"I trust you will enjoy your stay, madame," the hotel manager said. "If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to ask." He dimmed the lights as baggage porters left the room.
The guest was a slim dark-haired woman of about thirty, dressed in a business suit. "Thank you, I want just to be alone for tonight."
"As you wish. You will not be disturbed." He gave a small bow. "Bonsoir."
"Yes, goodnight. Thank you."
She made certain the door was locked behind them, and then entered the bathroom for a long soak in a very hot tub. The flight had left her exhausted.
She emerged dressed only in a soft cotton robe and hotel slippers, toweling damp from the ends of her hair. The porters had left her tastefully matched luggage by the bed.
She picked up the smallest bag, a zipped case with leather fastenings, and laid it on the bed, where she traced a finger to the monogrammed initials: R.H. She drummed her fingers lightly, and then picked up the bedside telephone. She considered a moment, but replaced the receiver. Deftly, she unzipped the bag and threw back the lid.
It was filled with gorgeous lingerie: beautiful garments of satin and silk, neatly folded soft shades of pastel pink, frills and lace, wafted in fragrant perfume. She ran through the contents, then pushed the case aside and stood up.
Her purse lay on the dresser. She lit a cigarette and snapped the lighter shut. Her reflection stared back from the dresser mirror. She went to the window, where she gazed out at the late evening traffic far below. No sound carried up, and she saw no movement in any of the hundreds of towering office windows that glittered all around. She stubbed out the cigarette, closed the drapes, and switched on the bedside light.
Seating herself in front of the dresser mirror, she took a small bag from her purse and laid out items of make-up. She worked moisturizer into her arms and neck, and then powdered her face and bare upper chest. The robe hung off her shoulders, exposing toned flesh over the fine hard ridges. She took up a scarlet lipstick, and leaned forward with a pout, gliding the slender tube across her lips. Its hard waxy tip pressed into the supple flesh, rolling the upper lip and smoothing the sullen protuberance of the lower as a vivid smear was left behind. She smacked the crimson tumefaction together with an appreciative murmur and opened her mouth just a little, catching the taste. She tucked back a stray lock of lustrous hair, still damp from her bath. A dash of mascara was all her lashes took, that with a light dusting of shadow made her eyes shimmer like coal. Using a tiny vial of perfume, she dabbed a touch under her ears and on her wrists, rubbing them together as she stood, nearly satisfied. She raised one bare leg on the dresser stool, her robe falling open, and brushed perfume lightly on her thighs.
Now she unknotted the robe and tossed it over a chair. Although naked, her body was warm from the bath, and the room was comfortably heated. The shiver that ran through her was one of anticipation. She opened the case and turned back its cover, then ran once again over the contents.
On top lay a sheer nightgown. She picked it up by thin straps and held it against her body, feeling the cool fabric glide across her skin, admiring the line of her trim figure in the full-length mirror to one side of the room. Her dark mound showed hazy through the gossamer fabric, and her breasts pressed lightly, nipples stiffening at its sensual caress. She laid the nightgown on the bed, and then pulled out a peach-colored short chemise folded together with matching satin tap pants. Once again she admired herself in the mirror as she held the top to her body. She fondled the panties, running a hand inside, enjoying the material slippery over her fingers, and then replaced the set in the case, folded just as before. Her eyes lit on a different choice.
She drew from the case a jet-black corset. Luxurious and beautifully made - an elegant construction of sleek satin and rigid ribs binding powernet panels - the mere touch of it seemed to excite her. Low cups were firmly padded and underwired, creating rounded protrusions that even unworn suggested the form of quite perfect breasts. At the hem, from each side hung three metal-tipped ribbon garters. The clasps rattled deliciously as she held the corset out.
Eagerly she slipped her arms through adjustable straps, reaching behind to fix hooks to eyes. It appeared awkward but she was more than experienced, and frantic fingers nimbly found each fastening. By holding her breath she managed to fix the hooks from the small of her back almost to shoulder blades, pinching the bone. She tugged up and around to adjust the fit, feeling her flesh squeezed and molded to the tight corset curves. Perfect.
She gazed at her reflection, transfixed.
