Humiliation at Mollie's Brothel

Lagarde's Hotel & Spa is a brothel in Putaville, the capital of Povera. You can find out more about it by reading Mollie Buys a Brothel, by JimGrinsted. But that's not necessary. This tale can be read on its own.

*****

Salvatore, an engineer from Milan, finished the second day of his five day vacation at Lagarde's Hotel & Spa in Putaville. He'd already fucked six girls, cum in the mouths of three others, and groped, fondled and stripped even more.

Great fun.

But now he was in his room by himself, unsatisfied. Yeah, he could fuck his way through the hostesses - nothing wrong with that. But he wanted more. He wanted to really humiliate somebody.

Humiliation? That meant embarrassment, degradation, wanting to fall through a hole in the floor. If Sal had his way, a hole the size of a meteor crater wouldn't swallow her shame.

They say that psychopaths don't care about other people's feelings. Sal - definitely not a psychopath - cared deeply about his victim's feelings. He wanted her to be painfully self-conscious and totally out of her comfort zone. She'd have a very bad day.

So this is a problem. It's pretty hard to properly humiliate somebody in a brothel. There are rules that prevent physical abuse or rape or stuff. Sal could live with that - part of the challenge was to play by the rules of the game. Physical pain made it too easy. He was smarter than that.

The bigger problem was the that hostesses have seen it all - they're not easily humiliated. They've already been stripped, fucked and bonked a thousand times. There was nothing he could do to one of those girls that'd cause anything more than a slight blush.

But Lagarde's rules promised that any member of the female staff was available for an additional fee. That meant maids, cleaning ladies, food service people, receptionists, etc. Hell, even the manager was for sale - Elizabeth, older than any of the hostesses, held her own in the looks department. He might buy her out anyway, just for the fuck.

But she wasn't a good victim. She dated guests for cash a couple times a week already - he'd already seen her naked with another guy. She'd probably been a hooker in her younger years. Humiliating her was nigh impossible.

No - he'd have to find a victim from staff who had never been bought out, at least not for a long time. They'd probably not work directly with guests, but do more back room kinds of stuff - maybe in the kitchen or the laundry room. Unlike Elizabeth or the maid who cleaned his room, they wouldn't flirt.

The downside is they'd be older and less attractive. No matter - he didn't need to screw his victim except to embarrass her. There were plenty of other screwable ladies around.

Typical of an engineer, Sal embarked on his new project systematically. He planned out exactly how he was going to accomplish this task: imposing maximum humiliation on his victim without breaking any of the house rules, and getting it done in the next three days. He divided the job into a series of steps along with a process by which to accomplish each of them.

Then he took a sleeping pill to get a good night's rest. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

The first task was to find a victim. This had to be surreptitious - she couldn't know until the last minute that she'd been chosen. He set about scouring the hotel for possibilities. For cover he engaged a hostess and paraded her naked. Then he had to march as close to the red line as possible, looking for staff who didn't interact much with customers. (Guests are not allowed to cross the red line. It marks off employee-only spaces.)

Initially he checked out the restaurants. The waitresses were just whores in disguise - not good victims. The main kitchens were on a different floor behind the red line, so he'd never see those employees. They wouldn't be available anyway. Still, there were serving and staging areas. The women who worked there were visible to customers, but didn't really interact with them. They made no effort to flirt. They weren't prostitutes, and a couple of them were cute enough.

But house rules forbade nudity in restaurants. That would crimp his style, so Sal decided to find an employee outside food service.

The hostesses left clothes all over the place, where ever a guest told them to strip. These garments were collected by housekeepers who, if the clothes were clean, hung them up on racks for hostesses to use when they got dressed again. If they were soiled, they got put in a wheeled hamper destined for the laundry room. Clean clothes came back from laundry to be placed on the racks.

Like the waitresses, the maids all fucked for money on the side - no good victims there. But there were two or three ladies who shuttled hampers and clean clothes from the guest floors to the laundry room and back. They actually spent most of their time in the laundry room - interaction with guests was minimal. They didn't flirt.

