Journeys

Lisa knelt on the floor of the hotel corridor, her head laid on the plush carpet and her ass high in the air. She was humiliated that it had come to this. It had all seemed so simple and easy when she started talking to the man on the fetish site.

How had she got herself into this position? It had started safely enough, talking to this man, exchanging ideas and interests. Fantasies. She wasn't quite sure when she'd crossed the line from purely intellectual exercise into sexual activity.

Actually, no, that's not quite true, she realised. It was probably when she started fingering herself while talking to him. Somehow it seemed that he'd been able to sense over the internet, through plain text, what she was doing.

"Are you pleasuring yourself whilst we talk? That's a bit rude, isn't it?"

One thing led to another and she was experiencing multiple crashing orgasms to the words and images he was putting in her head. She'd rarely cum that hard from sex. She didn't know what was happening.

It seemed like an inexorable slide from there to asking him for permission to cum, from there to not masturbating without his permission, and thence to edging at command.

It had all seemed so logical and easy to step back from. Now, though, it had been a month since he'd last let her cum. She'd been edging multiple times each day. She was a horny, dripping mess.

He hadn't asked her for the pictures and videos. She'd wanted to send them to him, to show what a good girl she was. Of course, she had never assumed he would misuse them.

That was when her mother had told her that she'd received a nude picture from some random person. Her mother had assumed it was a sexting mistake, but one look at the picture made her blood run cold. That was her cunt, puffy and swollen after edging for over an hour.

That was when he'd started to give her instructions. He hadn't threatened anything explicitly. He didn't have to; he was the only person with that picture.

He'd made her wear the same thong for two weeks, not wiping when she pissed. By now it was ripe. She imagined everyone around her could smell the stale piss.

Then he'd told her to book a hotel room in London in his name at a swanky hotel and pay for it. She'd done it without question.

Then came the demand that she come down on the train to London. She was to come to the hotel and persuade them to tell her what room they were in.

Of course, he hadn't made it that easy. She'd been given strict instructions on both attire and behaviour.

She had to dress in her shortest, sluttiest dress, which showed off the bee stings she called cleavage and yet somehow barely managed to cover her cunt. Red hold-ups and a pair of cheap, slutty heels that a stripper would be ashamed to wear completed the look.

The looks she attracted varied from outrage to lust, but she definitely attracted all eyes as she tottered around in the heels.

For the train trip she'd been instructed to put in her Lush and turn it on so that it could be controlled at will. The two-hour trip had been hell as she was teased at random by persons unknown.

She'd been instructed to take a taxi to the hotel and that she should spread her legs as wide as she could and masturbate through her thong for the duration of the trip. The cabby had refused her fare and offered her his number. She'd been so ashamed as she refused.

One look at her from the reception staff at the hotel and she nearly had the desk manager ushering her out of the door, saying, "We don't cater to your sort here."

It was only her protestation that she was meeting a friend, even though she didn't know the room number, that got her admitted to the premises eventually. It had taken a phone call to the room and a clandestine blow job in a back room to gain that call, though.

She'd noticed people wrinkling their noses as they walked around her, as if they smelt something bad. She knew they had: her.

As she got in the elevator, she reached into her crotch and started to edge. As she turned around, she saw an older couple entering the lift after her. They saw what she was doing and looked scandalised. She mentally shrugged and turned away from them, never stopping.

She heard the woman hissing at her husband in a low voice and making exaggerated sniffing noises. Her shame deepened, but by this point she was too far gone to care.

Thankfully, they got out before her. When she reached her destination floor, she carefully followed the corridor until she was outside the room — suite, really — she'd hired for him. She got down onto her knees, knocked on the door once as ordered, and resumed the position.

That was how she found herself waiting here, in the corridor of this swanky hotel. It seemed like forever before the door swung open.

"Crawl, eyes down," instructed a gruff voice.

You crawl into the room on your hands and knees, not daring to look up. You see in front of you a pair of black patent heels and smoky black stockings covering elegant calves. When your nose is level with them, the woman speaks.

"She seems to be well trained, Daddy. Can we break her in?"

"Not yet, my pet. We've got to inspect the product first."

"Ooh yes, Daddy, that's fun. Let's do that."

"Strip down to your heels and stockings, whore. Clothes in a pile to your left and your thong on the floor in front of you. Then squat on your heels with your knees spread and hands behind your head," he commands.

You hurry to comply, his tone brooking no argument. As you strip off your dress and thong, you hear the snap of medical gloves going on. You quickly assume the required position. You sense more than see her go behind you as you keep your eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

"Open wide, whore," he commands, taking a firm grip of your chin with one hand. You feel fingers roughly examining your mouth, feeling around your teeth and tongue and then starting to force their way down your throat.

Once he finds your gag point, he keeps the fingers there, teasing it.

"Hmm, good start on her gag reflex. She'll need training, but she has promise," he says.

"Oooh, Daddy, I brought just the cock to work on her with," she says, taking a firm grip of your hair with one hand.

"Let's check your turnout, shall we, whore?" she says, using her other hand to move down to your, by now soaked, cunt. She gropes around and through your cunt roughly, sparing no crevice or cranny her touch.

"No hairs, Daddy, but she's got some razor burn. Maybe some correction is needed there."

He takes his fingers out of your throat and wipes the saliva off them all over your face, smearing your carefully and artfully applied makeup.

"Better check her holes too, pet."

"Yes, Daddy," she says, pulling the Lush from your cunt with a pop. She thrusts her fingers back in with barely a pause.

"Well, she's juicy and pretty tight. Responsive," she says as you unconsciously writhe against her fingers, seeking more stimulation.

"Time to check the road less often travelled now," she murmurs in your ear, "although for you that may no longer be true," she chuckles as she thrusts her fingers deep into your ass.

"Tight but usable, Daddy. She's a natural," she says after thrusting in and out for a few seconds.

She takes her fingers out of your ass and brings them up to your mouth, forcing them in and rubbing them across your tongue.

"Consider this an incentive to ensure you clean it out well in future," she taunts.

"Enough, pet. She passes. Get on the bed and assume the position for her rimming training to start."

"Oooh yes, please, Daddy."

The sight of her pulling her dress up and hopping onto the bed is the last thing you see before the hood comes down over your head, sealing your eyes and ears.

But it started so easily is your last thought as you feel yourself pushed forward towards her ass.