No Holiday at the Beach

X. Not his finest moment

He was, he realized, completely in the thrall of his Mistress. Or almost so. He still wondered about her willingness to adhere to the rules. He worried most about the possibility of her going public, demonstrating her slave to the world at large. He wondered what he would choose if she gave him the choice; he shuddered at the thought of how he might likely have no choice. Still, in the privacy of the room with his Mistress, he figured he could endure anything—any suffering or humiliation.

They had returned to the room. His Mistress was again seated in the rattan chair. She used his back as a footrest. Idly she would place her toes at his lips and let him suck them. She sometimes flicked the bell chain on his nipples, or squeezed his raw buttocks with her toes.

"I'll have to go out and eat soon," Mistress Wendy said. "You're not coming. " Although the thought of his being apart from his Mistress troubled him, he was rather relieved that he would remain safely in the room, away from the risk of exposure to the outside world. She said, "I'm just not sure what to do with you. You're a nuisance. "

She walked to the bed and yanked back the cover and top sheet. She ruffled the pillows. He was thinking that his Mistress might indeed be kind to him, and let him rest in the comfort of the bed. He thought how nice it would be to lie on a soft mattress. On his side, keeping the weight off his aching buttocks, nipples and knees. She yanked his leash and led him to the bathroom.

She ordered him to stand. She unfastened one end of the chain between his wrists and ran it through the metal loop on the front of his collar. The same loop that the leash was attached to. This forced him to raise his arms somewhat, with about ten inches of play for each arm. Wasting little time, Mistress Wendy unfastened and jerked the cage from his still erect penis, pulling hard and stretching the skin trapped between the bars of the cage. She took his smarting and swollen penis and played with it briefly. Very briefly, almost to his relief. He feared he would explode all over his Mistress and he hated to think of the consequences.

She left the room and returned with a leather band. With it, she tied his penis down the inside of his right thigh. "On your hands and knees, slave," she said.

With the wrist chain running through his collar, he was forced to keep his face rather close to the bathroom floor. She wrapped the leash around the pipe behind the toilet, with about five feet of slack to spare, and clicked a padlock between the links of the chain. "Pee for me," was all she said, and she backed under the bathroom doorway.

He had no idea what to do. His bladder was, indeed, quite full, having not been relieved since the airport. Clearly, he was not supposed to try to stand up and use the toilet. There was a drain in the corner of the bathroom. He considered its location. How could he position himself and manage, with his penis strapped to his thigh, to relieve himself with any sense of dignity? He realized that he had no dignity. Whatever dignity he had, even while chasing his Mistress's sandal in the backyard was being stripped from him. "Pee for me, and look me in the eyes as you do it," she said. "Hurry up. "

He maneuvered with his buttocks toward the corner with the drain. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up at his Mistress. He thought of beseeching her to leave the room. She was smiling, almost laughing, but still maintained a stern edge in her glare—and voice. "Pee," she said.

His penis was still erect within its strap on his thigh. He felt a few little hot spurts of urine spray and splash onto the tile beneath him. Finally, a slow warm stream ran down his thigh, trickling from his knee, forming a puddle that began a slow course toward the drain in the corner. "That's a good dog," she said, laughing soundly now. "I thought I would have to take you for a walk. Maybe you can be trained after all. Roll over. "

"No, please…" His plea came out involuntarily. He knew better immediately, but it was too late. His Mistress calmly said, "I did not ask you to speak. "

She he left the room and returned with a ball gag. She forced his mouth open and pushed the ball well inside. It stretched his lips and hurt his jaw. He groped with his mouth trying to find a comfortable position around the ball, intermittently biting down and sucking. Within a moment he was drooling from his efforts. It dribbled out of the air holes in the ball, and dripped to the floor mingling with the urine. "That should keep you quiet," she said. "I'm getting ready for dinner. By the way, I thought I told you to roll over. "

She remained and watched as awkwardly he lowered his side into the puddle of urine and rolled over onto his back. Chained, his arms and hands—paws, he thought—were raised like those of a prone dog whose belly was being scratched. She ordered him to lift his legs. In doing so, his back was pressed even more firmly against the urine soaked tiles. Much worse was his knowledge of how utterly ridiculous he must look. The sorriest man alive.

