“Another beer, sir?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said, draining the glass in front of me. After a surreptitious peek at my watch, I smiled. Amy had come through the hotel lobby more than an hour ago, so I knew that the preparations I had commanded her to perform were completed by now.
The bartender placed the beer in front of me wordlessly. I glanced around the nearly deserted bar, an old couple in the corner the only other patrons. The bartender was a blonde, early thirties I guessed, nicely figured. Her uniform consisted of a short black skirt and a white blouse, buttoned severely up to her throat. The curve of her breasts was lovely underneath the material.
Leaning against the cash register, she looked bored; her arms were behind her, half supporting her weight. I wondered if her wrists were crossed. Many women, without realizing how it betrays their underlying sexuality, find themselves unconsciously assuming submissive postures. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She would be a beautiful handful, bound and helpless.
I had instructed Amy to arrive at this posh hotel in downtown Seattle at a specified time. She had been four minutes late; I would have to remember that. Her apparel was to consist solely of a long trench coat, high-heeled shoes, and my collar around her neck. Earlier, I had watched her enter and stride quickly, purposefully, to the hotel desk. It would have been difficult for her to see me, seated in the dark corner of the bar, but she had not even looked around.
The collar was locked there, of course. She could not remove it. Slim and elegant, it nonetheless confined her slender throat with a gleaming circle of metal. As Amy spoke to the desk clerk she clutched the coat tightly around her. Naked under the leather garment, the stimulation of the material moving against her bare skin as she walked through the hotel lobby had unquestionably aroused her. Her skin was flushed and she had an anxious look on her face; no doubt she was wondering what awaited her in the room. After accepting an electronic room key card, she had hurried towards the elevators.
The blonde bartender opened a beer for herself and took a long drink, the bubbles frothing inside the dark bottle. She turned, sensing me looking at her. Melanie, I read off the red nametag. Quite an attractive girl, with sparkling green eyes; more cute than beautiful, but certainly worthy of a collar herself.
“Slow night,” I offered.
“Wednesday, you know?” She grimaced, walking down towards me. “How about you? From out of town?” As she took another sip of beer I watched her lips move on the bottle.
“No, I’m having some contracting work done at my place. Renovations. Just staying for tonight. I live here in the city,” I told her. Not technically true, but could I tell her I had just sent my lovely slave girl upstairs for a little self-inflicted adventure? I wanted to race to the elevator at that moment but I forced myself to remain seated. The anticipation is everything, I told myself. Let that fear and frustration build inside, with no outlet or release, all that energy coursing through that responsive little body. Every minute I made her wait would seem like an eternity to her.
Upon arriving at the room, Amy would have found another envelope containing more instructions. Several restraints, measured carefully, were attached to the hotel bed. Other items were laid out on the nightstand.
She was to sit in the middle of the king-sized mattress, nude except for her collar, and buckle her ankles into two leather cuffs chained to the bottom corners of the bed. The chains were short enough that her legs would be spread uncomfortably wide. She was then to place the gag in her mouth, buckling it tightly behind her head. Amy despised the ball gag; I knew how she hated to have anything forced into her mouth for long periods of time. This would be a test of her discipline and training.
Next, she was to place the hood over her head and lace the back up tightly. She would detest that even more than the rubber gag. Sightless inside the claustrophobic hood, the oppressive feel and smell of the leather would be overwhelming. Laying back, feeling over her head, she was to finally lock her wrists into the handcuffs chained to the headboard.
I wondered if Amy had hesitated before locking the handcuffs, if she’d had to force herself to take that final, irreversible step. Once she closed the cuffs on herself she would be completely vulnerable, totally at the mercy of anyone who entered the room.
These preparations were to be completed within fifteen minutes. I had no doubt that, however difficult it might have been, she had complied with the instructions to the letter. She was my slave, and knew that she would be subject to discipline if she were not obedient. Still, I enjoyed the delicious cruelty of making her buckle and lock herself into the restraints and then wait, hooded and gagged, for my arrival. I was quite aroused, imagining the scene in the hotel room several floors above me.
The bartender Melanie came around and sat on the barstool beside me. “So, what do you do?”
“I’m a writer,” I said, looking at her. She smiled. Was she trying to pick me up?
“Oh? What do you write?”
“Magazine articles, mostly,” I said. And erotic bondage novels, I wanted to add, wondering again if she was submissive. Looking at her, I wanted to tie her up, tease and tickle her ripe female body, make her gasp and writhe and moan.
“I like to write,” she said. “Poetry. Never been published, though. Never even sent anything in.”
As I was about to reply, two women came into the bar and sat at a table. Melanie rose to go take their order. I watched her nicely curved ass, perfect for spanking, imagining her twisting and squirming, bent over my knee.
By now Amy had been chained to the bed in the room upstairs for nearly two hours. Being restrained aroused her intensely. Her entire body was undoubtedly flushed with excitement, the delicious area between her spread legs swollen and hot. I thought of her pulling at the handcuffs, feeling their inflexible steel grasp around her slender wrists. With the hood tight around her head, unable to see or speak, the sensations rising inside her would be magnified even further. The movements of her breasts and belly were probably quite exciting, with the pattern of light and shadows from the window falling across the curves of her body.
What was going through her mind? She must be wondering where I was, how long she would have to wait. For a moment I felt pity for the frightened, helpless wench, but I dismissed the thought from my mind. Her wishes were unimportant. She was a slave.
Without asking, Melanie placed another beer in front of me. She leaned on her elbows on the bar, her breasts full and heavy underneath the white cotton shirt.
“I have to run up to the room for a few minutes,” I told her. “Be right back.”
“Sure,” she said with a smile. We made eye contact for a moment. Yes, she was definitely trying to pick me up. All sorts of possibilities raced through my mind.
As I pushed the elevator button, I imagined Amy nervously riding up to the room, naked under her coat, the trepidation making her tremble. I smiled again.
In moments I was at the door to the room. I waited a minute, listening, but could hear nothing within. Quietly I slid the card in the slot, unlocking the door, and entered.
The room was dark, the lights of the city through the far windows the only illumination. I immediately saw my fair captive, chained and helpless as I had specified, on the bed. Her head, in the hood, turned toward me and she made a muffled whimpering noise. I was silent, watching her. Undoubtedly she had heard the door but had no idea who might have entered the room. Her heart was probably pounding in her chest. Although she struggled wildly, twisting back and forth, she was held beautifully in position.
Crossing the room, I stood by the bed for a few moments, observing her. Yes she was lovely, the curve of her belly and her tender little breasts, the taut muscles in her legs, her body stretched and exposed before me. The chain made a small noise as she pulled against the handcuffs. Of course, she was probably terrified, isolated in the leather hood, but I made no move to reassure her. She made another desperate, whimpering sound. I could smell her excitement, and I had no doubt she was moist and ready, yearning for stimulation. Fear can be very arousing for a female, just as aggression can be arousing for a male. The anticipation, waiting in the room for hours, must have been excruciating.
Her body jumped reflexively as I placed my hand on her belly. Opening the nightstand drawer, I removed several items that I had placed there earlier. The first was a set of nipple clamps, with a chain running between them. Attaching the cruel devices to her full, hard nipples, I heard her muffled gasps of pain from under the hood. She twisted from side to side, her swollen, delicate flesh tormented by the fierce unrelenting pressure.
