"Women have all the fun," I told my friend Jessica as we sipped coffee at our favourite restaurant.

"Going out, with men swarming around you— giving you attention, buying you drinks, asking you out on dates," I continued. "Men have to work just to get noticed, let alone receive any real attention."

I leaned back in my chair, letting the thought linger for a moment.

"And then there's that mystical thing they call the female orgasm..."
Jessica burst out laughing, nearly spilling her cappuccino.

"Oh please," she said, rolling her eyes. "You think it's all fun and games? Do you even realize how much effort goes into getting ready before we even step out the door?"

She leaned in, lowering her voice like she was about to share classified intel.

"It’s shaving, tweezing, moisturizing, picking the one outfit out of twenty that says ‘I’m effortlessly hot’—but not in a desperate way. And don’t even get me started on makeup — contouring, blending, lashes, lips... I basically paint on a new face."

She paused, giving me a pointed look.

"And let’s not pretend we don’t know what we’re doing. A bit of cleavage here, a little leg there—just enough to look sexy, not slutty. Show off while pretending we’re not. It’s a damn art form."

She sat back with a smug smile, stirring her coffee slowly.

"So yeah, we might get the free drinks and attention, but we earn it. Every. Single. Time."

I let out a laugh, shaking my head.

"Well, I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat if it meant I was going to get lucky."

Jessica raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin.

"Oh? You think slipping into heels and a push-up bra is all it takes?"

"If it gets me a drink and a phone number before midnight, sign me up," I said, grinning back at her. "Hell, I’d even learn to walk in stilettos."
"And you think getting laid is lucky?" She shook her head. "For guys, sure — you come, roll over, and fall asleep. Meanwhile, we’re left lying there with the mess you made, cum leaking out, legs sticky, mascara smudged, trying not to feel like an afterthought."

She sat back, crossing her arms with mock indignation. "Cleaning up isn’t exactly the fairytale ending, you know."

I blinked, caught somewhere between laughing and apologizing.
Then I surprised even myself.

"I would actually like that," I said quietly.

Jessica tilted her head. "Like what?"

I held her gaze, suddenly unsure whether I was being brave or reckless.

"Being the one who gets used. Being... slutty. Submissive. Giving pleasure instead of chasing it."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and raw. Jessica didn't laugh. She didn’t roll her eyes or smirk.

Instead, her expression softened, curiosity flickering behind her eyes.

"Well," she said after a moment, her voice lower now, "that’s not something most guys admit."
Jessica leaned back slowly, watching me with a look that danced somewhere between amusement and intrigue.

"Well, well..." she said, drawing out the words like honey. "Who knew you had a little slut in you?"

I felt my face flush, but I didn’t look away.

She grinned. "So what you're saying is... you'd be happy to get all dolled up, squeeze into something tight, maybe show a little skin, and go out with the girls?"

I gave a small, nervous laugh. "If it meant being seen. Desired. Used, even... yeah, I think I would."

Jessica’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Mmm, I can see it now. Short skirt, maybe some thigh-highs. We’d help with your makeup, of course. Smoky eyes, glossy lips..."

She leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"We’d all go out together, a group of girls just looking to have some fun. You’d be the shy one at first — until the right man bought you a drink and couldn’t take his eyes off you."

She sat back again, smug and satisfied. "You sure you’re ready for that kind of attention, babe?"

I felt my throat tighten — not from fear, but from something deeper. Something awakening.

Jessica’s words echoed in my mind: short skirt… thigh-highs… smoky eyes. The image was outrageous, impossible… and yet, I couldn’t deny the way it made my heart race.

"I don’t know if I could pull it off," I said, my voice softer now. "But… the idea of it? Being part of something like that? It excites me. More than I expected."

Jessica smiled, not unkindly. "It’s not about pulling it off. It’s about surrendering to it. Playing the part. Feeling the power of being wanted — not for chasing, but for simply existing in that space."

I looked down at my coffee, then back at her. "And you’d help me? I mean, really help me step into it?"

She reached across the table, her fingers brushing mine.

"Of course I would," she said. "That’s what girlfriends do."

