Displayed at Hotel Ch. 02

You are bound, your hands behind your back, leaning over the railing of the balcony, your breasts hanging over the edge of the railing, your legs spread and tied to the bottom rail. From your ass you feel cum dripping down your thighs as you look across the street at the apartment building. In several apartments, people are pointing, some are pulling up chairs to watch.

You hear a knock on the room door and a voice call out 'housekeeping.' Moments later you hear the sliding glass door behind you open and a voice say 'well, well, what have we here.' You feel a hand rest on your ass while she makes a call.

'Hey Pablo, remember that $20 bet that I lost. I have a way to pay it off that I think you will like. Come up to room 902.'

She slaps your ass, not hard but not gently either, and sets about cleaning the room. You hear Pablo arrive and walk out on the balcony.

'Well' says the cleaning lady 'will that settle our debt?'

You feel Pablo slap your ass, feel your ass shake, as he says 'oh yes, I think that will do.'

You feel your legs being untied from the railing. You are pulled back onto the balcony, your naked tits bouncing on the railing. Pablo -- at least, that's the name the cleaning lady used -- grabs your head and pulls you towards him. You know what is next -- you feel his cock press against your lips, into your mouth and down your throat.

"Ahh," he groans, as he holds his cock down your throat, before starting to fuck your face. There is really no other way to describe it as he holds your head and drives his cock in and out of your throat, you feel his balls slapping against your chin until he pulls out and you feel him cum on your face.

"What" Pablo says "should we do with her now?"

A conversation that you could never have imagined unfolds. You remain kneeling, your arms bound behind you, the cum solidifying on your face. A decision is made and Pablo steps into the room to make a call on his radio. You don't know how much time passes, other than you feel the concrete of the balcony digging into your knees, before there is the sound of the door opening. Pablo comes out on to the balcony, lifts you up, tosses you over his shoulder and carries you into the room where you are unceremoniously tossed into a large rolling laundry basket.

Pablo takes your face in his hands and stares into your eyes. "Is there any doubt in your mind of what will happen if you make any noise?" he asks. You shake your head, afraid even to speak. "Good." Towels and sheets are pilled on top of you and the cart rolled out of the room, down the hallway to the service elevator. You ride down to the basement and into the back of a truck which drives off the moment the door is closed.

You are in a laundry cart in the back of a van and all you know is that someone named Pablo -- whose cum is drying on your face -- arranged for your transportation. You have no idea of where you are going or what you will find there and your mind starts to race, turning possibilities over and over. The van stops and the cart is pulled out. With you still inside it is rolled into a building where you are removed.

It is a modest house in what appears to be a working class neighborhood. You are led to a bathroom, pointed towards the shower -- it is obvious that you need a shower -- and left alone. You quickly shower, wash your hair and use the bathroom unsure of when you will be allowed to do so again. As you dry off from the shower you realize that you are hungry, very hungry.

You walk out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped around you thinking about getting some food. As you exit the bathroom a man walks past, sees you wrapped in the towel and, laughing, pulls it off you. He says something in a language you don't understand -- perhaps it's Spanish but you don't know, and the other men erupt in laughter.

"No, no covers here" one of the men says to you, laughing. You are pulled by the arm into the living room where the men have gathered and thing you know what is next. You imagine all of their cocks driving into you, filling your pussy, your ass, your mouth. To your surprise, as you enter the room, the men pull back and a woman walks forward -- she is clearly in charge.

You feel her eyes on you before her hands, as she inspects you, taking you in. You feel her hand reach for your pussy and a finger slide inside of you. You rock your hips forward -- she pulls her hand from you and slaps you across the face, hard. The men laugh as you fall to the floor. You feel her stand over you, grab your face in her hands and pull your lips to he pussy as she leans down over you.

As you begin to lick her, searching for her clit with your tongue, you hear the door crash open followed by much shouting, some of it in Spanish, some in English or a combination of the two. The woman straddling you moves back and you look up to see men, men with guns, who have rushed into the small house and are shouting. Something about a debt and the consequences of non-payment. It does not sound good.

Then you realize that, again, the conversation has turned towards you. One of the men, obviously the leader, walks over to you, grabs you by your hair and lifts you to your feet. The pain is substantial, but nothing more than you have experienced before, and you don't cry out. The impresses him and he says 'alright, I'll take her and call the debt paid" and with that you are pulled out of the door, down a short walk and tossed into the back of a Cadillac - one that has seen a few better days.

Another drive through a part of town you do not know, into another parking garage and another elevator into a place that you do not know. It all starts to blur. You are lead out of the elevator, down a long hallway into an apartment. Your arms are lifted over your head, bound to a spreader bar which is lifted up so that while your feet are flat on the floor, your arms are fully extended and you feel the familiar burn in your shoulders.

A voice from behind says 'you are payment on a debt and are mine to do with as I please and, you will discovery, I take my pleasure seriously.' With that you feel a whip -- not a crop but a full length whip -- strike your back. The initial part of the blow lands just below your right shoulder blade but the whip wraps over your shoulder with the tip striking exactly on your right nipple. You can't stop yourself and cry out.

"Oh, my dear, did you enjoy that?"

Another blow from the whip this time striking the right side of your waist, wrapping around you, down to your pussy so that the end of the whip hits your pussy. You twist in the restraints, trying to run away from the whip which merely pulls harder on your shoulders.

Your ankles are grabbed and bound, pulled forward so that you are hanging, face up, from the spreader bar on your wrists. Your ankles are attached to a similar spreader bar which is raised up until you are almost parallel to the floor, hanging by your wrists and ankles, your head hanging back. You watch as the whip comes down -- he is standing by your head and you see the whip traveling through the air and watch as it strikes the inside of your left thigh. You cry out and writhe as you watch the red line that the whip raised on your thigh.

The spreader bars are lifted, pulling you higher, as you see the man pull out a shorter whip -- a crop. He stands by your head and guides his cock into your mouth as he begins to work you over with the crop, striking the inside of your thighs, your pussy, your breasts as you feel his cock sliding in and out of your throat.

He pulls his cock out of your throat and pointing up, says 'I hope you like being filmed." That is when you see the camera, or more correctly, cameras, that are strategically placed around the apartment.

He moves around to the other side of you, steps under the spreader bar and between your legs, and slides his cock into your pussy. As he drives in and out of you, the rocking motion pulls on your shoulders and ankles sending spikes of pain combined with the pleasure of being filled, until he finally cums and pulls out of you, his cum dripping out of your pussy.

He lowers you to the floor, unhooks your wrists and to your surprise, takes his clothes and leaves. You lay, panting, catching your breath, not sure what to do. Slowly, gingerly, you sit up, unhook your ankles and look around.

A cell phone rings -- there is a phone on the counter. You get up, stiffly, and move to the phone. It is not a call but a text message.

The message is from me.

"Did you enjoy this, my pet?"

You see behind the counter, your clothes, money for a cab ride home and a note: Until next time.