## The craziest vacation

Post by donatello » Wed Jan 09, 2013 4:55 pm

Hi everyone. Its been a long while since I posted last. I haven't had many TUG experiences lately, so here's a fictional piece to tide me over. I hope you like it. I don't have any idea how long it will be eventually, so I'm just playing it by ear. And I should warn readers, this one is a little short on the ropes, gags, and hogties. It has lots of dom/sub overtones, though, and there will be ropes and gags - don't worry
My wild, unexpected vacation started benignly enough. I was contacted by an old, and now fairly distant, family friend who said he had a summer work opportunity for me. It was a little unusual, he cautioned me, but a very rare and valuable opportunity for a college student strapped for cash. It would allow me to travel all over the world – all the while getting paid handsomely. Needless to say, my interest was piqued immediately.
This family acquaintanace, Eric, went on to explain that he had an old friend who loved to travel the world but hated traveling. And by this confusing statement he meant that this friend, Elizabeth, loved to see the world, but hated getting there. She hated airports, she hated hotels (well, she actually liked hotels, but she hated getting to them, checking in, booking reservations, etc), she hated taxis, she hated the whole hassel of having to plan things and then make sure that she got to all the right places at the right times with the right items. Basically, Eric told me, I would be taking care of all the unpleasantness of traveling, and in return she would pay me well and would pay my way as well – because, in order to take care of everything for her, I had to be with her every step of the way.
Your responsibilities, he said, will include just about everything. You will plan her flights, lodging, transportation, entertainment. According to her wishes and directions, of course. She will tell you where she wants to go, when, and what she wants to do when she gets there – in general terms. And you have to make the precise plans. The day of the initial flight you are to inform her when you will pick her up, then drive to her house in your car. You will then drive her to the airport in her car, making arrangements for the person of her choice to pick the car up later in the day.
At the airport, you are to be responsible for her bags – as well as yours – at all times, and you are to conduct her to the check-in counter, through security (make sure she knows what she can and can’t put in her checked luggage), to the gate and onto the plane. She will be flying first class while you will be flying coach – but before you take your seat make sure she is comfortably installed, with her carry-on baggage where she can easily reach it.
Once at your destination, you are to conduct her off the plane, through customs, baggage claim, etc, and make the necessary currency exchange. Then guide her to the hotel shuttle or to a taxi. You will have to give the taxi the necessary directions to the hotel, where you will check in for her. You will have two separate rooms, of course, but yours must be immediately adjacent to hers, so she can call for you at any time (she doesn’t want to have to figure out how to use the hotel phone to call your room). Oh, and keep a spare room key in case she loses hers or leaves it in her room.
Eric went on and on like this for a long time. It took about half an hour for him to fully describe what the job would entail. I was stunned by the end of it. When he asked me if I had any questions for him, I didn’t really know where to begin – though I was brimming with curiosity.
“Is all this really necessary?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” Eric responded. She has a deep passion for seeing the world, but really can’t handle the stress of modern travel. You’re to take care of all that for her, to allow her to do experience what would otherwise be impossible.” I thought about this for a moment. It sounded plausible enough. I mean, I hate the hassel of travel too, and I could imagine there were people for whom it was just too much to handle. An issue that had been brewing in my mind for a while came out next.
“Isn’t it a little weird that she’s a woman and wants a guy for a travelling companion?”
“Good question. I’m glad you asked, as it is bound to come up from time to time. She is a very self-motivated, talented, and successful woman. She’s very prominent and well-known in her field. As such, she has experienced the full range of male chauvinism in society, business, politics, you name it. She knows that men get around the world easier than women. And she knows as well that, due to the nature of the tasks you will be performing for her, she could never get an adult to travel with her. She believes that if she hired a young woman the two of them would be taken advantage of, perhaps dangerously so. She perfers a young man because men are shown more respect – especially in the countries whe wants to visit.”
Again, I thought it over. It sounded quite plausible, as before. “So what’s in it for me, again?”
