Episode VI
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After steaming and soaking, Shannon wrapped herself in a ribbed, near-sheer avocado robe and led Doralea to eat. The robe invited – demanded – attention to the form beneath it, and Doralea followed, watching closely.
She kept glancing at the flat, firm body beside her while she ate. Her own body throbbed with the memories of the day, and she ached for a continued dalliance with Shannon.
After they had eaten, Shannon smiled, pecked her quickly on the lips, licked her ear and whispered, “Go to your room, wait. It has merely began.” Then she moved rapidly across the room, her retreating form watched closely by Doralea, who was awakening to a new appreciation of feminine beauty, and an increased desire.
Doralea rose and Walked across the room, knowing she was being watched, was being appraised. She was excited and confident in the knowledge.
On the blue hall, Doralea paused at the door to the dark room, where she had seen the blonde. She slowly pushed the door open and crept inside. The shaft of light fell across the room as it had before. Doralea peered in to see the Nordic goddess hanging in her chains.
The chains hung empty.
Doralea stepped slowly into the dark room. She looked carefully into the darkness, seeking. She found nothing.
Nothing but the chains, hanging loosely in the dim blue light shuffing in from the hall.
She walked up to them. She reached out and touched one of the cuffs dangling from the thin black chain. It swung away from her. In her mind she could see the tall blonde filling the empty restraints, offered helpless to any one who stepped through the door. She wondered what had called her away, who had released her, where she had gone.
She realized that she had wanted her to be there, bound and exposed to Doralea’s own innovative exploration. She found herself remembering the cool smoothness of the sun-bronzed skin. The contrast of the whiteness of the treasures shielded by the maillot. Her memories sparked imaginations of erotic explorations, of her mounting an assault of pleasure on the suspended beauty.
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She found herself gripping the cuffs, letting them support her as she drifted in her fansies, anchored by the thin black chains. Doralea allowed her body to respond as if she were the hard-body, bound to be held open to the eager explorations.
“You like it.”
Magya’s calm voice started her from her reverie.
“You wish you could know what she feels. Speak, Doralea. Ask your questions?”
Doralea ‘s voice felt strange in her unused throat, “Where is she?”
“A tan like that must be cultivated. She has gone about her life on the outside.”
“Her life? I thought — I mean — the Commitment.”
“For you, my Beauty. For you, the Commitment you made. For others here, it is — it is different.”
“Different?”
“Indeed. Some are paid to be here: The dancerslast night. They come, without knowing all that is here, and they leave, paid. Others, like you, my Treasure, dedicated themselves to the life here, and do not leave. And some, move between here and the Outside freely, like Shannon that you met. Some pay to be here, Mr. Todd and…
“And this one? Who is she? What is her story?”
“I cannot say. She is here… when she is here. She is used hard by those who enter this room. As you can imagine. As you were imagining. Hold these cuffs again, Doralea, hold tight. I will…”
And Magya stood behind her and began to knee the flesh of Doralea’s upper arms as she clung to the hanging cuffs. The red-head moved her hands vigorously, roughly down. She followed the lines of the pecs to the flesh mounds of Doralea’s tits. As the EurAsian pulled the willing prisoner to her, Doralea felt her own tits squeezed, and feel the taller woman’s breasts crushed into her back. The stiff red hair of her mound pressed against Doralea’s buttocksas Magya ground her cunt against the “prisoner’s” but cheats.
The redhead released her tits and her strong fingers twined through the forest of hair seeking Doralea’s slit. They tweaked and poked and spread the outer lips. After they had found the mood they sought, they pulled her pelvis back, forcing her ass against the soft firmness of Magya’s cunt and belly.
Doralea’s grip on the manacles tightened as she felt the tall EurAsian come with a screaming shudder, nearly pulling a handful of Doralea’s cunt hair out in her ecstatic abandon. Doralea’s scream of pain mingled with Magya’s scream of pleasure and echoed in the dark room.
The redhead stepped back and spoke softly. “I am sorry, Beauty. I did not mean to hurt you.”
“I know. It’s OK. I’ll —
SLAP!
The strong hand of the EurAsian caught Doralea’s buttocks completely relaxed. The redhead took delight in the fluid quivering, as well as the slowly appearing red handprint on the tender white flesh.
“She is here for this. She wants to –“
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Magya cut short whatever information she had intended to impart. Doralea opened her eyes and realized that the square-built woman had entered. She carried a small valise which she set on the floor at Doralea’s feet.
Then she spoke.
“You, as it happens, have been requested. A special request. You will honor it.”
“Yes, of course, I will.”
