The hotel was in the middle of the city, had underground parking, and was big enough to be perfectly anonymous. She parked, headed up in the lift to reception, and went straight to the desk, letting the soft beige leather holdall she carried swing gently.
Reception had a key for her "left by her husband" who'd checked in earlier and "gone out to meetings". She made polite chat, saying they were heading out to dinner later and taking the obligatory pitch for the hotel's restaurant. She headed up to the tenth floor in the lift as fast as she could get away, admiring herself in the mirrors, she'd absolutely nailed the look.
Hair down and held back with a band, oversized sunglasses, a belted tan coat that came to mid-thigh, and short boots. The holdall could be an expensive gym bag or a quirky weekend bag. To any passing glance, she looked like a perfectly respectable well-heeled lady, maybe away on a midweek break with her husband traveling for work.
Nothing could be further from the truth. He wasn't her husband, he was her master. Her husband was out at work and thought she was away at a spa day, due to get back late than evening after "a few drinks out". She wasn't traveling, this was her home city. They absolutely were not going out later.
She let herself into the room, checking her phone to see how much time she had. He would be early, he always was, trying to catch her on the hop, any excuse to spank her or have her make amends.
She made herself ready, folding her clothes into the wardrobe so there was no mess, putting her phone on silent but not airline mode, in case he texted through instructions, and having a small vodka from the minibar to settle her nerves. She had followed his instructions to the letter she knew, but she didn't know what he had planned.
It all started with an email a few weeks ago, seeing if she was free that afternoon. She made sure she was, it had been too long. The next email mentioned "her old leather bag" and whether or not she still had it.
She did.
"And is it still full of tricks" he had asked. She knew that he knew that it would be.
In her younger and more single days, when they first met, she'd kept all her sex toys and paraphernalia in the bag for ease.
It sat in the bottom of her wardrobe and nobody ever looked twice at it. When she headed out to dirty parties or to meet somebody it came with her, its content carefully selected.
That was all long ago, and for the last five years, it has been put quietly out of the way in the garage only occasionally to get thrown in the car and come out, on days like this.
She hears the door lock click, and as she expected he's early. She drops the bag on the bed and quickly kneels down, looking up expectantly as he strides in, dropping his far more formal bag as he does, and comes to stand in front of her, his shined black shoes and neat suit trousers filling her view.
"Good afternoon Holly, you fabulous fuck toy, did you manage to get time to prepare yourself or are we going to have to go over all that tiresome rubbish again?"
He wants her to squirm and panic, but she's played this game before.
Today she isn't going to be bratty just to solicit a spanking, she's going to be a good girl, the consummate slut.
"Yes sir, everything is here and I had plenty of time in this loved suite to get ready."
She can't help sounding that little bit bratty.
"Good good. I did actually have to go out to meetings this afternoon and deal with enough fuckups, I've not time for you to be forgetting things and not paying attention. Now, stand up, let's have a look at you!"
She stands and adjusts her position. Shoulders square, back straight, feet neatly together, hands behind her back, she looks up into his face as he pointedly looks her up and down, inspecting her. It's obvious he likes what he sees.
Under that coat she had a pair of trousers, now folded and put away, but otherwise she's dressed as she'd driven here. The boots lift her a few inches. The anklet is subtle but the gold "slut" tag hanging off it is not. Her legs are bare and run up to her well-shaped arse. She's not wearing any knickers. A dark blue corset trims her waist in and shows off her tits. Her neck is bare because she knows he will collar her and she's left her hair down to help maintain the innocent look, rather than tieing it back into a fuck handle of a ponytail.
"I see you've dressed for the occasion. Did you drive over in all that slut wear or did you come dressed as a respectable wife and mother and get changed once you got here?"
"I did wear a pair of trousers, but other than that, I came dressed like this."
She can't help sounding proud and biting her lip a little.
"No jumper? Just that tan coat of yours to cover up all this lingerie?"
She knows that he knows that she loves hiding in plain sight in public.
"No jumper"
"Good girl. Now, let's see what else you've brought in that old kit bag of yours."
He turns her to face the bed, standing close behind her and she unzips the bag.