“You will be paid $500 for each day of the trip. Of course, this will require some up-front planning on your part, but still, that’s a fair amount of money. Over the course of the summer, you will likely make two or three trips, each of ten days or so. All in all, it’s a fair chunk of change. And your way will be paid for and you will get to visit the same places as her. A starving student could hardly ask for a better opportunity. Of course, she expects everything to be taken care of, so you’ll have to plan carefully and be responsible at all times.”
I couldn’t argue with his assessment. I could make as much as $15,000 this summer – and see the world at the same time. But still, something about the offer seemed weird. “Tell me more about this Elizabeth,” I asked.
Eric went on to tell me that she was a businesswoman and had built a small empire in the foods business, starting from nothing at all. She was very wealthy, but also ver eccentric. I found out she was middle-aged (Eric would not divulge her exact age), so she had made her fortune quickly. Eric said she had asked him to find a suitable travel companion/manager/guide, and that he had recommended me.
“After seeing a picture of you, she was sold. She absolutely insisted I be the one.”
This made me a little uneasy. Eric seemed to recognize that he had made a mistake in saying that last bit, and quickly backtracked. “Of course, she thought you looked mature, capable, responsible. You can tell from people’s facebook profiles these days who’s grown up and who isn’t.”
I was a little relieved, but not totally. I told him I’d think about the offer and get back to him. But to be honest, it was too good to be true. I would visit the world, get paid well, and have the chance to network with a very famous, successful businesswoman. As an aspiring businessman myself, it was truly a dream come true. I got in touch with Eric the next day and told him I was on board.
I won’t go through all the details of the trip planning, as that would bore you and has no relevance to the story, after all. Suffice it to say that I made all the necessary arrangements, according to Elizabeth’s requests (I spoke with her by phone several times and exchanged emails), and the first leg of our journey went off without hitch. We landed in Rio De Janeiro and arrived at the hotel (the Hilton) seamlessly.
Elizabeth herself was eccentric, but not as snoody or aristocratic as I had feared. She was actually quite beautiful: slim, in her mid-40s probably, with beautiful, long brown hair. She didn’t seem to fit the stereotype of the masculine self-made business woman, competing in the world of men and having to work twice as hard for the same amount of respect and success as her male peers. I mean, she had long hair, wasn’t overly type-A, and wasn’t paranoid about exuding feminine charm. She could reveal a certain anger and disdain for men, though, especially when she noticed a difference in treatment due to gender, or a gendered social norm. She would become frosty, haughty, and commanding at such moments. But I took them in stride and didn’t complain. She was right, after all, about the way society favors men in many cases.
I have to admit, it was a little humiliating to be her personal servant. Carrying her bags, especially, made me feel submissive and subordinated. But I thought maybe women have been feeling this way for ages. Am I above feeling the same? And I was getting paid well, I told myself. So I endured it.
Except I need mention one thing. Before we left (a week or so before), Eric brought over a package, sealed, with my name on it. He said there was something inside for me from Elizabeth, but that he had no idea what it was. Curious, I opened it (not in his presence, of course), only to find a simple note. A list, really. It said, “Dear Matthew, please find enclosed a few items you will need during our trip. Please bring them with you – Elizabeth.”
I pulled the items out of the package. There were several. They were soft, very colorful, and small. I unfolded the first, which was bright, bright blue, to discover a pair of underwear. I was surprised and somewhat suspicious. They were boxers, though based on the type of material and the size of them in my hands I could tell they probably fit pretty tight. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground as I held the blue boxers up. I picked it up and read the hand-written message scrawled across it: “I love to swim, but I’m especially self-conscious at pools, particularly hotel pools. I never know when they’re open, when they close, who else might be using them, etc. So since we’ll be spending a lot of time at the pool, I thought I’d buy you some swimwear. Of course, they’re usable as ordinary underwear as well.”
