Interview Ch. 02: The Entertainer

"Master please," she whines desperately.

"You may cum when you feel my cock in you," Talbot says.

When he finishes, Sally's mouth drops on Alexa's nipple. She moans loudly and drives her own knees hard into the tray with her arms. She bangs her head on the tray as well and I can't tell if it's in reaction to the stimulation or if she's trying to give herself some pain to stave off the orgasm.

My head isn't shaking, but my mouth is open and I feel my breasts and nipples moving against my shirt as I breathe deeply and quickly watching the erotic show. I can smell pussy clearly, and I'm not sure if it's Alexa's or mine anymore.

Sally finishes attacking the left breast and moves her head to the right. As her tongue snakes out to lick Alexa's nipple, Talbot suddenly moves beside me. He stands and his pants fall. He pulls the tray to the table edge in an impressive display of strength, and then he's buried himself in Alexa before I realize his cock is exposed.

Alexa screams and nearly bucks herself off the table. Her back arches so high I could crawl through the gap between it and the table. Her legs snap forward and nearly kick Talbot, but he grabs them before she can damage him, then holds them for leverage as he saws himself into her.

The sight of Alexa's orgasm has me desperate. My crotch feels like it's on fire and I wonder if I'm sitting in a puddle. I've worn a skirt today, and now I wonder if that was my libido working against me, knowing somehow I would succumb to whatever happened. I start hiking it up and I debate if anyone will care if I start masturbating.

Then the scene before me shifts and all the bodies move in such a way that I make eye contact with Rose.

Words from my first interview flash through my head.

I like to be what's called a 'free use' woman.

Thank you Mistress.

I get up and walk around the table. I hike my skirt up to my waist, baring my soaked black thong and wet thighs, then sit in Sally's old seat. Without warning or apology I reach across and grab the back of Rose's head. I pull her forward and down. She follows without resistance until she crawls on the floor in front of me. I pull her head into my crotch.

She uses her nose to nudge my thong aside and then I feel the amazing sensation of a tongue on my hot, leaking pussy. The long ago nervousness and tension from my experience with my girlfriend are a distant memory. Either this is not Rose's first time or she is a gifted cunnilinguist. Every swipe of her tongue on my lips and in my tunnel feels heavenly, like a cooling balm on a hot burn, even while it ramps my heat higher.

After the initial contact I focus back on the threesome on the table. Sally cleaned most of Alexa's breast by this point but continues sucking on the girl's nipples while Talbot drives into her with a steady, unhurried rhythm.

"Master! Master!" Alexa begs.

"No, slave, you cannot cum again," Talbot says.

The cry of anguish from Alexa sounds just as Rose's tongue hits my clit for the first time and the resulting orgasm catches me totally by surprise. I practically slap Rose on the head, whether to stop her or let her know I've cum I'm not sure. I do push her away though as the come down from the orgasm arrives with a wave of guilt. I get up and practically slam the door open leaving the dining room.

Out in the hall I pant as if I've sprinted in a race. I lean against a wall, heedless of what's on it. My own smell, sweat and pussy, hits me as my blouse and coat open and the air from my chest wafts up to my nose.

I don't know how long I stay there but Talbot eventually comes out and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you well?" he asks.

In an odd moment of honestly I say, "I don't know."

I look up and Talbot is standing there with Sally. Sally looks concerned but Talbot's face is still intense and unreadable.

"You shouldn't worry about anything from dinner. If it bothers you I understand, and feel free to leave. But I would appreciate it if you still attended the party tonight."

At that point I'd forgotten about the party. Alexa had mentioned Talbot probably intended me to attend it. I almost refuse and excuse myself. I doubt Talbot would be offended, and already in my head I've convinced myself the slaves' opinions don't matter; no one will ever hear them. But I pause and take stock. The whole point of this session is to get me an insight into Talbot's world. Nobody respects the embedded reporter in a war zone that cuts and runs as soon as they see wounded being carried in. My situation isn't nearly as fraught or dangerous as that, and here I am falling apart.

Vague warnings about evaluating my mental state are sounding in the back of my mind, but they're very much in the back. I straighten up and nod to Talbot that I'm still good to stay at the party, but I don't know what kind of party it is and I have nothing to wear.

