Once Upon a Hotel Room

As I walk through the door to my hotel room I kick off my heels and sigh as my feet sink into the plush carpet. I take a moment to slip off my pantyhose and my bra, relishing the comfortable feeling. I had forgotten how uncomfortable dressing for business meetings was. Still, now I can relax in my suit without accidentally flashing my clients or worrying about uncomfortable underthings. I take a moment to order room service and, knowing that they will be a while, I find a comfortable spot on my bed. Undoing the buttons on the top of my dress, I lightly stroke my breasts over and over until my hips are squirming over the covers. Teasing, tormenting myself, is something I've become excellent at over the years, but today I'm tense enough that I don't want to wait. I take a moment to lightly pinch my nipples before I slip my hand into my panties. My touch is delicate but I'm so very wet, and I feel greedy, so I plan to make this quick, dirty and rough. Before I can really start to enjoy myself a knock at the door sounds. I flush with embarrassment and yank my hand away. The knocking is more insistent and I haphazardly button up my dress.

I open the door, disgruntled that you were quicker than I expected, and let you wheel in my dinner. I can't look you in the eye, I'm so embarrassed, and I hope that you can't tell what I've been doing. I'm annoyed and feeling guilty enough that I don't want to give you a tip, but you wait almost expectantly by the door. Eager to be rid of you I walk further inside the room to get my purse, which is on the other side of the bed.I'm searching for the tip when I sense you come in too close behind me. I turn around, startled, and catch your eyes dropping to my cleavage. In my haste I didn't do the buttons up correctly and you can clearly see that I'm not wearing a bra. I've been providing you with small glimpses of my breasts since I opened the door. I blush as you smirk andbegin to step backwards. I feel my legs bump against the bed and you step into my space, far too close. My heart is beating frantically and I wish I could think of something to say.

Before I can think of an appropriate response you reach forward, and reflexively I try to push your hands away. There's a flash of anger that crosses your face, and suddenly your arm flies out and my head rings from your slap. I can only touch one hand to my burning cheek as you start to undo the buttons of my dress. You take a moment to assure yourself of my attention and then brush away the material from my breasts. You want me to know my helplessness, and I do. My nipples are hard, harder than they've ever been, and I don't know what to think. My hands go up to cover myself and you grab them and force them behind my back.

"Keep them there." Your voice is gravelly and sends shivers right down my spine. "Or I'll tell the entire hotel what a nasty little trollop you are."

I whimper, feeling helpless. I know you felt the wetness on my hands as you placed them behind my back. You know what I've been doing. You knew since I opened the door.

I close my eyes as I feel you lift the hem of my skirt and raise it up over my hips. I wish now that I hadn't worn something so snug, with material so willing to cling there instead of dropping back down to cover me.

"Spread your legs."

I take a deep breath and open my legs, trying so desperately to be calm. Everything is such a mess that I don't know what to feel. My earlier arousal hasn't diminished, even with the rough treatment. Now, with someone else's hands on me, it seems to have grown only stronger.

"Sheer panties? My, my, you're a baby slut. I bet you just loved the idea of some guy maybe seeing your pussy as you walked. But you know what real sluts wear? No panties. You won't wear them at all while you're here."

You walk away and come back with one of the knives from the dining cart. Very quickly you cut down both sides of my panties, but they don't fall straight to the floor.

"Well look at that slut, you're so wet your panties are sticking to you."

I could die from embarrassment. The evidence of my arousal is too much and I begin to cry. Silently I let the tears run down my face, thinking that trying to fight them would lead to far worse embarrassment. Sometimes quiet dignity is the only answer.

You step towards me and take my face between your hands. Softly you wipe my tears away and I look up to catch your eyes for a moment. There's a cruel, wicked gleam to your eyes; you grab my hair and use it to force me around and down over the bed.

You slip your hand between my legs and pull my panties away.

I'm crying again and my shame is made greater as you kick my legs apart and expose me. I expect another cutting remark but there's only silence. I feel your touch feather over my backside, back and forth. I start to cry harder; I'm unused to such attention from my lovers, and that you're the one to give it to me confuses me. Then the spanking starts. It startles me; despite your actions so far I hadn't considered that you might spank me like a recalcitrant child. The blows rain down, some heavy and some light, but all of them cause me pain. Sweet, cathartic pain. The continuous thudding leaves me gasping for my next breath and I can slowly feel something breaking inside me. My focus has narrowed down to the burning in my cheeks and the answering throb in my cunt. My crying has stopped and there's nothing left for me but the weight of your hand. I'm not sure exactly how long it is but eventually your blows peter off and you step away, leaving me collapsed over the bed.

