I awoke that morning on the floor, naked, my wrists and ankles bound with rope and my exposed sex wet and swollen.
I wanted a nice, hot bath to sooth my aching muscles. I wanted to rub the sleepy dirt out of my eyes. I wanted to masturbate furiously so I could get rid of the urgent, throbbing, insistent need between my legs.
Of course I was denied all of these things. Gretchen had robbed me of the ability to satisfy even the most basic of my physical needs. Somewhere in the back of my mind was a voice that whispered to me and told me that I had always craved this sense of helplessness and was just too afraid to ask for it.
I tried to ignore the voice by struggling against the ropes that bound me. The ropes were tight and scratchy, and it hurt my wrists and ankles to pull against them, but the pain was a welcome alternative to thinking about how I might actually enjoy being helpless and publicly humiliated.
"Well, look who's awake," I heard Gretchen's familiar voice say from only a few feet away. "I've been awake for almost two hours."
I looked up and caught a glimpse of my girlfriend. Oops! I'm not supposed to call her that anymore. I caught a glimpse of my owner. This whole week I'm her property. It's all nice and legal according to Sessian law.
I couldn't get a good look at her since I was bound on the floor, but I could see she was already dressed. "It took forever to fall asleep last night," I said in a sad voice that I hoped would elicit sympathy. "It's hard to fall asleep in a position like this. My quadriceps and lower back were sore all night. They still are."
"Yes," Gretchen agreed. "They would be."
She knelt down and gave me a wicked smile. Then she slowly ran a finger from my breastbone to my pelvis, stopping just before she reached my pussy. I reflexively flinched.
"You look so helpless and vulnerable in this position," Gretchen informed me in a soft purring voice. "And that look on your face..."
Gretchen didn't elaborate, but I assumed that the look on my face was a look of misery or fear. Was that how Gretchen wanted me to look? Did she find that arousing? This was all new and scary territory for me. I'd never seen this side of Gretchen before.
She kissed me gently on the forehead, then stood up. "We've got a big day ahead of us," Gretchen said, suddenly all business. "These women will clean you up and get you presentable before we go out into public."
"Women?" I asked, straining my neck to look up and see as much of the room as possible.
Four women in maid's uniforms closed in on me. They were very businesslike and proceeded to take charge of me with minimal conversation and maximum efficiency. First they untied me and then they forced me to stand up and walk to the restroom. They seemed not notice or care that my muscles were sore from being tied up all night, and my pleas for patience were ignored.
Gretchen stood in the bathroom doorway and spoke to them in Italian. I couldn't understand a word they were saying, but I got the impression that it was some sort of instructions or orders. The oldest of the maids responded in Italian in a way that sounded very obedient yet unenthusiastic.
One of the younger maids filled the bathtub with warm water while the two tallest of the maids held onto my arms. Perhaps this was to keep me from attempting to escape. Or perhaps it was to keep me from falling down. My legs were weak from the way they were tied far apart all night and I welcomed the support they gave me.
They ordered me around in Italian and rapidly became impatient when I failed to follow their instructions right away. I was ordered to step into the tub when it was halfway filled with water and ordered to move this way and that so that they could lather, scrub and dry various parts of my body.
They were more gentle than Gretchen had been, but in some ways this was worse than being washed by Gretchen.
Eventually I realized why this was worse. In our society maids are considered one of the lowest of the low. Normally they're invisible. People never notice them in hotels. They just put a sign on their door when they want their room cleaned and go out for the day. When people return to their rooms the room is clean as if by magic. Maids are necessary, but nobody ever talks to them or acknowledges their existence.
However Gretchen had turned me over to this quartet of unsmiling women so that they could wash my naked body, dry my naked body, wash and style my hair, brush my teeth and apply my makeup. To make matters worse they eventually gave up on giving me verbal instructions and just grabbed, pushed or pulled to get me to cooperate with their tasks. It was almost like they were grooming an animal.
When it was time to get out of the tub strong hands simply grabbed me by the arms and the hair and forced me to stand up and step out of the tub. Strong hands indicated where to place my hands and my feet while they busied themselves drying my body with a towel. Strong fingers forced my mouth open so they could brush my teeth.
I allowed myself to be touched, washed, dried, brushed, manipulated and moved about like a pet being groomed and did not complain or resist.
But, of course I really didn't have a choice anyway. If I resisted, the maids outnumbered me four to one and could easily overpower me. Or Gretchen could call hotel security and have them restrain me. Complaining would do no good. I was officially Gretchen's property. Everything she had done to me was nice and legal.
When they were finished grooming me, two of the maids grabbed my arms and led me out of the bathroom and out to where Gretchen was standing.
At this point Gretchen was no longer alone in the hotel room. She had apparently ordered room service and a young man in a hotel uniform chatted politely while Gretchen signed for the food and wrote in a tip.
Both Gretchen and the young man paused when I entered and the young man ran his eyes up and down my naked body, making no effort to hide the lust in his eyes. He said something in Italian and everybody in the room laughed at what was certainly a joke at my expense.
My face felt hot and my chest felt tight. It was bad enough when women leered at my naked body, but when the men did it, it was much worse.
The maids shouted commands to me in Italian and when I didn't obey, they forced my legs apart and yanked my shoulders back. They forced my chin up and made me put my hands behind my neck. They made certain that my knees were straight as well as my spine.
Gretchen walked around and inspected me. She paid special attention to my hair and my makeup. When she was satisfied, she gave the maids some money and sent them on their way. The employee with the food cart was exceedingly slow in leaving and kept giving me lustful looks. I wanted to yell at him and cover my naked body, but I knew that would only earn me more punishments.
Breakfast was a rushed affair as Gretchen had plans and wanted to get out and about as soon as possible. I obeyed Gretchen's orders and ate as quickly as I could, but then made the mistake of asking for coffee.
"I get coffee," Gretchen replied, "but slaves take whatever food they are given and are grateful for it. Understand?"
I gave Gretchen a look meant to elicit sympathy and used my most pleading voice. "But Mistress," I begged, "I always have coffee in the morning! Ever since I was fifteen! There's no way I can wake up in the morning without it!"
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Gretchen got this sadistic smile on her face and stared at me for a long time without speaking. I knew from her look that something bad was coming.
"I can see we have a problem," Gretchen finally said in a tone that was disturbingly pleasant.
"I can't have a sleepy, lethargic slave. I simply must find a way to wake you up in the morning!"
Her words sounded innocent enough and her tone was friendly and pleasant. Only the look on her face indicated that I was in trouble. My heart beat faster and I wanted to run, but where could a slave run to? I was naked and had a slave collar locked around my neck. I wouldn't get more than a hundred yards before I was captured.
"Ah, I have it!" Gretchen said with exaggerated emoting. "Every morning you shall have a brisk and enthusiastic spanking! It will get your heart beating and make certain that you're wide awake to start the new day!"
My shoulders slumped in defeat and my head drooped. My bottom was still sore from yesterday's spanking, but now that I had walked into Gretchen's trap there was no way out of it. Arguing would just give her an excuse to punish me even further.
I waited for my mistress to give me the order to climb over her lap for my spanking, however it wasn't to be that simple. Gretchen was in a creative mood and had devised something far more humiliating.
I nervously waited for Gretchen's next orders, however instead of ordering me over her lap she grabbed some hotel stationary and began to write.
I hadn't been a slave for long, but I knew better than to interrupt my mistress while she went about her business. I quietly waited for my mistress to tell me what her plans were and stood very still with my hands at my sides.
When she was done writing, she folded up her page and stuffed it into an envelope. She sealed the envelope and handed it to me. I obediently accepted what my mistress gave me, still with no idea the implications of what this meant for me.
"Okay, Slave," Gretchen said, still smiling, "you are to take this envelope down to the lobby without opening it. You are to choose a person from the lobby and hand the envelope to them. Wait for them to read it, and then you are to follow any orders that they give you."
I looked at the envelope in my hand as if it were a poisonous reptile. I now had a very good idea what Gretchen had written in her note and wasn't looking forward to handing it to anyone. I tried to think of a way out of the predicament I was in, but no solution came to mind.
"You're dawdling, Slave," Gretchen said in a lecturing tone. "When I give an order, I expect it to be carried out quickly".
"Yes, Mistress," I replied. "Sorry, Mistress!"
I backed out of our hotel room and bumped into a young, married couple as I awkwardly backed into the hallway. "Oh my lord," the man exclaimed. "She's not wearing a stitch," his wife added.
The husband blushed and the wife had a shocked look on her face. Her eyes went wide and her mouth made a perfect "O" shape. I took a step back and touched the slave collar around my neck.
"I-I'm not allowed to wear clothing," I said nervously, embarrassed to have to explain my unfortunate position. "I'm a slave."
"Certainly not!" the wife exclaimed, apparently ignorant of Sessian law. She and her husband were both tourists from the U.K. and were shocked to find that slavery was legal in Sessia.
I let both of them read the tag on my slave collar, but they still looked in shock when they finally went back to their room.
The commotion had caught people's attention and at least seven people came out of their rooms to get a good look at the naked girl. I wanted to make an angry, sarcastic comment and make them stop staring at my naked body, but slaves do not do such things. Instead I walked my naked ass to the elevators as quickly as I could without seeming like I was running away.
Like an idiot, I assumed that the elevator would provide me with protection and privacy and hide my nudity from the public.
How wrong I was.
When the elevator doors slid open, I was greeted with the shocked expressions on the faces of five passengers. For a few seconds I just stood there, uncertain if I should step into the crowded elevator car or not. Were the five people in this elevator car worse than the perverts in the hall?