"I took the liberty of having an outfit delivered," he tells me, "And it's a masquerade party. You can wash up in the private bathroom off the guest room your clothes are in. Sally here will show you the way."

I don't analyze what he says much because I'm still somewhat in a daze from the events at dinner. I'm quietly glad he has Sally attend to me rather than Rose, even though her position seems like it should be the one to escort me. Then again, I'm not yet sure what Sally's job is in the household.

Sally leads me up to the second floor to the wing opposite where I was with Rose during my first visit. The room I'm shown to resembles the others but also seems more personal somehow. The overall atmosphere is a bit warmer than the other rooms, and I guess it's because of the colors of the walls and carpet, possibly also the furnishing. This room also has an attached bathroom, where the others did not.

"Do you need any help washing or tending to your needs, Mistress?" Sally asks.

I'm a little surprised by the girl's question; Talbot hadn't mentioned anything about her serving me directly, nor about calling me Mistress. I assume he gave the instructions while I wasn't around. She also seems oddly eager about the request.

"No thank you; I'm fine," I reply after a moment.

"Yes Mistress," Sally says immediately and withdraws. I notice a definite flash of disappointment on the girl's face as she does, though.

Sitting on the very large bed (at least a regular king, if not one of the larger exotic types like California king) is a garment bag. Opening it I see a floor length black dress with mostly modest lines; the neckline is high and will only really show off my collarbones and while the back is lower it's not so low that a bra is impossible. The fabric is slick and silky. After examining it for a few minutes I decide it actually is a full silk dress.

I put the dress down very carefully. I'm guessing the dress probably costs as much as I make in a month, if not more. I immediately think of the fraught situation every woman considers when presented with an expensive gift from a man. How many strings and assumptions are tied up in this? Since he bought the dress, does he get to dictate where and when I have to return it? In the middle of the hall so he can view me in my underwear, perhaps? How much does this imbalance our relationship beyond where it is now? Will I be expected to repay the generosity somehow, and what form will that repayment take?

To take my mind off such dilemmas, I shower. I avoid wetting my hair; the party is in two hours and I don't see a hair dryer in the bathroom, though I don't dig through the cabinets or drawers to find one. The shower is simple but also welcoming like the room; it's a shower in a full tub, not merely a stall, and the tub seems to have whirlpool or massage jets built in.

There are a number of bodywashes available in the shower, and when I get out and actually look I find an array of products that would serve any woman's needs in a pinch. Simple makeup palette, moisturizers and creams for skin, even a few different perfume bottles. I have to wonder if I'm in the guest room of a mistress he sees regularly, but the array seems too generic for that; these are the guesses of a man who knows the types of things women prefer in the abstract and has asked for some brands from women he knows or the internet. It's not the supply of any one woman. That said, his "generic" selection is not made up of cheap drugstore options. One of the perfumes I know runs $200 a bottle.

I fortunately have a bottle of my own perfume in my bag to refresh myself when needed, but I make full use of the other products to enhance my look. Of course, I'm also halfway through mixing up blush when I remember the bit about the party being masquerade.

Out of curiosity I walk naked out to the garment bag again. Lifting the dress, I see that beneath it are a set of undergarments. They are far from "granny panties," but they also aren't full lingerie. They are black and some lace is involved, but they aren't 'I'm having sex tonight' underwear. More 'I want to feel a little sexy, but not silly.'

My paranoia ebbs a bit when I notice the bra isn't the right size. I should say though, that it's not the size of the bra I wore coming in. That bra is a 34b. However, when I put on the 32C bra from the bag, I find that it actually feels a bit better, and does more to enhance the look of my bust. The "V" style panties are a little tighter than the ones I wore in as well, but not uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, if I'm honest, because they, too, are silk.

Finally I try on the dress. It fits too well. If it didn't know better I would say it was tailored. Between that and the undergarments my paranoia has returned. I start spinning conspiracy theories in my head, everything from him sending pictures of me to various designers and experts to get a group opinion on my sizes to him sending people to sneak into my apartment and search through my clothes.

