Hotel Sapphira

Nothing.

You opened the door into the adjoining sitting room. Huge sofas, an enormous flat-screen TV, a drinks cabinet and everything else you'd expect in an upscale hotel suite. But no personal belongings at all.

You wrapped a towel around your torso, sat on the bed and pondered your predicament. You could not possibly leave the room like this. You looked around for a note in case I had left some instructions but found nothing.

In desperation you picked up the room phone, hoping the hotel staff could help in some way (but how could you explain how you came to be in this state?).

"Sorry, this phone has not been authorised to make outgoing calls. Please drop by the front desk to open this line".

Shit! you thought, just as there was a knock at the door ...

"Housekeeping!"

The voice on the intercom announced the identity of the person knocking on your door. You panicked; do you dare to open the door looking like this? Anyway, what if it is not a housekeeper ...

The voice sounded female. You looked though the spy-hole. A tall slender woman in the house uniform of cleavage-exposing jacket and tight trousers stood in the corridor.

"What do you want?" you enquired -- stalling in the hope some clothes would appear from no-where.

"I have come to deliver your laundry"

They just did.

But you did not check any laundry. Maybe it's a trick, a hoax - but she seems to be holding a garment carrier. Do you risk opening the door to her? What will she think if she sees you naked except for a towel? Will she regard this as normal (she must see many stranger things in their hotel rooms) or might she take it as a come-on and make a pass at you, take advantage of you, forcing her way into your room, closing and locking the door behind her and making advances? Maybe that is all part of the plan. But whose plan? My plan? Her plan? The hotel proprietor's plan? Your mind is in overdrive.

"One moment" you called. You wrapped the large hotel towel tightly around your torso and nervously opened the door on the chain. The woman handed you a card though the narrow opening. It read "As requested, we have you reserved a table for 2 in the restaurant 'Lipstick and Linguine'. We look forward to welcoming you at 8:30 pm tonight"

Puzzled but intrigued, you opened the door and the uniformed woman handed over the garment. It was very light in weight. You thanked her and apologised that you were unable to tip her, explaining that you had mislaid your bag. She looked around the empty room, smiled and looked you up and down. "I guess girls like you can get by in life without needing to carry your own money".

Feeling both insulted and embarrassed, you kicked the door closed and unwrapped your 'laundry'. At least you had something to wear now so you could venture out of the room even though you had no r means of getting home. You had no choice but to dress for dinner. Dinner, but with whom? Me? The Housekeeping woman? The Manageress of the hotel? Your mind was racing again.

Remembering that I had been carrying some designer clothes bags when I 'fetched' you from the bar, and that I did not have them later when we arrived at the suite, your mind began to work overtime. Unable to resist, you unzippered the garment carrier and tipped its contents onto the bed. Which wasn't very much.

No doubt your first thought was "What exactly is it?" For certain, from the look and feel, it was silk, and not just any silk but the finest, sheerest, highest quality flawless of silks in a sexy dusky pinkish-grey shade. Certainly towards the top end of the slut-to-sophisticated scale. But what was it, and how were you supposed to wear it?

You picked it up by what looked like the top and shook it. It boasted several narrow strips and straps but very little substance. Eventually working out which way up it should be worn, you slipped it over your head, threaded your hands though where you guessed your arms were supposed to go, and wriggled it down over your otherwise naked torso.

Not very far down, actually.

Looking at yourself in the bedroom mirrors, it could better be described by what was missing rather than what was there. Only the narrowest of straps traced spaghetti-thin lines over your shoulders, ending part-way down your 34B (could easiliy be A-cup) breasts. From there, only slightly more substantial strips of material broadened gradually from next-to-nothing, following downwards over the curve of your cute breasts and then joining roughly at your navel, leaving a gaping vee from your neck right the way down between your breasts and over your midriff. From there down to the very tops of your slim but firm exercise-toned thighs the diaphanous material struggled and barely succeeded in covering your shaved pussy mound at the front.

At the sides, from under your arms down to your ass a wide strip of your tender delicious flesh was left exposed, but for a few narrow and almost useless strips of silk joining the front of the dress to the back, none of them lower than your 23-inch waist.