I was frozen with indecision and probably would have remained that way until the elevator doors closed, but somebody in the hallway snuck up behind me and pinched me on the bottom.
It was so sudden and so unexpected, that I gasped and jumped forward. I placed one hand over my buttocks to protect it (illegal by Sessian law) and turned my head to see who had pinched me, but the elevator doors had already started to close and I only got a glimpse of dark blue fabric. I couldn't even tell if the pincher was male or female. By jumping forward as I did, I ended up pressed into one of the other passengers on the elevator. "Sorry," I said weakly after bumping into him. "Somebody pinched my bottom, and I just sort of ... overreacted."
The young man had wrapped his arms around me when he and I impacted. That was a normal and reflexive thing to do in order to keep his balance, but now that the initial impact was over the polite thing to do would be to let go of me.
It took me a second to realize that I was a naked girl in a man's arms, and that men are not known for quickly or easily giving up a prize like a naked woman.
Of course as a slave I had no right to ask him to let me go or to try and squirm out of his grasp. Luckily for me, a form, confident female voice rang out and said, "Eric, a proper gentleman would let go of that girl right now."
"Yes, of course, Mother," replied Eric as he took his hands off of me and stepped back a few inches. He affected a look with his face and body language that seemed to say, "I wasn't thinking any improper thoughts! I am always a proper and innocent British gentleman! Really!"
Eric's mother was middle aged and was visibly blushing at the sight of my nudity. Obviously not used to seeing naked people in public, she was still trying to maintain as much order and dignity for her family as possible.
With some difficulty Eric's mother removed her overcoat and tried to offer it to me. "Put this on, Dear," she said. I don't imagine you're overly comfortable with every soul in this hotel seeing you naked."
My first instinct was to accept her kind offer, but as a slave I would have gotten into a great deal of trouble for wearing any clothing at all. So, with much reluctance I was forced to very politely decline her offer.
This created some confusion, and I ended up having to explain to Eric's mother, father and sister (the elevator was rather crowded with all five of us in there by the way) about slavery in Sessia and how it was illegal for slaves to wear clothing of any kind.
When the elevator reached the lobby level, the whole family got out with me. The mother led her son and husband away from me (must keep the boys away from the naughty naked lady), but the daughter still had questions for me and the mother seemed to think it was acceptable if it was just the two of us. After all girls don't lust after other girls, do they? Why, she could even act as my protector if any lustful males came sniffing about, couldn't she?
I answered the teenage daughter's questions as politely and accurately as I could, however I soon noticed signs that her interest in me wasn't purely scholarly.
She held the lock on my slave collar to see how securely it was attached and confirmed that it couldn't be removed without a key. Then she checked the tag on my slave collar and read it at least three times. Finally she pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper and wrote down all the information off of my tag.
"What's a good time to call?" she asked, licking her lips and giving me a seductive look after placing her pen and paper back in her purse.
It wasn't until after she gave me that look that I realized how attractive she was. She was very slender, but still had girlish curves in all the right places. She was my height (which made her pretty tall) and had a very cute face with full lips, a tiny delicate nose and high cheek bones. Her eyes were a deep, deep blue and her hair was a golden blonde. And it was styled by somebody who knew what they were doing. It was long and wavy, but in an expertly styled way. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make that hair look good.
"What's a good time to call?" she repeated. This time her voice was louder and more insistent.
I had been so surprised by her question and caught up on a wave of instant attraction that my mouth just couldn't/wouldn't work for a few seconds. Also, I had no idea at first that this girl was a lesbian. Did her mother know? Did she even suspect?
No. She had been very definite about keeping her son and husband from making ogling me or touching me in any way. If she knew there was even the slightest possibility of her daughter having a sexual interest in me, she would have kept her daughter away too.
"Time," I said, my mouth suddenly very dry. "I'm not sure. My owner is taking me to the punishment park today. I'm not sure what time we'll be getting back."
I was actually shaking slightly in anticipation. I was hoping to see this girl again very soon ... without her family impeding things.
"Gretchen Starke? That's your owner?" she asked.
I nodded my head in agreement.
"I'll be calling," she said, and she kissed me on the forehead. "Now, I must be going. If I don't catch up, Mother will be getting suspicious."
She rapidly made her way across the lobby and disappeared. I was sad to see her go, but I looked forward to meeting up with her again. She was one of the most attractive women I'd ever met and the sound of her voice was just so somehow sexually suggestive and proper at the same time. It was a British thing I suppose.
So infatuated was I by this blonde, British girl that I totally forgot about the envelope in my hand. I had to give it to somebody and I had now lost the opportunity to give it to a girl who was both gorgeous and had a definite sexual interest in me.
Mentally kicking myself, I shifted my weight from one foot to another and looked around the lobby for another candidate to give the envelope to. The lobby was filled mostly with men. I saw a hotel security guard, a bellhop, a front desk clerk and several male guests, but at the moment it looked as if I was the only female in the lobby.
Then, suddenly I saw a woman dressed in corporate attire come out and speak to the front desk clerk. She handed him some files and they chatted for about a minute, before she walked away. She was headed for an "employees only" area, so I had to move fast.
I made my way up to the front desk as quickly as I could and tried not to look desperate. "Excuse me," I said just as she was opening the door that would take her from the hotel lobby.
"Yes?" she asked in a polite, professional tone, "What can I do for you?"
She wasn't as attractive as the blonde girl, and her body language and facial expression indicated that she was only helping me because it was part of her job to help guests of the hotel, but she was female, and there was no way that I wanted a man putting me over his lap or spanking my naked ass. And I was pretty certain that Gretchen's letter was all about me being spanked ... or possibly something even worse.
I nervously handed her the envelope, and with some difficulty forced the words out of my mouth. "My mistress says I need to give this to somebody in the hotel lobby."
The woman took the envelope and reached in a drawer for a letter opener. "I don't actually work in the lobby," the woman informed me. "I work in the back, in accounting. I could give this to one of the lobby staff if you'd like."
I looked around the lobby and saw only male faces. Several of them were giving me lustful smirks. No way did I want to give this envelope to any of them.
"Please, just read it," I said, desperately. "My Mistress said I could choose the person I gave it to, and I really don't want to give this to anybody ... male."
She gave me a suspicious look, but silently took the letter from the envelope and read it.
Then she looked at me and read the letter again.
"You're sure you want me to do this?" she asked.
"No," I replied. "But I have my orders. And slaves who disobey orders get punished pretty severely."
"Very well," she replied. "I'm going to go show this to my boss, and then I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."
Where was I going to go? I was naked, with a slave collar around my neck. If I tried to leave the hotel, I'd be captured as a runaway slave and severely punished. If I tried going back to my hotel room without following the instructions in that envelope I'd be punished.
After the girl left the lobby, the male employees and hotel guests seemed to be even more open about staring at me.
On some sort of masochistic impulse I placed my hands behind my back and allowed my knees to spread apart. I'd get punished if I covered myself, so why not go to the other extreme and expose myself as much as possible? I was a slave after all!
I felt my face burn hot with embarrassment as men with wolfish grins moved in for a closer look. Not willing to make eye contact with them, I lowered my gaze and looked at the floor.
It seemed like hours before the girl came back. In addition to her boss, she also brought back a metal folding chair. She set this down in the lobby and then placed a hand on my arm.
"Miss Schlank," she said, causing me to look up, "this is my supervisor.
I looked at the woman she'd brought with her. She was dressed in the same sort of corporate attire as the girl I gave the envelope to. She had her hair up in a formal looking bun and she wore glasses. However she had a look on her face similar to that of the men. She seemed to be enjoying my public humiliation.
"Miss Schlank?" the supervisor replied. "Beverly, don't be so formal. She's a slave. You don't call a slave 'Miss Schlank'. It's a title of respect. You don't have to be respectful to slaves!"
The girl named Beverly seemed to think about this for a few seconds and then finally tried again.
"Very well, I'll call her slave girl, shall I?"
Beverly's supervisor nodded with approval and then Beverly explained what was going to happen.
"Your Mistress wants you to be spanked. She left very specific instructions. You're to lie across my lap and not get off until I tell you. You're to keep your hands on the floor, palms down. You're not to move your hands to your bottom and try to block any of the swats as I spank your bottom. You're not to beg for mercy or ask me to stop. Do you understand?" My heart sped up with panic and excitement, and I felt an urge to back away and try to escape my punishment, but instead stood there and replied, "I understand".
Beverly set up her metal folding chair and then gave me a look of impatience. Her eyes and her voice had absolutely no sympathy whatsoever, when she finally said, "alright slave girl, get over my lap."
Obediently I bent over and lay across her lap. Her tweed slacks felt rough against my naked thighs and the floor tiles felt cold on my fingers and the palms of my hands as I obeyed orders and rested them there. I looked down at the floor and waited for the first blow to land on my naked and vulnerable ass.
I tried to be brave, however Beverly was stronger than she looked and swatted my naked, upturned, vulnerable ass with far more force than I would have thought possible. She was a slender girl, with skinny arms and soft looking hands, but she spanked my ass with such force that it hurt with the very first blow.
I began yelping after the second blow. I closed my eyes tight and screamed and struggled to maintain the proper pose, but it was almost impossible. I had no idea it would hurt so much!
I kept hoping that her arm would get tired, but she was like a machine. She kept slapping my naked cheeks over and over and over. She would hit the same spot over and over, hurting more each time, then start on a new spot.
