It is late at night (11:00 PM)...somewhere in a large city...New Delhi City.
I am sitting in a auto, looking doubtfully out at the address. The driver is impatient; he snaps at me.
"Come on, Lady. You getting' out or what?"
I look at him, his words not really registering, wanting for all the world to tell him to take me back, back home to my safe, comfortable apartment on the Upper East Side of Delhi. I don't belong here, I tell myself, it's dirty, and dangerous.
We are on Paharganj Street, just down from GB Road. The address is a hotel, just a doorway really, through which I can see stairs going up to the second floor. I am scared...but gripped by the same weird excitement that has permeated my body since I received the sms earlier instructing me to come here. Rajiv was a bit suspicious, why I was wearing an evening gown this late at night but I came up with a good party story from a school friend currently settled in US with her husband. Although I had to puncture my car for coming in auto.
I take a deep breath. I will not back out. I promised to do exactly as I was told, and that is what I will do.
I step out of the auto, leaning in the front of driver's seat to pay the driver what the meter says, adding a hefty tip in spite of his rudeness. Turning, I walk to the small doorway above which is the address I have been given, and mount the stairs. It is a long climb to what passes for the hotel lobby in an establishment like this.
It is a small square room with no adornments. The bare tiles floor is scuffed and splintered, with spits here and there. The place is a firetrap, I think to myself. Directly opposite the stair way entrance there is a small table near the wall. It is covered with very thick layer of dust and wine glasses; half way down the room was a topless woman manque.
Behind the table a young, pimply-faced man is sitting, looking expectantly at me. I bend over to speak to him, and as I do, his eyes drop down to stare openly at my breasts as my dress falls away.
In spite of myself, I blush and stammer a bit as I say, "A...ah...I…my name…is Mrs Dhingra. I...I believe you might have a reservation for me?
For a long moment he says nothing, does nothing, except to continue to stare down my dress, making my nipples rock hard with his stare. Then he tears himself away from the view and turns to the side, rummaging through some papers. It seems to take forever, but finally he turns back to the window.
"Yeah…Mrs Dhingra," he says, emphasizing the "Mrs", "you got number Seven. Right down that hall over there." He stands up in his little cubicle, and makes a great production of looking around the room. "You don't got no bags?"
My face burns. "No…I…I won't be staying long."
"Yeah," he laughs, "few of our…guests…stay long. Just remember, over two hours and you owe another five hundred."
He sits back down, picking up a magazine. He seems to lose interest in me immediately, and I feel a vague disappointment as I turn and walk slowly down the dark hallway. I can smell the dirt around me; crumbling plaster, stale urine...and the unmistakable smells of cheap sex. As I walk I feel a delicious caressing sensation as the increasingly wet lips of my vagina rub together.
Number Seven is at the extreme end of the hall. The door is ajar, and as I push it open I notice that there is no latch. I enter the room and look around. It is not lavishly furnished.
There is a bed, the head board against the wall to my right. Opposite the door is a window…no curtains…which looks out on another wing of the building. To my left is a bare wall with a South Indian movie painting of actress dancing and a doorway leading to the bathroom. I know it is the bathroom, because the door is open and I can see the commode. Sharing the wall with the door through which I have entered is a small, well-scarred dresser, with a chipped and cracked mirror. There is no rug.
I step further into the room closing the door behind me, acutely aware that there is no reassuring click as the latch catches...after all, there is no latch.
Moving to the bed, I set down the small case I am carrying, and then, without preamble, I undress. As rapidly as possible, I disrobe, dropping my clothes onto the bare, dirty floor.
Naked, I open the purse and extract two pairs of nylon looped rope, and a blindfold. I lay them on the bed, and for a moment I stand surveying them...feeling the heat rise in my body. Then I turn and move to the window. I stand before it for a full five minutes by my watch, turning to present a different angle of my body every minute. Then I move away from the window and remove my perfume bottles from the purse on the bed. I then enter the bathroom, sitting on the toilet and peeing...then I perfume myself and return to the bedroom. I set the purse on the floor and climb onto the bed.
Tying my ankles to either side of the foot of the bed is no problem, but it becomes more difficult to fasten my arms to the headboard. First, I fasten one end of each looped rope to either side of the headboard then I spread the loops wide open. I place the blindfold over my eyes, and lay down...laying my wrists into the loops.