Again, the explanation seemed to make sense, but was definitely a little weird and unusual. I looked at the other items in the package. They were either like the blue boxers (red, black, white), or else much skimpier – speedos. The speedos were black, yellow, and red. Curious, I stripped naked and slipped the blue boxers on. They fit perfectly, though I wasn’t really prepared for the way they fit. I mean, to say they weren’t loose-fitting boxers would be a huge understatement. They hugged my hips, butt and junk so snuggly that they felt like a second skin. Looking in the mirror, I realized they really boxers, either. They actually covered less than your average briefs: they barely covered my butt in back. Up front, they had a special pouch for my junk, which highlighted my manhood in a way that made me blush just looking at myself in the mirror. The ‘legs’ were very short and did little more than connect the front pouch to the back.
Like I said, looking at myself in the mirror made me blush. I mean, I felt naked – and perhaps more embarrassed than if I actually were. Stripping off my blue ‘boxers’, I slipped into the yellow speedo. Well, I guess I should add here that it wasn’t really a speedo – it was underwear. A real piece of swimwear, a real speedo (I know, I’ve owned one), feels a little bit thick, rubbery, and water-proof. This felt thin, silky, form-fitting. It felt like underwear. Only it was as skimpy as a speedo. No, it was actually quite a bit skimpier. Or, at least, it felt skimpier when I put it on and looked into the mirror.
Two things stood out. First, it fit quite low across my hips – so low that my pubic hair risked showing – and the material connecting the front pouch to the back was maybe a centimeter high – scarecely more than a strap winding around my waste. Second, the thinness and suppleness of the fabric meant that my junk hung fairly low below the wasteline of the speedo, and the form at least was quite apparent. I could only imagine what it would look like after it got wet.
I honestly couldn’t believe that she meant these for swimwear. Yet that’s what the note said. I read it several times to be sure. After a moment of uncomfortable, embarrassed thought, imagining myself thus clad walking around the pool collecting stares, I decided that, while I appreciated the gifts and the thought that went into them, she must have assumed I was much more comfortable with my body than I really was and vowed to bring my own swim suit.
Then I remembered that she has specifically requested I bring the package’s contents with me. Oh well, I thought. I’ll just bring both and wear my swim suit when we go to the pool. Surely she won’t insist I humiliate myself like that. I couldn’t imagine how that made me seem more competent and capable. She would surely let me wear what I wanted, I told myself. Why wouldn’t she?
Anyway, back to the story. We check in at the Hilton and take the elevator to the very top. I had been looking forward to this since I booked the room: it was a suite with two bedrooms, a kitchen, and living room. The view of the bay and the city was extraordinary. I took Elizabeth’s bags into her room, then dropped mine off in mine. When I came back to the living room, I could tell that something had changed. The air felt different. Elizabeth looked different, only she hadn’t changed clothes or anything. She hadn’t had time to. There was something about her posture, her eyes, that was suddenly not the fatigued, stressed traveller. The room felt frosty.
Elizabeth looked straigth at me and spoke. “I’m going to take a shower, I feel like crap. Here are your instructions – when I come back I expect they will all be complete.” She walked two steps to the coffee table next to the sofas and laid a sheet of paper down. Then she turned, looked at me imperiously, and strode into her room, closing and locking the door behind her.
I was shocked. She had been so quiet, helpless even, the whole trip until now. She had let me lead at every point. Now she had an air of command that was the complete opposite – yet, coming from this new woman who had just emerged, felt completely natural. Nervous, I walked to the coffee table and picked up the sheet of paper, wondering what I would find.
“Matt, here are your first orders. I expect them to be promptly and exactly obeyed. They are to be done in order.
1. Change into one of the swimsuits I gave you and told you to bring – your choice which
2. Turn on all the lights, lamps, etc, and open the the window drapes
3. Make a pot of coffee and have a hot cup waiting for me on the coffee table”
What the hell? I thought. What was going on?!

### Re: The craziest vacation

Post by donatello » Tue Jan 22, 2013 6:46 pm

Any and all feedback welcome. Sorry it's taking so long to get into it. I just hate rushing stories - or rather, stories that feel rushed
I had been massaging her feet for several minutes, waiting for her to tell me when to stop or what to do next, when she suddenly spoke me.
