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Archive-name: Slaves/roomsrvc.txt


Archive-title: Room Service

Part one

Scene: a hotel room, the likes of which would be instantly recognizable

to any business traveller.  The shades are drawn, but the last rays

of the city's late afternoon sun filter in through the gaps.   The

room shows no signs of having been used; it is pristine or as much so

as a harried hotel chambermaid can make it in a long day's work.

Dominating the room is a queen-size bed with an elaborately-filigreed

headboard.  On the bed, a woman.  A faint fragrance of exotic

wood-spice-musk wafts almost imperceptibly from her.  Oddly, she

is motionless.  Her parted legs are drawn up slightly in front of her; her

silk blouse is completely unbuttoned down the front.  The navy wool

skirt chosen after much morning deliberation is now hiked up, exposing

her belly, sex and thighs.  Her hands are behind her back, supporting

her upper body.  Her head is thrown back, lips moist and parted, as if

in ecstasy, and she is tightly blindfolded with a man's silk tie.

And still she is motionless.

The room's air conditioning unit comes to life of its own accord,

unnecessarily, and the chill makes her nipples harden underneath the

loose silk.  The crisp sensation reminds her, as if she needed

reminding, how she came to be in this place.


A workday too much like any other.  Jeanne dropped off the afternoon

mail, an assortment of advertisements, technical journals, and seminar

announcements with a rueful "Boy, you really made out today!"

Gwen pretended to groan and stagger under the load, then grinned at

Jeanne's retreating figure.  A shame that nearly all this stuff would

end up in the recycle bin; more trees cruelly murdered in the name of

silicon.  A creamy white envelope wriggled loose and fell to the floor.

"Nice stationery," she thought distractedly.  "Maybe I can salvage

part of it."  She slit open the envelope and extracted a single matching

sheet, perfectly typeset in 8 pt. Times-Roman.  She read:

	It is time.

	Tonight, purchase the following:

	-A man's navy velour bathrobe.

	-A man's silk tie in dark blue or crimson paisley print.

	-One half-ounce of Yves St. Laurent's Opium; 

	 the perfume, *not* the toilet water.

	-A tube of Colgate toothpaste, winterfresh gel flavor.

	-A garter belt and stockings.

	Tomorrow, call in sick. 

	Take a long bath, washing your hair and cleansing yourself 

	completely.  Observe scrupulous oral hygiene.  Dab tiny amounts 

	of the Opium under each breast, on your vulva and on each wrist.  

	Take an underwire lace bra and cut the fabric cups completely 

	out of it.  Dress in it and the stockings, no panties.  

	Outer garments should be conservative:  a silk button-front 

	blouse and skirt.  Place the previous evening's purchases

	in an overnight bag.

	Leave at noon and drive into the city.  Enter the seediest 

	adult bookstore you can find and, in a loud voice, ask 

	to see the largest dildo they have in stock.  Make sure 

	everyone in the store hears your request.  Buy it, and 

	a medium-size butt plug.

	Drive to the Hotel Meridien, where there is a reservation 

	in your name.  Tell the desk clerk you will be staying only 

	one night, but that you expect your husband to arrive in 

	about an hour and that he is to be given a room keycard 

	when he arrives.

	Once inside the room, hang the robe in the bathroom.

	Then display yourself as follows:  Kneel on the bed 

	facing the door, knees wide apart.  Pull up your skirt 

	so that your nether lips are clearly visible to anyone 

	who enters the room.  Unbutton the blouse completely and, 

	using the tie from the bathrobe, knot a figure eight about 

	twelve inches long.  Blindfold yourself securely with the 

	silk tie, then place your hands behind you and slip them 

	into the figure eight.

	Await your master's pleasure.

Gwen started guiltily; how long had she been reading this astounding

document?  She looked again; no signature, but there was none needed.

Hastily she folded the paper and slipped it into her purse, then locked

her office door.

But would she obey these commands?  He was two thousand miles away (or

was he?); he'd never know (or would he?) if she tossed the note in the

trash.  She could stop answering her mail.  She could pretend that the

last year of submission-by-mail had never taken place; she was skilled

at fooling lovers into thinking she was "normal".  But she'd enjoyed

the mind games; he touched a part of her no one else ever had.

"Why the hell not?" she murmured.

That evening, she made her purchases as directed and spent a restless

night filled with half-imagined, half-remembered images.

