Room 315 — A Stephanie Tale
© William D’Ark 2022
———-
Lie to me, deceive me, f ucking with my head
Lurid love is a potent drug pulling me to your bed.
Your vampire-manner wears me down
Though the clothing you pull away, revealing,
Blinds me, thrills and frees me.
Oh, I am lost, a yearling never to be found.
Reason shouts out — Flee!
But longing w eighs like chains.
My gathered strength is useless, consumed
In your fierce bright flame.
That look, that predatory grin..?
Calls to me like agony dissolving my skin
‘Till, pain no more, I’m hidden in your sin.
———-
Stephanie was finishing her makeup.
She had chosen a bloodmoon shade of lipstick to contrast with the multi-colored, hibiscus patterned, wrap-around skirt pulled from the closet just after her shower.
Topping the skirt was a deeply scooped black crepe top form fit to her ribs with a broad elastic band. The top’s décolletage was loose, plunging low to reveal a portion of the wide areolas that capped braless breasts swaying to-and-fro. The thin material revealed the exact position and topography of pierced nipples tipping the heavy breasts barely covered below.
Perfect to suit her smoldering mood.
The areolas were nearly the same color as the rest of Stephanie’s breast flesh, transitioning from desert sand to pale chestnut shades. So it took a discerning eye to see that the scoop-front top was bucking convention, maybe even breaking local ordinances, since it exposed lots of three-inch wide areolas.
Stephanie’s retracted nipples lay flat against her skin unless she was aroused. Till she reached legal age, when she decided that piercings would give them more definition. She wanted the nipples to stand out and be seen. This required careful shopping for an artist who knew how to penetrate the actual base of each teat. Metal bars placed there would lift the nipple flesh during the rare occasions when she wasn’t feeling sexual and the hard points gave her away.
The day of the piercing she wore the lightest weight sleeveless top she owned. She had chosen an artist who, the week before, had pulled the cotton top over her head — before she even knew what was happening — to determine where that nipple-breast boundary really was. He used forceps to distend the teat outwards where he circled the margin with his forefinger. She had nearly swooned, pressing together her thighs to hold back an orgasm.
She just didn’t know the man that well.
On piercing day he once again pulled on each nipple, using gloved fingers to stroke the skin, applying a topical gel, a pain killer, right before pushing the needle through. She had hissed each time the needle popped the thick nipple skin — reacting more to the sound than the pain.
Then she had laughed when it was over. The plyers, his fingers, the gel… the crunching sensation in that sensitive area, had almost made her cum again.
Maybe next time I see him, she thought.
She was proud to walk home that day, breasts wagging beneath the airy sleeveless top. She was showing side boobs and, in the front, tight, metal-bearing nipples.
There was even a touch of blood on the cotton at the end of her walk. To mark the day, she decided.
Before the nipples had healed she found herself shopping for thicker bars and wider jeweled ends. It was only a matter of time before she leveled up to three millimeter caps and fourteen gauge stainless steel bars.
Or maybe gold, if Sir was in the right mood.
She liked that there was no clear boundary between her breasts and their areolas. She deliberately wore open front tops and swimsuits that challenged the norm, dropping far lower in front than was the convention. She hoped people would stare and wonder… what’s this..? Is she showing…? Shouldn’t she cover up more; why that’s indecent.
Better still, she hoped they would stare and imagine fucking her. Making her cum.
With the stainless steel bars between their teeth… ssss…
The nipples were a not-so-secret erogenous zone Stephanie had carefully cultivated since high school. They responded to hands, lips, tongues, teeth and toys of many different tastes. Her wide, pear-shaped breasts invited fondling and nipple play. Cocks at her breasts could make her cum. Titty fucks led to lots of juices running, his and hers. But even a foreskin dragged back and forth across the sensitive pierced teats would take her into a series of small, low orgasms.
A man’s expressions were just so fucking gorgeous to watch; forget the electricity running straight to her cunt!
Exposing her breasts in public… or surrendering to Sir’s commands to show them off? That too would bring generous amounts of cream oozing between pouty thick labia.
The exhibitionist in her was thrilled to show; it made her feelings soar — almost as much as sex itself.
The wrap-around hibiscus skirt had a scalloped front panel she liked to loosely tie. This allowed plenty of leg to show when she walked or sat down — perfect for showing an inner thigh or, if she wanted to lure a cock, her freshly shaven pussy. Tonight she let the cord drape especially low to match the crescent shaped line of the belly-baring crepe top. This exposed a generous field of rounded tummy flesh, gleaming lily white between the top’s elastic band and the skirt’s black background graced with scarlet and tangerine flowers.
Stephanie’s shadowy navel — another erogenous zone — peeked out at the nadir of the skirt’s pirate-like swathe. This would invite more stares and, she hoped, clandestine fantasies. She could cum from there too — the naval — in the right circumstances. Held down, a man’s low voice in her ear… his cock pricking the shallow bowl as if it would run her straight through…
Yeah, that could make her grunt-cum. She swallowed hard from the memory, feeling the hair on her neck prickle.
Breasts, nipples and navel were all on display tonight. Thighs and pussy crying out for it too. Exposure.
