Gromet's Plaza Latex Stories
The Doll Hotel
by AmyAmy
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© Copyright 2010 - AmyAmy - Used by permission
Storycodes: F+/f; F/m; latex; maid; bond; susp; catsuit; chast; corset; inflation; breathplay; denial; captive; reluct/nc; XX
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The Doll Hotel 10: The Slave's Slave AmyAmy F+/f; F/m; latex; maid; bond; susp; catsuit; chast; corset; inflation; breathplay; denial; captive; reluct/nc; XX
continued from part 9

 

Chapter 10: The Slave's Slave

"I don't hear you begging," said Lindsay.

I realised that if I wanted to cum, I would need to start debasing myself immediately. I did want to cum. I wanted it enough that it hardly mattered to me right now what I said to Lindsay. I might as well promise her anything, be her slut, whatever she wanted. For a few moments longer I hesitated, distracted by the sensation at my chest, and unable to focus on what might satisfy Lindsay.

"Please Mistress," I whimpered. "Please let me cum," I hesitated, then I remembered. "Please, fuck me up the ass. Please Mistress, fuck me up the ass nice and hard. Do me hard, really hard up the ass. I like it that way. Make me cum. Please..."

"Good pet, good," she said, gently stroking my head through my rubber hood. "Tell me Gayle, how do you like your new name, and why do you like it hard up the ass?"

Again, for an instant I couldn't think of the right words, and then it became quite clear to me what she wanted to hear. Suddenly I felt ashamed and I didn't want to say it. It felt as if by saying it I somehow made it real and true in a way it hadn't been before. Also, I felt silly saying it. Nobody could say such things and not feel ridiculous, could they? Did that mean I had a fragment of pride remaining in me somewhere?

"Please Mistress, your pet Gayle loves her new name and wants you to fuck her hard up the ass because she is such a slut. Yes, yes, Gayle is such a dirty slut for your big hard cock up her ass. I want it so much. I need to come. Please Mistress, you know Gayle will do anything to cum, just give me a chance," I wheedled.

I was trying to sound sexy, but feeling at once absurd, contemptible and weak. I was, as I'd said, a slut: a slave to my desire. Like an addict, it didn't seem to matter how I got it. I wanted that release. In fact I needed it, and it was plain there was only one way to get it.

"Good, Gayle my slutty pet. I love it when you are hungry for cock," she said, still stroking my head. "So, you will do absolutely anything for a chance to cum Gayle darling? Are you sure?"

"Yes Mistress, Gayle your pet will do anything, anything at all," I said sincerely.

"One day I might ask that 'anything' of you pet. I hope you will remember and keep your promise as eagerly as you’re begging now," she said strangely. "Will you keep your promise Gayle darling, Gayle baby?"

"Yes, yes Mistress. I will remember. I will keep the promise," I said.

My chest was getting sore now, though it felt like the sucking had stopped for the moment. It seemed to have removed all the air from inside the domes, and there was nothing left to suck. I could feel my poor swollen nipples glued against the inside of the domes and the flesh of my chest painfully distended to fill them.

"That's good. However, from now on, you must never refer to yourself as 'I', you are my pet and that's what I want to hear. You are Gayle my pet. Say it!" She demanded.

"Yes Mistress, I am your pet Gayle, um, Gayle your pet understands Mistress," I said, hastily trying to cover my error.

"Remind me now Gayle, of what you want, why you want it, what you will do to get it, and how you will remember your promise," she ordered.

I hesitated, dreading making a mess of her orders.

"Please Mistress, your pet wants to cum by being fucked hard up the ass. Gayle, er, your pet, really needs it because Gayle is such a slut. Your pet will do, um, anything, anything at all to thank you just for that chance - any time you ask - any time. Your slutty pet promises and will always remember the promise. Please Mistress, let Gayle cum," I said.

I amazed myself that I managed it with hardly a slip. I should probably have mentioned being fucked up the ass, but I really was impressed that I'd done as well as I had.

"That's good pet," she said, stroking my head.

Much to my initial relief, she unhooked my nose ring. However, this was followed by a considerable extension of the spreader bar between my ankles. My legs were now stretched far apart. I could feel a strong tension in the inside of my legs.

"Here's what you asked for Gayle baby, open up nice and wide," said Lindsay.

Then I felt something pressed against the ring of my exposed bottom. It was slippery and entered me without much difficulty. I felt an involuntary thrill from the smooth ridges and bumps as a big dildo was pushed into me. The dildo felt very hard though in fact it was only soft 'jelly'.

Then much to my surprise, I could feel Lindsay doing something else. There was a scraping sound and the clank of metal. I could feel something levering on and moving the dildo. I soon realised that she had inserted a metal shaft between the dildo and the spreader bar. The dildo was now held in position by the vertical metal rod, which was apparently now connected to the middle of the spreader bar somehow. If I worked my legs, I could move up and down on it, just a little.

Technically, I was free to walk around, but with my legs spread as they were, and the dildo positioned as it was, there was no way for me to lift a foot to walk in what were still sufficiently treacherous heels.

"I have some things to attend to now Gayle darling. If you can get yourself off before I get back, then good for you, if not, well I guess you just weren't desperate enough," said Lindsay. “I won’t be pleased if I find out you’ve wasted your chance,” she adds threateningly.

I heard her walk off, and I was left alone. I felt afraid. With nothing holding me up I was worried that I would tire and fall over. If I fell forward it would hurt very badly. Maybe the breast cones would save me from a broken face, but I might get broken ribs instead. It would probably be safest to fall backwards, but this wasn't a much more enticing prospect. If I was lucky, I could avoid hitting my head hard when I fell. I started to cry a little, from fear and discomfort. I wished somebody would come to save me from the insane Lindsay. Her crazy tortures could just go on and on forever, getting worse and worse. I began to dread what might be in store for me.

The suction pump kicked in again, restoring the pressure on my nipples and chest, which had eased slightly. If I moved just right on the dildo, it helped to take my mind off things. It wasn't hard to get myself distracted by the invader in my behind. With a little movement, I could feel myself flushing, and my breath quickening. It was a lot harder to push myself further. My legs were tiring quickly: I needed a really good push up to get a solid movement back down onto the shaft so that I got a good rub past my prostate. Soon the only thought on my mind was to wriggle and squirm and push up and down on that dildo, even though it hurt me. Sometimes the suction pump would start up and I began to welcome it. It helped push me a little closer to release.

I needed that release intensely now. My penis was throbbing in its tube, desperate to spurt. If only I could touch it somehow. It wasn't possible. I did what I could with the sensations available. My existence descended into a dark place where my single desire was to push myself over the edge of orgasm. Every part of my being was focussed on obtaining that event. Exhaustion, shortage of air, pain in my overheated legs, pain in my chest, my nipples, my behind, they were all subservient to that desire. I could feel it coming, so close now that I could almost taste it. I didn't dare breathe lest is slipped from my grasp. There were spots before my eyes but I hung onto that feeling.

