The gentlemen and the girl

Relaxing in a hotel suite on holiday in Spain, I ‎noticed an antique footstool, to the side of the chaise longue and armchairs.

I pictured myself sitting round with other gentlemen, sipping chilled vintage Cava. The girl coming in from the bedroom, dressed prettily as instructed. Introduced to those present in turn.

Being ordered to strip. Protesting. Being stripped, roughly, by me as they watched. Being spanked. Being made to kneel on the stool, facing the wall, hands on her  head. Hearing me say: “Feel free to take her next door and use her.”

The girl listening to our conversation, praying I wasn’t serious – but remembering she had promised me her absolute obedience for the night.

Suddenly being grabbed by the hair and pulled to her feet – not by my hands. Being led to the bedroom. Fucked, hard, face down, with no attention to her needs. Being brought back into the sitting room, ashamed.

Other gentlemen taking her off, one by one. Using her. Having her arse. Making her plead, beg, scream, sob.

Bringing her back each time to display her. Other than once, when a second gentleman came in to join the first. The two of them taking her at once.

And when they had all had their turn – or, in one case, turns – telling her to get off the stool and having her come and kneel next to me, her head in my lap as I stroked her hair and told  her what a good girl she had been; how pleased I was with her… but how little sluts deserved to be whipped. And sending her to the bedroom to fetch the crop from its usual place…

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