“It was not a question. You will. Come with me, we will dress you approximately.”
They walked to Room 5 and the woman set the valise on the floor. She guided Doralea to step up onto a small stool.
The woman pulled a simple black garter belt from the bag and helped her into it. Doralea stood there in the garter belt and Watched as the short woman pulled long sheer black silk stockings from the bag and rolled them onto Doralea’s feet and up her legs. She clipped the tails of the garter to the top of the stockings, framing Doralea’s cunt with the black satin. She pulled a dickey/choker around Doralea’s neck and buttoned it in the back. It hung between her tits, nipples thrusting just to the outside of the stiff clothes.
Then she helped Doralea on with an Edwardian jacket and buttoned it, which flattened her breasts and pulled the thrusting nipples tightly against the stiff dickey. She guided Doralea’s feet into soft black mules with four-inch heels. Finally, a black blindfold, pulled tightly, completed the dressing.
Doralea was led through corridors, downstairs and finally out a door into the cool evening air. She was started, she had not left the building since she entered. She was introduced into a car, and sat down.
“You will not speak until you are told you that you may. Hold absolute silence through Everything that will happen to you. That is strict. Nod if you understand.”
She nodded.
The door closed and the car pulled away and into traffic.
She knew nothing of her companies, if she had any. She didn’t know where she was headed or what she was going to do. No one had told her anything, except that she had been chosen: “A special request.”
She did not know what to do with her hands. The jacket folded her nipples and pressed them into the stiffness of the dickey. It hurt, yet stimulated them so that they became more turgid, which hurt the tender nipples more and stimulated them still more.
She knew that, as she sat, anyone looking up her jacket from the front would be able to see her puffy cunt and that thought increased her excitement. A moist hand touched her knee, starting her back to awareness of her surroundings. The hand pushed her knee to one side, opening the view of her cunt, then moved to her other knee and pushed it open as well. Her jacket slide up her thighs and, without seeing, she knew someone sat facing her in the limo, gazing into her exposed pussy. Her juices started to flow with the certain knowledge of her complete exhibition.
Occasionally a hand would slide along her inner thigh, pressing her legs ever wider. Or the jacket would be adjusted to expose more of her legs. Once she moved her hand to touch her cunt and a soft, moist hand firmly grabbed her wrist and placed it back on the seat. Both her wrists were held, pressed to the bench seat. As she had with the rod of the morning, she understand the intention, nodded and did not move her hands again. Her wrists were released and she was again adrift in the bouncing darkness of the limo.
After a time, the limo stopped and the door was opened from the outside. Her right hand was lifted by a dry, long-fingered hand and she was helped from the car. The moist hands pushed her ass gently. She walked a short distance and then through a revolving door, across an open space and into an elevator.
As the elevator went up she came to sense at least two men in the elevator. One, slightly taller than herself, pressed against her from the back, gently forcing her against the door of the elevator. She felt the hard, round stiffness of his prick press into the small of her back. Then the other one, the moist hands from the limo, reached down and coated her knees further apart. When the taller man behind her began to hump her slowly, the one with the moist hands spoke, “Stop it, Mal, she’s mine. She’s mine. I paid for her. Big time. And she’s mine.”
“Yeah, yeah. She’s yours. I’m just –“
“I know, yer jist — and I’m tellin’ ya. She’s mine, I get to say when. And who.”
“Well, you were lettin’ me press. Come on.”
“Pressin’. Pressin’ ain’t hurtin’. Now, if you –“
The car stopped and the doors opened and Doralea stumbled into the hall. Moist Hands led her down a hall, followed by the tall one. They stopped and a door was opened. She was led into a room filled with the smell of smoke and charred meat. The door closed behind her.
The blindfold was removed and she saw that she was, as she had expected, in ahotel room, a suite.
Two men were sitting at a table, laid out for a card game. Another, a large ex-football-player type stand wiping glasses at the wet bar. The tall man stood on her left and the shorter man stood to her right. He took her hand and led her to the couch which was set facing out a wall-of-glass window over the city. He set her down and smiled at her. Then, as if he expected it to be a Surprise, he pulled two short lengths of sashcord from his coat pocket. He tied one around her right wrist and, breath heavy and ragged, bound it to the couch. Then he repeated the operation on the left wrist and she was lashed, arms wide-spread, to the couch.
The man sat beside her and examined her in detail. She was uncomfortable with the attention, particularly from this stranger.
She looked at him. He was short, losing his hair and gaining a belly. He was soft all over, with the face of a jolly elf.
Behind them she could hear the banter of the card players, refled shadows in the glass.
