We stayed in a rather smart design hotel in Cordoba, a place of surprising calm amidst the busy, overly-touristy city. Yet, as with many modern hotels, there was a flaw: do the architects and builders behind these things ever actually stay in hotels themselves?
In this case, it was the total lack of soundproofing through the (locked) adjoining door between our suite and our neighbours’ room. Every word of their conversation, every bleep of their phones, was all too clear from our side of the divide.
Voyeuristic me was immediately amused by the thought of what one might overhear. And my darker side quickly corrupted my more sweetly innocent thoughts.
—
“You look so lovely… They’ll like you in that… Are you going to be a good girl for me?”
Their door opening and others entering their room. Loud voices. “Very nice… very pretty.”
“Undress her.”
—
Later. After they were all done with her. The door opening. The men’s voices disappearing down the corridor. The only sound left from the room, her gentle sobbing.
—
Layer soon, when he returned. “Get out of bed!”
How she should have been more compliant.
How she deserved to be punished.
How she should kneel on the bed to be whipped. Shoulders down, backside up, legs apart.
The echoing sound of his belt.
Her sobs.
—
Their love-making afterwards. Vocal. Mutually rewarding.
—
Sadly nothing so interesting transpired. Not even the sounds of a gentle morning shag to entertain me next door, whilst I waited for Emma Jane to surface for the day. But the idea really did rather appeal!