“... you’ll never guess who I am.”

Bridget doesn’t seem to hear. You reach up and splay your fingers, separating the folds of skin that form the hood of her clitoris with two fingers the press your palm into her sex, grinding it gently as you slip your thumb into her. “Care to guess?”

“M-m-Michael,” she moans. You pause. She knew?

“Well aren’t you full of surprises...” you admit. “How did you know that?”

“I came... to... oh god... yes... your house... I was... oh fuck yes! Offer myself... so horny... but... saw you... called... Bridget... asked her... to... ngggg.” She devolved into incomprehensible moans as her slim body cane to a shuddering orgasm, face down, small breasts pressed into the shag pile rug, ass high.

You chuckled for a moment, savouring your control of this thrall for a moment. Then a collar was suddenly slipped about your neck. “Wait. What?” You ask as you realise Steve has returned. He clicks home a padlock as you reach for your neck then pulls your leash down and attaches the end to another D-bolt in the floor. “Stop. I didn’t agree to this...” you protest.

Steve chuckles as he takes the zipper at the back of your velvet cheongsam and tugs it down then divests you of your dress. You find yourself naked in heels beside Bridget.

“I told her I knew who she was.” Bridget confessed.