“The coffee has been ready for some time. Are you just going let it sit there and get cold?” Her voice wasn’t harsh, and her eyes – which I saw when I looked up from her feet – weren’t quite as icy anymore. But her words were definitely suggestive. They seemed to be saying, “you shouldn’t need me to tell you what to do – it’s your job to figure out what I want.” It was scary, even though she wasn’t as angry or commanding as before. It set the bar high – I had to be thinking at all times of what she wanted, what next to do for her, how best to serve her.
I was still unsure and uneasy about this new situation. And I definitely wanted some additional clarification. I wanted so badly to talk about what was going on, and what was going to happen. But I didn’t dare, not when I had no idea how she would react. I could sense that she didn’t want me to know, but rather to have to react to her, respond to her. I had clearly demonstrated my ability and willingness to bend to her will without explanation already, and I doubted she wanted it any different.
I got up right away and walked over to the kitchen where the coffee was steaming in the pot. I could feel her eyes on my butt as I walked, keenly aware that my blue ‘boxers’ covered it, but didn’t conceal anything about its shape. I felt so naked again. I got a coffee mug out of a cupboard and brought the pot and her mug over to the table, set the mug on a coaster and poared her coffee carefully. Afterwards, I set the pot down on the table as well and straigtened back up. I didn’t know what to do, I really didn’t. So I just stood there, waiting for something to happen.
She took a sip, sighed as she breathed in the aroma, and closed her eyes. A second or two later she opened them again, and seeing me standing there said, impatiently, “sit.” I looked for a chair, but she spoke again, “on the floor.”
It took me a second to react, but then I obeyed. I sat down and hugged my knees, the better to cover my body from her view.
“No, cross-legged,” she corrected me, as if it was obvious the way I should be sitting. “And lean back on your hands,” she added. I did as I was told, which exposed my body to her gaze. She could tell it made me embarrassed. The bulge in my boxers started to grow again. She just sat there and looked my body over, sipping her coffee.
After a few minutes of this, I had had time to gather my thoughts and try and analyze the situation in as objective a manner as possible. And the conclusion was obvious: I was submitting to this woman’s authority (a capricious authority at that) for no obvious reason. Why I had accepted a demotion from tour guide to underwear-clad servant and eye-candy was a question I couldn’t answer. So, sitting on the floor under her gaze, I gathered my courage and spoke up.
“Can I ask what’s going on?” I tried to make it sound as unaccusatory as possible. I hate confrontation, and I knew I was stuck in Brazil with this woman for better or worse for some time. Better to stay on good terms. But clearly the terms were shifting on me.
Elizabeth looked at me as if the answer were obvious and I was being a dunse for asking. “You’re being paid to be my assistant for this trip. Were the terms not clear or generous enough?”
I was immediately on the defensive. “No, no, it’s not that. That was pretty clear. But,… well,… I’m just not sure…why… I’m only wearing this.” I dropped my glance to my scantilly-covered loins as I finished.
Unlike my unsure statement, her reply was without hesitation; it was also simple. “You’re wearing that,” here she gestured with a nod at my tight, blue boxers, “Because you took off all your clothes.” It was true. I blushed at the obvious, humiliating fact that I no one had forced me – I had volunteered to remove my own clothes, and was therefore in my current situation. It was true that she had never yet used a single coercive measure.
“In fact, this conversation is so silly I think you need more to do. Follow me.”
With that, she arose from the sofa and walked swiftly into her bedroom. I got up and followed. As I entered the room I saw her taking off her tank-top, revealing a black bra underneath. She then proceeded to lay on the carpeted floor.
“Give my body a massage. Air travel gives me muscle cramps and aches to no end.” Her eyes were closed and she was relaxing into her prone position. I approached her slowly, unsure. I was not a masseus.
“I’ve never given a massage before,” I confessed.
“You’ll learn as you go.”
