Being Barbi's Bitch

The door opened into a noisy, dimly lit, somewhat sour-smelling slice of heaven. There were dresses, gowns, skirts, corsets, stockings, bras, panties, peignoirs, and babydolls everywhere you looked. Lace hung next to leather, which hung next to PVC, which hung next to satin, which lay draped over a mess of cotton and rubber. Barbi could have locked us in that room for the week, and I would have been in heaven.

While I gazed around in wonder, Barbi had me hold open the empty suitcase as she began rifling though the collection of stripper's outfits hanging along the wall to her right. I wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she seemed to pull out every fourth or fifth piece and toss it my way.

As much as in awe of the potential for beauty around me, I was extremely uncomfortable with the idea of stealing, especially from our sisters in sex. As much as I tried to hide it -- I had, after all, promised to obey my Goddess' every command -- she must have noticed my hesitation. I was nervously glancing back over my shoulder, in case somebody should come in the same way we did, when I felt her slap me across the face.

Startled, I turned around to see the loosely-held red velvet glove make a return slap across my other cheek. It smelled like cum and, judging by the wet smack, it was likely still fresh.

"Stop being such a stupid bitch," she snarled, "These are the stripper's castoffs -- they won't be needed again tonight." She tossed the glove into the suitcase, along with its partner. "And since club is closed on Tuesdays, you will have two whole days to send them down to the hotel laundry to be cleaned once we're done with them."

Perversely, that really did make me feel better. I knew I should have been humiliated by the idea of asking the hotel to wash so much dirty, kinky laundry for me -- especially since she'd booked us in under the male name on my credit card -- but I was actually looking forward to it.

"Okay, that's it for here.