Sal identified the prettiest woman of the bunch. She was older (maybe fifty), fatter, and had obviously been through multiple pregnancies. But she had nice features, smaller and seemingly firmer tits, and clear skin. The lady wore a brown, calf-length, one-piece, grandma-dress that covered her body like a tent, with sleeves to the elbow. She walked in flip-flops, with no stockings. Sal thought he'd found a good victim.

The victim-to-be wore a nametag. A good sign, thought Sal, since that meant she was nominally for sale. Now if only he could get close enough to her to read her name without raising suspicion, that would help.

So Sal spent all afternoon following his potential victim around. This was not so easy. She spent much of her time beyond the red line, where he couldn't follow. She moved mostly on the freight elevator - he couldn't follow her there, either. He did eventually get close enough to her to read her nametag: Mballou.

He returned to his room, fucked his naked hostess, and then traded her off for someone else so that she wouldn't get suspicious.

Since Sal couldn't follow Mballou around, instead he decided to learn how laundry logistics worked at Lagarde's.

A lot of washing was generated from the guest rooms on the 9th and 10th floors. But it all happened once a day, after the maids had cleaned all the rooms. There was heavy traffic for an hour or so in the afternoon, but after that Mballou didn't spend much time in guest areas.

On most of the other floors he noticed that laundry was switched out every hour or so. From the restaurants it was napkins and table cloths. He saw Mballou bringing a fresh supply up just before dinner. She arranged the stash in a small staging area, and changed out the hamper taking the dirty stuff away with her. She didn't flirt with anybody.

By seeing how full the hampers were, Sal could estimate how often they were changed out. For most floors it looked to be roughly every hour - mostly with hostesses' dirty dresses. Mballou and her colleague (the less attractive Djina, though she'd do as a victim in a pinch) each took responsibility for half the floors. Mballou handled the lobby, nightclub, and restaurant floors, while Djina worked the fitness center and the girl's dormitory. They shared the others as needed.

The girls' dormitory on the second floor was the biggest generator of dirty clothes. The sheets had to be changed and laundered two or three times a day. There were towels for the showers, and clean underwear for the hostesses. The task was big enough that they'd set aside a room, adjacent to the freight elevator, as a staging area. For whatever reason - probably oversight - it was not red-lined out. Sal walked around just to see how it all worked.

The freight elevator opened up onto a foyer. Turn right and you faced the door to this staging room. Turn left and you headed down the hallway to the girls' showers, toilets, and sleeping rooms (all also available to guests - see Mollie Buys a Brothel for a description of the rules). Across the foyer, facing the elevator bank, was a bench, probably put there for decoration.

After finishing with the second floor, Sal hung out in the fifth floor lobby and watched the laundry hamper. He timed how often Mballou came to empty it. He found he could predict her arrival to within about ten minutes.

After 10 pm Mballou no longer showed up. Presumably her shift was over. Another (uglier) girl had taken her place. Noon to ten thought Sal to himself. That was his window of opportunity. He had to hope that Mballou worked the same shift under the same rules tomorrow.

The First Humiliation

The next day Sal assured himself that Mballou was on duty and that procedures hadn't changed. He refined his predictions for when she'd come to the fifth floor lobby.

Shortly before 5pm the lobby was full. It served as a congregation point for guests before dinner, and the minibus had recently arrived from the airport, bringing new guests. Hostesses were trying hard to hustle new business.

About ten minutes before Sal expected Mballou to fetch the laundry, he walked over to Elizabeth at the concierge's desk.

"I'd like to buy out one of the staff people, if I may please."

"Yes," she answered with a flirty smile. "The price is $50 for an hour, $100 for three hours, and $200 for twelve hours. How much time would you like?"

"I'll take three hours, please." He purposely was as polite as possible. He needed Elizabeth's help to carry out his plan. He gave her his card, which was linked to his credit card. Payment happened instantly.

"Which lady interests you, and when do you want her?

"I want Mballou, and I'd like her now, if that is possible."

"Mballou? In the laundry department?" Elizabeth asked, surprised.

"That's who I want."

"Alright. I'll get somebody to go fetch her."

"No need for that," said Sal. "She'll be here in a few minutes to get the laundry. You can just ask somebody to wait for her by the hamper."