Soon I was screaming in pain and sobbing as hot, wet tears slid down my face. Beverly seemed not to notice. She just continued spanking ... very hard and very rhythmically. She assaulted my ass and my thighs without ever slowing down or breaking rhythm. When I could no longer bear the pain and my left hand shot up to try and protect my buttocks, she quickly grabbed my wrist and pinned it to the small of my back.
"I told you, you're not allowed to do that," she said in a very calm tone of voice and then resumed spanking my naked bottom.
She was so much stronger than she looked! Her grip on my wrist was like iron, and if anything her blows raining down on my poor, upturned ass came down even harder. I screamed and kicked my legs and tears slid down my face, but Beverly never wavered from her task and just continued to punish my ass mercilessly.
After what seemed like hours (but was really more like two or three minutes) the spanking stopped.
I was still sobbing loudly, so it was hard for me to hear Beverly when she spoke next.
"Now, get off my lap and get onto the floor . . . hands and knees, please. And while you're down there, you need to kiss my feet. Her tone was lacking in malice, but firm and businesslike. It was clear that she had not giving me an option to disobey.
Even through all the pain and the crying, I still managed to feel humiliated and ridiculous. My naked ass (which was now very red) was pointed directly at the voyeuristic men in the lobby. My face was lowered almost to the floor as I lowered my lips to Beverly's very sensible shoes and planted kisses on each of them.
When I was done with that task, Beverly informed me that I was supposed to thank her for my punishment. I was still sobbing and my throat was raw from screaming, so my verbal skills were greatly diminished, but I finally managed to get the words out.
Tears slid down my face and landed on this girl's shoes. I was wondering if I would get in trouble for that, when I heard Gretchen's familiar voice from a short distance away.
"What an excellent job," she said. "A very thorough spanking if ever I saw one!"
Since I hadn't been given permission to get up off the floor, I stayed there on my hands and knees while Gretchen and Beverly chatted. Apparently Beverly had followed Gretchen's instructions to the letter and Gretchen attempted to get Beverly to spank me every morning for as long as we guests there at the hotel.
Beverly tried to talk her way out of it, however Beverly's supervisor was very much in favor of the idea. Then another voice (the leader of their marketing department) insisted that it could be good publicity and bring an audience into the lobby every morning. They'd have to publicize it of course, but it could draw a large number of people in.
Eventually Beverly accepted when somebody offered her sixty euros a day to give me my morning spanking. More people showed up and began to discuss how to promote and manage the event. A female voice insisted on the need for greater security in the lobby, due to the fact that promoting such an event would attract a certain amount of riff raff.
Hotel staff hammered out the details and planned my public humiliation while I remained on my hands and knees without being allowed any input whatsoever. It was just another way of reinforcing of my slave status. Slaves had no say in how they were treated. Nobody ever consulted a slave to see if their punishments were too humiliating or too painful. Decisions were simply made, and the slave would do as she was told. It was a simple system and if I didn't like it, there was nothing I could say or do to change it.
I was feeling helpless and sorry for myself, and didn't think things could get any worse for me, but before we left Gretchen pulled me close and leaned forward as if she was going to kiss me, but instead whispered in my ear, "I saw you put your hand up to block that girl's hand from spanking you."
I felt a sense of panic as she imparted this information to me. I instantly knew I was in trouble. My chest felt tight and I could feel my heart beating faster in my chest even before the next words came out of her mouth.
"That's just one more thing I'll have to punish you for today. You're going to be a very unhappy slave girl by the time we leave the punishment park."
* * * * * * * * * *
Before Gretchen took me to the punishment park, there were two humiliating ordeals she forced me to go through.
The first ordeal was at a beauty salon. That introductory sentence doesn't even begin to prepare you to understand just how bad the experience was. For starters I had to stand there naked in the lobby while women with arrogant smirks on their faces got their fingernails and toenails painted. They openly stared at my naked body while I was forced to stand there, without being able to cover myself.
However I wasn't in the lobby for long. Soon I was led into the back for a bikini wax.
When I was led past the smirking, arrogant ladies, they got a good look at my spanked, red bottom and they all commented loudly and openly upon seeing it.
"Oh, that poor dear!" one of them exclaimed. "Her bottom's all red!"
"So?," another woman commented. "I'm sure she did something to deserve a spanking!"
"Better her than me!" a third woman remarked.
Apparently this last remark was considered witty, as all of the female patrons laughed heartily at this.
* * * * * * * * * *
In the back room, a petite girl with short, dark hair tried to put me at ease. She'd performed the waxing procedure many times before and told me that everybody was nervous about it. That was only natural.
She helped me up onto a bed and had me spread my legs for her. She very diplomatically refrained from commenting on how wet my pubic slit was.
If you've never had a bikini wax before, allow me to inform you of exactly how this painful and intimate procedure is actually done.
First a thick, sticky liquid (not actual wax) is heated up, then spread on a clean strip of white cloth. The white cloth (sticky side down) is pressed firmly into the skin of the intended victim. Finally when the sticky glop has sufficiently adhered to the victim's skin and body hair, it is ripped away from the skin in one quick motion, pulling scores of the victims hair out by the roots.
This is painful when done to any area of the human body, but the skin around the genitals and anus is especially sensitive.
There was a loud RIPPING sound as the innocent looking girl ripped dozens of my pubic hairs out by their roots and I screamed in pain.
This seemed to go on for hours, but in actuality took less than fifteen minutes.
The hairs around my anus were longer and easier for the girl to pull out, but caused so much pain when she ripped them out that I had tears running down my face.
It seemed like this painful experience went on for hours, however it probably took only twenty or thirty minutes.
When it was over I just wanted to curl into a ball and sob to myself until the pain went away. However Gretchen insisted that I behave like a proper slave. I was ordered to thank this girl for her time and then get down on my hands and knees and kiss her feet.
The girl protested that it wasn't necessary, but Gretchen was the boss and I ended up down on my hands and knees on the cold tile floor, kissing the girl's white sneakers with their white laces until Gretchen told me I could get up.
* * * * * * * * * *
Our next stop was at a store that that sold bondage and corporal punishment type gear. Gretchen was the only patron in the store with a naked slave, so she got special attention. She was met by the store manager and a very attractive sales girl.
The manager was very warm and welcoming to Gretchen, but didn't even bother to speak to me. Gretchen had all the money. As a naked slave, I obviously had none.
Gretchen was complimented on being a slave owner, however she was told that it was a mistake for her to allow me to have my hands free. Apparently keeping a slave bound and helpless at all times was very important.
Within seconds, my arms were forced behind my back and my wrists were bound together by cold, stainless steel handcuffs. Gretchen inspected them and asked how much they cost. Apparently the price seemed reasonable to her, as she agreed to buy them.
Next, the manager picked out a leash that was mostly a stainless steel chain, but also had a black, leather handle at one end. The other end was clipped onto my slave collar and then the salesgirl tugged on the leash, forcing me to follow her. She walked me all around the store, moving fast and making sharp, unexpected turns. It was difficult to keep up and without my arms to protect me, my poor breasts were painfully bumped into several customers (who seemed very unmotivated to get out of my way), one store employee, a metal display rack and a mannequin.
Gretchen then took possession of the leather handle of the leash and led me around the store . . . thankfully not bumping my poor breasts into anything.
After Gretchen agreed to purchase the leash, a ball gag was taken from a display rack and forced into my mouth. The manager gave a long speech about the importance of slaves not being allowed to speak and the more and more I was forced to listen, the less and less I felt like a real human being. She talked about me as if I were a dog that needed to be controlled and trained and restrained so that I would never defy Gretchen's will.
Gretchen then mentioned that she'd like to look at some items for punishing my bottom. The salesgirl then uncuffed one of my wrists and then moved my hands in front of me so that my wrists could be bound in front.
Then I was bent over a counter, so that my ass was sticking up and several items were brought forth, so that Gretchen could try each one on my bottom and see which she liked best.
They all hurt.
If not for the gag, I would have been screaming in pain. However, with the large rubber ball forcing my mouth open and my tongue to the bottom of my mouth, I could only make vague, muffled noises that did not adequately convey my pain or outrage.
Gretchen's favorite was the riding crop (very painful), however she also agreed to buy a small wooden paddle and a thin leather instrument of pain called a "quirt".
There were tears running down my face after the demonstration of corporal punishment products. I was trying to cope with the pain of what I'd just endured when Gretchen said she wanted to purchase some items without me being able to see what they were.
They started speaking in hushed tones after that, and then the salesgirl came grabbed me by my arms and helped me to stand up. Once standing, she led me over to an area where there were changing booths. I was led into one of the booths and told to be a "good girl", while my Mistress completed her shopping.
Then she took my hands (which were still cuffed in front of me) and helped me lift them up over my head. "Now, be a good girl and keep them there," she advised me.
Within seconds she produced a stainless steel device, that she clipped to a metal ring that was set into the ceiling. There was another clip on the other end of the device that she clipped to the handcuff chain. Just two quick clips and I was trapped. Until I was released, I would be unable to lower my arms or leave the changing room.
The salesgirl gave me a seductive smile and told me how cute I looked all bound and helpless like that. Then she said that she'd like to stay and do all kinds of "evil" things to me, but she had to get back to work.
I tried to speak, but with the ball gag in my mouth, all that came out was, "Pfmmm". I would have loved for her to touch me all over and then thrust her fingers inside me. I was so sexually frustrated that I'd probably come within seconds.
However all she did was kiss me on the forehead and fondle my breasts a bit. Then she left the changing room and closed the curtain behind her.
