Hotel Booking (F/M)

Bit of a strange one this. Pure fantasy, with a twist. Knocked out whilst confined to study during household decorations. I must have been bored. The scenario never happened to me but must be something that appeals as some years ago I wrote a story  Room Service 
in which a young man is thrashed in a hotel room by a predatory male. I reckon it is the anonymity that ticks my boxes. Enjoy as my little prelude to a Christmas message. That, like my next whacking, is just around the corner. Alfred Roy

Hotel Booking

 

He ordered his second drink and returned to the corner seat. A plush, red leather, curved area that was both comfortable and secluded. That and his second whisky on the rocks induced a pleasant ambience in his being. Nerves, initially consumed in havoc, were calmed and in control. About time he thought. Pulling up in the car park of the well established if discreet town centre hotel, can a town centre hotel be discreet he thought, his nerves and anticipation had been in overdrive. He had spent four or five weeks musing on this meeting and then nervously made contact. The response had induced a further week of frantic e-mails, hasty re-arranged appointments, lame excuses, and finally confirmation. Yes he would meet her at the hotel suggested, yes he would pay the cost of the room in addition to her fee, very reasonable, and yes he wanted the full works. Complete scholastic domination. For two heavenly hours. How he longed for it. But how he had fretted both after the e-mails and the initial telephone call. Worried about so many things. Most allayed now, in this hotel sitting on this comfortable corner seat with his second whisky, less than half an hour to lift off. How and why he had fretted now seemed a little overdone.

 

She had been so reassuring. Do not worry she said, I have been there before. The rooms are soundproofed and, besides, they know what I do. They are as discreet as me. They do not want trouble. And we will be out by nine and they can re-let the room. Good business for everyone. You can’t meet at your place and I only operate on this basis. Purely professional. So do not fret, do not worry, just meet me at the hotel and look forward to having your bottom smacked. And everything else. It sounds well overdue. Those last few words had tantalised his being long after the one and only phone call had been completed. Look forward to having your bottom smacked. And everything else. How he desired it, wanted it, was desperate for it. Twenty seven and discovering his sexuality. A like minded friend had told him about her. Amazing. She ain’t young or particularly attractive but she is the bee’s knees. Especially for latent schoolboys desirous of his fantasy headmistress. That is what the like minded friend had said and each word etched in his being and stiffened, literally, his resolve to have a session with her. Or, more appropriately, to be sessioned by her. He had got the distinct feeling that in this bizarre tango there was only one leader and it would not be him. Another box ticked, another twitch in his groin. The downside, there is always a downside, she only played at your place or at specially selected hotels. The first was a no-no, the second did not appeal. Initially. It scared him but, as in so many things, fear and desire are a potent mix. He tortured himself for days, fantasised for a few more, and finally phoned her. Yes he had references, important, yes he knew what she did, important, and yes he wanted it. Desperately. He desperately wanted her to cane his bottom. So much so he was prepared to meet someone he had never met in a hotel room he had never visited. And he booked it in advance. Room 223. And if anyone on reception smirked he was not aware of it.

 

He knew her straight away. Or he thought he did. The reception desk was well in his sight line, deliberate, and the woman making enquiries fulfilled all of his fantasies. Medium height, buxom but not overweight, mid forties and pleasingly dressed and pleasant of face. Every inch a schoolmistress, but a schoolmistress with a touch of elegant frivolity. She looked both fun and severe and he was convinced she must be the lady his like minded friend had dubbed amazing. If she picked up her case, a heavy brown one, and went straight to the lift he would be disappointed. Devastated in fact. The woman on the phone had made it clear, references or not, that this was a first meeting and she would not go to his room until they had met. He held his breath and prayed. But she did exactly that, took a key and moved off to the lift. So much for fantasies. A few minutes after she left a small and elderly lady, slightly confused it seemed, entered the lobby and made querulous enquiries of the receptionist. Something about them not being able to accommodate her Pekinese. He drank a goodly quality of his whisky and said to himself, please do not be her. Please, do not be her.

 

He was still containing his disappointment when a voice whispered in his ear.

‘Martin?’ It is Martin, isn’t it?’

He froze.

‘You can look at me. I won’t bite.’

He turned his head and held his breath.

‘At least not yet.’

She sat down, drink in hand, and smiled warmly. The buxom woman he had seen at reception. His puzzled expression evoked a response.

‘I always book in. It looks odd otherwise. They have an office where I leave my case. This is non alcoholic, by the way. In case you were thinking.’

He still said nothing.

‘It is Martin isn’t it? Christopher’s friend? I am rarely wrong.’

‘Yes.’

‘And if I was, well, no harm done.’

‘No.’

‘Just sorry to have bothered you, a smile, and go. But you are Martin aren’t you?’

‘Is it obvious?’

