It was also the day on which Hazel and Giselle, submissives both, were to enter the last phase of their long and arduous transition from freedom to permanent and irrevocable slavery, as vital and integral parts of the many “facilities” offered by the Bondage Hotel.
“Facilities” to be used and enjoyed by guests as casually and often as the swimming pool, the gymnasium, or the bar.
Months of careful conditioning and training had gone into making them the obedient, responsive slaves they were and both were capable of giving endless pleasure to those ruthless enough to exert absolute dominance over them.
But no amount of training could totally guarantee a slave’s reaction to finding herself in Hazel or Giselle’s situation and the uncertainty lent a cutting edge to the run up to opening day.
Miles and Anton were unquestionably nervous, Hazel and Giselle even more so.
But it was too late for second thoughts, or doubts.
The Bondage Hotel was open for business.
Escorted by Miles and Anton, the first guests walked into the entrance hall.
To be greeted by the erotic sight of two stark naked, steel collared slave-girls kneeling in welcome, their breasts and bellies tautly presented, a steel chain curving gracefully up from their throats to the track in the ceiling high above them.
For their part, the two slaves saw a tall, elegantly dressed, middle-aged woman walk into the hall and stop, her eyes widening and her rather severe expression softening to a smile of delight as she took in the sight before her.
One pace behind came a shorter, much younger woman, her eyes invisible behind sun glasses and her body clad in a long, shapeless blue dress, its loose fit giving little clue to what lay beneath.
The older woman gave a tinkling laugh, “Very impressive, Miles. And who might these lovely creatures be?”
“Slaves, Miss Davies,” Miles replied. “Hazel is the redhead and Giselle is the brunette. They work here and will serve you in any way you desire.”
Hazel swallowed the lump of anxiety and arousal that rose into her throat as she heard his explanation of their presence. Then she gulped again as the woman nodded, “I see. Then I must be sure to call upon their services. But for now, I should like to go to my suite. The journey was rather tiresome.”
The second woman didn’t say a word, simply following her companion as Miles ushered them both to the staircase and led the way upwards.
Anton chuckled, “That, slaves, is Miss Davies and she is a real tough cookie. The other one must be her latest toy-girl. She changes them every twelve months, but I’ve heard that some of her girls beg to be allowed to sign on for a second stint. I wouldn’t mess with her if I were you.” He grinned wickedly, “Unless you fancy a change from men, of course.”
Hazel shivered and swallowed nervously.
It was all very well for him to advise them to keep clear of Miss Davies, but what if she didn’t want to keep clear of them?
As slaves, they didn’t have the option of refusing a guest and her belly quivered as she imagined being ordered to please the older woman.
Knowing that she would have to do it, no matter what her own preferences were.
Her worries ended abruptly as a powerful sports car snarled up to the entrance and an athletic, deeply sun-tanned man jumped out and strode into the hallway.
“Paolo,” Anton called and shook the man’s hand. “Good to see you again. Let me introduce you. Hazel, Giselle, this is Paolo deCastillo, the man who organised the finance for our hotel. He’s come to see how we’ve spent the money so be sure to give him a really good time.”
deCastillo’s hot brown eyes swept over Giselle’s naked body, then surveyed Hazel and she felt the colour rise in her cheeks as his gaze fastened on the gold rings piercing her labia.
“An interesting adornment,” he said softly, indicating her belly. “I could find a use for those.”
“I’m quite sure you could,” Anton agreed, “Do as you wish. Hazel will not object...and if she does, you will have to remind her that she is a slave, will you not?”
deCastillo nodded seriously and Hazel felt a chill of alarm run up her spine.
“Reminders” in the sense that Anton meant, were usually made of leather and designed to redden a slave’s defenceless bottom.
“It is a long drive to reach here,” deCastillo said obliquely. “I should like to...ah...relax. With some female company.” He smiled at Anton.
