“This way, Miss Cannon.”

The concierge himself was waiting for me in the lobby when I hurtled from the elevator past six.

What?

How did the portly old controller of the hotel's comings and goings know me by name? He put me in a stretch, waiting outside, and waved off my fumbling in my purse for a bill.

A sleek black cigarette speedboat was waiting at the quayside, the black-suited man at the wheel looked like a James Bond caricature, slicked black hair, only missing a martini glass. He handed me down into the dark luxurious ride and drove at top speed across the bay, slicing through the waves like a chef's steel towards a monster yacht purring gently on the tide.

I was shown below deck into a circular room with a black stage at one side- low-lit and ready for a show. The men filling the space, all reeking of power and money and high octane manliness, wore beautifully cut tuxedos. They clasped crystal tumblers of scotch in smooth large hands and spoke languidly of politics and projects.

But their dates, if that’s what they were, or their slave pets- holy shit. The women sashaying between the masculine pillars of society were completely naked aside from a stunning assortment of footwear, enough to make Paris Hilton green.

Their outfits consisted solely of velvet ropes tied around their necks, with matching velvet tails swinging from the butt plugs. A couple of the women wore rope bondage such as I'd been tied into, shoving their breasts into bulges and sometimes, pulling their clits open.

When the waiter slithered across to take my order, it was on the tip of my tongue to order a crème de menthe frappe, just to be outrageously slutty. Instead I scoured the room until I met Jay Valentine’s eye. My heart leapt a trail across the lining of my chest, he was so gorgeous. His chiseled jaw and nose set him apart from all the other wealthy men, he had an aura of exquisite desirability around him like a bubble. I told the waiter, with my eyes still fixated on Valentine, the Vals champagne would be fine.

What had I gotten myself into now? My heart was doing the Riverdance under the expensive bodice of the restrictive outfit, but at least I was clothed and I made sure to hold Valentine’s gaze without flinching, somehow knowing I'd just been kicked up another pay grade.

“If you'd come this way, you will be prepared by the assistants,” the waiter told me with a patient expression.

I dragged my eyes away from Jay Valentine and followed him down a curved set of plush-carpeted stairs to an anteroom.

An assistant carefully unzipped the inverted U-curve at the back of the skirt and removed that section so my ass was exposed naked. Then he applied a good gob of lube before filling my tunnel with a plug that went in with far less resistance than the first time. Still it gave me reason to gasp and wince before the constricted walls of my ass relaxed to the invasion and I felt the deep dark pleasure of being filled in a place I'd never imagined.

The tail hung down between my inner thighs, the flesh bare above the just visible stocking tops. The shirt was removed so that only the gossamer gauze of lacy net covered my erect tits.

“Happy initiation,” the waiter assistant said as he led me back up the swirling stairs to the main room.

I shivered all the way through my core, tingling with feverish need and enthralled to be close to Valentine again. I was on edge with wonder at what tonight's game was to be, played out in a luxurious floating room far out to sea, full of billionaires and their pets.

And at the end of it, Josh would be waiting back at the hotel to hear all about it.

“Are you ready?”

With my eyes on the floor I noted I was biting down on the corner of my lower lip to try to convince myself that I was. The dresser, assistant, whatever his job description was, led me back up the sweeping stairs into the yacht's magnificent circular reception room. My knees almost buckled beneath me with the blood gushing through my veins with every step.

The lush, blood red velvet curtains were drawn closed on the windows, providing a frame for the black suited men. I was glad they were turned away from my entrance, to casually watch the show on the stage. But even the backs of their heads reeked of power and opulent wealth. So strange how our human senses sniff out the sense of money. Or lack of it.

I had always been around money in my job as an interior designer. Part of the job was being comfortable around the mega-rich. But standing here in the midst of this group, the difference was palpable. The air was thick with absolute entitlement. The arrogance and sexuality that flowed from their pores and stifled the grand space. They gazed at the stage with detachment.