I wondered how long I'd be left there, with a gag in my mouth and my hands bound over my head. When Gretchen is shopping, she can go on for hours, and already my arms and shoulders were beginning to grow tired from holding this position. Not to mention the fact that my jaw ached from being forced open by the ball gag. Also, I had to continually swallow in order to keep from drooling on myself.
I had no way to accurately measure time, while I was bound there, however it seemed to be perhaps twenty to forty minutes later that a young, innocent looking girl with short hair parted the curtain to my room and came in.
With the gag in my mouth I couldn't say anything, but I gave out a startled, "Whhtth!" sound as she entered the dressing room.
The girl's eyes went wide at first and she even apologized. "I'm sorry" she said. "I thought this changing room was unoccupied."
Then realization dawned upon her. I wasn't another customer, with a right to privacy. I was a naked, bound a collared slave. She didn't have to apologize to me. She didn't have to show me any type of respect or consideration at all.
Suddenly a playful smirk spread across her face and she stepped forward, closing the curtain behind her. "This is too good an opportunity to pass up," she whispered to me.
She dropped some leather pants and a corset on the floor and once both of her hands were free, she immediately took my breasts into her hands and began fondling them. I made moaning sounds into my gag, which she seemed to take as encouragement. She then began to fondle and squeeze my breasts even harder.
After about five minutes of this, she began to pinch my nipples. This hurt like hell, but with my hands bound above my head there was nothing I could do to stop her. I tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled, "Uummphh!" sound.
The look on the girl's face was utter bliss. She looked rather young and this was probably the first time she had a naked girl that she could play with. I guessed that she was a closeted lesbian who lived at home with her parents and had to pretend to be straight for the sake of peace in the family home. If not for the gag in my mouth, I might have asked her if this was the case, but as matters stood I couldn't say a word to her.
After my breasts were well manhandled, she kissed me on the forehead, picked up her leather goods off the floor and left the changing room.
She left the curtain open when she left, and I tried to call her back to close it, but all that came out was "Whht Chmm bhhh!"
This was very unfortunate and stressful for me, as the next person to find me was a tall, well-dressed woman in her early to mid-forties.
I'm a lesbian, so obviously I like being touched by women, but being touched by a woman who's old enough to be my mother just seems creepy.
She fondled my ass and thighs, both of which were still sore from the hand spanking, the riding crop and the quirt. I squirmed in pain and the older woman's touch, which she took as a sign of sexual arousal.
Then she touched me in between my legs. Everything in that general are was sore from when the girl at the beauty parlor yanked all of my pubic hair out by the roots. I flinched and squirmed and wished I could do something to protect my poor, abused venus mound, but I was bound and helpless.
Then she stuck two fingers deep inside of me.
"You're soaking wet," the older woman accused. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
I shook my head to indicate that I wasn't enjoying this at all. The only reason I was wet, was because I'd been kept naked for almost twenty-four hours, my clit and pubic lips were constantly being stroked and Gretchen was denying me permission to have an orgasm!
She didn't like my response, so she took one of my public lips and pinched it hard. My pubic lips were already sore, and this new pain was so bad I screamed and struggled against the handcuffs. I yanked so hard I actually pulled up both feet off the floor and left raw, red marks on my wrists where the metal restraints bit into them.
"Oh, did you feel that?" the woman asked in a playful, arrogant tone of voice. Does that mean you don't want me to do it again?"
I was too stunned to answer at first, so she grabbed a pubic lip on the other side and pinched that.
The gag muffled my screams again and I squirmed and kicked my legs and pulled at my bonds some more. Tears flowed freely down my face until she eased up her grip.
Finally, when I was able to hold still, she said, "Tell me that you enjoy me fondling you, or I'll pinch them again. Do you understand?"
I nodded my head in agreement, and prayed that this painful, frightening episode would soon be over.
Then she smiled and asked, "You're really enjoying this aren't you?"
It was one of the most humiliating moments of my life, but I nodded my head in agreement, communicating to this woman (who was old enough to be my mother) that I enjoying her fondling my naked flesh and fingering my pussy.
"You're a bad, little girl, aren't you?" she asked.
I nodded my head in agreement, hoping that's the response that she was looking for.
She spent several more minutes fondling me, fingering me and telling me what a bad girl I was for parading around naked in public and for wanting to have sex with other women. It was all so traumatic, I forgot to swallow and ended up drooling all over myself.
Before she left, she reminded me once again what a naughty girl I was, and said she hoped that I was taken to the punishment park soon, so that I could get the harsh punishment I deserved.
* * * * * * * * * *
That creepy woman got her wish. Approximately forty minutes later, Gretchen and I were at the main entrance to the punishment park. Gretchen was dressed in stylish leather boots, designer jeans and a brand new crewneck tee shirt, while I was barefoot, naked, hands bound behind my back and being led around by the leash that was attached to my slave collar.
Admission to the punishment park normally cost sixty euros, however Gretchen got in free because she brought a naked slave with her, and the main reason people come to the punishment parks is to see the naked slaves.
Gretchen got a map of the park, which showed the location of the bathrooms, a first aid office, a security office, a gift shop and (of course) the areas where the slaves are punished.
There was a designated area for the heterosexual slaves, the gay male slaves and the lesbian slaves. Gretchen complained loudly about the fact that the area for the heterosexual slaves was at least three times bigger than the area for the lesbian slaves.
Gretchen had taken the gag out of my mouth, but I knew better than to say anything. She could complain all she wanted, but if I were to say anything (even if it was to agree with her) without permission, I'd earn even more punishments.
Before Gretchen led me to the lesbian section of the park, she led me to the security office. Some sadistic mind had decided that one of the services the security office should offer was free body cavity searches for all slaves that entered the punishment park.
It served no purpose other than to humiliate the slaves. I mean . . . how could we possibly obtain and hide anything in our body cavities? By practice and tradition, the hands of slaves are kept bound most of the time. When and how could any of us grab and conceal any type of keys, lock picks or other contraband?
When we entered the security office, there was already a naked male slave being subjected to a cavity search. His hands were pressed against a wall and he was leaning far forward with his legs far apart.
He was shaking and tears were running down his face as a uniformed security guard roughly fingered his asshole and pretended to be searching for contraband. From the color of his slave collar I could tell he was heterosexual and thus he was almost certainly unaccustomed to having things shoved up his ass.
I waited with nervous anticipation for my turn. The blonde slave boy whimpered and gritted his teeth as the security guard took her time and fingered his exposed, vulnerable anus.
When she was done, she slapped his small, boyish buttocks and ordered him to stand up. His ass was already decorated with red marks and he yelped in pain when her hand made a loud SMACK against his naked ass.
His mistress led him out on a leash, to "enjoy" the punishment park, and then it was my turn.
The mouth is a body cavity and they did spend order me to open my mouth wide while they shined a small flashlight down my throat, but they were much more interested in inspecting my vagina and my anus.
Gretchen unlocked me from my handcuffs and then the security guards ordered me into position. Just like the slave before me, I was made to stand with my legs far apart, bent over, with my hands pushed flat against the wall and me knees straight.
The security guards took a lot of time to make certain that every detail of my position conformed to their specifications. It seemed to me that it was designed to make me feel as vulnerable and exposed as possible.
After they were satisfied that nothing could be done to make my position any more humiliating, one guard took her sweet time snapping on a latex glove and getting into position behind me.
I waited and waited. Every part of my body went tense, waiting for a latex, clad finger to penetrate a very tender part of my anatomy, however the security guard was content to make me wait. I held the position so long that my legs started to feel weak and sweat began to form on my torso and underneath my arms.
Then, when I thought I couldn't take the suspense anymore, I felt the finger slide in deep, into my vagina.
I moaned and felt an orgasm approaching as she fingered me, making only the slightest pretense of doing a cavity search, she roughly fingered my aching cunt and got me closer and closer to a screaming orgasm.
I knew that if I had an orgasm without permission, I'd be punished horribly, but there was little I could do to stop it.
Then, just when it seemed that it was impossible to stop a shuddering orgasm from ripping through my body, the security guard pinched one of my pubic lips and then withdrew the finger from my aching cunt.
I began to sob and hot, wet tears slid down my face. I wasn't certain if I was crying because of the pain or because of the sexual frustration. Somehow I endured both and held the required position, although I trembled and shook slightly as I cried over what was being done to my poor, defenseless body.
Then, without warning a huge blob of cold gel was forced against my tender, tiny anus and a finger forced it's way inside of me.
"That's cold!," I exclaimed, almost falling over because of the shock of the finger coated in cold gel being forced into anal cavity.
"What was that?" I heard Gretchen's stern voice ask, while the finger wriggled and probed inside of me. "Did you just speak without permission?"
It was hard for me to think with that finger moving around inside of me, but I knew I was in trouble. Gretchen had already informed me that I wasn't to speak without getting permission, and here I just been caught in the act!
And I was already inside the punishment park!
"You'll have to be punished for that," Gretchen informed me. "Just as soon as this security guard is done searching you."
Never had I felt do conflicted in my life! This cavity search was humiliating and demoralizing and I wanted it over as soon as possible, but as soon as it was over, Gretchen was going to take me out and do something to me that was agonizingly painful and public. Did I dread the cavity search stopping or did I dread it going on and on?
In the end, it made little difference. The security guard never asked for my opinion and just went at her own pace. When she was done, she smacked my already sore buttocks and told me to stand up.
The guard told Gretchen that I was clean and then the guard had the sadistic sense of humor to tell me to "enjoy the punishment park".
Then Gretchen attached the leash to my collar and handcuffed my hands behind my back. She led me out of the security office and into the punishment park with a smug smile on her face. For my own part, I followed naked, on a leash and started to cry as I was helplessly led over to the whipping posts.
