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Please note that the following fiction is intended for ADULT ONLY entertainment. Do not read further if you are easily offended, or your local community codes do not permit such suggestive material.
This fiction is intended for your use only. Any further dissemination of it must first require the author’s permission.
Thank you.
Faibhar
FOUR STARS’ Part 3
Manicured nails sunk into steady moving hips. “Oh she’s having entirely too much fun for what she’s supposed to be,” said “Karen”. “Let’s remove these…” She bent and pulled free from Dillan the large and small vibrators. Dillan sighed. It felt so much better; though she wished her hands and feet weren’t tied so tight.
“There. Be still my slave. I have an idea! “Darling”, where did you put those lovely flowers?”
Phillipe’s new nickname she gave him was not lost on Dillan. She saw her master turn in his robe to the dresser where he had left the vase.
“Over here, my “Sweet””.
So HE had a nickname for HER, as well. Dillan knew immediately petty jealousy was not going to help. Besides, how many times had Phillipe referred to her as “slave”, or even worse?
“Now, I have an idea you boys just might want to follow…” Like the others, Dillan’s eyes were attracted to the woman as she plucked one blossoming bud off of the stem and peeled off a petal. She slowly licked it with her tongue and then applied it to Dillan’s right front shoulder. Dillan tried not to retch as she felt the slimy petal adhere to her skin.
Rapidly, the others followed suit and Dillan’s nude form was almost completely covered in red petals. Some stuck more than others. Little remained in the glass vase accept for bare stems.
“Too, too bad. Phillipe, you must have a word with your florist! Why, these stems still have thorns on them!” “Karen” proclaimed. Her fingers escaped the pointed thorns. Lifting up one of the stems, she inspected it as water dripped off one end. She then turned back to face Dillan and said, “Let’s see how our little pain slave likes these…”
Bits of roses fell as “Karen” slowly grazed the thorny twig along the underside of Dillan’s left breast. It moved with the stem. Dillan squeezed her eyelids shut. The response only seemed to focus the scratching sensation more. “Oh, such a pity… some of the petals are dropping.”
“Dat dere’s sum idea you got!” said “Bob” who had picked up a stem himself and was tracing it between Dillan’s inner thigh. “Wat y’all think will happin’ if we swung dese things real hard?”
“Gosh, I really don’t know. Shall we find out?”
“Bob” and “Karen” whacked the thorny stems hard against Dillan. More petals fell. Phillipe grabbed his own stem and swung. Dillan shook the bedposts. Red lines criss-crossed her front and back. Soon the three were trying to avoid each other as they swung with all of their might.
When a stem snapped, it was replaced by a fresh one. Tears seeped from under Dillan’s shut eyelids…
The Rohypnol in her drink worked. Dillan awoke the next morning alone. She didn’t have any idea how she got to where she was; with no clothes in a king-sized bed in some hotel suite. Her head pounded like a bass drum, every beat a spike. The sheets upon which she lay were a mess. Numerous scratches marked all of her.
A sound in the corridor came through the door muffled, “Room service”. Dillan jumped to her feet and ran to the nearest closet-to discover it empty! She frantically tore into the bathroom. No robes, not even towels! A scared glance into the mirror reflected a scratched and harried nude-her! “Cleaning…Room Service,” said the same muffled voice. Dillan raced to the peephole set into the suite’s door and looked out. She saw a service cart parked outside of the open room next to the one she was in. In any moment she would be discovered. What could she say??!
Dillan turned away from the tiny peephole, panting as she leaned with her back against the door. For the first time she noticed that she was sweating. Sweat from the panic of not knowing what happened and sweat from being discovered in such a sorry state.
She heard a card slip in and unlock the door. Next to her hip, the door knob turned. Pressing her body against the door could not keep it from opening…
“Hurry, slave. Wear this,” Phillipe said as he held out an overcoat. Weeping tears of gratitude, Dillan, kissed Phillipe and slipped into the coat. It was a man’s size and the wool hurt, but she didn’t care. Her master had come to the rescue. The two hurried past the cart and down the hallway to the elevators.
When asked, no one would ever answer why, “Four Stars?”.
The End
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