Oh, she was in a mood.
The darker toned lipstick, not quite the same shade as the skirt but in the same family… would bring people’s gaze to her mouth. Exotic, Egyptian-kohl mascara highlighted her eyes. The night-black brows she had drawn were arched, their edges disappearing into curly blonde bangs framing her face. Eyelids had been brushed a subdued crimson to match the skirt. The hint of blush swiped across her cheeks was… pussy colored.
Her own particular hue.
She wondered if anyone would get close enough to make that comparison tonight. She was a bachelorette on the town. Time to herself while Sir was traveling. In a tie-me-down-and-fuck-me mood.
Her cunt had been humming since breakfast, calling for her own hands and fingers if no one else would volunteer. It would be hard not to play with it while she was spying victims sitting at the bar. But that was part of the plan. Or at least an acceptable alternative. Masturbating in public, discretely, was another secret thrill.
What wicked things can I get away with, she found herself wondering.
…Things that didn’t violate the Rules.
———-
Sir’s recent plan for that part of her anatomy… his ‘pussy preparation program’… had been in place for a while now. It was a mirror of the anal training he had engineered for her earlier. The outcome of those exercises had been straightforward. She now considered herself an anal slut… craving the feeling of cocks or toys inside there just as much the hand-smacking, flogging, crop-stopping crying out she did when Sir or one of their friends played with her broad bare bottom.
I want any of that tonight… ALL of that!
She was Sir’s slut in every way, simple as that. Her ass belonged to him. Her cunt. Her mouth. He owned all her parts. But the pussy needed to be trained too, he had insisted.
At first she couldn’t imagine why. She was already quite happy with her sex. It responded well, came quickly, and was pretty to look at.
How she loved showing it off when doing so brought so many shocked smiles and randy compliments.
She had always been generous with her sex but spent years exploring the range of sensations there just for her own satisfaction. Self-pleasure. Masturbation. She wanted to be so skilled at self-pleasure she could win a Sex Olympics. She thought she knew everything there was to know about grooming it, dressing it, showing it off, happily sharing it and…most important of all… cumming from, truly, the core of her being. At home, at work, in the car, theaters, restaurants and bars…
Like the Red Tavern at the downtown Diamond Hotel…
Her pussy was already so good to her.
Sir begged to differ. Her pussy needed many weeks’ work to expand the range of sensations. Shorten the response time. Broaden its availability. He wanted his pussy to be hair-trigger ready to cum, available anytime, anywhere, for anyone that suited his interests. He wanted them to enjoy it as much as he did. As much as he wanted her to enjoy showing it off and sharing it, didn’t matter with whom — strangers, friends… sometimes even relatives…
Mhm.
Stephanie blushed at those memories too.
So Sir instructed her exactly how to begin pussy training.
She was to start with more fingering of the vulva. Around the entryway and up deep inside. He taught her to spend long hours, especially before bed, caressing the clit and all its delicate parts — the hood, the bulb and stem. There were secret glans to be touched, inside and out.
All the sensitive spots needed fine tuning.
She wasn’t allowed to cum, but was encouraged to follow the changes in heart rate, breathing, the colors erupting behind her eyelids — those kinds of things — while teasing and pleasing her pussy parts, their pussy parts — for hours at a time.
He would read a book, watch a movie or ball game while Stephanie did her ‘homework.’ Every now and then he would interrupt her, sliding between her legs to demonstrate a more delicate this, a firmer that, rubbing and stroking and sliding things in and out, making her fidget, squirm and whine.
She could not cum, after all, during pussy training.
He bought her a vaginal hook, diamond shaped on the outside so it laid just right atop her clit, letting the bulb poke through to be stimmed from the top while the polished metal licked the clit’s base.
How does he know these things, she asked herself, trying it on.
The hook curled up inside the passageway holding itself in place between the clit and her pubic bone as if it had been laser scanned for her. The flat internal metal pad, smoothly milled and polished like chrome, was centered in the exact spot she loved for hands and cocks and toys to discover.
The fucking, ohmygod G-spot.
Stephanie paused her preparations. That thought — all the G-spot memories — cried out for cumming.
Almost but not quite. She wanted to do it in public. Wanted to be fucked and cry out from it.
Damn… she wanted to go! Get out of this apartment! Scour the town for that one guy…
One? Hmm…
The hook was that carefully crafted because it was meant to be inside her for hours at a time. At work, for example, making her absolutely crazy to cum — sometimes at the most inconvenient times. Like when she would give a presentation to her employees.
She knew they would already be undressing her with their eyes, till she was an imaginary naked girl giving remarks or gesturing at Powerpoint slides. Did they also need the subliminal signals that almost-cumming sent their way? The pussy scents? The subtle hip movements? Her quick breathing and flushed cheeks? The stiff nipples poking out like the tips of Nike rockets beneath her bra?
Sometimes showing the bars too, depending on the top… My pierced fucking nipples… How do you like THAT my pretties…
She had nearly lost self-control on four occasions wearing the damned (delicious) thing, bracing herself against a podium and flexing PVC muscles to keep the pulses and waves to a minimum at least… oh my god… while lecturing on new product lines and sales forecasts.
