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So, the security guard kept a tight grip on my arm and dragged me down the corridor and I was ogled repeatedly as hotel guests stopped what they were doing so that they could get a good, long look at my naked body.

Even if the guard didn't have an iron grip on my arm, I still couldn't use my hands to cover my naked breasts, as my wrists were bound behind my back with stainless steel handcuffs.

Most of the hotel guests and hotel employees just stared as I was dragged naked down the hall, however some of the bolder people took photos or blew me kisses or called out to the security guard with ideas of cruel things that she could do to me. It was humiliating and scary to be treated like this, but arousing as well. The more people stared hungrily at my naked body and called me names and suggested that I be taken to the punishment park or spanked or whipped or given

another

body cavity search, the wetter I became between my legs and the hotter and more flushed I felt.

Eventually we reached room 211 and the guard used her free hand to knock on the door. Her knock was firm and loud. She obviously had a strong arm and hard knuckles.

The door was opened by a beautiful, well-groomed woman with short, yet stylish red hair and intelligent-looking green eyes with eyelashes that were so perfect I'd almost swear they had to be fake. She was wearing a black linen suit, tight jacket with no blouse underneath it, a short tight black skirt and black shoes. Her legs were long and sexy and reminded me of a dancer I had a crush on back when I was sixteen years old.

"I'm with hotel security," the security guard said.

She introduced herself with her name and rank, however I was introduced simply as "the slave that you wanted to interview".

The beautiful, well-groomed woman introduced herself as Jennifer Agutter, reporter and columnist for the Insider.

Ms. Agutter looked me up and down and escorted me into her hotel room, one arm draped possessively around my shoulders. "Please stand in the center of the room, dear," she said. "The photographers are set up and that's where they need you to stand."

All the furniture had been pushed away from the center of the room, so I padded over to bare spot on the floor and looked back towards Ms. Agutter. "Yes, that's a good girl," she said with approval. "But legs a little bit further apart, I think. I want you looking as open and available as possible."

I spread my legs slightly more than shoulder length apart. This seemed to please Ms. Agutter. It also made me feel far more naked and vulnerable, especially when I noticed the two young men in the room.

The two young men stood in the corner. They were young and slender, but unremarkable looking. Their clothes looked cheap; however their photography equipment looked expensive. They had one camera on a tripod and at least four lenses of different sizes.

The clean-shaven one was wearing a t-shirt which declared his support for Manchester and his contempt for Liverpool. I think those are soccer teams or football teams or something.

At any rate, the Manchester fan walked up to me and asked me to hold still while he took some readings with his light meter. Of course; rather than point the light meter at my face; he first posted the meter at my breasts; and then he pointed it at my swollen pubic lips. I had a desire to call him a typical male pervert, but slaves learn to keep their mouths shut when such ideas pop into their heads.

Next he asked me to give him a spin and he took light readings off of my bare ass.

"Are those handcuffs strictly necessary?" asked the Manchester fan. "We've got a plan for her photo shoot, only she needs her hands free for some of the poses."

Soon I felt the security guard's strong hands on my wrists. She lifted my arms up painfully high, forcing me to bend over and look straight down at the floor. "I'm going to unlock your wrists," she informed me, "However if you give these people any trouble, I'm going to be right outside. And I'm in no mood for any nonsense. Understood?"

This woman was strong and authoritative and scary and had a death grip on my wrists. I was utterly at her mercy, so of course I cooperated.

"I understand, Mistress. I won't cause any trouble. I promise."

In addition to being totally intimidated by this woman with her strong arms and strong hands and her handcuffs and official uniform, I have to admit I was totally turned on. My clit was throbbing and my heart was pounding loudly in my chest. I felt totally owned and cowed by her authority and superior strength. I had a desire for her to remain in the room and bully me some more, however it was not to be.

My wrists were unlocked from the stainless steel cuffs and then the security guard told Ms. Agutter that she'd be out in the hallway, and that if I gave her any trouble just to give a shout.

