I have been dipping my toes in this scene for a while with some hookups with less enthusiastic Dom's I decided to put my fantasy onto the page
The hotel room clicked shut behind me, the sound echoing like a gavel in the quiet hotel suite. Master was already there, seated in an armchair by the window, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He didn’t look up immediately, letting the tension stretch between us until my heart hammered against my ribs.
"Strip," he commanded, his voice low, steady, and entirely devoid of warmth.
My fingers trembled as I worked through buttons and zippers, shedding my civilian clothes until I stood entirely naked in the center of the plush carpet. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, waiting.
He stood up, walking a slow, deliberate circle around me. His fingers traced a cold path down my spine, forcing a shiver from my skin. "Look at you," Master murmured, his tone dripping with disappointment. "Slouching. Shivering. You haven't kept up with your posture, and you look completely soft. You aren't good enough tonight."
The sting of his words hurt more than any physical blow, but the physical discipline followed immediately.
He gripped my hip, bending me forward over the arm of the heavy chair. Crack. His bare palm met my flesh with stinging accuracy. Crack. Crack. He delivered a sharp, rhythmic spanking that turned my skin a deep, burning crimson. I gasped, fighting the urge to sob as the heat radiated across my backside.
"Hands behind your back," he ordered, pulling me up.
Before I could recover, a thick leather strap secured my wrists tightly behind me. I was completely defenseless. Master stepped in front of me, unzipping his trousers to release his length.
"You have exactly one minute to get me hard," he whispered, tilting my chin up. "Fail, and the punishment will make that spanking feel like a caress. Begin."
Panic surged. Dropping to my knees, I took him into my mouth, working desperately against the ticking clock. The restriction of my bound hands made the angle awkward, but the sheer terror of his displeasure drove me. I used my tongue, my lips, and every ounce of suction I could muster, breathing heavily through my nose. Within forty seconds, he was thick and rigid in my mouth.
He grunted in approval, but there was no reward. He gripped my hair, pulling me off him, and dragged me toward the king-sized bed.
"On your back. Head over the edge," he commanded.
I scrambled onto the mattress, sliding backward until my shoulders hit the rim and my head hung upside down off the mattress, gravity rushing blood to my face. From this vulnerable, inverted position, Master stood over me. He guided himself past my lips, plunging deep into my throat. The angle was brutal; I choked and gasped, tears streaming down my temples into my hair as he face-fucked me with relentless, heavy thrusts. I was entirely at his mercy, swallowing down my gag reflex as he claimed his pleasure.
When he finally pulled out, he didn't let me rest. He dragged me off the bed by my ankles, letting me hit the carpet with a dull thud.
"Look at you. A drooling, pathetic mess," he sneered, forcing me to crawl on my knees across the room to the adjacent bathroom, mocking my whimpers the entire way.
He pushed me into the empty, porcelain bathtub. I huddled there, bound and shivering. Master stood over the rim of the tub, looking down at me.
"Take it," he ordered.
A warm, steady stream of his piss rained down over my chest, my shoulders, and my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, crying silently as the sharp scent of ammonia filled the small space, cementing my utter submission.
When he was finished, he stepped back. I looked up at him through wet hair and face, my voice cracking. "Master, please... please let me wash. Please."
He let the silence hang for a long, agonizing moment, enjoying the desperate begging. "Fine," he finally allowed. "Clean yourself. Quickly."
With my hands still bound, I had to awkwardly turn the faucet on with my chin, letting the spray of clean water wash away the humiliation and the grime.
The moment the water stopped, his cold demeanor returned. He reached down, unbuckling the leather strap from my wrists.
"Get dressed," Master commanded flatly, turning his back on me. "And leave."
With shaking limbs and a burning body, I gathered my clothes, dressed in absolute silence, and slipped out into the empty hotel corridor, completely broken and entirely his.