Sir has such an evil streak.
She didn’t have to wear the Hook all the time — bless Sir for that consideration. But she had become so addicted to it she couldn’t imagine living without it. Movies, museums and galleries… just walking the dog… she had drenched her clothing or felt the juice run down bare legs on all those occasions.
Her hypothalamus… floating in blissful cum-causing hormones… had to be a daily thing.
Um, ok, an hourly thing.
Cumming. A way of life. A constant craving, to Sir’s satisfaction.
Moreso hers, she admitted. He had just cultivated that in her. Like with the pussy training.
———-
The Hook was different from the pussy plug he had given her when they first met.
The plug installed so easily; why it just slipped inside, simple as that, wet as she usually was. And once inside it stretched the vaginal walls wide while the rounded pointy metal tip pushed against the cervix, stopping her in her tracks time to time so she would not jet-cum in some embarrassing way, splattering juice at her feet with other people nearby. Later, in a more controlled setting, she might sit on a hard surface — a bench or unpadded chair — fucking herself with the Plug till she was so faint from the ecstasy crowding her brain, it became hard to even sit upright.
If magick was real, she felt as if she could shoot bolts from the tips of her fingers, cumming so hard for so long.
Sir says magick IS real. Can I really shoot bolts when I get like this? Hmm…
Then there were the days when Sir’s cruel streak would be up and he would insist that she wear both the Hook and the Plug.
He delighted in slipping them into place himself before she walked out the door for work or to go shopping. Stephanie never wore panties; Sir didn’t allow it. Plus, pffftt… they just got in the way. Or soaked up her juice like a sponge. She was always wet; both of them knew it. But Sir used the excuse of checking to flip all the right switches before sending her out the door.
She would bend over the arm of the couch and lift her dress from behind. Sir would run his fingers up and down the crack, ass to clit and back, making sure she was everywhere-wet to start her day.
On those cruel-streak days she could hardly stand the tension from having both heavy metal items buried in her pussy, working her, working her, whether sitting, walking or standing still. It didn’t matter how often she wore them together, she never got ‘used to it’ — the clever, dancing sensations alive in her cunt. Her body was wired so that orgasmic energy shot thru her with such force she sometimes had to stand quietly, gripping a railing or the back of a chair to keep her balance. How could that ever get boring? Predictable? Undesirable?
As pussy training continued she noticed the cumming seemed to get ever-stronger. Opposite from a drug, where increasing amounts had diminishing effects; the more sex she had the more her body produced its own drug cocktail — oxytocin, dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins, along with a host of less understood but equally yummy neurotransmitters — making her cumming easier and more intense.
Causing her fingertips, nipples and eyes to spit-fire energy. Causing buckets of juice to flow.
Many times she couldn’t make it to her office wearing both plugs at once. Driving into town, her dress all the way up in her lap… thighs apart…
As Sir desires, my pussy will be on display for other drivers to see. I will not cover up. I will touch and tease. I will let them watch. If they are so lucky.
…she would unconsciously roll her hips back and forth or press-and-release her thighs, building the sensations to such intensity she knew it would be her undoing if staff and visitors were nearby.
On those two-plug days she would go downtown and find a comfy spot at the library where she could set up her laptop and work online. The padded library seat might be soaked by lunchtime, certainly by quitting time, but that was not her problem to solve.
———-
Worst of all, there were times when she needed correction. Realignment. Maybe even a punishment.
Sir would spank her as she bent over the couch before leaving the house. Her cheeks would burn and her cunt buzz as he inserted the Hook, the pussy plug, and the polished, ribbed, stainless steel anal plug he had given her on her birthday.
He would raise her up from the couch, smooth down her dress, give her a long, tongue-filled kiss then send her on her way with a final spank.
Nearly delirious, those days she would have to brush back tears before she could function. She would always recall his words, climbing into her car…
Punishments are about pleasure too. They advance your training by mixing pleasure and pain — at some new level. But punishments are so challenging you will decide to behave correctly for me rather than choose the punishment.
The Three Penetration Punishment always did the trick. She behaved.
Funny how these memories pop up on the night I’m on my own, she thought, finishing her preparations.
———-
She gave her thick honey-blonde hair a final tousle and turned from the mirror.
Opening the top drawer of her dresser, she pushed aside a stack of folded satin chemises to find the slender sequined clutch purse she liked to carry on nights out. Opening the snap closure, she popped in a set of keys, two hundred dollars cash, a Visa card and her cell phone. A rust colored shawl was the final accessory in case the Tavern was too well air conditioned. She plucked a pair of black frame glasses from her dresser top, replacing the amber frames she normally wore. Finally, she was ready to go.
Fuck! My collar!
It lay on top of her dresser, open, sad looking, like a musical instrument that wasn’t being played.
She had taken it off during her shower so the black leather wouldn’t get waterlogged. Picking it up… lovingly… she fastened it tight around her neck. The patterned steel beads glimmered in the dresser mirror. If she had forgotten that… oh Lord… she would have to confess it. Who knows what kind of punishment would follow.
