Room Service

Diane held herself open wide, waiting patiently until the first crack came. The shock of the initial contact caused her to convulse momentarily, until the burn developed on her most sensitive, sacred area. He was right, her first instinct was to close her fingers and protect her female pleasure center from any further damage. But she knew this would violate the rules so firmly imposed, so she resisted all human instinct and held herself open for more punishment. The second hurt worse than the first, as the injured area accepted additional discipline. Parts of the whip stung her fingers, which held her stinging clit out in the open, for his continued, sick pleasure. Four and five started to put her in a state of shock, as she wondered if she could really make it to fifteen. She wasn't even 1/3 of the way there yet. She bravely continued to offer her blessed, feminine love spot up for crack number 6, after which he said she could let go for a second. A sense of relief washed over her, during the temporary reprieve. She then felt warm oil dripping on her exposed spot, which caused her to jump back briefly, due to the unexpected sensation.

"We need to keep you oiled up, or you won't be able to feel it, correctly," he mocked. If she felt it any more, she'd be unconscious, Diane observed, silently.

As she prepared for number 7, her fingers slipped from the top of her snatch, causing her hand to momentarily cover the punishment hole in her panties. At the same time, the crack came from the Cat o Nine Tails, which hit her hand instead of her clit. Damn oil, Diane cursed to herself. "What the fuck was that, bitch?" the punisher steamed. "Trying to block my kisses?"

"No, she pleaded, it was an accident, I swear. It was the oil..." Crack! His hand made contact with her cheek in a show of control and discipline.

"I'm not interested in your excuses," he said, sourly. Now let's start from the beginning.

This was the turning point for Diane. She simply could not start over, and endure 15 more hard cracks of an oiled whip against her unprotected clit, which had begun throbbing from pain and abuse already. Undoubtedly, the stranger was enjoying every minute of this, while her unprotected clit turned from pink, to red, to bruised-burgundy, as the injuries increased. But this could go on forever, if she didn't make a move, and there was no time like the present.

"Can I please take this blindfold off, so I can what I'm doing down there," she pleaded. "I can hold myself open better if I can see," she informed him.

After thinking for a moment, the stranger responded, "If you want to see what's coming, more power to ya. It's not going to be any easier on you," he explained.

That wasn't her concern at the moment, however. Diane has noticed that the asshole had carelessly placed the handcuffs on the nightstand next to the bed, in his perverted effort to quickly secure her to the bed rails with the Velcro cuffs. With some effort, she might be able to lurch her body over to the nightstand, and grab them with her free hand that was currently occupied with exposing her battered clit to further pain and humiliation. The trick would be getting her left hand out of its cuff, so she could use both hands to make her move. She endured two more cracks of the whip against her increasingly welted crotch area, before she could finally squeeze her hand through the loosening Velcro cuff hole, and make her move. Diane waited for the most opportune moment, just as the pervert was inspecting the results of his handiwork on her abused clit. He was engrossed in applying more oil, and moving her injured button back and forth, even as each touch brought more pain and burning. This distraction would prove fatal, as Diane sprung into action, grabbing the handcuffs, slapping them onto one of the pervert's hands, and the other side onto a bed rail. She then pushed him off the bed, causing him to swing around and get tangled by the handcuff. This bought her enough time to loosen the leg cuffs, herself, and jump off the bed. With a quick snap of her robe belt, she was covered from sight again, and the tide had turned. This was turning out to be a very bad day for the Almost-Rapist.

Chapter Three – Turning the Tables

The first thing Diane did with her freedom was to ditch the wet panties with the punishment hole. Bad memories, and they didn't smell great, either. Leaving the former-Punisher cuffed to the bed rail, Diane rushed to the bathroom, removed her panties, and threw on a pair of her favorite jeans and a T-shirt. She needed to feel human, and in control, again. This was a good start.

She had to pee from the two (or three) glasses of wine during the whole ordeal, and she could finally take care of that basic bodily function, without putting on a show for the Punisher. She sat on the toilet seat for a second, and just as the golden juice started to drip from her snatch, she stopped the flow. With an evil grin, she waddled over toward the bathroom sinks, and relieved herself completely on the floor. She had other plans for her pee, tonight.

After some routine maintenance with soap and a wash rag, Diane was clean and fresh, and ready for battle, although her disciplined clit still throbbed with the memory of the humiliating ordeal in the next room. "You'll pay for that, mother-fucker," she whispered out loud, holding her crotch.

"How we doing in here, you piece of shit," Diane spat at her captive.

"Look, this is not my fault, I was set up..." was all he got out, before the same spit soaked rag he used on her, found its way into his mouth, to silence any further protestations.