I wanted a nice, hot bath to sooth my aching muscles. I wanted to rub the sleepy dirt out of my eyes. I wanted to masturbate furiously so I could get rid of the urgent, throbbing, insistent need between my legs.
Of course I was denied all of these things. Gretchen had robbed me of the ability to satisfy even the most basic of my physical needs. Somewhere in the back of my mind was a voice that whispered to me and told me that I had always craved this sense of helplessness and was just too afraid to ask for it.
I tried to ignore the voice by struggling against the ropes that bound me. The ropes were tight and scratchy, and it hurt my wrists and ankles to pull against them, but the pain was a welcome alternative to thinking about how I might actually enjoy being helpless and publicly humiliated.
"Well, look who's awake," I heard Gretchen's familiar voice say from only a few feet away. "I've been awake for almost two hours."
I looked up and caught a glimpse of my girlfriend. Oops! I'm not supposed to call her that anymore. I caught a glimpse of my owner. This whole week I'm her property. It's all nice and legal according to Sessian law.
I couldn't get a good look at her since I was bound on the floor, but I could see she was already dressed. "It took forever to fall asleep last night," I said in a sad voice that I hoped would elicit sympathy. "It's hard to fall asleep in a position like this. My quadriceps and lower back were sore all night. They still are."
"Yes," Gretchen agreed. "They would be."
She knelt down and gave me a wicked smile. Then she slowly ran a finger from my breastbone to my pelvis, stopping just before she reached my pussy. I reflexively flinched.
"You look so helpless and vulnerable in this position," Gretchen informed me in a soft purring voice. "And that look on your face..."
Gretchen didn't elaborate, but I assumed that the look on my face was a look of misery or fear. Was that how Gretchen wanted me to look? Did she find that arousing? This was all new and scary territory for me. I'd never seen this side of Gretchen before.
She kissed me gently on the forehead, then stood up. "We've got a big day ahead of us," Gretchen said, suddenly all business. "These women will clean you up and get you presentable before we go out into public."
"Women?" I asked, straining my neck to look up and see as much of the room as possible.
Four women in maid's uniforms closed in on me. They were very businesslike and proceeded to take charge of me with minimal conversation and maximum efficiency. First they untied me and then they forced me to stand up and walk to the restroom. They seemed not notice or care that my muscles were sore from being tied up all night, and my pleas for patience were ignored.
Gretchen stood in the bathroom doorway and spoke to them in Italian. I couldn't understand a word they were saying, but I got the impression that it was some sort of instructions or orders. The oldest of the maids responded in Italian in a way that sounded very obedient yet unenthusiastic.
One of the younger maids filled the bathtub with warm water while the two tallest of the maids held onto my arms. Perhaps this was to keep me from attempting to escape. Or perhaps it was to keep me from falling down. My legs were weak from the way they were tied far apart all night and I welcomed the support they gave me.
They ordered me around in Italian and rapidly became impatient when I failed to follow their instructions right away. I was ordered to step into the tub when it was halfway filled with water and ordered to move this way and that so that they could lather, scrub and dry various parts of my body.
They were more gentle than Gretchen had been, but in some ways this was worse than being washed by Gretchen.
Eventually I realized why this was worse. In our society maids are considered one of the lowest of the low. Normally they're invisible. People never notice them in hotels. They just put a sign on their door when they want their room cleaned and go out for the day. When people return to their rooms the room is clean as if by magic. Maids are necessary, but nobody ever talks to them or acknowledges their existence.
However Gretchen had turned me over to this quartet of unsmiling women so that they could wash my naked body, dry my naked body, wash and style my hair, brush my teeth and apply my makeup. To make matters worse they eventually gave up on giving me verbal instructions and just grabbed, pushed or pulled to get me to cooperate with their tasks. It was almost like they were grooming an animal.
When it was time to get out of the tub strong hands simply grabbed me by the arms and the hair and forced me to stand up and step out of the tub. Strong hands indicated where to place my hands and my feet while they busied themselves drying my body with a towel. Strong fingers forced my mouth open so they could brush my teeth.
I allowed myself to be touched, washed, dried, brushed, manipulated and moved about like a pet being groomed and did not complain or resist.
But, of course I really didn't have a choice anyway. If I resisted, the maids outnumbered me four to one and could easily overpower me. Or Gretchen could call hotel security and have them restrain me. Complaining would do no good. I was officially Gretchen's property. Everything she had done to me was nice and legal.
When they were finished grooming me, two of the maids grabbed my arms and led me out of the bathroom and out to where Gretchen was standing.
At this point Gretchen was no longer alone in the hotel room. She had apparently ordered room service and a young man in a hotel uniform chatted politely while Gretchen signed for the food and wrote in a tip.
Both Gretchen and the young man paused when I entered and the young man ran his eyes up and down my naked body, making no effort to hide the lust in his eyes. He said something in Italian and everybody in the room laughed at what was certainly a joke at my expense.
My face felt hot and my chest felt tight. It was bad enough when women leered at my naked body, but when the men did it, it was much worse.
The maids shouted commands to me in Italian and when I didn't obey, they forced my legs apart and yanked my shoulders back. They forced my chin up and made me put my hands behind my neck. They made certain that my knees were straight as well as my spine.
Gretchen walked around and inspected me. She paid special attention to my hair and my makeup. When she was satisfied, she gave the maids some money and sent them on their way. The employee with the food cart was exceedingly slow in leaving and kept giving me lustful looks. I wanted to yell at him and cover my naked body, but I knew that would only earn me more punishments.
Breakfast was a rushed affair as Gretchen had plans and wanted to get out and about as soon as possible. I obeyed Gretchen's orders and ate as quickly as I could, but then made the mistake of asking for coffee.
"I get coffee," Gretchen replied, "but slaves take whatever food they are given and are grateful for it. Understand?"
I gave Gretchen a look meant to elicit sympathy and used my most pleading voice. "But Mistress," I begged, "I always have coffee in the morning! Ever since I was fifteen! There's no way I can wake up in the morning without it!"
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Gretchen got this sadistic smile on her face and stared at me for a long time without speaking. I knew from her look that something bad was coming.
"I can see we have a problem," Gretchen finally said in a tone that was disturbingly pleasant.
"I can't have a sleepy, lethargic slave. I simply must find a way to wake you up in the morning!"
Her words sounded innocent enough and her tone was friendly and pleasant. Only the look on her face indicated that I was in trouble. My heart beat faster and I wanted to run, but where could a slave run to? I was naked and had a slave collar locked around my neck. I wouldn't get more than a hundred yards before I was captured.
"Ah, I have it!" Gretchen said with exaggerated emoting. "Every morning you shall have a brisk and enthusiastic spanking! It will get your heart beating and make certain that you're wide awake to start the new day!"
My shoulders slumped in defeat and my head drooped. My bottom was still sore from yesterday's spanking, but now that I had walked into Gretchen's trap there was no way out of it. Arguing would just give her an excuse to punish me even further.
I waited for my mistress to give me the order to climb over her lap for my spanking, however it wasn't to be that simple. Gretchen was in a creative mood and had devised something far more humiliating.
I nervously waited for Gretchen's next orders, however instead of ordering me over her lap she grabbed some hotel stationary and began to write.
I hadn't been a slave for long, but I knew better than to interrupt my mistress while she went about her business. I quietly waited for my mistress to tell me what her plans were and stood very still with my hands at my sides.
When she was done writing, she folded up her page and stuffed it into an envelope. She sealed the envelope and handed it to me. I obediently accepted what my mistress gave me, still with no idea the implications of what this meant for me.
"Okay, Slave," Gretchen said, still smiling, "you are to take this envelope down to the lobby without opening it. You are to choose a person from the lobby and hand the envelope to them. Wait for them to read it, and then you are to follow any orders that they give you."
I looked at the envelope in my hand as if it were a poisonous reptile. I now had a very good idea what Gretchen had written in her note and wasn't looking forward to handing it to anyone. I tried to think of a way out of the predicament I was in, but no solution came to mind.
"You're dawdling, Slave," Gretchen said in a lecturing tone. "When I give an order, I expect it to be carried out quickly".
"Yes, Mistress," I replied. "Sorry, Mistress!"
I backed out of our hotel room and bumped into a young, married couple as I awkwardly backed into the hallway. "Oh my lord," the man exclaimed. "She's not wearing a stitch," his wife added.
The husband blushed and the wife had a shocked look on her face. Her eyes went wide and her mouth made a perfect "O" shape. I took a step back and touched the slave collar around my neck.
"I-I'm not allowed to wear clothing," I said nervously, embarrassed to have to explain my unfortunate position. "I'm a slave."
"Certainly not!" the wife exclaimed, apparently ignorant of Sessian law. She and her husband were both tourists from the U.K. and were shocked to find that slavery was legal in Sessia.
I let both of them read the tag on my slave collar, but they still looked in shock when they finally went back to their room.
The commotion had caught people's attention and at least seven people came out of their rooms to get a good look at the naked girl. I wanted to make an angry, sarcastic comment and make them stop staring at my naked body, but slaves do not do such things. Instead I walked my naked ass to the elevators as quickly as I could without seeming like I was running away.
Like an idiot, I assumed that the elevator would provide me with protection and privacy and hide my nudity from the public.
How wrong I was.
When the elevator doors slid open, I was greeted with the shocked expressions on the faces of five passengers. For a few seconds I just stood there, uncertain if I should step into the crowded elevator car or not. Were the five people in this elevator car worse than the perverts in the hall?
