had arrived. I told him to send them up.
By the time they reached the apartment, I was standing by the open door ready to greet them.
There were four of them, all handsome men in their late thirties, maybe early forties. Two had dark hair, one was very nordic looking, and the last one in was african with that sexy 'educated in England' West African accent. One of the dark haired guys was wearing ridiculous red trousers that I bet he thought made him look cool, the other one was dressed more formally than the others, sporting a blue tie.
They glanced at me curiously as I took their coats, trying to be subtle about checking me out.
My master came out and greeted them, "Hey, guys, welcome to my humble abode!"
He began to lead them through to the dining room, when the african man asked, "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
Master looked momentarily confused, then realized he meant me.
"Oh," he said dismissively, "that's just our new slave."
Their demeanour towards me changed in a heartbeat. No more sly glances - they all openly stared at me, looking me up and down, appraising me.
"Holy shit," exclaimed red-pants, "Sarah let you buy that?"
"Actually, it was Sarah that bought her." replied my master.
"And she lets you use her?" Asked the blonde.
"Of course, why pay for a top-of-the-line pleasure model if you're just going to have her do housework? I enjoy her on a daily basis." There was a tingle in my cunt at being described like that.
"Damn, Martha made me buy a fat middle-aged one for our house," said the other brown-haired guy.
"But you still fuck her, don't you," asked the african.
"Well, sure, but Martha doesn't know."
The african laughed, "of course she knows, she just doesn't care as long as you enjoy her more than the slave."
There were knowing chuckles and the guy with the fat slave looked sheepish.
"There are two kinds of guys," said red-pants, "those that admit fucking their slave-girls, and liars!".
There was general laughter, and fat slave guys seemed relieved it was no longer at his expense.
I decided to take up the hostess role again.
"Gentlemen, if you'll please follow me, I'll get you set up with drinks."
I led them through to the dining room, making sure to wiggle the ass I knew they were all watching.
They took their seats around the table, and I took their drinks orders. I stood right by the african gentleman as I did it, sensing that he was the most confident, and I was correct - I immediately felt his hand stroking my calf, then quickly sliding up past my knee. He paused briefly to feel the lacy stocking tops, then was up caressing my bare inner thigh. He inched higher, and it was a struggle now to speak and remember the orders, I was so turned on. I clenched my thighs when he was just millimeters from my pussy - I didn't want him discovering the pearls too soon - and he withdrew his hand without a fuss. No-one else at the table noticed.
When I returned with the drinks and bowls of snacks, the guys were chatting casually, laughing about something that happened at work - some silly slave girl that kept dropping paperwork until she had to be spanked. Surely they weren't dumb enough to think she did that by accident?
Master dealt the first hand, and soon the evening was comfortably under way.
I mostly hung back, waiting patiently and listening, regularly stepping forward to refresh drinks and snack bowls. Whenever I was next to a guy, there was a hand on my ass, but only the african was confident enough to go under my dress. Whenever I leaned over a guy to reach for his glass, I made sure to brush my tit against him. Seduction 101.
They played about five hands, and my master was winning almost everything, and there was grumbling around the table.
"Ok," he laughed, "I can see you guys are bad losers tonight, so how about we change the stakes?"
They were interested.
"Like what?" asked red-pants.
"Let's play strip poker," said master.
The african gave a loud laugh. "I know I'm a very handsome man, but you really want to see my cock?"
Master laughed, "No, dummy, her!" He tossed a peanut at me.
"Slut, how many items of clothing are you wearing?"
"If you count each shoe and stocking, then seven, master."
