Her master left her standing in the center of the twelve story hotel atrium. Cassandra tugged self-consciously at her too short miniskirt, embarrassed by it and the four-inch heels he'd selected for her. "And that white blouse, you know, the one I can see your nipples through," his voice paused on the phone, "and the black corset and stockings."

She had obeyed eager to make up for last week, carefully shaving her legs and cunt, and giving herself the second enema he always required before any of their ‘dates.' "I'll pick you up at five; we're going to the French Lounge." That had pleased her, even while she wondered at the appropriateness of her attire. She'd heard they had fabulous wine list.

When he'd arrived, he'd made her turn before him, inspecting. "Over," he'd commanded, pointing to her desk. She'd complied, spreading her legs slightly. He parted her ass and lips, "Hmmm, need a little adornment here," and he'd gripped her pussy with his hand, sending an e...

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