Even that is an overstatement, suggesting that there was in fact a back to the dress. In reality, an open vee shape plunged from your neck and shoulders down your bare back, ending so low as to show off at least the first 4 inches of your gorgeous, tight and firm ass crack. Little more than 6 inches of light, dusk-pink material clung to your hard, rounded ass-cheeks before it too ended more-or-less level with your crotch.

And that was only when you were standing still, shoulders down, back straight and pelvis level.

You reached down to see if there might be even the tiniest of thongs in the carrier, but no such luck. And as you did so you realised the obvious: the dress would ride up your ass and exposed your pussy to anyone who might be behind you.

If you squatted the side splits parted and the material disappeared between your long legs.

If you dared to turn or lean to one side the straps slipped off your shoulders.

When you walked, the whole dress fluttered in the gentlest of breezes and was as likely to reveal your nipples, your pussy, or both.

It was the merest token gesture of a dress, and you sweet darling would be going to dinner in it, and nothing else.

You had no choice.

You were nervous, scared and confused. But you also had to admit to yourself that you were turned on and very, very excited.

Taking a deep breath you opened the hotel room door, noticing the fire instructions on the inside: "Do not stop to collect your personal belongings." No problem there -- you didn't have any.

A wry smile crossed your face. 'Someone' (on my instructions) had been thoughtful enough to leave a pair of strappy silver sandals with 4" heels outside the bedroom door -- you slipped them on and tottered along the corridor. You flinched as you heard the room door latch closed behind you. There was no going back now; you didn't even have a room key.

******************************

The first challenge was going to be taking the elevator. You pressed the button and waited for it to arrive, hoping that it would be empty. The light signalled its arrival. Your heart leapt as the doors slid open ... but fortunately there was no-one inside. The lift car began its smooth rapid journey down to lobby-level. As it approached each floor your heartbeat skipped -- would it pass on, or stop for an unknown stranger to step in and join you? Only that, or to stare at you, hit on you, touch you, slip her hands inside your dress, slip it off your shoulders, letting it drop on the floor, skimming her hands over your naked body, maybe caressing you or even kissing you, fingering your pussy, pulling your nipples. Oh god no, what if she was ugly? Or more to the point, what if she was gorgeous?

Your imagination was running away with you and you were startled when the doors suddenly opened at level 0.

The noise, the bustle and the excitement hit you as you stepped into the hotel lobby. There were people everywhere; alone, in pairs and in small groups and huddles. In the time that you had been up in my room the hotel had become much busier. It was now 8:15 and women were checking in, meeting friends and generally doing what people do in hotel lobbies. Except of course, as you had already realised, they were all female. Not only that, but at first glance they were all impossibly gorgeous. The way they dressed, the way they stood, walked, moved, stood, kissed, held their drinks, ran their hands though each other's hair, it was an assault on your visual senses and you my darling were now one of them. One of us. A member of an elite.

You took another deep breath and stepped out into the throng. Looking around you caught sight of a sign directing you to the restaurant. Across the lobby and through the bar. You began to walk purposefully in that direction, but your usual self-confidence was fast ebbing away. The high-heeled sandals were unfamiliar and you tottered rather than walked. You were, of course, highly conspicuous and very self-conscious in that slip of a tiny skimpy revealing dress. And those eyes. Everywhere were eyes, looking at you, from your feet, up your legs, over your scarcely-concealed body and up to your face, then all the way back down again. Appreciative eyes, admiring, winking eyes and smiling lips blowing kisses. And not just the guests, but the uniformed staff too.

As you stepped carefully though the throng in the bar you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned a little and a tall blonde woman put her fingertip under your chin and looked into your eyes like she was sizing you up. You smiled nervously and she ran her long manicured nail down your neck and between your breasts. You pulled away, torn between staying to see what happened next and keeping your rendezvous in the restaurant.

