As I pulled up the driveway of the Cliveden Hotel, my jaw hit the floor. A had said it was exclusive, but this was something else. The long drive wound through the trees before the house came into view – a classical mansion of epic proportions. Picture Brideshead Revisited, Downton Abbey, that kind of thing. I drove into the main car park and felt very out of place; my car was the crappest there by at least £50,000 – much more in some cases – so I kept going to the overflow car park and put my family estate car next to a tall hedge and out of view.
Picking up my small suitcase, I locked up and headed for the lobby. A had said it was all on her, and I knew she was well off, but this was beyond anything I’d seen before – marble floors, more staff than customers, and customers who looked like they owned the world. They probably did. I nervously approached the reception and enquired after the booking.
“Hi, I’m here for a reservation, with Miss Yebo,” I said, trying to project more confidence in these environs than I felt. Yebo was an in-joke for us, write it backwards…
“Yes, sir, of course.” It’s all taken care of, replied the perfectly presented young woman (dark hair, scraped back, minimal but effective make-up, small gold hoops) at reception. “Miss Yebo delivered your things earlier and will be back later. I’ll show you up.”
She picked a key card from the machine and offered to take my suitcase, but I declined, following her up a sweeping staircase. Her tight, white shirt and knee-length business skirt kept my hopefully subtle attention up one floor before she turned left and arrived at a large, white door, which she pushed open after unlocking with the card.
“This is our Deluxe Suite,” she announced, waving an arm to cast my eyes across a cavernous room with open double doors to another. “I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable here. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. Miss Yebo has left something for you in the other room, I delivered it earlier. Enjoy,” she announced – I think I perceived a glint in her eye – before leaving and closing the door.
I dropped my suitcase and took in my surroundings. This was like something out of a regency period drama – artistic wallpaper, expensive wall hangings and fabrics, antique (to my eye) furniture - sofa, bureau. The next room was the bedroom, consisting of a huge four-poster, a chaise longue, and a dais at the top of which were extensive views over the grounds.
My mind returned to what the receptionist had said, a something in the other room. Sure enough, on the chaise longue at the end of the bed, a large silk fabric bag took up a third of the space. I sat down and undid the draw strings, pulling one pastel-coloured boxes. I it and found an envelope and a thick silk paisley gown, and another cotton bag. I opened the envelope, out from which I withdrew a plain black card. On it, in ornate handwriting, it said only, ‘I arrive at six. You will be smooth all over and wearing everything supplied. Lotion twice. A xxx’
Curious, I opened the second bag to find five items: a safety razor, a large tube of hair removal cream, some body lotion, and two silver, heart-shaped anal plugs. Looking at my watch, I saw I had three hours. I didn’t want to rush things and get it wrong so I thought I’d better get started.
The bathroom, as expected, was generously proportioned and appointed, with two basins, a toilet, walk-in shower, and a pedestal bath. I ran the shower and stepped in, relishing the feel of the scalding water on my skin, before reaching for the soap and lathering myself generously all over. The shower was big enough to keep the water running while standing next to it, and I set to work with my manscaping. I’m not particularly furry, but the spattering on my chest and armpits and belly took some time to remove without cutting myself. I stepped back into the shower; the shaven areas felt more sensitive, and I stroked myself there for a while, becoming aroused.
I took a break and turned to my legs and arse. Hairier than the rest, shaving my legs and pubic area wasn’t technically difficult but I had to keep applying soap and revisiting the areas I thought I’d done. I felt my way around my crack and anus until I felt I’d done a good job, then rinsed it all off, poking the pooled hair around the plug hole through. It wouldn’t do to have the shower a mess before I had company, I thought.
Looking in the large mirror over the sink, I inspected myself. I felt feminine and yet not, somehow freer. On closer inspection I’d missed some bits here and there, and taking the hand held mirror to look between my legs, I’d missed more. I returned to the shower and sat on the floor, using the mirror to ensure I’d covered all bases. Then, following the instructions on the hair removal cream, I carefully slathered it between my legs, over my anus and through my crack, and waited the requisite four minutes.
The smell was less than pleasant, and I was glad to rinse it off. I soaped myself all over, to be sure I was rid of it, exploring my now totally bald cock, balls, and bum as I did so. I felt exposed, vulnerable, but also more than a bit turned on; it would have been very easy to masturbate there and then, but I held off, knowing more was to come. Remembering my instructions, I covered myself in the body lotion. It wasn’t strong, somewhat floral, and the feeling of my hands sliding all over my body did little to quell my arousal. Neither did the thought of the plug watching me silently from the open box on the chaise longue.
Taking the plug and lube into the bathroom, I washed the plug quickly before crouching down, legs splayed. I applied generous amounts of lube to my finger and spread it around the hole, pressing inside a little – something I’m not used to. Putting more on the plug itself, I took a deep breath and pressed it against my pucker. I didn’t think it would go, but I tried to relax, in- and exhaling and pushing a little harder. I felt it prising my anus open, more and more, until it suddenly popped in and I closed myself around the thin shaft. Momentarily triumphant, I waited a while, crouching there, getting used to these new sensations, of feeling fuller – not violated, but somehow…visited.
Standing, I turned my back to the mirror and splayed my cheeks; the pink heart gem glinted cheekily. It felt surprisingly sexy.
