Master's Favorite Toy Ch. 01

It was a charity event of some kind, mostly important because he would be interacting with important and powerful business partners. He had to remember a list of names and appearances, and make good impressions all around. I offered to help him remember everyone, and he seemed to appreciate my initiative. Together, we memorized as many names and faces as we could.

Mr. Morgan continued to drum his fingers, bounce his leg, and in general twitch and fidget. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was nervous.

A few more minutes passed, and Mr. Morgan checked the time on his phone. I noticed he was wearing a watch, but the time seemed to have stopped on it. Perhaps the reason he was late?

"Five minutes out," He said, "enough time for some fun," He scooted closer to me, laying a hand on my bare shoulder. He dragged me in closer and surprised me with a kiss. He kissed me gently, then more and more aggressively. We made out pretty heavily for a minute or two, mouths pressed together and his tongue between my lips. My heart started racing as we continued. Slowly, his hand found its way inside my dress, and he groped my boobs while we kissed.

We stopped when the Limo slowed to a halt. I put my tits back in order, sorting and straightening everything he'd messed up. It was pretty fun. I felt like a naughty teenager.

Whitlow opened the door, and Master took a deep breath.

"God I hate this sort of thing," He repeated, "I'm gonna throw up."

I was shocked at Mr. Morgan's vulnerable confession.

"Are you feeling sick, sire?" I asked. He shook his head, still twitching.

"No, I just, like, you know, groups of people. It's stupid. I hate social stuff," he replied. I smiled reassuringly, squeezing his arm.

"I'm here with you, sire," I said, "I'll help you." He smiled back at me, laughing to himself.

"Margaret's going to have to watch out. You're trying to take her spot."

He climbed out of the limo onto a red carpet, and I was struck in silence for a moment.

I hadn't expected the cameras. I hadn't expected dozens of people calling Mr. Morgan's name and flashing us with camera bulbs. I hadn't expected to be so... exposed.

"Marcie?" He called my attention, holding his arm out to me. I climbed from the limo and wrapped my hands around his arm, following him past the paparazzi. He smiled and waved at the crowds as we passed into the building. I'm sure none of my pictures were good; I probably looked like a deer in the headlights.

The event was in a big ballroom. Lots of people, and a nice open veranda, with a gorgeous view of the city lights. There was even a large square area designated for formal ballroom dance. The dress code for the event was black tie formal, and many of the women blew me away with their gorgeous dresses.

We met lots of people that Master knew, and a few he didn't. I think I made a good impression on him when I remembered a couple of names he'd forgotten!

Certainly the most interesting interaction we had that night was with one Mr. McEachern. He called to Master from across the bar, working his way through the crowd to us. Mr. Morgan groaned, whispering to me.

"I hate this guy," He said. Mr. McEachern was huge, both in height and width. He was followed by an expensive looking female pleasure slave. She walked behind him at an appropriate distance, eyes locked on her feet. The burgundy dress she wore was beautiful. When Mr. McEachern drew near to us, Master gave him a warm smile.

"How's it hanging, McEachern, you old dog?" Master called.

Mr. McEachern didn't say anything, instead pulling a check from his coat pocket. He held it out to Master with a shit-eating grin on his face. I don't know how else to describe that grin. It was shit-eating. It just was.

Master looked at the check, and then glanced up at Mr. McEachern. I couldn't see the amount, but the check had several, several zeros.

"McEachern, you know my answer: Still no." Master said.

"Mr. Morgan, I considered your point. The slave in question is indeed rare and valuable," He waved the check back and forth like he was trying to attract a dog to a treat. The paper flapped vigorously between his meaty fingers. "You can see that I've increased my offer by four hundred thousand," McEachern said.

"Not happening," Master replied, shaking his head.

"You drive a hard bargain," McEachern grinned arrogantly, lifting his head with confidence.

"I'll throw in Savannah," He gripped his slave's wrist, thrusting her forward. The woman stumbled, steadying herself in front of Mr. McEachern. Savannah was an incredibly pretty woman, and with a start I realized I recognized her from Mason and Brockeridge. She had graduated the year before me. With confused and worried eyes, she collected herself and smiled at Mr. Morgan. Master was not impressed.

