The Mistress' Pet Show

Shy and timid Lucilia is on her way to a kinky party

The Mistress’s Pet Show was first published in Naughty Invitations A BDSM Night of Kinks Anthology. You can read the prequel The Pending Tray and this first episode free on Substack. I am serializing the rest of the story on Substack for paid subscribers.

In The Pending Tray – The Beginning, Lucilia has discovered her kinky side under her new bisexual mistress, Michelle. At the end of that story Michelle asks, “Would you like to go to a party?”
The wicked look in her eyes tells Lucilia that this is not the sort of party she has ever been to before.

Now the story continues.

Lucilia stood at the kerbside and hoped she did not look like a streetwalker, not that streetwalkers were that common in her quiet suburban street, but then neither was the sight of her dressed in a slinky black dress that parted down the front to display a wide triangle of pale flesh and revealed the curves of her breasts.

She was sure she had seen her neighbour's curtains twitch, probably Mr Ford getting an eyeful as he suddenly realised what lay under the frumpy jumpers and sweatpants he had always seen her in before.

Lucilia looked down, why did they have to be so big, her breasts? They seemed to hang on her front like two half-empty plastic bags of flour; the skin stretched taught over the weight of flesh beneath. Yes, they drew admiring glances from men, but that just added to her misery. Usually she kept them hidden beneath baggy sweaters or, on rare nights out, high necked dresses, but tonight was different; tonight she was dressed as instructed.

She shivered, the air was chill and she could feel her nipples hardening, pushing against the flimsy satin of the dress. She was thankful that the only illumination was her porch light, and that shone weakly on her back as the evening darkened.

A car moved down the road, its headlights sweeping over Lucilia, spotlighting her for the world to see, as it rounded the curve. The Bentley slid silently to a halt in front of her. She glanced over her shoulder, this time the curtains definitely twitched.

A uniformed chauffeur stepped out and walked slowly around the silver body of the limousine. Michelle had said that, if they were going to a party like this they were going in style and she would bring the Bentley, but it had never occurred to Lucilia that there would be a chauffeur.

The moments between each heartbeat seemed to be stretching out, lengthening; she felt as if the air around her was thickening, becoming liquid, drawing the world out into a series of slow-motion movements. The burly driver touched his peaked cap and then reached out and the fingers of his enormous fist wrapped around the door handle. Lucilia smiled at him, hoping that her nervousness did not show.

The big door swung open as if on air and Lucilia stooped, ready to climb into the luxurious interior. She froze; the only other passenger was not Michelle, but a man. He wore an elegantly tailored dark green suit; a grey goatee beard sprouted from his chin and whiskers covered his cheeks hiding the contours. The rest of his face was hidden by a plain, black, mask that sprouted an almost hawk-like beak over his nose. His long, silvery, hair showed no sign of thinning and was swept back into a ponytail held in place by a plain band. For a moment Lucilia thought he looked like an ageing rock star, but there was no clue to his identity.

The fingers of her right hand had creased the satin of her dress on her knee ready to lift the material as she stepped in, her left arm was stretched out, her hand resting on the arm of the open door, but she did not move. Doubts flooded through her; tonight was what she wanted, she had been so sure, but now her world was spinning, out of control. She had been entranced by the idea of a decadent evening of kinky sex with Michelle. Looking at the masked face of a stranger went beyond anything she had imagined.

The man brought one hand, which despite the warmth in the car was swathed in a black leather glove, up to his mouth. He rested his index finger on his upper lip and his thumb under his chin as if studying Lucilia.

“Are you sure you are completely ready for what will happen tonight?” His voice, high-pitched for a man, not squeaky but light, purred from the softly lit interior.

Perhaps he had been a singer. She looked down, trying to focus her mind as it spun back like an old-fashioned tape machine until she found the point where Michelle had received the party invitation. Looking up from the card she had asked whether Lucilia wished to take their relationship to the next level; to become her submissive; to trust in her and to do whatever she said without query or hesitation. Michelle had added that, as her Mistress, she would only subject her to trials and torments that would excite her, bring her pleasure, but she had to completely submit to whatever was commanded, whether that entailed dropping to her knees in front of a stranger, or bending over to receive a caning in front of a male voice choir.

Lucilia had agreed, at thirty-four her sex life so far had not been exciting. She longed for more of the exquisite pleasure she had felt when Michelle had taken her to the brink of a climax and then created waves of pain that flooded through her body, amplifying the sensations to the point where she would have paid good money to any drug dealer that could have guaranteed such a high.

Now it seemed that this was to be extended to complying with the wishes of this curious man. Would there be others, what would happen at the party, was she on the verge of becoming a submission groupie? Was there such a thing? She felt a tingle of excitement run through her.

Despite the tiny part of her mind that still remembered her conservative upbringing, the part that said anything like this was to be abhorred, that sex was to be confined to the marital bedroom, not indulged in in strange places with unknown people, she was aware that, like a heat-seeking missile, a tingle was running down through her body to between her legs.

“Yes,” she hesitated, “Yes, I am.” She slid into the car and felt the silk of her dress slip easily across the leather seat. The car moved off with the slightest purr, as if a sleeping cat had awakened.

The man took a heavy, ivory coloured, envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Lucilia. She opened it, unfolded the single sheet of paper inside and read the neat handwriting.

This is Michael, who from this point onward you will address as Sir. You will obey his instructions as if they were mine. He will also pass you a series of written instructions from me at times during the evening. M

Michael looked out of the car window and brought his hand up to his mouth again. “You are dressed as instructed?”

“I am.” Lucilia did not look up.

The silky black dress clung to her rounded figure, the material so thin that her body shape showed through, almost as if she was coated in oil. The outline clearly revealed that the dress was her only covering; the plunging neckline and a slit up the left side, that had opened as she sat down, exposing the creamy skin beneath.

He ran a gloved fingertip over Lucilia's thigh, the touch sending tiny electric shocks through her nerves.

“A little higher I think.” He took a small pair of scissors out of his pocket.

Lucilia felt the hard metal pressing against her as he snipped at the seam before running the scissors through the satin up to Lucilia's waist. He flicked the material over and Lucilia fought her natural reaction to hide her nakedness.

Michael handed her a second envelope.

This is your first instruction. If Michael mentions your pussy, if he says the word display or if he looks down at your pussy for more than two seconds you will draw the material aside and display yourself. You will only cover it again when he nods. You will now tell him you understand M.

Lucilia felt her conservative side surge through her again. She had spent her life hiding in the shadows, concealed beneath modest clothing that granted her anonymity. From standing as a wallflower in the darkest parts of the school dance hall, to wearing high necked blouses over sensible bras at work, she had spent her life fading into the background. Very few men had managed to peel away the onion skin layers of clothes, and then only in the darkness of a bedroom with the drapes drawn.

Then she had met Michelle who had forced her into the light and now she was on her way to a party, wearing only the thinnest of dresses, and even that was now open to display everything below her waist. She pressed her thighs together, sure that evidence of her excitement was already beginning to seep from her as she murmured, “I understand, Sir.”

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The Mistress’ Pet Show continues. Lucilia and Michael arrive at the party and Lucilia’s submission begins.