Tales 12

Tales 11

Tales Vol.9

Deep Waters

Tales NHSP 8

Challenge of Love

Tales Vol. 1

Coming of Age

In The Dark II

Breanne's Three - Chicago BDSM

The Society of the Golden Rose

The Silver Locke

Michael Alexander Stories

Choose Your Own Destiny - The Club


4c – Buying Breanne

About ten minutes later you see her step onto the balcony floor, emerging from the stairs like a queen ascending her throne.  She surveys the room and spots you immediately.  You wonder whether she was given your description or whether she was told a particular table to show up at.  One thing you like about the VIP balcony is that there is no quibbling.  On the common main floor, only lap dances are officially for sale, though you know that darker things are bought as well.  In the VIP lounge the girls KNOW what their clients want.  It makes for easier conversations.

Your eyes almost pop out of your head as you take in her outfit.  She is wearing what could only be described as a little black dress, a skin tight number that shows every curve of her body as if it were painted on.  Even better, it was made of a lacy material and practically see thru, with only a stitched pattern interwoven through the sheer fabric to prevent it from being merely gauze.  It went down to mid thigh where it contrasted beautifully with the pale skin of her leg, which went all the way down to a set of sensible strap open toed high heels that could be slipped off in seconds.

She is carrying a small bucket and you grin when you see her wrist and ankle cuffs peeking out from the top.  In all likelihood, her little black slave collar choker is in there as well.  She steps up to your table and gives you an appraising look before she puts the bucket down on the wooden surface.  She gives you a warm smile.

“Should I kneel and present myself to my new master?”  She asks politely, leaning over slightly.  “Or should I order you to grovel and worship Breanne the Sex Goddess?”

You swallow.  The menu mentioned that Breanne was a switch; able to be a sex slave or a dominatrix, but you hadn’t expected such a question before even pleasantries were exchanged.  You smile, the directness of this girl refreshing.  You phrase your answer carefully.

“The message I gave the waitress was an order to present your self.  Slaves kneel before their master.  I don’t need a reason to punish you, but if you don’t get on the ground now and kiss my foot, I’ll blister that cute behind of yours. (12a)