I knelt down and placed my hands tentatively on her naked back. It felt really weird, touching this older, yet beautiful, woman’s body while wearing very little myself. I feel that anyone randomly glancing at us would have guessed we had a very different relationship. I didn’t like that thought – or the thought that I didn’t know what relationship we did have – but the situation didn’t seem so threatening with her lying on the floor, submitting to my inept massage techniques. I told myself I would put my foot down if it went too far.
After working on her back for some time, she said, “Now work on my thighs.”
I slid laterally, down from her lower back and started working on her left thigh. But she stopped me.
“No, no. Straddle me, facing backwards, and start with my buttocks. Then work down my thighs.”
“You want me to straddle you?”
“Yes!” she snapped. “Do as you’re told.” So I swung one leg over her body, settled down gently on the small of her back, and placed my hands on her butt. It felt weird, but soon I was hard at work. She gave me constant feedback, mostly to work the tissues harder. I was exhausted after 30-45 minutes of work, all up and down her body. I was sweating lightly and breathing fairly heavily. My arms and hands and back were burning.
Elizabeth slowly stretched her back, showing off her breasts in the process, and then stood. I sat on the carpet, legs crossed and hands supporting my torso behind me. After that experience I was not only hot and sweaty but considerably more comfortable being around her dressed down like I was. She walked to her bags, rummaged for a moment, then pulled out a light, baggy sweater and pulled it on over her head. She turned back to me and, now fully clad, made me feel a little more naked than I had a moment earlier.
“Call for roomservice,” she said.
“For dinner?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What should I order?”
“I don’t know, find something suitable. This is a nice hotel, after all. I imagine the menu will provide more than enough options.”
I stood and walked to the night stand where the menu was sitting. I looked through it, ordered food for the two of us. Elizabeth was lying on the bed, reading, when I hung up the room phone.
“He said it would be ready in 20 minutes.”
“Good. You can do what you like until then.” She didn’t even look up from her book. It was more a dismissal than anything. It was clear she didn’t want me hanging around her room.
So I went into the living room. I wondered what to do, and mused over the possibility of putting my clothes back on. She had said I was free to do what I want, but something told me she hadn’t meant to convey I was free to wear what I wanted. I was severely tempted to get dressed again and walk into her room fully clothed. The thought of it made me feel strangely powerful. Then I remembered where I was, and that she was paying for all of this – and that I had two more weeks on this trip. This voice urged caution. “How interested can she be in me in my underwear?” I wondered. I’ll get dressed in the morning. We have a busy day tomorrow touring around anyway.” So I stayed in my underwear and grabbed a book myself.
Soon, a knock came on the door and a voice announced room service. I strode to the door to Elizabeth’s room and told her softly that room service had arrived.
She looked up from her book, incredulous. “Well, answer the bloody door!”
“You want me to answer the door?” I was too embarrassed at the thought of it to say anything else.
“Why the hell do you think you’re here? I’m reading! Bring the food in and set it on the bed next to me.”
Another knock came at the door.
“What are you waiting for?” Her face was impatient and not a little irate. Still, I froze, not willing to face the room service person wearing only tiny, neon blue spandex boxer-briefs. After a second more of hesitation, I scampered across the living room towards my bags, determined to put pants on at least.
“Don’t you dare!” Her voice turned suddenly commanding. I froze in my tracks. Unless you want to sleep at the airport tonight and buy your own airfare home tomorrow, you’ll answer the door as you are.”
My heart sank. She had played her ace. I didn’t have the money in my bank account to buy a one-way flight home. She had purchased my airfare and could cancel it at any time. I stood there with my back to her for a couple seconds, taking in what she had just said.
“Are we agreed?” she asked, much more sweetly. “Now please get the door – the poor man’s waiting.” Something about her abrupt change of tone worked like magic – it made everything seem so reasonable. I wasn’t being treated unfairly – I was getting a great deal, actually. I just had to satisfy some odd requests now and again. Nothing harmful to me, though. I spun around and walked to the door. I didn’t make eye contact with Elizabeth as she watched from her bed. Without looking through the peep-hole, I opened the door.