I dressed in the silk gown, feeling it sliding seductively over my now more exposed skin, and took a bottle of spring water from the minibar. It was, surprisingly, 5pm already, and I stood at the window, sipping my water while drinking in the views and wondering what this trip would entail. In a way I knew, it was sort of pre-planned, although the details were up in the air.
As the antique clock counted down, the minute hand creeping up to the peak, I stripped off in the bedroom again hurriedly but carefully applied another coating of lotion all over before redressing. My heart was hammering now, and the clock seemed to run faster and slower at the same time. Six o’clock came, then five past, ten past. I began to worry that I’d been stood up, a mix of relief in part but more disappointed than anything.
Suddenly I heard the lock on the door click, and the door swung open. She was here. I took in the lightly browned skin, voluminous dark but subtly highlighted hair. Dark business suit, open jacket and flared trousers, with a white top that didn’t hide her bosom, and serious heels.
“Hello dear. Welcome. You may take my bag,” she spoke, a mixture of hoarse and high, not quite native British but faultless all the same. “Put it in the bedroom.”
“Thank you, Mistress”, I croaked. Stepping forwards, I fell into my role automatically, taking her bag and catching a hint of scent, something vanilla and coconut but also slightly musky.
I carried the bag through to the bedroom and placed it on the chaise longue. A followed, and as I put it down, the next order came. “Take off your gown, and stand up straight. Don’t move. Let me see you.”
I did as I was told, draping the gown over the arm of the furniture next to her bag, and looked forwards. I could feel her eyes on me, and her heat and scent as she came closer, inspecting me. Standing to my side, she traced a fingernail down my chest, causing me to twitch as it crossed my nipple, and down my belly. She moved more in front of me and cupped my balls speculatively, causing them to lift, and my penis to harden slightly. Her position allowed me to see her out of the corner of my eye. Large, brown eyes, deep red lipstick, small nose, and proper cheekbones. Wow.
Relinquishing my testicles, she moved behind me and smacked by bum playfully. “Spread your legs and bend over. Show me what you brought for me,” she crooned.
Ever obedient, I did as instructed, placing my hands on the seat before me, feeling almost as if I was at the doctor’s for an examination.
“Good boy. I can see you followed my instructions to the letter. How was it, your first plug?”
“Interesting, mistress. A little difficult at first, but it went in. It feels fine now.”
“You have bigger things to come, as you know. But still, it’s a good start. I’m going to prepare for supper, unpack my bags,” she ordered. “And stay naked. I like it.” With that, she swept into the bathroom, closing the door, and I heard the bath running.
I unzipped her large leather hold-all and laid it all on the chaise longue. A cotton bag that evidently included a selection of lingerie, two carefully folded dresses, some jeans and small t-shirts, and some trainers. So far, all above board. Below the clothes, though, I uncovered a treasure trove of salacious intent: cuffs, four lengths of rope, a riding crop, a purple dildo – still in its packaging – and several large pump bottles of lube. This was an arsenal. Excuse the pun.
The bathroom door opened a fraction and the next order was announced through the gap. “You will dress. White shirt, black trousers, socks, no underwear. Close the door on your way out and go to our table. Order us a bottle of Dom Perignon.”
Minutes later I was descending the staircase again, somehow different to when I had ascended it. Entering the dining hall, which was understated, tables quite far apart, waiters hovering, the same staff member who had served me earlier caught my eye and came over. “Your table is by the window sir, this way.”
As she pulled out the chair for me to take a seat – it was obviously that kind of place – she enquired after drinks and I placed my order as I sat with my back to the room. She acquiesced and vanished efficiently.
The room was well populated, all well-dressed types who looked very at home here. I wasn’t, this was way outside my usual haunts. Before long the bubbles arrived, and two glasses poured, the sides condensing quickly as they were filled with the cool liquid. I was suddenly very thirsty but I thought I’d best wait. I didn’t have long. The gentle hubbub in the room suddenly fell silent, and it was evident why. A confidently swept across the room, resplendent in a figure-hugging maroon dress that showed her curves and assets to perfection. People stared, and at once I was proud that she was, at least for this weekend, mine. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Either way.
“You waited?” She noted, as the waiter pushed her seat under her. “Good boy. Cheers,” she added, lifting her glass to mine and holding eye contact. I was already hers for the taking, and she knew it. Dinner was just delaying inevitable surrender. Nevertheless, we ate well but not heavily, two courses of light fish followed by seared beef. No need for desserts. The champagne vanished and A ordered us both large glass of white, but that was enough – it eased my nerves without dulling my senses.
“Come on then, handsome. Let’s see where the evening takes us,” she trilled huskily, rising and holding her arm out to be escorted. We were watched as we crossed the room, some faces clearly envious of the woman on my arm. If only they knew.
Up the staircase again, the tension building, I escorted A to our room, opening the door for her and following her through.
“How are you feeling, dear?” She asked as we entered, kicking off her shoes and padding across
“A little nervous, Mistress. But I want this. You. To be yours today.” I whispered.
“And I you, dear. You are both sweet and delicious, and I’m looking forward to our journey together. Take your shoes off, and follow me.” I did so, and traced her path to the middle of the bedroom. “Now kneel.”
“Yes, Mistress.” My voice was shaking, I couldn’t hide it.
“Tell me what you want.” A was more assertive now, confident.
“To please you, and be pleased by you, Mistress.”
“Good. Let’s begin. See what I have for you,” she replied, lifting the hem of her short dress to reveal her underwear, within which nestled her totally bald, and quite impressive, cock and balls. “Now kiss them.”