Her form was of a slender flowing hourglass cinched at the waist. She smoothed her hands over and settled her breasts, which while not overlarge had been forced upward by the restrictive ribs, their creamy tops spilling over half cups to peek provocatively above shallow lace trim. The dark aureole showed through, swollen nipples pricking the delicate fabric. Her cleavage appeared voluptuous, each breast thrust up by the soft padded cups, a dark inviting cleft pressed firmly between. She turned to admire the effect in the mirror, loose garters clicking as she thrust out a hip, their metal clasps cold against bare thighs.
She knew what to look for in the case, and drew out a nylon stocking. Old-fashioned yet timeless, it was the kind made by specialists: charcoal dark, fully fashioned, ultra sheer, with reinforced heel and toe, and a seam the length of the back. Like the path traced by a lover's finger it reached from the vulnerable heel up shapely calf to the wide smooth back of the thigh, ending just shy of a welt in darkening shades to black. A silky second skin.
Expertly she balled the stocking between her hands and poked a toe in. Pedicured nails stretched the pocket for the toes, and she fed the ball out, gently rolling the fitted fabric over her foot and - ensuring the seam was properly aligned - up her calf and over the knee. She drew the stocking fully upward, stretching the fabric out, enjoying the caress of cool nylon the length of her leg. She smoothed the stocking from the bottom to the top, making sure of the fit, and then fastened the front garters and pulled the rear taut, thumbing a button inside its ribbon and rounding out the stocking top before snapping the metal fastener over, so that each was perfectly aligned. With fingers almost trembling she rolled the other stocking on, and fixed garters to that side fastidiously as before. She turned to the mirror once again.
Her long legs shimmered in the soft light as she stepped out to see her full length in the mirror. Pale skin seemed to glow in contrast to the inky black of the corset. The dark triangle of her pubic hair stood out, perfectly framed between long straining garters. She felt heat rise between her legs.
Returning to the case, she rummaged through and found what she wanted - a pair of black panties: full cut, silky smooth. She stepped in and excitedly tugged them up her stockinged legs, the filmy garment sliding smoothly to her thighs where it was pulled tight over soft fleshy buttocks. The waistband snapped tight, just short of the corset, its garters stretched taut underneath. She ran a hand across the cool material, feeling the curve of her rump to her wide bony hips. Fingers slipped between her legs, pressing the silk and holding it to her mons, then lightly pulling so that the soft gusset thrilled against her lips. She gasped at the sensation of lust.
Feeling giddy, she calmed her beating heart and returned to the case, sifting eagerly inside an elasticized pocket. A smile curled her red lips.
Her fingers held two black leather straps attached to bright steel rings with bindings that secured a red plastic ball, the size of a satsuma. Breath caught on a thrill of anticipation. She sat on the stool facing the mirror over the dressing table and closed her eyes, then took the perforated ball to her mouth. Teeth clicked on hard plastic as she opened wide. There was no taste as her tongue was held down. Shiny wet lips bulged around. The steel rings pressed into her cheeks, and breath came in shallow gasps as she fastened the buckles behind her head and pulled tight. She gulped hard and felt dizziness swell. She closed her eyes and imagined her mind floating free.
The face in the mirror stared back. It was the face of an utterly wanton woman. Mouth stuffed, eyes pleading, helpless yet somehow defiant; hair tumbling over the brow, cascading to bare shoulders; proud breasts heaving, body trembling and powerless to resist. Hers to command.
She lay across the bed and almost collapsed. Fumbling in the case she drew out a small lavender bag, bulging yet soft. She tugged its strings apart and slipped eager fingers inside. They withdrew a pair of lacy white panties, sumptuously frilled, and luxuriously trimmed. A smooth silk crotch panel backed a soft cotton gusset. Dirty and wet.
These panties had been worn, and worn well. Pretty as the secret treasure of a virgin bride; purest white, silky sensuous, a private garment to be seen only ever by one loving couple, keepsake of that special day and its unforgettable night. All that dreams could wish, and more. She brought the panties to her nose.