"Set up,...riiight," she muttered. She wasn't interested in excuses, only vengeance, at this point. The first thing to do was to find a weapon, and secure this prick so he couldn't get away. She rummaged through the desk, and found an oversized letter opener, which she stuffed in her back pocket. She also grabbed an empty wine glass from the wet bar, and cracked it against the ice bucket, leaving a scary, sharp shank, that would even make a prisoner recoil. Keeping the homemade weapon in one hand, she approached him, and said, "You will do everything I say, you understand? Give me your other hand," she instructed as she reached around him for the cuff attached to the bed rail. She was getting pretty good with these things, she mused to herself. She took his free hand and cuffed it to the other, behind his back, and pushed him to the ground. Sticking the point of the cut glass to his throat, she commanded, "Now stand up, and face the wall." Her captive was learning well, as he obeyed commands without retort. "Take your shoes off," she said curtly. He complied. Then Diane surprised herself, as she reached around his waist, unhooked his belt, and ripped it off his pants. "You won't be needing these," she teased, as she pulled the tan uniform pants to the grounds. Without instruction, the compliant stranger stepped out of his pants, continuing to face the wall.

The scene was much different than it was a few minutes ago, with the stranger bound, and his 'tightie whities' hugging his otherwise, attractively tight ass. "Nice panties," Diane laughed.

"Muughff, muphinphins," he tried.

"Ya, whatever. Keep talking," she said, uninterested in his mutterings. "You might need this now," Diane informed him, as she lowered the blindfold to his face.

How pitiful the jerk looked now, handcuffed, barefoot, displaying his ridiculous underwear. "Turn around, and bend over on the bed," she commanded. This was the first time Diane got a glimpse of the stranger's covered privates, which appeared well-endowed, and partially excited. She blushed slightly, despite her superior position. She couldn't resist the temptation to grab his genitals as he walked toward the bed, and exclaim; "You won't be excited for long, my little friend."

He didn't so much bend, as fall, over onto the bed, as he was still blindfolded, and didn't know exactly where he was walking. "Spread your legs," she demanded. She peeled back his underwear just enough to expose his anus and a hint of his balls. Now was his turn to shake. "Maybe I should just shove this glass up your ass," she threatened calmly, as she poked at his ass with the cut glass, although not enough to break the skin. He clenched his butt, as she approached the sensitive areas. "You'd probably like it, you faggot," she insulted. "Where is that stupid thing you used on me," she asked – mostly of herself, as she looked around. "Oh, there you are," she pronounced as she located the Kitty. "Let's get you ready for some fun," she said coyly. Walking quickly to the bathroom, Diane located her razor, and raced back into the room, to prevent loosing control of the situation. He didn't dare move, and never knew she left. He was turning out to be a refreshingly compliant prisoner.

"We have to prepare you for your kisses," she giggled, starting to enjoy herself a little too much. Diane knelt down at the side of her bed, and pried apart his but cheeks, to expose the stranger's hesitant, exposed asshole. That's what she wanted to work on first. She angled her razor vertically, and started removing the stray hair around his anus with brief, gentle strokes of the razor. The stranger was clearly much more worried about this procedure than necessary, as he was muttering, shaking and quivering the entire time. Diane didn't care, and actually preferred it that way. After what she went through, this fucker was going to feel some fear and pain.

Diane inspected her work thoroughly, moving his butt cheeks from side to side, spreading out his anus. His hairless ass actually looked sort of cute, like a young boy's. He didn't look so intimidating now. With a crack of her bare hand on the middle of his ass, she pronounced him ready. Diane opened the bottle of oil that the stranger had been so considerate to provide, and poured it directly on his butt hole, and massaged it around the area, onto his ball sack. He might enjoy the way that felt, but that would make the pain all the more pronounced, she told herself. For good measure, she ran the cat tails along the oiled ass.

Diane lost count of the cracks after 20. She really didn't care, she just wanted to see some evidence of pain. She couldn't her him cry, but she did notice the whole area go red – first with stripes where the tails had 'kissed his ass' and ultimately spreading out to into red blotches, over the whole ass crack. That was gonna hurt in the morning, she said to herself. "How does that feel, prick," she inquired. Of course, she received no response, and desired none anyway. Instead, she found herself carried away with a swell of emotion, causing her heart to beat, and her snatch to run wet again. She didn't want to fuck him, but it was a turn on, in an odd way.

When she concluded her discipline session, Diane pulled his underpants back up covering all evidence of the damage. Her little friend's face was read, and creased from laying on the bed spread. "Sit up," she instructed. "I want you to look at something," she followed. She grabbed the middle of the cuffs, and started pushing him toward the bathroom – shank in hand. She wasn't taking any chances. As she marched him into the bathroom, she noticed that his cock had shrunken substantially, from all the abuse back there. She turned him around at the bathroom door, and urged him into the sink area. "Kneel down," she said. "What's on the floor?" Diane inquired calmly.

"Mumph?" he responded.

She ripped the towel out of his mouth. "The FLOOR!" she repeated.

"I don't..." he tried in vain, as he could see nothing through the blindfold. As he carefully attempted to lower his head for closer inspection, without the benefit of his hands for balance, she grabbed his hair and pushed his face directly into her piddle puddle, rubbing his cheek in the mess.

"Do I have to rub your nose in it like a dog?" she inquired?

"Ugh," he managed to reply.