There was a long pause. Not awkward — charged. Full of possibility.
Jessica’s eyes lit up, full of mischief and determination.

“Alright then,” she said, tapping her fingers on the table like she was plotting a heist. “First things first — the outfit. We’re talking something that screams ‘I’m here to play, but don’t underestimate me.’”

I chuckled nervously. “Sounds intense.”

She grinned. “It is intense. But don’t worry, we’ll keep it fun.”

I imagined it — picking out clothes, practicing the walk, the thrill of transformation. “What about the roleplay part? You mentioned that earlier.”

Jessica leaned in, eyes twinkling. “That’s the best bit. We each pick a persona for the night — someone confident, maybe a little daring. You could be ‘Scarlett’ or ‘Lola’ or whatever name feels right. The point is to step outside yourself and just… let go.”

“And the girls?” I asked.

“They’re the backup,” she said with a wink. “Your crew. Your hype squad. We’ll watch your back, make sure you’re having fun, and maybe stir the pot a little.”

I swallowed hard, excitement bubbling up. “Okay. I’m in.”

Jessica raised her coffee cup in a mock toast. “To new adventures, then.”

I clinked my cup to hers, feeling a spark of something thrilling and dangerous. Something I was ready to explore.
Jessica grinned like she’d just won a bet as she dragged me into the waxing salon.

“Trust me, slutty girl,” she said with a wicked smile, “if you want to fully step into this, there’s no half-measures. We’re going all in.”

I gulped, eyeing the intimidating wax strips on the counter.

The beautician, a no-nonsense woman with a clipboard and a killer stare, sized me up as I nervously fidgeted.

“Full body wax?” she asked, arching a perfectly sculpted brow.

Jessica nodded firmly. “This plaything here wants to be smooth as a damn slutty girl.”

I tried not to blush as the woman guided me into a private little room. The whole experience was a mix of mortification and grit — every strip pulled a little more of my dignity away.

Once mercifully done, Jessica hustled me toward the next challenge: lingerie shopping.

The shop was small and dimly lit, shelves packed with lace, leather, and things I didn’t even know existed.

To my horror, the salesperson was a confident woman who looked like she could sell ice to a polar bear.

She smiled knowingly. “Looking for something… special?”

Jessica didn’t miss a beat. “She’s new to this. Help her pick out something that says ‘ready to play.’”

The lady’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she pulled out ridiculously tiny skirts and lingerie sets that seemed designed to embarrass and excite in equal measure.

I tried to protest, but Jessica cut me off sharply.

“If you want to get into this submissive role, stop whining like the needy little slut you are. You want it — and we’re going to make sure you get it.”

Her tone left no room for argument.

I swallowed hard as the saleswoman handed me the tiniest outfit imaginable.

“Good luck hiding anything under this,” she winked.

I glanced at Jessica, who just smirked and nodded.
The saleswoman smiled mischievously and nodded toward the dressing room door.

“We’ll join you — can’t let you face this little challenge alone.”

Jessica gave me a knowing grin as she followed her inside, closing the door behind us.

Suddenly, I was standing there, naked and exposed, the tiny outfit laid out on the bench.

Jessica and the saleswoman exchanged amused looks, their eyes sparkling with delight at my obvious discomfort.

“Well, slutty girl,” Jessica teased, folding her arms. “Let’s see if you can even get into this without falling over.”

The saleswoman chuckled. “It’s a challenge for even the most practiced, honey.”

I took a deep breath and started with the skirt — the fabric so delicate and small it barely covered anything.

Trying to pull it up was a juggling act, and I stumbled more than once, cheeks burning hotter by the second.

Jessica stepped closer, smirking. “Need a hand, or do you want to embarrass yourself even more?”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, but she could see right through me.

The saleswoman leaned in, tracing a finger along the lace. “You’re going to look delicious once we get you all dressed up.”

I fumbled with the top next, struggling to fit into the tiny straps and cups. My face was flushed, heart pounding.

Jessica and the saleswoman watched with obvious enjoyment, their teasing smiles never fading.
“Look at you, slutty girl,” Jessica purred. “So delicate, so tempting.”