One gentle tug...and I take a deep breath....and push the other wrist...the feeling of that rope snapping against my wrist tight is one of the most erotic feeling I have ever felt.
And now I wait...wet and ready...spread-eagled and helpless...blind and naked. I wait....
How long I lay there, I have no idea. It seems like hours, yet it also seems to pass quickly. It is as though I am in some kind of suspended animation. Phantom thoughts come and go, darting away before I can truly grasp them. I imagin people looking at me...commenting on me...touching me. Heat begins to rise within me. My temples throb and, all alone, tied to the bed, I begin to pant...and the phantoms become more real.
A loud horn on the street below brings me back to reality, and for a time I listen. There are many noises, traffic on the street below, footsteps passing in the hallway, doors opening and closing. A couple of times I even think I hear the door to my room open. Once I think, I hear a muffled whisper. Each time, I tense, waiting, but nothing happens. After awhile I relax again.
The entire time, I am acutely aware of my body. My breasts, stretched almost flat in this position, ache, my nipples feel like spikes imbedded in the taut flesh. Between my wide-spread legs, my pussy throbs...wet with the desire that constantly grows within me.
Finally, unmistakably, I hear someone in the room, hear someone move to the left side of the bed, then I become aware of another presence on the other side. Suddenly, a hand comes down on my left breast, gripping it. I choke back a scream, then give a little cry as the hand begins to squeeze, gently kneading the tender flesh, my hardened nipple pressing into the palm.
Lips touch mine, a tongue insistently presses against my lips, gently but firmly, urging them apart until it can enter my mouth, and my own tongue fences wetly with it. Both of my breasts are being caressed now, and I sigh into the mouth that is kissing me. Hands begin to stroke my thighs, lightly...moving toward the now raging center of my passion. Unable to control myself, I begin to writhe on the bed...twisting as much as my bonds will allow.
At my head, the kissing mouth withdraws, and someone laughs softly. The hand at my middle strokes down over my mound, fingers entwining themselves in the soft hairs over my sex. A long, drawn out moan escapes me as the fingers pry open the lips of my pussy and stroke up and down the moist crevice.
A mouth descends upon my breast...sucking and licking, the hot tongue flicking rapidly across my nipple. I fill the room with my sounds, madly aroused even as I am consumed with shame, one emotion feeding on the other, driving my passions to unbearable heights as my unseen, unknown lovers caress my burning body.
How many are there? I try to decide, but give it up as my brain becomes overwhelmed with sensations. Fingers dip into my sheath, setting up a slow, gentle stroking. I pant for breath...arching up to the stroking hand...and again someone laughs. The fingers retreat...the lips and tongue at my breast retreat, and a deep sense of abandonment fills me.
"Please..." I moan into the darkness imposed by my blindfold.
CRACK!
Pain lances across my belly, rippling out like a rock dropped into a pond. I scream, in shock as much as in pain. And the lash...belt…whip strikes again…and again. My body jerks and thrashes, twisting against the restraining ropes, straining against them until they cut cruelly into my wrists and ankles.
Fire…each blow is like a blow torch dancing across my flesh. Whoever is wielding the instrument is an expert. I am made to dance and twist for their amusement until I am reduced to a panting, raging mass of flesh...Then, and only then, does it cease, just as the pain has begun to turn to pleasure...just as I begin to raise within my restraints to meet the blows …they stop…and again I lay panting, abandoned.
Something touches my cheek…something wet and hard. Instinctively, I turn away, but my hair is instantly grabbed and used to turn me back, to force my lips against what I now realize is a hard penis. Sobbing, I try again to retreat. Fingers grip my nipples, twisting until I open my mouth, crying out in pain. The penis slips in, smothering my cries, pinning my tongue.
The head of the cock slides slowly across my tongue and I find myself exploring it feeling the ridge of flesh at the base of the crown. The cock twitches at the intimate touch, and I feel a thrill of delight. I begin to suck, curling my tongue over the intruder, letting my cheeks sink in to cradle it.
The fingers still work on my nipples, alternating between hurting and caressing as I suck on the cock, but they fade in importance, becoming only background to the sensations racing through me.
