Rain beat down on the yellow umbrella Nicole Fleming carried, pattering with an uneven rhythm. The sidewalks were wet and the sky was an ominous gray that promised rain all afternoon. The rain came in at an angle, so despite her umbrella her stockings were getting wet, but there wasn't much she could do about that except hurry.
Half a block from the embassy a gust of wind flipped her umbrella inside out, making it a cup for the rain instead of a dome, and she had no choice but to make a run for it, cursing the decision to wear her highest heels as the rain soaked her hair and her blouse. Reaching her destination at last, she ran up the steps, only to be confronted by two uniformed security guards.
"What's your business?" they asked.
"I'm here for the enslavement of Sherry Fleming," she said. "I'm her mother."
"You're her mother?" said one of them in disbelief. She had the sense that he was struggling, and not entirely succeeding, at keeping disapproval from her voice.
"Yes. Please let me in out of the rain?"
The other guard looked at a tablet. "Nicole Fleming?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Let her in." He pushed open the glass door for her, and she entered the Ruritanian embassy. There was a line of life-sized statues of naked, kneeling men and women, all leading toward a desk at which a young woman sat. She wore a blue steel collar, and a dress that had a boob window that bared most of her large, impossibly firm breasts. Her nipples made a dent in the fabric, just a half inch from bared flesh.
"Good morning," said the woman. "What can this receptionist do for you today?" The woman looked her up and down, no doubt taking in her bedraggled state.
This receptionist.
Would Sherry end up talking like that? Surely her daugther's breasts were big enough that no such clearly artificial enhancement would be required. Nicole wished she didn't find the whole idea so hot. Not for Sherry, of course. But to be required to alter one's speech, one's body, in service to a powerful Master?
Yum.
Especially if that master was Grayson Harding. Dammit.
"I'm here for the enslavement of Sherry Fleming to Grayson Harding, otherwise known as Ur," Nicole said.
"Ah, yes, this receptionist was told to expect you. She will call someone to escort you."
"Who is -" Nicole was about to ask who 'she' was, but then realized the busty receptionist was speaking about herself as she pressed a button. "Escort for Mrs. Fleming, please," she said.
"Roger," said the voice back.
The receptionist smiled at Nicole. "They will be here shortly. Do you wish to remove your wet clothes? You're on Ruritanian soil, now, and nudity and all states of undress are permitted anywhere within the building."
Nicole looked down at herself. Her pale yellow blouse was soaked to semi-transparency, and her bra was wet, too. The cold of the rain, even on a relatively warm day, had made her nipples hard, jutting points against the wet fabric, and the dark circles of her areola were evident. She should have worn a suit jacket, she supposed, but she wanted to dress somewhat sexy, without going over the top. She just hadn't anticipated getting soaked.
Still, she wasn't going to strip. Sherry might feel that was a bit much, for one thing. "It's not required is it?" she asked.
She realized she was half-hoping the answer was yes.
"Of course not. But it is required for many of us. This girl's master dictates how she is to dress, or undress."
Nicole smiled as neutrally as she could. "Of course," she said. Years ago, Gray had told her what to wear on dates. Short skirt, no panties, usually. He was rarely more specific than that. But it had always given her a thrill.
She had let him slip out of her grasp. Or, she had slipped out of his. It had all made sense to her at the time, and now he was a successful rather than a struggling artist, and an infernal, as well, and in a relationship with her daughter.
About to own her daughter, because her daughter had offered herself to him.
She had not actually seen him in ten years, and she shivered as much from nervousness as from the wetness of her clothes.
A tall, naked man came striding forward, with six pack abs and bulging biceps. He strode confidently toward her. Around his neck was a collar like the one the receptionist wore, and a steel cage surrounded his cock. "Mrs. Fleming?" he asked.
"Uh, yes, that's me."
"This way, please."
He turned, and Nicole stared at his ass as she followed him. The guy was built. Submissive boys were not her type, but she still appreciated the eye candy.
They passed a naked, collared woman in the hall, who nodded and smiled at the male slave, but stared at Nicole's breasts. Nicole wished she had tried to arrive early, but she had purposely chosen to get there as close to the time as possible, to avoid awkward moments. That meant there was no time to try to dry her clothes.
Maybe in a way she wanted Gray to see her this way. She didn't want him thinking she dressed sexy for him, but if she just had no choice but to have a transparent top, well, so be it.
The man opened a door for her, and she walked through into a room with white marble floors and high vaulted ceilings, light streaming in from high-set windows. The red and black flag of Ruritania hung on one wall, and there were photographs of demons breaking up the burgundy wallpaper on the other walls, looking like politicians anywhere other than the red skin and the horns.
Two demons stood in the center of the room. One, tall, male, bare chested. The other female, over six-feet tall but short next to the male, wearing a corset that made the most of her assets and jeans that showed a noticeable bulge.
A human woman stood next to the man, elegant in a black sheath dress, with honey-blonde hair. Another, athletic, close to Sherry's age, knelt naked and collared at the male's feet, with a small, open wooden box that held a phone and another of the metal collars next to her knees. She recognized the girl from some of Gray's paintings, and the woman in the dress had been in a few, too.
A man with a chastity cage on knelt in the corner, a video camera in his hand, tracking her less than elegant entrance. However bedraggled her appearance, though, she resolved to walk straight and tall. Always walk like you own the place, she thought, although no one was likely to be confused about that here.
"Nicole," said the male demon, and she recognized his voice. Of course it was Gray, who else would it be?
"Gray," she replied.
"Nice outfit," said the woman next to him.
"It's raining rather hard," Nicole said, evenly. She spotted the ring on the woman's finger. His wife, then? "And the wind wrecked my umbrella."
"I'm sure," said the woman, "that was a complete accident. So interesting to meet you at last, I've heard
so
much about you."
Ugh. But of course he talked about her to his wife. He wasn't the secretive kind, which is why their relationship had been so hard on him. She'd known it, known he was suffering even before she pushed him away, but had enjoyed his lovemaking and the illusion that she might up and leave Terry too much to take that step when she should have.
"You must be Elizabeth," Nicole said.
"That's right."
"Betty," Gray corrected. "Betty, Nicole. Nicole, Betty, my wife. And Model, my slave girl.
"Congratulations to you both." Nicole turned back to Gray. "She's lovely. I'm glad you found someone." She glanced down at the slave girl at his feet. "More than one someone. I'm very happy for you."
She thought she did a good job getting it all out without grinding her teeth.
"Thank you, Nicole," Gray said, in an even, restrained voice.
Model simply smiled softly at her.
"How does it feel," asked Betty. "To know he's going to own your daughter?"