“That’s it, baby girl,” Jessica whispered. “Own the embarrassment. It means you’re doing it right.”

***

The bass hit like a heartbeat as we stepped into the club — low lights, pulsing music, and the thick scent of sweat, perfume, and anticipation.

I was caught in a blur of sound and motion, every light catching on the shimmer of my white silk. The tiny skirt barely held its place as I walked, and the soft cling of the stockings on my thighs reminded me of every step it took to get here.

Jessica leaned in close, lips brushing my ear.

“You look like temptation itself, baby girl. Now stop thinking — just feel. Let them see you.”

I swallowed my nerves and followed her through the crowd, heels clicking, heads turning. My body felt strange and powerful — exposed, yes, but charged with something magnetic.

We reached the bar. Jessica ordered us drinks, her hand casually resting on my lower back, grounding me in the moment.

That’s when I saw him.

Leaning against the bar, his eyes locked on me like he’d been waiting. Not hungry — focused. Like he saw through me.

He smiled slowly, lifting his glass in a silent toast.

I hesitated, but Jessica gave me the softest nudge.

“Go on, sweet thing. This is what you wanted, remember?”

I walked over, hips swaying, breath catching.

“Hi,” I said, my voice soft but steady.

He looked me over, not with judgment — but with curiosity. Respect. Heat.

“Hi,” he said back, eyes never leaving mine. “You’re… something else.”

My cheeks burned, but I didn’t look away.

“So are you,” I whispered.

And just like that, the air between us thickened — a moment suspended in heat and possibility.
He offered his hand without a word.

I took it.

The music wrapped around us as he led me onto the dance floor, bodies pulsing to the rhythm, lights flashing like a slow strobe. The crowd pressed in, but it was like we were in our own little world.

His hands found my waist, firm and sure, pulling me back into him.

I gasped softly as I felt the length of him pressing against me through his jeans, grinding in time with the bass. His hands slid down, fingers splaying over the curve of my hips, exploring every inch the tiny skirt barely covered.

“You feel incredible,” he murmured into my ear, voice rough with want.

I couldn’t speak. My body answered for me — melting into his, moving with him, letting him take the lead. The silk of my panties clung to me, slick with heat, the friction of his body against mine making my breath catch with every slow grind.

He leaned in, lips brushing just behind my ear.

“Is this what you wanted, pretty girl?”

I nodded, biting my lip, the sound of my heartbeat louder than the music.

From across the room, I could feel Jessica’s gaze — sharp, satisfied. She watched me move, watched me surrender.

I wasn’t just playing a role anymore.

I was living it.
The song ended, but my pulse didn't slow.

He took my hand again, guiding me through the crowd toward a private table tucked in the VIP section. Velvet ropes, plush seating, and the kind of low lighting that made secrets easy to keep. People moved aside for him without a word.

I slid into the seat beside him, still catching my breath. A chilled glass appeared in front of me seconds later — no order placed, no question asked.

Well-connected. Maybe even the owner. That realization made my skin prickle.

He leaned close, lips brushing my ear again, voice velvet-dark.

“I promised my wife I’d bring home something nice tonight,” he whispered. “Something we could both play with.”

I froze for a moment — not out of fear, but the shock of being wanted like that… claimed.

He let the words linger before continuing, soft and deliberate.

“Are you into boys and girls, pretty thing?”

I turned to face him, searching his eyes for judgment — found none. Only curiosity. Confidence. Control.

Jessica was watching from across the room, her gaze steady, unreadable. She’d known, somehow, that something like this could happen.

"I..." My voice caught.

"Yes," I finally said, the word slipping from my lips like a secret finally spoken. "I think I am."

He smiled slowly, eyes gleaming.

“Good girl.”
My heart was pounding — not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of the moment.

Excitement buzzed just beneath my skin, wrapping around my nerves like a live wire. I couldn't help but wonder how this night would end… or how far I was willing to go if he kept looking at me like that — like I was already his to unwrap.