Finally, it came.

Release.

Yet, it wasn't the satisfying total release I had imagined and wished for. Yes, my penis spurted into the tube. There was the brief white consuming flash of orgasm. I had cum, yes, yes that was indisputable. Why then did I feel so underwhelmed? The grim reality of the various pains inflicted upon me began to reimpose themselves. I could feel the pain on my chest from the relentless sucking, the burning in my lungs from a shortage of air. I could feel the muscles and tendons in my legs that seemed to be like molten white wires searing my flesh. I began to feel the subjective reality of the pain in my behind, pierced by a seemly agonisingly hard and relentless dildo that felt like it was simultaneously ripping me open and stabbing into soft inner parts of me. I really wanted to get that painful thing out of me, but I couldn't.

I could feel something wet and cold running down the inside of my legs: blood, cum, slime, I had no idea. A feeling that I had violated and humiliated myself for nothing made my spirits sink. Worst of all though, was the feeling that I wanted more, much more than my body could endure. It was as if my desire for orgasms was unsatiated and far exceeded my puny physical capacity to create them. I soon began to get myself worked up again. The pain began to fade behind the desire. I was thankful for the lust: it might not be pleasure, but it was better than pain. Maybe there was time for another cum?

"I think you need to improve your flexibility pet," said Lindsay, surprising me with her stealthy return.

How long had she been watching me?

Without warning I felt a hard metal, rubber-covered ring forced back behind my teeth. A strap on each side fastened behind my head. My mouth was forced open into an 'O'. It wasn't enough of a stretch to really make my jaw ache immediately, but I expected it would begin to do so soon enough. For the moment it was almost a relief not to have to struggle against the pull of the hood to open my mouth to breathe. A chain was clipped onto the back of my belt, and presumably to the hook that had suspended me before. The chain tightened, and I felt myself lift somewhat off the dildo. I was now supported at the back.

Lindsay wordlessly removed the shaft, and then the dildo, leaving me with a needy, empty sensation. I felt Lindsay's fingers pushed up inside me, rubbing some kind of ointment into my anus. I felt the pain and sensation fade, and numbness spread into my hips. She unclipped my hands, one at a time, from my waist, and stretched each one out to the anklet of the spreader bar and clipped it to that. I was bent over with my legs spread, with my bottom in the air. It was a very painful stretch. I didn't think I could hold it for long. Drool began running out of my mouth and formed a small puddle on the floor.

"You are probably quite dehydrated already, and you will continue to lose fluid by dribbling uncontrollably," said Lindsay as if stating a simple and obvious fact.

"Would you like something to drink?" She said, deadpan.

I knew there would be a catch. I tried to nod a yes anyway.

"I thought you might Gayle baby," she said, accepting my answer. "But I don't think you want to suck on a narrow little tube with that slutty mouth of yours. I think you'll need something a lot bigger to satisfy your appetite for cock," she said with a laugh. She produced a black rubberised cylinder about the size of a bucket, with a soft, fat semi-rigid penis sticking up from it, and positioned it within reach. I would have to stretch down painfully to get it properly into my mouth. I knew what she intended.

"You need the practice at cock-sucking anyway. You need to get your mouth as far down the shaft as possible if you want anything to come out. Oh, before I forget, the fluid in the tank is the same stuff they've been giving you for meals," she said then paused before laughing to herself: "The all purpose wonder-food; it does miracles for your libido." She finished with a smirk. "It's an open secret that if you live on nothing but this stuff long enough, it makes your digestive system shrivel up like a walnut so you can't eat solid food any longer."

"Mistress Three told me that when they give you the big drink of water afterwards, that's to stretch your stomach back out, and stop it shrinking. Number Two has been drinking this stuff undiluted for so long that her digestive organs don't really exist any longer. The only way she can drink is little and often and she can't even take an enema – not that she needs them any longer. That’s why she can wear that insanely narrow pipe-stem corset: there’s nothing between her ribs and her hips but her spine and a few atrophied muscles. Don't worry though, it took her a long time to get like that. If you're worried, I suppose you could always not drink any of it, in which case you'll be very thirsty by the end of the day. It's up to you my pet. I'll see you at bedtime either way," she said.

Without further comment, she walked off to do whatever deranged things filled her day.

I don't know how long I remained in that position. It felt like a lifetime, but it might not even have been an hour. I had no way to track time and my sense of its passing had become unreliable under the best of circumstances. There's something about the combination of pain, fatigue, dehydration and sexual frustration that can turn seconds into hours and hours into days. Of course, I drank the liquid, though it was wrenchingly painful to have to bend further to reach the rubber phallus. The agonisingly frustrating process of teasing it into my mouth enough to suck it in properly would have been enough to break my resolve if I didn't know that I was alone and nobody would come to help me.

I failed and gave up on the first, second, third and fourth attempts. After each failure I rested for a time. Eventually the need for fluids exceeded everything else and I tried again. I succeeded on the fifth try, and was rewarded with the opportunity to suck long and hard on the thick rubber cock. For a while nothing came out of it, and I was starting to think the whole thing was a cruel joke and it would never dispense fluid. Pushing into the pain I forced my head further down to get more of it into my mouth, until I was almost choking.

The sweet rush of the orange liquid that finally occurred filled me with relief. I was desperately thirsty, as Lindsay had predicted, and sucked hungrily at this fat teat until I felt fit to burst. I'd never had so much of the liquid in one sitting and it had an overwhelming effect on me. The warming sensation of the juice spread through my body like a fire. It was a new sensation but I knew I loved it instantly. A warm numbness began to suffuse my whole being, reaching out tendrils that began to tickle at my penis and my nipples and making them swell and itch with desire. It was an itch that slowly grew into a burning lust as the day progressed. The relentless regular pull of the suction pump on my chest only served to enflame the sensation.

I drank from the container on several more occasions: whenever I felt that I could swallow more and I had the strength to reach for it. Each time I drank the burning was numbed away, only to return stronger than before a short while afterwards. By the time Lindsay returned, I no longer cared at all about the cramping mass of pain that my back and legs had turned into. I didn't regret drinking at all; even though the desire and frustration was maddening, there was something good about it – it was a desire I was comfortable to have – and it took the pain away. With desire like this, there didn't seem to be any need to feel responsible for it. If I was helpless before it, why not give in?