The next morning, freshly bathed, shampooed and scented, she made the

drive into the city.  It didn't take long to find a scummy-looking

adult bookstore.  The interior, with its overblown images of phalluses,

inflatable sex dolls and other essential "marital aids", frightened her

speechless.  Wwhen the man behind the counter asked if he could help

her, she pointed to an eighteen inch rubber dildo, found the requisite

anal intruder, and got out of there with her new acquisitions as quickly 

as possible.


And now, in the cool dusk, she waits.  For what, she is not certain.

Her long-distance master is fond of psychological torture; she

imagines the phone will ring, she'll pick it up and it will be

him, dictating a punishment because she was not instructed to answer

the phone.

A click nearby.  The sound of a keycard in a lock.

The door opens, and she feels rather than hears someone enter.  A

pause, as if surveying the effect of her display.  Quick footsteps to

the bathroom, and the sound of shower spray, accompanied by faint

splashing.  The water is turned off abruptly.  The bathroom door

opens.  Warmth nearby, and the scent of the hotel's Hermes soap.

He straddles her, facing the headboard, and brings his cock to her

lips.  "I've come to claim what was long ago freely given," he says

softly.  She starts to reply but is stilled when he thrusts himself

into her mouth.  She caresses him as best she can with her tongue; he

seems intent on finding the back of her throat and assaulting it.

"Lick my balls," he says.  She extends her tongue to comply,

accommodating the full length of him.  Hammering away, he spasms and

lets loose a flood of bitter semen, but doesn't withdraw from her

mouth.  So she swallows, hoping that will please.

He shifts slightly and whispers, "Clean my cock with your tongue,

slave, and if I ever have to tell you this again, you'll be unable to

sit for a week", pinching her nipples cruelly for emphasis.  She

hastens to comply.

He unties her hands and removes the blindfold.  "Get dressed," he says

roughly, and rummages through the overnight bag until he finds the

shopping bag with the giant dildo.  She buttons her shirt.  He picks up

the phone and dials the number on the receipt from the adult

bookstore.  "Hello?  Did you have a woman, about five seven, long brown

wavy hair, wearing a skirt and blouse, come into your store a while

ago?  Yes?  Did she ask for the largest dildo you carry?  Oh.  I see.

You say she didn't say anything, just pointed?"  Gwen looks up in

dismay.  "Um-hmm, thanks.  Bye."

The silence in the room is deafening.

"ON YOUR KNEES, bitch!" comes like a rifleshot.  She drops to the floor

fearfully.  "Expose your ass.  You've really got it coming now."  He

removes the belt from his pants and winds it partway around his fist,

leaving an eighteen inch length.  She cringes in anticipation.  "You

know the drill.  Count out loud after each stroke.  If you lose count,

we start all over again but on your breasts this time."

He strikes.  The searing pain across her buttocks is not what she

expected; it really *hurts*, dammit.  Helpless tears come to her eyes.

"Well?  I'm waiting."  "One!"  Only after her ass is a region of white-hot

fire does he put down the belt.  "Come," he says, taking a handful of

hair and yanking her to her feet.  She precedes him into the bathroom,

which has a floor to ceiling mirror.

He turns her around and says, "Look."  She gasps.  Her buttocks are

crisscrossed with long raised welts.  "Surprised?"  She nods.  

"Now you know what it means to be owned."

Room Service, Part Two

"Fetch me my pants, the toothpaste and the butt plug, and be quick

about it," he commands.  She returns swiftly with her offerings, silent

but wondering what next.  

"Bend over."  He parts her buttocks and smears a greasy substance on

her anus, making her gasp when his fingers enter her roughly.  "We're

going to go out in a little while, but you need a reminder of your

duty."  She hears him open the tube of toothpaste and squeeze some

out.  Then the butt plug's head presses against her anus, forcing it

open ever wider until the plug is lodged securely in her backside, and

a burning sensation inflames her anus along its length.  Too late, she

realizes what the toothpaste was for.  Wintergreen oil.  Of course.

"Now, finish dressing."

Silently they take the elevator to the hotel garage and retrieve his

car, obviously a rental.  She steals a glance at him as they pull out

into city traffic.  Nice-looking, with just a tinge of cruelty in his

face that most people would probably miss.  She shuddered slightly,

remembering the feel of his belt on her ass.

Clearly he knows where he's going, for moments later they pull up

outside a building with the sign "Leath'er Rip".  Hmmm.  He helps

her out of the car.

Inside, one wall is covered floor to ceiling with studded black leather

biker caps.  A rack holds S&M greeting cards, a novelty for her.  She

wants to stop and look, but he pulls her towards the back of the

store.  "Hi," he greets the counterperson.  "Today I have some special


"How may I help you, sir?"