I felt his hand slide onto my thigh, warm against the silk of my stockings, just below the hem of my barely-there skirt. His fingers didn't rush — they moved with slow, deliberate confidence, like he was savoring the softness of my skin, the smoothness of the waxed flesh beneath.

I breathed in sharply, but didn’t move away. Instead, my legs parted ever so slightly — an invitation.

A silent yes.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

His fingers grazed higher, stopping just short of the edge of my panties, and I swore I could feel the heat of his breath as he watched me come undone with nothing but a touch.

My hands clenched slightly in my lap, resisting the urge to reach out, to cling, to beg. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be worthy of being taken — and shared.

I glanced across the room at Jessica, who was leaning casually against the bar, one brow raised, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

She knew.

She knew I was slipping under — and she was proud of me for it.
His fingers stayed where they were — just beneath the hem of my skirt, warm and still. Not demanding, not rushing. Just… there. Reminding me that I’d opened myself to something I hadn’t fully understood until now.

And yet, I didn’t want to take it back.

I sat there, legs parted ever so slightly, heart pounding beneath my silk bra, and I felt something strange — not shame, not fear. Freedom.

In giving up control, I felt more me than I had in a long time.

Not the version I performed in the mirror each morning, not the version the world expected. But this one — soft, dressed up, wanted, held.

Jessica’s words echoed in my mind:
“Stop whining, slutty girl. You want this.”

And I did. Desperately.

Still, a flutter of nerves rippled through me. What would she be like — the wife? Would she see me as a toy? A threat? A gift?

I barely had time to breathe before I saw her.

She moved through the club like someone who never needed to compete — tall, elegant, radiant in a sleek black dress that clung to her like silk over water. Her hair was swept up, lips painted deep red, heels clicking as she approached with purpose.

He stood when she reached the table, placing a hand at the small of her back, guiding her close with the same quiet dominance he’d used with me.

“This is her,” he said simply, his gaze shifting to me. “Our pretty girl for the night.”

Her eyes met mine — cool, curious, sharp. Then, just like that, she smiled.

Not coldly. Not cruelly. But like a woman who knew exactly what kind of night this was going to be.

She sat beside me, crossing her legs with ease, and placed a perfectly manicured hand on my bare thigh — just above where his still lingered.

“Well,” she purred, voice low and smooth. “Aren’t you just the sweetest little surprise.”
He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against the wife’s cheek, then one against mine — a quiet, possessive gesture.

“I’ll be back shortly,” he murmured. “Don’t miss me too much.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd with effortless confidence, the hum of the club swallowing him up.

I turned toward her, suddenly hyper-aware of everything — the low throb of the music, the warmth of her hand still resting on my thigh, the slight smirk curling her painted lips.

She didn’t speak right away. She just studied me, like a sculptor appraising raw marble.

Finally, she spoke — voice low, even, but with unmistakable authority.

“You’re new to this.” Not a question — a statement.

I nodded.

Her fingers traced a slow circle against my thigh.

“Then let’s make a few things clear before the night gets ahead of you.”

She leaned in closer, her voice a whisper meant just for me.

“First — you belong to both of us tonight. If either of us touches you, speaks to you, commands you… you respond. No hesitation.”

My breath caught, but I nodded again.

“Second — you don’t come unless we say so.” Her hand moved slightly higher. “That sweet ache between your legs? You’ll hold it. You’ll let it build.”

I swallowed hard, the heat of her words sinking into me deeper than I expected.

“Third — if at any point this becomes too much, you speak. A single word. ‘Rose.’ Got it?”

That surprised me — and moved me. Power wrapped in care.

“Got it,” I whispered.

She smiled softly. “Good girl.”

Her hand gave my thigh a gentle squeeze, then withdrew, leaving behind a trail of heat and a pulse I couldn’t quite calm.

She leaned back against the booth with the relaxed grace of someone completely in control.

“Now sit still, pretty thing,” she said, eyes scanning the room. “Because when he comes back, it begins.”

***

I sat motionless, just as she’d commanded — legs crossed at the ankles, hands in my lap, back straight.

But inside, I was trembling.

Not with fear. With anticipation.

