THE NEXT DAY, ELLA WAS brought back to Mr. Lamont’s activity room bright and early. Of course, she only knew it was bright and early because she had managed to catch a few rays of the rising sun shining through the extravagant windows of the dining room as she had been finishing her breakfast.
Nobody else had been there at that early an hour. Ella had eaten in the posh quiet dining room alone.
She’d managed to write up a few pages of notes when she’d gotten back to her room the day before, after Mr. Lamont’s little “test” of her will. But she found describing her feelings of what she’d been put through, what she’d felt as the scene had unfolded, was difficult. All her thoughts were a chaotic mess. So she contented herself with jotting down what had happened in the most clinical terms, using nothing but bullet point statements. Then she had taken a much-needed nap.
She had been awakened a few hours later by the sound of someone knocking on her door. Ella made sure to hide her notebook under her mattress before answering it.
When she opened the door, she was surprised to find a tall, svelte, and beautifully vibrant young woman looking back at her, smiling and holding a dome-covered tray.
The woman introduced herself as Stacey. But she didn’t wait for Ella to reply before walking through the door with a happy bounce in her step. Ella couldn’t be angry; the tray obviously hid a huge plate of food. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious, and made Ella’s stomach rumble. (Since becoming a freelance journalist, money had been very tight for Ella, and she’d often had to make some painful food choices.)
As Stacey put down the tray and removed the dome, Ella sat down on the bed. Her eyes widened at the meal set before her: steak, vegetables, and noodles, all of it still steaming hot, all of it looking delicious. Stacey gave her a few minutes to dig into her dinner; then she began to give Ella the real reason for her visit.
“After you eat, you’re supposed to come with me to the seamstress.”
“Seamstress?” Ella asked between bites. “What seamstress?”
“Our seamstress. She needs to take your measurements.”
“Why?”
“For clothes, silly. You need to be fitted for bras, panties, corsets, dresses…all the basics every mistress of the Hotel Bentmoore needs. It’s easier to have her make all that stuff for us here, instead of having to order it out.”
“I see,” Ella said thoughtfully. “I guess it’s like having a personal uniform.”
“No,” Stacey said, shaking her head. “It’s not the hotel telling us what to wear. Some of the outfits are just really popular with the guests, like the crotchless panties, and the corsets.” She tilted her head. “Say, have you met Mr. Harden yet? He loves doing corset training.”
Ella’s throat constricted, and she had to swallow hard to get her bite of food down. “Corset training?”
“Never mind,” Stacey said, taking in Ella’s alarm. “When you’re done eating, I’ll take you to the seamstress, and then I can give you a short tour of the hotel.”
Ella finished her food quickly, and Stacey ordered her to leave the tray outside the door. Then they stepped out into the corridor, and Stacey shut the door behind them.
As they walked down the corridor to the elevators, Ella could hear horrible screams and moans ricocheting off the doors lining the hall, and she cringed. Stacey seemed unaffected.
The visit with the seamstress was short, but educational. Ella learned that while certain articles of clothing were considered staples for the mistresses’ wardrobes, the women could also request any kind of costume or lingerie outfit they wanted. Of course, requests made by guests were put at the head of the list.
Clothes the women bought outside the hotel still had to go through a fitting process with the seamstress, to make sure they fit perfectly, showing off every feminine curve and supple limb. Mistresses of the Hotel Bentmoore always had to look their best.
Ella grew skeptical when she was handed a shapeless red dress and told to put it on. She felt like she was wearing a muumuu—until the seamstress gave her the belt. At least with the belt on, her waist was cinched in, and Ella felt a little prettier.
Then she remembered: she wasn’t supposed to care if she looked pretty or not.
The seamstress watched as Ella posed in the dress, checking herself out in the full-length mirror. “From now on, you should wear this inside the hotel,” she said. “Your breasts are high enough you won’t need a bra, but I can give you a thin one if you want, if your trainer says it’s okay. But from now on, no panties under the dress.”
“What?”
“No panties from now on,” the seamstress repeated. “No underpants allowed.”