Comfortable or not, I was ready to do anything to get some stimulation, to get anything to scratch that unscratchable itch. If I'd had the chance I would happily take anything I could get, in any place I could get it. Lindsay had other ideas. She sat down on the floor so her head wasn't so far above mine. She leant over and kissed me lovingly on the forehead, on the eyes, and finally on the lips. It was a slow lingering kiss. I relished the moisture as her tongue probed my dry mouth through the unyielding ring gag that locked open my now cramped jaw. It felt lovely to feel her smooth wet tongue tangling with the dry lump in my mouth and returning it to life.

She unhooked my wrists, and then unhooked the chain supporting me. I was almost free. The spreader bar between my legs was held by nothing more than two simple spring clips. My mittened hands in their padded prison were useless to operate even that simple closure. I suddenly felt more helpless and dependent than I had done when I was completely bound and secured. To my surprise, Lindsay removed the spreader bar too. Then I realised how obvious it must be that I was too weak and stiff to do anything to resist her.

It took me a while to regain sufficient movement for Lindsay to lead me over to a rubber cocoon that lay open on the floor just a few feet behind me. As for trying to resist her control, the idea was ludicrous and would undoubtedly earn me some horrific punishment into the bargain. I followed meekly, and lay down where directed, slipping my feet into the end of the bag. She laced it up around me so that only my head was exposed. She unplugged and then reattached the hoses for the breast domes: small holes were present in the bag to allow access for them.

As Lindsay began to inflate the bag, I didn't feel any suspense. I had seen things like this before, though this one was a slightly different design. Instead I wondered that there was no provision for me to urinate, and that I hadn't received my regular enema. The disruption of my maid routine was disorientating and disturbing.

The bag had double walls, and Lindsay quickly inflated it. I was tightly compressed and constrained by the surrounding rubber walls that pressed hard against me. It was as if someone had stuck two airbeds together at the edges, sandwiched me between them and then inflated them both so that I was crushed. It was in some way pleasant that I was no longer lying directly on the floor, but instead was cushioned by the restraining cocoon. Of course, I was helpless, with my arms trapped inside and as immobile as my legs. Only my head remained exposed, resting on a kind of air-pillow. I was soon to learn the reason for this.

Lindsay rolled up a metal medical stand with various apparatus attached, including several hoses and tubes. Suspended from the stand was a clear cylinder, filled with a brownish yellow liquid, in which was a mass of wadded rubber. As I was to learn later, a tube entered through the sealed top of the cylinder and reached down almost to the bottom of it. A breathing hose connected to the very top of this contrivance, which currently dangled down, unattached. A rubber bung with a hole through it was pushed into my mouth and seated solidly in the opening of the o-ring gag. At first I thought this was intended to further restrict my breathing, though it transpired this was not the case.

Lindsay pulled a heavy rubber mask over my face. It was like a gas-mask, but without any kind of provision for seeing out of it: quite the reverse in fact, as soft pads pressed against my eyes and blotted out the tiniest chink of light. It created a profound darkness. Once Lindsay connected the hose, I realise that by breathing in I sucked air out of the top of the bottle, which in turn pulled in more through the tube, which bubbled up through the liquid and rubber mixture. Even without seeing the apparatus I might have guessed how it worked, from the pungent aroma of the air I was forced to breathe, and the struggle I had to go through in getting it. The bubble process and the size of the tube meant that I could never get quite as much air as I wanted, but by now this was quite a familiar sensation for me.

My breathing difficulties were further compounded by what I was later to learn was a kind of rebreather balloon. This was part of the mask I was wearing, and swelled up as I exhaled. A valve at the end of the balloon then opened to allow the exit of any air that I breathed out in excess of the capacity of the balloon. As I quickly realised, if I didn't push excess air out of the balloon, I would breathe back in all the old, stale air immediately on inhaling, before taking in any new air from the bubble bottle.

Breathing in the mostly stale air created in me the most horrible breathless feeling, as if I were always about to suffocate. Only by breathing in deeply and exhaling deeply could I get fresh air at all, and yet my corset and the pressure on my chest of the inflatable pressure cocoon all conspired to make this as difficult and exhausting as possible. I quickly realised that the bung that had been inserted into my gag was designed to prevent me filling my breathing mask with drool, though it also restricted my rate of inhalation to a minor degree.

I felt the warmth of Lindsay's breath through my hoods as she pressed her mouth close to my ear and said with deliberation, loud and clear: "Goodnight Gayle my pet, sleep well. Tomorrow the fun begins in earnest."

It filled me with horror to be left this way. I tried to make some kind of protest but as I was well restrained, gagged and hooded, it amounted to little more than a squeaking of my rubber confinement and a humming in my throat. I don't think Lindsay even noticed it, or if she did she didn't deem it worthy of punishment. There were no devices to wake me, and no threat of punishments if I overslept, and yet I had as sleepless a night as my worst in the maid's quarters.

Every breath was a thick musky combination of the stench of Lindsay and rubber ending in a curse that I couldn't get enough of the awful stuff into my lungs. Every exhalation was a cruel frustration, marked by the thwap sound as the balloon inflated to capacity and the one way exhalation valve opened. The night was an endless succession of struggles for every breath. Sometimes I was about to sleep, but the overwhelming suffocating sensation snapped me back to wakefulness before true sleep could claim me. The only thing that kept me from going insane with panic, desperation and exhaustion was the feeling of terrible pent up, frustrated desire that surged in my crotch and around my nipples filling me with a kind of restless sexual energy. The breathless feeling served to amplify this in a way I didn't fully understand.

Sometimes I felt as if I was on the edge of orgasm. Sometimes I deliberately took short breaths just to increase the feeling, to draw closer to a cum I could never reach – the cruel need for oxygen always pulling me back from the edge of release. I had never known my nipples capable of such sensation before, but combined with the suction machine and the excessive doses of the liquid food, I was experiencing something new. I felt as if each nipple were as sensitive and hungry for sex as my penis itself. My nipples now felt so aroused that I believed that I might cum if I were able to rub them sufficiently. I squirmed against my tight encasement, but the powerful suction held them and their surrounding flesh tight against the domes and movement was useless at achieving any stimulation.

At times I thought I could hear the sound of Lindsay asleep nearby. Sometimes I believed I could hear her breathing, or a sigh. At other times I thought I sensed the sound of her shifting in her sleep or moving rubber bed sheets about. I sensed immediately when this pattern changed. It wasn't much later that I heard her footsteps as she moved about the room. She didn't choose to attend to me immediately however. I waited with increasing suspense as she moved about the room making various noises. The worst sound of all was when I heard her open the door and leave.

I don't know how long she was gone, but it seemed a time more urgently frustrating than the entire night had been. I was now very hungry, very horny and with a full bladder as well. I desperately wanted some attention, but I had to wait, like an object, or a toy, for her to choose to look after me. I felt more like a doll than a pet, though she used the word with studied frequency along with her awkward attempts to remind me of my new ‘name’ Gayle. Deep down I still felt like Twenty Two.

Finally, at some point during the day she came to look after me.