Black collar, black frames, coal-black make up at her eyes… Black top, black patterned skirt…
Showing lots of skin and promising more…
There… she thought. Now I’m complete.
She was the town’s demonic succubus for the evening, her own private fantasy.
‘For waking men, that is,’ she added with a sly grin. The sleepers? They would never have her.
Muahaha…
She stepped into the adjoining bathroom and opened the cabinet door. The ridged anal plug stood at attention on the second shelf. She realized it had been calling to her. She spat on it, lifted a foot to the toilet seat, rolled back the wrap-around skirt, reached behind and slipped it inside….slowly… feeling… the pressure… b u i l d…
Dropping her foot to the floor, she shimmied her hips, settling the plug into place. A pulse began… connecting her coccyx to her brain with a gentle, persistent pounding at her temples.
Moisture gathered at the edges of her eyes. Goddd….
How long can I go like this without soaking my dress?
She grabbed two square, sealed packets from the middle shelf — ultrathins — and slid them into the handbag.
Just in case.
———-
The drive into town was uneventful with one exception, finding a place to park. Vehicles weren’t crowding the streets but the usual parking slots were full. Some sporting event? A meeting at the college?
Ah, there, several blocks from the Inn… an angled space on the street. At last.
She slid out of the driver’s seat, locked the car and began the blocks long trek. She had chosen a pair of black patent leather, open-toe pump heel sandals to show off her feet and toes. The slap-click sound they made on the city’s brick pavement was all that broke the stillness. Shadows slipped past, mixing with lamplight and neon signs. The castlesque Hotel Diamond loomed in the distance.
Intent on getting there, she never saw the broad shouldered figure standing in an alleyway across the street.
Stephanie walked briskly, pulled at the hotel’s large wooden entry, stepped across the lobby to the Red Tavern… pulled yet another door… and slipped inside.
The large figure had followed her. Standing across the street he watched through the tall glass windows as the pub door slowly closed behind the girl. His heavy leather shoes, brightly polished, made muffled sounds on the asphalt approaching the Inn. The man they belonged to, having made his decision, stepped into the hotel lobby.
‘Let’s see if they have a room for the night,’ he said to himself, approaching the compact front desk.
——–
Stephanie found the only open seat at the pub’s bar… all the way at the end, next to two noisy TVs and the waitresses’ stand. Giant’s baseball was on… halfway interesting but not this close to the screen, at this volume, with servers coming and going behind her. She crossed her legs and scanned the room. The plug pushed deeper. Brisk cool air rose up from the floor against bare skin where her skirt had fallen away. She shivered. Was she reacting to the air or the sensations inside her? She let the shawl unfold from her shoulders, careful not to cover up her curvy loose breasts. She wriggled her hips again… causing eyes to blink and water.
Tail bone’s connected to the… eye bone…
People sat or stood in clumps of two to six. Their voices competed to be heard against the room’s noisy backdrop — the TVs and shouting staff. She looked up at the clock hanging next to an elongated painting of a reclining nude that filled one of the wall panels.
Odalisque… The nipples were especially pronounced, she noticed. Pierced? Like these? She pushed her shoulders together and looked down. The dangling piercings glittered in the ceiling lights, peering back at her.
Sweet. Who wants to see?
Nine pm, enough time for a drink before finding a table in the adjoining restaurant.
‘What can I bring you,’ the barkeep asked.
‘Ice cold vodka,’ Stephanie replied. ‘And a V8 chaser.’
‘You got it.’
Time to check in with Sir.
She pulled the cell phone from her handbag and sent a text his way.
*Here at the diamond tavern. Crowded. Noisy. Having a vodka-v8*
The barkeep shoved a bowl of pretzels her way. Perfect complement to the deconstructed Bloody Mary.
‘Salt?’ she called out. ‘Pepper too.’
A group of people across the room burst into yells and woo-hoos. Giants six, Rockies four.
Stephanie let the top of her skirt slide away sideways. Both underthigh and her crossed leg were fully revealed. She scrunched her shoulders again and leaned forward.
Good, let them see everything. Her wanton, succubus persona wanted out.
I can be such a slut, oh my god…
The cell phone dinged with Sir’s reply.
*Midnight here meetings tomorrow. Whats for dinner*
*Havent decided. Maybe a steak? Ribeye?*
*Yum. And their mashed potatoes. Tossed salad. WIWT.*
*Wish you were here too. Youd like how I dressed.*
*Lessee you or a steak… steak or slave girl… Both sound delish.*
*Do I have permission to tease? To play?*
*… Say more*
*A group across the bar. Drunk watching baseball. 6 guys jammed between 2 tables.*
*How r u dressed*
*Wrap around skirt you like. Legs crossed skirt open all the way. Ready to let them see if you say ok.*
*What else*
*Scoop front top you drool over. Low low cut. Remember? You made me show off in the courtyard for Steven & Linda last time.*
*lol Made u? Different from what I recall.*
*Well ok I asked. No, Linda did I’m sure. So you told me to do it.*
*Youre such a good girl.*
*The top lets them see everything if I bend over.*
*Ther u go. Good girl.*
‘Here you are, miss,’ said the barkeep. Her drinks arrived along with thumb sized paper salt and pepper shakers. ‘Sixteen dollars. Or a credit card to hold.’