Ella spluttered. “But I brought my own. You don’t need to give me any.”
“That’s not the point,” Stacey cut in. “From now on, you don’t wear your own clothes. You only wear what we give you, and we’re not giving you any underpants. You go bear under the skirt.”
“But—”
“Trust me, Ella. You don’t want to wear anything without approval.”
“Oh…okay,” Ella said.
As she walked out of the seamstress’s office wearing nothing but the loose dress and a pair of matching slip-on shoes, Ella felt very naked underneath.
She had a feeling that was the point.
Stacey’s tour of the hotel was brisk, but even so, it took a lot longer than Ella thought it would. She learned that the hotel was much bigger than just the front main building: there were quite a few other structures across the lavish grounds.
Inside the main building, Ella already knew about the decadent dining room and lobby, but Stacey showed her the well-equipped fitness room, a retro-style game room, a few conference rooms, an indoor pool, and a dim, tastefully furnished bar.
Then they made their way outside, and Stacey showed her around the tennis courts, running tracks, stables, and two more pools, not to mention all the secluded and manicured lawns spread out around the hotel. She had not even bothered to show Ella all there was to see, but there was no way Ella could remember it all.
“You don’t have to worry about learning your way around yet,” Stacey said as they made their way back inside the hotel. “There’ll always be someone to escort you around.”
“Until when?” Ella asked. “I mean, at some point I’ll be trusted to be on my own, won’t I?”
“That’s up to Mr. Bentmoore to decide.” Stacey opened the door to Ella’s room and motioning her in. “I suggest you get some sleep. You’ll be woken up early to resume your training.”
Ella stopped her outside the door. “Stacey, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“How long have you been working at the Bentmoore?”
Stacey creased her brows. “Not that long…a few months now.”
“But you must’ve gone through the training process, too. So…how long does it last?”
Stacey was quiet for a moment. “That really depends on the person.”
Ella’s voice fell to a whisper. “Does it get really hard?”
Stacey studied her face. “Yes, it gets hard. Not many women can finish it. The hotel doesn’t hire just anyone.”
Ella sighed. “I see.”
Stacey made a face, like she was debating what she was about to say. “My best advice to you is to take it one day at a time, and don’t worry about what’s to come. There’s no point. I really can’t explain to you what it’s like; but you’ll learn for yourself soon enough. Every woman goes through a different process, anyway. Just remember that this was only your first day, Ella. It gets harder, but in some ways, it gets easier, too.” With that, she waved Ella goodbye, and shut the door behind her.
Ella had a hard time falling asleep after that. She managed to write down a few more pages of notes, but her thoughts were muddled with emotion, not cold hard facts. Ella soon gave up, vowing to write more the next day.
When Mr. Trowlege had woken her up the next morning, telling her to be ready to go in fifteen minutes, it felt like she had hardly slept at all. But she managed to brush her teeth and put on her shapeless dress before Mr. Trowlege requested her presence again in the hallway.
He escorted her to the dining room, told her she had exactly twenty minutes to eat breakfast, and walked away. Ella had not been allowed to pick her own breakfast; a tray had been brought to her. Although the food was delicious, Ella began to wonder if this was to be a regular thing, not being allowed to choose her own food.
After that, Mr. Trowlege had brought her back to the elevator and asked her if there was any reason why she might need more time in her room before presenting herself to Mr. Lamont.
“No,” Ella answered, thinking she could catch up on her notes later. “I can see Mr. Lamont right now.”
Ella had a teasing suspicion her anticipation over resuming her “training” on the Sybian was clouding her thoughts, but she ignored it. Excitement was unfurling in her belly, but she tried to ignore that, too.
Mr. Lamont was waiting for her in the same activity room, and wearing the same style suit. He even had the same expression on his face, playful and naughty. But there was a deeper look of sensuality behind his eyes, a hint of things to come.