I was frozen with indecision and probably would have remained that way until the elevator doors closed, but somebody in the hallway snuck up behind me and pinched me on the bottom.
It was so sudden and so unexpected, that I gasped and jumped forward. I placed one hand over my buttocks to protect it (illegal by Sessian law) and turned my head to see who had pinched me, but the elevator doors had already started to close and I only got a glimpse of dark blue fabric. I couldn't even tell if the pincher was male or female. By jumping forward as I did, I ended up pressed into one of the other passengers on the elevator. "Sorry," I said weakly after bumping into him. "Somebody pinched my bottom, and I just sort of ... overreacted."
The young man had wrapped his arms around me when he and I impacted. That was a normal and reflexive thing to do in order to keep his balance, but now that the initial impact was over the polite thing to do would be to let go of me.
It took me a second to realize that I was a naked girl in a man's arms, and that men are not known for quickly or easily giving up a prize like a naked woman.
Of course as a slave I had no right to ask him to let me go or to try and squirm out of his grasp. Luckily for me, a form, confident female voice rang out and said, "Eric, a proper gentleman would let go of that girl right now."
"Yes, of course, Mother," replied Eric as he took his hands off of me and stepped back a few inches. He affected a look with his face and body language that seemed to say, "I wasn't thinking any improper thoughts! I am always a proper and innocent British gentleman! Really!"
Eric's mother was middle aged and was visibly blushing at the sight of my nudity. Obviously not used to seeing naked people in public, she was still trying to maintain as much order and dignity for her family as possible.
With some difficulty Eric's mother removed her overcoat and tried to offer it to me. "Put this on, Dear," she said. I don't imagine you're overly comfortable with every soul in this hotel seeing you naked."
My first instinct was to accept her kind offer, but as a slave I would have gotten into a great deal of trouble for wearing any clothing at all. So, with much reluctance I was forced to very politely decline her offer.
This created some confusion, and I ended up having to explain to Eric's mother, father and sister (the elevator was rather crowded with all five of us in there by the way) about slavery in Sessia and how it was illegal for slaves to wear clothing of any kind.
When the elevator reached the lobby level, the whole family got out with me. The mother led her son and husband away from me (must keep the boys away from the naughty naked lady), but the daughter still had questions for me and the mother seemed to think it was acceptable if it was just the two of us. After all girls don't lust after other girls, do they? Why, she could even act as my protector if any lustful males came sniffing about, couldn't she?
I answered the teenage daughter's questions as politely and accurately as I could, however I soon noticed signs that her interest in me wasn't purely scholarly.
She held the lock on my slave collar to see how securely it was attached and confirmed that it couldn't be removed without a key. Then she checked the tag on my slave collar and read it at least three times. Finally she pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper and wrote down all the information off of my tag.
"What's a good time to call?" she asked, licking her lips and giving me a seductive look after placing her pen and paper back in her purse.
It wasn't until after she gave me that look that I realized how attractive she was. She was very slender, but still had girlish curves in all the right places. She was my height (which made her pretty tall) and had a very cute face with full lips, a tiny delicate nose and high cheek bones. Her eyes were a deep, deep blue and her hair was a golden blonde. And it was styled by somebody who knew what they were doing. It was long and wavy, but in an expertly styled way. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make that hair look good.
"What's a good time to call?" she repeated. This time her voice was louder and more insistent.
I had been so surprised by her question and caught up on a wave of instant attraction that my mouth just couldn't/wouldn't work for a few seconds. Also, I had no idea at first that this girl was a lesbian. Did her mother know? Did she even suspect?
No. She had been very definite about keeping her son and husband from making ogling me or touching me in any way. If she knew there was even the slightest possibility of her daughter having a sexual interest in me, she would have kept her daughter away too.
"Time," I said, my mouth suddenly very dry. "I'm not sure. My owner is taking me to the punishment park today. I'm not sure what time we'll be getting back."
I was actually shaking slightly in anticipation. I was hoping to see this girl again very soon ... without her family impeding things.
"Gretchen Starke? That's your owner?" she asked.
I nodded my head in agreement.
"I'll be calling," she said, and she kissed me on the forehead. "Now, I must be going. If I don't catch up, Mother will be getting suspicious."
She rapidly made her way across the lobby and disappeared. I was sad to see her go, but I looked forward to meeting up with her again. She was one of the most attractive women I'd ever met and the sound of her voice was just so somehow sexually suggestive and proper at the same time. It was a British thing I suppose.
So infatuated was I by this blonde, British girl that I totally forgot about the envelope in my hand. I had to give it to somebody and I had now lost the opportunity to give it to a girl who was both gorgeous and had a definite sexual interest in me.
Mentally kicking myself, I shifted my weight from one foot to another and looked around the lobby for another candidate to give the envelope to. The lobby was filled mostly with men. I saw a hotel security guard, a bellhop, a front desk clerk and several male guests, but at the moment it looked as if I was the only female in the lobby.
Then, suddenly I saw a woman dressed in corporate attire come out and speak to the front desk clerk. She handed him some files and they chatted for about a minute, before she walked away. She was headed for an "employees only" area, so I had to move fast.
I made my way up to the front desk as quickly as I could and tried not to look desperate. "Excuse me," I said just as she was opening the door that would take her from the hotel lobby.
"Yes?" she asked in a polite, professional tone, "What can I do for you?"
She wasn't as attractive as the blonde girl, and her body language and facial expression indicated that she was only helping me because it was part of her job to help guests of the hotel, but she was female, and there was no way that I wanted a man putting me over his lap or spanking my naked ass. And I was pretty certain that Gretchen's letter was all about me being spanked ... or possibly something even worse.
I nervously handed her the envelope, and with some difficulty forced the words out of my mouth. "My mistress says I need to give this to somebody in the hotel lobby."
The woman took the envelope and reached in a drawer for a letter opener. "I don't actually work in the lobby," the woman informed me. "I work in the back, in accounting. I could give this to one of the lobby staff if you'd like."
I looked around the lobby and saw only male faces. Several of them were giving me lustful smirks. No way did I want to give this envelope to any of them.
"Please, just read it," I said, desperately. "My Mistress said I could choose the person I gave it to, and I really don't want to give this to anybody ... male."
She gave me a suspicious look, but silently took the letter from the envelope and read it.
Then she looked at me and read the letter again.
"You're sure you want me to do this?" she asked.
"No," I replied. "But I have my orders. And slaves who disobey orders get punished pretty severely."
"Very well," she replied. "I'm going to go show this to my boss, and then I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."
Where was I going to go? I was naked, with a slave collar around my neck. If I tried to leave the hotel, I'd be captured as a runaway slave and severely punished. If I tried going back to my hotel room without following the instructions in that envelope I'd be punished.
After the girl left the lobby, the male employees and hotel guests seemed to be even more open about staring at me.
On some sort of masochistic impulse I placed my hands behind my back and allowed my knees to spread apart. I'd get punished if I covered myself, so why not go to the other extreme and expose myself as much as possible? I was a slave after all!
I felt my face burn hot with embarrassment as men with wolfish grins moved in for a closer look. Not willing to make eye contact with them, I lowered my gaze and looked at the floor.
It seemed like hours before the girl came back. In addition to her boss, she also brought back a metal folding chair. She set this down in the lobby and then placed a hand on my arm.
"Miss Schlank," she said, causing me to look up, "this is my supervisor.
I looked at the woman she'd brought with her. She was dressed in the same sort of corporate attire as the girl I gave the envelope to. She had her hair up in a formal looking bun and she wore glasses. However she had a look on her face similar to that of the men. She seemed to be enjoying my public humiliation.
"Miss Schlank?" the supervisor replied. "Beverly, don't be so formal. She's a slave. You don't call a slave 'Miss Schlank'. It's a title of respect. You don't have to be respectful to slaves!"
The girl named Beverly seemed to think about this for a few seconds and then finally tried again.
"Very well, I'll call her slave girl, shall I?"
Beverly's supervisor nodded with approval and then Beverly explained what was going to happen.
"Your Mistress wants you to be spanked. She left very specific instructions. You're to lie across my lap and not get off until I tell you. You're to keep your hands on the floor, palms down. You're not to move your hands to your bottom and try to block any of the swats as I spank your bottom. You're not to beg for mercy or ask me to stop. Do you understand?" My heart sped up with panic and excitement, and I felt an urge to back away and try to escape my punishment, but instead stood there and replied, "I understand".
Beverly set up her metal folding chair and then gave me a look of impatience. Her eyes and her voice had absolutely no sympathy whatsoever, when she finally said, "alright slave girl, get over my lap."
Obediently I bent over and lay across her lap. Her tweed slacks felt rough against my naked thighs and the floor tiles felt cold on my fingers and the palms of my hands as I obeyed orders and rested them there. I looked down at the floor and waited for the first blow to land on my naked and vulnerable ass.
I tried to be brave, however Beverly was stronger than she looked and swatted my naked, upturned, vulnerable ass with far more force than I would have thought possible. She was a slender girl, with skinny arms and soft looking hands, but she spanked my ass with such force that it hurt with the very first blow.
I began yelping after the second blow. I closed my eyes tight and screamed and struggled to maintain the proper pose, but it was almost impossible. I had no idea it would hurt so much!
I kept hoping that her arm would get tired, but she was like a machine. She kept slapping my naked cheeks over and over and over. She would hit the same spot over and over, hurting more each time, then start on a new spot.
