Exposing my naked body in front of hundreds of fully-dressed strangers was intimidating and humiliating and degrading, yet somehow it also energized and excited me. It also left me with a heat between my legs and a throbbing in my clit.
By the time the taxi parked in front of the Hotel Castello, I had left a wet spot on the leather seat of the taxi cab. Gretchen pretended not to notice, however Victoria raised an eyebrow. She concentrated most of her thoughts on how to best promote me (and legalized slavery) to the media. She never really invested any thought into what sort of emotional reaction might be activated in me when I was stripped naked and paraded around the public streets of Europe.
Gretchen stopped me before I entered the hotel and unzipped one of the suitcases, looking for something and insisting that I couldn't go inside until she had it.
When she pulled it out, it was the stainless steel handcuffs with my name and hers engraved on them. The handcuffs symbolized our bond in much the same way a wedding ring symbolizes the bond between a man and wife.
"Turn around and give me your hands, Darling," Gretchen said as she held the handcuffs up where I could see them.
There were at least twenty people on the street, stopping to get a good look at my naked body, but I obeyed Gretchen's command and turned around and placed my hands behind my back. Within moments I felt the cold steel clamp down upon my left wrist and then I felt cold steel clamp down even harder upon my right wrist.
"Now, we're ready to enter the hotel," Gretchen announced.
Of course, not all of the European media had been at the airport. Some of them were waiting for us at the hotel. And the moment my bare feet set foot in the hotel lobby, I was surrounded by cameras, TV camcorders and reporters. I had never before been the center of so much attention, and with so many eyes and cameras directed intently at my nude body, I somehow managed to feel even more naked and exposed than ever before.
I know the type of technology they use in some of those cameras and camcorders. If they wanted to they could focus in on a tiny part of my anatomy from a block away and see it with perfect detail.
Suddenly I regretted shaving my pussy. My swollen, pink pubic lips would be well on view for the photojournalists, even all the way across the lobby.
Without warning I was overcome with emotion. Something similar to shock and stage-fright washed over me and I found my legs froze. A chill spread up and down my spine. I couldn't seem to take another step forward. I tried to force myself my legs to move and failed.
I attempted to tell Gretchen about my predicament, but when I opened my mouth, the only thing that came out where pathetic whimpering sounds.
"Gretchen, is there something wrong with your slave?" Victoria asked. "Why is she stopping here?"
I noted with some degree of humility that Victoria directed the question to Gretchen rather than me. Yesterday Victoria would have treated me like a real person, worthy of addressing directly. But now, having seen me stripped naked, subjected to a humiliating body-cavity search and handcuffed, she no longer thought of me that way. Now I was just something that Gretchen owned.
"Diane," Gretchen said sternly, leaning in close to my face. "Darling, you need to walk forward, across the lobby and over to the check-in counter."
I tried once again to explain my predicament, but once again the only sounds that issued from my throat were totally inarticulate whimpering sounds. I felt as if my nudity was under greater scrutiny than ever. It was as if I could feel all the millions of eyes that would be ogling me when the film footage of my naked body was broadcast on to people's television screens and computer monitors.
"Diane, we don't have time for this," Gretchen said, and then she developed a very blunt and direct solution to my emotional trauma.
Physical trauma.
Snapping me out of my trance was a sudden and sharp pain in my left nipple. My nipples were already swollen and erect and super-sensitive. So, when Gretchen took one between her thumb and forefinger and cruelly pinched it, the pain jolted me out of my stage-fright and forced me to focus on my poor, abused nipple and to ignore all the cameras and the forget the millions of people who would soon be able to ogle my naked flesh.
Gretchen walked across the lobby of the hotel, her high-heeled shoes clicking on the tiles as she advanced forward. She still held a tight grip on my left nipple and I was obliged to follow her progress or risk having my nipple yanked off.
Obediently I followed Gretchen's course forward to the check-in counter, matching for course and speed. My bare feet mimicked the pace of Gretchen's high heels across the cold, tile floor. I strained uselessly against the stainless steel cuffs that imprisoned my wrists.
I was concentrating so strongly on the sharp pain in my nipple that I didn't even notice when Gretchen started speaking to the girl behind the counter and began checking us in to the hotel.
I'd seen the girl the last time we'd stayed in this hotel. She was about four inches shorter than me (which since I'm 5'10", she was still a good height for a woman) and she had her hair cut short like a boys. She was endlessly perky and energetic and she wore a hotel uniform with a name tag that read,
"Keira".
Keira and Gretchen exchanged pleasantries and obtained our room keys. Keira never even glanced in my direction, which I thought was rather odd. I mean....even if she was heterosexual how do you ignore a girl who's completely naked, standing right in front of you? Seriously, does that happen so often in Keira's life that she's become blasé about it?
Gretchen finally released my nipple when she accepted the room keys from Keira and I let out an anguished gasp. As the blood rushed back to my already sensitive nipple, the pain increased. My nipple throbbed with fresh pain, but through the haze of intense pain, I heard Keira say, "My manager will be really disappointed that she missed you, Ms. Busch, but she did leave this for me to give you."
Keira handed Gretchen and envelope and Gretchen opened it.
"What is it?" Victoria asked, as she looked over Gretchen's shoulder.
"It's just a list of names," Gretchen replied. "We'll deal with it later. I'd like to get to my room and unpack now."
"What,
now
?" Victoria blurted out. "We've got at least four TV camera crews in here! You're not going to show off your slave? This is a great opportunity for sound bites! How can you waste this? You've got to give them something!!"