A collection of evil-looking weapons, tools of the Bentmoore’s trade, lay spread across the bed. Ella barely glanced at them; after her eyes caught sight of a flogger closely resembling the one used on her weeks ago in Mr. Bentmoore’s office, her fear got the better of her, and she looked away.
She didn’t want to dwell on whether it was the promise of what lay in store for her that scared her so…or the thick rush of fresh excitement that pulsed through her veins.
“Good morning, Ella,” Mr. Lamont began. “I trust you slept well, and had a good breakfast?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And I see you’re wearing a Bentmoore dress, which means you must have been to the seamstress yesterday. Tell me, did she explain the rules about clothes?”
“I—I believe so, Sir.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That I shouldn’t wear anything without permission.”
“Correct—which means you shouldn’t be wearing anything underneath that dress. Show me: take it off.”
Casting her eyes down at the floor, Ella unzipped the dress and stepped out of it. Then, trying to act casual, she draped the dress over her elbow and held her arm in front of her, using the dress as a shield to cover her naked body. Even after everything that had transpired between them yesterday, after everything Mr. Lamont had put her through, she still felt shy in front of him.
“Oh, Ella,” Mr. Lamont said. “You don’t have to cover up your body from me. Put the dress away. Lower your arms to your sides.” When Ella didn’t obey right away, a cold gleam entered his eyes. “I said, put the dress down and your arms to your sides, Ella.”
This time, Ella complied, albeit slowly. She flung the dress to the bed, and relaxed her arms at her sides.
Mr. Lamont’s smile returned. “That’s it. Soon, we will train you how to use every inch of your flesh to tantalize and titillate. But first, you have to get over your modesty. There is no reason to be ashamed of your body. It is quite pleasing, you know.”
“I know.” Ella’s voice was hard. She picked her head up to fix her eyes on Mr. Lamont, giving him an insolent look.
Mr. Lamont crossed his arms and sighed. “Do you want to tell me where your body issues come from?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir.”
“Is that so? Well, I’m sure I’ll learn of them eventually. Both I, and all the other hosts here, are quite good at getting to the bottom of things.” He smiled at the double entendre. “But if you want to keep your secrets for now, that’s fine. We’ll move on.”
He walked over to the bed and waved his hand over all the toys splayed out. “Today, we will begin reviewing some of the equipment we use at the Hotel Bentmoore. Since you’re so green, we have a lot to cover. I expect you to pay attention. You may well be tested later on what you’ve learned, and the consequences of failure would be…painful.” His grin was ominous. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning her over to the Sybian.
Ella looked over the Sybian, and noticed the dildo that had been sitting atop it yesterday was gone. Where the phallus used to be, there was now a piece of square rubber, covered with short, flat, blunt bristles.
Ella only briefly looked over the strange square before swinging a leg over the hump of the machine and sitting down on it hard. Her eyes widened as she accustomed herself to the strange feeling of the small bristles digging into her skin, tickling her nerve-rich flesh. Mr. Lamont gave her a moment to settle in; then he put his hands on his hips.
“As you see, I took off the dildo. The Sybian has a wide array of attachments; I’m hoping you are with me long enough to try them all.”
“Long enough with you? You mean, you don’t know how long you’ll be my trainer?”
“That’s up to you and Mr. Bentmoore. When he thinks you’re ready for another trainer, you’ll move on.”
“To whom?”
“I think we should focus on your lessons right now, Ella.”
“Sorry, Sir.”
Mr. Lamont cleared his throat. “Now then. I think yesterday you learned very well the full potential of this machine. But more importantly, you got a taste of the untapped potential of your own body. You probably had the best orgasm of your life, and in the shortest amount of time, am I correct?”
Ella nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Today we’re going to focus on learning some of the basic tools we use here at the hotel, and the Sybian is going to help us.”
“How?”
“Let me show you.” Mr. Lamont picked up the small black control box and turned it on. Instantly, the Sybian shot to life. A low hum echoed from the machine as it vibrated between Ella’s legs, causing the pliant satiny bristles to shake and pulse against her delicate flesh.
