He'd said he'd arranged something special for the night, but, despite her best efforts at seducing it from him, he'd refused to tell her just what. He'd just smiled that infuriating half smile, and lifted an eyebrow when she got too bratty, the eyebrow that let her know when she was nearing a line that she would regret crossing later.

The brattiness was something she couldn't always stop, it was some leftover remnant of her reluctance to submit and often he would let it slide. But there were times when he wouldn't, when his eyes flashed with warning and anger and her brattiness landed her in hot water and those were the times that she loved the best.

Six o'clock came and then seven, and still he hadn't moved from the chair where he was reading the paper. She'd picked a book from his shelves and had half-heartedly been trying to read it, intrigued only because he had it on his shelves and she was dying to know what made him tick. Finally, he looked up from his paper, glanced at his wrist and said, "Perhaps you should start getting ready."

She smoothed the simple, tailored cocktail dress she had on that she'd thought would please him. "How should I be getting ready?"

"Your outfit. It's upstairs on the bed."

"Oh. All right." He often picked out clothes for her to wear. He loved to dress her in expensive lingerie, in fabrics that slithered across the skin, baring unexpected flashes of flesh. Stockings, always stockings, with a wide variety of garter belts or lacy cuffs that held them up. He had a special fondness for things with lace and oversized bows, things she would never pick for herself, as just being over-the-top girly. But he'd often said he loved the juxtaposition of the innocence of modest, lacy underthings with the perversion of their minds.

She stood up and climbed the stairs. It was there on the bed, and her mouth got suddenly dry. A black thong, black stockings, 4 inch heels and a black dress made of the most transparent material she'd seen. She ran a hand under it, and it was as visible beneath the fabric as above it.

Slowly she got dressed, sliding the thong up and placing its strings high on her hips as he liked. With careful thumbs, she pulled the stockings up and the elastic lacy cuffs tightly grabbed her thighs. The stockings were patterned with swirls and they made her long legs look even longer. She debated for a moment as to whether to keep her bra on, but she knew if he'd wanted her to wear a bra, he'd have laid one out.

She slid the dress over her head; the fabric clung to her form and fell to below her knees with modest slits on either side. They were the only modest thing about it; when she looked in the mirror, it was as transparent as she'd feared. The fabric merely accentuated how nude the body beneath it was rather than concealing anything. The shadows of her nipples were plainly visible as was her navel and the crease of her legs.

He'd called her a cat in heat more than once. He knew that beneath the cool, composed exterior, the one she exposed to the world, that she was a deeply sexual being, eager to lose herself in the games they played. This was him, pushing her one step further than they had before and beneath all her reluctance and shame there was a part of her that was exhibitionistic. With an understanding of her psyche that almost frightened her, he's seen that and found a way to lose it on the world. It's not something she could ever give herself permission to do on her own, but at his command, to please him, she just might be able to overcome the natural shame and embarrassment that caused her cheeks to heat before she'd even left the bedroom. She straightened the thin dark lines of the seams on the sleeves and at her sides and carefully navigated her way downstairs in the heels.

He was waiting at the bottom of the steps, and his eyes lit up when he saw her. "As beautiful as I imagined," he murmured.

She stood one step above him so their heads were nearly level, her lip trembling. "I don't know whether I can do this."

"You can," he said. "You will." His steady green eyes looked into her suddenly timid brown ones. When he said it like that, she thought she might be able to believe him.

"There is one thing missing," he said, reaching into his pocket. "With this on, no one will dare bother you,"

It was a thin leather collar, with a lacy brocade design. From the metal ring in the front, a rhinestone "C" dangled. She lifted her hair so he could fasten it around her neck. Her fingers explored it as he looked at her with pride. "Someday I will give you one for keeps," he promised with a tender kiss to her forehead.

She was grateful for the wool coat he pulled around her and they were off. They arrived at the apartment building and could hear the murmur of conversation and tinkling of glasses even as they stepped off the elevator. She stood in the foyer, reluctant to give up the safety of the coat as he hung it up with the other guest coats on the rack provided.

He looked at her expectantly, but she suddenly hung back. "You're really sure you want me to do this?" she whispered fearfully. "Why?"

He took three steps so she had to back up against the wall. The paneling was cool and hard against her nearly bare buttocks. He fingered the hair cascading over her shoulder. "Because I am so proud of you, so proud to be in your company, that I can't help but want to show you off. "

His thumb stroked her bottom lip and she took a ragged breath. Despite her fear and embarrassment, or perhaps because of it, she felt herself deeply aroused. Her nipples puckered against the silky fabric of her dress, she was afraid she was moistening her thong.

His thumb insistently pressed against her lip until she opened her mouth and he slipped it in. Almost as much as claiming her with his cock, he'd found demanding that her mouth give entrance to his finger in some way was like reaching out and seizing her, demanding that she was his to do with as he would.

Almost gratefully she sucked on his digit; he knew that sucking on him helped to calm her and his thumb was almost her favorite part. He watched her cherry red lips surround the finger and he felt himself stir in desire as well. She ran her tongue around the thumb in her mouth, and as he knew it would, it helped to center her, help let the sexual part of her emerge and the autocratic superego disappear back into the depths he wanted to banish it to.

He rested a hand on the smooth fabric on her hip as she let her eyes close, and slowly he withdrew his thumb and trailed it down to her chin which he raised so he could kiss her tenderly on the lips.

"Come now," he said, and taking her hand, led her into the room full of people.