It's still two hours to the party so I take off the dress and let it hang along with the bra; even a well-made bra is still a bra and going without is still the more comfortable option. I throw on the bathrobe I've found in the room and then use the time to start writing up my notes.

A knock on the door after fifteen minutes nearly scares me. I answer without thinking and find Alexa standing on the other side.

"I'm guessing you have more questions for me now," she says with a knowing smirk.

"Let me put something else on," I say but she stops me.

"Come on, you've seen everything I have to offer, you don't think I deserve a little peek? And it's just us girls," she says.

"Based on what I saw earlier, I think I'm just as much at risk as if I had a guy in here, aren't I?" I challenge.

"Nope; I'm the sub, remember? You tell me what to do. You don't want any nookie, I'm hands off. Then again, if you want mind-blowing orgasms off any part of me, we can do that too," she teases.

Again, my determination to do my job wins out over the warnings in my head. "Come in," I tell her.

She does, and immediately hops on the corner of the bed, her legs crossed. She's in a tank top and short shorts, and it's obvious she has no underwear on; her breasts nearly bounce up through the top of the tank top when she hops on the bed, and when she sits cross-legged on the bed it pulls the shorts so tight she has an obvious camel toe with no lines to be seen.

"So dinner," I start.

"Hot, right? Rose told me you needed a little relief," she says with a teasing tone again.

"So are you like Rose? You get off on being a free use girl?" I ask, trying to get control of the situation.

"Fuck no; Rose's kink is boring. I mean, it's a bit thrilling wandering around, not knowing when someone's gonna bend you over and plow you, but it's so tame. You get pulled into empty rooms or dark corners, they do the deed for one cum and then you're done? Not worth it."

Her eyes light up as she goes on. "I'm all about exhibitionism. Blind exhibitionism. I want to be in a room full of people naked, being touched, being fucked even, and I don't want to know who it is. That dinner, fuck, that was a better rush than usual and it's because I knew you were there. I spent the whole time wondering what you would do, what parts of me you'd eat. And tonight...oooh tonight."

"So that's great for you," I say, "What does Talbot get out of it?"

"That's not obvious?" Alexa asks.

"I know what I think, I want to hear your explanation," I say.

"I'm the entertainment around here. The centerpiece at dinner, the conversation piece at the party. When he has parties I'm usually there, but I'm not a guest, and I'm rarely wearing clothes. And oh he tortures me. You know I was only allowed to cum three times at dinner? And do you know how good Sally is with her tongue? I could have gone off six, seven times probably. But Master won't let me."

"Why?"

"Because it's like I told you before; I need discipline. I need boundaries. You know how hard it was for me to just sit there and pose, getting hornier and hornier from you watching me and touching me? He has me do that shit all the time. When I had control of my own orgasms I was a mess. Now that he's in charge I have to be smarter. Because fuck, if I cum when he doesn't allow it..."

She literally shudders in front of me. I think it might be an act but I can see genuine worry on her face and in her eyes. She doesn't want to be punished by Talbot.

"So did he say you could come up here and seduce me, and have orgasms if you did?" I ask.

"No, that's all me baby," she says, and leans forward onto all fours with a hungry look. Her tank top drops, giving me a full view of her hanging breasts, nipples hard, swinging as she moves.

"No. Sit down," I say.

I surprise myself with the force in my tone, and while Alexa sits immediately in response, she seems a bit shocked as well, either at my tone or the fact that she obeyed me. Apparently, despite her boundary-pushing habits and attitude, she still responds to commands when they're forceful enough.

"I think I have what I need," I continue, "you can go now."

My tone isn't as forceful, but I try to keep the sternness. I remind myself how I talk to co-anchors and producers, particularly in my early years when I was just the pretty girl. In many ways I still am.

Alexa's training, or maybe fear of Talbot, makes her respond immediately and she walks to the door quickly. She pauses there, possibly remembering I'm not her master and she had been teasing me a moment ago, but I ignore her and continue working on my computer, even when she turns.

After a moment I say, "Why are you still here?"

I make myself put more force in my voice, and Alexa gets the hint and ducks out of the door.

