Room Service

Chapter One: Covered Dish

Finally, a night on my own, she thought. Diane needed some serious pampering, after the last few months. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy her time with Jake. She loved him more than he knew. But once in a while, a girl has to tend to her needs, in a way only she knows how. And it's not just about masturbation, either. Sure, that may happen, or not, as the night wears on. But Diane was mostly looking forward to a long, hot bath, and some detailed primping and preening. Every hair would be in its place, before she was done – or it would be eliminated.

Diane's employer insisted she travel for this training session. She resisted at first, but Jake assured her that she'd be ok, and that she could use the time to relax. Of course, the fact that the event was occurring in Las Vegas didn't hurt, as that was one of her favorite locales. "You better be good, though," he teased before she left. He knew she'd be good, as that was her nature. He couldn't help but be a little jealous, though. A beautiful girl like Diane, in a city like Vegas, all alone. She'd certainly be tempted. But it will be fine, he reassured himself.

She breathed a long sigh, as she opened the package of cinnamon scented candles, and carefully placed them on the four corners of the obscenely large spa tub the corporate hotel decided to put in its suites. Jake had upgraded her to a suite, as a surprise before she left. He was sooo good about surprises. Jake and I would have had fun in this tub, she thought fleetingly, as she turned on the hot water. No, this night was not about him – or them – it was about her, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. And that's ok.

Diane wasn't sure why she was brushing her hair in the mirror, right before a bath. It would get wet anyway. Maybe she wanted to look good for herself. She stood in front of the mirror, heavy white robe draped across her shoulders – vulnerably left open in front revealing her center cleavage and the middle of her white, every day panties. She tilted her head as she studied her body, admiringly. "I wonder if I should shave," she asked herself out loud, as she peeled down her underwear revealing an already well-groomed landing strip. She cocked her head again, staring a little too long at her partially exposed clit.

Knock. Knock. "Room Service!" yelled a gruff voice from behind the heavy wooden hotel room door. Diane tried to remember if she had ordered anything. She had had a few glasses of wine with dinner, before retiring to her room, but could she have forgotten ordering room service?

"Um, just a minute," she yelped as she let her panties snap back in place, over her tended snatch. Knock! Knock! "I'm coming," she said flatly, becoming a bit irritated at his persistence. Diane peered through the peephole to see a dark haired young man in a tan uniform, looking down at the ground, and holding a tray with a silver dish cover. He looked professional enough, but for some two-day gruff on his face. He was able to pull off the look, though.

"I don't remember ordering anything," she informed the man through the cracked door, as she quickly fastened her robe around her curvy hips.

"This is a...surprise," the stranger responded, glibly. She hesitated a minute, wondering why she was receiving a room service gift. But her natural curiosity, and love for surprises took over, and she invited the man in to deliver her surprise – almost forgetting she was wearing nothing but her white panties underneath her heavy robe. That's ok, she assured herself, because these guys are used to seeing people wearing just about anything in hotel rooms.

Diane could not hide her adorable grin as she waited with giddy anticipation to see what was under the covered dish. She had a hard time processing just what happened next, as everything seemed to occur simultaneously - in a blur: The uniformed stranger reached for the 'do not disturb' sign, and hung it on the door handle, before pulling it closed, and locking it from the inside. He then immediately uncovered the dish to reveal what appeared to be handcuffs lying on a white towel. Before she could process her fears, the stranger whisked the handcuffs and towel from the tray and pushed her down on the bed, face first.

Her robe, which had been carelessly tied around her waist, flew open in the process- briefly revealing one of her breasts as she hit the mattress. As she started to scream Diane felt the man's hand reach around her face and push the white towel into her mouth to muffle her anticipated squeals. The stranger then violently spun her over onto her back, and started grabbing for her hands. Her muffled screams went nowhere as her heart started to pound out of her chest. Could this really be happening, she screamed to herself, in her head? How could I have been so stupid? At the same time, she was trying to process the fact that a stranger had taken physical control of her, had seen her breast (at least briefly), and was now in a position to do untold horrible things to her. So this is my evening of pampering, she somehow managed to muse to herself during the ordeal.

