Episode VI
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After steaming and soaking, Shannon wrapped herself in a ribbed, near-sheer avocado robe and led Doralea to eat. The robe invited - demanded - attention to the form beneath it, and Doralea followed, watching closely.
She kept glancing at the flat, firm body beside her while she ate. Her own body throbbed with the memories of the day, and she ached for a continued dalliance with Shannon.
After they had eaten, Shannon smiled, pecked her quickly on the lips, licked her ear and whispered, "Go to your room, wait. It has merely begun." Then she moved rapidly across the room, her retreating form watched closely by Doralea, who was awakening to a new appreciation of feminine beauty, and an increased desire.
Doralea rose and walked across the room, knowing she was being watched, was being appraised. She was excited and confident in the knowledge.
On the blue hall, Doralea paused at the door to the dark room, where she had seen the blonde. She slowly pushed the door open and crept inside. The shaft of light fell across the room as it had before. Doralea peered in to see the Nordic goddess hanging in her chains.
The chains hung empty.
Doralea stepped slowly into the dark room. She looked carefully into the darkness, seeking. She found nothing.
Nothing but the chains, hanging loosely in the dim blue light shafting in from the hall.
She walked up to them. She reached out and touched one of the cuffs dangling from the thin black chain. It swung away from her. In her mind she could see the tall blonde filling the empty restraints, offered helpless to any one who stepped through the door. She wondered what had called her away, who had released her, where she had gone.
She realized that she had wanted her to be there, bound and exposed to Doralea's own inventive exploration. She found herself remembering the cool smoothness of the sun-bronzed skin. The contrast of the whiteness of the treasures shielded by the maillot. Her memories sparked imaginings of erotic explorations, of her mounting an assault of pleasure on the suspended beauty.
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She found herself gripping the cuffs, letting them support her as she drifted in her fantasies, anchored by the thin black chains. Doralea allowed her body to respond as if she were the hard-body, bound to be held open to the eager explorations.
"You like it."
Magya's calm voice startled her from her reverie.
"You wish you could know what she feels. Speak, Doralea. Ask your questions?"
Doralea 's voice felt strange in her unused throat, "Where is she?"
"A tan like that must be cultivated. She has gone about her life on the outside."
"Her life? I thought -- I mean -- the Commitment."
"For you, my Beauty. For you, the Commitment you made. For others here, it is -- it is different."
"Different?"
"Indeed. Some are paid to be here: The dancers last night. They come, without knowing all that is here, and they leave, paid. Others, like you, my Treasure, dedicate themselves to the life here, and do not leave. And some, move between here and the Outside freely, like Shannon that you met. Some pay to be here, Mr. Todd and...
"And this one? Who is she? What is her story?"
"I cannot say. She is here... when she is here. She is used hard by those who enter this room. As you can imagine. As you were imagining. Hold these cuffs again, Doralea, hold tight. I will..."
And Magya stood behind her and began to knead the flesh of Doralea's upper arms as she clung to the hanging cuffs. The red-head moved her hands vigorously, roughly down. She followed the lines of the pecs to the flesh mounds of Doralea's tits. As the EurAsian pulled the willing prisoner to her, Doralea felt her own tits squeezed, and felt the taller woman's breasts crushed into her back. The stiff red hair of her mound pressed against Doralea's buttocks as Magya ground her cunt against the "prisoner's" butt cheeks.
The redhead released her tits and her strong fingers twined through the forest of hair seeking Doralea's slit. They tweaked and poked and spread the outer lips. After they had found the moisture they sought, they pulled her pelvis back, forcing her ass against the soft firmness of Magya's cunt and belly.
Doralea's grip on the manacles tightened as she felt the tall EurAsian come with a screaming shudder, nearly pulling a handful of Doralea's cunt hair out in her ecstatic abandon. Doralea's scream of pain mingled with Magya's scream of pleasure and echoed in the dark room.
The redhead stepped back and spoke softly. "I am sorry, Beauty. I did not mean to hurt you."
"I know. It's OK. I'll --
SLAP!
The strong hand of the EurAsian caught Doralea's buttocks completely relaxed. The redhead took delight in the fluid quivering, as well as the slowly appearing red handprint on the tender white flesh.
"She is here for this. She wants to --"
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Magya cut short whatever information she had intended to impart. Doralea opened her eyes and realized that the square-built woman had entered. She carried a small valise which she set on the floor at Doralea's feet.
Then she spoke.
"You, as it happens, have been requested. A special request. You will honor it."
"Yes, of course, I will."
"It was not a question. You will. Come with me, we will dress you appropriately."
They walked to Room 5 and the woman set the valise on the floor. She guided Doralea to step up onto a small stool.
The woman pulled a simple black garter belt from the bag and helped her into it. Doralea stood there in the garter belt and watched as the short woman pulled long sheer black silk stockings from the bag and rolled them onto Doralea's feet and up her legs. She clipped the tails of the garter to the top of the stockings, framing Doralea's cunt with the black satin. She pulled a dickey/choker around Doralea's neck and buttoned it in the back. It hung between her tits, nipples thrusting just to the outside of the stiff cloth.