“Of course. You are a guest. All of the hotel facilities are yours to enjoy. But we are expecting other guests, so I need to retain one of these slaves to greet them.”
“No problem. If this slave accompanies me,” he said, gesturing at Hazel. “The other lovely lady can stay with you. Perhaps I can get acquainted with her another time.”
As he spoke, Hazel’s belly gave a quivering lurch and her throat worked convulsively, his intentions towards her all too plain.
“Naturally,” Anton was completely calm, as if offering Hazel’s body for the use of a stranger was of no consequence. “Go with him, slave. Take him to the Bondage room and do as he commands you.”
His voice hardened meaningfully, “Now, slave-girl. Do not make me repeat myself.”
The unspoken threat was clear and Hazel knew she had no choice but to obey.
Rising gracefully to her feet, she turned and began to walk towards the back of the hall, aware of Giselle’s sympathetic expression...but far more keenly aware of deCastillo’s dark eyes roaming over her naked back and thighs and buttocks.
“Enjoy yourselves.” Anton’s mocking farewell brought two bright spots of colour to her cheeks. She dared not turn back or falter and walked on through the door and along the corridors towards the bondage dungeon, her tethering chain rattling musically as it slid along the track above her.
As she reached the first of the heavy, soundproof double doors, she halted, unable because of her bound wrists, to open the handle.
deCastillo moved past her and pushed the door wide and when she walked through, closed it behind her and opened the inner door.
In the dim lighting, the bulky shapes of the many bondage devices stood waiting patiently for a victim and Hazel gulped as her body filled with a swirling mixture of fear and excitement, her imagination already conjuring up the feel of leather and steel tightening on her limbs.
deCastillo did not miss her instinctive reaction and his white teeth shone in the gloom. “Ah, so you have seen all this before, then, have you, slave?”
Hazel lowered her head in embarrassment, but had to answer, “Y...Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Then you can advise me. Which of these...toys...do you think we should test?”
The question came as a surprise, for Hazel was not used to being consulted about the form of her bondage.
That was something her Masters decided and which she simply endured.
“Well? Advise me, slave-girl.”
She looked at the rack, the pillories, the “X” frame and her belly kicked deliciously. “I...I have not...not tried them all, Sir,” she admitted. “Only the p...pillory.”
“I see,” he replied thoughtfully. “Then perhaps we should try something else. Choose one of the others. I shall leave it up to you to decide which.”
Like a magnet, the tall, angular shape of the “X” frame drew Hazel’s eyes irresistibly and she felt a warm trickle of love juices moisten her groin as she made her “choice.”
“The...the “X” fr...frame then, please, Sir,” she whispered, her face scarlet as she selected the means of her own subjugation.
He nodded casually. “Yes, I thought you would choose that. It seems to be a particular favourite among slaves like you. I have one in my own cellar and my slaves love it.”
Hazel’s jaw dropped and she gaped at him, her belly surging with heat.
For some reason it had not occurred to her that he might possess slaves of his own and the realisation that he did, sent ripples of arousal coursing through her.
He
gestured towards the “X” frame. “Go on, then,” he urged, “Hurry up, I don’t have all day and I do not like to be kept waiting.”
Nervously, Hazel walked over to the device, turned around and spread her legs wide, pressing her naked flesh back against the solid timbers of the frame.
He moved behind her to release her wrist cuffs and she lifted her arms, stretching herself into position as he watched approvingly.
One by one, the leather straps encircled her limbs, each pulled tight and buckled securely until her body was immobilised, legs and arms widely straddled, waist cinched to the wood, her wrists and elbows, knees and ankles all clamped helplessly.
He checked each strap, then came to stand in front of her, his eyes savouring her nudity.
“Do I need to gag you, slave?” he asked calmly, “Or can I trust you to remain silent?”
Hazel licked her dry lips, intensely aware of her vulnerability and the needs which bubbled just below the surface of her spreadeagled body.
If he caressed her...or rather, when he caressed her...she knew she would be unable to control her responses, her passions too strong to resist.