She fished the plastic card from the handbag. ‘I’ll be having dinner too,’ she said.
‘Appetizers only at the bar tonight. Too busy. Better get your name on the restaurant list. They’re super busy too.’
‘Okay, good idea. Be right back. Can you watch my things?’
‘Can’t promise but I’ll try.’
Cell phone dinged. *You there*
*Hold on Sir need to reserve a table.*
*Sleepy here, girl. U want permissions to play?*
Stephanie was halfway across the room fidgeting with the cell phone, weaving between bodies, when she turned into a tall, broad shouldered man making his way in the opposite direction. She ran into him full force, breasts mashed against his chest, handbag and cell phone dropping to the dark tiled floor.
‘Oh!’
The man grabbed both of Stephanie’s arms to steady her. His grip was bruising.
‘My fault, sorry.’
‘No, my fault. I should watch where I’m going.’
The two of them leaned down to pick up her things… at the same moment. Their foreheads clunked, rolling her head left, his to the right. They were close enough for Stephanie to pick up a rustic scent. Woodland. Soil. A hint of sweat. Almost cheek to cheek with him, her brain instantly went to kissing… imagining it. Wanting it.
Such a slut, her mind flashed again.
She tracked his eyes to find them fixed on the full display of her free breasts dangling behind the black crepe shirt. She held her posture, letting him take in all the detail….the wide, flesh colored areolas, the rose colored piercings, the erect purple nipples. A bit off balance, her breasts swayed.
The man’s gaze lifted upwards, found her eyes. His steely look made her tingle the way pre-cumming did. She grabbed the dropped purse, the phone, and raised up.
All in a moment.
The man held out his hand. She hers. He took the offered hand and raised it to his lips. Kissed it.
Stephanie blushed and smiled.
‘Apologies again for the run in,’ he said. ‘I was headed to the bar to order a drink. Can I treat you?’
‘Already have one,’ she said. ‘I was going to find a table.’
‘Already have one,’ the man grinned. Perfect teeth. Then her gaze flitted between his mouth and eyes, his eyes and mouth.
Sad eyes. Delicious mouth.
He interrupted her silence.
‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘Sit with me for a while in the hotel bar. Till your table is called. Crowded night, noisy crowd, we can share drinks.’
She paused. Considered her options. Considered that mouth.
‘What a nice offer,’ she said. ‘Yes.’
‘My table is two set ups in,’ he said, pointing. ‘Ask the receptionist if you can’t spot it. Go and sit. Relax. I’ll bring your drink when mine is up.’
‘My shawl too. Please. The barkeep is watching my seat.’
‘See you in a minute.’
Stephanie stumbled through the crowd. Her neck was scalding hot. She felt a sweat on her arms. More noise came from the seated six watching baseball. She found her way to the receptionist and left her name on the waiting list. Then slid into the booth granted to Mr….
———-
‘My name is Dane,’ the man soon said, sliding onto the vinyl booth seat beside her. He placed a small tray on the table… the chilled vodka, V8, salt and pepper… and handed over the shawl. ‘Nearly had to arm wrestle the bartender for this stuff.’
Stephanie laughed. ‘You did well, thank you.’ She was uncomfortable that Mr. Dane had chosen to sit beside her. Blocking her in. But she put the feelings aside and sipped the no-longer-icy vodka. And the V8… tasted, hmm, stale. Ugh.
‘And your name?’ Dane asked.
‘Oh, sorry… I’m Stephanie,’ she said, suddenly feeling shy.
Feeling the plug prick at her consciousness.
‘What brings you out tonight, Stephanie? So late, I mean.’ Dane was pulling on a tall beer.
His question reminded her…
Sir! He had been waiting for her!
‘I’m sorry, but can you give me a minute,’ she said in a panicky voice. ‘I need to close out a text I had going before we bumped into each other.’
‘Sure, no problem,’ he said. Without moving. ‘It’s not private is it? No bad words or lewd photos?’
‘Nothing like that,’ she said, glancing away.
‘Let me try to find a waitress, get us a couple of menus.’
‘No, I have my own table coming, remember?’
‘That may be a while with this crowd. I bet you’re hungry.’
His suggestion caused her to realize… she was hungry. Starving. And it was almost nine thirty. Plus she really did want some privacy with the final texts to Sir.
‘Ok, I am hungry.”
‘Great. Want to finish up that vodka? I’ll bring another.’
Stephanie eyed the half empty glass. Sure, she thought. I can be a bachelorette for one evening. She poured back the glass and eyed Dane. ‘Sure,’ she said quietly.
The man walked away.
Table to herself, she opened the cell phone log to find a string of texts from Sir.
*Anybody home*
*Did you vanish*
*Do you still want permisns*
*Alright Im going to sleep*
*ill let u be in charge*
*peremissns granted but I want a report before I wake*
*and photos too like always*
*be a good girl*
*enjoy your night*
Stephanie was crestfallen. Did he sound dejected or am I reading into things? Have I disappointed him?
That was a depressing thought. Maybe she should just go home.