After a good deal of panting, struggling and muffled protestations, the uniformed stranger finally got a hold of her flailing arms, and secured the handcuffs. They weren't entirely uncomfortable, but terrifying nonetheless. With her hands firmly bound behind her back, and the stranger sitting on her legs, he pulled her head back by her hair, and whispered in her ear; "Are you done struggling yet?" She didn't answer at first. Not that she could, literally, with the towel in her mouth. But she didn't know how to react. She wanted to struggle, but it had become pointless. He was in control. But she couldn't just give up, and give in. That was not in her nature. Diane was a fighter. Maybe she just needed to bide her time, and play along...for now. "I said; are you done?" he repeated insistently.

"Mmm, humph," she mumbled into the towel, nodding her head against the pillow. Diane tried to compose herself, so she could listen to her captor.

"Ok, then let's just relax a bit," the jerk responded. He propped her up gently against the headboard, her bound hands pressing into her back, and the pillow at the same time. "Let's get a look at you, Sweetie," he oozed, staring at her, and gently brushing back the hair from her eyes. His gaze was overwhelming, as he studied her panting body. The enticing stranger with a surprise quickly became the dark invader, with mal intent. "You are a sweet thing, aren't you," he commented, looking her up and down. At that point she realized that her robe was still open in front, exposing most of her breasts. Her natural reaction to close it was frustrated by the resilient handcuffs, which kept her hands obediently in place. She would just have to accept the fact that the uniformed stranger was getting a nice eyeful, for now.

"Gumph mumph egs," she tried to say.

He looked down; "Oh, your legs. Sorry, I forgot I was sitting on them. I'll tell you what, if you agree to remain calm, and stay on this bed, I will get off your legs," he instructed.

"Ooff, kuff," she muttered.

As he stood up, she felt the blood rushing back to her calves. At least she could try to run, if she wanted to. She'd have to be careful in making her move, though. He was stronger than she, as he just proved in overpowering her. Plus, she was bound and gagged – which presented a bit of a problem. Even if she got to the door, she couldn't open it. Plus, "do I want to run down the hall half naked in handcuffs?" she thought to herself? Ultimately, yes, she would do it, but for now, she'd have to see how this played out.

Chapter Two: Fun and Games

Apparently, the uniformed jerk had carefully planned this little event. He started digging in a bag he carried at his side for more equipment. Diane almost looked away, but that insatiable curiosity took over, and she watched his every move. "You like games, Sweetie?" he smiled. Why did he keep calling her 'Sweetie?' That was what Jake called her. Couldn't he pick something else? Even 'slut' would go down better than her precious pet name. She shrugged her shoulders, as her eyes rolled, reflexively. "Just lay back and relax, while we get situated," the jerk instructed. She did what she was told...for now.

As she lay down on the bed, her robe rode up on her body, and opened more fully now, to reveal her hips and everyday panties. "Great," she said to herself. That's not exactly what she needed right now.

"Ok, let's get this leg over here," he said as he pulled her right leg aggressively to the edge of the bed. He produced some kind of leg cuff from his bag, and adeptly fastened it to the bed frame. "Now the other," he taught, and secured the left leg to the other side.

"This is it," Diane cringed silently. "I'm going to be raped. Un-fucking-believable." Her body was sweating with fear, as her breathing quickened.

"Oh, that's lovely," the rapist grinned, as he stared longingly at her vagina, covered only by a layer of opaque, white cotton. Diane had been so frightened by being thrown on the bed by the stranger that she leaked a few drops of pee into her panties, making the situation all the more humiliating. Certainly he was getting a nice view down there, looking at my pee-stained panties and my legs spread open, she decided.

"I'm going to let you get more comfortable, but you have to promise me you won't scream, and you won't do anything silly," he said plainly, staring again into her eyes. "I'm going to take those cuffs off, and lay your hands at the side of the bed. If you cooperate, I'll also take that towel out of your mouth. That's probably a bit uncomfortable by now," he guessed. That sounded like a capital idea to Diane, who was currently having trouble breathing, and occasionally gagging on the spit covered towel. Anything for a little more freedom. But at what price?