It was not her fault, she had been ruthlessly trained to submit to her sexual desires and that ingrained submission was what made her the desirable and sensual slave she was.
It also meant that she would not be able to prevent herself from screaming and pleading for mercy, for his touch, for a climax, as he aroused her.
She could definitely not be trusted to remain silent and she knew it.
With a gulp of shame, Hazel lowered her head. “If you w...want me to be s...silent, then you had b...best g...g...gag me, Sir,” she stammered humbly, guessing that if she gambled on being able to keep silent and failed, he would punish her for disobedience.
Better to be gagged than cropped, she decided, and never considered that it was a measure of how truly submissive she had become, that she didn’t for a moment think of rejecting both options.
Her soft lips parted widely as deCastillo selected a rod-gag and pressed it into her mouth. She looked helplessly down at her breasts as he buckled the straps behind her neck, wedging the thick cylinder of solid leather snugly between her back teeth.
The “X” frame was all that Hazel had hoped...and feared.
Held fast by its broad leather bands, her naked body incapable of more than ineffectual wriggles, she was entirely at the mercy of her male companion and could not lift a finger to prevent him from doing exactly as he wished.
As he watched her, she explored her bondage with subtle twists and tugs of her limbs, satisfying herself that she could not possibly get free.
Resigned to her captivity, Hazel ceased to test her bonds and gazed expectantly at deCastillo, her belly surging with arousal as she waited for his first touch.
But he was in no hurry and she panted in need as he subjected her body to a humiliatingly detailed inspection, even crouching down to examine the gold rings fixed through the lips of her sex, his evident fascination only adding to the fire smouldering in her belly.
By the time he stood up and his fingers reached out for her, Hazel was more than ready and her nipples hardened instantly as his thumbs and forefingers captured her tender buds, rolling and squeezing her engorged flesh until she moaned in frustration and arousal, her fingers clenching vainly in efforts to alleviate the delicious torment she was powerless to prevent.
He took his right hand from her left breast, retaining his grip on her right breast, and Hazel chewed impotently on her gag, wondering if he was ever going to get around to caressing her between her legs and giving her the climax she was so desperate to receive.
She jerked against her bonds, her eyes opening wide as he applied a sharp upward flick to her erect left nipple with the middle finger of his free hand.
The brief stab of pain as her nipple bounced was followed instantly by a jolt of blistering arousal which shot all the way from her breast down to the pit of her seething belly, the combination bringing a grunt of surprise and shock from her gagged lips.
He flicked the nipple again, then a third time and Hazel whimpered in horrified disbelief as her belly kicked powerfully to the growing stimulation.
He grinned into her agitated face. “Amazing, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully, “Simple, but extremely effective.” He took his left hand from her right breast.
Hazel shook her head frantically, knowing what he was going to do, but terrified of her own reaction when he did.
His fingers flicked.
Right, left, right, left, right, left.
On and on with maddening, frustrating persistence, Hazel’s body juddering and straining hopelessly against her securing straps, her nipples throbbing with desire and her belly teetering on the brink of climax.
Screaming wordless pleas into her gag, her eyes wild with anguish, Hazel surrendered to her overwhelming passions and the dominant male who controlled her so totally.
He stilled his fingers and gazed calmly at her shuddering body. “Your nipples are extraordinarily sensitive, even for a slave-girl,” he told her, smiling. “If I was your Master, I would have them pierced and ringed to match your belly.”
Hazel froze, her brain numb with terror as he added, “I shall have to suggest it to Miles.” Then, he flicked both of her nipples at once and her belly exploded into a shattering orgasm, convulsing with awesome power to release wave after wave of love juices to flood uncontrollably into her sex.
The thought that Miles, her Master, might well decide to take up deCastillo’s suggestion and have her nipples pierced, added fuel to the inferno of her climax and she pulsed and spasmed helplessly, imagining the insistent weight of gold at her breasts.
