"Some tourists want to hire a slave to be the entertainment at their friend's birthday party," Carolyn explained. "I felt it would be good for you to go. It will give you something to write about for your new book."
After being forced to perform lesbian sex in front of a crowd of thousands of prurient strangers, I felt like I already had plenty to write about, but Carolyn owned me. If she wanted me to be the naked entertainment at some party, I had no way of refusing her.
The woman who was paying for me was named Rosalinde. She was around thirty years old, maybe thirty-five. She had an accent that was Dutch or German, and she looked well-groomed, well-dressed, and sophisticated.
Carolyn grabbed a security guard and the two of them escorted me to Rosalinde's hotel. She was staying at the Maxwell, which was one of the nicer hotels in Oceangate, the sort that catered to the wealthiest of tourists.
"One of my friends just turned nineteen," Rosalinde explained as she escorted me down the hall to her suite. "She asked if I could buy you as a birthday present. She was upset when I told her that you weren't for sale, but she cheered up when I told her that I had rented you for the evening."
All of Rosalinde's friends were female and they were all around eighteen or nineteen. They gave me eager, predatory looks, like mountain lions getting ready to pounce on a deer.
"She's even more beautiful up close," one of the young women commented as she inched closer. Her accent also sounded Germanic.
"Sylvie gets to play with her first," Rosalinde admonished the woman just as she reached out to grab me. "You can have her afterwards."
Sylvie's eyes were bright, and her face was lit up with excitement. She eagerly approached me, cupped the bottom of my face, and lifted my chin up. She looked me right in the eye and said, "Ooh, we're going to have some fun."
She placed one hand between my breasts and then slowly slid it down my abdomen, still making intense eye contact with me as her hand went lower and lower until it was between my legs. She gripped my pubic lips tightly, getting a feel for them and making me gasp.
"You're already wet," she observed. "Does that mean you're attracted to me?"
Technically, my pussy was wet before I got to Sylvie's room. As a slave, I'm kept in a constant state of sexual readiness. My mistress plays with my nipples and my pussy dozens of times a day, and my orgasms are rationed, leaving me in a state of sexual need almost all the time.
Although Sylvie was an attractive woman. She was young, slender, had smooth, flawless skin, high cheekbones, and honey blonde hair. She also had full lips that were set into a wicked, seductive smile. I'd probably have been attracted to her even if I hadn't been conditioned to be in a constant state of sexual arousal.
"Ah, aaahhh," I gasped as she fondled my pubic lips. I squirmed awkwardly as I tried to find the correct words to answer her question. As it turns out, her question was rhetorical, and she wasn't really expecting an answer.
The next thing I knew, she was behind me, examining my buttocks, squeezing them and running her fingertips up and down my curves. Then she dropped to her knees and felt the firmness of my thighs and my calves.
"You have a beautiful butt, and nice legs," she observed. "Athletic, firm, sexy. Now, turn around."
Obediently, I turned. She was still on her knees, which meant her face was level with my pussy. She grinned impishly and her hands caressed my legs and thighs. She slid them past my pussy and briefly caressed my taut abs before standing erect, taking hold of my face with her eager hands and kissing me.
Sylvie was a surprisingly good kisser. Most mistresses dismiss kissing as unimportant or trivial, but Sylvie worked her mouth over mine and pressed the front of her body against mine. I felt her clothed body rub up against my naked body and her tongue enter my mouth to play games with my tongue. My nipples throbbed, my body temperature rose, and my entire body felt stimulated. I could feel her soft breasts through the fabric of her shirt and I moaned into her mouth.
Her hands kept busy as we kissed. Both of her hands ended up on my breasts and she squeezed them enthusiastically before rubbing her thumbs up and down across them, making them even more erect than before.
I was vaguely aware of Sylvie's friends moving in closer, voyeuristically watching us. I gasped as Sylvie's lips crushed mine. She pushed me back against the wall, triggering a passionate response deep inside of me. I felt my body warm up, becoming feverish with libidinous heat. I felt my body beginning to thrum with sexual electricity and I got swept away in the moment. I forgot that her friends were there watching, I forgot that my mistress was there, I forgot about the security guard. I was only aware of the soft smoothness of the deliciously warm woman kissing me and touching me all over.
I let out a girlish, gasping sound when one of her hands worked its way down between my legs and her fingertips rubbed skillfully up and down the swollen folds of my labia. I squirmed and moved my pelvis in a shameless manner, grinding my pink slit against her fingers.
I grabbed Sylvie around the waist and moaned passionately into her mouth as we kissed. Then I gasped in surprise as someone grabbed my wrists and forced them behind my back.
"Slaves don't touch their mistress until they're given the order to touch her," Rosalinde admonished me. Then I heard the metal-on-metal sound of the ratchet mechanism as my wrists were securely imprisoned in handcuffs.
I reflexively squirmed and struggled against the handcuffs, not expecting that I could get free. Once I confirmed that I was helpless, my feelings of sexual arousal abruptly surged. Helplessness has always been a big sexual trigger for me. I know, that's probably not healthy, but any time I'm tied up, handcuffed, chained or otherwise made helpless by a dominant female, my libido is automatically energized. I've been that way for as long as I can remember.
"You can't touch Sylvie," one of the women said, "but Sylvie can touch you."
Sylvie helped to emphasize this fact by placing her hand between my legs once again and working her fingers up and down the swollen lips of my sex. And the more I moaned and swayed my hips, the more energetically her fingers worked at manipulating my pubic lips.
While Sylvie played with my pussy, her friends used a short length of chain to connect my handcuffs to my slave collar, forcing me to keep my hands raised up around the small of my back, making it impossible for me to protect my buttocks. If any of these women wanted to spank me, paddle me, or use a leather strap on me, I would be utterly defenseless.
I considered that to be an ominous sign of where things were headed.
My heart pounded twice as fast, and I felt a surge of fear. It was a dark, delicious sort of fear, but fear, nevertheless. These women had made certain that I was their helpless prisoner, and that meant they had something wicked in store for me.
Sylvie temporarily distracted me from my fear and anxiety by running her hands up and down my thighs, and then smoothing her hands up the front of my body to grab my breasts.
"Ohhhhhh!"