The cotton crotch was soaked with the unmistakable odor of vaginal secretion. The power of it overwhelmed her: the raw smell of sex. She fell weak to the sheets, rolling in delirious ecstasy, breathing hard through her nostrils, drawing the musky wet scent from the panties, sucking it deep inside where it swam through her senses. Her tongue drooled, picking up the sharp bitter tang. She was both man and woman in that moment, responding to the taste and the texture of the panties, the hormone trigger prickling through her veins, racing to the far reaches of her body. She was a man lusting for that wet pussy smell, and she was a woman with the gift to produce it, for that smell was there now between her own legs, flowing unbidden within. She reached down instinctively, pressing herself urgently through the black panties. Would a man, or perhaps another woman smell these panties too, the way she used the white ones clutched to her face, and feel this same intoxicating rush?
Her breath came in short muffled grunts as she pulled the panties over her face, the slick shiny fabric smothering her, ball gag hard in her mouth, straps tight around her head, steel rings digging into her cheeks, and the dirty panty crotch bulging over her nose as she strained her head side-to-side and sniffed greedily.
She writhed on the bed, tangling sheets, rubbing herself wildly, nuzzling the wet panties hard against her face. She was filled with the aroma, charged with it, held in its power, lungs bursting in the tight confines of the corset, breasts heaving and straining in their tight silky cell. Her fingers worked busily, sliding the silk panty gusset against her wet pussy lips, venturing tentatively inside. She pinched and rolled her swollen lips through the fabric, as one finger flicked at the hard pea of her clit, rising from the hood of those wet slippery lips to pop against the crotch. She felt sticky fluid churn to cream in the panties and ooze onto her thighs.
This was the act that made those white virgin panties now held to her nose musky and wet. Fingers against clit, silk sliding into flesh, juice soaking the fabric, yes, like this, oh yes: fingers working in, circling, pressing, making her come, oooh, yes, making her come, oooooh, making her, making her...
She stopped suddenly, feeling the blood pound in her head, breasts surging on each heavy breath. Her body ached, but there was something more, something she needed instinctively. She whimpered distractedly, sucking air through the gag, blinking away tears of frustration. There had to be more. She tore the panties from her face and feverishly scrabbled in the case, feeling juice dribble down her legs, running onto the stockings. Her breathing was erratic now, breasts surging on each panting breath as air whistled through the hard plastic ball gag still gorging her mouth. With watery eyes she tossed through the delicate underthings packed into the case, searching, searching.
Here. A shiny dildo. Sleek, slender metal: smooth, pointed, hard.
She held it up, its steely surface glinting in the light, and then touched it cold against her cheek. She toyed over her painted lips, held wide by the red plastic ball, and moaned load as she thought about taking its length into her mouth.
But that choice was not hers. She was at the command of that other, who had bound her with the gag, wrapped her weak pathetic body tight in the corset, forcing her to become a prisoner of her own wanton lust. There was only one place for that instrument to be. She rolled back on the bed, eyes tightly closed as she ran the tip of the dildo over her stomach, and down. The hard point slithered onto the panties, rustling the coarse hair that crested her mound. She parted her legs and felt her lips quiver.
She pressed the material in with the dildo, stretching it tight, and then slid out, nudging her clitoris with the hard steely tip. She pressed again, and worked faster, up and down, circling around, each movement gathering lust that rippled like waves to the shore. Then she rolled onto her stomach and slid the dildo under the hem of the panties, and probed the swollen flesh.
The cold metal sent shivers deep. Gently she eased the tip into the soft cleft of her pussy. Its lips caressed the surface of the dildo: kissing, yielding, sucking it in. The smooth solid tube slipped inside, little by little, without lubrication, greased with her juices, forcing apart the hot fleshy walls, pushing, probing, pressing down. Hot, hard and demanding.
She rolled back with her legs wide, stuffing the dildo to the hilt, imagining it was a man's penis thrusting inside, touching her in just the right places, driving deep, nudging her secret spot high inside, holding for the moment when it would ease out and drive again, harder, faster, stronger. She had no feeling to her hand, as if the dildo had its own life, and worked to a distant rhythm. A few short strokes and a twist, and then faster, harder, and harder still. She groaned and drove on, twisting and writhing, the slender tube fucking her, fucking her, fucking like no man ever had, or ever could. For she was more than a man, and not only a woman. This was her power. Here was her instrument, and her own body was merely a vessel: bound, captured, helpless, and hungry. Her body, her beautiful body, or somebody's body not hers, ritually prepared in the tight confines of exquisite lingerie.
