Lady Sarah's Holiday Ch. 01

Her email stated: “Arriving Miami on the 4th for ten days. Book me a room at the Delano with an ocean view. Shave your head bald. Wax your chest, pubes, and ass.”

I hadn’t seen Lady Sarah in nearly a year, since I visited the UK. The Brits say the weather’s always bad there. I honestly couldn’t tell, since I spent the entire week locked in a dog crate in her basement, slurping spaghetti from a plastic bowl without my hands. Such bliss!

She had commanded me not to masturbate until I got back to the States. Yeah, right! As soon as I left her beautiful home, I handed the taxi driver a hundred-dollar bill and told him to keep his eyes facing forward. I hunched down in the back seat, pulled my cock through the fly, and jacked a load into a sock. The driver kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror. I swear that guy’s a perv!

I got home late from work on the 4th and checked my email, expecting further instructions from Lady Sarah. Nothing! My heart threatened to break. Maybe she didn’t come? Maybe her flight was delayed? Maybe she had come, but didn’t wish to see me?

I began to drink myself into a depressed stupor, until I remembered the answering machine. The crystal full of Bacardi fell from my fingers onto the terra cotta tile as I jumped for the phone. I dialed the number, screwed it up, dialed it again, entered the pin, and… YES!!! Her voice!

“Slave, knock on my door tomorrow morning, 9am sharp. We’re going to the beach.”

I fucked my sheets wildly that night, then fell asleep in the wet spot.

At the concierge’s desk, I stood impatiently behind a New Yorker. They’re an easy breed to spot. Much to my surprise, he asked for Lady Sarah’s room number!

“I’ll announce you, sir.” That’s how the staff is at the Delano. Nice, polite, and first rate. Like they’ve got rods up their asses.

“Announce me, too,” I said to the concierge, but I bore my eyes into the New Yorker. We sized each other up. Taller than me, thinner, not bad looking. His head was shaved bald, too, just like mine. I puffed out my carved chest and flexed my ripped biceps. I’m sure the same “what the fuck” thoughts swam through both of our minds. He held two wrapped gifts in his hands, plus roses. Roses? Typical New Yorker.

I only had one gift, but it was bigger than both of his combined. And I had a bouquet of the most beautiful native flowers, fresh from the Everglades. The score was in and I was winning.

“Gentlemen, you can both go up.”

Up the elevator went, just the two of us. Silent. At the door to Lady Sarah’s room, we checked our watches and found ourselves two minutes early. So, we stood and waited. Silently. He stood taller and straighter. I puffed out my muscles.

I guess his watch was faster than mine, for he knocked a full 17 seconds before I would have, then stood in the middle of the doorway, completely blocking me out. Asshole!

Footsteps approached the door from inside. It was her! I knew it would be her! The locks and latches were all undone and nervous anticipation gripped my spine. The door opened and…

A fag answered the door. How did I know he was a fag? Because he stood in the doorway in just a bright pink thong bikini! His bulge jutted out prominently, even though not erect. No hair on his chest and a shaved bald head. Besides, South Beach is a mecca for wild party types and many of those are gay. That’s how I knew he was a fag. What the fuck? Had Mr. New York and I both gotten the room number wrong?

The fag in the bright pink thong bikini with the shaved chest and bald head spoke to the New Yorker in a British accent. “You must be Metro Slave.” Then, the fag looked past Mr. New York/Metro Slave at me. “And you must be Crayon. My name is Cunt Slut. Come in, please. Lady Sarah is expecting you both.”

She must have brought one of her slaves with her from the UK! This guy Cunt Slut. So, him, the New Yorker, plus me… Wow! When Lady Sarah took time out of her busy schedule for a holiday, she did it right! Three slaves!

We entered, placed the gifts on separate tables, and sat on separate chairs. “Stand up, please,” spoke the fag/Cunt Slut. We jumped up, remembering our status. Then, we waited. I looked around the room. The Delano is famous for its Minimal styling and the color white was everywhere; walls, duvets, floors, curtain, sinks, baths. Everything, except Cunt Slut’s obscene pink thong, which stood out like a black man at a cross burning.

“Are they here yet, Slut?” Her voice came from deeper in the hotel suite. Another room, I figured out rapidly. Duh!

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Have them strip and get hard. It’s the proper way to greet a lady.”

Cunt Slut looked us up and down. “You heard her. Trousers down, cocks up.”

Gulp!

Now, don’t get me wrong. When I fucked the sheets the night before, I fantasized about this moment: how I’d present my naked body to Lady Sarah, muscles gleaming with my cock pointing proudly at the Delano’s white ceiling. I never expected to do it in front of another man! Never mind two!

But I was- am Lady Sarah’s dutiful slave. Since the very beginning, she stressed the importance of obeying her every command. I’d come way too far to back out now.

Off went the clothes and it was just us three guys. Two of us naked and one in, well, by now you know what Cunt Slut was wearing. And we stood there, naked and soft, which did not concur with her instructions.

A feminine voice from the bedroom. “Are they ready yet?”

“Halfway there, my Lady.

“It’s really very simple, gentlemen,” spoke Cunt Slut in that holier-than-thou voice that Brits have when being facetious. “One hand grabs your balls, the other strokes the shaft. Until it’s hard. Get going.”

I looked down at myself before touching. Major shrinkage. I stole a glance at Metro Slave, who stood to my left. I found him stealing a glance at me. We made eye contact and he shrugged, then got to it. I followed suit.

I guess Cunt Slut wasn’t a fag, for he did not watch us. Rather, he busied himself with a bottle of champagne, his back to us, and his lily-white ass divided by that little pink thing.

I closed my eyes and imagined the pleasure that would follow this slight bit of uncomfortable embarrassment. The crop striking my ass. The licking of shoes and toes. Long fingernails tweaking my nipples. Sucking her strap-on. Lady Sarah’s approving smile as I obeyed her commands. I got hard in seconds.

Cunt Slut’s unseen voice, calling, “They’re ready for you, My Lady.”