Room 817 Pt 01

To be honest, I couldn't tell you what I'm doing in this hotel room. The day started normally enough- a half-day of work, then one of those team-building events that HR is so fond of. I don't know what a hypnotist has to do with corporate team building, but who's going to complain about getting paid to watch their coworkers make fools of themselves?

I would never volunteer to be hypnotized on stage. I hate the feeling of people watching me, and- besides- it all seemed a little silly. But you locked eyes with me, picked me out of the crowd, joked that I was too pretty to be hidden away in the audience.

When you called me up on stage, I figured I'd play along. It's not like you could actually make me do anything I didn't want to do, right? I remember everyone laughing when I suddenly realized that I was talking to the CEO, then my favorite high school teacher, then Jason Momoa. At one point, you slipped something into my pocket and whispered a few words into my ear. What was it that you said? Sometimes I can almost recall, then the memory just slips away.

Nothing seemed particularly amiss after I left the stage, except for a nagging feeling that I was forgetting something. I had planned to go out for Friday night drinks after work, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I had to go home and change. Change for what, exactly? No, that's a worry for another time. On the train, my mind wandered to my lingerie drawer. A black lace teddy, maybe? Garters and fishnet?

I settled on a red chemise that emphasizes my curves under a simple black wrap dress. Unbidden, I thought that I could be unwrapped like a present, but I didn't have time to stop and wonder who would be doing the unwrapping. I had a deadline to meet, or- at least- I was pretty sure I did.

I chose my makeup carefully- a smokey eye and red lipstick that perfectly matched the chemise. The final touch was sheer black stockings and a pair of red stilettos that had been tucked under my bed for months. I bought them on a whim, but they always seemed like a little too much, and they made me unsteady on my feet. Whenever I put them on, I couldn't help but feel a bit like a deer whose legs began to quiver at the first scent of a predator. Tonight, they felt right for some reason I didn't want to dwell upon.

I summoned a car, entering the address automatically as I pulled a small object from my work jacket. Is that a room key and...? No time to contemplate. I tucked the items into my purse as my car pulled around the corner. As the car wove through traffic, I could feel the excitement building inside me. My cunt throbbed in anticipation every time I ran my fingers over the room key and the small fabric object wrapped around it.

I tried to resist, but I had to touch myself. I spread my legs ever so slightly and slid a hand between my legs, feeling the heat of my cunt through my lacy panties. The word "please" almost escaped my mouth when I suddenly remembered where I was. Did the driver see anything? I tried my best to compose myself as the car pulled up to a hotel on the Gold Coast, but my breath wouldn't slow.

I could feel the driver's eyes on me as I walked into the hotel, and I blushed to think how this must look. Stilettos, sheer stockings, and the faintest hint of red lace visible under my dress. I tried not to notice the looks I got as I hurried to the elevator and quickly hit the button for the 8th floor.

I trembled as the mysterious key opened room 817. Where did it come from, and how did I know where to go? And what is this wrapped around the room key? A blindfold? I take one look around the room with a large four-poster bed in the center, a clawfoot tub and large marble shower, a balcony overlooking the city, then I almost automatically slide the blindfold over my eyes and wait.

It's not until I hear the click of the door unlocking that I recall what you whispered in my ear on the stage in front of everyone. The suggestion you planted so deep that I couldn't hope to resist. "Beg for me, slut- but not now. Viceroy Hotel, room 817. 8pm." You haven't even closed the door behind you when I lose control of my tongue and start begging.