Bed and Breakfast and Bondage

This is a first draft of this story. I’ve got the main ideas down, but I realise it’s not much more than a sketch. That said, enjoy.

A distant, but approaching drawn out crunching sound heralded the arrival of more guests up the long, gravel drive. I clicked the power-button on my computers monitor to turn it off and began making my way downstairs.

The house was a little annoying to get anywhere quickly in. It was a tall, gothic pile – dark grey welsh limestone topped with slate towers. In all there were five bedrooms, but there were almost as many staircases and making ones way around the house invariably involved a trip via the ground-floor entrance hall. I descended the stairs as quickly as my scarlet high-heels and pencil skirt would allow me. Part of me wished that sensible, sturdy carpet runners would look anywhere near as fitting as the polished wood treads.

I arrived in the entrance way just as the heavy wooden front door swung open and my guests stepped in.

“Hi, are we okay to just park out the front there?” asked the woman, who came through the door first.

I glanced out to the driveway where a small blue sports car – I guessed it was a BMW – was posed expertly, catching what remained of the afternoon sun. “Certainly,” I replied brightly. I gestured over to the little reception office and secreted myself behind the desk. “I trust you had a good journey?”

The woman nodded, business-like. “The by-pass was a bit busy, but… Ah, the roads coming up here were a sensation.” She grinned brightly. I took a moment to look her over. She was tall, slim, blonde with high, firm – almost pointed – breasts that just made your hands itch with desire to grab them. She wore a tight leather catsuit that was unzipped to mid-chest. Judging by the amount of skin that exposed, I suspected she wasn’t wearing much else beside that suit.

I turned quickly away, catching a hint of a smile from the woman, and fetched a sheet of paper from the printer. “Mr and Mrs…No, sorry. Mrs Jones and Mr Blake? Staying with us until Monday?” The woman nodded and I placed the sheet of paper on the desk before her. “If you just want to check over the agreement and sign it, please.”

As Mrs Jones bent forward and scanned over the agreement, I cast my eyes over Mr Blake for the first time. He was, maybe a head shorter than his partner, a little overweight but with an attractive stubble on his square jaw. He wore a dress shirt and black slacks that made me think he was a banker or some such high-flyer. All the while, he held a small suitcase in each hand and kept his eyes lowered. I wasn’t entirely sure if he was generally keeping his eyes down or if the sight for Mrs Jones’ leather-clad buttocks had him fascinated.

Before I had a chance to ask him about that, though, Mrs Jones had signed the paper with a flourish and handed it back to me. I set it aside and, grabbing a key from the rack as I passed, headed for the stairs. “I’ve put you in the green room,” I said as I lead the pair upwards. “given what you said you were interested in.” On the landing, I turned left and unlocked the door. I held it open and passed the key to Mrs Jones as she went inside.

“OK,” I said, following Mr Blake inside and starting my spiel. “Let’s start with the bed. There’s a rubber sheet under the cotton ones; if you’re going to get messy, I’d suggest taking the top sheet off. There are wrist and ankle cuffs just underneath. Over here, you’ll recognise the Saint Andrew’s cross. If you prefer, you can reach behind here and pull that catch… and it becomes a crucifix. It can support up to 500 kilos, so you should be fine on it…” I carried on like this for several minutes leading the pair around the room. I showed them the generous stocks of prophylactics – condoms, dams, gloves etc – and showed them how to use the emergency call strip that lined every room. Back at the door, I clasped my hands and glanced at both of them. “Any questions?”

“What’s your policy on taking play out of the room?” she asked.

I nodded once. “You’re most welcome to explore the house however you like. Normally, I’d council you about respecting other guests, but you’re actually the only couple here this weekend. There are a few toys out in the back garden; give me a call if you want introducing to them. Oh, and “Staff Only” means just that, please. OK… Nothing else? Well, then. I’ll see you at 9 for breakfast.”

And so, I left the two in peace to do… whatever it is they desired to each other.

The next morning, I was sitting in the conservatory, wearing a pair of daisy-duke denim shorts and a little crop top, reading some saucy novel or other when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I smiled to myself. From the noises drifting through the house last night, I suspected I was going to see quite the satisfied gent this morning.