The man in the hall said, “room service…” then stopped, taking in my lack of clothing. I was humiliated. I could scarcely believe this was happening.
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.”
The man recovered, handed me the tray of food, and left – but not before he gave me another glance over his shoulder. I closed the door as fast as I could without making it seem like I was hurrying. I carried the tray to Elizabeth with both hands. As I walked into her room, I felt very much like a helpless domestic servant. Her eyes flicked from the food tray to my waistline to my eyes and back again.
“Just here, on the bed dear.” She said, patting the spot next to her. Now she was being kind. To say I was a jumble of emotions would be an understatement. After I set it down, I stood back, at attention – ready for her next order.
“Why don’t you kneel down there by the bed and eat with me?”
So I did. I don’t think I had ever eaten lunch with someone else in my underwear before. The food was good, at least. After we had eaten, she ordered me to put the tray and dishes in the hall. I did so, feeling exposed standing outside the room. But no one saw me.
I walked back into her room, expecting another order. She didn’t keep me waiting.
“Put your red ones one,” she told me.
“My red ones?” I repeated, unsure what she meant.
“Oh, you know, the speedo. The red speedo I gave you to bring.”
I stood there for a second – all her commands were catching me by surprise tonight. “...Umm…, sure.” I turned around and walked to my bag. I found the red speedo – really, the tiniest excuse for briefs you’ve ever seen – and pulled it out. I looked so tiny, I blushed just looking at it. “Well, here goes nothing,” I thought, slipping my blue boxers off and sliding the red speedo on. Other than the tight way it hugged my junk, it felt like I was wearing nothing. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “well, it’s official – I’m definitely this woman’s little bitch.”
And with that, I strode across the living room, in full view of Elizabeth from her bed. As I walked I actually started swaggering a little, swaying my hips from side to side. I could feel myself slipping neatly into my role. Her eyes were clearly lustful – whether for my body or for power over me, I wasn’t sure – as I approached her bedside.
“Those look fabulous on you,” she said, her eyes raking my body up and down. “Now, lay down on your belly.”
This time I hardly processed the command before moving to obey. I was still wondering why I was being asked to do this when I felt the soft carpet caress my naked skin. Then, suddenly, I felt a great weight on my back and on my arms. I could tell immediately that Elizabeth was sitting on my back, and that her shins were tightly pinning my arms to the ground above the elbow.
“Lift your head up,” she said quietly, her mouth close to my right ear. I hesitated, afraid again of what was happening. “Come on,” she encouraged, gently. “Just lift your head up and look forward.
I really didn’t have a choice at this point. My arms weren’t going anywhere, and my body was pinned. I could flail my legs, but what was the point? And I still wasn’t convinced that resisting her would be a good idea. I lifted my head off the carpet.
And over my head and into my field of view swooped a pink rubber ball on a black leather belt. Within a second it was lodged firmly and deeply in my mouth, and second after that the belt was buckled tightly behind my head.
“Unghh unnngnnh ung!” I half gargled, half moaned in surprise and protest. I was still reeling from the feel of rubber forcing my mouth wide open when her weight shifted and one of my arms was pulled behind my back. I felt rope being tied around it, then the other was freed, only to be pulled across the first. I knew my wrists were being bound together, but she was in such control that I didn’t believe for a second that struggling would do me any good. Maybe, I thought, I will get treated better if I don’t resist. But I wasn’t really thinking clearly at that moment, to be honest. And I wasn’t sure at all what was happening.
In a matter of seconds, my wrists were securely and tightly bound. I felt Elizabeth’s weight lift off my back. Then her hands slapped my ass three times, swiftly.
“Mmmmnghngh!” I moaned in protest.
“You are adorable!” She exclaimed.
I don’t think I could possibly describe how I felt at that moment.

### Re: The craziest vacation

Post by thedarkdefender » Sat Feb 02, 2013 4:18 am

I have a feeling that this will be one of the best stories ever.
