Enslaved in Europe Ch. 04

I heard the security guard stifle a laugh and answer, "Go ahead."

I felt the girl's hands on my punished ass. Each hand slid across a buttock and then drifted down to my thighs before sliding back up to my buttocks again. As promised, her touch was gentle, but even a gentle touch on my poor ass stung. I tried to keep quiet, but I whimpered two or three times when her hands went over the most sensitive spots.

"I'm sorry," the girl exclaimed when she heard one of my louder sounds of pain.

"It's okay," I said, my voice shaky.

"But I hurt you," the girl said, sounding truly worried. "I didn't mean to! Really I didn't!"

"She's a slave," I heard the guard patiently explain. "The same rules that apply to you and I don't apply to her. You don't apologize to her."

This seemed to confuse the girl and she was very silent for a while. She was very innocent and naïve and the concept of a lesbian sex slave was too much for her to take in all at once.

The innocent girl felt me up a little bit more, but stopped asking questions. Eventually she went away and the time dragged on as I stared at the wall and displayed my punished ass for the entire hotel lobby to gawk at.

At one point I heard the voice of an American boy in his late teens. He wanted to cop a feel, but the security guard wouldn't let him. When he became argumentative I heard sounds of more people arriving and somebody in authority lectured him on how he could get thrown out of the hotel if he disobeyed orders from hotel security. Eventually they learned that the boy was staying in the hotel with his parents and he suddenly sounded very apologetic and defensive when it was decided that his parents would be informed of his actions.

It was frightening knowing all of this was going on just a few feet behind me and not being able to see any of it, or even break position. It was much more humiliating for me to be ogled by a horny teenage boy than a teenage girl ... or a female of any age. And I can only guess what that boy would have done to me if that security guard hadn't been there to protect me. Just the thought of his hands on me made me feel violated.

"He's gone," I finally heard the security guard say. "Just some spoiled brat who thinks the rules don't apply to him. We'll keep an eye on him until his family checks out, but I don't think he'll give us any more trouble."

I wanted to thank her, but I wasn't allowed to speak without permission. My ass was already sore, and I was scheduled for more punishment tomorrow. As grateful as I was, I couldn't risk yet another punishment by thanking her.

I stood there in silence again and wondered how much longer I had to stand like this. It seemed like I'd been on display for a lot more than an hour and I despaired the fact that they'd taken my watch away. I think that they do that do slaves to increase the feelings of powerlessness. The inability to keep track of hours, minutes and schedules is just another way of making you dependent on your owner.

I was feeling sorry for myself and wondering what sort of punishment I was in for tomorrow when I heard a female voice with a very proper British accent say, "Hello Miss."

Since it was directed at me, I assumed it was alright for me to respond. "Um, hello," I said timidly. When the security guard didn't admonish me I let out a sigh of relief. Apparently I'd made the right decision.

"Are you in some sort of trouble, then?" she asked. "You look absolutely distressed."

"I'm ...," I began and tried to think how to explain my predicament. "I'm being punished by my owner. She thought it would be humiliating to put my on display like this for an hour."

"I would say that she's right. I'd be utterly humiliated if I was stripped naked and put on display in a public place. I'd just about die of embarrassment."

There were a few moments of silence, and then she asked, "You're a slave then?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"And are you her owner?" I heard the girl ask.

"Not me," I heard the security guard answer. "Her owner is a guest in this hotel. She asked me to keep an eye on her while she's being punished."

The British girl then moved in very close and leaned against the wall. Her shoulder was touching my hand. I could feel the fabric of her jacket on my fingers. "You're lesbians then, you and your owner?"

I decided that this was just another part of being a slave. I wasn't allowed any privacy or secrets. This girl had the authority to make me give up the most private details of my life just by asking.

"I'm totally into girls," the girl said as she reached over and stroked my face. I found it difficult to keep my head facing the wall while she did that, but I knew what would happen if I disobeyed orders.

"My mother won't let me have a girlfriend," she continued. "She thinks that I'm just going through a phase and that when I grow older I'll suddenly be attracted to boys."

I had a vague idea how this girl felt. My mother didn't want a gay daughter either. I had to hide my sexuality from my mother and even today she still insists that Gretchen is just my "roommate". Sometimes parents will live in denial for their entire lives about the true nature of their children. Of course I couldn't say any of this. As a slave I could only speak if I was answering a question directed to me.

The British girl then began asking me questions and they got more and more personal as she went along. How old was I when I first kissed a girl? How old was I when I had sex with a girl? How many women had I slept with? Did I own any sex toys? Did I use them on myself or did my lovers use them on me? Did I get the best orgasms from sex toys, a woman's tongue or a woman's fingers?