Soon I was screaming in pain and sobbing as hot, wet tears slid down my face. Beverly seemed not to notice. She just continued spanking ... very hard and very rhythmically. She assaulted my ass and my thighs without ever slowing down or breaking rhythm. When I could no longer bear the pain and my left hand shot up to try and protect my buttocks, she quickly grabbed my wrist and pinned it to the small of my back.
"I told you, you're not allowed to do that," she said in a very calm tone of voice and then resumed spanking my naked bottom.
She was so much stronger than she looked! Her grip on my wrist was like iron, and if anything her blows raining down on my poor, upturned ass came down even harder. I screamed and kicked my legs and tears slid down my face, but Beverly never wavered from her task and just continued to punish my ass mercilessly.
After what seemed like hours (but was really more like two or three minutes) the spanking stopped.
I was still sobbing loudly, so it was hard for me to hear Beverly when she spoke next.
"Now, get off my lap and get onto the floor . . . hands and knees, please. And while you're down there, you need to kiss my feet. Her tone was lacking in malice, but firm and businesslike. It was clear that she had not giving me an option to disobey.
Even through all the pain and the crying, I still managed to feel humiliated and ridiculous. My naked ass (which was now very red) was pointed directly at the voyeuristic men in the lobby. My face was lowered almost to the floor as I lowered my lips to Beverly's very sensible shoes and planted kisses on each of them.
When I was done with that task, Beverly informed me that I was supposed to thank her for my punishment. I was still sobbing and my throat was raw from screaming, so my verbal skills were greatly diminished, but I finally managed to get the words out.
Tears slid down my face and landed on this girl's shoes. I was wondering if I would get in trouble for that, when I heard Gretchen's familiar voice from a short distance away.
"What an excellent job," she said. "A very thorough spanking if ever I saw one!"
Since I hadn't been given permission to get up off the floor, I stayed there on my hands and knees while Gretchen and Beverly chatted. Apparently Beverly had followed Gretchen's instructions to the letter and Gretchen attempted to get Beverly to spank me every morning for as long as we guests there at the hotel.
Beverly tried to talk her way out of it, however Beverly's supervisor was very much in favor of the idea. Then another voice (the leader of their marketing department) insisted that it could be good publicity and bring an audience into the lobby every morning. They'd have to publicize it of course, but it could draw a large number of people in.
Eventually Beverly accepted when somebody offered her sixty euros a day to give me my morning spanking. More people showed up and began to discuss how to promote and manage the event. A female voice insisted on the need for greater security in the lobby, due to the fact that promoting such an event would attract a certain amount of riff raff.
Hotel staff hammered out the details and planned my public humiliation while I remained on my hands and knees without being allowed any input whatsoever. It was just another way of reinforcing of my slave status. Slaves had no say in how they were treated. Nobody ever consulted a slave to see if their punishments were too humiliating or too painful. Decisions were simply made, and the slave would do as she was told. It was a simple system and if I didn't like it, there was nothing I could say or do to change it.
I was feeling helpless and sorry for myself, and didn't think things could get any worse for me, but before we left Gretchen pulled me close and leaned forward as if she was going to kiss me, but instead whispered in my ear, "I saw you put your hand up to block that girl's hand from spanking you."
I felt a sense of panic as she imparted this information to me. I instantly knew I was in trouble. My chest felt tight and I could feel my heart beating faster in my chest even before the next words came out of her mouth.
"That's just one more thing I'll have to punish you for today. You're going to be a very unhappy slave girl by the time we leave the punishment park."
* * * * * * * * * *
Before Gretchen took me to the punishment park, there were two humiliating ordeals she forced me to go through.
The first ordeal was at a beauty salon. That introductory sentence doesn't even begin to prepare you to understand just how bad the experience was. For starters I had to stand there naked in the lobby while women with arrogant smirks on their faces got their fingernails and toenails painted. They openly stared at my naked body while I was forced to stand there, without being able to cover myself.
However I wasn't in the lobby for long. Soon I was led into the back for a bikini wax.
When I was led past the smirking, arrogant ladies, they got a good look at my spanked, red bottom and they all commented loudly and openly upon seeing it.
"Oh, that poor dear!" one of them exclaimed. "Her bottom's all red!"
"So?," another woman commented. "I'm sure she did something to deserve a spanking!"
"Better her than me!" a third woman remarked.
Apparently this last remark was considered witty, as all of the female patrons laughed heartily at this.
* * * * * * * * * *
In the back room, a petite girl with short, dark hair tried to put me at ease. She'd performed the waxing procedure many times before and told me that everybody was nervous about it. That was only natural.
She helped me up onto a bed and had me spread my legs for her. She very diplomatically refrained from commenting on how wet my pubic slit was.
If you've never had a bikini wax before, allow me to inform you of exactly how this painful and intimate procedure is actually done.
First a thick, sticky liquid (not actual wax) is heated up, then spread on a clean strip of white cloth. The white cloth (sticky side down) is pressed firmly into the skin of the intended victim. Finally when the sticky glop has sufficiently adhered to the victim's skin and body hair, it is ripped away from the skin in one quick motion, pulling scores of the victims hair out by the roots.
This is painful when done to any area of the human body, but the skin around the genitals and anus is especially sensitive.
There was a loud RIPPING sound as the innocent looking girl ripped dozens of my pubic hairs out by their roots and I screamed in pain.
This seemed to go on for hours, but in actuality took less than fifteen minutes.
The hairs around my anus were longer and easier for the girl to pull out, but caused so much pain when she ripped them out that I had tears running down my face.
It seemed like this painful experience went on for hours, however it probably took only twenty or thirty minutes.
When it was over I just wanted to curl into a ball and sob to myself until the pain went away. However Gretchen insisted that I behave like a proper slave. I was ordered to thank this girl for her time and then get down on my hands and knees and kiss her feet.
The girl protested that it wasn't necessary, but Gretchen was the boss and I ended up down on my hands and knees on the cold tile floor, kissing the girl's white sneakers with their white laces until Gretchen told me I could get up.
* * * * * * * * * *
Our next stop was at a store that that sold bondage and corporal punishment type gear. Gretchen was the only patron in the store with a naked slave, so she got special attention. She was met by the store manager and a very attractive sales girl.
The manager was very warm and welcoming to Gretchen, but didn't even bother to speak to me. Gretchen had all the money. As a naked slave, I obviously had none.
Gretchen was complimented on being a slave owner, however she was told that it was a mistake for her to allow me to have my hands free. Apparently keeping a slave bound and helpless at all times was very important.
Within seconds, my arms were forced behind my back and my wrists were bound together by cold, stainless steel handcuffs. Gretchen inspected them and asked how much they cost. Apparently the price seemed reasonable to her, as she agreed to buy them.
Next, the manager picked out a leash that was mostly a stainless steel chain, but also had a black, leather handle at one end. The other end was clipped onto my slave collar and then the salesgirl tugged on the leash, forcing me to follow her. She walked me all around the store, moving fast and making sharp, unexpected turns. It was difficult to keep up and without my arms to protect me, my poor breasts were painfully bumped into several customers (who seemed very unmotivated to get out of my way), one store employee, a metal display rack and a mannequin.
Gretchen then took possession of the leather handle of the leash and led me around the store . . . thankfully not bumping my poor breasts into anything.
After Gretchen agreed to purchase the leash, a ball gag was taken from a display rack and forced into my mouth. The manager gave a long speech about the importance of slaves not being allowed to speak and the more and more I was forced to listen, the less and less I felt like a real human being. She talked about me as if I were a dog that needed to be controlled and trained and restrained so that I would never defy Gretchen's will.
Gretchen then mentioned that she'd like to look at some items for punishing my bottom. The salesgirl then uncuffed one of my wrists and then moved my hands in front of me so that my wrists could be bound in front.
Then I was bent over a counter, so that my ass was sticking up and several items were brought forth, so that Gretchen could try each one on my bottom and see which she liked best.
They all hurt.
If not for the gag, I would have been screaming in pain. However, with the large rubber ball forcing my mouth open and my tongue to the bottom of my mouth, I could only make vague, muffled noises that did not adequately convey my pain or outrage.
Gretchen's favorite was the riding crop (very painful), however she also agreed to buy a small wooden paddle and a thin leather instrument of pain called a "quirt".
There were tears running down my face after the demonstration of corporal punishment products. I was trying to cope with the pain of what I'd just endured when Gretchen said she wanted to purchase some items without me being able to see what they were.
They started speaking in hushed tones after that, and then the salesgirl came grabbed me by my arms and helped me to stand up. Once standing, she led me over to an area where there were changing booths. I was led into one of the booths and told to be a "good girl", while my Mistress completed her shopping.
Then she took my hands (which were still cuffed in front of me) and helped me lift them up over my head. "Now, be a good girl and keep them there," she advised me.
Within seconds she produced a stainless steel device, that she clipped to a metal ring that was set into the ceiling. There was another clip on the other end of the device that she clipped to the handcuff chain. Just two quick clips and I was trapped. Until I was released, I would be unable to lower my arms or leave the changing room.
The salesgirl gave me a seductive smile and told me how cute I looked all bound and helpless like that. Then she said that she'd like to stay and do all kinds of "evil" things to me, but she had to get back to work.
I tried to speak, but with the ball gag in my mouth, all that came out was, "Pfmmm". I would have loved for her to touch me all over and then thrust her fingers inside me. I was so sexually frustrated that I'd probably come within seconds.
However all she did was kiss me on the forehead and fondle my breasts a bit. Then she left the changing room and closed the curtain behind her.
I wondered how long I'd be left there, with a gag in my mouth and my hands bound over my head. When Gretchen is shopping, she can go on for hours, and already my arms and shoulders were beginning to grow tired from holding this position. Not to mention the fact that my jaw ached from being forced open by the ball gag. Also, I had to continually swallow in order to keep from drooling on myself.