But Dane was already sliding onto the seat beside her. Blocking her exit. A vodka was in one hand, in a tall sweating glass, menus in the other.
‘The waitress will be here soon,’ he said, sipping his beer. ‘So how are you doing?’
She considered his question. Sir had given permission for her to enjoy herself. He trusted her to keep to their rules. Part of the rules meant that whatever happened, however she played, IF she played, she would get pictures to share with him. That way he could be there, indirectly, a voyeur to her playtime. The photos and her descriptions would fill in their time apart. Sir expected her to share all the details next time they were together. And to never lie or mislead. Even a tiny lie cropping up during his interrogation would put her at risk for a punishment — maybe even a level three, intended to leave permanent marks. Scars. Memories of her transgression.
It might be ‘pleasurable’ but only in some ruthless way. And if she said no to it? Refused it?
The trust broken, contract burned. The relationship done.
She had known Sir to follow up with phone calls or emails to verify her playtime tales with the people she had served.
Stephanie sucked hard on the vodka glass, trying to clear her thoughts.
It was simple, really. Enjoy herself. Record it however she could to share with Sir soon after. Just never ever lie about what happened.
Her date was a tall, imposing man. Dressed in black jeans and black silk shirt with pale blue diamond patterns running the length of the front placket. The patterns repeated along the top of a left side pocket. An imposing chest filled out the shirt. There were suggestions of meaty biceps flexing in the upper sleeves. And his hands… ah… large, strong workman’s hands.
Wonder how they would feel around my neck, she mused. Mmm, this vodka was freezer-cold…
‘I think I’m feeling better,’ she said to Dane. ‘Let’s order dinner.’ She took another long sip from the glass.
———-
‘So that’s a ribeye steak rare, mashed potatoes and green beans. And for you Sir, a T-bone medium rare, baked mushrooms and salad,’ the waitress said.
‘Plus another double vodka for the lady. And I’ll switch to whisky. A double Jack on ice.’
Stephanie was beginning to feel the alcohol. She wasn’t sure another drink was a good idea. But, she told herself, she didn’t have to actually drink it.
She spoke up. ‘And water please. Plenty of ice. And a bread basket when you can.’
‘Be right back with the drinks. The food may be a while; the kitchen has been backed up all night.’
‘No problem,’ Dane said, as she sped away.
‘Now tell me about yourself,’ he said, turning to Stephanie. ‘What’s a beautiful young woman like you doing out so late? By yourself?’
Stephanie shifted on the bench seat, lifting a knee onto the vinyl to face her unexpected date. The skirt slid open revealing white thighs and the freshly shaven pussy she had been hiding. Her date raised his eyebrows and smiled.
‘There’s a nice surprise,’ he said.
Stephanie gave him a shy seductive look. ‘You like that?’ she said. Ha, at last…
She pulled the material up to her waist. Pussy, clit, thighs… came into full view in the compact space between her and him.
She thrilled, showing it all off. Her heartbeat was a pummel.
‘I love seeing that,’ he said. She saw a fierce gleam come into his eyes. She saw light shimmering between side tufts of his jet black hair. His hand reached out to touch…
‘Now, now,’ she cautioned, pulling the skirt together. ‘One step at a time.’ She reached over for the half empty glass, lifted it to her lips and emptied it. ‘Weren’t you asking me a question?’
‘I bet that thing is already wet and slippery.’ He was undeterred. ‘Are you going to let me fuck it?’
‘No,’ she lied.
‘I just like to show it off.’
Stephanie felt the vodka burn all the way down her throat to her empty stomach. Her head felt giddy. She leaned forward dreamily, letting the top droop down so her breasts would come back into view.
‘Wait, maybe you’re right. Let’s see,’ she said. She reached under the skirt with her left hand. Dane watched as the invisible hand moved beneath the fabric. Watched as her hips jerked, as her breasts wagged just inches away. She brought her hand out, soaked in pre-cum. She reached up and spread it across the man’s lips, back and forth, gently tickling him with her juice. ‘Like magic,’ she said. ‘Comes from nowhere.’
‘Now that I’ve seen it and had a taste,’ he said, licking his lips… ‘I want to touch it too. Lift up again. All the way like before.’
‘You are a demanding man,’ she replied, her eyes squinting. But she didn’t say no.
She lay back a bit. The skirt slid apart. All the way. On command, just like she would do with Sir. She ran a hand across her stomach, in between her legs, closing her eyes as the anal plug wriggled just the other side of her oh so glorious G-spot…
Dane reached out to stroke the exposed belly….Little circular motions that made her roll her hips. His hand slid downward, purposefully missing the slippery pussy and clit, to stroke the widely parted thighs. The little circular motions he began there, on the softest part of her inner leg, high up near the rounded labia, turned into a strong muscled hand grasping the entire thigh muscle…
Pressing it haard…
Stephanie gasped, opening her eyes.