Please go on soon

### Re: The craziest vacation

Post by donatello » Tue Feb 05, 2013 3:21 pm

“We are going to have so much fun,” she said. My stomach sank. Things had gone from odd, to kinky, to worse in a hurry. I was now tied up and ball gagged, face down on my boss’ hotel carpet – wearing nothing but a tiny, red speedo. I moaned a question to her, dying to know where this was heading. My curiosity seemed to increase in inverse proportion to my control over my situation.
“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll take care of you,” she replied sweetly, from over by her bags. She returned swiftly and placed her weight on my thighs, facing backwards. I felt her swiftly and effectively bind my ankles. Then she turned around and started to wrap ropes around my chest, both over and under my arms. The feel of her hands on my naked skin was so erotic, I can’t tell you. Partly because she was an attractive woman, partly because I was helpless, tied up, and naked.
Before long, she finished and completed her work by bending my legs over my butt and tightly tying my ankles to my chest ropes. I was strung into a very taught hogtie. I grunted a couple of times as she cinched it tighter. She patted my butt comfortingly as she finished.
“There you are. That better?”
I moaned in a mixture of protest, admiration, and, well, helplessness.
“Good,” she said. Because it’s late and I’m tired. See you in the morning.
I panicked. She was leaving me like this all night?! I began moaning desperately.
“Oh, quit complaining. You’ll be just fine. And don’t bother me – if you wake me up, there will be hell to pay for it.” I took the hint and subsided into helpless silence.
I’m not exactly sure when she hogtied me and went to be, but my best guess is that it was around 1:30 AM. It was at least 1:00 AM, as we I remember ordering room service at 12:30 or so. I also don’t know how long I was tied up like that because I’m not sure when in the morning she untied me since I couldn’t see a clock lying on my belly on her carpet. But based on when I finally was able to check the time, it was likely around 6:30 or 7:00 that I at last “awoke” from a night of very fitful sleep. I really hadn’t slept at all, to be honest, but had managed to dose for a few minutes at a time off and on all night. By 6:30 or so, however, I was reaching the limits of my endurance. I must admit that, in retrospect, 5 hours in a hogtie seems pretty easy, but then again I built up a tolerance for bondage over that summer that at the time I did not possess.
So by early morning I was in a bad way. My whole body was sore from the strict hogtie, my jaw ached unbearably from the pink ball gag, and my face and the carpet were covered in drool. The night before I had, more or less, decided to submit to my boss/travel patron’s rather odd and somewhat erotic fetishes as an unusual but not completely unreasonable exchange for the incredible travel and financial opportunity she was offering me. But the aches in my body were starting to convince me otherwise. Like I said, by 6:30 or so I was near cracking point and had decided to stop playing the meek and submissive slave. Instead, I did the only thing I could do – I squirming and making noise. It amounted to little more than wriggling my mostly naked body around on the carpet and moaning loudly, but pathetic as it was, it worked.
After a minute or so of my pathetic protests, I heard Elizabeth start to move on the bed, then stand up and walk around to side of the bed that I was lying next to. As she came over, she paused at her bags for a moment, then continued. I knew I couldn’t see behind me, so I didn’t try – I just waited for her to approach, wondering what she would do. I didn’ have to wait long. A fast whistling sound in the air followed by a sharp crack and a surge of stinging pain on my left butt cheek were all I needed to know. Apparently, she had brought a whip of some sort with her. I groaned in sudden surprise and protest.
“That will teach you to wake me up in the morning before I’ve had my full night’s rest,” she said sharply. And with that, a whistle, crack, and surge of pain from my right cheek complemented her message.
Having gotten her attention, I changed tactics and let out a pitiful begging moan rather than a complaint moan. For those of you who’ve never been tied up and ball gagged for an extended period of time, there’s a difference. The begging moan was designed, at all costs, to get the big rubber ball out of my mouth to allow my tortured jaw to relax.
“What is it, you little pussy? Can’t take it already?”
I half whimpered and half moaned again, raising my head a little to show off my ball gag, hoping against hope she would get the message and take pity. I really didn’t know how I was going to get through another 20 minutes with the ball wedged in my mouth, let alone another hour or two.