Without a word he reached down and unbuttoned the lower button of her jacket and, stroking her thighs gently, opened it, exposing her pussy to the night sky. She felt his eyes bore into her sex as the banter of the players continued behind them.
She wished he would talk, or that she would be allowed to return to the comfort of the building. Then he reached into her jacket and rubbed her left nipple until he was convinced it was stone hard erect, then he withdraw his hand and watched her.
He reached again to stroke her thighs, just the thickness, the meat of the thighs. He gripped her at the top of her stockings, pressing the clamps of the garters into her quads. He came maddeningly close to her cunt, but didn’t touch it. She shifted her ass to relieve her desire and he withdraw his hand.
He reached again into her jacket and pinched her right nipple. Then he withdraw. She turned to him to attempt to read his face, but it was an opaquemask of glazed desire. She turned back to stare out at the night beyond the glass.
Her arms were stretched along the back of the couch and bound, her legs were spread wide and her pussy laid bare. Her pinched nipples ached. She was not enjoying herself. Then he laid his moist hand on her thigh, his index finger just touching the hair covering her cunt.
“Hmm, nice tatoo.”
She turned to look at him and he withdraw his hand.
He reached into her jacket again, this time tracing the sensitive under-curve of her breasts. As a blush rose through her torso, he withdraw again.
Each time she would begin to wish she could leave, he would stroke her, fueling the fire of her password.
Each time she responded to his care, he withdraw.
Then, one hand resting on the near thigh, between stocking and cunt-hair, he began, in a low, breathy voice to describe his plans for her.
“These are my friends, here. And I like my friends to get off. That’s why I paidall that money for ya. I’m gonna give you to ’em. Give’em whatever they want — an’ you’re gonna do it. Do it all. Just like I say.
“Mike likes to get his dick sucked. I’m gonna let him fuck you in the mouth. He’ll shove it all the way, you’ll think your pussy’s bein’ fucked from the inside.
“Chet, he’s a titty man. He’s gonna suck ya like a baby. Suck till ya give milk, er blood, whatever. He’ll suck them nipples long as pencils an’ bite ’em till ya scream. He’s real good at that — you’ll like it a lot. Then, when they’re all swelled up like balloons, he’s gonna slide that bone of his between ’em an’ you gonna get a titty fuck like you never had before. He’ll shoot all up your chin and over your face. Shoot inta yer nose.
“Mal, you met him in the elevator, he likes to poke it up the ass. And you got a good ass. His dick is long, long and thin and he’ll pound it into yer ass so bad you’ll be cryin’ for more. You’ll be screamin’ and cryin’ and you’ll want more — ’cause it’ll hurt so good. First he’ll slap your ass — spank it til it’s red and hot, then when he comes it’ll be cool, you’ll love it. You know you will.
“Jimmy’11 take ya after Mal. He’ll bend ya over this here couch and slam ya from behind, doggie-style. That’s how he likes it. He’ll do yer cunt and Mike’11 be doin’ yer mouth, both’a’em at the same time. Both yer mouth and cunt and — and Fred’11 get in, too.
They’ll flip ya over and plug all yer holes, they’ll all be doin’ ya. Ya won’t know what’s up. An’ Chet’11 be doin’ yer tits — everythingin’ all at the same time.
“An’ Wayne, he used to be a offensive tackle – now he’s just offensive. Hahnrr. His dick’s as big’s yer forearm. He’ll come next. I got ya fer the whole night. We’ll all do what we want. Wayne, he likes that sloppy seconds stuff. He’s so big, ya know.
He’ll come into you and stretch that pussy like a baby comin’ out. He’ll ruin ya for anybody else. You’ll be hooked on him. Next time, you’ll pay us.Ha!”
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A knock on the door.
“That’s room service.”
“Well, let ’em in.”
While the man beside her stroked his pud and licked her ear, Doralea watched the reflection in the glass. A young woman in the grey uniform of the hotel pushed a room-service cart into the room and began to open it out and set up the table.
“She’s a beauty, Fred. Good as yours.”
“Yeah, sure. But mine’s paid fer. What’11 ya get from that’n? Nothin’, that’s what.”
“Nah, we’ll get something.”
Doralea watched the reflection of the girl straighten up and look around. She started and stared when she noticed that Doralea was bound to the couch. She turned to go.
“Hey, babe, you forgot something’.”
“Yeah, whatta ya got for us? Come on, give us a smile.”
She spoke nervously, “Who’s going to sign for this?”
“I’ll sign for it, darlin’. Sign on your tits.”
“I have to leave.”
