The lift chimed happily on each floor it stopped.  The grey-haired banker-type straightened his pinstripe suit and gave me a knowing smirk on his way out.  As did the hoary dinosaur who stopped four floors earlier.

I was in a slinky black dress, mile-high Jimmy Choos, with matching Swarovski earrings, and my shoulders were oiled and shiny, and I exuded a splash of floral fragrance with spicy notes, courtesy of YSL Black Opium. That, and maybe my shimmering Bobbi Brown eyeshadow and dazzling Chanel nails, might not have been entirely appropriate for a weekday afternoon. Besides, I was probably too young, too underdressed for the Ritz Grande Hotel, and I was carrying a large sling bag from Prada.

I followed the signs down a labyrinth of velvet-carpet corridors and finally found the Presidential Suite tucked away discreetly at the end of a long corridor. I walked towards the two men who stood guard outside, mustering up the confident gait that I’d been taught for my catwalk during Fashion Week.

The two burley men, who looked like gorillas-in-a-suit, moved forward and stopped me five feet before the door.

“I have an appointment  in the Presidential Suite,” with my most confident and nonchalant  voice that would make Krysten Ritter proud.

The bald man looked me over, and checked his list.

He shook his head and looked up, “I’m sorry, we have to search you.”  His bearded colleague made a call.

Right, pervs. Perks of the job, right?

He motioned me to place my hands on the wall.

I did, and he spread my legs apart.  I felt his large hands patting down my my side, my back, and wait for it… my front. 

Beardie reported: “He’s still in a meeting, and I couldn’t get to Madam Jones.”

Baldie looked me in the eye and asked, “Are you sure you have the right room?”

“Of course I’m sure, this is not the first time I’ve been to the Presidential Suite.” Of course it was my first time there, and this was my second week, but that was entirely on a need-to-know-basis.

He kept his eyes on me, unmoving.

I blinked, “first time I’m seeing your boss though.”

Baldie nodded slowly, satisfied. “Your bag looks heavy. What’s inside?” he asked, stretching out his hand.

Reluctantly, I gave it to him. He unzipped it and they both took a look inside, and the next thing I knew, he had un-holstered his pistol and I was staring down its barrel. Beardie whipped out what looked like a cattle prod and went behind me.

“I’m afraid we have to search you more thoroughly now. Please take off your clothes.” Baldie said as his colleague made another call on the mobile.

“What?” I asked, incredulously.

“I’m not going to repeat myself, lady.”

These pervs are really having a field day today…

“I am not wearing anything underneath. This dress is too tight,” I protested.

Baldie shrugged. “I can help you if you have trouble undressing yourself.”

Glaring at him, I peeled the straps off my oiled shoulders, slipped my dress down and past my waist with the slightest wriggle I could manage, and let it drop to my ankles. Good thing I went for a whole-body tan earlier to avoid tan-lines.

“You can leave your heels on,” the man said as he motioned me towards the wall.

I assumed the position again, hands on the wall, feet splayed apart.  As expected, he gave my hanging breasts and shorn orifices a good inspection. 

Pervs. This is as close as you’ll ever get, losers.

The lift chimed in the distance. I heard whispers, and from the corner of my eye, I could see a well-dressed couple opening the door to their suite. They pretended not to see us.

I could smell Baldie’s breath as he felt me over. Beardie  got off the phone and whispered something to his friend’s ear.

They swapped positions, and Beardie gave me a second once-over, to be sure, even as Baldie went through my dress. He brought it to his nose and sniffed.

Seriously?

I heard a tight slap, and felt a sting on my butt. I glared at Beardie .

He waved the cattle prod and said, “Now stand with your back against the wall.”

I mustered as much dignity as I could and asked, “Can I have my dress back please?”

Beardie ignored me, and gently pushed my back to the wall. I could feel the embossed baroque wallpaper chafing my shoulder blades.

“Put your hands to the side please.” I glared at him, uncovering myself.

He held up his iPhone and snapped a few.

My God. Seriously?

“Look…” I said.

“If our friends recognize you from somewhere,” he explained, even as he whooshed the photo away somewhere,  “then you are in a lot of trouble.”

Yah sure… or you could be uploading that to Snapchat or Instagram… perv.

“Now, can you explain this?” He held up the cuffs and chains in my bag. “Did you want to use this on our boss?”

“No, no! Of course, not, these are for me… for him to use on me…”

He handed them over to me.

I looked at him. He was serious.

In the corridor, naked, I began to wear the Cuffs. First the ankles, then the thighs, the arms, and finally the wrists.

“See, they fit me perfectly… too small for a man.” I said. “I went to a lot of trouble to find these Cuffs and to have them custom fitted you know… these are not the common chea…”

“And you wanted to put this on our boss?”

I snatched my designer Collar from them and put it on my neck, locking it shut.

“See? Same thing. They are a matching set…”

“And you wanted to gag our…”

They must be enjoying this, the idiots.

I grabbed the Ball Gag, popped it into my mouth and fastened the buckle, flipping my ponytail over the straps.

The men smiled. The iPhone went off – I was going to reach for it, but it was Beardie’s phone. He answered, nodded to its instructions as he looked me over. He looked like he was salivating over me, raping me with his eyes.

I felt his saliva on my bare chest. Then I realized it was mine – Gags have that effect on me. I hate that. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, careful not to smear my killer glossy lipstick.

Beardie put away the phone and asked, “You didn’t bring a blindfold?”

I shook my head. No, they don’t make blindfolds… but they should.

That’s what I thought I said. What actually came out was: “Nggoo ghey ghong mekk bainphol.”

“Pity,” he said, as if he understood every word, and produced a long handkerchief, wrapping it around my eyes.