Then she helped Doralea on with an Edwardian jacket and buttoned it, which flattened her breasts and pulled the thrusting nipples tightly against the stiff dickey. She guided Doralea's feet into soft black mules with four-inch heels. Finally, a black blindfold, pulled tightly, completed the dressing.
Doralea was led through corridors, down stairs and finally out a door into the cool evening air. She was startled, she had not left the building since she entered. She was introduced into a car, and sat down.
"You will not speak until you are told you that you may. Hold absolute silence through everything that will happen to you. That is strict. Nod if you understand."
She nodded.
The door closed and the car pulled away and into traffic.
She knew nothing of her companions, if she had any. She didn't know where she was headed or what she was going to do. No one had told her anything, except that she had been chosen: "A special request."
She did not know what to do with her hands. The jacket folded her nipples and pressed them into the stiffness of the dickey. It hurt, yet stimulated them so that they became more turgid, which hurt the tender nipples more and stimulated them still more.
She knew that, as she sat, anyone looking up her jacket from the front would be able to see her puffy cunt and that thought increased her excitement. A moist hand touched her knee, startling her back to awareness of her surroundings. The hand pushed her knee to one side, opening the view of her cunt, then moved to her other knee and pushed it open as well. Her jacket slid up her thighs and, without seeing, she knew someone sat facing her in the limo, gazing into her exposed pussy. Her juices started to flow with the certain knowledge of her complete exhibition.
Occasionally a hand would slide along her inner thigh, pressing her legs ever wider. Or the jacket would be adjusted to expose more of her legs. Once she moved her hand to touch her cunt and a soft, moist hand firmly grabbed her wrist and placed it back on the seat. Both her wrists were held, pressed to the bench seat. As she had with the rod of the morning, she understood the intention, nodded and did not move her hands again. Her wrists were released and she was again adrift in the bouncing darkness of the limo.
After a time, the limo stopped and the door was opened from the outside. Her right hand was lifted by a dry, long-fingered hand and she was helped from the car. The moist hands pushed her ass gently. She walked a short distance and then through a revolving door, across an open space and into an elevator.
As the elevator went up she came to sense at least two men in the elevator. One, slightly taller than herself, pressed against her from the back, gently forcing her against the door of the elevator. She felt the hard, round stiffness of his prick press into the small of her back. Then the other one, the moist hands from the limo, reached down and coaxed her knees further apart. When the taller man behind her began to hump her slowly, the one with the moist hands spoke, "Stop it, Mal, she's mine. She's mine. I paid for her. Big time. And she's mine."
"Yeah, yeah. She's yours. I'm just --"
"I know, yer jist -- and I'm tellin' ya. She's mine, I get to say when. And who."
"Well, you were lettin' me press. Come on."
"Pressin'. Pressin' ain't humpin'. Now, if you --"
The car stopped and the doors opened and Doralea stumbled into the hall. Moist Hands led her down a hall, followed by the tall one. They stopped and a door was opened. She was led into a room filled with the smell of smoke and charred meat. The door closed behind her.
The blindfold was removed and she saw that she was, as she had expected, in a hotel room, a suite.
Two men were sitting at a table, laid out for a card game. Another, a large ex-football-player type stood wiping glasses at the wet bar. The tall man stood on her left and the shorter man stood to her right. He took her hand and led her to the couch which was set facing out a wall-of-glass window over the city. He set her down and smiled at her. Then, as if he expected it to be a surprise, he pulled two short lengths of sashcord from his coat pocket. He tied one around her right wrist and, breath heavy and ragged, bound it to the couch. Then he repeated the operation on the left wrist and she was lashed, arms wide-spread, to the couch.
The man sat beside her and examined her in detail. She was uncomfortable with the attention, particularly from this stranger.
She looked at him. He was short, losing his hair and gaining a belly. He was soft all over, with the face of a jolly elf.
Behind them she could hear the banter of the card players, reflected shadows in the glass.
Without a word he reached down and unbuttoned the lower button of her jacket and, stroking her thighs gently, opened it, exposing her pussy to the night sky. She felt his eyes bore into her sex as the banter of the players continued behind them.
She wished he would talk, or that she would be allowed to return to the comfort of the building. Then he reached into her jacket and rubbed her left nipple until he was convinced it was stone hard erect, then he withdrew his hand and watched her.
He reached again to stroke her thighs, just the thickness, the meat of the thighs. He gripped her at the top of her stockings, pressing the clamps of the garters into her quads. He came maddeningly close to her cunt, but didn't touch it. She shifted her ass to relieve her desire and he withdrew his hand.
He reached again into her jacket and pinched her right nipple. Then he withdrew. She turned to him to attempt to read his face, but it was an opaque mask of glazed desire. She turned back to stare out at the night beyond the glass.
Her arms were stretched along the back of the couch and bound, her legs were spread wide and her pussy laid bare. Her pinched nipples ached. She was not enjoying herself. Then he laid his moist hand on her thigh, his index finger just touching the hair covering her cunt.
"Hmm, nice tatoo."
She turned to look at him and he withdrew his hand.