‘Oh yes. Schoolboy written all over you. Your friend Christopher told me all about you.’

‘All?’

‘Enough.’

She smiled enigmatically and it was a smile that held a hint of promised indulgences. And the words that followed confirmed it. Martin felt stiffening in his loins as he listened. The words were heavenly, a blessed fulfilment of an all consuming desire.

‘Enough to know that I shall have a willing pupil. A very boyish one, if I may say so. I reckon I shall enjoy beating your bottom. I usually do, but it is a bonus to have one so young.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Even if my fee is still the same. One has to make a living.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you have been beaten before?’

‘A long time ago. At school.’

‘But not since?’

‘No.’

‘Interesting.’

She mused on this word and a silence fell between them. He finished his drink and waited for her to speak again.

‘But you are ready?’

‘Yes. Yes Miss.’

‘Ready to be caned?’

‘I have been ready a long time, Yes Miss.’

As he said this, Yes Miss, a surge fired through his being. He had definitely been ready for a long time and she seemed safe. Safe for an anonymous meeting in an equally anonymous hotel. Never had he felt so excited. His friend said he would, given his personality and desires. And she was good, so it was said. He would have all those desires fulfilled. So Yes Miss it was. And he was ready.

‘I cane hard.’

‘I know.’

‘Very hard.’

‘He told me.’

‘Your friend?’

‘You have dealt with him, more than once.’

‘Then you know what to expect.’

‘I think so.’

Whether he did or not the prospect, and the words, increased the stirring in his loins. He sensed his penis beginning to twitch uncontrollably. She must know, he thought, she must realise what she was doing to him. Her smile said she did.

‘I do not believe in pretending. I like my scenes to be real. A cane should hurt.’

‘Yes Miss.’

‘But it should also excite.’

‘I hope so.’

‘Creating both fear and desire, Martin.’

‘Christopher, my friend, said it did. He said it, you, turned him on.’

‘In spite of my age and appearance?’

‘Because of it.’

‘And you?’

‘Yes. Yes Miss.’

She smiled and as she did so her eyes flashed a glistening warning.

‘I like to please, as well as give pain.’

‘Thank you Miss.’

‘Then I suggest you go up when you are ready.’

‘Now?’

‘I think so. The room is only booked until nine,’

‘Yes.’

‘And neither of us wishes to rush things, do we?’

‘No. No Miss.’

She leaned closer to him and whispered.

‘Then prepare yourself, young man. Keep all your clothes on, for now; I do not like it any other way. I shall do all that is necessary as we progress. I shall look forward to this Martin. I shall be up in ten minutes. Leave the room unlocked, I do not wish to knock, it does not suit my style.’

‘Yes Miss.’

‘And do not be afraid to cry. It often helps.’

As she said this she raised her drink and smiled at him again. He nodded and did as she bid. He finished his second whisky and, slightly light headed and warm, rose and walked towards the lift. He fervently prayed that no one around could see the erection he was convinced trumpeted the promised scene that was to follow in room 223. In ten minutes or so he would be being caned on his bare bottom. For the first time in many years. And he was aching for it. Aching for both threatened pain and promised pleasure.

 

He stood trembling, hands on head and eyes closed. He had removed his shoes and jacket, as instructed, and the remaining shirt and jeans clung to him in a heavy sweat. He sensed and felt the soft hands undoing the buttons on the jeans and, as they loosened, thrilled at the same hands pulling away nether clothes and tantalisingly caressing lower curves. His curves, ready and willing for what was on offer. In this case a preliminary inspection. That is what she had said as she closed the hotel door and dimmed the central room light. He had gulped and, commanded, removed the shoes and jacket and stood stock still. Eyes fervently closed. And then the hands had started to explore. All was silent, only his heavy breathing and the drift of perfume indicated the presences in the room. Room 223. He sensed, felt, his jeans being pulled down to his ankles and registered the slight touch of coldness from the room on his exposed flesh. Only his legs but soon, very soon, all of him was revealed and sensed the cold air. His underpants, cotton and light blue, specially selected for this mistress were slowly pulled down. His bottom and penis, the latter magnificently erect, were brought into view. He felt so vulnerable, so consumed in all his being. This was what he had so fervently wished for. Controlled, humiliated, exposed. In an anonymous room with an anonymous woman. And she was not there for prosaic sex, the usual coupling. She was there for other reasons and the thought of what would follow, a cane across his eager bottom, increased that magnificent erection. Martin, partially naked and tantalisingly exposed, wanted all she had to offer. To his friend Christopher he offered many silent thanks and sighed. The sighs died when soft and caressing hands ceased their exploration and a large and heavy strap whacked into his naked and trembling behind. Martin’s discipline had begun. His anonymous mistress in the anonymous hotel room did not disappoint. Standing still, hands on head, he absorbed twenty or so strokes of her straps across his bare bottom. They neither decreased nor enhanced his erection. They merely complemented it. The feeling was heaven and when she pulled his underpants over his burning bottom Martin wondered what was to follow. He did not have long to wait. Instructed to pull up his jeans he did so and, breathlessly, followed all else she said. He bent over the chair she had placed into the middle of the room and readied himself for a promised cane. She gave him twenty four strokes, six on his jeans, six on his underpants, and twelve across a behind she lovingly bared again in preparation. They stung like hell, especially the last twelve, but Martin drank them all in and willed it to continue. Never was pain so pleasurable, none more so than, when bid, he looked into the hotel room mirror and admired the savage weals burned into his glowingly warm backside. ‘Touch them’ she said, ‘Enjoy the warmth, the ridges, the sting. And when you are ready Martin, strip’. ‘Strip completely, I wish to see you as you wish to see yourself. Naked.’ And she did. And for over an hour more a naked Martin suffered and devoured exquisite humiliation that even his fevered imagination had not contemplated.