The weight of her rules wrapped around me like silk restraints. I felt owned before a single command had even been spoken aloud.

Don’t come unless we say.
You respond when we touch you.
You belong to both of us tonight.

Each rule echoed in my mind, turning me into something softer, quieter, open.

I didn’t know what I looked like to the rest of the club — just a girl sitting with a woman far more polished, far more powerful. But I knew what I was.

I was waiting to be claimed.

The wife hadn’t spoken again. She didn’t need to. Her presence alone kept me still — like I was already collared by her gaze, her approval.

And then, I felt it.

The subtle shift in energy before I even saw him.

He returned like a storm behind calm eyes, sliding into the booth beside me again. He said nothing at first. Just looked me over.

His wife reached for her drink casually, as if the moment wasn’t charged with unspoken hunger.

“She’s ready,” she said simply, taking a slow sip. “I explained everything.”

He turned to me, hand brushing the outside of my thigh again — this time with just a hint more pressure. His voice was low.

“You waited like a good girl?”

I nodded, pulse hammering beneath my skin.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” I breathed. “I waited. Just like she told me to.”

His hand slid a little higher.

“Then it’s time.”

He looked at his wife, and something passed between them — agreement, heat, hunger.

They weren’t just in control.

They were in sync.

And I was theirs now.
The suite door closed behind us with a soft click.

Unlike what I’d imagined, the room wasn’t filled with strange furniture or intimidating equipment. It was… elegant. Tasteful.

A deep navy velvet couch sat against one wall, low lights casting a warm glow across polished wood floors. At the center of the room, a large bed dominated the space — thick, carved wooden pillars rising at each corner, with long silk ties trailing from each one. The bedding was a deep, wine-colored satin, already slightly rumpled, as though inviting surrender.

The air smelled faintly of perfume and something darker — skin, leather, heat.

He said nothing as he stepped aside, letting the wife take the lead.

She closed the distance between us slowly, her heels clicking softly against the floor.

“Strip,” she said, her voice calm and absolute.

I obeyed — the word sinking into me like warm liquid.

I reached for the hem of my skirt, fingers trembling but sure now, and slid it down over my thighs. The bra followed next, silky white and delicate, landing on the couch beside me. All that remained were my lace panties, stockings, and heels.

She circled behind me, fingers trailing lightly along my bare spine.

“Good,” she whispered, lips just behind my ear. “But not done.”

She stepped around me, eyes flashing with command as she gestured toward where he stood, quiet and watchful near the bed.

“Go undress him,” she said simply.

No hesitation.

I crossed the space between us, heart thudding, every movement deliberate and slow. I reached for his shirt first, unbuttoning it one button at a time, fingers brushing against warm skin.

He watched me silently, eyes locked on mine, letting me work.

Then came the belt — a soft metallic click, the soft leather sliding free. I knelt to remove his shoes, then rose, hands moving to his trousers.

I undressed him like I was unwrapping something sacred.

As his clothes pooled on the floor, I felt her presence behind me again.

Close.

Watching.

Approving.
I had just let the last of his clothing fall to the floor when I felt her behind me again — calm, steady, in control.

Her hand rested gently on my shoulder, and I felt the soft pressure as she leaned close.

“Kneel.”

Her voice left no room for thought. Only obedience.

I sank to my knees slowly, the floor cool beneath me, my breath catching in my throat as I looked up at the two of them. My body hummed with nerves, but deeper still… with trust.

She stepped in front of me and drew something silken from the bedpost — a long black blindfold, smooth as breath, cool as shadow.

She moved behind me once again, and I felt the fabric press gently over my eyes.

Darkness.

Soft.

Quiet.

The loss of sight made everything sharper — the rustle of movement, the sound of his breath, the ache between my legs.

Then… something brushed against my cheek.

Light. Unexpected. Teasing.

It wasn’t a hand.

It wasn’t lips.

It was something else — soft, firm, unfamiliar.

I tensed slightly.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered, voice lower now, wrapped in velvet and steel.

My lips parted, trembling, heart thudding as I obeyed.

Open.

Vulnerable.

Waiting.