Paganini's Tale, Chapter 8

Behind the counter was a ferret-faced man who leered at Alice
as she inquired about a reservation. Not knowing what her
lover's name was, she had asked for a reservation in her name.
   "Just a nap rate, eh? Well, look, lady, if you think you'll
be doing this a lot, then lemme know, maybe we can work
something out where like you don't have to pay as much for the
rental. And look, sugar, if you're new at this, you usually get
your trick to pay for the room."
   "But I'm not..." she began, but he cut her off.
   "Right, sure, you're going to have a little nap in the room.
Unh-hunh. An I'm built like Johnny Wadd. Don't worry, sister,
your secret's safe with me." His voice sounded disdainful.
"That'll be twenty bucks." He held out his hand.
   Alice felt mortified. She was blushing, she was sure, from
her eyebrows to her cleavage, and then some. To be mistaken for
a prostitute, it seemed absurd.
   But perhaps that was the appeal--the nameless, faceless sex
of The Business. Except her profit in this was pleasure, not
dollars. How different am I, Alice mused, as she walked toward
the scratched doors of the elevator, from who I think I am? Am
I just a cunt to him? Am I just a whore? Or something else....
   He seemed to enjoy the game as much as the sex. He didn't
seem to be playing just for his own pleasure, either. The man
wanted her to come hard, as many times as he could make her.
Her cunt tingled as she thought of what was to waiting.
   The elevator doors opened, and Alice stepped in. As the doors
closed, she thought she could see a man as tall as the man from
the party entering the hotel. It was funny that she couldn't
remember, really, what he looked like.
   She knew he wasn't skinny, could remember that he was not
overly tall, and swarthy, but that was about all. She couldn't
remember his face, couldn't envision his eyes. Yet her cunt
remembered him, as did her tits, and her mouth. She wondered
when she would be allowed to see him.
   The elevator stopped at her floor, and she got off,
scanning the doors for numbers: 301, 303, 302, and she picked
up her pace, knowing she would have to find 327. The place
might be bigger than she imagined.
   A scream brought her to an abrupt halt, ears perked to pick
up the next sound. Adrenaline coursed through her--what was
this place?
   Then another scream, this one clearly not a scream of pain.
Coming from the room off to her right. Almost on tiptoe, she
approached, listening. Underneath, almost an <oblagato> to the
rhythmic screams, was the coarse grunts of the man doing the
fucking.
   Alice imagined them thus: a short, squat man pumping a woman
from behind. Her wrists were tied to the desk chair, and her
white ass rose up so high on her long legs that the short man
had to stand on his toes to get his short, fat cock into the
dark-haired woman's slushy quim. He imagined his broad hands
pinching the woman's nipples at just the right moments, causing
the screams.
   She became suddenly conscious that she was listening to
another couple without their permission, and felt as embarassed
as she was aroused by the sounds; she moved on.
   Finally she arrived at 327, and unlocked the door with the
shiny key. It was a corner room, but the shades were drawn.
Inside the air was no cooler than the hall; she had somehow
expected that like the highway hotels she had stayed at, the
rooms were individually air conditioned.
   But no such luck. She could already feel the sweat building
on the sides of her breasts, the roundness of her tummy, the
flesh of her loins. This was going to be a sweaty fuck.
   Alice wasted no time getting undressed. Beyond a moment's
consideration, she felt no false modesty. I've paid for the
ticket, she told herself, so let's go for a ride. The buttons
on her blouse quickly came undone, and she slipped it off and
laid it carefully on the blonde-wood desk gathering dust in the
corner.
   Next came her sensible shoes, then her skirt, beneath which
she had secreted her gartered hose. Years ago Larry had bought
them for her as almost a gag; she'd worn them once with him
that birthday night, then put them away as being just a bit too
contrived.
   But now, as she slipped off the skirt and felt the cool air
rushing around her bare thighs and exposed pubic hair, she was
very glad she had them. Without underwear, she could see in the
dresser mirror the black patch of hair covering her sopping
cunt.
   One hand snuck down to her crotch as the other loosened her
braw straps. A quick dip with one finger confirmed what she
already knew: her slit was juicy as an overripe peach.
