At one point a tall, strikingly good-looking guy sidled up next to Tom and said something to him. In the noise all I caught was the word “boyfriend,...�� and Tom looked puzzled. “Boyfriend?” he asked. The guy pointed and said, louder this time, “Do you mind if I dance with your boyfriend?” It took us both a beat to realize the guy was talking about me. Before I could process this, the guy came around, took me by the hand and led me to the dance floor. I was too stunned to protest. The music. My appearance, however, was much more a distraction. As I looked at myself in the mirror, my eyes roaming over the lace trim now applied to my wrists and breasts, and standing atop the high heels with frilly stockings decorating my legs, I felt more slutty and on display than I would have been naked. My pussy lips were still reddened and swollen from the torture of the clothespins.I had no time to feel sorry for myself, as the task of cleaning his place from top to bottom was going to be quite. More

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