"Oh. OK. I see you've worked this out already." She sent a maid over to stake out the laundry hamper. And sure enough, within a few minutes Mballou emerged from the freight elevator. Sal watched as the maid spoke to her, pointing toward the concierge's desk. Mballou, distraught, reluctantly headed towards them.

"You've been bought out for three hours," said Elizabeth. "This gentleman is your benefactor. His name is Mr. Sal."

"When is this supposed to start?" she asked.

"Right now," said Sal, smiling. "Please stand over there." He pointed to a spot about ten feet from the concierge's desk.

Mballou moved toward where he pointed while arguing with Elizabeth. "I need to get the hamper back to the laundry. Can I please have fifteen minutes before I start?"

"Mr. Sal wants your services right now," Elizabeth said, unsympathetically. "I've already punched the clock for you. Don't worry. I'll make sure your duties are covered." She sent the maid to tend to the hamper.

"Please stand here," said Sal, firmly and loudly enough to draw attention from bystanders. Mballou moved to her assigned spot, looking back to Elizabeth for mercy.

"Please take off all your clothes," Sal ordered, again loud enough to advertise the event. Mballou helped by looking like a roach in a spotlight with nowhere to run. She had panic in her eyes.

It worked. Sal overheard a guest: "I gotta watch this bitch get naked."

Mballou, now standing too far from Elizabeth to whisper, pleaded loudly. "Madam Elizabeth, do I really have to do this?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Mr. Sal has paid for your services, and his request is entirely reasonable at Lagarde's Hotel. Yes, you have to do it if you want to keep your job."

"I don't get it," said a hostess nearby. "I get naked ten times a day without complaining. Who does this lady think she is?"

By now Mballou stood surrounded by twenty or more people. If Sal forced her by figuratively beating her with a stick, they'd all feel sorry for her and angry at him. He'd be humiliated instead of her. Instead, by him staying in the background it made her look like a whiner and a princess. They'd mock her. That's what he wanted, so Sal stood back with the crowd, and not in the first row, either.

Sal complained to Elizabeth. "She's supposed to take off all her clothes. Is there a problem?"

To his joy, Elizabeth played the heavy. "Mballou, please strip now."

Less than five minutes ago Mballou had been minding her own business providing laundry services for a hotel. Now she stood surrounded by a crowd of people who wished her ill - and naked. How did this happen? And so suddenly? She had no choice. Crying, she started to remove her clothes.

The dress had no tie or zipper. It was supposed to pass over the head. Mballou grabbed the hem, and sequentially exposing thighs, panty, midriff and bra, she bunched it around her neck. Then she slipped it over her head. Unfortunately, in her nervousness she'd forgotten to take her arms out of the sleeves first. So now she had the dress behind her neck with her arms in the sleeves, partially immobilized. The result was comic - her audience started laughing.

"What kind of brothel is this? The lady can't even take her clothes off," laughed a guest, obviously just arrived from the airport.

Mballou struggled ungracefully to get her arms out of the sleeves, and then put her dress on a chair. She wore an old, ill-fitting bra, and a panty with the waistband - heaven forbid - at the waist. She unfastened her bra, showing off smallish tits that didn't sag. And then she quickly removed the panty, as if to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Maybe she thinks she's going back to her laundry, thought Sal. If so, she's got another thing coming.

Still crying, and now naked, she didn't know what she should do next. She turned to look at Elizabeth, who just shrugged her shoulders. Sal let her stand there, embarrassingly naked. For. a. very. long. time. Sal sat down nearby and pretended to ignore her.

The crowd gradually dissipated, looking for more charming entertainment.

About ten minutes later Sal approached her, grabbed her butt and shoved his cock in her crotch. "It's time for dinner. I brought you some clothes to wear." He fetched a paper bag which he'd stashed earlier for the purpose. It contained her new outfit.

Now Sal certainly knew what size she wore. He'd been stalking her for nigh 48 hours now. So the fact that the new clothes were two sizes too small - that can only be interpreted as malicious teasing. Of course that's exactly what it was.

The shorts he'd gotten for her had an elastic waistband - they'd stretch around her hips. But that was the only concession to reality. The leg holes - which would extend to mid-thigh on a right-sized person, were ultra-tight against Mballou's thicker frame. Sal thought they'd rip as she struggled to pull them up.

