Bondage Hotel

by Charles Graham

  “Surprise!” Miss Davies laughed exultantly as her victim screamed and writhed in futile efforts to escape the ruthless assault, “What’s the matter, slut? Can’t you take being on the receiving end of things, for a change?” Her cruel laughter rang around the gloomy dungeon.

  For a few moments, Sarah tried to resist the arousal storming through her body, then with a choking sob she surrendered to the inevitable, her lips and tongue resuming their erotic torture of Hazel as her own desire overcame her humiliation.

  Helpless in her bondage and still shuddering to the orgasmic spasms of her first climax, Hazel came again and again as the blonde’s tongue wrought devastating havoc in her sex and belly, huge, silent explosions shaking her whole body and wave after wave of love juices flooding from her as she was forced to respond and submit utterly to her captors.

  Sarah, too, was little better placed, for the pleasure of having Hazel’s delicious body at her mercy and the intense thrill of making the redhead climax to her will had stoked her own sexual excitement to such a degree that even the shock of being handcuffed and the revelation of Miss Davies’ duplicity could not dampen her passion.

  On her knees, bound and with the taste of Hazel’s surrender on her lips, Sarah was in no position to resist her dominant lover as her sex was caressed and investigated by the woman’s knowing fingers, every touch adding to Sarah’s flaring need and the shameful excitement she felt at being so vulnerable and defenceless.

  No longer in control of events, Sarah gave a breathy squeal followed by a soft whimper as, alternating the two differing stimuli, Miss Davies smacked the blonde’s flanks with the paddle, then applied a delicate caress to her clitoris and labia, building the hapless girl’s arousal to fever pitch.

  Vibrating in the throes of her need, Sarah sucked and licked wildly at Hazel’s salt-slick sex and as the redhead shrieked in ecstasy and her belly convulsed to send yet more love juices spewing down to Sarah’s lips, Miss Davies planted three cruelly hard smacks on the blonde’s naked flanks, then sent her fingers driving deep into the girl’s body, her thumb pressing and rolling the hardened button of her clitoris until Sarah gave a wordless groan of frenzied passion and the combination of intense arousal and delicious pain thrust her, too, over the brink of her orgasm.

  Pushing her buttocks backwards, grinding her hips as if to impale herself even more firmly on the fingers penetrating her body, Sarah climaxed massively, her torso juddering and quaking to the power of the spasms that swept through her as her belly contracted and pulsed to send heated love juices gushing into her sex and over her lover’s fingers.

  “You really are the most shameless little slut,” Miss Davies said softly, her voice warm with affection. “Whatever am I going to do with you, eh? I should send you away, but I’m not sure I can, now. I’ll have to think about it.”

  Sarah shivered as she spoke, then gave a gasp of outrage as the extended index finger of the woman’s free hand bathed itself in her wet sex, then, slippery with Sarah’s juices, insinuated itself past the puckered ring of her anus and slid into her bottom.

  Penetrated both in front and behind, Sarah’s face flamed crimson, but she was powerless to resist and as Miss Davies aroused her unmercifully, she climaxed for a second time, her body the plaything of her dominant lover.

  Until, spasming helplessly, her thighs spattered with silvery juices, Sarah rolled into a tight ball, moaning and trembling as Miss Davies withdrew her fingers and lifted her from Hazel’s belly.

  Chuckling, the tall dominant stood up and stared down at her two sweating, bound and shuddering victims. “That was most enjoyable, ladies,” she said calmly, checking her watch, “We really must do it again sometime. But now I think it’s time I had a drink, so I’ll leave you for an hour or so. When I come back, I’ll decide whether to let you go or to carry on this pleasant arrangement.”

  Sarah tried to argue, but her futile protests brought a completely different result from the one she hoped for as Miss Davies fetched a leather gag, crammed it between Sarah’s jaws and buckled the blonde into furious, but impotent silence.

  “As I said, dear,” Miss Davies told her, “I will decide. You will simply wait.” She walked from the dungeon, closing the heavy doors behind her.

