'Sophie,' says Lura sternly. 'Hands off your nipples. I'm not paying you to touch yourself.' I moan and grip the arms of the chair, gazing longingly at some of the dildoes and vibrators the men have chosen. One of those is just what I need now. But Lura is busy hyping up her new concoction. 'Imagine the possibilities. A few dabs on your lover's skin and he or she is helplessly aroused, beyond reason. You can use it during normal sex, as a stimulant, or those with wickeder imaginations can devise schemes for pleasurable torment. Leave them tied up and burning for you. Make them wear it in a public place, underneath their clothes. And I'm led to understand that it can add a whole new dimension to a spanking. I will leave your admirably filthy minds to come up with your own scenarios.'
'It certainly seems to be working a treat,' comments Neil, frowning. 'I could be persuaded to carry this.' To my horror, he involves Lura in a long and involved conversation about costings, mark-ups and the like, while my inflamed pussy rages and melts on the velvet.
'Neil!' I eventually have to plead. 'Please!'
He laughs. 'OK, we'll talk about it later. Is it my turn yet? I think Sophie might need something a little stronger.'
I lift my bottom off the seat, offering him my spread as he approaches.
'She is hot,' remarks one of the strange men. 'She wants it so badly.'
'Have you ever seen one as wet as that? I am buying a bottle of that stuff before I leave here tonight.'
Neil leans over and takes a good look at what I have to give him.
'You want that stuffed, don't you, Sophie?' he asks lightly. I screw my eyes tight and nod vigorously. 'Bad luck, love,' he sympathises. 'I've got something else in mind. Turn around and bend over now.' He brandishes an implement that I can't quite identify for a few seconds, before I realise what it must be. As I wriggle around and kneel on the velvet seat, elbows down and bottom in the perfect presentation position I was taught by Dr Lassiter, I hear Lura's voice, once again giving the hard sell.
'This is a dual-purpose toy, lady and gentlemen, which can give pleasure in different ways. Is it a flogger that doubles as a butt plug, or vice versa? You can use it for one thing, or the other, or both. If Neil here would be so kind as to give us an idea . . .'
The horsehair falls stingily on my bare behind, but the sting is faint and sweet, erotic rather than punishing. It both relieves and accentuates the longing in my sex – at first it seems to dissipate some of the unbearable greed of my clit, but then the warmth spreads and returns there, to redouble the delicious torment. Neil flogs me evenly across both buttocks and the part of my thighs above my stocking tops, drawing it back and swishing it down until I am groaning with lewd want, pushing my bum back for each stroke, widening my legs until the lash falls on my lips and clit, hoping that pain might lessen my ungovernable desire. It does not.
'She's loving this. Watch her push out her arse for more.'
'I'd give her more. She's bright red and she still wants him to carry on.'
'Look at her pussy lips, all puffed up and shiny.'
'Look at her clit. Ouch, that has to hurt.'
Neil finally finishes when I am hot and tingling from tailbone to lace-top and all points in between. I am still tortured by the empty state of my soaked entrance, but Neil has no intention of assuaging my need.
Instead, I feel his finger, cold with lubricant, prodding rudely between my reddened cheeks, preparing my ring to receive the instrument of recent chastisement. 'You're going to wear this whip in your naughty little arse now, Sophie,' he tells me. 'What a fitting punishment for such a rude girl.' He chuckles. 'I love this. Might have to get a few of these in too. Let's finish here first, though.'
The cold rounded end of the whip handle, slippery with lubricant, is swivelled between my bottom cheeks, right, left, right, left, inexorably forward with each half-rotation. I feel my pucker twitch and expand, slowly stretched. Neil performs the task carefully, pushing in an inch, then pulling it out again, pushing back in a little further, then pulling out again. I gasp and my ring spasms in confusion.
'Come closer,' Neil invites the audience. 'Watch it going in. It's going in all the way.'
There is an eye-watering split second while the widest point of the plug stretches my ring almost beyond endurance. Neil holds it there, resisting my efforts to either suck it in or expel it, making sure the crowd gets a good eyeful.
'That's really stretching her,' gasps the model in wonder. 'She must be used to this.'
'She is,' chuckles Lura.
Neil takes pity on me and shoves it all the way up so that only the horsehair tail protrudes from my cheeks. I gurgle with pleasure at the invasive sensation, drawing it into me, keeping it close, shedding my self-conscious skin so that the animal slut underneath is revealed. I wiggle my hips enticingly, inviting further usage. Neil tugs on the horsehair tail, jerking me backwards. 'Here, little pony,' he says. 'Are you ready to be saddled?'
The velvet chair is adjustable and Lura lowers its back while Neil turns me round so I am lying with my spine against the gentle incline, my legs spread and bent at the knees, the horsetail whip-plug held firmly inside my bottom by the seat.
'Which one of you has the bondage kit?' he asks politely.
