The Hotel is upmarket and quiet -- I use it frequently, and you know it well.
You enter the hotel room and kneel before me -- wearing a demure cardigan, blouse and long skirt. I like the idea of you travelling to meet me looking like everyone else, but being so much more. The idea, that people on the bus that you have caught think you are just coming home from work, when in fact you are going to a rendezvous to have your tits, cunt and anal cavity variously tormented.
I stare deeply into your eyes and see the desire to serve, to give over mind and body to me, to use as I so desire. I am impressed by the obedience, the stillness of poise. In my mind, I have choreographed a ravaging -- a long and slow torment; a tumultuous mix of pain and pleasure. As I stare into your eyes, I know you are wondering what I am going to do, but I also know that you trust me to do what needs to be done.
It is time to get started.
I stand behind you and start massaging your tits through your clothing -- lovingly. I can hear the pace of your breathing change as I do it. My fingers apply just enough pressure through your clothing to arouse you; I feel your nipples harden and I pinch them lightly through the fabric.
The lightest of moans escapes your lips as I do.
"Take off your cardigan and then your blouse," I command.
Wordlessly you respond - prompt and efficiently. I notice that you are wearing the stylish bra that I sent to you.
"I am pleased that you are wearing that bra - you are a good listener and a thoughtful subject," I comment.
"Thank you Sir," you respond, bowing your eyes in servitude as you do.
I continue to work on your tits for about another 15 minutes, this time with more force. I use the palm of my hands and push them flat against your chest and watch the tit flesh bulge out the side of your bra. I push them up fiercely, stretching them at the base as I do. I grasp the nipples through the bra, making you yelp meekly, and twist and turn them. I squeeze your tits relentlessly. Until I move over to my suitcase and extract a nice ball gag. You open your mouth knowingly as soon as you see it and I put it in place.
"Take off your bra," I demand.
Your tits are now bare. I can see they are already slightly reddened, but that is nothing compared to what is to come.
I peruse your lightly hued tits intently for a second before I command you to stand up straight and put your hands behind your back. I reach over into my suitcase and take out my leather cuffs and I cuff your hands behind your back. Content that you are standing straight and motionless with deep focus, I start slapping your tits - lightly and rhythmically at first - underneath to begin with, then the sides, and then the tops. Sometimes I slap them simultaneously, sometimes one at a time. I revel in the sound of flesh on flesh that resonates around the room. When I am happy with the deepening and even hue of your tits I stop. I am impressed by your focus, barely a whimper as I warmed up your tits with my hands, but of course there is much more in store. I reach in to my pockets and pull out some large thick rubber bands -- a dozen in all. First one rubber band goes around the base of your right tit and then another one in the same place. Another pair then constricts your tit about half way along and then another pair towards the nipples. I meticulously repeat the dose to your other tit and then I momentarily remove the ball gag.
"What would like to say to Sir," I ask directly.
"Thank you for slapping my tits and putting rubber bands on them. I am very lucky," you answer sincerely.
"Are you aroused, would you like to orgasm?"
"Yes, but only if Sir wants me to," you reply.
I am happy by the submission so far and I decide I will be rewarding it handsomely. I do stop though to admire my handy work -- a pair of bright red and engorged tits. To top the sight off, I pull a pair of clover clamps from my suitcase. I waive them in front of your eyes.
"You know where these are going don't you," I whisper mockingly into your ear.
"Yes Sir I do?
"Will it hurt?"
"Yes Sir, it will," you replied without emotion.
I place the teeth of the clamps on first one and then the other nipple. You wince and groan deeply as they bite in. A thick chain runs between the two clamps and I tug on it playfully.
I decide to release your wrists from their restraints, and then direct you to remove your skirt. You let it fall neatly to the floor and step out of it. You stand in front of me, resplendent in your vibrantly white panties. I reach into my suitcase and hand you a pair of scissors. You initially look confused, but then understand what I want. You cut the sides of the panties and they tumble to the floor. You will not be wearing them when you leave.