I'm certain my face was blushing crimson before her interrogation was all over. And her questions probably would have become even more embarrassing if her mother hadn't shown up and dragged her away.

"EMILY," I heard a woman with a British accent snap. "What do you think you're doing?"

I don't think Emily's mother heard anything we talked about, however the mere thought of Emily chatting up a naked woman was apparently enough to make her mother exceedingly irate. I had already been embarrassed about being naked and ogled in public. Emily's personal questions made me even more humiliated. However when Emily's mother stood behind me and began lecturing her daughter and I, it was so humiliating that I just broke out in tears. Her mother threw out words like "obscene" and "disgraceful" and "shameless" and "pervert". I don't remember all of it, but the basic gist seemed to be that Emily and I should be ashamed of ourselves and that a "shameful display" like the one I had created wouldn't be allowed in a decent hotel. And as a slave, I had to listen to the whole tirade without running away or saying a single word to defend myself.

I eventually managed to stop sobbing, but silent tears continued to run down my face long after Emily and her mother had gone.

*****

Eventually Gretchen came to down to the lobby to get me. I suspected that I had been down there longer than an hour, but Gretchen wouldn't tell me and I didn't dare ask. "Have you learned your lesson?" Gretchen asked.

"Yes, Mistress," I replied, and I whimpered as Gretchen grabbed my long blonde hair and pulled on it, forcing me to stand up.

"You'll refer to me by my proper title from now on?" Gretchen asked.

"Yes Mistress, I promise."

I then noticed that Donna was standing there as well. In her hand were several lengths of rope. When Gretchen was done talking to the security guard, she ordered me to put my hands behind my back so that Donna could tie me up.

Approximately a dozen people stood in the lobby and watched while Donna tied my wrists behind my back. The wrist tie was very tight and I thought quite effective in making me helpless, but then Donna proceeded to tie my elbows together as well. "They won't quite meet," Donna complained as she tried to make my elbows touch. Then Gretchen went to help and I grunted and whimpered as both women proceeded to tie me in painful bondage.

When they were finished the tie had the effect of forcing my shoulders back and my breasts up. They were now sticking out and so prominently displayed it was as if I was inviting everyone in the lobby to ogle them ... or to fondle them, or to pinch them, or to whip them. Once again, Gretchen had found a new way to humiliate me.

The elevator ride up to our room was just one more humiliation to add to the list. Nine people were already on, so when we squeezed in it was quite crowded. People bumped up against my naked body and several times I could feel hands copping a feel. It was so crowded that I couldn't even see who was groping me. I couldn't even tell if they were male or female. And with my hands bound behind my back there was no way to defend myself.

Once inside the hotel room, Donna grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me so that I was looking straight at her. "Remember I told you I would get permission to have sex with you?" she asked.

Without waiting for an answer, she added, "Your owner has given me permission, so let's get started, Slave."

"I'll just watch," Gretchen said from somewhere behind me. "This should be entertaining."

My breasts were sticking out prominently because of the way my arms were bound behind me, and Donna wasted no time taking advantage of this. "Foreplay is important," she said. "Of course you probably used to foreplay for free women. Let me show you what foreplay is like for a slave."

Donna grabbed my breasts in both hands and fondled them roughly. It hurt, but as a slave I felt it was wrong to complain. I bit my tongue and tried to keep quiet, but Donna's hands became more and more demanding. She squeezed my breasts hard, making me whimper in pain. Then she pinched my nipples, looking into my eyes as she did so. When I closed my eyes shut, she ordered, "Keep your eyes open. I want to see the look on your face as I hurt you."

I forced my eyes to remain open and looked into the face of this young, beautiful woman as she inflicted pain on my helpless breasts. She had a look of overwhelming lust and infatuation on her face as her hands squeezed, pinched and slapped my tender breasts and nipples.

When I began to cry and hot tears ran down my face that just seemed to make her even more aroused. When my vision was so blurry from crying that I could barely see, Donna began to remove her clothes. The first thing she did was remove her belt from her jeans and I feared she would use it to whip my already sore breasts, but she pulled down her tight jeans, stepped out of them and continued to strip until the was totally naked.

I wanted to wipe the tears from eyes so I could get a better look at her. It seemed that she had a very beautiful body, but my hands were bound helplessly behind my back and I was forced to view her naked body through tear streaked vision.

"On your knees, Slave girl," she said and I struggled to get to my knees without falling down. There are so many times we take our hands for granted. But when they're bound behind your back you realize how dependent you are on them.