"Oh hell, McEachern, now you sound desperate. Answer's still no," Master replied.

"Name your price then!" McEachern replied with vigor, wadding up the check and stuffing it in a shirt pocket. He produced a check book from the same pocket, and dug out a pen, ready to write.

"Margaret has no price," Master replied, "She is simply not for sale." I was in awe of the interaction. Margaret really was something special. The jewel of Master's collection, as he had said.

The two men talked a bit more, but Master was resolute. Eventually, McEachern left in a huff, his slave in tow.

"Idiot," Master whispered as McEachern walked away.

Overall, the night wasn't that difficult. Much like Margaret had advised, I was just arm candy. I wasn't introduced to anyone, I didn't speak, I was seen and not heard. It was a lot of fun, and the food was really good, it was fun to dress up, and I didn't have to do much.

Towards the end of the night, Master met Madam Dubois. She was a tall, dark skinned woman who wore a bright white women's suit. They seemed to hit it off, and chatted for a good portion of the night. In fact, we spent more time with her than anyone else. By the end of the night, the two of them were chatting silently with each other while I stood awkwardly nearby, doing my best to pretend like I didn't exist.

When she left for a restroom break, Mr. Morgan hurriedly waved me in close to him. I stood behind him at the table, and simply lowered my head next to his.

"How do I talk to women?" He asked, his voice shaky. The question caught me completely off guard. My training had not prepared me for teaching someone how to interact with others socially.

"Uh, I don't know, sire." I replied.

He shook his head, irritated.

"You are a woman. You ought to know," He insisted. I felt forced into giving an answer.

"I'd say that it's important to- well first off, be yourself," I didn't want to sound generic but I didn't have anything else to say.

"Not helping," He shot back.

"Compliment her suit," I replied, noticing Master's shaky hands.

"Okay," He replied.

I guess my advice worked pretty well.

It was close to midnight when Master and his new lady friend made their way back to the front of the building, where Whitlow picked us up. Ms. Dubois came with us too, so I sat at the back of the limo while they sat together on the side facing bench. I pretended not to watch as the two flirted drunkenly, slowly building up to a make out session in the back of the limo. I wondered how far things would escalate on the hour drive back to Master's estate. Actually, I worried we might not be going back to Master's house, but to Ms. Dubois' place. I was glad when I recognized some of the scenery near home.

Fortunately, the pair made it back with clothes still on, but damn, they were getting close. They were sober enough to walk, but they were laughing and carrying on, hanging all over each other. I stopped at the steps leading up to the house, and asked Master if he required anything more from me. He ignored me, climbing the stairs with his lady friend and entering the building. I assumed that meant I wasn't needed anymore.

That's when I noticed Margaret. She was just inside the door, lurking like a shadow. I jumped when I first spotted her, she was so hidden. Like a wraith she apparated. She approached the couple, saying something, and Master waved her off dismissively. She looked concerned, watching them leave. When she turned, she spotted me through the window. Her eyes finding me felt like the moment in a horror movie where the monster suddenly spies the protagonist, and their fate is sealed. From the terrified and confused look on her face, I could feel our meeting would be quite like that of monster and prey

"Who is that with Master?" She demanded, throwing open the door.

"Uh, that's Madam Dubois. You told him about her before we left," I explained.

"Why is she here?" Margaret approached me frantically, her eyes angry. Like I had any control over who Master brought home.

"I, um, I think they're going upstairs," I struggled to explain. Surely she understood what was happening...? "They hit it off at the party." I continued.

"Hit it off?" Margaret asked, "They hit. It. off? And what did you do about it?" She was pointing at me now, her face set with a scowl.

"What was I supposed to do, ma'am?" I asked, completely baffled.

Margaret stared at me, eyebrows wrinkled. A little sneer developed in her cute button nose. She looked like she was searching for some reason to blame me. Blame me for what?