I had no way to accurately measure time, while I was bound there, however it seemed to be perhaps twenty to forty minutes later that a young, innocent looking girl with short hair parted the curtain to my room and came in.
With the gag in my mouth I couldn't say anything, but I gave out a startled, "Whhtth!" sound as she entered the dressing room.
The girl's eyes went wide at first and she even apologized. "I'm sorry" she said. "I thought this changing room was unoccupied."
Then realization dawned upon her. I wasn't another customer, with a right to privacy. I was a naked, bound a collared slave. She didn't have to apologize to me. She didn't have to show me any type of respect or consideration at all.
Suddenly a playful smirk spread across her face and she stepped forward, closing the curtain behind her. "This is too good an opportunity to pass up," she whispered to me.
She dropped some leather pants and a corset on the floor and once both of her hands were free, she immediately took my breasts into her hands and began fondling them. I made moaning sounds into my gag, which she seemed to take as encouragement. She then began to fondle and squeeze my breasts even harder.
After about five minutes of this, she began to pinch my nipples. This hurt like hell, but with my hands bound above my head there was nothing I could do to stop her. I tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled, "Uummphh!" sound.
The look on the girl's face was utter bliss. She looked rather young and this was probably the first time she had a naked girl that she could play with. I guessed that she was a closeted lesbian who lived at home with her parents and had to pretend to be straight for the sake of peace in the family home. If not for the gag in my mouth, I might have asked her if this was the case, but as matters stood I couldn't say a word to her.
After my breasts were well manhandled, she kissed me on the forehead, picked up her leather goods off the floor and left the changing room.
She left the curtain open when she left, and I tried to call her back to close it, but all that came out was "Whht Chmm bhhh!"
This was very unfortunate and stressful for me, as the next person to find me was a tall, well-dressed woman in her early to mid-forties.
I'm a lesbian, so obviously I like being touched by women, but being touched by a woman who's old enough to be my mother just seems creepy.
She fondled my ass and thighs, both of which were still sore from the hand spanking, the riding crop and the quirt. I squirmed in pain and the older woman's touch, which she took as a sign of sexual arousal.
Then she touched me in between my legs. Everything in that general are was sore from when the girl at the beauty parlor yanked all of my pubic hair out by the roots. I flinched and squirmed and wished I could do something to protect my poor, abused venus mound, but I was bound and helpless.
Then she stuck two fingers deep inside of me.
"You're soaking wet," the older woman accused. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
I shook my head to indicate that I wasn't enjoying this at all. The only reason I was wet, was because I'd been kept naked for almost twenty-four hours, my clit and pubic lips were constantly being stroked and Gretchen was denying me permission to have an orgasm!
She didn't like my response, so she took one of my public lips and pinched it hard. My pubic lips were already sore, and this new pain was so bad I screamed and struggled against the handcuffs. I yanked so hard I actually pulled up both feet off the floor and left raw, red marks on my wrists where the metal restraints bit into them.
"Oh, did you feel that?" the woman asked in a playful, arrogant tone of voice. Does that mean you don't want me to do it again?"
I was too stunned to answer at first, so she grabbed a pubic lip on the other side and pinched that.
The gag muffled my screams again and I squirmed and kicked my legs and pulled at my bonds some more. Tears flowed freely down my face until she eased up her grip.
Finally, when I was able to hold still, she said, "Tell me that you enjoy me fondling you, or I'll pinch them again. Do you understand?"
I nodded my head in agreement, and prayed that this painful, frightening episode would soon be over.
Then she smiled and asked, "You're really enjoying this aren't you?"
It was one of the most humiliating moments of my life, but I nodded my head in agreement, communicating to this woman (who was old enough to be my mother) that I enjoying her fondling my naked flesh and fingering my pussy.
"You're a bad, little girl, aren't you?" she asked.
I nodded my head in agreement, hoping that's the response that she was looking for.
She spent several more minutes fondling me, fingering me and telling me what a bad girl I was for parading around naked in public and for wanting to have sex with other women. It was all so traumatic, I forgot to swallow and ended up drooling all over myself.
Before she left, she reminded me once again what a naughty girl I was, and said she hoped that I was taken to the punishment park soon, so that I could get the harsh punishment I deserved.
* * * * * * * * * *
That creepy woman got her wish. Approximately forty minutes later, Gretchen and I were at the main entrance to the punishment park. Gretchen was dressed in stylish leather boots, designer jeans and a brand new crewneck tee shirt, while I was barefoot, naked, hands bound behind my back and being led around by the leash that was attached to my slave collar.
Admission to the punishment park normally cost sixty euros, however Gretchen got in free because she brought a naked slave with her, and the main reason people come to the punishment parks is to see the naked slaves.
Gretchen got a map of the park, which showed the location of the bathrooms, a first aid office, a security office, a gift shop and (of course) the areas where the slaves are punished.
There was a designated area for the heterosexual slaves, the gay male slaves and the lesbian slaves. Gretchen complained loudly about the fact that the area for the heterosexual slaves was at least three times bigger than the area for the lesbian slaves.
Gretchen had taken the gag out of my mouth, but I knew better than to say anything. She could complain all she wanted, but if I were to say anything (even if it was to agree with her) without permission, I'd earn even more punishments.
Before Gretchen led me to the lesbian section of the park, she led me to the security office. Some sadistic mind had decided that one of the services the security office should offer was free body cavity searches for all slaves that entered the punishment park.
It served no purpose other than to humiliate the slaves. I mean . . . how could we possibly obtain and hide anything in our body cavities? By practice and tradition, the hands of slaves are kept bound most of the time. When and how could any of us grab and conceal any type of keys, lock picks or other contraband?
When we entered the security office, there was already a naked male slave being subjected to a cavity search. His hands were pressed against a wall and he was leaning far forward with his legs far apart.
He was shaking and tears were running down his face as a uniformed security guard roughly fingered his asshole and pretended to be searching for contraband. From the color of his slave collar I could tell he was heterosexual and thus he was almost certainly unaccustomed to having things shoved up his ass.
I waited with nervous anticipation for my turn. The blonde slave boy whimpered and gritted his teeth as the security guard took her time and fingered his exposed, vulnerable anus.
When she was done, she slapped his small, boyish buttocks and ordered him to stand up. His ass was already decorated with red marks and he yelped in pain when her hand made a loud SMACK against his naked ass.
His mistress led him out on a leash, to "enjoy" the punishment park, and then it was my turn.
The mouth is a body cavity and they did spend order me to open my mouth wide while they shined a small flashlight down my throat, but they were much more interested in inspecting my vagina and my anus.
Gretchen unlocked me from my handcuffs and then the security guards ordered me into position. Just like the slave before me, I was made to stand with my legs far apart, bent over, with my hands pushed flat against the wall and me knees straight.
The security guards took a lot of time to make certain that every detail of my position conformed to their specifications. It seemed to me that it was designed to make me feel as vulnerable and exposed as possible.
After they were satisfied that nothing could be done to make my position any more humiliating, one guard took her sweet time snapping on a latex glove and getting into position behind me.
I waited and waited. Every part of my body went tense, waiting for a latex, clad finger to penetrate a very tender part of my anatomy, however the security guard was content to make me wait. I held the position so long that my legs started to feel weak and sweat began to form on my torso and underneath my arms.
Then, when I thought I couldn't take the suspense anymore, I felt the finger slide in deep, into my vagina.
I moaned and felt an orgasm approaching as she fingered me, making only the slightest pretense of doing a cavity search, she roughly fingered my aching cunt and got me closer and closer to a screaming orgasm.
I knew that if I had an orgasm without permission, I'd be punished horribly, but there was little I could do to stop it.
Then, just when it seemed that it was impossible to stop a shuddering orgasm from ripping through my body, the security guard pinched one of my pubic lips and then withdrew the finger from my aching cunt.
I began to sob and hot, wet tears slid down my face. I wasn't certain if I was crying because of the pain or because of the sexual frustration. Somehow I endured both and held the required position, although I trembled and shook slightly as I cried over what was being done to my poor, defenseless body.
Then, without warning a huge blob of cold gel was forced against my tender, tiny anus and a finger forced it's way inside of me.
"That's cold!," I exclaimed, almost falling over because of the shock of the finger coated in cold gel being forced into anal cavity.
"What was that?" I heard Gretchen's stern voice ask, while the finger wriggled and probed inside of me. "Did you just speak without permission?"
It was hard for me to think with that finger moving around inside of me, but I knew I was in trouble. Gretchen had already informed me that I wasn't to speak without getting permission, and here I just been caught in the act!
And I was already inside the punishment park!
"You'll have to be punished for that," Gretchen informed me. "Just as soon as this security guard is done searching you."
Never had I felt do conflicted in my life! This cavity search was humiliating and demoralizing and I wanted it over as soon as possible, but as soon as it was over, Gretchen was going to take me out and do something to me that was agonizingly painful and public. Did I dread the cavity search stopping or did I dread it going on and on?
In the end, it made little difference. The security guard never asked for my opinion and just went at her own pace. When she was done, she smacked my already sore buttocks and told me to stand up.
The guard told Gretchen that I was clean and then the guard had the sadistic sense of humor to tell me to "enjoy the punishment park".
Then Gretchen attached the leash to my collar and handcuffed my hands behind my back. She led me out of the security office and into the punishment park with a smug smile on her face. For my own part, I followed naked, on a leash and started to cry as I was helplessly led over to the whipping posts.