“Nah, baby, don’t leave. Chet, he’s just bein’ crude. Stay for a little.”
“I have to go.”
“Here, baby, here’s twenty bucks, stay for a little.”
“Well, I –” She took the bill.
“Dance, babe, dance for us. Jimmy, find some good tunes on that radio, good, good.”
Jimmy twirled the dial across the band until he lit on some pumping rock.
“Dance, girl. Shake that thing.”
“I — really, I –“
“Here’s another twenty. Dance, come on, what’11 it hurt?”
The girl started to dance, shyly at first, then wilder as the men shouted encouragement. Moist Hands turned to see, pressing his soft torso against Doralea’s shoulder and mashing her title. She watched the reflection in the window.
The girl spun and captured, laughing.
“See there, Fred, she’s a real giver — look at her shake it. Go, baby, go. Fire it up.”
“You guys ain’t gittin’ shit. I got this one paid for an’ delivered.” Fred squeezed Doralea’s title through her jacket.
“We’ll get somethin’”
“We’ll get somethin’”
“We’ll get somethin’”
“We’ll get somethin’”
“p>
“Yeah, what, ya ain’t even gonna get her shirt off.”
“That’s it. That’s it, baby. Take off yer shirt.”
“No, really, I can’t –“
“Hey, you can’t leave.” Wayne blocked the door. “You took the money.”
“Yeah, you took the money. Here, here’s fifty. I’ll buy your shirt. Take it, fifty bucks for your shirt.”
“Here’s another fifty. Give ‘im your shirt.”
“Uh. — Well, OK.”
The girl took the money and reached under the jumper to unbutton the shirt. She pulled it out and tossed it to Chet, still sitting at the table.
“Hey, no good. No fair. We still haven’t seen her tits. We gotta see her tits or it’s no show.”
“That’s true. Make her take off that dress, too.”
“Take off the jumper, Honey. Come on, be a good girl.”
“I don’t think so. Really, guys, thanks for — “
“I’ll buy the jumper. For, — what? I’ll give ya a hundred. A hundred as you stand, for the jumper. Come on, give it up.”
Doralea watched the reflection as the girl took the bills and pulled the jumper over her head.
“Good, baby, great, no bra, but those panty hose, where is that. That’s nothin’. Take ’em off, too.”
The girl giggled. “No, fallas, really, this is enough. I — “
The men pounded the table and chanted, “Off, off, off.”
“Here’s twenty for the panties, twenty. No, fifty. Gimme ’em and I’ll eat ’em up.”
Doralea watched the reflection bend over to pull off the panties. She was dancing again, shimmying around and rubbing against Wayne and Jimmy who stood in the doorway. She had obviously decided to make the most of the situation and enjoy herself while she could.
“I don’t like them panty hose things. Ain’tcha got some garters or something?”
“No, really. Just this.”
“Take ’em off, they’re — they’re ugly.”
“I know,” said Fred, waving her to the couch, “come over here. Here’s a garter-belt you can have, and some heels ta boot. Come on, babe. Make it over here.”
The girl timidly came around the couch, suddenly reminded of Doralea, arms lashed to the couch. She couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact, but looked at the floor.
“Yeah, come around here.” He undid another button and flipped the Edwardian jacket’s tails off Doralea’s thighs, exposing the black satin framing her cunt. “Take that, baby. Take that and put it on.”
The young girl was clad only in flesh-tone sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, and she looked at Doralea with fried eyes. She was reluctant, but finally willing, to engage in these games – Doralea smiled at her as Fred undid the snaps from the hose. She raised off the couch to allow the girl to strip off the belt.
Fred helped her get it on, then snapped it onto her hose, which made it look like it was cruelly snapped through her skin. Fred also stroked her thighs, lingering at the hair matted over her cunt. Suddenly, with both hands he pulled and ripped the crotch so that the hair curled out. The girl gasped and, asIf started into a reality that she was in danger, bolted for the door.
Wayne reacted reflexively and checked her with a body block, knocking her back onto the table.
She knocked cards and chips across the room and Chet grabbed her arm, forcing her to bend backwards over the table. He bent over to kiss her on the mouth and she turned a fewsault over him, dumping him out of his chair. She twisted past his fallen body and dashed for the door again, this time stopped by Mal, who held her hair and pulled her up to him. She was flailing on his chest ineffectively, while he laughed at her futile exercises. But he screamed when she bit his cheek and he let her go. She stumbled against Wayne, kicking out and hitting him in the nuts. Then she jumped for the door, sprinting out into the hall wearing only her torn panty hose and Doralea’s garterbelt.
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