Short, Short Story: "Well-Oiled"

An excerpt from, "Dom Michael Collars Ms Myrrh," a story in progress:

Master stepped up onto the dais once again. He squatted behind me and ran a silky length of fabric across my neck before using it to blindfold me. 

“Everyone can see you,” he whispered in my ear, “They can see your body, they’ll see how I use your body and they’ll see your reactions. But you will be helpless. You will not know who is watching, what they’re seeing.”

I whimpered in reply. The latent heat between my thighs came alive, bright and sparkling, as my sense of sight was taken away by my Master. Of all the men and women who’d topped me in my recent exploration of BDSM, he was the one who’d discovered how much forced exhibitionism turned me on. I felt his hands run over my shoulders and down the front of my silk top. He helped me out of it, revealing my lace bra. He’d bought it for me just yesterday, along with the panties.

“Stand,” he said. I stood, as gracefully as I could, on feet that were half-asleep from having knelt for so long.

There was the sound of the side snaps of my black leather skirt being undone. I was now only in my matching underwear, my collar, and the blindfold. Somehow, the blindfold made me feel more naked. I felt goosebumps. I shivered even though I wasn’t cold.

“In honor of my new slave,” I heard him say, “I’ve brought a jar of myrrh oil. ”

There were a few drops splashed onto my hair, then it felt like a whole gallon of something thick and perfumed poured down over me.

“I need a volunteer to help me spread the oil around,” he said, a note of humor in his voice. I heard people laugh and a few loud volunteers.

Soon there were hands all over me, even reaching into the cups of my bra and dipping into my panties. I was so aroused by this indiscriminate fondling, of knowing I knew everyone but not knowing whose hands were where, that I came when someone’s fingertips brushed my clit. My body flexed involuntarily, my hips bucking, a loud groan escaped my lips. There was more laughter.

“She’s obviously very happy to have been collared,” someone said. It sounded like Mistress Tiffany.

“I am!” I gasped, then felt myself blush to the sound of more laughter. I bit my lip, embarrassed.

“Is she properly oiled?” my Master asked.

“Yes!” a chorus of voices answered.

“Oh, I found a spot!” I heard Dom Robin announce as a hand swiped across my bottom. There was more laughter. “Okay,” he said, “she’s all oiled up.”