I was rather surprised, then, when the couple entered and it was Mr Blake who entered first and I almost didn’t recognise him. Where once had been a meek, cowed business man there now stood a proud, confident man. He held himself much taller today, shoulders back with almost military pride. The podge of his stomach was still there, but the confidence that emanated from him drew the attention away from it. He wore a pair of leather chaps and a leather posing pouch.

In Mr Blake’s hand was a lead, which lead to the second surprise of the day. Shuffling in on her hands and knees was the statuesque Mrs Jones. The leash lead to a simple, worn leather collar around her throat. The only other item that kept Mrs Jones from being entirely nude, I noticed, was a fox-tail butt plug that brushed against the backs of her thighs as she shuffled in. She, too, had quite changed her demeanour. As if Mr Blake had stolen all her confidence, she kept her eyes fixed on the floor in front of her, not even glancing up to look at the room she entered.

I set down my book and smiled at my guests. “Morning,” I said, cheerily. “Breakfast?”

Mr Blake smiled and nodded. “Full English for me, please. And… do you have any dog food for my pet?”

“I don’t believe I do, but I could mash up some sausages and put them in a bowl?”

Mr Blake thought for a moment. “Yes, I think that would do nicely. And a bowl of water, please.”

I stood and made my way to the kitchen. As I passed, I put a hand out to pet Mrs Jones. I paused and glanced to Mr Blake for permission. “She won’t bite,” he replied then, with a tug on the lead, growled “if she knows what’s good for her.”

I mussed Mrs Jones’ long, blonde hair. “Who’s a good girl?” I said, in that sing-song voice one uses with animals. “Yes you are… yes you are…” She lifted her head a little but, for the most part, remained close at heel.

I returned a few minutes later, having cooked the breakfast, I returned to the conservatory to find Mr Blake sat at a table, reading a newspaper. Mrs Jones sat on her haunches beside the table. I served Mr Blake first: a plate of sausages, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms and so on, a small rack of toast with marmalade, jam and so on and a glass of fresh orange juice. I then squatted in front of Mrs Jones. I’d managed to find a bowl that looked sufficiently like a dog bowl and set it down in front of her. The woman glanced at the mush in it and gave a little sigh. Mr Blake coughed a warning and then, with no further regard to her dignity, the beautiful woman leant forward and – bare arse in the air, face in the bowl – began to chow down.

“She’s well trained,” I remarked, standing back up.

“Thank you,” smiled Mr Blake, who was cutting delicately into his bacon. He gestured to the empty chair opposite me with his little finger. “Would you care to sit and talk a while?”

I settled into the chair.

“So what made you decide to run a BDSM B&B?” he asked.

“Well, my.. he was my boyfriend at the time.. were getting into the Bondage scene and we wanted to try out a few things. We’d been doing the whole ‘naughty weekends’ thing and it was in preparation for one of those that I thought ‘wouldn’t it be nice if we could combine the two’. You know, get away for a bit and go somewhere that didn’t mind the odd scream late at night.” I grinned at Mr Blake. “Well, we didn’t find anywhere so I set up this place.”

He nodded at me and finished a mouthful of sausage. “Clara and I have been into the scene for a number of years now. But our circumstances mean that it’s basically impossible for us to have much in the way of equipment. It’s mostly been ties and belts and that sort of thing. To actually get to use a St Andrew’s Cross is.. a real treat.”

I nodded, familiar with this sentiment. “It appears to have worked wonders on the two of you.” I gestured to Mrs Jones. Her face, hair and the tops of her breasts were splattered with the remnants of her breakfast. She glanced happily up at me and I noticed the bright eyes, the erect nipples; if she could wag that butt-plug, it’d be going mile a minute right now.

Mr Blake smiled at me. “Yeah. I think that’s why we love these weekends together. Clara gets to leave her responsibilities behind entirely. For a while she gets to do absolutely nothing, except what I tell her. And for me… having that power over someone is intoxicating, invigorating.”

Mrs Jones crawled under the table and started nuzzling and biting playfully at Mr Blake’s leather-clad crotch. I grinned at Mr Blake. “I believe your pet wants to play.” I reached for his empty plate. “I’ll go wash these up. Enjoy.”

Mr Blake didn’t respond, but as soon as I’d stood up, I heard the creak of leather being pulled down and a feminine gasp of delight. My grin broadened as I headed for the kitchen.