“I’m sorry, standard security. It seems they were expecting you after all. But this is standard security.”

I felt the chains going around my Cuffs, tightening through the loops and drawing my wrists together behind my back.  I tried to resist, straining my arms, but they were just too strong. All those hours sweating in the gym, useless.

In the same way they chained my ankles together, leaving only a short length.

There I was, in the corridor, blindfolded, chained, and completely naked save my Jimmy Choos. I was cold.

Seriously? Can’t the client even wait till I’m in his room first?

I heard a few more snaps, but no whoosh, and I could virtually see the smirks on their faces.

After what felt like an eternity, I heard the suite door open.

Thank heavens! About time – I don’t have all day.

Strong hands grabbed my arms on both sides and led me forward, as I clumsily hobbled across the room in nothing but my heels – the carpet felt more plush here, and the air-conditioning a lot colder. Judging from the corridor, I imagined the Presidential Suite must be thoughtfully and intricately decorated in the same Rennaissance style. They stood me to a spot and tightened my ankle chains.

“Stand here. Do not move from here. Do not make a noise. The Boss is still in a meeting.”

As if I could go anywhere tied up like this, or even make a sound. Jerks.

I welcomed the warm caress of the sun on my bare back, even as the sound of traffic rumbled below. I must be standing back to the window, in some sort of large ante-room.

Ookaay, whatever. They  know my time has already started, right?

I stood for a long time – my shoulders and back felt raw from the sunlight intensified through the window pane; my nipples in contrast were shrunken cold in the shade. My calves were getting tired standing in position in heels.

One time I heard the doorbell ring, and the bell boy came in to deliver the food trolley – I could hear him but I couldn’t see him. I could swear that he came over for a closer eyeful, perhaps as a generous tip. Whatever. The smell of food made me hungry. But I’m on a 5-2 diet anyway.

Maybe the guard saw me fidgeting, as he decided to turn me around to face the window. Or maybe he thought his boss would appreciate an even tan – make that an even sunburn. At least my breasts were warm now.

As the clock ticked away, I was glad my breasts were well-oiled as they began to sizzle in the sun, while my burnt back found respite in the cold shade.

I also realized then that I shouldn’t have drunk all that water before I came. Hydration is so overrated. I needed to pee but I couldn’t. My bladder felt like a ticking bomb as my muscles felt more and more tense, and my breathing became shallower.

I almost explode when I hear the door open and people filing out. From their footsteps and voices, no one seems surprised at a naked girl chained by the window. So the boss isn’t afraid to let his associates know what he likes.

Someone loosens my chains, and guides me forward, still blindfolded. I can barely move, my muscles are stiff, and I am sure I am at least leaking a trickle as I take my first steps. I am helped by another man and they both guide me into to another room. I almost trip on a carpet snag but the arms supporting me were strong.

They pull the chains and I drop down onto the carpet, kneeling. They remove the hankerchief. My eyes try to adjust, and I see a moose head, and four or five men in the wood-panelled room, a man behind a grand desk in the shadows.

If this is going to be multiple clients, it’s going to have to cost more. Especially if its’ going to be this kinky…

“Sir, we have confirmation from our friends… This girl is a cop.”

Whoaaagg? I blurted through my gag…. Ngggoooooog! Inng ngott…

Ring them again! It’s a mistake, you’ll see!

I struggled and tried to get up, but the chains are too tight – I trip over and my breasts and cheeks crash onto the carpet instead.

“Oooo bai gggoog ooo by gog”

Shiny business shoes gather around me as my face is pressed in against the soft pile carpet. Someone steps forward and grabs my hair and pulls my head back. He flicks out a blade and I feel its edge against my outstreched neck. It is cold and sharp I can barely breathe.

“Nggooooog pleeeee”

This is how I’m going to die – like a trussed-up Christmas turkey, naked in a five-star hotel.

The blade awaits instructions. The boss leans forward out of the shadows. He is older than I thought he would be, the weight of the world on his face.

“Hold her up,” he whispers.

Many hands obey, yanking my chains till I am kneeling again. This time they secure my thigh cuffs to the ankle cuffs and I cannot move. He is grasping my hair, pulling my head back, knife to my neck, pushing my back outwards with his knee. I can no longer see his face through the tears in my eyes, and I am sobbing through my gag.

“Pleeeeeeee” I beg, wheezing through my gag. The carpet feels wet and warm. I think that was me.

“How considerate. Her nipples come pre-ringed,” he says, and his men laugh. “I’ve got a theory about girls who willingly submit themselves to a most intimate pain, for an adornment that is mostly hidden from the world, almost like a secret symbol.”

“Pleeee… aiggg dhooo anydhing… pleeee….”

The room is silent, punctuated only by my jagged breaths. And my pleading sounds bubbling through my saliva: “Pleeeeee…eee….eeee” I can feel my breasts jiggling as I shake.

I try to look as desirable as possible, but I realise that my face must be a complete mess by now, mascara running down my cheeks.

He finally says, “I like this one… maybe we’ll keep her… ” Then he added, “… for a while….”

The man releases his grip on me and puts the blade away. I almost choke in relief. Another man steps forward and produces a syringe.

I look at him, shaking my head.

Coarse fingers cup my sunburnt left breast and feel the sharp needle on my tender skin. I jerk as the needle barely misses my nipple. I feel the heat invading my breast, spreading to my body, as if I am running a fever. He runs his fingers through my hair, as if to comfort me.

I think I hear the Boss say, “When we’re done, maybe our new friends in Tokyo might like her. They love their exotic raw meat.”

I shake my head.  I am drooling onto the carpet. And the room spins around me, fading into a blur as I slump into black.

 

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