The Hotel Room

She heard the knock at the door. Then voices, a brief conversation. Every nerve on her body tingled. She heard the door close. They were alone.

She sat in darkness. It had been less than half an hour since she had knocked at the door and been let in by her man - and the hotel suite was the last thing that she saw. He had been waiting behind the door. It had been a simple word of command.

"Stop!"

She had frozen. He was behind her. She knew what he wanted, what she wanted, but this was the reality. In the next instant a silk scarf had been placed carefully across her eyes, robbing her of her sight. Blindfolded, she was entirely in his hands. Her breathing quickened, but his hands on her arms reassured her, followed by a light kiss on the back of her neck. She could sense his eyes judging her.

She had dressed as he wanted. The black dress was moulded to her body, below knee length, classy with cap sleeves, her otherwise bare upper arms decorated with simple silver armlets. Her hair, brunette with red highlights, was tight to her head in a French Knot.

"Do not move." His voice. She would not have dared to disobey.

She felt his fingers at the fastenings of her dress, the slow movement as he caressed her body as the garment was removed, slid over her body to the floor. His hands were careful with their prize. He held her hand as she stepped out of the dress. She stood there, feeling the warmth of the room against her flesh, now clad in the black underwear he had demanded. Again he was behind her, and again his nimble fingers at her back, unfastening the bra. She felt the lace fall away, her breasts free.

He had held her hand and escorted her into the bedroom of the hotel suite. On the way he had her step out of her black heels. He sat her down on a chair in the bedroom. She felt him raise her legs and slowly peel off the hold-up stockings he had commanded adorn her legs, feeling his hands stroke her limbs as he removed the stockings, reverently touching the sheer black fabric. Now only her armlets, the silk blindfold and brief tanga panties on her body, she sat still as he used the stockings on each ankle, binding them to the legs of the chair. Her legs tied apart, her anticipation grew. She could sense behind the blindfold that the room was dimly lit. Then her arms were held behind her.

Another silk scarf. More than that, she knew that it was one of hers! She painted scarves part time to earn a little more money and use the creative side of her that her boring office job held in. That was how they met, when he had bought one - and then another. Now they were being used on her. He looped it through her armlets, tying the scarf and joining them, her arms now held in place. She knew what was coming next and was satisfied when she felt the next scarf against her wrists as they were bound behind her.

He stood back at the woman, surveying his creation. "Miss Smith... you look... beautiful."

She could not tell how he was dressed, but guessed a suit, dark, commanding. She knew well the usual look in his eyes that matched that description too. In her blind darkness her other senses heightened, including her imagination.

He left her for a minute. Picking up her dress, bra and heels he brought them into the bedroom, laying the clothing over the other chair, neatly folded, shoes laid between the chair legs in careful symmetry. Everything was properly attended to, exact, precise.

It was then she heard him on the hotel telephone. He ordered room service. What could be happening?

He returned to her.

"I have ordered something for us to drink, to enjoy." She felt him caress her hair with the back of his hand. "Then we shall see about the evening." His tone was even, gentlemanly. There was no sense of excitement in his words - events were happening exactly a he planned - and there was no argument.

"I do not want to be disturbed while I deal with this so..."

The next fabric she felt was cotton. Not one of her scarves. It was sudden and tight against her lips. Wound round, secured - one of his handkerchiefs? Her breathing quickened again as she gagged on the cloth. And that was how he had left her as he opened the door, greeted and tipped the room service, took possession of the bottle of champagne on ice - the staff not knowing of the presence of the woman behind the closed door to the bedroom.

The woman, Miss Smith, who sat there, awaiting her man. Bound, blindfolded, gagged, helpless.

There was silence. She tried to control her breathing as much as she tried to control her thoughts. But she was no longer in control.

He entered. She heard the clink of the glasses on the metal tray, the ice in the bucket and the bottle they contained. Instinctively turning her head towards the noise she heard him remove the bottle, wipe it and then the brief shock as she heard the 'pop' of the cork close to her ear. One glass poured. Then his fingers at the knot of her gag. The cloth fell from her lips.

"Drink, my dear." Again his hand stroked her hair as he raised the cool glass to her lips. The hard smooth glass replaced the tight cloth of the gag as the ice cold champagne flowed over her lips and the sensation of the refreshing drink filled her mouth. He was careful not to overwhelm her with too much. He withdrew the glass.

Then something she did not expect. He was so precise, so careful, that spilling any of the precious drink, wasting anything would be anathema to him - but she felt the cold champagne on her body as he let the glass slip a moment and the liquid spilled down on her naked breasts, her nipples responding to the cold. She should have known better. He wasted nothing. Everything was deliberate. As the champagne dripped from her body the next sensation was of his warm mouth, sucking, licking it up, his lips and tongue on her as he licked the champagne from her body. So many feelings, her helplessness, the constraints of the stockings and scarves which, though soft, kept her in firm bondage, the hard chair, the cold champagne, both on her body and working in her and finally his mouth, tasting her, warm, one hand stroking her neck as he licked, the other moving slowly, firmly, inevitably, towards her panties.