"Good morning pet," she said as she removed the hateful mask.

The inflated walls of the rubber cocoon still held me in their vice-like grip, and she showed no sign of releasing me. I was enormously relieved when she pulled the mask from my face, taking a huge gasp of fresh air as she pulled out the perforated bung that helped me control drool within the mask. It came as a shock when the bung was quickly replaced with something much more substantial: a large squat rubber penis was pushed into my mouth. Unlike the bung, this filled my mouth and reached almost to the back of my throat and raised a fear of choking.

"A slut like you should always have a cock in her mouth, don't you think?" Said Lindsay.

Then to my utmost horror she began to replace the awful breath control mask. It seemed there was a hole in the cock gag, though smaller than the one in the bung, it did allow me to continue breathing through my mouth, albeit with increased care and difficulty.

"Don't worry pet. I won't let you choke. I know it will disappoint you, but the cock gag is for supervised use only and you can't suck on it all the time," she said, as if I was about to beg she never remove it.

There was a loud hissing and a sudden sensation of release. It seemed that she had started to deflate the cocoon. I felt a sensation on my chest and two pops as she pulled free the suction pipes. The domes didn't release their suck though. After a time she was able to help me out of it and assist me in standing. I felt very strange and was so tired that I felt a weird floating sensation that turned into dizziness when I first stood up. Lindsay half led, half carried me somewhere into a place that sounded like a bathroom.

She dragged my arms above my head and clipped the d-rings on my cuffs to something. I hung there, semi-suspended, too dizzy to stand. I had to concentrate on my breathing: it was difficult. My heart pounded so hard that it hurt my chest. After a while I started to feel a little better and began to feel some strength returning in my legs. Meanwhile Lindsay had inserted a familiar enema valve and had begun filling me up inside with a warm liquid that made me sweat. This pressed on my bladder, which was already painfully full.

"From now on, you aren't permitted to even think the word 'I': there is no I in your vocabulary or in your thoughts, there is only Gayle, Lindsay's pet, or Mistresses pet. Do you understand?" She said.

I didn't, but I nodded anyway. Just the simple act of standing exhausted my oxygen budget, I didn't have the energy to try and figure out her words.

"You must never think of you, or yourself, you must only think of the pet and who owns it. Learn this. Practice this. At all times, think as I tell you. Later, there will be a test. If I'm not happy with your progress I will devise something unpleasant to make you think the way I want," she said.

The enema had filled me to the limit, and my bladder was fit to burst. I couldn't hold on any longer. I let go and felt a stream of warm urine running out of the bottom of my belt and washing down the inside of my legs.

"Bad pet," snapped Lindsay. "You are only allowed to pee when I tell you, and I did not tell you. If that happens again you will drink it," she snarled.

Then she clamped her hand over the end of my rebreather balloon as I tried to inhale. I was forced to inhale the stale air from the balloon. I felt several stinging blows to my behind, and still her hand sealed my air supply. I panted helplessly into the balloon. More blows assailed my behind. It felt as if I was about to cum and yet my penis wasn't even hard.

"Bad pet," said Lindsay once again, finally allowing me to access fresh air.

I felt the ecstatic sensation slipping away from me. Lindsay completed the enema and I was allowed to release it into some kind of receptacle. I felt splashes on my bottom followed by Lindsay's gentle touch as she wiped them away.

"Time for your bath now," she announced.

I had no idea what she intended, but my wrists were unclipped and she led me very carefully down some steps into what felt like a pool of warm water. She gently pushed me into a sitting, and then prone position. I felt my face bob an inch or two under the water. I floated, partially submerged. I was afraid of my balloon taking in water instead of air, but it didn't happen. Perhaps Lindsay held it out of the water somehow. I felt myself becoming overheated in the warm water. It wasn't hot, but it was warm enough to make me start to feel very strange. Normally a hot bath made me feel weak and sleepy, but I already felt like that.

When Lindsay finally helped me out of the water I was too weak to stand and my head was thumping. I lay prone on what felt like tiles as the water drained out of my rubber over-jacket and mittens. I may have been trying to say things, I'm not sure. Lindsay held me and petted me throughout this, continually talking to me in a reassuring voice, though I don't remember anything that she said. For all I know it was more of her crazy fairy stories, but I felt better knowing that somebody was there looking after me and that I probably wouldn't be allowed to choke, suffocate or suffer heat-stroke. When I had enough strength to stand, she led me back into the bedroom, or at least I assume it was the bedroom.

At long last, she removed the breathing mask, though the cock gag remained in place. I felt such an incredible relief that I think I fell asleep soon afterwards. I can't have slept long, but when I awoke the cock gag had been removed and someone had clipped a long solid spreader bar between my ankles and another between my wrists. The bars had d-rings welded onto their 'top' near each end - at least it was their top as I now saw it from my face down position. Cables had already been attached to the d-rings, and it was probably the act of tightening these and lifting me from the floor that woke me up.

The four-point suspension stretched me out as much as it lifted me, and I felt an enormous tugging strain on my body as my entire weight was taken by my wrists, ankles and joints. My body's natural tendency was to sag, though the corset helped a little, it still felt like every muscle in my abdomen was being ripped apart. I knew I couldn't stand this position for long without some injury. Apparently, so did Lindsay, as she quickly passed a rubber harness underneath me, which she attached to another set of cables. She quickly tightened the support from the additional harness so that much of the weight of my body now rested on it. There was still a lot of strain elsewhere, but I could endure it.

My arms and legs reached upwards while my body hung down. My unsupported head flopped forwards so I had a good view of my underside and the ridiculous breast domes sticking downwards. I had to be careful how I moved or the whole apparatus swung in painful ways that increased the strain in one place or another. My ring gag remained in place, and once again the drool was forming a puddle beneath me. Lindsay placed the drink container within reach. It had been altered: the cock teat was now longer and harder looking. It would be easier to grab, but it looked like a lot to swallow.

"Now you might think that you'll choke if you get this lovely cock far enough into your mouth to get any liquid out of it. You won't if you keep swallowing. Or you can do without any drink, it's up to you," said Lindsay.

I rolled my eyes up at her in horror.

"Aw, that's so sweet," she said, rubbing my hooded head. "See you tonight pet," she added.

I presume that I spent the entire day that way, though I had no way to measure time. Eventually, Lindsay arrived and let me down. She refitted the bung and the breathing-hood and took me into the bathroom where she gave me a chance to urinate.

"You are allowed to pee now pet. You better do it now because this is your only chance until tomorrow," she advised.

I felt very nervous for some reason, but eventually managed to empty my bladder. Being inside the darkness of the hood helped with that. Afterwards she took me back to the bedroom and put me back in the cocoon to 'sleep'. I got the impression that there had been a change to the hood during the day: the balloon was now very slightly smaller and I could get a little bit more fresh air in with a little less effort. Either that or I had become more used to it.