Ella gasped, squirmed, and then gasped again. Her squirming had not made her more comfortable; it had only sent a short current of arousal up her body.
Mr. Lamont looked pleased with her reaction. “With no dildo, the Sybian will not stimulate your g-spot, but with the flat bristles, it will stimulate your clit,” he said above the muted hum. “It’s on the lowest setting now, and I think we’ll keep it there for a while. Cook you on a low simmer.” He gave her a twisted grin, and Ella’s jaw opened as understanding dawned.
Mr. Lamont was going to start teaching her about all the tools he had laid out on the bed, all the strange sex toys…and meanwhile, the Sybian would keep her in a low, constant state of arousal.
“Sir, why do you have to teach me this way? Why can’t I just sit on a chair, or on the bed…?”
“I have my reasons.”
He went to the bed and picked up what looked like a table-tennis paddle. “Let’s start with this,” he said. “It’s one of my favorites: your average, standard paddle. As you can see, it has a thin layer of padding, but underneath that is just a simple piece of wood….”
Ella did her best to focus all her attention on Mr. Lamont, and not on the rascally bristles rippling beneath her.
He held up another one. “This is a leather paddle. This one is more flexible than a wooden one; it’s pliable, and can bend around flesh. But don’t let that fool you, the leather paddle can still be a formidable tool in the right hands….”
Ella nodded as he continued, even as lines of strain began to appear across her forehead.
“Now, this one right here is a type of impression paddle. As you can see, it has the word SLUT engraved across it. The word is backwards, of course, so that when the paddle hits the skin, the word is impressed onto the flesh the correct way across. There are many types of impression paddles….”
Mr. Lamont’s lesson droned on, and all Ella could do was sit still across the machine, put all her energy into listening to his flat and steady monotone voice, and try her best to ignore the tortuous tingling going on in her nether regions.
“So as you can see, there are many types, shapes, and styles of paddles. Ella, are you listening?”
“Yes, Sir,” Ella croaked. Her upper lip was beaded with sweat, and her lower lip was pressed between her two even, white front teeth.
“You don’t look like it. Tell me, do you need to come?”
Dignity fled her. “Oh, yes, please Sir!”
Mr. Lamont shook his head and tsked. “Well, you lasted quite a while, I’ll give you that.” He dropped the paddle he had been holding, grabbed the control box, and turned the vibration up full blast. Immediately, the Sybian began to shake and thrum violently beneath her. Ella squealed.
“Go ahead,” Mr. Lamont said above the noise. “Come.”
Ella didn’t have to be told twice, or ask what to do. She grinded her cunt into the plucky bristles, mashing her soft inner folds into the supple spikes. It only took her a moment to find her rhythm, and when she did, she rode the Sybian to quick and complete release.
As she came down from her climax, rolling her head in circles atop her shoulders, Mr. Lamont turned the Sybian back down to the setting it had been at before.
“Better?”
“Oh God.” Ella cleared her throat. “I mean, yes, Sir.”
“Good. I expect you to last longer this time, Ella. We’re going to talk about floggers now.”
Mr. Lamont’s lesson continued, and Ella sat up straight in her spot, with renewed vigor and sense of purpose. Between her thighs, the Sybian shook, but she didn’t care.
She had already come. She could ignore it.
Her resolve remained firm and uncompromising for about twenty minutes. Then it began to crack, just as Mr. Lamont was moving on from leather floggers to rubber ones.
“…While leather floggers come in varying strengths and malleability, rubber floggers are a different breed: no matter how long or thick they are, the strands will sting. They have a lot of bite to them. Of course, one can change the potency of the sting, depending on the strike. Take this pussy flogger, for instance….”
As Mr. Lamont held up flogger after flogger, going on and on in his matter-of-fact voice, Ella’s whole demeanor began to change. Her face went from flushed to pale, her toes began to curl and uncurl, and her knees began to shake. Her firm control, so confident and assured only a short time ago, was now slipping away once more.
“Mr. Lamont…Mr. Lamont, I can’t…I can’t…oh, no!” An orgasm burst out of her core without warning, and Ella wasn’t ready for it. She leaned all her weight forward and cried out from the surprising force.
