Company party

I've decided to allow you to attend your company party. I am escorting you. We'll put on evening dresses to mingle with the corporate executives and important clients. I'm wearing a little cocktail dress. You're wearing a black halter dress and a delicate collar that discreetly symbolizes that you belong to me. And heels, of course.

The party is being held high above the city. The room is beautiful in a spare, modern way. There's a bar in the middle, and all around the edges are floor-to-ceiling windows. You can stand and look down at cars navigating the nighttime streets far below. We look at out the moon and it seems almost close enough to touch.

You see your co-workers in a new light, dressed up as they never dress for work, all in their fanciest and prettiest clothes. Suits and ties, cocktail dresses, gowns. The executives and their young trophy wives cluster together drinking scotch. We sip wine as we walk slowly through the room, intent in conversation.

After a while we drift over to a window. There is no one nearby. We look outside, talking and smiling.

I reach over and take your wineglass from you. I hand it to a passing waiter. You had not finished your wine, but you know better than to say anything. I am still holding my wine.

We stand at the window, looking out at the stars. I glance over at you and see only willingness.

Then I reach over and undo the clasp behind your neck. The halter dress falls to your waist, then to the floor, puddling at your feet.

We stand looking out the window now: me in my cocktail dress, you wearing heels and my collar.

I offer you my wine. You take a sip and hand the glass back to me. Your hand is not shaking. I'm proud of you.

I turn to face the room and you do too. You stand with your hands at your sides. I see willingness on your face, and a pink flush on your cheeks. You will not cover yourself. This is how I want you, and this is how you will be with me. I am already proud of you.

"Your breasts, sweet slut," I say.

You know what I want. You lift your hands and begin caressing. You cup your breasts in your hands, stroking with your fingers to make your nipples hard.

Standing against the window and the night behind us, you grope your pretty tits. You squeeze them. You pinch your nipples and tug on them. Twist them.

Around the room, people glance over and look away quickly. Some of the strangers, the CEOs and sales directors of client companies, are looking more openly. Maybe you've been hired as entertainment.

You close your eyes and caress your breasts. You know what I want. I want you to touch them as if you are alone, to share with this room and these strangers dressed in finery just how you would touch yourself if you were alone. To show them the exact touches your breasts crave.

Some of the women look over at you and for a moment their masks of sociability drop. They scowl. They do not want naked flesh on display tonight. They resent your youth and beauty. They worry their husbands or boyfriends will want you, or that later in bed they'll be thinking of you when they fuck.

A few of them women lick their lips. They are looking at your body appraisingly. Imagining themselves brave enough to do what you are doing.

They are aroused. It's clear from their faces.

A small crowd has slowly gathered as you stand in heels and a delicate collar, caressing and teasing your tits. They stand in a half-circle around you.

You glance at me and I nod, and you drop a hand from your breasts to your pussy. You touch gently at first. You caress and tease the lips, feeling them slick and wet and hot. You glide your slippery fingers over your clit. Only I am standing close enough to hear your quiet moan.

More people join the circle around us as you begin fingering yourself, as you fuck yourself, naked, before the dressed-up partygoers.

The thin silk of the men's suits does little to hide their erections. Some are idly stroking their fingers over their cocks, through their pants.

Women have gathered around too. You feel the heat of their gaze on your skin. They glide their fingers over their cleavage in their expensive dresses. They fidget with their necklaces. They let their fingertips brush, almost accidentally, against their nipples through the thin silk of their gowns.

More and more come to stand and watch as you obediently fuck yourself.

I step forward and put a hand on your shoulder. I press very gently and you drop to your knees, then lie flat on the carpeted floor, your head almost touching the glass. I reach down and pull your feet up toward you. I position them so your knees are bent. And then I gently push your knees wide apart, exposing you.

You drop a hand between your thighs and continue sliding your fingers in and out of your slick, wet, hot, needy pussy.

