He leads me through the main door, holding onto the glass pane just above my head with his palm, while he reels me in with his tie held between his thumb and the side of his index finger only. What would he do if I pulled against it? What if I tried to leave, now? Would he grip tight, and yank me through onto the plush beige carpet, my collar cutting into the skin on my throat? He’s smiling, not really at me, but at a space above my head. Exuding confidence. Not caring who sees him lead me in on a leash. I’m not going anywhere, except where he tells me, am I? And why is it that I don’t want to?
His body fills the gap in the doorway, leaving me the tiniest space to squeeze between the door frame and his chest. As my backside rubs against his thighs, it’s like there’s an electric thread that runs from my shoulder blades to his chest muscles. I know he can feel the spark that catches as I brush against his shirt and walk closely to heel next to him into the foyer of the hotel. I know he can, because I hear the sharp intake of his breath in my ear as he looks at me sharply for a moment. Then he slides a band onto my ring finger. My tongue sticks and I think I’m going to choke.
“What the fuck is—?” He silences me with a “Tsch”, and leads me to the reception desk.
“Mr and Mrs King.” The lie just rolls off his tongue. He’s so sure of himself. Smiling at me, he puts his arm around my waist, and I think that, maybe, it will be all right. That we’re going to be the same as any other couple turning up for some kind of rendezvous, the ‘respectable’ couple, the couple that signs in as a believable Mr and Mrs. Except that I’m standing there, in front of the receptionist, owned, and ready to go ‘walkies’ the moment we can get away from this counter. I should feel hot. Why don’t I? My face should be burning; my whole body should. The receptionist has her cool blue eyes on his tie, and I feel her gaze spread up and along the collar. When she reaches my face, she smiles. Just a normal smile. As if she’s seen it all before. My mind starts reeling. Does he do this all the time? Is there some sort of arrangement he has with the hotel? I hate that idea.
He deals with all the reception nonsense, and takes the swipe card key from the receptionist with a flash of a smile and a polite “Thank you”. And I hate it for one moment, because I see her look at him as he turns to face me, and I don’t want her to do it. I don’t want anyone to look at him. He’s mine. I promised myself to him, and he’s my Master. And I know right then and there that whatever happens here, I am here because I want to be his little slave girl. Whatever that means. Have I lost my mind?
“I think I’m going to enjoy being your missus,” I say, as he opens the door that leads to the lift. Three other people appear seemingly from the ether and follow us through the door. I lower my voice. “Nice level playing field, that. You the Mr and me the Mrs.” I giggle, and he twists the tie in his hand, pulling my head close, as he grabs my arm and spins me to face him. He presses his finger on my lips, the tip of his finger pushing my lower lip outwards, and he pushes his finger through the gap. I instinctively roll my tongue end over his finger tip, and he lets me for a moment; then I feel his finger clamp my tongue down in my mouth. He stops short of pain; he’s watching my eyes, gaging the surprise, the pressure he’s exerting, when I’ve had enough, and he does it just a little more, until my knees begin to give, and I’m not sure if it’s the look in his eyes, or the pressure on my tongue, or the way one of men standing there with us, who pressed the button for the lift, is watching his finger. I can see him watching; see the bulge begin to stir in his suit trousers, and it turns me on. Really turns me on.
“I am Master. There’s nothing level about our time here in this hotel, unless I want there to be. You will do as you’re told. Beginning now.” He clamps his mouth over mine, his finger still in place, kisses hard as he slides his finger out of my mouth and down my neck. As one of the other men presses the button with a sense of urgency, and the lift clunks and rattles down towards us, he reaches to my collar and undoes his tie. Why has he taken me off the leash? Are each of the men wondering? Each of them is watching, and I know they’ve all heard what he said to me. The lift is nearly at the ground floor, and I turn to face the door, ready. He pulls my head back to face him.
“Look at me. Stay still.”
I look into his eyes, and they are smouldering grey-blue, and his cock is pushing at the zip on his trousers. He has his tie in his hand, and he slips it round my neck just above the collar and ties it in a slip knot.
“Be a good girl, or it will pull tight.”
I know the men are watching and I’m wet. I can feel it in the place where my knickers should be, as I stand there with my slave collar round my neck, and I find myself smirking. It’s a stupid thing to do, and I don’t know what possesses me. Maybe it’s because I know there are others there that I think I’m safe if I push at the boundaries.
“I may not be a good girl.” The men are all bulging in their trousers, even though two of them are pretending they’re not looking or taking any notice of what he’s done to me.
“I think you need to be shown that you are not the one who decides. You will do as you are told. I’ve already told you that, and I don’t intend to keep repeating myself. You need a lesson, and a harsh one at that.”
The lift arrives, and the men get in. He leads me by the silk tie. It feels strange around my throat, slippery and unsafe, and I wish it was still attached to the collar now, as he stands me in the middle of the lift, and the men make a semi-circle around the edge. I can hear the breath in the lift getting heavier, and I feel four pairs of eyes on me. But the one that matters is suspending the movement of the lift with his finger on the button, and looking me up and down.
“Take your clothes off.”