   Then, watching herself in the mirror, she unsnapped her braw
and let her tits bounce as they were set free. In the garter
belt, stockings, and nothing else, she looked like what she
felt like: a wanton slut who just wanted to get laid.
   Her breath was coming raggedly now, and she gazed at the bed,
imagining what would happen there. The frame had bars like a
prison cell on either end, brass rail arcing over the vertical
bars, perhaps five inches above the mattress at the end, much
more at the head.
   He had instructed her to lay across the rail with her hips
making the corner, head facing away from the door, arms out.
She walked to the bed, imagination filling her mind with
visions of thick cocks pushing toward her, strong hands
directing her body toward whatever ends he wanted. She knew she
was giving herself up to him, for this time, totally. For as
long as she was in this room, she would do whatever he told her
to do.
   She could leave now if she wanted, she thought as she leaned
over the bed, felt the cold metal against her soft hip-flesh.
<I could leave now and not worry about Larry finding out, about
cheating at all. For one "no" would end it forever.> But that,
she admitted to herself as she spread her arms wide, face
toward the window, was unthinkable. Her cunt throbbed, her
clitoris ached with desire, and desire breaks down all thought.
   She waited in that position for what seemed like half an
hour, not daring to get up lest he enter at that moment,
discover her not in the position he instructed, and turn around
to leave. She envisioned the scenario then: begging for him to
stay, pulling him back, going down on her knees both to beg and
to suck his cock, to prove to him her desire.
   Finally, though, she heard the door unlatch, and supressed
the urge to turn and look at him. For a brief moment she was
afraid it wasn't him, but was someone else who would know a
good thing when he saw it.
   But then she heard his voice: "Good girl," he said quietly.
"Everything is as I instructed. Now you will listen to me. You
will be free at any time to leave."
   Alice could hear the clinking sound of his coin-filled
pockets falling past his knees, the rustle of his shirt as it
came off. She bit her lower lip, and pushed her breasts against
the rough fabric of the bed cover.
   A hand touched her bottom, stroking downward and inward,
almost brushing some stray cunthairs. Chills streaked through
her, and she shuddered.
   "I will first tie your legs to the legs of the bed. Spread
them for me."
   She swallowed, then did. His hand materialized on her cunt as
if the act of spreading her legs had brought it up to those
lips. His middle finger caressed her cuntal lips without
entering. She could feel cool fabric looping around her ankle.
Still she did not move, though the hand pulled back.
   "I tie you so you will give yourself utterly to me. Without
control of your limbs, you have no responsibilities. I will be
fucking you. You will not touch my cock unless I let you. Nor
will your tongue wrap itself around my shaft unless I let you."
The first ankle was tied now, and his hand came back to her
twat.
   "I will not hurt you. Perhaps later, if you ask me, I will
spank you; if not today, then perhaps next weekend, or next
month, or whenever I choose to see you next. That will be your
choice." Her left ankle was now tied down as well.
   She experimented with trying to move her legs back together,
but after half an inch apiece, she discovered that her legs
were immobile. She let out a low whimper, and again ground her
tits into the knobby bedcover.
   "I will now blindfold you. Do not attempt to resist." A broad
blue strip of silk was passed in front of her face, then
wrapped tight around her eyes. In the knot behind her head,
some strands of hair got caught, and the pulling brought tears
to her eyes.
   "I will now tie your wrists. Once that is done," he
continued, as he looped the cool silk around her wrists, "you
will be completely in my power. I will fuck you once in your
hot, slick cunt, until we both come.  Then I will have you suck
me to another hard, and then I will fuck you in the ass. You will
come at least once as I ream you there. Then I will either
untie you or I will leave, and tell Alan downstairs that you
need to be untied. How pleased I am will determine that
decision."
   It was a warning she couldn't ignore. Now that her wrists
were bound to the bedframe, she was completely helpless, and
she knew that he could very easily bring in the Green Bay
Packers to take turns fucking her. But she trusted that he
wouldn't do that, since she expected to please him. Would do
whatever he wanted, to please him. Because she knew she would
come harder than she'd ever come before.