…and pulling her leg higher up against the back of the wooden bench. So the pussy gaped…
‘Don’t move,’ he told her. His right hand followed the line of her thigh, closing in on the open chasm, causing Stephanie to shiver and sigh. Her stomach flexed, rolling the hips back and forth again. The hand clamped down hard on the naked pussy, causing her to JUMP. The middle finger flicked the knobby swollen clit from below… causing another jump and her breasts to quiver… then firm and flat against the bulb… up and down and around…
Stephanie juiced the seat, the palm of his hand, the outer edge of this man’s jeans. ‘…goodddd… fuuckk…’ Then ‘huuuhhhh,’ as she sucked in air and swooned, eyelids fluttering. She pushed his hand away, pulling the skirt panels closed and leaning on the edge of the table.
Dane wiped his hand on a green table napkin. He rubbed the cloth across the bench soaking up the girl’s cum.
‘That’s a good beginning,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have a lot of fun tonight little miss.’
‘We are?’
‘I promise you. A night to remember.’
———-
The waitress arrived with the newly ordered drinks.
‘Thank you ma’am,’ Dane said. Stephanie was in a kind of vodka-cumming stupor and didn’t move. ‘But let’s have these dinners delivered to my room. I think we want to take the drinks upstairs ourselves.’
‘Will do,’ she said. ‘When they’re ready. About ten or fifteen minutes still.’
‘Room 315,’ he said. ‘Here’s my card. Run it though including a nice tip for yourself.’
‘The suite? Nice,’ she said. ‘Thank you sir.’ And was gone.
Dane turned back towards Stephanie. ‘Now tell me the real story,’ he said. His voice was firm. ‘There’s a collar at your neck. Texts going between you and someone not me. And a butt plug. I saw it.’
‘I need to go to the bathroom,’ Stephanie said. She caught herself almost slurring the words.
‘Then here’s what I need,’ her date said. He reached over and slid one of the top’s thin straps from her shoulder. A breast was almost fully in view. ‘Top just like that as you walk across the room. No matter what anybody says or does.’
‘Yes,’ Stephanie replied, feeling the pressure rise in her again.
‘And you’ll cum for me again in the restroom won’t you.’
‘Yes.’
‘And video it for me.’
Stephanie knew she had to have images anyway. To share with Sir.
‘Yes. I. Will.’
How is it that he is so much like my Sir?
‘When you come back you’re going to answer all my questions. Then we’re going upstairs.’
He slid out of the booth to make room for her. The gaping top revealed most of her braless chest as she moved; both breasts struggled to slip out, one strap fallen loose into the crook of her arm. She held them back. ‘That’s in…con…vien…ent,’ she remarked, looking down at them. ‘Maybe it’d be better this way.’ She slid the other strap to the side. The bodice dropped all the way to her nipples. Standing over her, Dane slipped hands inside to fondle the dangling naked breasts. He rolled them across his palms so the teats slipped between fingers that were quickly pinching the metal-flesh. Stephanie moaned at his rough hands, then gasped…
The nipples pulled out hard, the twisting metal bars…
‘Ohmigod, stop please,’ she pleaded. ‘Cover me up, I have to pee.’ She looked right and left to see who might be watching.
‘Let’s do it this way,’ Dane said, lifting the straps back into place but tugging the bodice forward. He reached inside and lifted up each breast, positioning them so the wide flesh colored areolas came more into view.
Stephanie didn’t protest the exposure.
He pinched both nipples — through the remaining, thin material — speaking to her.
‘Look at me. LOOK at me. What are you going to do in the restroom?’
Stephanie’s head was swimming. The pain grew as he pressed flesh against the metal bars. ‘Oww…ow ow…’ she cried out. ‘I’m going to cum for you Sir,’ she said, looking up at him.
‘And what else?’ He pulled up, lifting the breasts from the top.
‘I’m going to… ssss… VIDEO it for you..!’ She danced beneath the hot electric pain he handed her.
‘Yes you are.’ He released his hold, slipping the breasts back inside the top, adjusting the bodice again. ‘And that better be a damn good video.’
She stood up and stumbled out of the booth nearly spilling the breasts again.
Six young men, baseball fans from the Tavern, had been watching from a nearby table. They were speechless as Stephanie passed by.
‘I’ll hold on to your things till you come back,’ he called to her, waving the shawl and handbag.
‘Don’t run off now. We have a long night ahead of us.’
———-
Looking in the restroom mirror she wondered whether the flush she saw was from the alcohol or from the knife-sharp arousal she was feeling. The buzz had come on her slowly, starting not on her face but on the skin of her chest just after she flashed her newfound date — Dane was his name — in the bar. The flush was now at her cheeks making her face feel like its own little sun. The warmth spread down her limbs till she could feel it in hands, fingers… behind her knees… her nipples… her womb… She reached inside her top to check.
Nipples HOT.
She could still feel his hands on them.
Her frontal lobe was fuzzy, disconnected from the rest of her mind, starting to float freely in a separate drawer of consciousness. She tried to blink it back. She opened her eyes wide and flexed her lips.
He likes my nipples…
Always the compliant slave, she pulled at the top and snapped a mirror portrait. Bare breasted. Serious look. Slight smile. She clicked a second profile photo.
