His fingers eased up and down my spine, silently reminding me of the pleasure he had just permitted me. I could still feel his fingers, clamped around my nipple, as he worked me into our own private frenzy in a crowd of strangers. Yet just when I felt a surge of energy return to my deliciously weathered soul as we strolled further away from the Eiffel Tower, he took my hand again, and led me down a narrow block.
Homeless people snored in each filthy doorway, and the rancid stench of urine strangled my sense of smell. The shops and tiny cafes, which all bore faded painted signs, were closed at that hour of the day, and left the street void of people. I trembled as I guessed what he might have planned, but I knew better than to question.
The shutters hung from threadbare nails, and squeaked in their sway in the light spring breeze. A heavy thicket of smoke caught in my lungs as we stepped inside the tiny hotel's lobby. The dark wooden accents were covered by a layer of dust, coating my body with a film of disgust in my quick survey of the room. My eyes only glossed over the shabby upholstery which barely covered the two chairs adjacent to the front desk, where a fat man sat sucking a cigar between his chapped lips.
Timidly, or perhaps in my submission, I stepped back, and dropped my head while he procured the key. All the while, the sensation in my loins began to mount, peaking my lust to do whatever he simply pleased.
We climbed the creaky staircase to the second floor, and passed down a long hallway to our room in the corner. I closed my eyes and listened to the click of the key in the lock, and the unsteady opening of the door.
Without a word or any sort of acknowledgment, I unbuttoned my blouse, and removed it efficiently before unzipping and stepping out f my skirt. Before him, I stood, waiting again for his careful inspection, and I began to fret. Were my nipples extended to his liking? Had I shaved every last trace of stubble from my cunt? Were my thigh-highs straightened?
I lowered myself slowly to my knees, my head bowed precisely at the zipper of his trousers. His cock was so close, but not close enough. Even when he buried himself in the back of my throat, I still wanted more of him.
However, my focus began to wane in the midst of my other needs. Pressure filled my lower abdomen, and I shifted suddenly, feeling the weight of my bladder dropping. .
Then, he captured my cheeks in his hands. "What does my good girl want?"
"I have to go."
"Go where?" he pressed.
"To the bathroom."
"Then crawl to the toilet."
Bracing myself on the palms of my hands, I dragged my knees behind me. I could feel the wetness fanning over me -- from my clit to my thighs to my tender asshole. As my knees pressed into the cold tiled floor, I pulled myself along with the strength of my upper arms, thankful that at least I didn't have to walk the short distance to the toilet.
"Sit."
Clutching the lid, I pushed myself up, then dropped down to the hard seat. Again, he told me to look into his eyes.
"May I pee for you?" I asked, running my tongue over my lower lip.
"You know what you have to do first," he reminded me.
I shifted uncomfortably on the toilet seat. "May I cum for you, then?"
"Yes, but you can't touch yourself."
I placed my hands on the top of my thighs, and continued to look into his eyes. There was pain now, as I fought so desperately to hold my bursting bladder against the twitch of my building orgasm. I spread my legs to reveal my slick slit, opening up the doors to the center of the body he controlled.
My breath hissed through my clenched teeth as I concentrated on the sound of his voice, and I could feel the familiar thudding inside crescendo into a heavy throb. "That's it, that's a good girl," his voice gentled me. "You're getting closer, and I can see how wet you are for me. So well trained..."
My clit twitched against his verbal stimulation. I clutched the bands of my thigh-highs, pulling in frustration and aching for this release that only he could offer me.
"Cum now," he said, watching me ever so closely as the first shock wave fluttered from my clit into the depths of my cunt and rocked me with jolt after salacious jolt of illicit delight. "That's it, keep it going. Good girl, keep cumming," he coaxed, while I shivered and shook on the toilet before him, wiggling my ass against the hard seat which moved with me.
Exhausted from the intensity, I collapsed in my own lap, my nipples pressing against the silk of my stockings. All the while, my bladder remained full, having been conditioned not to leak a single drop in the throes of orgasm.
"May I please pee now?" I asked, as I touched my hands to the linoleum floor. "Please, let me pee."
"Yes," he said, closing the distance between us. His large hands crowned over my bent head. "You may pee now."
A few moments passed as the muscles in my cunt relaxed, and my breath evened along with the patter of my heartbeat. The steady stream poured from me, echoing against the porcelain bowl.
"Thank you," I murmured, as he drew my shoulders up, "for allowing me to pee."
"You've been such a good girl this afternoon," he said, while he stroked the sheets of toilet paper along my wet slit then back toward my anus. "Now, come. Let's play."
Back to my knees I dropped, and followed him into the dilapidated bedroom, which was filled with the stench of stale cigar smoke and erotic odors of someone else's tryst. The bedspread was tattered, torn in various spots, and the single dresser, on which sat an antique television set, bore nicks in its thin wood.
Never before had he brought me into such a seedy atmosphere. In fact, I had grown quite accustomed to the marble hotel bathrooms, where he would so lovingly slip enemas into my ass to cleanse me for his rough entry, and king-sized beds covered with fluffy down comforters over which he would lay me for my floggings. However, on that afternoon, he simply wanted me to feel like the filthy slut I had so willingly become.
"Where are your toys?" he asked, as he threw open the tall windows.
My words were timid, barely audible in the silence of the room. "I was afraid to pack them. Security is so tight at the airport..."
"You know you'll have to be punished," he warned me, which I understood as I made the conscious decision to leave my vibrators and plugs and restraints behind. "But not right now."
Our intimacy was so deep that he knew a paddling would only pleasure me. Humiliation drove my quest to obey. Ultimately, he would place me in an embarrassingly uncomfortable situation, then remind me with sharp words that were so uncharacteristic of his persona that I had disobeyed. Punishments were few and far between, but I remembered -- and learned -- from each and every regimen.
"Haven't I taught you how to prepare?"