"Feel better now, slut?"

Oddly enough I do; I'm calmer now and ready I think for anything you might throw at me. Casually you haul me up again by my hair and make me face you.

I'm standing there with my breasts out and cunt bare and all I can think is that this is where I belong. I'm so aroused my thighs are slippery with it and I can't quite stop my erratic breathing. Your hands are on my breasts this time. It's almost like you're trying to weigh them.

"I'm surprised you went without a bra today - but then I guess you'd be disappointed if people couldn't see the outline of your nipples through your dress, hmm?"

I gasp; the humiliation comes rushing back again. I want to yell, to scream that I am not a slut. I'm respectable. Except that I'm not so sure that I am anymore, and the shame of it cuts me to the bone.

Quickly your grip tightens around my nipples, to the point of pain. "Answer me, little slut."

And I say the only thing that comes to mind, "Yes."

You smile and release my aching nipples. "Now sit on the bed and keep your legs spread, hands behind your back. It's time for your dinner."

I sit down, acutely aware of my exposure as you walk away and bring the cart over. You sit next to me and remove the lids from the trays. The meal isn't what I ordered - and I know then that you came to my room intending to do this to me. You see me catch on and murmur into my ear, "That's right, I saw you today when you walked up the foyer stairs. Everyone could see right up your dress and those panties you had on hid nothing. Such a whorish display just begs to be punished."

You pick up a single, overripe strawberry and place it between my lips. "Hold it between your teeth and don't you dare bite down on it."

It's harder than I would think to hold it like that, but I manage, and you continue speaking."You're going to hold that strawberry between those cock-sucking lips of yours. I'm going to punish you, and if that strawberry falls or you leave teeth marks in it I'll use that as a reason to punish you further. If that strawberry remains in the same condition I left it in, I'll leave you be. How do you like the sound of that?"

You and I know that the question is just an excuse to start punishing me as there's no way for me to answer with the strawberry in my mouth.

"No problems? Well then, I'll enjoy this."

With that you roughly push me backwards onto the bed, force my legs apart and up along my sides. Holding me there you tell me, "I know you like this position best. You like it when you can see your lovers worship you. When you can see them suck and nibble their way down to your needy cunt."

As you talk, a little trickle of alarm runs through me. You've been watching me for longer than this afternoon. I wonder how long you planned this and how you found me. There's little I can do about it now, though, except to hope I win the game.

You're continuing blithely, "I don't worship sluts like you but I will use you, and I won't touch your cunt to do it. Dirty girls like you spend too much time playing with their cunts, and it's a bad habit I will train you out of."

You lean forward and for a moment I relax as you nuzzle the sweet spot underneath my ear. That you know it's one of my favourite spots should worry me, but your lips feel so good I can't think very well. That's when you use your teeth. They dig into me, biting me, worrying at my neck. The pain startles me and I almost bite down on the strawberry before I realise. Almost but not quite. You release my neck with a soft lick, before you move down to my collarbone and bite again. Like the spanking earlier you vary your pattern; sometimes biting hard enough to bleed and at other times leaving no more than a lover's nip. Sometimes you pause a moment to linger over a mark and trace it with your tongue. You intersperse the bites with kisses, some light and others strong enough to leave their own marks. Your marks decorate my neck, breasts and thighs.

Mingled with the pain I find pleasure. Your control of me allows me to let go. For once I don't need to pretend, I don't need to convince myself that it would be a bad idea to wallow in my desire and to relieve the wanting between my legs. You control me, and my wantonness pleases you. I find it impossible to keep still, to keep from struggling as you bite me, and that is cathartic too. With no escape, I can be who I want to be.

The strawberry slowly disintegrates until there is nothing but the juice left. You kiss away the juice and whisper into my ear, "I was hoping that would happen."

And so, I think, was I.

You move away from me and pick up a bowl off the tray. "This is chilli oil. I think you need to learn how to obey instructions, and you're going to wear this as your penalty whilst I train you. Be a good girl, and I won't use this as lubricant to fuck your arse. Are we clear?"

My eyes widen and I can feel panic bubbling up. "Please not that! I've not done that before."

There's a perverse part of me that would enjoy begging and pleading for your mercy, but one look at you and I restrain myself. You don't bother replying, and really, why should you? You take a plastic glove out of one of your pockets, slip it on, and then swirl two of your fingers about in the oil. I watch in dread and anticipation as you extend one finger and lightly touch a nipple. For a moment it feels blissful as you spread the cool liquid over my nipples. Slowly though, I start to feel the slightest of tingles. It's a feeling that spreads and grows warmer until it's a fierce burn that has me squirming against the bed covers. You watch me impassively for a moment and then you order, "Keep your arms behind your back and legs wide open."

