For the following two Wednesday evenings, I performed similar shows in front of dad. On the second occasion, I wore a short white halter neck tennis d...ess with a pair of mom's white high heeled sling backs, and for the third Wednesday, I wore the same shoes (all of mom's pumps just slipped off me) with a pink boob tube and a pair of tight white shorts. The fact that I was wearing sandals borrowed from mom's wardrobe, and that I only dressed like this when we were alone, must have given dad some. I told her that I thought masturbation male-specific. Women can masturbate too, she told me simply. How, I asked Let me show you, she said, and she began to remove her nightgown. When she had it off, I could see to my mild surprise that she had no bottoms on. Take yours off, she said, and I did as she suggested. She lay on her back, and spread her legs somewhat, and I could see her entire pubic area down to the slit where her vagina was. First, you lie like this, she said. I did as she. As I pulled into my driveway at home, I felt my heart racing and my pussy growing wetter with anticipation of the sight and touch of my Master. Inside the house, I arranged on a small table in the living room the implements I anticipated my Master might want: the belt, spoon, brush, paddle, paint mixers and rulers and whip. I also set out the medium-sized butt plug, the vibrators and the lube. I hoped that was the “everything” he had alluded to in his text. If I had forgotten something, I would. Having slept on the plane we went out looking for some nightlife—anything so long as I didn’t have to dance. So, of course, we wound up in a bar/club where there was loud music and crazy Brazilian dancing. I loved looking at it—it was sexy as hell when other people did it-but I knew from past experience that I looked like a scarecrow in a tornado. We sat and listened, ordering two beers until some guy came and asked Hosi to dance. I waved her on—I knew she could take care of herself and I.