Dinner Party Pt. 01

Saying a story is true is a tricky concept, but this is how I recall that evening about twenty years ago, now. Some parts I remember vividly, while others I admit I'm probably filling in details or idealizing after the fact, maybe even romanticizing a bit.

I was about twenty-six or twenty seven. I joke these days to friends that when I'm trying to remember when various events happened, I organize them in my life according to which ex I was with at the time. This was already my second by that age, Virginia. She was a curly redhead who came from an old money family; very sophisticated, cultured and well educated, which I enjoyed a lot when I was younger, coming from a bit of a cultural backwater, myself. She was also curvy with porcelain skin and nice shapely legs. I've always been a leg man, and all that along with liking red hair probably helped me ignore that she enjoyed various substances a bit too much.

We were going to a dinner party. The others that would be there were in some vague area between casual acquaintances and proper friends. I don't want to go off on some distracting tangent on how I knew them or why the get together was happening. Suffice to say the grouping was predicated on certain mutual esoteric and philosophical interests, social but nothing overtly sexual.

I enjoyed the company a lot, though, and found each of the half dozen other individuals we'd be joining quite stimulating, interesting people. So, I wanted to make an impression, especially since Virginia and I were rather significantly younger than the others. I not only dressed as sharply as I could, in a smartly creased black suit; I think the first not-off-the-rack one I ever owned, actually, if I recall properly. But I wore it now with a turtleneck instead of a button up shirt.

But I also dressed Virginia to show her off, too, as I had noticed the other men glancing her up several times when we had gathered in the past.

Is that shocking? That I'd use my significant other like a piece of meat for bait? She loved it at least as much as I did. First, yes, I meant I dressed her in a literal way. That was one of the games we enjoyed. By that time I was already very into domination and submission of various sorts. Virginia and I weren't really in the sort of formally Master-slave arrangement that would become more common later, but keep in mind this was before the Internet really popularized such usually private and taboo subculture things. I think the taboo stuff was more fun before it became popular and common, actually, but I digress. We both still adored power exchange and had a strong dynamic that always went that way, and she loved being subby. So, I would send her to shower and fix her hair and make-up as I dressed and picked out her clothes. Then she would come out and I would physically put the clothes on her before we went out. I enjoyed doing things like that, that would keep her on a low simmer of arousal most of the time.

That was always my biggest thrill as a dominant. I wanted to feel I had more control over her mental and emotional state than she did.

Presently when she came out of the bathroom, a towel hugged tightly around her. That was one of the tells, along with that tense bunching of her shoulders, the sheepish angle of her neck and the shy cut of her eyes, that this game of ours was already getting to her; this was not her usual demeanor and I adored it, smiling crookedly to her from where I sat on the edge of the bed as she approached.

Seeing that I had some stockings laid out with the other garments next to me, she came over mutely, her manner almost mistakable as sullen, and stood between my knees, lifted her bare foot to perch it on the bed by my thigh. She wriggled her toes with a shy smile as I gathered up the stocking to begin sliding it over her foot.

"Is that the color you wanted me to wear for you?" she asked, knowing the answer but fishing for a bit of reassuring approval, I knew. They were painted a deep maroon red.

I gave it to her; as much to reward and shape the behavior I liked as to be kind. "Mmmhmm. It looks as pretty as I thought it would, too."

"Really?" She wriggled her toes, again. "What do you think?" She showed me the color on her fingers, as well.

"I think you look like a very classy whore."

It made her little smile blossom a bit more as the sheer fabric slid up her ankle, calf, thigh. She glanced and saw the short black dress I had picked out, with the loose skirt length almost dangerously high.

"You weren't kidding about showing me off tonight," she commented in a slightly throaty tone, switching over her feet so I could slide on the other stocking, this time caressing it up her leg with palms and splayed fingers, letting her feel my brazen self indulgence with touching her.

"No I wasn't," I said, gathering her panties for her to step into as she dropped the towel to stand there, naked., The answer made her suck in a little breath audibly through her nose as after I got the garment in place, I slid a finger down their lacy edge, to caress underneath them along her nether-petals.

"And it's making you wet," I added, watching her eyes as I lifted the garter belt and slid it around her.

"Yes," she admitted, eyes downcast and hidden.

"You can't help it can you?" I pressed, smirking more, bringing one hand to either hip, to guide her to turn around, presenting me with that lovely, squeezable ass.

"No," came back, breathy, after a heartbeat of hesitation. "I cant help it."

I slide the bra over her arms and fastened it, pausing a moment to caress up and down the delicate line of her spine with my finger tips. I leaned in so my lips and breath would tickle the delicate lobe of her ear as I asked. "Did you try to?"

"A little," she murmured back without looking at me.

As I was sliding on her dress, I asked, "What kind of woman can't help but getting wet when a man shows her off like that?"

"A slut," she returned, as I zipped her up.

It was a little bit of a drive, all of which I did with one hand rubbing Virginia's stocking-clad leg, as much for my own enjoyment as to keep her simmering. We made small talk as we went, commenting on songs or news stories on the radio. I liked that. I enjoyed mixing every day life with taboo, normalizing the wickedness. About an hour later, pulling up in front of the house, she asked, "How much of a slut do you want tonight?"

I grinned. "Don't worry," I crooned in a soothing tone like you might use with a skittish child. "I'm right here. I have you. I'll show you exactly how slutty I want you to be."