Some of the men have opened their suit pants and pulled their cocks out. They are openly stroking themselves as they watch you, as they look at your naked body, your willingness, your humiliation.

A middle-aged vice president of something is openly squeezing the breasts of his young wife, who stands in front of him. You can tell by the way her hips bump forward rhythmically that he is grinding his cock against her ass through their clothes. They can't take their eyes off you. They are so aroused by your display.

I whisper something to a young trophy wife and she blushes, then I take her by the hand and lead her to you. She kneels beside you. I take one of your hands and place it between her thighs. You begin caressing the smooth skin of her inner thighs, letting your hands rise higher until you encounter the thong that barely covers her. You begin rubbing her pussy as she kneels there. And still you fuck yourself.

A man kneels beside you and begins groping your tits, squeezing hard, pinching your nipples.

Around you, the crowd is growing larger. More partygoers are clustered in a half circle around you. Most are openly touching themselves. Women begin scooping their breasts out of low-cut dresses, caressing their nipples as they watch your performance.

The woman you are fingering gushes onto your fingers as she cums. I watch you lick your fingers clean.

You feel hot, sticky cum splatter against your belly. The puddle begins to cool as you thrust two fingers deep into your wet cunt, your thumb grinding against your slippery clit.

I watch you approvingly as a woman comes and kneels over your head, hiking up her skirt to expose her naked pussy. You're not the only one who came to this party without panties. She lowers herself to your eager mouth and lips and tongue. She grinds herself against you, smearing your cheeks and chin with wetness as you lick her.

Hands begin rubbing your thighs, up and down.

Your breasts are being mauled by men and women on both sides of you.

I lift your hand and direct it to the waist of a man who is watching. You wrap your fingers around his cock and begin jerking it up and down.

Around you, women are staring at you, biting their lips. Men are openly stroking their cocks.

You're flat on your back, naked, your legs spread wide, fucking yourself at an exclusive cocktail party, wrecking your future at the company in a sign of perfect obedience to me. You are my perfect whore tonight.

The cock you are jerking spurts all over your hand. You smear the cum over your tits as its owner is replaced by a kneeling woman. She places your hand on her tits so you can squeeze them. You peel her dress down, exposing her, groping her naked breasts.

The woman kneeling over your face gushes and cums. She cries out, and the last few partygoers come rushing to see what everyone is doing here, clustered around you in the fancy hotel ballroom.

Someone reaches under your raised knee to caress and knead and grab your ass. You feel a finger probing, pushing at your asshole, slick with juices. You thrust yourself down onto the finger, needing the penetration, needing to be filled.

A woman lifts your hand away from your cunt and thrusts your fingers into her mouth, licking them clean.

Your cunt is briefly unoccupied, but only briefly. Fingers fill you, stretch you, push into you roughly as you thrust your hips forward.

Fingers in your ass, in your pussy.

A hand lies flat against your belly, then slides down. You feel fingertips rubbing hard and fast against your swollen clit.

One of your hands is fingering a woman kneeling beside you. The other is jerking off one of the clerks from the accounting department. He won't meet your eyes.

A cock is thrust between your lips and you begin sucking eagerly.

You feel more cum splattering down onto your body.

This is your perfect obedience. This is the climax of your submission. Throwing away your reputation in this town, your future, on my whim. Being willing to do this, to do anything, to please me.

You spread your legs wider for the fingers that penetrate you.

Your body is slick with sweat and girlcum and jism.

You give yourself up to the moment.

This should be a moment of degradation, of humiliation. You should feel that you have sunk as low as you can go, a perfect slut, an object to be used and discarded. Trash. But it is not. It is a moment of exaltation. This is a moment of pure and perfect submission, of giving up all reluctance, of giving yourself fully to me. Yes, this. Even this.

Your tongue probes upward into the crack between a trophy wife's buttocks. You find her puckered asshole and begin licking, probing your tongue into her.

All I can think is how proud I am.