He did not have long to imagine how he looked. His Mistress positioned the mirror on the bathroom door so his reflection came straight back to him. She pulled the slack on the leash and he was forced to look at himself. He sobbed slightly behind the ball gag.

"But I almost forgot about your dinner," Mistress Wendy said. She left the room and after a short while returned with a stainless steel bowl. She held the bowl before his face. In it she had mixed a gruel of milk and bread. Two eggs, the yolks unbroken, floated on top.

She placed it on the floor a short distance away from him in front of the mirror. She washed off the gruel that remained on her hands in the sink. She removed his gag and said, "You must be famished. Eat, slave. " He knew better than to hesitate. He crawled to the bowl but discovered that the leash held him about six inches short of the bowl. "Beg, slave. "

He looked into his Mistress's eyes. His own eyes were pleading, but not pleading to be allowed to eat, surely. Still, he said, "Please, Mistress, you have been so kind—almost too kind—to make me dinner. I know I don't deserve it, but please Mistress, let me eat. " She slid the bowl with her foot a few inches closer to him.

"You would allow me to do anything to you, as payment for this dinner. Correct, slave?", she asked rhetorically. "Anything, my Mistress, I am yours as you please. "

She slid the bowl under his chin. With his hands on either side of the bowl, he slowly lowered his chin and mouth into the gruel and began slurping his dinner. His Mistress kept laughing and remarking what a messy slave dog he was. Sometimes, to prove her point, she would pull his head from the bowl with his leash and make him look at himself in the mirror. The sticky gruel was smeared over the lower half of his face, and strings of it hung down toward the bowl. She ordered him to lick the sides of the bowl, but some of the gruel remained when she said, "Enough slave, you may wish a snack later on. "

Mistress Wendy left the room and returned a few minutes later with another bowl. "Can't forget your water, slave," she said. She held the bowl before him. From its smell he knew before looking that it contained his Mistress's urine. She placed the bowl where she had first placed the food bowl before the mirror. Without her ordering, he begged. "Mistress, you have been so kind to provide me with liquid refreshment. The sweetest elixir on earth. I don't deserve it but please, Mistress, I beg you to let me drink. "

"Right," she said, and slid the bowl under his chin. The urine was still warm as he lowered his face into the bowl. The stench was quite sour, but the taste, though bland, was remarkably pleasing. He realized he was not acting as he lapped at the urine with relish. He licked the bowl dry.

Mistress Wendy said, "Good, slave dog. " She left the room and returned to pour a bottle of beer from the mini-bar into the bowl. "I might be late and you might need something," she said. "You could use a toy, too," she added. She grabbed her pantyhose and panties from the towel rack, where they had been hung earlier. They were still damp and fragrant from her afternoon's arousal. She tied them in a knot, fashioning a sort of toy bone. Before placing it in his mouth she sprayed the mixture of gruel and urine from his face with the hose next to the toilet.

She left the bathroom. He heard her open the door that linked Sundown A and Sundown B. She returned to the threshold of the bathroom door sometime later. She was gorgeous. Stunning. She wore a turquoise leather miniskirt, with matching pumps, and a black cotton pullover top. Her fingers, wrists, ears, left ankle and neck glittered with silver and turquoise jewelry. She had a silver and turquoise band on her right biceps. She had tied two small braids in her hair on either side of her head. Through the braids she had woven thin strips of turquoise leather. Her make-up was dazzling. Not garish, but quite a bit of color and glitter nonetheless. Completing the effect, she wore black stockings, with a slight metallic sheen, like her flesh colored pantyhose, which he now held in his mouth.

He dropped the toy from his mouth and asked, "May I speak, Mistress, I beg you. " It was a huge risk; for all he knew she might cut his tongue out for this transgression. But he had to do it. She flashed him a momentary angry glare, but then laughed and said, "If you must, slave. "

Immensely relieved, he gushed, "Mistress, I just had to say that you are the most beautiful woman on earth. A Goddess. I…", he stammered here, "I am proud to be your slave. "

"So," she said, "I look alright, do I. Maybe I can pick up a real man tonight. It's so romantic here. You better not close the bathroom door," she seemed to add as an afterthought. "You might need the air. "

She was heading out the door when he heard her stop. She returned to the bathroom and held before him the card from the doorknob that read "Please Make Up the Room". She said, "The room's a mess, and you're in no position to clean it. "

He was shocked and feared he might protest but before he even had the chance, Mistress Wendy playfully forced his toy into his mouth and left. He was terrified when he heard the door close. What could he do?