To get them over her butt she had to pull them up really hard. They looked like a pair of skin-tight hot pants - her pussy lips showed through. And even then they didn't cover her butt - the crack showed even without bending over.

The blouse was a t-shirt, also too small. It fit so snugly over her breasts that the nipples poked out. It didn't cover her midriff - the remnant baby-belly remained visible. The whole git-up was indecent.

He intended to take her to the restaurant, which required everybody to be fully clothed. Would she pass muster? If not, he'd strip her again in the restaurant's front foyer and ask her to put her underwear back on before donning the shorts and t-shirt again. Then they'd go in.

As it turned out, the receptionist seated them without any problem.

The Second Humiliation

Mballou had never been in a restaurant for guests before. The food smelled deliciously different. Maybe now she'd be given a treat?

"Wait here while I get some food," Mr. Sal commanded. "Watch how I do it so you'll know what to do." It was a buffet place. Mr. Sal grabbed a clean plate, and then using the utensils took what food he wished. He returned to the table with his plate. "Now you go and get some food for yourself."

Mballou rose to follow his example, and then realized how silly she looked. The shorts were too tight for her to walk comfortably. They slid down her butt with every step, and she constantly had to pull them up. But doing so forced them into her pussy, putting her labia into sharp relief. The t-shirt made her breasts jiggle, and with the nipples poking through it was as if she were topless. Everybody in the room stared at her and giggled. Mr. Sal had sent her up by herself just to make her look stupid.

Still, Mballou was hungry. She quickly put food on her plate, more or less at random. Then she ran the gauntlet back to the table. They ate in silence. Just before they left the restaurant, Mr. Sal took his half-full water bottle and poured the contents down the front of Mballou's t-shirt. Wet, uncomfortable, and embarrassed she was forced to walk out of the restaurant, across the foyer and into the elevator.

In the lift, Mr. Sal stood behind Mballou, pushed his cock onto her butt while massaging her cold, wet, breasts. She felt ashamed when a couple of guests got in the elevator on the way down. They laughed at her.

Mballou and Mr. Sal exited the elevator on the second floor - the girl's dormitory. To their right was the staging room where Djina stood folding clothes. Mr. Sal crossed the foyer and sat on the bench.

"Take off your blouse. It's all wet."

She complied, unhappy that Djina watched her.

Mr. Sal unbuttoned his shorts and pulled out his erect tool. "I want a blowjob."

The request was bad enough. But the place he'd chosen for the nasty spelt disaster for Mballou. Her co-workers all passed through this foyer in the course of their duties. They'd see her on her knees, half naked, sucking this guy's cock.

"Could we please do this someplace else?" she asked, pitiably.

"No. get sucking now, or I'll complain."

Djina had stopped working and just stared at them. But Mballou had no choice. She rested her knees on the cold, linoleum floor, fixing her eyes on the six inch shaft in front of her. Mr. Sal grabbed her head and pressed her face against it.

"Start licking, and then sucking," he commanded.

The best thing to do is to get this over with as quickly as possible, Mballou thought. She got it inside her mouth pronto. But inexperience meant she wasn't going to get him off quickly. She felt Djina's eyes boring into her.

"Don't worry about Djina," Mr. Sal said. "She just got into the elevator." She heard the elevator doors close.

A minute later she heard the ping signaling the elevator's arrival. "Djina's back," said Mr. Sal. "She's brought a couple of her friends with her." Mballou tried as hard as she could to ignore him and concentrate on her sucking. If only this bastard would cum. She wanted to bite his dick off.

Mr. Sal reached behind her and pulled down her shorts. "They can't see you very well from the elevator. I should've had you take them off before we started. But too late now."

The lift signal pinged again, and Mballou heard the door open. "Oh," said Mr. Sal. "There are three or four guys in the lift. A couple of them have phones and are photographing you. But don't worry. They're not getting out."

Mballou knew they couldn't leave the elevator. Male employees are not allowed on stage - they couldn't cross the red line from the other direction. But the freight elevator was employee space. Her tears lubricated his dick.

She sucked as hard as she could now. The ping sounded again, but Mr. Sal didn't say a word. He breathed heavily. Maybe he's about to cum. Oh God, I hope so, Mballou prayed.