She could not cry out but her passion spilled in moans and whimpers, saliva bubbling the gag in her mouth. Eyes tight shut, sweat glistening, limbs thrashing, the tight binding corset rasping against ruffled sheets; arms folded under, now rubbing, fondling, squeezing a nipple, mashing a breast, running over the corset ribs to her stomach, fingers fumbling, touching, pressing, and still that rigid metal stud thrusting, thrusting, thrusting as she froze suddenly and clasped her thighs tight. A spasm jolted her rigid, and then came more, tumbling, cascading in waves of delight as she drew a mighty breath and held for long seconds or it might have been hours, feeling the pleasure rush through her body, quivering, shaking, shivering, until she tensed and then juddered to a halt. With a long slow groan, air escaped. She felt herself lifted high above the bed, floating in a blur, looking down on her ragged body lying twisted in the sheets.
She might have slept, or blacked out, before she came to with a start. Her body was exhausted but still tingled with delight. She smoothed aside the bedclothes and dragged herself up. Her head felt fuzzy. Her breath was cut short by the gag. She reached behind to release the leather straps, and spat out the ball, dripping with saliva. A long trail of drool clung to her cheek and she swabbed it with the white panties retrieved off the pillow by her face. Her jaw ached and she worked her mouth, recovering.
The dildo slipped from her thigh and rolled on the bed. She licked the sweet juice off its shiny metal surface and tucked it in the open case. The virginal white panties were returned to the lavender bag.
The black panties she wore were now well and truly soaked. She tugged them down, stepped out and drew them off her foot. She ran the material through her fingers a last time with a murmur of appreciation, then fondly placed the sodden article with the other dirty panties in the lavender bag. Next she unsnapped the garters and rolled down the stockings. These too were now slick with her juices, so she opened the lavender bag and stuffed them in as well. She drew the strings tight with a last whiff of heady sex, and then tucked the bag back inside the case. Wearily she unclasped the hooks at her back and peeled the corset from her sweaty body. She brushed the fabric smooth, folded the garment carefully and placed it where it lay before, and then closed up the case.
The bedside telephone rang. She leaned across to pick it up.
"Hello? Yes, it is." She reached for her robe. "I see. No, not at all, that's perfectly all right. Just give me a moment to get dressed."
Five minutes later a discreet knock came at the door. Now fully dressed, she crossed to open it. The hotel manager bustled in. "Madame, I am so very sorry, I do not know how this could have happened."
"I told you, it's fine."
"Such a thing has never been known before." The manager motioned a porter in behind him.
"Over there," she directed, "on the bed. I'm afraid I hadn't noticed, I was taking a bath."
The porter picked up the small case. The hotel manager spread his hands. "Ah, you see, it is the exact same style."
She shrugged. "Louis Vuitton."
"Still, I feel very stupid. See, here are the initials of the guest."
"Oh, yes, 'R.H.' She will be pleased to get it back, I'm sure."
"Pardon, it is a gentleman guest."
"A man? Oh, then his wife will be pleased."
The hotel manager looked puzzled. "The gentleman is alone."
She stared for a moment. "I see. Do you know him?"
"But yes, he is a regular guest at this hotel."
"And is he always alone?"
"I regret, madame, this is a private hotel with an exclusive clientele. Discretion is absolute."
She opened her purse and fanned a few notes. "How absolute?"
The hotel manager glanced at the porter waiting near the door. He glided money from her hand and spoke quietly. "The gentleman stays one or two nights perhaps once a month."
"But he is here alone?"
"Always. He has never had a lady friend accompany him, I am certain."
"Is he that bad looking?"
"Oh no, in fact as you might say, quite the opposite. I have had many times to censure my staff who should pay attention to their work when they spend time staring after him as he go through the hotel. This effect he has on all these foolish girls."
She drew another note from her purse. "Monsieur, I wonder if you might arrange for the gentleman and I to be seated together at dinner?" She looked at the case in the porter's hand. "I should very much like to meet him."