  Leaving the two bound, gagged, sexually subjugated captives to await her pleasure.

  One knowing her slavery and accepting her bondage and submission.

  The other just beginning to realise the extent of her submission and wondering anxiously whether her bonds would ever be released...

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was David and Moira Lawrence’s last evening at the Bondage Hotel before he took his new wife...and even newer slave-girl...back to their home where, unknown to her before her enslavement, her rigorous training in submission and obedience was to continue.

  As a token of his gratitude to the other guests for their whole-hearted cooperation in bringing his long held plan to make Moira his slave-girl to a successful conclusion, he had decided to hold a party and had gone to discuss his ideas with Miles and Anton.

  When he had explained what he had in mind, the two dominant partners had agreed enthusiastically and begun to make the necessary arrangements, taking great care to ensure secrecy.

  No one, especially not Moira, Hazel or Giselle, was to have the slightest inkling that the party was to involve far more than just a few drinks and nibbles...

  So it was that at eight o’clock in the evening, the lounge was busy with the hum of conversation and the chinking of glasses as Hazel and Giselle, bare breasted and bare bottomed in their skimpy black and white aprons, hurried from one guest to another, pouring drinks and offering trays of delicious food as the party got under way.

  Paolo de Castillo was talking to Miss Davies and Sarah. “So you are thinking of allowing your lovely companion,” he gave a short bow towards the small blonde, “To stay with you a little longer, I hear?”

  “Considering it, yes,” Miss Davies replied. “It will depend on whether she continues to amuse me. Isn’t that right, Sarah dear?”

  Sarah licked her red lips nervously, “Yes, Miss Davies,” she whispered softly. “Thank you, Miss Davies,” she finished, falling silent, her cheeks flushed.

  Paolo chuckled knowingly and raised his glass to Miss Davies. “Congratulations, dear lady. It’s good to see that you insist on a proper respect from your...ah...companion.”

  The older woman nodded firmly. “Indeed I do. As Sarah now realises,” she stared hard at the blonde until the girl’s eyes dropped away from her steely gaze, then added, “Finally.”

  Draining his drink, Paolo clicked his fingers, his imperious summons bringing Hazel scurrying over with a bottle of champagne.

  As she made to refill his glass, Miss Davies rebuked her sharply, “No, no, girl. That is not how you were taught to serve a guest. Now, do it properly.”

  Hazel reddened under the woman’s glare and went to her knees, displaying her body and offering the bottle in both hands as she asked humbly, “May I serve you, Sir?”

  Paolo beamed delightedly, his eyes on her full breasts as she pressed her lips to the glass he held out before filling it with champagne, the deliciously submissive act setting his pulse racing.

  Hazel, too, was by no means unaware of the unspoken implications of her actions and as Miss Davies snapped, “That’s better, slave-girl.” The redhead felt her nipples stiffen with anticipation of the numerous other ways she might be called upon to serve the sun-tanned Brazilian.

  “Our hosts do not seem to be here yet,” Miss Davies began, “I wonder what’s keeping...?”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Miles Hetherington’s voice interrupted her and all eyes turned to where he stood by the doors to the lounge, “Your attention, please, as I introduce you to your hosts for this evening’s entertainment... Mr. David Lawrence and his lovely wife, Moira.”

  Miles flung the doors wide and stepped back, revealing a smiling David Lawrence clad in immaculate eveni
ng dress...the only discordant note, a long, flexible riding crop dangling carelessly from his right hand.

  Striding to the centre of the lounge, he waited until the polite applause died away. “My fellow Masters and Mistresses,” he began, “You see before you a very happy man. Thanks to you and, of course, the lovely Hazel and Giselle, I am now the proud owner of my very own slave. Now I realise that to you, the imposition of your dominance over a slave-girl is something that you probably take almost for granted. Part of the natural order of things. But I can assure you, my friends, that my beautiful wife most definitely did not view her slave collar and the bondage and discipline which went with it, in the same light at all.”

  Good humoured laughter and nods greeted his comments and he gave a wry smile.