I am sitting in a auto, looking doubtfully out at the address. The driver is impatient; he snaps at me.
"Come on, Lady. You getting' out or what?"
I look at him, his words not really registering, wanting for all the world to tell him to take me back, back home to my safe, comfortable apartment on the Upper East Side of Delhi. I don't belong here, I tell myself, it's dirty, and dangerous.
We are on Paharganj Street, just down from GB Road. The address is a hotel, just a doorway really, through which I can see stairs going up to the second floor. I am scared...but gripped by the same weird excitement that has permeated my body since I received the sms earlier instructing me to come here. Rajiv was a bit suspicious, why I was wearing an evening gown this late at night but I came up with a good party story from a school friend currently settled in US with her husband. Although I had to puncture my car for coming in auto.
I take a deep breath. I will not back out. I promised to do exactly as I was told, and that is what I will do.
I step out of the auto, leaning in the front of driver's seat to pay the driver what the meter says, adding a hefty tip in spite of his rudeness. Turning, I walk to the small doorway above which is the address I have been given, and mount the stairs. It is a long climb to what passes for the hotel lobby in an establishment like this.
It is a small square room with no adornments. The bare tiles floor is scuffed and splintered, with spits here and there. The place is a firetrap, I think to myself. Directly opposite the stair way entrance there is a small table near the wall. It is covered with very thick layer of dust and wine glasses; half way down the room was a topless woman manque.
Behind the table a young, pimply-faced man is sitting, looking expectantly at me. I bend over to speak to him, and as I do, his eyes drop down to stare openly at my breasts as my dress falls away.
In spite of myself, I blush and stammer a bit as I say, "A...ah...I…my name…is Mrs Dhingra. I...I believe you might have a reservation for me?
For a long moment he says nothing, does nothing, except to continue to stare down my dress, making my nipples rock hard with his stare. Then he tears himself away from the view and turns to the side, rummaging through some papers. It seems to take forever, but finally he turns back to the window.
"Yeah…Mrs Dhingra," he says, emphasizing the "Mrs", "you got number Seven. Right down that hall over there." He stands up in his little cubicle, and makes a great production of looking around the room. "You don't got no bags?"
My face burns. "No…I…I won't be staying long."
"Yeah," he laughs, "few of our…guests…stay long. Just remember, over two hours and you owe another five hundred."
He sits back down, picking up a magazine. He seems to lose interest in me immediately, and I feel a vague disappointment as I turn and walk slowly down the dark hallway. I can smell the dirt around me; crumbling plaster, stale urine...and the unmistakable smells of cheap sex. As I walk I feel a delicious caressing sensation as the increasingly wet lips of my vagina rub together.
Number Seven is at the extreme end of the hall. The door is ajar, and as I push it open I notice that there is no latch. I enter the room and look around. It is not lavishly furnished.
There is a bed, the head board against the wall to my right. Opposite the door is a window…no curtains…which looks out on another wing of the building. To my left is a bare wall with a South Indian movie painting of actress dancing and a doorway leading to the bathroom. I know it is the bathroom, because the door is open and I can see the commode. Sharing the wall with the door through which I have entered is a small, well-scarred dresser, with a chipped and cracked mirror. There is no rug.
I step further into the room closing the door behind me, acutely aware that there is no reassuring click as the latch catches...after all, there is no latch.
Moving to the bed, I set down the small case I am carrying, and then, without preamble, I undress. As rapidly as possible, I disrobe, dropping my clothes onto the bare, dirty floor.
Naked, I open the purse and extract two pairs of nylon looped rope, and a blindfold. I lay them on the bed, and for a moment I stand surveying them...feeling the heat rise in my body. Then I turn and move to the window. I stand before it for a full five minutes by my watch, turning to present a different angle of my body every minute. Then I move away from the window and remove my perfume bottles from the purse on the bed. I then enter the bathroom, sitting on the toilet and peeing...then I perfume myself and return to the bedroom. I set the purse on the floor and climb onto the bed.
Tying my ankles to either side of the foot of the bed is no problem, but it becomes more difficult to fasten my arms to the headboard. First, I fasten one end of each looped rope to either side of the headboard then I spread the loops wide open. I place the blindfold over my eyes, and lay down...laying my wrists into the loops.