As you turned away you heard her whisper to her friends and could only imagine what they said. You shuddered and continued to push though the crowd. Then another hand on you, this time on your ass cheek. A young woman, younger than you, straight auburn hair in a bob cut, in a shimmering top with spaghetti-thin straps over skin-tight leather trousers. She tried to pull you towards her but another woman's hand took hold of yours and dragged you away. Now you feel a hand on your breast. You're beginning to feel a loss of control and you feel very vulnerable. An employee puts her hand around your waist and guides you across the bar. Together you run the gauntlet of the bustling bar and finally reach the relative calm and safety of the restaurant.

The head waitress smiled at you, bringing you down to earth. "Hello, we've been expecting you. Come with me." In your state of confusion mixed with arousal and nervous expectation, the word 'come', even in that context, caused a wave of excitement to rush though your body down to your pussy. She too was in the hotel uniform of an exquisitely well-cut fitted jacket with just one button holding it closed, somewhere only just above her navel. Her rounded breasts were accentuated by a black bra with very widely spaced plunge cups and only a narrow strip of material stretched taught between them, decorated with what were probably Swarovski crystal glass (could not possibly have been diamonds, but then again, maybe).

She ushered you across the room where, inevitably, more admiring eyes followed your every move. One exceptionally slim woman in a slinky long dress pulled out the chair next to hers and patted it, inviting you to join her. You declined politely then realised that you were not entirely sure why you were there and who, if anyone, you would be dining with. You'd only assumed it would be me.

Whew! Your assumptions were right. The waitress showed you to my glass-topped table, in the far corner, with windows on 2 sides. You looked relieved to meet someone you knew, even though we'd only met earlier that evening. Why should you be pleased to see the woman who'd stolen your clothes, compelled you to dress provocatively and then to display your nearly naked body to a room full of strangers? I know why! Because you enjoyed it, of course.

The waitress pulled out the chair and you sat your bare ass on the cold smooth leather. The expression on your face was a picture and you froze for a moment until your own body heat warmed the soft black hide to a more comfortable temperature. I liked the way you looked at me across the table. The mixture of anger at having been humiliated was tempered by your natural sensuality, your gorgeous facial features and an undercurrent of excitement, arousal & anticipation. Actually, I think you'd rather enjoyed putting your body on display. Just as well.

You tried to speak but your throat was dry. You took your glass of champagne and downed it in one; the waitress flinched, only she and I knew how much just that single glass had cost me. There's very little of that vintage still available.

"Why did you ..." I put my finger on your lips.

"But what on earth did you think ..." you continued, but I interrupted you in mid-sentence by asking the waitress to call you a cab. "You're free to go, they'll lend you a coat" I reassured you.

You sat motionless.

"Last chance"

You stared deep into my eyes for what seemed like ages as your mind grappled with the situation. Staying now, passing over my 'last chance' offer meant accepting whatever happened next, and after that and ...

The word 'submission' must have crossed your mind.

"That's settled then," I observed and cancelled the cab. I raised my refilled glass to yours then drank from it, licking the effervescent liquid from my lips.

The tension subsided somewhat as we busied ourselves with the menu. We both chose pasta dishes with mixed salads, olives, freshly-baked Italian breads. On the table there was already some excellent olive oil (from Puglia, where else) and some well-matured balsamic vinegar (from Modena of course) in which to dip it. I think eating with one's fingers is so sensual and a great ice-breaker.

The food arrived; we ate and chatted. I hardly noticed that people were looking at us. Not just the other customers inside the restaurant, but also those walking past the windows, outside in the street. Well, hardly surprising. You nipples were very prominent, poking against your delicate silk dress, and I could see you were doing your best to keep your knees together most of the time but occasionally I'd glance down though the clear table top and catch a glimpse of your shaven rounded pubic mound and your inner cunt lips that were now so swollen that they protruded well beyond your outer labia so I could see them from where I sat, glistening with your wetness.

Normally I adore my food but that evening I hardly noticed its taste. My mind was elsewhere. The next 45 minutes were just a blur of images in my mind, wild fantasies that I acted though in my head until they possessed sufficient detail that I was sure I could translate them into realities. Powerful, stimulating and very, very satisfying realities. Every time I looked at you, interweaving you into my imagined world, your facial expression changed between puzzlement, interest, confusion, concern and even fear. Did my own demeanour give away so much that you could so readily discern my innermost thoughts and desires?