  “No,” he continued, “Moira was not at all happy with the change in her status at first and I don’t mind admitting that things got pretty tense for a while. But with your examples to guide me and a little judicious encouragement from my...uh, colleague...here,” the crop in his hand described an arc through the air, “I’m pleased to say that she eventually came round to my way of thinking and now assures me that she loves being my obedient slave and never wants me to free her from her submission.”

  His face split into a huge, boyish grin, “Which is just as well, because I love being her Master and have not the slightest intention of releasing her. Not now...and not ever. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I would now like to introduce you to Moira, my wife, my lover and the slave of my dreams.”

  He clapped his hands just once and at his signal, every eye went to the open doors behind him.

  Looking to neither right nor left, with her slim body drawn up to its full height and her head held high, Moira Lawrence walked into the room, two bright spots of colour staining her cheekbones as she felt many eyes upon her and heard the spontaneous applause which greeted her appearance.

  Wearing only the same, deliberately revealing costume as Hazel and Giselle and with her limbs free, she moved to where her Master waited and went gracefully to her knees before him, keeping her back straight, parting her knees and placing her hands, palms up, on her thighs, her eyes staring humbly up at him.

  David didn’t move or even glance down at her and her throat bobbed as she swallowed nervously, forced to wait until his guests and the two slave-girls gathered round.

  Only then, when everyone had a good view of her kneeling body, did he look at her.

  “Who are you?” he asked calmly, “And why are you here?”

  Moira didn’t hesitate, “My name is Moira and I am here because I am a slave who needs a Master.”

  David nodded, “You wish to submit fully and of your own free will, before these witnesses?”

  Moira swallowed again and a tremble rippled up her spine, “Yes, M...Master.”

  “Very well. Then submit now and become a slave.”

  His voice was stern and uncompromising and she licked her dry lips, feeling swirling heat coil in her belly.

  She lifted her hands from her thighs and crossed her wrists tightly behind her back, then pulled her shoulders back and stared up at his strong, unsmiling face, “I submit myself to you as a full and willing slave, Master,” she declared slowly and clearly, “I ask to be en...enslaved forever.”

  Her words, so plainly sincere and heartfelt, brought a loving smile to her Master’s lips and her eyes grew round with emotion as he replied simply, “I accept your submission, Moira. You are now my slave.” He bent to lock her wrist cuffs together.

  A chorus of approval came from the watching group as she was bound and Moira and her Master were immediately surrounded by well-wishers, each vying to slap him on the back or compliment her on submission to permanent slavery.

  Even Hazel and Giselle were allowed to join in and as Moira, still on her knees, accepted the delighted congratulations and hugs of Masters and slaves alike, she basked in the genuine warmth of their pleasure.

  Right up until the moment when her Master announced that the party was being transferred to the bondage dungeon, where his acquisition of a new slave could be celebrated properly.

  It was then, as her belly churned furiously to the thought of her helplessly bound body being used and taken by anyone who desired her, that Moira finally became the slave that her Master had gone to such lengths to make her.

  She no longer felt ashamed of her submissive nature, was no longer frightened by the intensity of her feelings and desires, for she understood that her adored Master had enslaved her because of those very qualities, not in spite of them.

  He had wanted her to submit and respond helplessly to his dominance and as she discarded all remaining guilt, Moira’s eyes softened with joy and gratitude for the Master who had loved her enough to enslave her and make her his, despite her fears and resistance.

  As his slave-girl, beautiful and desirable in her chains and her collar, the prized possession of her strong Master, subject always to his discipline and his whip, her body trained to respond and give him total pleasure, she knew she would not be permitted the luxury of shame.

  That was reserved for those who still had choices...and Moira knew that she would have none.

  Her Master beckoned and she rose to her feet, her nipples stiffening with excitement as he ordered her to open her mouth and placed his whip between her teeth, then told her to lead the way to the bondage dungeon.

  “Do not drop it,” he cautioned sternly, “It will be needed later.” Moira gave a little gasp of dismay, realising that she was to be made to carry the means of her own disciplining.