An unfamiliar gentleman steps forward, bikerish-looking with massive ginger sideburns and a slew of fierce tattoos. His fists are full of chain links and leather straps and his mouth crowded with gold teeth. He clips the rings on my gauntlets together, joining my wrists, then attaches them to the collar ring, so I have no choice but to hold my hands around my neck. He arranges my arms and elbows so that they angle outwards at either side of my breasts, keeping them exposed and ready for anyone who wants to touch them. My body has only one line of defence left to it – my legs and feet. But not, it seems, for long. The man, with a metallic grin, lifts my legs, one at a time, and secures a soft leather strap above each knee. A length of stretchy rubber with clips at each end is passed through the ring at the back of my collar, then clipped to each of the leg straps. The result is that my legs are lifted high and pulled back over my body until my knees hover above my breasts. I am spread and split, on inescapable display, my horsetail drifting down the front of the chair.
'Nothing to hide, eh, Sophie?' Lura revels in my trussed-up state, walking around the chair and trailing the tip of her crop over my nipples, belly and the underhang of my still-red bottom. She flicks it carelessly on my sore cheeks a couple of times, so I kick and try to move, but I cannot. 'Are you happy down there?'
My answer is a sigh. Ambiguous, I know, but all I can muster.
'Shall we take that as a yes, Sophie?'
'Ahhh.'
She strikes the crop a little harder. 'I need your answer, Sophie, or I will have to unlock your tethers. Are you quite happy?'
'Yes.' A tiny leak of speech.
'That's good. My dear, I didn't catch your name.' She is not speaking to me now, but to the model, who is looming over me, staring in fascination at my plight.
'Jacqueline,' she says.
'Jacqueline, I think the effects of our marvellous medicine might be receding. Would you care to touch it up a little?'
Jacqueline's beringed fingers uncap the bottle once more.
'Oh no,' I moan, 'not again. Please won't somebody just . . .'
She brushes my nipples again until they glare and pulse like two panic buttons, then she moves back down to the lips, and this time she dabs a tiny smear on to my clitoris. My teeth clench and I thrash in my bonds, setting them clinking. My arse contracts madly around the horsetail plug and I try to grind against it, to find a speck of relief, but it is not to be. I teeter on the edge of madness, twisting this way and that, hearing voices amid the crackling of my body's flames.
'My God. I'm recording this. Have you got one of these phones, Neil? This is the latest model.'
Driven to florid distraction by the men discussing gadgets while I suffer and burn, I begin to yelp. I am begging for mercy as coherently as I can, but nobody seems to
want to grant it.
'Oh, poor Sophie,' clucks Lura, stroking my hair. 'Poor little pony. All tailed and saddled and groomed, but with no stud to mount her. Look at that gaping hole. What would make it feel better?'
'Cock!' I gasp, beside myself. 'Give me cock, please, please, I need to be fucked, please, please.'
'Well, we have some toys still to show our customers. We have a lovely vibrator here that looks just like a lipstick. Perfect for a lady's handbag.'
Another man comes forward, holding the dinky miniature shaft up for my perusal. I groan; it is far too small to satisfy. The most it can do is give my clit a bit of a buzz – but I want much more than that now.
He flicks it on and begins to run it around my sex, sloshing it through my juices. The pulse is weak and about as effective as somebody urinating on a forest fire.
'No, I want it in me!' I complain. He gallantly begins to circle my cunt with it, even pushing it a little way in, but it is hopelessly inadequate to assuage this conflagration.
'You want to come, do you?' asks the man, who is smartly dressed and rather handsome. I nod and he tuts, shaking his head. 'You want to come in front of all these people who have watched you being tied up and whipped and plugged. You don't have much shame, do you, Sophie? May I call you Sophie?' The mild buzzing continues to tantalise my nerve endings, while I push up from my spine, hoping to swallow the vibrator and all of his fingers into my quim.
'Call me what you like – just make it bigger and harder,' I whisper.
'I'd love to put my fingers in there,' he murmurs, with a questioning glance at Lura, who shakes her head firmly.
'No.'
'Yes!' I yell in contradiction.
'This is my show, Sophie, not yours. I suppose we'd better put you out of your misery though. Sir?' She nods at the final witness, who approaches bearing a dildo whose size holds no fears for me now in my extremity of need. Unusually, it is made of glass, a pellucid crystal through which the man's face is virtually undistorted. His avid lust beams through the dildo and tears into me; I know he is going to give it to me just the way I want.
'All the way in?' he asks softly, teasing my hole with the cold glass bulb. It is both shocking and heavenly, the chill smoothness of it; I wrench at my tethers even as I beg for him to fill me.
He puts a hand on my belly, keeping me immobile, and begins to slide the dildo smoothly in. My tension unravels, quickly, too quickly, spinning me round and out of control. I can hear myself gibbering but I have no idea what fragments of words are coming from my mouth; I have collapsed inwards so that my whole body now resides between my glass-brimming thighs. The plug in my bottom has narrowed my channel so that the dildo feels burstingly, lusciously tight as it glides up to meet and greet its anal neighbour. I am left there for a moment or two, to get used to the wonderful front and rear occupation, and for my audience to admire the state of me, naked and tied with my holes packed tight.