One gentle tug...and I take a deep breath....and push the other wrist...the feeling of that rope snapping against my wrist tight is one of the most erotic feeling I have ever felt.
And now I wait...wet and ready...spread-eagled and helpless...blind and naked. I wait....
How long I lay there, I have no idea. It seems like hours, yet it also seems to pass quickly. It is as though I am in some kind of suspended animation. Phantom thoughts come and go, darting away before I can truly grasp them. I imagin people looking at me...commenting on me...touching me. Heat begins to rise within me. My temples throb and, all alone, tied to the bed, I begin to pant...and the phantoms become more real.
A loud horn on the street below brings me back to reality, and for a time I listen. There are many noises, traffic on the street below, footsteps passing in the hallway, doors opening and closing. A couple of times I even think I hear the door to my room open. Once I think, I hear a muffled whisper. Each time, I tense, waiting, but nothing happens. After awhile I relax again.
The entire time, I am acutely aware of my body. My breasts, stretched almost flat in this position, ache, my nipples feel like spikes imbedded in the taut flesh. Between my wide-spread legs, my pussy throbs...wet with the desire that constantly grows within me.
Finally, unmistakably, I hear someone in the room, hear someone move to the left side of the bed, then I become aware of another presence on the other side. Suddenly, a hand comes down on my left breast, gripping it. I choke back a scream, then give a little cry as the hand begins to squeeze, gently kneading the tender flesh, my hardened nipple pressing into the palm.
Lips touch mine, a tongue insistently presses against my lips, gently but firmly, urging them apart until it can enter my mouth, and my own tongue fences wetly with it. Both of my breasts are being caressed now, and I sigh into the mouth that is kissing me. Hands begin to stroke my thighs, lightly...moving toward the now raging center of my passion. Unable to control myself, I begin to writhe on the bed...twisting as much as my bonds will allow.
At my head, the kissing mouth withdraws, and someone laughs softly. The hand at my middle strokes down over my mound, fingers entwining themselves in the soft hairs over my sex. A long, drawn out moan escapes me as the fingers pry open the lips of my pussy and stroke up and down the moist crevice.
A mouth descends upon my breast...sucking and licking, the hot tongue flicking rapidly across my nipple. I fill the room with my sounds, madly aroused even as I am consumed with shame, one emotion feeding on the other, driving my passions to unbearable heights as my unseen, unknown lovers caress my burning body.
How many are there? I try to decide, but give it up as my brain becomes overwhelmed with sensations. Fingers dip into my sheath, setting up a slow, gentle stroking. I pant for breath...arching up to the stroking hand...and again someone laughs. The fingers retreat...the lips and tongue at my breast retreat, and a deep sense of abandonment fills me.
"Please..." I moan into the darkness imposed by my blindfold.
CRACK!
Pain lances across my belly, rippling out like a rock dropped into a pond. I scream, in shock as much as in pain. And the lash...belt…whip strikes again…and again. My body jerks and thrashes, twisting against the restraining ropes, straining against them until they cut cruelly into my wrists and ankles.
Fire…each blow is like a blow torch dancing across my flesh. Whoever is wielding the instrument is an expert. I am made to dance and twist for their amusement until I am reduced to a panting, raging mass of flesh...Then, and only then, does it cease, just as the pain has begun to turn to pleasure...just as I begin to raise within my restraints to meet the blows …they stop…and again I lay panting, abandoned.
Something touches my cheek…something wet and hard. Instinctively, I turn away, but my hair is instantly grabbed and used to turn me back, to force my lips against what I now realize is a hard penis. Sobbing, I try again to retreat. Fingers grip my nipples, twisting until I open my mouth, crying out in pain. The penis slips in, smothering my cries, pinning my tongue.
The head of the cock slides slowly across my tongue and I find myself exploring it feeling the ridge of flesh at the base of the crown. The cock twitches at the intimate touch, and I feel a thrill of delight. I begin to suck, curling my tongue over the intruder, letting my cheeks sink in to cradle it.
The fingers still work on my nipples, alternating between hurting and caressing as I suck on the cock, but they fade in importance, becoming only background to the sensations racing through me.