“Aw, is your mouth aching? Had enough of that gag?” Her tone was condescending and mocking, but I didn’t care. Delighted she had understood, I nodded my head. “Well, we can do something about that.” And with that, she bent over me and unbuckled the gag’s strap at the back of my head. When it came loose and she pulled the ball from my mouth I closed my mouth and sighed gratefully, resting my face against the soaked carpet in relief.
My relief was ended by another sharp whip strike on my exposed thigh, prompting an “Ow!” from me.
“What do you say, you ungrateful little bitch! You don’t even thank your master when she does as you ask?”
“Sorry,” I said, apologetic. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, what?” she prompted.
“Thank you,… master?” I guessed. I was rewarded with another whip on the thigh – the other this time.
“You say it with hesitation, as if it weren’t true. As if you were merely playing along. Because if you don’t believe it, I can convince you.” Her words and voice were dripping with threat and menace. Lying there, hogtied and helpless, in my underwear, and having spent the night in futile struggle against my bonds, I didn’t doubt her intentions or capabilities.
“No, not at all!” I hurriedly gasped out. “I’m fully convinced.”
She remained silent for a moment. I knew I was expected to say more. “I’m fully convinced that you’re my master.”
“And that you’re my…” she prompted.
“That I’m your slave,” I finished. I couldn’t believe I had just said that. I had just declared, without hesitation or a hint of role-play, that I was this middle-aged woman’s slave. Wow. How fast things had changed in just a few hours.
“Hmm,” she said, pensive. “I like ‘sex toy’ or ‘little bitch’ better, but ‘slave’ is accurate, and does the job fine, I suppose.” She said this with a sweet, sing-song voice, so different from her menacing, threatening tone of just seconds earlier. There was a lot of pleasure and satsifaction in her voice. When I heard “sex toy” my heart skipped a beat or two and my stomach dropped a foot. I was fully aware that our relationship had gotten a lot more sexual over the past few hours, but I had no idea how far she was intending to go. And before, I had been always on the verge of disobeying her ridiculous orders. Now, I had no more capacity to disobey, and no clue – but a lot of crazy, wild ideas – what she intended to do with me.
“Well, slave, since you’ve woken me up and put me in a bad mood, there’s only one thing you can do to assuage my wrath: make me coffee.” And with that, she straddled my body – wearing only a camisole and panties, I noticed – and began to undo my hogtie. After this, she untied my wrists and the chest harness she had attached my ankles to. I was so grateful, and I said so.
“Mmm, thank you, master.”
She smiled and made an approving noise. “You’re learning fast. Now roll over on your back and don’t even think of trying anything (my hands were free) or you will regret it for the rest of this trip.” Frightened, I did as told and put my hands on my bare stomach.
“Good,” she approved, and stood up and walked to her bags again. She came back with hand cuffs, but maybe hand cuffs isn’t the right term because the “cuffs” were made of leather and the chain was several inches long and slender. “Put your wrists in the air,” she commanded. I obeyed. She cuffed my wrists, then stood up and commanded me to stand as well. I rolled over, pulled my knees (my ankles were still bound) under me, and stood up unsteadily.
“Now, go and make me coffee! I’m going to shower and get ready for the day. And call breakfast to the room,” she added as she walked to the shower, shedding her camisole as she went. I only saw her naked back, but the sight of her wearing nothing but panties was nonetheless arousing. She was a thin, beautiful woman whose body was in great shape for her age. Looked down at mine, barely covered and tied up, and a surge of arousal coursed through me. This sexy woman owned me, completely, and had called me her sex toy not fifteen minutes previous. The fact that she was sexy, we were both close to naked, and I was totally unable to prevent her doing whatever she wanted with me was incredibly hot. There was this enormous, sensual question mark over the immediate future. But for now, I had to make coffee for my master. Mistress? She had said master. Must be a feminist thing. In any case, I hopped into the kitchen, banana hammock bouncing with each jump, to make her morning cup of joe.