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The crowd parted easily before us, everyone’s eyes on me, appraising me appreciatively, or hungrily. Even those others who were wearing costumes akin to mine were pausing amidst their own posing and posturing to stare wide eyed at me. As scanty and revealing as some of their outfits were, I knew that few could compare to mine or showed as much flesh.
A faint, but pleasurable flush spread over my flesh as I watched lips being licked at the sight of my breasts spilling out over all sides of the raggedy and slight halter of a barbarian slave, offering the slightest teasing glimpse of the edge of my aureoles. I could feel eyes crawling over my bare belly, not fat, but not absolutely fat either and then pausing to appreciate the tiniest of loin cloths, again offering the briefest glimpses at the upper edges of my heavy but trimmed bush before finally sliding down my full and shapely legs to find me barefoot.
We walked down the long corridor, he tugging at the leash around my black, studded Rocky collar, past the thick crowd of convention goers, many of them young men whose expressions betrayed their appreciation of seeing a mature woman paraded by them barely clothed. Some fit the stereotype of the prototypical gamer nerd or geek — overweight or skinny as a rail, toting backpacks stuffed with gamer stuff and dice bags hanging off their belts, some were older than me, many were younger and whether they were handsome, plain or homely, all of their staring eyes made me wet.