"I don't think that shall be necessary," Ms. Agutter replied. "The poor girl looks to be quite terrified of you. Just look at the expression on her face."

Did I really look terrified? Unfortunately there was no mirror in the room. I couldn't get a look at my own face. Although, honestly I did feel daunted and overwhelmed by the woman. She was quite skilled when it came to dominating a lesbian submissive like me.

The security guard made a disdainful sniffing noise and stepped out into the hallway. Then the photographers went to work.

"Okay, the big, bad scary woman is gone," the scruffy-faced photographer assured me. "Now just do as you're told, and I promise I won't ask her to come back in. Now, for starters, I want you to pose with your hands clasped behind the back of your head. That's right. Elbows back and arch your back."

This pose of course forced my breasts out and displayed them in a very suggestive manner...almost as if I were offering them up to be examined or fondled or pinched.

There were several blinding flashes as they took several photos of me in this position.

"Okay luv, now turn around and exactly same pose as before...except legs farther apart this time."

I could hear the flash now, even if I couldn't see it. And then I heard Ms. Agutter's voice. "Your bottom is awfully red. Is it always like that?"

"I was just spanked just a few minutes ago, Mistress...right before I was brought to your room."

"We can work with that," one of the photographers assured her. "There are certain people who think that a reddened ass is sexy. I think they call it

slave chic

or something."

I could feel my face getting hot. It's embarrassing when people notice I have a red ass. It makes me feel more naked somehow. Despite the demands of the photographers and the embarrassment of them seeing my freshly-spanked ass, my pussy was throbbing and I was desperately horny. Being spanked by the hotel manager and manhandled and handcuffed and dominated by that security guard and being displayed naked in front of well

everybody

had left me with a feeling of intense arousal, and there was nothing I could do to alleviate my sexual frustration. I looked down at my naked body and saw that my nipples were erect and swollen and my pubic lips were pink and swollen and slick with my juices.

"Head up," admonished one of the photographers. "You need to keep your head up, or you'll ruin the shot."

His orders broke me out of my musing and my self-pity and I stared straight ahead at the wall.

"That's a good girl," the photographer said from somewhere behind me. "Now just stay like that until I tell you to move."

I heard the telltale burst of the camera flash several move times. And as the camera recorded my nudity and my vulnerable pose, one of the photographers commented on how visible my pubic lips were in between my wide-spread thighs.

I groaned at this, embarrassed at the great time and detail they were putting into examining my naked body and then one of them ordered me to bend over and place my hands against the wall.

"You see how her anus and pubic lips are much more on-display now? That's perfect. Oh, and um, slave girl, look over your shoulder and give me a look like you're afraid."

I was now on display like some sort of shameless whore and humiliated beyond measure. I looked over my shoulder and gave the photographer my most pathetic look. At least I

thought

I looked pathetic. The photographer wasn't satisfied. "

No! No! No!

You don't look afraid! You just look embarrassed! You look like your mother just caught you masturbating! I want a look in your eyes like I just pulled out a bullwhip and I'm gonna use it on you."

I tried to give him the look of desperate fear that he asked for, however I somehow seemed to be coming up short.

"Jenn, can you help us out?" the photographer asked the reporter.

"I think I have just the thing," Jennifer replied with her cultured, British accent. She walked briskly over to where I was displaying my naked body and said, "Now, whatever you do, keep looking straight into the camera, and don't move."

I tried very hard to be obedient and follow Jennifer's instructions and then suddenly her hand was in between my spread thighs, gripping my swollen labia and pinching it painfully.

I yelped in pain and whimpered and squirmed and she pinched my tender, pink flesh again and again. "That's perfect!" the photographer yelled out with triumphant enthusiasm. "That's exactly the look I'm looking for!"

The photographer took at least three-dozen photos of my like that and then Jennifer moved away and I tried to keep the look of fear and outrage and helplessness on my face so that Jennifer wouldn't come back and pinch me again.

The photographer took scores of photos with me in that position with the "perfect" look of fear and helplessness on my face. He seemed extremely happy and eventually I became too relaxed with him and the look of fear faded from my face. Jennifer and the photographer both noticed at the same time.

