and clasp the silver collar around your neck. You blink as the lock clicks into place.
Neither of us have the key.
Later
The city glitters beneath us, becoming more and more distant as the elevator rises. Faintly, I can see your reflection in the glass. You're wearing a simple, yet elegant pencil dress that highlights your curves, coupled with heels. Your makeup, as far as I can tell, is subtle but beautifully done, with a little more emphasis on your eyes. Your hair is done in a bun, and you are the most beautiful woman I've ever known.
I can't tell if you're nervous. The dreamy expression on your face belies nothing about what's going through your head. I reach over and squeeze your hand. "Hey."
You look at me. "Hey."
"Ready?"
You smile and squeeze my hand. "Ready."
The elevator slows to a stop and the doors open. I squeeze your hand a final time, and lead you into the Penthouse. We are greeted by a large set of oak double doors and a tall, well-kept man in a suit behind a podium. Before either of us could say anything, he addressed us.
"Welcome to the Penthouse. Do you have a reservation?" I could feel him giving me a once-over. His eyes landed on your collar, and he nodded as if it were all the response he needed. "One moment while I confirm your reservation details." Both of us smile nervously as he types something into his computer.
Finally, he looks up at us again. "May I store your electronic devices?" I hand over my cell phone; we hadn't bothered to bring yours. He takes it, attaches a small sticky note to it, and locks it in a cabinet under his podium. After this, he turns to face us again.
"Everything is in order. Please, come in." He smiled and stepped to the double doors, gesturing us to follow. We walk into a hallway with red carpet and soft yellow light from lamps mounted on the walls.
At the end of the hallway is a large, Victorian-style room, centered with a semicircular, ornate dining table. Other guests are already here, lounging on sofas and talking. You and I can only take this in for a moment before you are approached by an individual dressed in all black, with the word "Handler" stitched in silver on the lapel of their collar.
"Miss? Are you ready?"
I look at you, and your eyes flicker to me for only a moment before you reply, "Yes." The handler wordlessly attaches a cord that seems to be made of golden rope and steel links to the ring in your collar and begins leading you away from the dining room, towards a small door. You look back at me once, just as your hand is pulled from mine.
I can only admire the curve of your ass swaying as you are walked to the door at the end of the hall. As you step inside, I can see the handler saying something, and I see you sink to your knees. You place your hands on the floor, and the door closes.
I stand there for a moment, looking at the door, until I am approached by a man I assume to be a host.
"This way, sir." I follow my guide to the area beside the dining table, where other guests, men and women, are mingling. All the people I see are dressed well and they look to range in age from mid-twenties to early fifties. In terms of demographics, it seems to be a fair mix of races and ethnicities. As I look around, I estimate there are less than 20 people.
The general social atmosphere, however, is very different than any other I've ever encountered. The people in the room, presumably strangers, seem very familiar and relaxed with one another as they chat amicably. The pressure to meet any social standards at all is notably absent, and each personality in the room feels genuine.
I easily slip into a group of guests. "Hi."
"Hey!" A tall woman with thick glasses and numerous bracelets swivels to face me immediately, grinning. "I don't remember you! Which means this is your first visit to the Penthouse, am I right?"
"Right." I nod, a little taken aback by the intensity of her response. "We only found out about this place a few years ago, and obviously it took a while to get invited and cleared—"
"Totally." A guy with surfer-style blond hair and a neck tattoo flashed his perfectly white teeth at me. "It actually took us three times."
"So which one's yours?" The tall lady interrupted. "You can call me Sasha, by the way."
"Sasha, hi, nice to meet you." I turn my attention back to her. "I'm here with Carolyn."
Sasha nods thoughtfully. "I'll look for her on the menu. It is 'her', right?"
"Yes, her." I smile, suddenly reminded of what's happening to you right now. "Who are you here with, Sasha?"
"Well, I'm usually here with Travis, my sub, but this time I decided to treat a friend. You'll find her under 'Lydia'."
I wanted to ask Sasha more things, like how long she had been coming here, but then a tone played across the room, not unlike the sound that accompanies the seatbelt sign on airplanes. It was followed by a woman's voice.
"Good evening, all. The last guests have arrived, and the entire menu is now being prepared. Dinner will commence in 20 minutes, followed, of course, by a social event in the Playroom."
Sasha squeezes my arm. "Let's go sit." I follow her and the rest of the crowd to the table, which is set with fine dinnerware and black menu cards. I pull out a chair and sit.
Sasha takes a seat to my left, and I look down at my menu. The front lists various main courses, including fish, lobster, chicken, and steak, as well as drinks. The back is much more interesting.
Slave List:
Astrid
Averell
Carolyn
Edgar
Evelyn
Franco
Jennifer
Lucille
Luke
Natalia
Oliver
Patrick
Piper
Slaves are served freshly spanked and edged to the specifications of their owners. Slaves may be fed from the table and shared. All slaves will be chained to rotating serving platters and presented in the center of the table. All slaves will be served to all guests to ensure that each guest receives a sample as a prelude to the social event. Between each permutation, each slave will be lightly washed and spanked (by request).
Next to each name is a picture, and I see yours next to Carolyn. We took that during sex one night; you still had a plug inside you. I decide to order a steak and root beer.
The food is served first, by stone-faced servants dressed in black. The steak is delicious, but I feel like I'm eating it in the third person somehow, distracted by anticipation. A bell rings, and everyone looks around expectantly.
Sasha leans over and nudges me. "Here we go!" She whispers excitedly.
The voice of the Penthouse addresses the table. "Ladies and gentlemen, your slaves are served."
The servants roll out wooden carts with the slaves chained to rotating platforms on top of them, as the menu specified. The slaves are naked, entirely