A tall, muscular woman stepped into the center of the room wearing a skin-tight, one-piece black vinyl swimsuit. Her gloves matched the swimsuit and came up her arms well past her elbows. Matching knee-high, high-heeled boots completed the ensemble. Her skin was nearly as black as the vinyl. “This is a little embarrassing,” she said flatly. “My slave was supposed to meet me here at the party, but there was an accident out on the interstate and she is stuck in traffic.” She laughed slightly, “Luckily I gave her permission to wear something on the way here or she might be giving the other motorists– and the police– a little surprise.” She turned to survey the crowd of people in the room. “But the show must go on,” she said brightly. “And my sub meter is quivering. I think there is a little subbie here among us who would be willing to take slave’s place for the evening.” She pointed to the corner opposite me and said firmly, “You, Tinkerbell, you look like a submissive. Do you have a Master or Mistress?”
