Ecstasy in the White Room. Portia Da Costa
going to use on me, I wonder? This hotel is far from a normal hotel—that’s why we chose it, from a recommendation—and our greeting gift was a well-stocked basket of complimentary sex toys and discipline items. High-end examples, just as one would expect from the equally high-end price of the accommodation here. But we’ve brought our own goodies from home, too, so it could be something familiar, or something brand-new.
Or maybe it’ll just be his hand.
In spite of his talk of haste, Simon takes his time. His finicky handling of me seems to involve a lot of accidental touches, and his warm fingers stray into my already sticky pussy, and flicker up my bottom cleft. I try not to moan, but when he reaches under me and pinches my clit, I gasp and jerk, struggling hard against the cuffs.
“Careful. Keep still. Behave yourself.” His hands withdraw and he strides purposefully away to the drawer in which he’s stowed our treasures. I hardly dare look, but I still do. With a dramatic flourish, he pulls out an old favorite, a red leather slapper, one he bought as another special gift, to match our red leather upholstered chairs.
It’ll probably also match my bottom before long too.
“I’ll just warm you up a bit, my love.” He trails the leather across the crown of my bottom, tickling both cheeks. “You’ll enjoy your dinner all the more with a glowing bum.”
I’m not sure that’s the case at all, but I’ve no doubt it’ll increase his appetite, the wretch.
From where I am, I can see him only in the mirror, but I watch as he removes his jacket, carefully sets it aside and rolls up his pristine shirtsleeves. Ah, the ritual. He loves that, as do I. I’m rapt as he takes his position, so elegant and lean in his dark trousers and dazzling white shirt. Soft light glints on his angelic blond hair.
Then, before I’ve had time even to properly register the movement, his arm rises and falls, bringing down the red slapper.
“Ow...ow! Ow! Ow!” It’s just one blow, but it’s fierce, hard, relentless. Flaming heat blossoms in a fat wedge across my right bum cheek, and while I’m still absorbing it, its mate blooms just as fiery in my left.
“Be quiet and stop showing off.” Simon affects the tones of a weary schoolmaster, even though I know inside he’s laughing as he punctuates each word with another volley of slaps. It’s hard to distinguish each impact when more than one or two have fallen, but I guess he’s trying to make a pattern of uniform heat across my bottom.
Without realizing it, I’ve started moaning. So much for his instruction. I am putting on a show, and in the mirror, I see him narrow his fine blue eyes again and square his shoulders. He knows I like the idea of an audience, and as if he’s performing for them too, the slapper comes down harder and faster, and makes my flesh bounce like elastic with each blow. I’m wriggling too, rubbing my body against the white upholstery, trying to work my aching crotch and my tingling nipples and get some relief, wishing I could reach down and pleasure myself, desperately.
“If you don’t behave yourself, I’ll leave you here and go down to dinner alone. Then I’ll beat you again when I come back, and twice as hard.”
Now, the staff and the other guests might think that’s rather odd, given what we are...but then again, perhaps not. This is a very particular hotel, with unusual services and activities. Not many places would have a mirror on the ceiling over the bed, a basket of complimentary dildos and vibrators and love-eggs available, and thoughtfully placed shackles exactly where adventurous guests might need to find them.
More blows land. Another two. Another two. My bottom’s agonized, but my pussy is suffering harder. It’s almost screaming for a touch or a stroke or maybe the long, lingering lick of a loving tongue?
Then as abruptly as he began, Simon stops, stands still and surveys his handiwork. I grit my teeth when he rubs his fingertips over the extensively red area. “I think that’ll do...for now.”
A finger slips into my vagina from behind and I make a determined effort to clasp it with my inner muscles and work myself on it. But Simon makes a sound of warning and I fall still, my heart thudding in time to the pulsing of blood in my punished bottom. His slender digit inside me feels massive, and out of all proportion, like the very center of my world. He scratches the nails of his other hand over my tenderized rear and a single tear trickles from the corner of my eye.
Uh-oh, I’ll have to fix my makeup.
“If you have pleasure now, you’ll have to pay for it,” he whispers, leaning right in close and intoxicating me with his spicy cologne.
“I know.” The words crack as he flexes his finger inside me and, to signal compliance, I grip hard, wiggling again against the chair.
“Very well,” he responds, his voice alive with excitement. Then, pulling out his finger, he rolls me over until I’m half standing, half leaning against the back of the chair. I gasp as my hot red buttocks press against the cool white leather, then let out another gasp as Simon comes at me from this new angle and jams his hand back between my legs.
He pushes two fingers inside me this time, and settles his nimble thumb squarely on my clit. With his other arm holding me firmly around my waist, beneath my fastened hands, he works me ruthlessly, roughly...just the way I like it. He doesn’t reprimand me this time when I moan and grunt and cry. Or when I mash myself against him, longing to grab at his shoulders and his back and his gorgeous muscular arse as he makes me come.
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