HOW WE SERVE MASTER

Gretchen told me of this experience she had

which began when she accompanied Master

to a United Nations cocktail meet and greet:

It was extremely dull until Master brought over a woman he introduced as Kwesi.

She was from West Africa and was serving with her nation’s embassy to the UN.

Something immediately struck me about her, and when Master walked off, I tried thinking of a way to bring it up without insulting her or driving her away.

Because you know how you can tell, I mean just flat out tell, when a woman is wearing a butt plug?

Kwesi was definitely wearing a butt plug.

Finally, as we were chitchatting about women in global finance, I just flat out brought it up.

“I can tell, you know,” I said. “The way you stand. How your body slightly rocks. The occasional measured intake of breath.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, and I could tell she really didn’t.

“I have worn them myself. Often. Butt plugs.”

Her eyes nearly popped out.

Her voice was a whisper.

“You can … tell?”

Her head swiveled around, taking in the whole room. Worried, I’m sure, that everyone knew.

I put a soft hand on her wrist. “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s our little secret.”

Then in a low voice both carnal and sweet, she said …

“Not so little.”

We giggled like school girls.

Suddenly another woman was between us.

At first startled, Kwesi recovered quickly.

“Gretchen, this is my wife Etta. Like you, an American. Sweetheart, this is Gretchen. We just met and became instant friends.”

Etta and I exchanged quick histories. The three of us all grabbed glasses of wine from a passing female server.

To stir hormones up and show I often played on their team, I gave the server a long look and then said to the wife and the wife, “She has a pretty face. I’d like to sit on it for an hour or so.”

Kwesi smiled. Etta busted out laughing.

So, Etta obviously ran their bedroom.

Kwesi, apparently now feeling frisky about our secret, whispered something to her wife — who eyes got as big as Kwesi’s had been earlier.

Not to make this about me, but I was also wearing

a butt plug that night. Master had lent me

to his stepmother — who had invited

some friends over for wine and cheese

and having their pussies eaten.

“You really could tell?” Etta asked me. “How?”

I explained. Etta looked impressed.

She said to Kwesi, “Tell her why I made you wear it.”

So … a domme/sub marriage.

Kwesi’s voice was low again.

“I have not been … There are wifely duties, you understand. Duties that are … Oral duties. Yes?”

“I understand,” I said.

“As my wife, she deserves and expects … to be serviced. Satisfyingly serviced.”

She leaned closer to me.

“Both her vagina and …” her voice dropped even lower. “Her anus. The rim and inside of her anus.”

She suddenly had the deepest blush, I’d ever seen on a black person.

And a coy grin.

Frisky.

Frisky. Frisky. Frisky.