Could she maintain that delicate balance, taking pictures for both Sir and a stranger? Too much generosity and she’d reveal too many secrets. He would know that she was desperate to serve, to be fucked, to be used hard and cum. He might take advantage; use her too hard. Injure her. But too little giving and she wouldn’t be able to disappear into the night’s experiences like she wanted. He might reject her or, worse, play fuck-and-run… leaving her with his cum but nothing more… disheveled and gooey but unsatisfied. No, here was a chance to make up for Sir’s week long absence. The evening was a small span of time where she was allowed to ‘medicate,’ to step away in complete freedom from life as a consensual slave. No responsibilities, no regrets. Sir knew she needed this; he not only allowed it, he encouraged it. Just stay within the rules.
‘No limits,’ she said out loud, alone in the restroom. ‘Let him take you.’
But, oh, that internal conflict began. Could she go that far? Would she?
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Her fuddled mind parroted the phrase.
This might not be Las Vegas but she could act out all the same.
She gave over to a sultry dance in front of the long restroom mirror.
Wait… brain interrupted.
Pausing, she set the cellphone upright against the mirror and thumbed the video ON button. Had to do it twice.
Not photos, stupid, video…
She turned sideways to the lens once again and let her body move…
Fingers through her long, curly hair, hips swaying back and forth… Hands over her head… she spun around and let a thigh escape from the skirt’s contoured wrap. Hands shimmied down her torso so fingers could spread the skirt apart revealing shadowy pussy flesh. One of her hands slipped between the thighs and came back soaking wet. She aimed it at the camera lens so she could roll glassy fingers together, proving the slut she was. Going back there, she let the hand disappear. Her head swept down while the evening’s second orgasm took her away. Her breasts once again fell from their immodest confinement. She raised up and wagged them back and forth, staring into the lens with a devilish smile, hands pulling at the distended nipples. Hips still swaying, she turned to the back wall, sweeping her skirt up from behind. Her full, rounded ass came into view. The wide base of the stainless steel plug gleamed. Three fingers disappeared into the shiny-wet vulva — from behind, over the plug — plunging deep inside the creamy-white cunt. The fingers slid in and out, in and out then pushed deeper… past the knuckles…
She held them there, flexing, rubbing… eyes closed, concentrating.
A spray of cum — a cone, really — showered the tiled bathroom floor.
She laughed, rolling hips and shoulders in a counter rhythm, grabbing the camera and stepping into a nearby stall to pee. Sitting on the black plastic seat she took four more photographs of the entire process. She was most proud of the last one showing drenched fingers spreading her slobbery vulva so it gaped.
You are disgusting…
Wiping her hands on a gob of tissue, she gathered focus and courage to send the photos to Sir. His response would be gratifying, hungry and encouraging. It was always that way, even when she thought…
This time he really will find me disgusting.
As for her date, Dane, she knew he would fuck anything with a hole.
Well alrighty, she thought. He can have all these holes. Many times before she was done.
Her jaw clenched and her eyes slammed shut. Her hand flew to the swollen clit as if she suffered from some weird affliction. Sex addiction. Cumming compulsion….worse…
Consensual slavery. No limits. Cum till you drop, however you can.
She dipped low to gather lubrication, then frantically rubbed the nub. Nine thousand nerve endings responded. Her hips bucked and shuddered as the pressure built. She fixed her eyes on that final photograph imagining a thick cock ready to plunge inside that gaping cunt….My cunt… Her entire hand flew back and forth across the button…
Close, so close, she was going to cum so hard…
Her pussy clenched like a fist as the orgasm blasted from cunt to crown. Her body caught fire even as shards of fear pierced her heart.
Who is this man I’m going to let cum in my mouth? In my hungry cunt. Even in my ass..?
She caught her breath and came again… dripping long strands to the floor.
A headache swelled then was gone.
Head spinning, she wiped her fingers on the tissue roll. Was this lust? Loneliness? Vodka?
Her phone lit up, a red dot at the top of the screen calling her to attention. She closed her eyes. Sir was trying to link. Better to pretend innocence. As if she was busy-in-the-moment. Serving.
Tomorrow. He can wait. I AM busy.
Opening her eyes, sucking in a deep breath, she took one more photo. Of the runny floor below her. Her strands of cream mixed with the juice.
Just for Sir. Just in case.
She was such a slut.
Stephanie flushed the toilet and stepped out of the stall just as two other women came into the room. They were jabbering loudly, ignoring her. She stared into the restroom mirror one last time, thinking her eyes looked bloodshot. Capillaries in her cheeks glowed red.
Like I’m on drugs, she thought……Frowning.
She smoothed down her hair and adjusted the waistline of her skirt so it hung low — an inch or two below her navel but more evenly across her rounded belly. She tested the skirt tie to make sure the panels parted properly as she walked. She shimmied her breasts so the bodice of the crepe top would fall lower showing most of the areolas as her date — Dane was his name — seemed to prefer. Only the tips were covered. The piercings. She pulled at the nipples through the material so they would stand out tall. She smacked her lips together to blend any lipstick irregularities.
Taking another deep breath, pulse racing, she stumble-walked back into the Hotel Diamond restaurant.
Those six guys… they will see me like this too.
She stood tall as she walked.
(End of Part 1)
———-