The night wasn't much better than the one before. I slept only for seconds at a stretch and by the end of the night I was so exhausted that I couldn't think clearly and my head was filled with buzzing angry voices, strange lights, colours and sounds. I knew that if Lindsay kept this up that soon I would 'break'. What lay beyond that snapping of my mind I could only guess. I began to become curious about it, continually wondering if it had happened yet. Would I feel a release from physical pain and mental shame and guilt? Was the breaking point like a barrier I had to push through like a marathon runner?

I wondered if things would be easier after the change. Would the pain turn to pleasure? Would I still understand what was happening to me? Or was there really no such thing as a breaking point at all? I had a long time to think of such things.

As before, I eventually heard Lindsay awake and get up. She left the room without attending to me and I continued trying to sleep. Eventually, I felt someone unfastening my mask. What a relief it was to suddenly breathe 'fresh' air. It took a while for my eyes to clear because they were glued shut with mucus and didn't seem to want to focus at all. It was the sound that made me want to look. It was a sound I hadn't expected at all.

"Ah ha, yes, I have found her... Stupid maid, do not try to struggle: remain calm. You will soon be released," said the housekeeper.

I had never been so happy to hear the voice of Housekeeper Four.

I lay back and sighed a profound sigh of relief. I didn't want to let myself feel too confident that I was about to be rescued from Lindsay, but I didn't dare believe otherwise either. As a compromise I ceased all thought and concentrated on Housekeeper Four's words.

"The little trouble with Numbers Two and Three is ended. You are safe now," said the housekeeper.

It took a while for her to get me out of the cocoon and onto a stretcher.

I think after that I must have fallen asleep on the stretcher. I was very tired after all.

* * * * *

The next thing I remember was waking up.

I found myself awake on a polythene covered circular bed, in the middle of a room where everything seemed to be intensely white and dazzlingly bright. I rubbed my eyes and found my naked fingers, free of any gloves or mittens: only my long false fingernails remained, pristine and beautiful. I looked down at myself. I was completely naked. It was a body I didn't really recognise. The puffy mounds on my chest with their swollen nipples looked like the beginning of teenage breasts. I didn't have a man's small nipples any longer. My penis was large, hard and erect, throbbing – like my nipples – with desire.

The shape of my body was wrong somehow, with a narrowing waist, different to that of a man, or even a woman. Most women's waists weren't as slender as mine was, though their hips were wider. My hips were broader than I recalled but still much too narrow and girlish to look womanly. My skin was porcelain white and perfectly smooth and hairless. It was strangely unmarked by bruises or 'bite' marks from the restraints or rubber. It looked flawless and oddly beautiful. It seemed to be someone else's skin, on someone else's body – though I knew it had to be mine – or was I dreaming? Was I really still back in the cocoon in Lindsay's room, finally mad beyond redemption and hallucinating wildly?

I looked across the room. Number One was standing there, silhouetted against the glaring brightness of the sun reflected in the snowy white expanse that was visible through the massive balcony windows behind her. She was looking out at the snowbound countryside from a high place. It was the first sunlight I’d seen in an age. It looked so cold out there, but it was so warm inside. Even though I was naked I was sweating.

Number One turned to look at me.

It was a testament to her ability to transfix me that I remained completely motionless and didn't wank myself stupid, as for the last two days I had been aching to touch myself.

"Maid Twenty, latterly Twenty Two, I appreciate your efforts to warn me of the conspiracy, though as Number Four observed, it is not desirable for maids to try and subvert the proper hierarchy. I can see in this case why you might think it was an exception. However, I knew of the plot from its beginning and allowed things to take their course in the hope that the villains would reveal themselves and so that we could get the measure of the conspirator's true characters. I was most curious to see how Two and Mistress Three would try and organise things. I wanted to see how they would behave if they had free reign, you might say. We also needed to know if they had contacts outside."

"We hadn't anticipated Lindsay smuggling you away. I'm sorry that someone else had to suffer because of this. In any case, a maid needs to learn to endure the unexpected and unpleasant without complaint, so we should not make too much of it."

Her eyes were hidden behind those little round sunglasses and the silver makeup was once again perfect. I hadn't seen them when she was unconscious. I found myself wondering idly what colour they were. I also found myself wondering if I would get to press my erect member into the soft opening between her perfect legs. She wore nothing but a skin-tight white rubber mini-dress. Clearly, there was no underwear beneath it, and her ample charms pressed out at the front, creating a deep cleavage. I found myself imagining rolling the rubber skirt up just a few inches for perfect access.

When she spoke, it seemed as if she read my mind. It seemed to be a common trick in the Hotel.

"I'm afraid I can't permit you to touch me. At least, not dressed as I am: for safety's sake there must remain a layer of rubber between us," she paused again and smiled, as it seemed she often did. "Oh, you may speak if you wish. Is there something you wish to ask?"

"I don't understand what you mean about safety Mistress," I stammered.

"Simply, my bodily fluids, even my sweat, can be potentially lethal. Although the chance of transmission is actually quite small, it is best to be cautious. Conveniently, rubber protects," she said, as if this were a minor matter.

"You're infected with something?" I asked, confused. Her current outfit hardly looked like it protected much. Surely everything in the room she had touched with her bare hands was contaminated?

"You could look at it that way. The cells of my body are in a continual state of flux. If you tried to sequence my DNA you would find it impossible; the result of a profound change in the cells of the body. The change is not transmissible and only one in millions have the potential to survive contact with it at all. From the common point of view it has all the aspects of a disease. If a living cell of mine comes in contact with another organism it typically results in rapid violent and agonising death as destructive chaos spreads through the victim. In the tiny few that have survived there were unpredictable changes that varied between the horrific and the beneficial. Is it a disease or a curse? In the end it is just a matter of perspective – as you can see I appear to be in good health but I could pose a threat to others if I behaved carelessly."

I wanted to put on some clothes, at least my maid's uniform. I wanted to stick my prick into Number One. I wanted it very badly. I wondered if that was her plan. Did she want to see if I would? Was she testing me? What was the correct response? Would I die if I touched her? Would I survive, and if I did, what would I become?

"Mistress, Lindsay spoke of a Goddess. This sounds somehow ... connected," I said, my words felt foolish. How could there be a connection?

"I can only speculate that Lindsay referred to a one-time associate of mine who ironically was probably behind the attack on Eden. On occasion I have made dramatic appearances of my own as well, and the credulous like to believe there is more to it than that. However, I have no way to know what Lindsay may have experienced personally: she may have meant something else or had valid reasons for her use of such colourful language," said Number One. Coming from her this vague explanation sounded perfectly reasonable and complete. I don't know why.