He bent her over and reached for the cuffs behind her back. Flicking a lock, they popped open, to the relief of her wrists and arms, which had started to cramp in place. She began to stretch her hands, when he grabbed them, "Not so fast, Sweetie," he cautioned.

"What am I going to do, jerk, crawl out of the room, dragging the bed with me?" she wondered to herself? He slowly, almost tenderly, lowered her hands to the bed, and – grabbing yet another implement from his bag of tricks – secured each one to the appropriate side of the bed, using some sort of Velcro cuffs.

Here she was; spread eagle with wet panties. "Nice," she thought to herself. All the cuffs were secure, though she tested each one's strength.

"Ok, now I'm going to remove the towel," he reminded her. As he did so, she coughed, and swallowed, for the first time since the ordeal began.

"Can I have some water?" she asked, and he complied, compassionately. As he raised the bottle of water to her lips, she drank deeply, and actually started to feel her wits coming back to her. First, she had to evaluate her options: She could scream bloody murder right now, but would anyone come? How long would it take? Could they get in even if they wanted to, with the door locked from the inside? What would he do to me in the mean time? These questions raced around in her head, as the maybe-rapist started digging in his dark bag again. What now?

Diane gasped as jerk-man withdrew a cattail whip from his bag of death. 'Fuck...Me,' she said internally. This is not going to be pleasant – not that she ever thought it would be.

"This is my friend, 'Cat-O-Nine-Tails' and I'd like to introduce her to you," he played. He gently ran the ends of the whip across her toes, down the tops of her feet, across her calves, thighs, hips. Following up her stomach, he brushed her exposed nipples, which became embarrassingly hard, as the strands tingled the tips. He ran his friend up her neck, across her ears and near her eyes, as she shut them. He gave her a playful crack across her cheek, as she cringed, not expecting the sudden movement. The otherwise-erotic touching was getting to Diane, despite her vulnerable, compromising position. Her heart was pounding with anticipation over the next touch, the next tingle. Diane was the kind of girl that ran wet with the slightest anticipation of sexual contact, which was a constant source of distraction and occasional embarrassment. Now was not the time for this little problem to rear its ugly head. But, that was outside her control.

On the trip back down her body, the Cat-O-Nine-Tails elicited the expected response, and by the time its many fingers brushed against her spread vulva, the juices were flowing madly. The yellow-tinged wet spot spread into a much wider panty drenching. This natural body function became obvious to the Jerk-O-Nine-Tails, who took the opportunity to say, "My, my, you young sluts just can't resist being tied down, huh? You should see what's happening down there." Diane didn't need to be reminded. She could feel her private parts going slick, as her heart raced. Since all attempts to block the rush of emotion failed, she just let out a deep sigh of frustration and surrender, and let it be.

"You like the way this feels, girl?" her tormentor inquired.

"Not really, no," she lied. "Well, you're not going to like what happens next, slut," he insisted. Diane feared the worst, and the worst was yet to come. With a crack of the Nine Tails, Diane felt a sting on her inner thigh. A red welt quickly rose on her soft, pale skin. Pain, fear and humiliation rushed through her chest and gut, as she envisioned how she must look, spread eagle, tied down, hard nipples pointing at the ceiling, wet, cream-pissed panties opened for the world to see, being disciplined by the rapist stranger.

"This is what I like to call a numbers game," the man informed her. "You get to pick the number."

Infinite scenarios started swirling around Diane's head. Numbers of what? Why would I pick? Shit, this can't be good. From the death bag came yet another instrument, a pair of scissors, which was not a positive development.

"What we're gonna do, Sweetie..." he began, as he moved his face and hands toward her partially open, panty-covered vagina, "...is have you pick a number between 1 and 50..." as he pulled out her panties right where her sensitive, throbbing clit peered out... "and that's the number of kisses you'll receive from my little Kitty Friend here..." Snip! Went the scissors as they created a dime-sized hole just big enough for her clit to become exposed through her panties, which remained otherwise securely in place. "There's a catch, of course," he grinned as he licked his thumb and started gently massaging her slick, sticky clit. "The lower the number, the more they're going to hurt."