It had been her own idea to have her labia ringed, a decision prompted by her desire to please Miles when she had still fondly believed that slavery was only a game played by lovers.
Since then, however, as a fully obedient and disciplined bondage slave, she had learned that submission as a slave to a true Master was far more than a game and knew that if it was decided to pierce her, she would not be consulted or given the option to refuse.
Masters did not negotiate, they commanded...and woe betide any slave who made the mistake of thinking that she could defy a Master’s slightest whim.
Displayed in the “X” frame, beads of love juices glistening on her thighs, Hazel presented a picture no red blooded male, especially a dominant Master, would even try to resist.
Her gaping thighs and sex presented no barrier to deCastillo’s erect maleness and as he buried himself in her heated belly, Hazel submitted completely to him, enfolding his shaft and drawing it deeper into her body, her internal muscles squeezing him erotically and encouraging him to subjugate her ever more helplessly.
He used her fully, as a Master uses any slave, the intensity of her passions and needs mirrored in the near-continuous orgasms which racked and shook her fettered body as his maleness pistoned back and forth in the bubbling cauldron of her pulsing belly.
Long before he relaxed his iron self-control and finally allowed his seed to jet in torrents into her body, Hazel was forced to recognise, and accept, his absolute Mastery of her.
In the frenzied heat of her submissions to a man whose name she barely knew and whose power over her was simply that of any guest in the Bondage Hotel who might be given the temporary use of her body, she knew herself to be totally and finally enslaved.
When, sated with pleasure, he at last withdrew from her swamped belly, Hazel hung limp in her bonds, exhausted and trembling.
Until she realised, to her horror, that slave heat still burned undiminished within her.
Frightened by her discovery, she tried to pretend to herself that it did not exist, that she was wrong.
But then deCastillo finished dressing and bent to kiss her sweat beaded nipples...and Hazel found that she was not wrong.
The instant his lips met her flesh, she was lost.
A great shudder ran through her body
and she panted wildly as, in spite of the despairing orders of her reeling brain, her nipples stiffened shamefully against his lips.
deCastillo grinned with delight at her automatic response. “So, slave, you are still hot, are you? That is very good. Very good indeed. I am sure your Masters will be happy to hear that you are so willing to please their guests.”
Hazel moaned as he kissed each of her nipples a second time, but could do nothing about the renewed arousal his wet tongue imposed on her as he lapped sensually at her taut breasts.
He stood back from her, chuckling cruelly as her eyes begged mutely for more and she tried to push her breasts out towards him.
“Alas, slave,” he smiled, “I regret that I cannot oblige you a second time, but you have quite drained me for the time being. Later, perhaps, when I have regained my strength, we shall do this again, but for now, I shall leave you.”
And leave her he did...without removing either her bonds or her gag.
In the dimly lit dungeon, alone and helpless, Hazel’s breasts and belly continued to tingle and burn with slave heat, reminding her constantly of her submission and the undeniable fact that she was the plaything of strong Masters...the thought of which increased her arousal in a spiral until she whimpered in the throes of a slave-girl’s need.
When the door to the dungeon finally swung open, Hazel straightened her spine and stood tall in her bondage, presenting herself as attractively as possible, in the hope that her visitor would find her pleasing enough to reward her with a climax.
The sight of Giselle, tethered by chain to the ceiling track but otherwise free, was a surprise and, given Hazel’s aroused state, something of a disappointment.
Giselle hurried over. “I’ve been ordered to release you. Dinner is nearly ready and we have to serve the guests.”
Her brown eyes travelled over Hazel’s body, taking in the patches of sweat and love juices staining her breasts and thighs, the hardness of her nipples and the tell-tale fluttering of her belly.
“Oh, you poor thing. Was it really awful for you? Did he whip you?”
Hazel shook her head and Giselle smiled happily. “Well, that’s something, anyway. Maybe he’s not as tough or demanding as our Masters. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
Bondage Hotel Page 11