"What about Nurse Five? Will she recover Mistress?"

"Yes, she is well, as is the maid formerly Seventeen. The previous Three was administering a drug to keep them unconscious. They are recovering already. There seems to be no permanent damage from the original drug that induced the fake seizure. Numbers Two and Three were foolish, but short of murderous."

"And the conspirators Mistress?"

"Three has confessed that she was in love with Two and acted under her influence. I believe it. She will be placed in a position of less responsibility from now on. As for the ex-Two, I believe she was led into prideful and ambitious behaviour by factions with the Association and the tempting whispers of the numberless Lindsay. Still, one can't forgive such behaviour. I don't really have any choice but to make a shocking example of her. It's a pity she couldn't see that it is in her nature to always be a follower, and never a leader. Even in this she followed Lindsay, but she does not see it yet," said Number One.

"And Lindsay Mistress?" I said.

"The anger has festered too long in her to be easily released. She suffers from ‘survivor guilt’ but instead of asking for help she dripped the poison that was consuming her into the heart of our house. She knows too much to be safely sent into exile, and would likely fall victim to one of our enemies with dark consequences for all of us. As she does not wish to stay and work harmoniously with us there are no easy options available for her. Perhaps she will relent and let us help her, but I doubt it, her passions are too strong. Incidentally, I believe she was quite infatuated with you, though this provided only a minor complication to her plot. Perhaps it could be leveraged to help her somehow in the future. It’s something to consider."

"Mistress, didn't they try to replace you? Shouldn't Lindsay be punished too, or be made an example like Two?"

"I did not say that would not happen, but it's impossible to punish the insane and most pitied her anyway. If I act harshly towards her it will simply make me look like a tyrant," she said.

"Sorry Mistress. I didn't mean to question your decision. I just wanted to understand it," I said.

"Of course," she said. "I notice you haven't asked about Lindsay's grievances," she added.

"I wouldn't presume Mistress," I said.

"I will never forget those tragic events and the many who lost their lives, but I did not kill those people, and I will not foolishly torture myself with guilt for events beyond my control. I was trapped under rubble in the initial explosion and was lucky to survive. That Lindsay chose to blame me for it all was unfortunate, but simply her method of coping with shock and grief – a method that did not work. Afterwards I offered to help her come to terms with what had happened but she refused my assistance. In that I failed her. I should have found a way to help her then."

"And what about me?" I asked finally.

"I think there have been enough disruptions to your training already, so all your outstanding punishments are rescinded. I'm going to order the isolation machine dismantled, so you'll never have a chance to try that out. We really are too few now to retain such a destructive punishment. A pity really in some ways, I think you might have liked a short dose of it, but it is ultimately a clumsy and dangerous device. We would never really have allowed you to spend more than a few hours in it."

"Whatever you say is best Mistress," I said, uncharitably thinking they should have stuck Lindsay in it and left her there forever.

“I’m afraid you have been exposed to an excessive amount of the nectar, and it is inclined to accentuate libido and the growth of feminine sexual characteristics unless blockers are administered. It’s also addictive and if you were to stop taking it now you would suffer a kind of sexual frenzy. You’d have to be restrained until it faded, which might take weeks.”

“Can it be reversed?” I say.

“Yes, but it’s an unpleasant process that would take several weeks, and of course if you choose to stay here we would not want to reverse it, in fact, quite the opposite. Do you still want to continue your maid training? Nobody will be surprised if you have had enough after what happened.”

"Yes Mistress," I said.

It would be some time before I saw Number One again.

Epilogue

After the attack, things soon returned to a regular routine. There were some changes in my own situation, but nothing momentous. Life was much easier without the punishment garments, and my daily duties gradually altered from continual training in voice, movement, cosmetics and rubber to domestic duties and chores around the hotel. I learned to clean the guestrooms, make beds, wash laundry, polish floors, clean windows and perform all the day to day duties of the hotel. Sometimes I made errors or lacked the correct attitude, which earned me the occasional humiliating punishment in front of the other maids, but this was the exception rather than the rule.

Eventually, I passed through my initiation as a maid without great incident. It was far from the obscure cultish ceremony that Lindsay had alluded to, and was much more like my original expectation.

In the first part of the ceremony I was required make a formal gift of myself to the staff. The housekeeper, now Number Two, accepted this on the behalf of all staff. We are not slaves, but servants, and we commit our service to an idea not an individual. I gave a speech and then had to provide oral pleasure to the housekeeper. I learned, much to my surprise, that beneath its rubber sheath her penis was quite real and not some kind of rubber strap-on dildo at all. I had done this before, but doing it in front of the other maids was disconcerting and highly embarrassing. The worst part of it was begging for the opportunity followed by the noises of enjoyment and satisfaction that I was obliged to make when I performed this task.

In the second part of the ceremony, I had to plead for the attending maids to give me anal pleasure through the use of strap-on penises, with which they were all equipped. Other maids and the housekeeper held me down while this was done. Every one of the maids was allowed a turn pumping into me. I was amazed that I was able to have several orgasms without a great delay between them and that the process never became excessively painful. Finally, all the maids exchanged passionate kisses with me. I was quite exhausted by the end of it all, but still wanted more orgasms. I was so wretchedly desperate for them that if I had been able, I certainly would have begged for them, no matter the possible punishments.

Fortunately, I was silenced by the tongues of the other maids. Afterwards, I was quickly gagged, cleansed and secured in my bed. The next day my duties continued as normal.

For a while, the public performance of this ritual made me feel small and isolated, rather than bringing me closer to the other maids. I felt a sense of anticlimax and disappointment. For weeks afterwards I felt ashamed whenever I was around them. This was not because I felt that I had been made to do something I normally would not, but the opposite. I would happily have done far more, and daily entertained urges and fantasies of being allowed to repeat the procedure.

Since the attack, there had been some other small changes in my routine. My daily injections continued, but I received additional injections every evening before I was allowed to rest. At the same time I was allowed an additional meal of the special liquid, putting me on double rations so to speak. This extra meal came with no additional water. Recalling Lindsay's 'explanation' this left me a little worried. A few weeks after the initiation was over, I found myself in the clinic. The Nurse, formerly known as Five but now known as Three had taken over the duties of the Lehrerin as well as her own. She had me strapped down to the examination table and seemed to be in a talkative mood. This was the first time she had said more than a word or two to me since the attack.

"It's time to put an end of those injections you've become so used to Number Twenty," she said with uncharacteristic awkwardness.

Of course I'd learned that my number had also changed with the rearrangement of the hierarchy back when I met Number One at the end of it all. I presumed that the old Two and Three were now numbered Twenty One and Twenty Two, but as yet I had no confirmation of this.

"Your hormone levels are now stable, so we can stop injecting you and use long term slow-release implants instead," said Nurse Three.