Diane's started shaking visibly at this point, realizing that the way the next few minutes would go, was firmly in her control. Performing some quick calculations in her head, she figured that she could survive a few good cracks, but if this went on very long, she would jump out of her skin. On the other hand, she didn't want to be injured, by agreeing to an overly-small number of violent lashes.

"If you choose a low number, you will never forget each and every one of these 'kisses' so choose wisely, sister," he mocked.

Concentration was difficult, as the stranger stared into her eyes, massaging her throbbing clit, which was now fully exposed from behind its protective hood. No doubt that's why he was doing this in the first place...Asshole!

"15," Diane shouted adamantly.

"Fine," said the asshole. "A wise, but brave, choice. This little clit is going to be in for some punishment, huh?" Diane refused to respond at first, until the stranger squeezed her clit between his thumb and forefinger tight and said, "I'm talking to you!" in a stern voice.

"Yes, it will," her voice shook.

"This feels good now, but it's not going to feel so good in a while, is it?" he coaxed, continuing to stimulate her love button out of its cave, as it peered through the panty hole.

"No, it isn't," she sobbed, emotion coming over her like a wave. Diane was finally starting to grasp what was happening to her body. This dirty stranger had already humiliated her, and was now forcing her to participate in her own perverse, sexual torture. Her blushing clit protruded through the hole in her wet panties like a cherry, glistening and pulsing with anticipation of things to come. He didn't even want to see her snatch, he just wanted to torment her sensitive clit. What kind of perverse Mother Fucker was I dealing with, she considered.

"Ok, we need to get Kitty ready first," he mused to himself. "First I need you to oil her up, so we get a good, solid contact with your fucking clit, ok Sweetie? So I'm going to unhook one of your hands, so you can apply some baby oil to each of the strands. Make sure you do a good job, or I'm going to give you bonus kisses, which I promise you won't like."

This was getting disgusting. Diane obeyed her commands, and carefully oiled up each strand as Kitty Fucker watched, touching himself through his tan pants that she once though belonged to a hotel uniform. What a naive idiot, she though of herself. Now look at me; splayed open for this creep. He took some baby oil himself and applied it carefully to Dianne, around the opening exposing her pulsing clit, and gently rubbed it around – and then directly on – the clit itself. He gently spread her upper lips apart as he applied the smooth potion to her sensitive areas. If this was happening in any other circumstance, Diane would be quimming immediately, but the fear and anticipation of pain kept her from fully processing the pleasure.

"Now, your job in this process is to make sure your little clit here is fully exposed, when Kitty comes calling, you understand," the freak told her. You know how to spread your pussy, right," he asked.

God! She hated that word. "Yes, sir," she offered with a hope of mercy.

"Good," he responded, "I thought you might." So take your free hand, and keep her wide open so I have a good shot at it, ok?"

"Sure," she whispered, helplessly.

"Your natural reaction is going to be to protect your little friend there, and close up, but you need to keep her wide open or we're going to have to start over from the beginning, you understand?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"Finally, you need to wear these, so you don't know when it's coming," he instructed, as he placed a blindfold over her eyes. "It will be easier on you, I promise."

"The first one is the worst, and then you get numb," he tried to console her. The shaking started again, but so did the crotch gushing. She didn't know why – probably the adrenaline. "Mmm, smells good, girl," he said about something. Diane reached down toward her snatch, and felt her oiled clit protruding from the hole in her formerly-everyday panties. She was tempted to touch herself, but dared not. She couldn't tell if he was even looking at her, anymore. No, there would be no pleasure any time soon.

The time had come, so she carefully spread the top of her vagina wide, exposing her pulsing button for her intended punishment. Diane shook with trepidation, wondering when the strike would fall. Moments seeming like hours passed, with nothing but rustling around the room.

"What are you doing," she cried, "Just get it over with," she begged.

"Oh, you're anxious for your punishment, huh? All in good time. We need to set up a camera, so we can capture this little session for the world to see." He couldn't be serious. He was committing a criminal, sexual act, and he was going to film it? That wasn't smart. On the other hand, if he gets away with it, he'll have this footage to jack off to any time he wants. Disgusting! What other humiliations could he have in store?