'Please,' I whimper, so close to satisfaction, yet so far away.
'Is there something I can do for you?' laughs the man, grinding the heel of his hand into the end of the dildo, forcing it even further in.
'Please fuck me with it, please.'
'Of course! You only had to ask!' He begins a leisurely manipulation of the tool, sometimes twisting it this way and that, sometimes bringing it slowly down and back, sometimes ramming it back and forth. His lack of predictable rhythm makes it difficult for me to attain the release I am striving for, but there is no way I can moderate his movements in my powerless position, so I just have to take it and hope he will find some pity for me eventually.
'Why don't you put the vibe on her clit?' he suggests to the previous man, who steps up and begins treating my outsized bud to some much-needed stimulation, while his companion continues to thrust the dildo in and out of me. I come, immediately and hugely, vast tremors laying me waste, while the audience clucks and coos, staring down at me. The men continue, though, until I am wrung out and running with sweat, holes distended, cunt raw, clit numbed after three, or is it four, high-voltage orgasms.
Then there is applause and praise that I barely take in. I lie there, feeling filleted, still full of dildo and plug, still in bondage, while Lura makes a number of lucrative business deals with her audience. Some of them bid me a cheery goodbye as they filter out back to the fair proper; Neil bends to my ear and says, 'My room tonight, sexy?' but I can't answer. The way I feel right now, it's probably a no.
'Oh, Sophie,' sighs Lura, removing the crystal dildo and plunging it into a basin of hot soapy water. 'That was superb.' She begins to wipe the lipstick vibrator with a cloth, clearly in no hurry to unleash me. 'Did you enjoy it?'
I exhale deeply. 'I nearly went mad. I think the memory is going to see me through a lot of sleepless nights though.'
'Well, you know,' says Lura, leaning over me and unclip-ping my restraints, 'if you have that many sleepless nights, you need more sex.'
'More? More sex?' I shake out my limbs, which are painfully stiff now. 'Does not compute.'
'Perhaps those boys aren't satisfying you.' She pouts at me, flirtatious in her uniquely intimidating way. 'Perhaps you need something more.'
'I don't need a mistress, Lura. Besides, don't you have enough members of your harem now?'
'I'll always have a vacancy for you, Sophie.' She removes my suspender belt and stockings, my collar and gauntlets, and sponges me down. She takes such care of me, dabbing my nipples so gently, wiping delicately between my lips, mopping my brow and removing the excess make-up with cold cream and tissues. Then she has me turn over on all fours, and performs the part of the operation I always dread – the removal of the butt plug.
'You know you should push, Sophie,' she scolds, slapping my bum when my treacherous muscles contract around the whip handle for a fourth time. 'It isn't as if this is new to you.'
'I know,' I mutter, shamed and subdued, but I cannot seem to stop myself until she finally wrenches it out with a flourish and gives me a few extra expiational swats of the horsehair. Then she bathes my sore arse with balm, rubbing it in long and tenderly before laying me down on my stomach and covering me with a satin throw.
'Rest for a while, Sophie,' she advises. 'I'll fetch coffee. You've another three hours behind the till to do yet. And wait till I show you what you're going to wear for that.'
She winks and pats my satiny bum with her riding crop.
I shut my eyes and drift off, making the most of the break. Everyone knows that Lura never leaves with less than her full money's worth.
Pool and Jacuzzi
One of the best things about working here is free or subsidised use of the many hotel facilities. I am coiffed and buffed by the salon, trimmed by the gym and fashionably fed in the restaurant. For a small fee, I can have my body covered in mud and pummelled into submission, though I'm pretty sure I could get something similar free of charge from my gentleman friends in the bar.
My favourite perk of all, though, is use of the pool. The pool is where all the tangled threads of the day are unknotted; my burning for Chase is extinguished by the lapping waters while any petty affronts or annoyances are diluted to insignificance as I float beneath the flickering tips of light on the ceiling.
And then, if I still need additional stress relief, there is always Jake.
Jake is still my favourite lifeguard, still here even though he no longer has to support himself through academic study, still my shaggy-haired, broad-chested, cheeky young chopper of choice. He is temporarily constant, erratically reliable. If I need an uncomplicated bit of in-out with a man who knows my erogenous zones, Jake is always on call. Not that I'm using him for my own sordid ends, you understand. Oh no, it works both ways. We are mutually safe harbours from the dark waters of passion and romance. We like it like that.
On one particular Thursday in December, the pool was quiet save for a pair of middle-aged German men in the jacuzzi discussing the banking crisis. I did my little mermaid impression for half an hou
r, diving and swirling in the blue-green depths, until I was suddenly seized around the waist. The suddenness of it caused me to scissorkick but the weightlessness of my legs sent them off in completely the wrong direction and I was easily overpowered by my subaqueous attacker.
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