"Please, no," I begged. "Don't hurt me. I can do it without being pinched!"

But Jennifer ignored my pleas and soon my sensitive labia were being pinched again. And just to be on the safe side, she grabbed one of my swollen, sensitive pink nipples and painfully pinched that as well. And she kept on pinching it, pulling and twisting and causing me to yelp and whimper and sob in pain. I had tears streaming down my face by the time she was done abusing my poor, swollen nipples.

"I can do this all day," Jennifer informed me. "Your begging me for mercy doesn't have the slightest impact on my actions."

Jennifer walked away from my naked form and the photographer called out, "

Perfect!

Okay Slave girl, don't move and don't change your facial expression! This is the prefect shot! This is going on the cover!!

They must have taken about thirty or forty photos of me like that with my face wet with tears and a pained, helpless, fearful look on my face. I can't imagine why he'd need so many photos of me in the same exact pose. Perhaps he wasn't confident of his own abilities and was afraid that twenty of his photos would be overexposed or underexposed or something.

I don't know. Actually I don't know much about photography. Maybe he had a good reason for taking so many photos of me in that position.

When they were done the photographers left their camera behind, but took several rolls of film. "It's best to get these developed as soon as possible," said of one of the photographers. "But are you sure you'll be alright all by yourself with the slave girl?"

"David, please," Jennifer protested, "She's just a slip of a girl. She can't possibly weigh more than 54 kilograms and she's naked. What's she going to do? Just go and let me do my interview."

"I'd feel better if you let me tie her up first."

"Tie her up with what? David, this is a hotel room. We have a bed and a sink and a mini bar and a shower. There's nothing here that you can tie her up with."

I was still looking over my shoulder, so I was able to see when David rummaged through his photography gear and from somewhere underneath his lenses and rolls of film and other tools of his trade, he pulled out a large quantity of rope, cut to lengths of about three or four feet.

And in a flat, disapproving tone, Jennifer asked, "David, why on Earth would you have packed all of this rope in your photography gear?"

David didn't answer Jennifer's question. He just walked over to me with a plethora of rope in his hand and said, "Do you want me to tie her up or not?"

Jennifer rolled her eyes. She obviously didn't think it was necessary, but she also didn't seem to think it was worth it to waste time arguing with her photographer. "Fine, David, do whatever you want. I don't need her to be able to move about. I just need her to be able to talk and answer my questions."

For a photographer, David was quite adept at knots. He ordered me to stand and cross my wrists behind my back and within seconds, the ropes were biting deeply into my naked flesh and my wrists were bound helplessly behind my back.

"Are you done now?" Jennifer asked, obviously impatient for David to leave.

"She's all yours," David replied. "If she gives you any trouble, just call for help from the security guard outside."

"David, I'm quite certain that I can handle one naked slip of a girl whose hands are tied behind her back. Now bugger off and let me get to work."

David buggered off and Jennifer sat down at her desk and picked up a pen and a legal pad. Then she looked up from her legal pad and made eye contact with me. She gestured with her hands and offered to let me sit in a chair a few feet away from her, but my naked bottom was still stinging and sensitive from the spanking the hotel manager had given me. I preferred to stand.

"Very well, Diane, I am going to ask you a series of questions. I expect you to answer them all honestly and completely. If I believe that you're being dishonest or withholding information, I shall report to your mistress that you were uncooperative. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes, Mistress," I answered emphatically. I didn't want to do anything that would anger Gretchen. I was already at her mercy, and she could do all kinds of horrible things to me if she thought I was being disobedient.

She started off with very harmless questions. She asked if I was an American citizen. She asked me for my age and date of birth. She asked me for my current address. She asked me about my educational background, what sort of grades I got and if I had ever gone on to college.

Then the questions became more sexual.

She asked me when I first realized I was sexually attracted to other girls. I think I answered that I was around eight or nine at the time. Then she asked how old I was the first time I kissed a girl. She also asked how old I was when I first had sex with another girl. Then she asked when I first began to have fantasies of being dominated and abused. I told her that those fantasies probably began around age twelve or thirteen.