It's a struggle to comply and leave myself open and exposed when all I want to do is curl up and frig myself stupid, but you advance on me, and suddenly I feel your fingers tracing my outer lips. Up and down you paint, and then along the edges. Special attention is being paid to the inside. Your fingers slip in, and I am suddenly so ashamed that you found such easy entry. Your fingers slip out again, coating my cunt with fire. You add layer upon layer until I am dripping in oil; but carefully you leave my clit uncoated.

It is exquisite.

When I cry this time, it is out of sheer needy frustration. You keep your touches so light and teasing that I can't orgasm. With the chilli oil the sensations are both too intense and not enough for release.

You start to speak again, and I'm only dimly aware of your words. "I like the way you twist your hips and the way you gasp. You're such a wanton thing. You need to stop focusing on your cunt so much and pay attention to me."

My hair is in your hands and you're dragging me to my feet. I'm aching and wanting and desperate for a touch, so you slap me again to ensure my attention.

"You are going to serve me dinner."

You unroll a long strip of white fabric I assumed was a napkin and wrap it around my waist. It is a mini maid's apron, that along with my dress and exposed body brings the shame I'm feeling back into sharp focus. It only serves to feed my desire, and I wonder what is wrong with me that I enjoy such treatment.

"You are to serve dinner without using your hands. Keep them behind your back and your legs apart. Do not drop anything."

My quim throbs as the potential for humiliation and for punishment, and it's all I can do to turn and survey the dining cart. It's a little too far away, so I totter forward and press my nose against the edge of the handle. I push it gently towards you, acutely aware of how I must look to you. The action causes me to stumble forward a little and I fall to my knees. Nothing spills on the cart and I awkwardly struggle back to my feet.

There's a napkin on the tray so I pick it up with my teeth and lay it across your lap. As I lean I can feel you caress my breast with one hand and I stifle a moan. The guilt at finding pleasure in such treatment only sharpens the desire I feel, and I turn around, hoping you might molest me again. I pick the lid of your dinner plate up with my teeth and clumsily lay it to one side. It disappoints me that you don't take the opportunity to fondle me again, and I whimper with frustration.

It's as I move away that I stumble into trouble.

I knock the cart and the carafe of water tips over. As it spills I look stricken to you, and you are smiling.

"Get back on the bed. Hands and knees this time."

I scurry back to the bed and wait.

"Spread your arse cheeks for me."

A slightly strangled sob escapes me as I do as I'm told. I know what's going to happen now and I'm happy I can't stop it. I feel a drop of oil against my arsehole and your finger starts to slowly massage me. I feel vulnerable and helpless, but above all I feel shame.

Slowly you push your finger inside, going easy and taking care. The burn is slight and I find myself leaning back into you.

"Show me what a whore you are. Fuck yourself."

I don't know that I can do otherwise, and so my hips start to slowly move. My thoughts are a jumble but I know I never thought it would be like this. I never thought I'd enjoy having a stranger violate my arse for my first time. I never thought I'd help them degrade me.

You slow my bucking hips down to insert another finger and again the same order. "Fuck yourself." The hurt is stronger now and so is my arousal. My world has narrowed down to your fingers and my hips, until I hear it. There are other footsteps in the room.

I realise I have forgotten to close the door and anyone can see in from the hallway. I stop suddenly and try to whip my head around. Just as quickly you force my face into the mattress and snarl at me, "Move."

My arousal now is so strong I can't help it. Another witness to this spurs me to greater, lewder thrusts. I'm desperate for them to see me as I am; a silly little strumpet, acting the maid for the hotel staff and fucking her own arse. I want them to know me for a wanton slut.

I feel the stranger approach and you say, "Do you fancy a ride? She's good for it."

There's a chuckle and I hear the rip of a condom packet. There's a moment when I'm scared and then the stranger pushes into my arse. He's rougher and meaner than you would be, I suspect, and this time I cry out. As he rides me I hear you whispering into my ear, telling me just how wicked and how wonderful I am. Your hands run through my hair soothing me as he pillages my arse.

It's over almost as quickly as it started. I hear him groan and then feel him slump against me. You have my wallet in your hand and you proffer a hundred dollar bill.

"A tip for your services."

The man takes it with a chuckle and pulls himself out of me. As I hear the zip of his pants going up I feel the wet thud of the condom against my back and the trickle of seamen down my backside.

You help yourself to a tip too, before ordering me to stay as I am.

The last thing I hear is the door close behind you, and even when I am sure you are long gone, I am compelled to obey. I fall asleep like that, perfectly content.