  A disciplining which would become inevitable if she tried to voice a protest and dropped the whip.

  As Moira turned towards the door, Giselle nudged Hazel and nodded meaningfully at the crop between the brunette’s lips.

  “I see it,” Hazel whispered, then jumped as a familiar voice from behind her chuckled, “I don’t remember you being given permission to speak, slave-girls, so I’m afraid you’ll both be doing more than just seeing it. A lot more.”

  Master Anton had crept up behind them and his dark eyes glittered with malice as he pointed to the entrance to the lounge. “Hurry up, you two. Mustn’t keep the others waiting, you know.”

  Hazel and Giselle exchanged stricken glances as they were shepherded out of the room, both acutely conscious of his gaze on their swaying, naked buttocks and the delight he always found in reddening a slave-girl’s bottom.

  It was most unlikely that he would pass up the opportunity unwittingly presented to him by Hazel and both he, and they, knew it as they hurried to catch up with the others.

  At the head of the small procession of Masters and slave-girls, her lips still clamped about the leather crop, Moira made no attempt to control the growing heat...slave heat...which built ever more strongly in her belly as she approached the dungeon.

  There was no point, for she knew from her single previous visit that she could not hope to retain any form of control over her body when her Master strapped her into one of the dungeon’s many bondage devices and began to arouse her.

  She would be made to submit as deeply and helplessly as her Master and his companions wished and Moira felt her sex grow wet and her nipples harden as she walked through the heavy double doors.

  When her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she saw at once that the layout had been changed.

  The massive rack on which she had been spreadeagled had been pushed to one side of the room and in the centre of the cleared space, flanked by the ominous shapes of a pair of pillories, glittering steel chains hung down from pulleys mounted in the roof.

  “Halt. Standing display,” her Master commanded and Moira obediently spread her legs and hollowed her spine to present her body as she had been taught, her taut breasts quivering with anticipation and deliciously submissive fright.

  Anton pushed Hazel and Giselle forward. “In the pillories, slave-girls,” he chuckled evilly, “I’m sure you remember how they work.”

 
They both remembered only too well and shuddered in unison, but knew they must obey.

  The pillories had been very carefully adjusted, the leather lined wooden bars clamping their ankles immovably and trapping their necks and wrists in an inescapable grip, presenting them exactly as their Masters desired.

  Uncomfortably bent, with their breasts and bellies held parallel to the ground, thighs hugely spread and their legs angled back, Hazel and Giselle could do nothing to alter their position or ease the immediate nagging aching in their calves as their stressed muscles protested at the unnatural position they were forced to adopt.

  Bound by Masters, they had no choice but to endure whatever discomforts were imposed upon them, their naturally submissive natures and constantly-reinforced desire for bondage and strict discipline, sufficient to sustain them through the many trials of their slavery.

  Or so Hazel and Giselle fervently hoped.

  Watching intently as her slave-sisters were ruthlessly bound, Moira’s eyes grew round and her belly churned with blistering heat as she saw how utterly helpless and vulnerable they were.

  No part of their bodies was safe from the hands and lips of a Master and Moira began to tremble uncontrollably as she remembered that she, too, was a slave.

  A newly-submitted slave, whose acceptance of her slavery was the whole reason for the party.

  The tremors which shook her body did not go unnoticed. “Are you all right, my beautiful slave-girl?” her Master was behind her, his strong arms about her waist.

  Moira pressed back against him, her senses on fire and her flesh tingling where his hands held her bare skin, her buttocks writhing sensually against the hard bulge of his masculinity.

  His fingers rose to her breasts and gave her nipples a single tweak and Moira juddered wildly, nearly dropping the whip as she gave a shrill squeal.

  His voice thickened with lust as he chuckled, “I see. There is clearly absolutely nothing wrong with you, slave. You just need a few climaxes to cool you down a bit.” He gave her a gentle push. “Go on, then. Under those chains, between Hazel and Giselle.”