Outside Sundown A, Mistress Wendy turned the card over and hung it on the doorknob. "Do Not Disturb".

XI. Distressed

His mind was racing as he heard the door close shut. His Mistress's occasionally cruel treatment, and several remarks suggesting that the rules did not apply to her, left no doubt in his mind that she would indeed have the maids come to clean the room. What could he do?

His first thought, based on instinct and surely not rational, was to try to hide. He crawled toward the back of the toilet before realizing how ridiculous a notion that was. He next crawled to the edge of the bathtub. Could he, he wondered, crawl into the tub and pull the curtain shut? He was sufficiently desperate to actually pause and consider this notion. He might, he feared, choke on the leash, even if he could stretch that far, which he doubted. And he would scarcely be concealed. A hotel bathroom leaves few options for hiding. Finally, he decided the best he could do was to pull down a towel and at least cover himself. He tried frantically to reach for a towel, but the leash would not permit it. Not even close, really, but he tried for some time, feeling the skin on his neck grow a little raw from the efforts. It was no use.

Strangely, he never even considered trying to close and lock the bathroom door. Under the restraint of the leash, doing so might not have been easy. But surely possible. Had he thought about it, he would have realized that his Mistress had ordered him not to close the door, so he could not consider it an option. But he did not even think about it, such was the power she was exercising over him.

Instead, he lay down on his side in the slowly drying puddle of urine. He contemplated himself in the mirror and wondered what he would do when the maid arrived. What would she do, he also wondered? How would a maid react to finding a man in his absurd position? Based on their reaction, how should he respond?

His mind churned over the possible scenarios. The maid might panic, and call the boss. If so, would his best chance be to say he was the victim of a crime? Maybe the maid would immediately size up the situation and take advantage. Call her friends and make fun of him. Abuse him. He shuddered at the thought of the gardeners and bellboys. Take photos. Extort him. In his near madness, sometimes he would consider the possibility of the maid being exotic in the mold of his Mistress. A beautiful maid, who would seize the opportunity to let a hotel guest do her dirty work while she enjoyed the spoils. When he thought about this, his cock would stiffen against the leather restraint on his thigh. Occasionally he would calm down somewhat, and think that maybe this was not all that unusual for a resort. Maids must see and learn of some awfully strange things in their calling. Maybe she would just look in the bathroom and think, "another one of those". Regardless, he thought, if he had the chance he had to offer her a plenty big tip. But it would have to be on credit; he was pretty sure his Mistress had his wallet.

Infrequently, his crazed reverie was broken by the noise of people approaching on the footpath. Sometimes it sounded like guests; sometimes like staff. He knew the Sundown rooms were at the end of the premises. He sighed with relief whenever the sounds stopped before reaching those units. One time his heart pounded, for the footsteps sounded right outside the unit's door. There was a pause, and then the footsteps fell away. A guard, he figured, correctly.

So he lay there and thought. As time passed, he pulled more and more into a fetal position on the bathroom tiles. He was growing a little numb. Not from cold, but from exposure of a different sort. Sometimes he drew himself up onto his knees and crawled to the bowls. He enjoyed the beer, and, hungry, even finished off the bowl of gruel. Back in the fetal position, he took the pantyhose toy in his mouth and sucked on it. Slowly, or so he thought, for he had met Mistress Wendy less than twelve hours ago, he was getting a little accustomed to being a worthless slave. Something not quite human. No rights. No rules. A mere object, available for the whim and whimsy of his Mistress.

Finally, he even dozed off. He awoke, and his bladder was again full. For a moment he thought of trying to hold it in, but decided that at this point it no longer mattered. He had enough pain to deal with. Relieving himself was almost a pleasure. He simply let his bladder release its load. He felt the wetness on his inner thigh, and the warm puddle again forming around him. He hardly cared.

He had no idea how long he had been lying there. He simply waited, in hope for his Mistress and in desperation for the maid.

To be continued...