 

They sat in the bar of the hotel, the three of them. Martin, his amazing Mistress, and his friend Christopher. The session in room 223 over, Martin and his tormenting chastiser had retired for a relaxing drink. Alcohol, she had said, this time, and her smile alluded to the possibility that Martin had quite exhausted her. Perversely, a subdued Martin seemed pleased. The bar lounge was empty and conversation, albeit subtly low key, could be free and uninhibited. It was during a few intensive exchanges that Christopher turned up, clearly expected if not by Martin. He bought a drink at the bar and joined them. If Martin was surprised by this it paled into insignificance as a strange three way conversation progressed. A conversation that both churned Martin’s stomach and, weirdly, disturbed and enhanced his pleasure of the evening. If he never knew before how perverse his sexuality was, he certainly did now.

‘Your wife?’

‘Yes. Did you not guess?’

‘No, why should I?’

‘No reason Martin, I just thought you might though.’

‘My names is Christine, by the way.’

The woman who had just done things to him he had only dreamed of, in an anonymous hotel room, turned and smiled at Martin. She sipped her drink and continued.

‘Christopher had told me all about you and, well I thought it might be fun.’

‘So you don’t normally do this sort of thing?’

‘Oh yes. It’s my living. And my pleasure.’

She smiled and looked at Christopher.

‘And she is very good Martin, isn’t she?’

‘Yes. Yes, she is, very good.’

His mind wandered back to hotel room 223 and he blushed, beads of sweat returning.

‘And you don’t mind?’

‘No. Should I? After all, it is how we met.’

How they met. Christopher and Christine. At a dominatrix party, a couple of years before. They clicked and, strangely, fell in love. A normal relationship Christopher said, except once a week or so when she beat him. And except those weeks when she sent him to someone else to do the same. It was at one such someone else’s house, an afternoon party, that he had met Martin. A voyeur, a man on the side, watching but desperate to be involved. They became friends and, eventually he told him about Christine, Madam Christine. Except he did not say her name or that she was his wife. Merely of what she did.

 

And it was what she did that Martin was still thinking of when he journeyed home. Christine, his friend’s wife. What she did for a fee, a substantial fee. And for pleasure she had said. Did Christopher know? And if he did, did he care? Did he know or guess that his wife had taken Martin, a man much younger than himself or her, to a hotel room. And in that hotel room she had thrashed him, caned him, made his bare bottom beetroot. And when she had done so she had stripped him naked, tied him to the bed, spread-eagled, ran her hands all over him and brought him to a climax that Martin had only previously imagined. Her feverish hands and his throbbing behind had combined in releasing an explosion of perverse desire from his bursting cock. Never had he come so willingly and so desperately. The experience was wonderful, and the reliving of it with his new found knowledge even better. He already hankered for a repeat. Christopher was a friend, a like minded friend and, as Martin told him in a pub a couple of weeks later, being beaten by his wife was an amazing experience. Christopher smiled. No bother, he said, and next time, if you want a next time, she might do it for free.

‘Providing you let me watch.’

‘Let you watch?’

‘Yes. Does that bother you?’

‘No. No, strangely it doesn’t.’

‘That’s what Christine said.’

‘Oh.’

‘She said, and she knows these things, Martin has an exhibitionist’s bottom.’

 

Martin just laughed, laughed to cover his embarrassment. But he knew Christopher was right. His penis had never stopped twitching from the moment he met Madam Christine. He fervently desired her to thrash him again. Discovering she was Christopher’s wife did not diminish his feelings, it increased them. And now, in the pub, with the strange proposal? Martin twitched even more. To have his humiliation watched took strange desire to new heights. Even higher than room 223 in an anonymous town centre hotel. He could not wait.


To be continued

 

Alfred Roy (2017)