I wait another five minutes or so working on my laptop, then I sigh and sink into the bed with a shudder. I dismissed Alexa because she tempted me sorely. I feel like an alcoholic at a wine tasting. I've never played at dominance games or anything like that with my lovers, though looking back I realized I often take the lead when my partner shows the slightest bit of hesitancy.

But I've never fantasized about ordering my partners around and demanding they service me. And while I'm not opposed to the idea of female partners, most of my lovers had been men. I'd already given in at dinner, and I feel like I not only am standing at the edge of a cliff, but I've already fallen once and barely caught myself before the plunge. With the benefit of time, I realize how heady the experience of making Rose lick me was, and how close I came to repeating it (and more) with Alexa.

My mind is still in turmoil as I dress and descend for the party. I've kept myself busy on my laptop, writing up these impressions and thoughts, hoping they will help ease the turmoil in my head. But I'm still very much off balance as I descend the stairs, and it has nothing to do with the 3-inch heels I also found in the room.

Talbot meets me at the door to the room where he's holding the party. He's masked, but his presence and form are unmistakable.

"I would ask for your discretion during the party. As you know, these masks help conceal identities, but if you know someone you can probably pick them out. And people will use names. You can report on anything related to me or my household, but I don't invite my friends over to be exposed."

"Yeah," I say, suddenly nervous and uncertain.

Talbot steps around to face me. "Are you all right, Miss Poacher? Did dinner not agree with you?"

"Something like that," I mumble.

I can tell my response doesn't satisfy him, but he doesn't push. I walk past him into the party.

It's a high class party in all respects. Everyone's in suits, tuxedoes, and ballgowns from the daring to the demure. Appetizers and drinks are on tables on the walls since Talbot didn't get servers to carry it around (I assume finding those for parties like this is difficult).

Of course the major difference is the centerpiece. Where some parties would have an elaborate bouquet, champagne fountain, or an ice sculpture, Talbot has Alexa.

She's balanced on one foot, which stands in a spiked heel that has to be five or six inches tall. Her other foot is held vertically in a full split, no shoe, and the ankle is secured by a silk ribbon tied in a bow on her ankle. Her hands are bound together over her head by another set of ribbons. She's naked and blindfolded, with her hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her body is held mostly upright by the ribbons, so her breasts hang down. The position of her legs means her pussy is on full display and easily accessible. True to what she told me earlier, I see her labia glistening with juice.

I ignore her for the moment and make my way over to a drink table. A couple and a woman are chatting.

"It's too bad only fingers are allowed tonight," one woman says.

"Why, are you that eager to see your husband stick it in her?" the other woman quips.

"No, but we missed the party a week and a half ago because of travel. It's been quite a while since I've been able to snack," the first woman says.

The experience is surreal. The conversation I overheard initially is actually one of the few that talk about Alexa. The other ones I hear are just mundane talk. Clearly many of them know and recognize each other despite the masks, and they discuss business or family in generic tones as you'd expect at any such gathering.

The differences get clearer as people finish snacking and move on to their second drinks. More of the conversations take place near Alexa, and as people are moving from group to group they move past her, and touch her. Several caress or fondle her breasts. Others pinch and squeeze her ass. Some just run their hands along her curves and muscles. And many of them run a finger along her labia, or even push slightly into her. They also taste their own fingers after.

Some of them are even a bit rough. One man slaps her ass firmly after squeezing it, and one of the ladies, after fondling Alexa's breasts and commenting about them to the people near her, flick her nipples with her fingernail. Another woman pushes two fingers into Alexa and leaves them there for a time, then takes the fingers to Alexa's mouth and pushes them deep. I can see Alexa's abs clench, probably resisting her gag reflex even as she sucks on the fingers and lets out a small moan.

I've exchanged light, nonspecific conversation with a few people by the time Talbot finds me again. The party's been going on for an hour at this point, and all of my attention is on Alexa. Marks of red from slaps have turned her ass a bit pink. Her pussy is swollen and her juices drip and run down her thigh. Her torso glistens with sweat, either from the strain of her position, her own arousal, or both.

"You haven't played with her," Talbot says in a soft tone.