"Mistress, will the hormones stop my boy bits from working?" I asked, as I had heard from the former Nineteen, now Seventeen, that this was what happened when testosterone inhibitors were administered.

I had assumed that Seventeen was a woman, but she had recently shown me that she still possessed a small, non-functional penis and shrivelled testicles. She hoped these would be removed as soon as possible. She also expressed some surprise that my penis was still very large and almost always very hard. She had suggested that if anything it seemed to be getting bigger, not smaller at all.

The Nurse grinned, "Silly maid. Number One has declared it a top priority that your reproductive function must not be impaired in any way, for the time being at least".

"One of the most important things that the ex-Mistress Three did for us when we were first developing the procedures, was to design selective hormonal blockers for both male and female hormones. We can control the parts of your system that the hormones and nectar affect quite accurately. This is how Housekeeper Two maintains her overall soft feminine appearance and a very functional cock," she explained.

"The old Three was an excellent biochemist and researcher, but the procedures are just a matter of routine now. As she was never actually any kind of surgeon, we really don't have any further need for her special skills. We no longer use nano-scale fabricators of any kind except for a few dumb micro-organisms that Number One tailored herself years ago and so there is no further call for molecular design. I always had to do the difficult surgical work anyway, but I'm feeling the lack of a nurse. I was hoping to give her that job, but because of the punishments she has received she really isn't fit for that sort of thing any longer. Somehow I doubt that anyone will appreciate her for her mind or skills when they see her now, poor thing," added Nurse Three.

She sounded genuinely compassionate, with none of the snide irony that Lindsay was so fond of. I felt guilty that I had compared the two of them but there was some kind of similarity in the way they both looked at me – I just couldn't put my finger on it.

"When I've done a little more work on her she can return to the maids' quarters. Alas, I can't work quickly: there are limits to the stress you can put on a human body. I always operate using the patient's own blood if I can manage it, so I also have to take time building up blood stock too," she said.

"I should just show you. You ought to see what might have happened to you if things had gone differently," she added before calling out. "Come on Twenty One, come out and show Number Twenty the sort of thing you had in mind for her."

It took a little time. Number Twenty One could not move quickly in her extreme punishment boots. The most obvious thing about her was her enormous breasts. Not only were they huge, but they were contained in a brutally tight, heavy rubber bullet bra that was part of her punishment suit. The extreme weight of those massive boobs made it very difficult for her to balance on the points of her ballet boots. She was a tall woman before the boots were added, and now balanced on those heels she was a towering edifice. If I had been able to stand up at the time, I think those massive boobs would have been right in my face.

Below the mass of her breasts her waist was squeezed tight in a heavy, black rubber punishment corset of a design that was quite familiar to me. I guessed that the assistance of the corset in holding up her shoulders was very welcome. Rather than a normal maid's uniform she was almost completely suited in heavy black rubber. Her boots and gloves were part of the suit. The gloves were spherical balls. I presumed that they were double skinned and tightly inflated with air, rendering her hands completely useless - not even useful as weapons.

Her crotch and head were somewhat exposed and displayed by the suit. Both made a deep impression on my memory. Her head was covered only by a thin transparent hood. She was perfectly bald underneath of course, but there was something else. It took me a moment to realise what it was: where her ears ought to have been trapped beneath the hood there was only flawless smooth flesh, showing not even a hole. By contrast her nervous, frightened eyes seemed larger than before, doe-like, surrounded by long dark lashes. Beneath them her nose was small, cute and perfect. Her mouth was lush, pouting and erotic; her lips were glossed bright red and slightly parted. Her expression managed to perfectly combine stunned, terrified and seductive in one look.

"Show Number Twenty your new girly bits Twenty One – they really were difficult to make," said the Nurse.

With an obvious struggle, the sex toy that had once been Three lifted her foot onto a nearby chair and displayed her crotch to me like a porn star. Her sex was framed between the crotch straps of her corset. My fears were confirmed. Her outer vaginal lips were now grossly oversized and swollen, like the rubber suit I had worn (what seemed) so long ago. I felt an awful guilt at having fantasised on several occasions that I possessed real lips of my own like that.

The Nurse reached from behind and spread Twenty One's vaginal lips wide with her gloved fingers. Within were equally large and bloated inner lips: not long and stretched but fat, red and pert. They looked very sensitive. I also noticed that she wore a large butt-plug, though there seemed to be nothing keeping it in place. I was aware of a scenario where the victim was required to keep the plug in place by their own efforts or face further punishments. I suspected that Twenty One was being treated in that way.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. The expression on her face, the massive breasts, the missing ears, the industrial sized vagina... My own nipples were on fire, my cock hard and burning with lust. If I hadn't been strapped to the table I might have had trouble restraining myself. I also felt guilt at lusting after this poor dehumanised victim so ardently, but that in no way reduced my desire.

"A little detail that you can't see," added the Nurse. "She's permanently intubated. There's a feeding tube in her mouth, hidden just behind her lips. Breathing tubes in her nose have metal fittings embedded in her face, with openings hidden just inside the nose. An injection-moulded gag fills and seals her mouth perfectly. Her real teeth have been removed and the roots replaced with plastic sockets that anchor the gag. Her saliva feeds back into her stomach. The dentistry was the largest job I've ever undertaken."

"She can't speak, or taste, or lick anything. Opening her mouth is quite impossible. I use selective botox injections to create exactly the cock-sucking expression I prefer on her face, though normally that will be hidden under a heavy mask with breathing tubes and she is quite incapable of sucking anything anyway."

"What do you think?" She asked finally.

I lifted myself up off the examining table as far as I could: trying to get the very best view of this macabre creation.

"I feel sorry for her but I wish I could fuck her Mistress. She's very beautiful, very different, bit very damaged," I said, honestly.

"Yes. It’s true. You have exactly what she is. This is only part of the punishment she had planned for you though ... oh ... I mean she didn't intend to seal your mouth up, that was to be kept open for sucking. She's quite sorry about that now, aren't you Number Twenty One? You are quite sorry that you were a mean, cold hearted bitch who thought that people should be used as nothing more than canvas for your 'artworks' aren't you?"

The rubber doll vigorously nodded her agreement.

"You're nothing more than a dumb giant cunt and tits now aren't you Twenty One?" Said Nurse Three.

The rubber doll vigorously nodded her agreement as her eyes filled up with tears.

"If she behaves herself for a few years we may remove some of her modifications. Or, if she behaves badly we might decide to use her for some sort of breeding project; she's a genetic female and fully functional. It's up to her what happens now," explained Nurse Three.

"I understand Mistress," I said.

For an instant a thought crossed my mind. If Mistress Three was now Number Twenty One, and this had happened to her, what had happened to the old Number Two? If she had been demoted further, had her punishment been worse? Number One had mentioned an example, but so far I'd seen nothing of the ex-Two.