A small part of Diane felt bad for the helpless stranger, being forced to grovel in some strange girl's piss. But...serves him right, she concluded. After what he did to me. Her heart began to beat again with anger. "I should make you lick it up, scum bag," she considered. Thinking this was a command, the jerk stuck out his tongue, and started to taste the puddle on the floor. Diane looked down in partial shock, not thinking for a second that he would really do that. How awful her pee must taste, especially after sitting on the bathroom floor for a while. "You're disgusting," she concluded. "Just stop." He willingly complied.

"Stand up," his captor ordered. "How are we going to get this cleaned up," Diane inquired innocently.

"Give me a towel and I'll..." he tried.

"A towel! Not likely. I'm not going to waste one of my good towels on you. Looks like you'll have to use your panties," Diane teased, looking squarely at his cock and balls, hugged in a tight package between his legs. She would finally get an eyeful of what he was hiding under there. To Diane's surprise, the thought of having his underwear removed must have excited him tremendously, as his cock began to grow quickly, and throb against the white cotton shield. Diane was thoroughly enjoying herself, now. It was much better being the master, instead of the slave.

With great anticipation, Diane slowly pulled down his underpants, revealing a well groomed package that had grown to fucking proportions by now. Seven inches, by her calculations. His dick had become horizontal with anticipation, as he stepped out of his silly underwear. Her face came dangerously close to the throbbing member, as she bent down to assist the removal of his clothing. She caught a brief whiff of his man scent, which was not altogether unpleasant.

"Open your mouth," she instructed. The stranger seemed confused, but slowly complied. Diane wadded up the underpants, and stuffed them into his mouth. "Now clean it up," she demanded without hesitation. The naked man in the bathroom obeyed, and knelt down on the floor, balancing with his hands secured behind his back. He started wiping up the girl pee the best he could with his underwear held securely in his mouth. She imagined his humiliation, being stripped naked in a position of vulnerability, engaging in this humiliating task. Maybe that would teach him. "So you're the deliveryman and the janitor too, ha," she joked. The man dropped the half soaked shorts out of his mouth, and picked it back up on the wet side, so the dry portion could be used to sop up more of the mess. Clearly, there was far too much waste on the floor for this little bit of cotton to absorb, but he was trying, wasn't he? Diane viewed the show by sitting on the sink counter, knees bent to her chest. After a while, a devious thought popped into her head. She could squirt some more on the floor right now, making his messy job even more challenging. Diane pried her legs apart slightly, and angled her pee hole near the remaining liquid on the floor. She then spread her lips apart, experiencing a fleeting pain, as she brushed her bruised clit in the process. Closing her eyes, and biting her lip, she tried to pee with all her might. At first, nothing came. She concentrated harder, turned on the sink for assistance, and tried to relax her bladder for a full on stream. But alas, all she could muster was a little dribble, and then a minor squirt, which accidentally sprayed onto the cleaning-man's neck. He turned toward her, reflexively, but could see nothing, as he was still blindfolded, of course. He muttered something resembling a protest into his pee soaked mouth rag, but Diane just laughed. She rinsed off her hands, and wiped herself clean with a hand towel, and threw it on the floor next to her captive. Without instruction, he started using her towel offering to sop up more of the spill.

Eventually, he started to choke, as he held the piss-drenched rag in his mouth, in an effort to finish his assigned task. Eventually, Diane's kind nature got the best of her, and she instructed him to stop. He spit out his disgusting cleaning rag, immediately.

"Put 'em back on, now," she said, referencing his yellow-whities. "I don't want to see your cock pointing at me," she lied.

"Can you help?" he blurted out, blushing as a result of his predicament, including his inability to cover up with the only shred of clothing available. Diane carried the disgusting shorts with the tips of her fingernails, to avoid direct contact with her pee. It was hers, but the last thing she wanted to do was touch it. He stepped through his thoroughly pee soaked shorts, and she pulled them up for him. How wet and disgusting they must feel, against his beaten ass and privates.

His partially erect penis was now clearly visible through the wet pants, and Diane gave it an occasional glance. "Real cute," she said, in her best condescending voice. Why don't you show all your friends? Let's get you in front of that video camera." Diane paraded the bound man at shank point toward the camera, while at the same time reaching around through his wet pants, and aggressively yanking out his now-soft cock out through the flap in his underwear. "Do a little dance for me," she asked. He bounced his cock around for her viewing pleasure, in front of his camera.

When she tired of this game, she decided to initiate a new form of humiliation. Using a string from a string-tie bag on the floor, she knotted one end around the tip of his penis, and wrapped the other around her hand. "Let's go for a walk," Diane commanded, as she yanked his cock forward, and led him, blindfolded, around the room. Quietly, she opened the door, and continued to coax him out into the hotel hallway. Once he was safely out of the room, she released his cock leash, and slammed the door behind him, locking it from the inside. Good riddance, she announced to herself.

Diane took a deep breath as she ran to get her cell phone to report the incident to the authorities. She flipped open the phone, and to her shock, a new text message appeared from Jake: "Did you enjoy your surprise?" it read. The occupants of the room next door could hear the cell phone shatter as it hit the wall of Diane's home away from home.

The End...