I was about sixteen or seventeen the first time I was ever spanked by another girl. And the other girl didn't even realize that it was something sexual for me. I had rather manipulated a girl on my high school track team into getting mad at me and she twisted my arm behind my back in the locker room when nobody else was around and swatted my naked ass until her hand hurt. That answer seemed to disappoint Jennifer. I think she would have preferred it if my descent into submission began at an earlier age and was more openly sexual.

Then she asked me about my sexual fantasies. She was very interested in those, and she required that I be very detailed in describing them.

"Well, in my fantasies, I'm always dominated by women who are older and stronger than I am. And they're almost always in positions of authority; the leader of a sorority, a security guard at the mall, a teacher at my school, a warden at a women's prison, a lifeguard at the pool, the auctioneer at a slave market."

Jennifer interrupted me at this point. "I'm sorry dear," she said. "What slave market is this? Where is this slave market you're talking about?"

"It doesn't exist," I replied. "It's all in my head. I read about slave auctions in books by Ann Rice and Molly Weatherfield and they really got my pussy throbbing. I've been masturbating about being sold at a public slave auction for years."

"How long have you had this slave auction fantasy?"

"Um, I dunno...I guess since I was fifteen. Five years I suppose...ever since I found a used copy of '

Carrie's Story'

at a bus stop. I read that book cover to cover dozens of times. Sometimes I would get wet just

thinking

about scenes from that book."

"And there was a slave auction in that book?"

"Yes, Mistress," I responded, "at the end of the story."

"And the slaves were sold naked, just like in your fantasy?"

"Of course," I answered. "Who would buy a sex slave if they couldn't see what they were buying? Breasts, nipples, buttocks, pubic lips: isn't that what the buyer is paying for? Who would pay large amounts of money for that merchandise sight unseen?"

Jennifer seemed to think that my answer was very significant as she spent a great deal of time writing on her pad after I said it. Then she looked up at me and she smiled. Her smile didn't look malicious, it actually looked friendly. Slaves don't get to see smiles like that very often.

"I want you to tell me all about your fantasy about being sold at auction," she said. "Explain it to me in as much detail as you possibly can. And please, keep your thighs apart while you talk. I want to see if your pussy actually gets wetter as you're talking about this fantasy of yours."

I spread my legs about shoulder width apart, but of course that wasn't far enough. Following Jennifer's orders I spread my legs apart an additional twelve inches. I hadn't even begun to tell her about my slave-auction fantasy and I was already feeling like an exposed, naked slave, displayed on the auction block for all to see.

Jennifer stared at my shamelessly exposed and swollen pubic lips and determined that my legs were spread far enough apart. She seemed to stare silently at them for an uncomfortably long period of time before finally saying, "Diane, you may begin to telling me your story now."

So, I took a deep breath and began to tell the cold, impersonal journalist about one of my most intimate, private sexual fantasies.

"Well, it always starts out with me turning eighteen. In my fantasy there's a federal law that every female in America has to serve four years in the NSS or National Sexual Service. Some girls get out of serving, if they come from a rich family and can buy their way out of serving their country, but most of us have to serve. If you can't buy your way out, you'll get a letter giving you ten days to report for a pre-induction medical exam. If you show up, pass the physical, and submit to induction, they'll put you on a bus to basic training the same day."

"In my fantasy, my mother drives me to the pre-induction medical exam and I'm forced to strip naked in front of her and about twenty NSS employees. All of my clothes are placed in a cardboard box and it's sealed up with packing tape and my name and federally issued service number are written across it with a sharpie. The box is then taken away to another part of the building. They make me fill out a form with a bunch of questions about my medical history and then I'm made to wait there in their outer office until they call my name. Several other girls show up for their pre-induction medical exams and they're forced to strip naked as well. There's no place to sit and nobody wants to make eye contact or make small talk with each other, so we all just stand around naked and looking embarrassed. My mother has the good grace to look embarrassed for me."