"You can go back to your box now Twenty One," said the Nurse, dismissing her.

"Now Number Twenty," said the Nurse in a tense voice as the rubber doll tottered off. "I suppose you're wondering why I haven't enlarged your breasts yet?"

"Well, Mistress, I wasn't really, but now you mention it I do wonder," I said. The doll was out of sight now.

Nurse Three's face crunched up with anguish.

"I feel awful about Twenty One, really I do. I have to. If I let myself take too much joy in it I might end up where she is now. Work... Work like this takes away part of your soul. I wish it was somebody else's job to punish her," said the Nurse, forcing back tears. “But punishment is necessary, not just for the victim but as an example. Loyalty is really the greatest treasure that we can have.”

I watched as the Nurse calmed herself, as she made herself back into a Mistress again.

"You have made her more beautiful on the inside Mistress. There was once a very ugly person inside her," I said, trying to help.

"I know. I know. Her evil spirit is completely broken, but she was still a human being. Now she's just a doll. That's the worst part. Don't you sometimes wonder at what we choose to call beauty, inside or out? And at what price we purchase it? Well, it’s the sort of thing I think about in my profession a great deal..."

"Yes Mistress, but I have no choice," I said.

She shook her head but said nothing to contradict me.

"Perhaps Three always secretly longed to become a doll Mistress. That’s why she was obsessed with making them – why she set off on a course that was bound to end up with her receiving an extreme punishment," I said. "Perhaps you just gave her what she always wanted."

"I know you're just trying to make me feel better Number Twenty. Thank you," she said.

"Thank you Mistress," I said.

"Now, back to your situation," said the Nurse, regaining control of her emotions.

"Again, Number One has said it's simply a waste of time to do anything to your breasts, so the only thing I'm going to do is fit the hormone implants. They'll help maintain your existing feminine characteristics and also help keep that lovely cock of yours working properly. I would have liked to make you into a hermaphrodite like the housekeeper: move your balls up inside you, create a vagina and so on, but that would render you sterile, even though you would still be sexually functional, so I can't do that either," she said.

She seemed to speak just for the sake of it, just to let her find calm inside. I wondered at the anguish that she'd endured working on what had once been Mistress Three, week after week. It seemed to me that she was the one being punished. It didn't feel right, but maybe she had done something wrong after all – something worthy of punishment.

"One thing I will be doing is increasing your food dosage to three bottles per day, again Number One's requirement. Nobody has ever consumed that much before on a regular basis. The old Two only had one or two a day, though without any water. Every cell in your body will become permeated with nectar – I don’t know all the effects that will have but you'll be enormously horny and orgasms will only serve to heighten the effect almost as soon as they’re over. You’ll need to be extremely abstinent if you want to avoid cascading runaway lust".

"Where does the food come from Mistress?" I asked boldly, not expecting an answer.

"It's a product of a special bio-culture. In the same way that yeast brews alcohol, this organism brews our food. The old Three helped perfect the production method, but she didn't engineer the organism: Number One made it."

"Anyway... From now on it will be light restraints only, minimal corset training and no heavy duties. You'll also be wearing a reliable chastity garment because we know that nobody can possibly restrain the sexual urges that you'll experience without some sort of help. I know it's all a bit frustrating, but you shouldn't worry. I'm sure it will turn out for the best. Is there anything else you want to ask?" She said with a grin.

"Yes Mistress, but you may not like it," I said.

"Ask anyway. I won't punish you unless it's extremely impertinent," she offered cheerily.

"Mistress, why have you avoided me since the night with Lindsay? Why haven't you asked me to come and play with you? Nobody asks me now, and I'm so horny and bored. Do you hate me now? Do you think I'm bad luck or tainted somehow Mistress?" I said surprising myself at how it all flooded out.

"Oh..." Said the Nurse.

"Mistress?"

"I wanted to see you instantly I regained consciousness but I was ordered not to upset your readjustment. There are a lot of things I wanted to do, but I can't show favouritism, at least, not too much. Then Number One gave an order that your diet was to be changed. I think it had something to do with your time with Lindsay. I think she was surprised how well you responded to the drink. It probably would have sent most people completely out of control. Anything fun I did with you after that would only fuel your sexual frustration, so I decided it would be cruel to tease you or make things worse by involving you in situations..."

"No, that's not true. It's just an excuse. I suppose I didn't know what to say: I didn't know how to face you after that night with Lindsay. I know you were badly hurt. I didn't think you would ever trust me again. I'm sorry," she said weakly.

"Mistress," I said helplessly.

Nurse Three smiled.

"I never stopped trusting you Mistress," I said.

She grinned back.

"You really are a cutie," she said.

"Thank you Mistress," I replied.

"We'd better get those hormones implanted. I hear you have a new course of instruction coming up, so let's get this over with so you can get on with it," she said.

The End.

Author's Comments

First of all, thanks to Stig Driver for helping proof this version.

This original version of “The Doll's House Hotel” (DHH) was written in late 2005 and first published at Christmas in an episodic format. It was then revised, extended and collected by January.

I’ve chosen to change the title of this version not only to avoid confusion with the Joss Whedon TV series, with which it has little in common, but to distinguish this modified 2010 version from the 2005-2006 versions.

This incarnation of the story is revised in the light of the completion of my new story “The Doll Factory” (DF), removing confusion between characters with similar names and better integrating the continuity of the different stories. Hopefully it also improves the prologue and conclusion that were of dubious quality and more confusing than they were informative.

I also took the chance to revise several minor details that no sane reader would ever notice and this commentary has also been rewritten and suitably shortened.

Prior to first writing DHH I wrote a novel-length non-TG story about latex, femdom, oversexed-lesbians and the apocalyptic consequences when long buried sins are unearthed: “Little Shop of Rubber” (LSOR). It began the creation of a world that became surprisingly detailed, ultimately inspiring DHH and more recently DF.

When figuring out the back-story of the setting that was slowly solidifying, I wanted to make DHH part of the same continuity as LSOR. While the two stories potentially had a lot in common there were always problems with bits and pieces of the latter parts of LSOR, and its self-contained ending did not fit with DHH at all.

LSOR has never been completely published because of the conflicts with DHH. DHH was released first because at the time I knew of no good place to release non-TG latex stories. In fact, I wrote DHH as a TG story mainly because I believed there was a good site to publish those stories on. In some respects DHH failed as a TG story; for much of the narrative the gender of the main character is immaterial.

However, some of LSOR is available online, in the same place as this story, in a shortened form that doesn’t create too horrible a cliff hanger. One day I may have the time to write a conclusion to LSOR that finishes it off in a way that fits in properly with Doll Hotel and DF but I have no idea when or if that day will come.

08.08.10

 

o0o

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