I look at him, and my eyes must betray me. He can’t want me to do that here. We’re playing a married couple, respectable, even with a tie directly around my neck, and my collar there on display to show I’m his pet. He returns my stare, and his eyes are stern, and all I can think is that I don’t want him to end this. I don’t want him to release me and say we’re not stopping here. That we’re not Mr and Mrs King anymore. I feel queasy. The men are staring at me, not him. I go to pull off my skirt, and I hesitate. He yanks at the tie around my neck, his eyes eating into mine, and I obey. He takes my skirt and drapes it over his arm, and I begin to untie my top. But I stop.
“I – I can’t.” And then I’m over his knee, and I feel the sting on my backside. In my head there was supposed to have been white French knickers on my bare flesh. I thought white was a good choice; I’d go into the room with him a virgin to his ways, and he’d ravish my kink virginity, and I’d wear black or red the rest of the time, like any good whore. I don’t know what slave girls wear. But I think it must be nothing. I came willingly to be his slave. And my knickers are hanging out of his pocket. My backside stings, and he pulls me upright with the tie.
I untie my top and take it off. I hand it over to him, and I know the men are staring at my bra. But his eyes remain fixed on mine. I try to smile, but my mouth quivers, and I think that, maybe he’ll just stop the game, take pity on me.
I can’t bring my hands up to unfasten it. He tugs the tie, and I feel it beginning to get tighter round my throat now. More forceful. His eyes flit to the man directly behind me, and I panic. Is he going to get the stranger to undo my bra? My hands find their movement and I unhook it, letting it fall into my hands. My skin burns; the men all have cocks that fill their trousers, and it occurs to me that he might tell one of them to take it out and use it on me. It makes me fill up; my eyes sting, as he tells me,
“Open your legs.”
The thought of one of these strangers – of him commanding me, and the man being happy to oblige – it makes my legs give way, and he pulls on the tie, yanking me over his knee once more. He spanks hard, and I know that my cheeks must be glowing red, and that everyone will know that in a moment. But I want him. And I do as he commands, so that my sex is on display for him, and for these hard men. Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of them rubbing himself through his trousers, and the one behind me emits a low kind of growl.
There’s the sound of unzipping – I’m not sure which one it is, and his eyes are on me. They’re smiling at me, gleaming smoke blue, and he whispers, “Good girl.”
The other two are unzipping their trouser fronts. If I look round the lift, I know there will be a cock fest, hard, swollen, being rubbed and stroked at the show the Master is putting on with his little slave girl. I hear one of the men shuffle forward, and there are fingers on my skin. Not just one hand, but multiple hands, moulding, squeezing, fingers sliding down my spine, over my arse. One of the digits slides between my cheeks, and he glares over my head.
And he kisses me hard, pulling me against his own hardness, and deep into his chest. He holds me there with the arm that’s wrapped in my clothes, and I feel his other hand slide down my hip bone and around the top of my thigh.
“No.” I shrink back from his fingers that begin to slip against my pussy folds. No, not with the men here. They’ve seen enough. For fuck’s sake, they’ve had their hands on me, too. I won’t want to come out of the room, in case I see them. Is that what this is all about? To hold me captive? I could have told him that it wasn’t necessary. That I was going nowhere, where I didn’t belong to him for every second. I feel the hand scorch my backside once more and it hurts, stings, and this time he grins at me, and everything about his mouth turns me on, even though everything inside me tells me I should be hating him and what he’s doing, and there are tears in my eyes. I become wet instantly, and he slides his fingers inside, while the men are stroking and groaning in their ringside seats. His fingers fuck me slowly, and his thumb rolls over my clit. It gets harder under his pressure, and I can’t help myself. He knows that I can’t, and he’s waiting to hear it: My moan, long and throaty, turning to a soft, feminine pant.
I hear the splatter on the floor, almost three at once, and one hits my shoe with his cum. He glares at the man, and I almost laugh when the man bends down to wipe it off with what appears to be a very expensive handkerchief. A kind of apologetic thank you for the show, I suppose. I think they’ll all put away their cocks now, but they carry on stroking as his fingers move faster inside my pussy, and I feel myself swelling around him with every motion inside me; my orgasm rises from deep within my belly, and begins spreading its way through my clit and out through my inner thighs to my toes. He’s holding tight now, as my legs buckle, and I breathe shallower, begin to pant hard in between the moans. I’m nearly there. And then his fingers are back around the slave collar and I’m left on the brink with nowhere to hide. He must see the pain in my face, the way I beg without words for him to push me over the brink and allow me full pleasure, but he’s already released the lift, and it takes seconds for it to reach the floor, The men stuff themselves away, and my head’s reeling as he’s saying,
“After you, gentlemen.”
They leave, and they all but run off down the corridor, returning to respectability and their hotel rooms on expenses. My respectability as Mrs King has gone forever; we are not to be a respectable couple. We are Master and slave girl. And, right at this moment, I struggle to remember that I have agreed to that.
He closes the lift door for a moment, making sure that it’s going nowhere. And I dread what’s coming next. But there’s a part of me, deep inside, that is desperate to know what he wants to do with me now…
Merry Christmas-time to all my readers who celebrate it! I hope everyone has been having a lovely time, whatever you’ve been doing, and whomever you’ve been spending time with over the last few days.
I said right at the start that I wanted to complete the first draft of the first Love Slave book by the end of the year. I almost got there! The final two parts will appear in January, before the editing process begins…
In the new year, I’ll have a few other writerly developments to share with you, and I’m really looking forward to that!
If you want to catch up on earlier parts of the story, or read on, you can find all the Love Slave blog posts here.