“You weren’t expecting that one, were you?” Mr. Lamont asked softly. “Good. That means your body is getting the hang of it.”
“The hang of what? My God, what are you doing to me?” Ella’s voice cracked under the strain. The orgasm receded just as quickly as it had engulfed her, and now she felt drained, and somehow empty.
“We’re engraining your brain with new sensory paths, and training your body with new muscle memory,” Mr. Lamont said. “The process takes time, but you’re off to a great start.”
“Oh, God.”
“Let’s move on to restraints, shall we? I think collars and leashes are the things to start with….”
Ella heard Mr. Lamont’s voice, but it came from somewhere far away, somewhere far beyond her focus. Her legs were slippery against the machine now, her pussy and inner thighs coated with her juices. It was embarrassing, but at the same time, it filled her with wonder.
She was not used to getting so wet; lubrication had often been a problem for her. But here she was, fairly swimming in her own oils, trying to maintain her balance on top of the slippery and sleek machine that was now also quite warm, thanks to the heat radiating from her cunt.
She had come without warning, without expecting it at all. She thought only men suffered from that sort of thing. The question lurking in the back of her head surfaced once more: what the hell were they doing to her?
“Ella, you are not paying attention,” Mr. Lamont said. Ella’s eyes sharpened.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I guess I’m feeling a little overwhelmed right now.” That was true enough.
Mr. Lamont’s eyes furrowed. “Very well. We’ll give you a break from the Sybian. You may dismount.” He turned off the machine.
Ella’s movements were slow and ungainly, as her legs were feeling wobbly after so much time on the machine…not to mention her two mind-wracking orgasms.
Once she was off, she headed straight to the bed, and collapsed on her back. Her whole body felt warm, and her inner thighs and pussy lips felt tingly hot. Her clit throbbed. Her legs were wet and shiny from her own body fluids.
She didn’t care.
“We’re going to try one more thing before I let you take a rest,” Mr. Lamont decided. “As soon as you’re ready, I want you to get on the spanking bench.”
“Sir?”
“I just need to get something.” He went to the wardrobe, and when he came back, he was holding what Ella recognized (or thought she recognized) as a back massager.
As she watched with half-hooded eyes, Mr. Lamont plugged the massager into a nearby outlet, and patted the bench. “You ready to get on?”
Ella pushed herself off the bed, a small smile playing across her mouth, thinking she was about to be treated to a back massage. The spanking bench was covered in smooth, cool leather that felt marvelous against her hot skin. Ella relaxed her body over it, ready for some pampering.
She squeaked when she felt Mr. Lamont press the massager into the apex of her thighs.
“This is a Hitachi,” he said. “It’s another type of vibrating sex toy. Spread your legs wider, Ella.”
Ella whimpered. “Please, Sir, I can’t.” She didn’t mean she couldn’t spread her legs; she meant she couldn’t come again.
“Yes, you can,” Mr. Lamont said, understand her completely. When she didn’t obey, his voice became sharp. “Ella, Mr. Bentmoore let you start your training with me because I have a reputation for being the most lenient of all the hosts. But if you can’t follow my orders, you’re going to have an impossible time later with the others. Now spread your legs.”
With a tight grimace, Ella spread her legs. Mr. Lamont couldn’t see her expression, of course. He was too busy snuggling the large head of the Hitachi into Ella’s plump and wet pussy lips from behind.
Ella whined when he turned it on.
“Are you in pain?”
“No,” Ella said in a high-pitched voice. “But I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
“I’ve never come this way before…and so many times…it’s so….” She couldn’t finish.
Mr. Lamont’s voice softened. “I understand,” he said. “It can be overwhelming at first. But you’re doing great. Now, I want you to hold the handle of the Hitachi between your legs.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re going to play with it. Move it up and down, in and out, whatever you want. I’m going to flog you—very lightly, you understand. Nothing hard, nothing too painful.”