A blindfold naked young woman awaiting her punishment had not yet tugged on their interest. As I also waited to see what sort of pleasure they intended to take from my submission, my body quivered at what was coming. I realized I was enthralled from head to toe.

The few women in the room, either pets or initiates, sauntered languidly around. The velvet leashes attached to their collars were left to trail free. All of them were naked. Only I still wore the tight restrictive leather pencil skirt, albeit with the bustle shape semicircle removed so that my ass was totally exposed.

The girl standing on the low stage, more of a raised dais, wore only a dark red blindfold and the towering pair of platform heels that would have carried her through floodwaters.

The plug tail still trailed between her thighs, swishing lightly with every halting breath. Her long yellow blonde hair hung over her shoulders almost to her waist, reminding me of hippie chip girls from the 1960s.

Another young woman, an assistant but this one naked and wearing the same outfit of thigh-scraper heels and butt plug tail, filled the blond’s mouth with a length of magicians rippling silk. She pressed all the fabric inside until the cavity was stuffed and then tied off the ends behind her head.

With the pressure in my breasts rising until my skin was hotly tingling I scouted the room to locate my masterful boss. Valentine wasn’t present and my heart thudded with the thought that he had abandoned me to whatever this next level of submission was to be.

‘Happy initiation,’ the assistant had said after he had invaded my most taboo tunnel with the plug.

Now I felt like a fine bottle of Pinot Noir, corked and stoppered, although the sensation was becoming more and more pleasant. Once my body stopped trying to expel the invader a sense of fullness moved through my body.

As I raked my gaze across the men in the lavish room, seeking Valentine for some sense of stability in this environment, my eyes connected with those of an older man. I could tell he was rugged in age, with the still athletic body bristling his suit. The look in his eyes said he would take his pleasuring on me at the first opportunity.

In that moment, one glance informed me that he was a sensual expert and had every intention of sharing his knowledge through my body. I was shocked just how hungry I suddenly became for his touch. If Valentine had left me here, surely that was what he wanted too.

The exposed girl, in my imagination I named her Liberty, reached her hands behind to be bound together beneath the tail. Any twitch of resistance to her bondage would deliver a sharp tug on the plug in her rear. She stood in the dim spotlight, quivering all the way down to those impossible heels, patiently waiting with a docile stance.

“These are some exquisite pets you’ve brought out tonight,” I heard a man’s voice behind me.

“Elite bitches,” came the response and the men laughed.

The neat crowd of business leaders, senators, all men bristling with power and wealth, watched closely as the girl shivered through her emotions, vulnerable and exposed. Completely alone behind her mask. The show was about to begin and I noticed excitement rise under my full breasts. I desperately wanted to take her place.

Liberty wasn't alone on the stage. To one side of her, another girl with darker hair and much curvier, stood demurely with her head cast down. I named her Chastity. Her weighty breasts were crisscrossed with red welts from the punishment she had just received.

She was also blindfold and gagged, left in her own world of sensation to rake through her emotions. Her hands were tied together, but attached to a pulley contraption in the ceiling. She was pulled high, up on her tip toes and left hanging to feel and enjoy the experience of exposure.

It was impossible to tell what she was going through. Occasionally, one of the masters would reach out and graze his fingertips along her glistening naked slit. Or maybe twist her nipple into a corkscrew of pain. Or stepped back a pace to observe her reactions with interest. None of these men had ever ridden the opposite polarity of dominance. They knew nothing of the psychological demands of submission. To surrender control would be unthinkable to them and therefore highly intriguing.

I could tell they harbored a deep respect for their pets though. And deep down I believed Valentine held that same regard and fascination for me. Now his words at our first meeting, when he had forced me to strip naked in his office, came rushing into my mind.

"I think you enjoyed the power I gave you over a stranger. You discovered the construct created between clothes and nakedness. Now decide whether you want that feeling to develop further."

I recalled his statement because I’d been considering what he meant by the construct of clothes and nudity ever since.

Was being here tonight the next stage of my development?