"Knees apart," Donna ordered as she towered over me. "Remember, a well trained slave never allows her knees to touch. Keep that pretty pussy on display as much as possible."

I followed orders and spread my knees apart, but without my hands to help it meant all my weight was on them as they slid across the carpet and I got rug burn on my knees. Donna didn't seem to notice the pained look on my face, or perhaps she just didn't care. At any rate, she grabbed my head and thrust it into her crotch. "Show me you have some skill with that tongue, Slave," she said. "Make me cum."

It was difficult without my hands, but I followed Donna's orders. At first I stuck my tongue inside of her and tasted her juices as she moaned and thrust her hips. She guided my head with her hands and I just thrust my tongue wherever she pointed my head. It seemed to me that she was masturbating herself and my head was just the tool she was using.

Then she screamed out, "Suck my clit! Suck it! Suck it, girl!" I couldn't see it at first because my vision was still blurry, but using my tongue and my lips I quickly found her swollen clit by the way that it felt. Then trapping it between my teeth I sucked on it for all I was worth. Donna began to spasm almost immediately and her hips rocked my face back and forth while I tried to hang on.

She screamed in Italian and fell to the floor as he body convulsed in orgasm. She gripped my head tight and I fell down on the floor with her. Without my arms to break the fall I landed like a sack of potatoes. Then Donna continued to hold my face near her pussy as she panted and gasped.

I must have lay there for a good fifteen minutes, before Gretchen grabbed me by my long, blonde hair and pulled me up off the floor. "Ow, that hurts," I exclaimed. Gretchen ignored my pain and ordered me to kneel again with my knees far apart. She helped me get into position and then I noticed that Gretchen was just as naked as I.

I took a moment to admire her lean thighs and flat tummy. And just a few inches below her navel was her neatly trimmed pussy. Her inner labia had swelled and emerged. And her clit had swollen and peeked out of its hood. When had Gretchen become this aroused? Was it while Donna was using my face to grind herself to orgasm? Or was it earlier? Was it when Donna tied me up? Or maybe when my naked ass was spanked raw by half a dozen strangers? Was it while she watched my nipples get pinched and my breasts abused?

While I pondered these questions Gretchen made me lick her to orgasm. Donna had me bring her to orgasm one more time and Gretchen had me service her twice more. I was amazed at how many times they were able to achieve orgasm. Gretchen didn't normally cum more than once a day. Was it seeing me punished and humiliated that made her sexual appetite so much greater?

While I remained kneeling Donna cleaned up and got dressed. Gretchen kissed Donna goodnight and I felt a twinge of jealousy. How dare Donna kiss my girlfriend? Donna must have caught the look in my eye because she gave me a disdainful look and said, "She's not your girlfriend this week so wipe that possessive look off your face."

I tried to force my face into a more neutral expression and then Gretchen added, "You need to stop thinking like I'm your girlfriend. Get that thought out of your head. I'm your owner."

I nodded my head in agreement and then she said, "Say it."

In a defeated tone of voice I muttered, "You're my owner."

"Louder," Donna and Gretchen both ordered in unison.

"You're my owner!" I said. "I'm your property!"

"Again," Gretchen ordered.

I was made to say it again and again while Gretchen and Donna kissed. I could feel my sense of self worth slip a little bit more each time I said it. By the time Gretchen told me to stop I felt like my life was over.

All the fight had gone out of me by this point. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. As a result, I didn't resist at all when Donna and Gretchen forced me down to the floor and tied me with my arms and legs far apart. I was so despondent and so crushed that it didn't ever occur to me that I would be forced to remain in this helpless and humiliating position all night.

Donna added to my humiliation by shoving a pillow underneath my hips. Donna said it was so I didn't stain the carpet with my juices. She even stuck a finger inside of me to demonstrate how wet it became inside my pussy.

However I think her real reason for doing this was to put my pussy more on view and to make me feel more exposed than ever. Gretchen took several pictures of me in this position and then walked Donna to the door. I could hear Donna and my owner making small talk for several minutes with the door open and wondered if anybody in the hallway could see me. Most likely the bed closest to the door would block their view, but the fact that Gretchen would leave the door open while I was naked and spread wide open and helpless spoke volumes to me about how much our relationship had changed.

Eventually I heard the door close, then I heard Gretchen in the bathroom. Eventually the lights went out and I heard the creak of springs as Gretchen got into bed.

When I realized I was to spend the whole night like that, I began to cry. While Gretchen slept in a large, comfortable bed, sexually satisfied, I was to sleep on the floor with my wrists and ankles bound with rope, my hips thrust up in an obscene manner and my clit swollen with growing sexual frustration.