Ella wanted to cry. She was too tired and too spent to do anything other than plead. “Please, Sir, I can’t,” she repeated.
“You liked it when you were flogged before, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m not even going to flog you that hard, Ella. Just a steady, soft rhythm. As soon as you come, we’ll be done. Understand?”
“But I have to come, right?”
“That’s right. Come one more time. But how you do it, how long it takes, is completely up to you.”
A moment later, she felt the long soft stands of the flogger brush into the space of her lower back.
Ella squeezed the handle of the Hitachi in her hand and leaned her shoulder into the padded bench. True to his word, Mr. Lamont did not hit her hard; but still, Ella cried out every time the satiny ribbons glided across her skin.
Her face flitted with expressions as her emotions did a short battle within her. She wanted to come, she wanted this torment to be over, but at the same time, she feared if she did come again, she would be reduced to a ball of raw nerves.
And a small part of her, a part she was trying very hard to bury deep despite it getting increasingly harder to do so, was telling her she wanted this torture to go on, she wanted it to last for as long as possible, because it felt so good. In fact, that voice was now telling her the only thing that could make this scene even better would be if Mr. Lamont flogged her harder.
“Please, Sir, hit me harder.”
Ella braced her legs apart and pressed the Hitachi hard against her clit, gasping at the penetrating thrills.
“Are you sure, Ella? You want me to go harder?”
“Please, Sir!” Her voice was more of a command than a request. Mr. Lamont was the one flogging her, but Ella still felt like she was the one controlling the scene. After all, she was the one controlling the Hitachi, and deciding when and how she came.
Mr. Lamont was more than willing to oblige the terse request. “As you wish,” he said.
Ella could hear the satisfaction in his voice, but let it go. He was happy to be flogging her harder, but that didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered now but the mingling delights of the Hitachi lodged against her cunt and the flogger biting into her skin.
Mr. Lamont began to flog her with great sweeps of his arm. The strands collided with her skin, making her gulp for air with hissing breaths. But Ella held the Hitachi against her pussy with steady pressure. The pleasure built at an alarming rate.
“My ass,” she said. “Flog my ass!”
Mr. Lamont moved the flogger down to the curves of her ass, and Ella began to move the Hitachi wand up and down against her trembling, sopping wet pussy.
Ella got caught up in the sounds of the flogger whistling through the air, the smack of the heavy strands hitting her skin, and the feel of the Hitachi vibrating against her clit. The pain and pleasure mingled inside her head as the pressure rose, and finally crested.
As she came, she pushed herself against the bench, jerking the Hitachi against her pussy and clit in a blur of speed. Mr. Lamont kept flogging her as her orgasm burst, and Ella came with a coarse cry. But as soon as it was over, Mr. Lamont stopped.
“You okay, Ella?”
Ella couldn’t answer right away. She was still trying to catch her breath. She finally managed a soft, “I’m okay, Sir.”
“Just breathe for now. When you’re ready, I’ll help you dress. You did wonderfully, by the way.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice high and shaky. “I don’t think I’ll need help getting dressed, if you’ll just give me a minute.”
“Let me decide that.”
In the end, he did help her zip up her dress, not because she couldn’t do it, but because she was too tired to protest.
But he did take note of the look of renewed resistance in her eyes.
“I’ll escort you to your room,” he said, crossing his arms in front of himself. “You can have the rest of the afternoon to yourself.”
“Thank you, Sir. I think I need to have a long rest.”
“Sleep if you need to, and have a good lunch. We’ll resume your training this evening.”
Ella swallowed down a choke. “Yes, Sir.”
“She’s doing remarkably well, especially for one so woefully ignorant. She’s quick—in body, and in mind.”
“I thought she would be.”
“I gave her a taste of the Hitachi today, and the flogger.”
“How did she react to them?”
“Surprisingly eager. I worked her over hard—she didn’t even notice how hard. And she still had some fight left in her afterwards.” He paused. “She’ll prove a handful later, Sir.”
“One scene at a time, Lamont, one scene at a time. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