In response, Gwen's master starts unbuttoning her shirt.  She is

acutely aware that her breasts are bare underneath, having cut out the

cups of the bra as instructed.  But worse, there are other people in

the store and they might turn around...!  "Please--", she begins and is

silenced by a finger on her lips.  Her chest is now bare for anyone to

see, and her face is crimson with embarrassment.

"Don't you think she has beautiful breasts?"

"Oh yes, sir, very nice."

"I require some jewelry to adorn them.  Show us what you have."

"How about these nipple clamps?"

"Hmm.  I can't tell without seeing them on her.  May I..?"

"Of course, sir."

Her master pinches her left nipple to make it erect, then applies the

clamp, tightening it slowly.  Gwen closes her eyes at the sharp

sensation.  "Hmm, nice.  Now the other one." He does the right nipple

in turn.  "Do you have a chain I can use to connect these?  Oh, and

I'll need a leash, too."

"Right away, sir."

The chain is attached to each clamp.  The pain in her breasts has quieted

to a dull, pleasurable roar.

"Put the leash in a bag, and that'll be all for now."  He turns to Gwen.

"Button up your blouse, you shameless whore.  You're exposing yourself."

He addresses the clerk again.  "Oh, one more thing:  do you know where I

can have her nipples pierced?"

"Certainly, sir.  Here's a business card."

"Thanks.  You've been extremely helpful.  So much so that I'd like to

offer my slave's mouth to you in gratitude."

The clerk's eyes went wide in horror.  "Sorry, sir, I don't like women."

Gwen heaved an imperceptible sigh of relief.  

"But my boss does."

Room Service, Part Three

"If you'll wait in our back room," the clerk continues, "I'll go fetch him."

"Come along, dear," Gwen's master says, grinning wickedly and propelling

her ahead of him with a hand on her buttocks.

The store's back room is dimly lit, but Gwen can make out the shape

of a futon on the floor and a table with two chairs nearby.  While they

wait, Gwen's master amuses himself by slipping a hand up under her

skirt and toying with the butt plug, inflaming her anus afresh.

A powerfully-built man enters.  He is wearing leather work gloves.

"I'm the owner, what can I do for you?"

"I'm very pleased with the service here, and I'd like to show my

gratitude by offering this slave for your use."

"Well, I don't know.  Let's see what she's got."

"Strip," her master commands.  Gwen unzips the skirt and it drops to

the floor.  She unbuttons the blouse and discards it also.  She presents

herself to their casual gaze, clad in only half-bra, garter belt, stockings

and heels.

"Slovenly cunt, isn't she?" the owner remarks.  "I'd say you have your

work cut out for you."

Gwen's master pulls her closer by her nipple chain and slaps her full

across the face.  "Pick up your clothes and fold them neatly."  She

does so.  "Now turn around slowly so we can see your body."  She

pirouettes carefully; the unaccustomed weights on her breasts and in

her anus are giving her new sensations to consider.  As she completes

the full circle, the owner takes her by one breast and forces her onto

her knees on the futon.  There is a cup hook set in the wall about two

feet from the floor.  He makes her press her face into the wall and

slips a link of her nipple chain over the hook.  She is immobilized.

Even if she tried to reach the hook with her hands, she could not; she

is practically glued to the wall.  She is also acutely aware that in

this position, her buttocks and belly are available to all comers.

"As you can see," her master comments, "the slut's wearing a toy that

will make her cunt fit you like a glove."  Out of the corner of her

eye, Gwen sees the owner unroll a condom over his large erect member.

A moment later, the tip of his cock enters her, and he thrusts hugely,

burying himself to the balls in her.  The clamps bite into her nipples

on the outward stroke.  As the owner fucks her powerfully, she feels

fingers probing for her clitoris.  Before long, a new warmth starts to

spread in her pubis.  She arches her back to accommodate more of the

owner's cock and comes explosively, crying "yes yes yes YES...".  The

owner finishes minutes later and withdraws.  She would like to collapse

in a heap on the futon, but cannot, for the chain restrains her still.

Her master and the owner talk quietly as the latter cleans himself

off.  Then her master removes the nipple clamps and chain, and hands it

to her.  "Put this on, like a necklace.  Then put your clothes back


As she circles her neck with the chain, still dazed from the intensity

of her orgasm, she is deeply ashamed for having felt such pleasure

under the touch of a stranger's hands and organ.  She wonders, sadly,

if she is worthy of such a master.


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