"Don't just empty it out in a big heap you messy bitch, take things out one at a time and tell me about them."
She knows what this game is, he's going to try and embarrass her, make her confess, and build up the tension until he's straining against his boxers and she's melting into a puddle in front of him.
She reaches into the bag, carefully lifting out her collar and holding it up in front of her.
"And what's this then?" He asks like he's never seen it before.
"It's my posture collar sir. It's much taller and stiffer than my usual collar so it keeps my head up making it difficult to move." She explains, orientating the collar so it's the right way up and then offering it to him. She chose it first, suspecting what was going to happen.
"Well, that is very pretty. I rather enjoy your bare neck, it's so much easier to wrap my hands around, but maybe you'd prefer this leather thing squeezing you instead?"
"I do love my collar, it reminds me where I am and what I'm doing." She hands the collar to him and without a word he slips it around her neck, moving her hair out of the way and fastening the buckles behind her neck. It keeps her chin up and she can't look down into the bag anymore.
"That is pretty, it does make your neck stand out, does it? All the better for wrapping my arms around." He threatens her, and she feels herself damped at the very thought of his arm, sleeves rolled up, holding her against him as she struggles.
"What else is in there then? Such a big bag for one collar."
She reaches in again, moving things around and trying to choose carefully. There are so many things that she wants to pull out and show off.
She chooses a set of four leather cuffs, clipped together, and holds them up.
"I know what these are no need to explain them, but why are they all attached to that single metal ring?" He asks, faining innocence.
"They're my ankle and wrist cuffs, Sir. The bigger ones go round my ankles and the slimmer ones go round my wrists. Then when you're being very mean, you can put me face down and hogtie me by clipping them all together. It's a big stretch for me and it aches, but I can't close my legs and can't stop you getting at my pussy even if I wanted to."
She knows it's the truth because she spent far too long like that having her face fucked and a massive dildo shoved up her last summer. They both remember it fondly.
"I guess we'd better buckle you in, we wouldn't want to have them lying around making a mess would we?"
He takes the cuffs and bends to strap them around her ankles, not connecting them but leaving them free. She holds up first one wrist and then the other and he repeats the process.
"So far humdrum. I've seen collars and cuffs all over the internet. I thought you said this was your bag of naughty things? This is all barely fifty shades of Ann Summers so far." He tries to sound bored and doesn't quite get away with it.
She reaches into the bag again and pulls out a set of anal beads. They're stiff plastic, starting small and getting bigger, but even the largest one is still quite modest. They're faded pink and have a ring on the end. She holds them up, her finger curled through the ring.
"Come on them, tell me about these them." He tells her firmly. He's expecting her to narrate the content of the bag, squirming as she's made to say dirty things and confess.
"These are my anal beads Sir. They're not too big and they're stiff so they're easy to work up my arse. I really like to be fucked with them Sir, and feel my arsehole stretching around them and they are pulled in and out."
"That sounds like you've had that happen quite a few times slut, how many times have these been stuck up your shitter?"
He is trying to catch her out with his course language. This is a man who works with words for a living, he knows exactly what he is doing. The school gate yummy mummy shouldn't be thrilled to hear about her arsehole let alone have it described as "her shitter", but she is.
"I've no idea, Sir. Many many times." She decides to step up her game, "I like it best when I'm being DPd with a big cock and the beads at the same time".
She lies the beads on the bed, starting a lineup of toys. She didn't think he'd use them on her straight away like the cuffs and collar, and she guessed right.
He moves his hands to her waist and pulls her closer, she wiggles her bum against him just a little.
"What's next from bag, what other filthy toys have you brought?" He responds to her wiggles with a stern voice, as if she's messing about, even if his cock tells a different story.
She feels around again, choosing what to ignore, and pulls out a large purple pillar candle. It's as wide as her fist and wrapped in a piece of cloth to keep the wax off the rest of the toys.
"This is my punishment candle Sir. It melts quickly when you light it and it makes big pools of wax. I hate it when it's dripped on me, it stings and it's no fun at all." She pouts and hopes it comes across in her voice. Hot wax is not her thing and he knows it.
He stays silent.