The waiting staff were very attentive and tactile. We were very well served but I think it was more due to their wish to be near to us and to feast their own eyes on your next-to-naked body and to take in the powerful scent of two highly aroused sensual woman that overshadowed the aroma of the food they brought.

You didn't eat much. You seemed to have trouble swallowing. That pleased me. It told me you were ready.

Leaving at least two hundred dollar's worth of untouched food on the table, I settled the bill with my black Passionella charge card and stood up, holding out a hand to help you to your feet. I toyed with the hotel-room swipe card between my manicured fingertips and smiled at you.

You nodded once. That was enough.

But first we had to make our way back though the bar. The music was more quietly-seductive-jazz now, the bar was teeming with even more people, wearing even less clothing than before. Almost without exception, the staff had stripped off their clothes and were now wearing only their black bras and panties in various styles chosen to suit the wearer's body shape and breast size, but all obviously sharing a common design theme. One young woman, very slim torso but with natural breasts that were exceptionally large, firm and rounded without looking grossly disproportionate, was wearing a black satin bra that covered little more than the lower, outer quarter of each breast. It left exposed a huge expanse of cleavage and sensual curved flesh between and above her nipples and revealed an intoxication crescent of darker areole, yet left enough to the imagination to prove that, yes, less truly is more. She whispered in my ear as we passed and I thanked her for her compliments.

As we pushed our way through the throng of preoccupied bodies, my ears were filled with the sounds of women having fun. Animated chatter, clinking glasses, long wet noisy kisses and moans of pleasure. Looking around I saw mostly pairs, but sometimes threes and fours, hands reaching and caressing and working inside clothing, unzipping zippers, deftly flicking buttons and loosening ribbon ties. Fingers searching out hidden secret places.

Some women, presumably customers but I was impossible to tell now, were now totally naked. One was stretched out on her back on a long low table, two members of the hotel staff held her hands and her feet whilst a tall woman in a corset ran handfuls of ice-cubes over her body, along her arms and legs and especially on her breasts and pussy. Her breasts were not large but her nipples jutted straight upwards, long and hard and inviting. She writhed and arched her back and the tall woman placed one foot on her belly, holding her down with her 5½" stilettoed shoe.

I lost you for a moment as I was distracted by the feast of female pleasure, then realised you were now surrounded by a group of 5 women. One was the slim hotel employee with the large natural breasts and the impossibly low-plunge bra. A second staff member had her back to me but I could see she was wearing a halter-neck bra with spaghetti-thin straps, matching string panties and high strappy sandals. Her thick raven-black hair was cut high into the back of her neck but progressively longer towards her face, a style I love. Her chalk-white ass was gorgeously firm and rounded and her long muscular back seemed to go on for ever. The other three women must all have been customers as one was naked but for her sheer panties whilst the other two were wearing variations on the classic little-black-cocktail-dress.

As I moved closer I saw that you had your eyes closed and then I realised why. The two cocktail-dress women, one blonde and the other a red-head, were running their hands over your body, initially through the silk that scarcely provided any meaningful protection from their intentions. Moments later, one then the other slid their hands inside your dress and fondled and teased the accessible flesh of your breasts, ass and torso. From the expression of your face, you were enjoying their attention at least as much as they were.

As I approached, the raven-haired employee made eye-contact with me to gauge my reaction. A subtle exchange of wordless communication took place in a fleeting moment that first said "Is this OK?" then "Sure, let them enjoy her" and finally "mind if we all join in".

I nodded.

The slim blonde employee whispered to her two colleagues and they led you over to a long low table onto which they threw a number of leather cushions before gently laying you back onto them. For a moment you seemed to panic. Your eyes darted left and right, searching me out, a familiar face in a crowd even though we'd only met for the first time a few hours previously. I smiled reassuringly and you relaxed visibly but only slightly.