Who knows?

Margaret stormed off, groaning with frustration.

I followed her through the chilly night air to the servant's quarters. Stepping through the front door, I found Kat and the other girls had stayed up to wait for me. I was so flattered! Even Emily, Kate, and Shauna, who I hadn't really spoken with at that point, had stayed up.

The girls were all in the common room, hanging out, playing games, chilling on the couch in their pajamas. I was assaulted by questions about how my night was, who I had met, if 'Master got his dick wet' (Kat...). I was overwhelmed trying to answer everyone!

The house shook with the sound of a slamming door. We all looked at the ceiling in surprise, above which sat Margaret's bedroom.

"What's with her?" Kat asked.

It was during my journaling later that night that I heard crying. Kat and Abigail told me to ignore it, but I had to go see if she needed anything. Margaret turned me away at the door, but I'm glad I tried. Maybe it meant something to her.

Feb. 15

So the Bachelor party is tonight, and I want to detail all the weird things people are doing, or are having me do to them, in preparation.

Margaret is working with Kate (Not Kat) to set up the multipurpose room. I walked by with Kat while they were working, and mentioned that we should offer to help.

Kat said absolutely not and she'd rather eat glass, or something to that effect, and that it was Kate's burden to bear. I watched for a second through a crack in the door, and I quickly understood.

Margaret possessed an eye for detail that made every project a chore with her. She had an exact mental image of the ideal location for every item in the room, and Kate had to feel that blueprint out with a mixture of guesswork and shouted instructions.

"To the left a fraction. A fraction! Not three feet," Margaret scolded her hapless assistant, who adjusted the position of a black light stand in increments undetectable by the human eye.

I agreed with Kat. Kate had drawn the short straw. Margaret was her problem.

Okay, here's the wild part: Abigail approached me this morning and asked for a favor.

The amazon burst through the door during breakfast, blasting everyone with a frigid draft and peppering the table with flurries of snow. She wore only a sports bra and jogging shorts, her hair tightly bound up. I'd never seen her at breakfast before, but now I couldn't see anything else.

Abigail walked right up to where I was seated, chatting with Kat. We both fell speechless as she approached. Leaning on a chair, she breathed heavily, recovering from her morning run.

"Hey," She said.

"Hey," I replied, staring. I don't know what it is about this woman, but somehow she makes the hairs on my arms stand up. She sets me on edge, but in a good way, you know?

"You're an artist," She stated, not asked.

"Yes," I confirmed. My brain was a useless lump, struggling to forge some connection between my artistry and this sensual goddess of sweat and muscle. I thought for a fraction of one cursed second that she was about to hit on me.

"I need some artwork done. Master gave his permission. Will you help?" My mind snapped back into reality like a grinding clutch shifting out of the wrong gear.

"Oh. Yes," I said, "I'd be happy to."

She smiled.

"Cool. Meet me in the common room? I've got to shower first." She said.

Was she inviting me to shower with her? No. Did I imagine her in the shower for a moment too long? Maybe.

"Yeah, see you in a bit," I replied, watching her leave. As the door to the frigid February morning closed behind Abigail, Kat laughed at me.

"You sure you're not just a little gay?" Kat asked.

"No," I replied, not the least bit sure.

And so I found myself with a high density sponge and a tray full of body paint, rubbing gently over the body of Abigail the fitness goddess. She lay topless on the floor in front me, and I knelt beside her, slowly painting her skin. She shivered after the first stroke of my brush, explaining that the cold paint mixed with the sensation of the brush dragging across her body gave her chill bumps. I tried not to stare, but it was very difficult. Abigail is gorgeous. Her abdominal muscles are tight and chiseled, her breasts are small and perfectly shaped, and every part of her is just... carved to be perfect.

Yeah, there was sexual tension in at least one direction.

The paints were a mild color, almost pastel, very difficult to see. I was suspicious until I looked closer at the packaging and saw they were labeled for black light use. Black lights, body paint, and 'slutty fun' - I'm excited for this bachelor party!