Robbed of her sight her senses were close to being overtaken by the delights that were being given to her in return for her submission. The bondage, the movement of the man on her body, mouth and hands working in harmony to arouse her, the warmth of the room and her helpless position and the smell of champagne, now dissipating as his mouth had licked it from her naked breasts - it was all too much. In her arousal she spoke for the first time that evening.

"Please... please..." It was a plea for release. Even she could not tell, deep down, if it was a need for completion or fear of what that might mean - her complete submission to the will of this man. His commands, his hands, and his body - she would have to give herself to him completely. But on her words his mouth and hands withdrew suddenly - and that was, somehow worse. She felt as if she had been left hanging in air, waiting for someone to catch her.

His voice split the sudden silence. "Do you want this, Miss Smith?"

Her breath almost stilled at his words. Yes, he could release her, but she would never know the extent of true submission. It had been so long since someone had wanted her, needed her so entirely, and she wanted to find out what this total need could become. Their meetings, casual at first, the discussions, the vulnerability of two people revealing their inner selves, all had come to this moment. She knew there was only one answer.

"Yes. I want it. "

She felt him come behind her. She had submitted. His finger ran down her neck, down between the blindfold and the scarf that joined her armlets, stroking her neck and spine. He uttered one word. She felt his breath on her ear.

"Perfect."

Then she felt it again - the cloth on her lips - gagged, there would be no more need of words form her. She also knew that he was about to do commence acts on her that would make her scream with pleasure if she were allowed. No point in disturbing the other occupants of the hotel...

Miss Smith heard him at the champagne bucket, and then the stab of chill as an ice cube was held to her left nipple. "Mmmmmm!" Her gagged cry of surprise, able to be released now that no one would hear her. His mouth, tongue and teeth on her other nipple as he played with her senses. He then swapped over, both of her nipples experiencing alternate heat and cold, pain and pleasure. He could do as he wished. She barely noticed his other hand reaching for her panties until his fingers traced the outline of her tanga. She writhed in her bonds, helpless to stop the man, giving herself to him as his fingers penetrated the brief black cloth and began to stroke her pussy lips. In her darkness she imagined the scene as if she were floating above it, out of her body - but still aware of every nerve and every inch of her bare flesh responding to his touch, her bondage, her submission. Each stroke brought her closer, his fingertips stroking the small trimmed area of her hair, hen along her lips, waiting for their time, watching her arousal, her body unable to keep its response in check.

"Perfect... beautiful!" Even he could not hold back. Who had described her like that before? Who had wanted her as much as that, had wanted her complete submission, had demanded it? She gave in to him again as his fingers parted her pussy lips and penetrated her, a single finger reaching for her clit. He heard the moan behind her gag as he found it and expertly began to stroke with one finger as another extended deeper into her. His mouth now on her breasts, sucking, licking, the heat of her body having melted the ice, his fingers moving on her, in her, faster, deeper, she struggled in her bonds, not wishing for escape, but to hold and express her total desire for the man who had her prisoner. Quicker, his expert hands worked on her bound body. The pulse of fire from her clit spread over her whole body as he touched her, pussy open, legs bound apart, wrists and arms tied, his sudden low cries "Lovely... lovely..." meeting her muffled moans and gasps behind the tight gag, her imagination taken over by the vision of her tied body at the mercy of this man.

But there was no mercy. His mouth was on her neck. She felt the breath on her as his fingers worked on her clit, two fingers now on her while a third delved deeper into her. The rhythm of his fingers in her, faster, harder, again and again, the touch of his mouth on her skin, the silken bondage - it was all too much - she felt the feeling rise in her, her back arching as much as her bondage would allow, rising towards this man, her lover, her master! And then...

And then the wave broke over her, the fire of her orgasm consuming her body, she shuddered in her bonds as she was lost, totally lost - to the moment, to her submission - to her master. Her naked body held by the stocking and scarf lay open to him. Bound, gagged ad blindfolded - as helpless as she could be, all pretence stripped as her clothes, she came, the orgasm rippling through her. She gasped, screamed into the gag as she came, bucked in her bonds. She sensed him move away, enjoying the sight of his woman, his possession, writhing tied to the chair, lost in the pleasure of her orgasm.

Miss Smith moaned, breathing hard, and in that moment the gag was wrenched from her mouth. Before she could talk his mouth covered hers, a deep kiss, a kiss of total desire, and the kiss that sealed her submission to him. It was their first true kiss. Not the polite pecks on the cheek that had bookended their brief but chaste liaisons so far. Now there was a new life for her. He tasted her, wanted her, needed her - and she knew she would give it all to him. He released her mouth. She breathed deep.

He let her recover. It seemed like an eternity until he came back to clean her with a damp cloth. His hands were then at her wrists, untying them, then at her ankles, releasing her legs. He kept the scarf tied on her armlets however as he cleansed her. Then her arms were unbound. It was then that he led her towards the bed. Her blindfold remained firmly in place.

Whatever he had planned, the evening was far from over...