Used in an Airbnb

A tremor runs through you as you step into the rented Airbnb. Though we have explored this scenario countless times in our shared fantasies, a palpable tension now coils within you. I sense your unease and my hand finds the familiar curve of your shoulder, its weight a slow balm against your apprehension. This hand, my hand, has guided you through life's passages, sometimes firm in its correction, often a steady support beneath the soaring wings of your desires.

You move further into the room, and there it stands – the stark reality of the pillory. A sudden heat floods your core, a slick anticipation blooming between your thighs, for you know the ritual that awaits. Between the hours of one and five, you will be displayed, an offering in this wooden frame, for any man who enters. Their pleasure will be your purpose, their touch invited upon your mouth, your yielding rear, the very heart of your femininity, until their appetites are sated.

The anticipation of hours of surrender ignites you anew, a thrilling uncertainty mingling with the knowledge of your imminent use. The number of men who will come remains unknown to you, a delicious mystery. All you possess are the criteria I employed to select them online. When I shared those parameters with you, your response was immediate, a fervent embrace, your gratitude and arousal a potent force. The criteria: Men aged twenty to thirty, possessing sculpted physiques and endowments of impressive length and thickness.

It is now a quarter to one, the hour drawing near for your preparation. The first arrivals are imminent. Naked, you walk into the main room. I greet you with a kiss, a silent acknowledgment of the scene about to unfold, and then I lead you to the pillory. Gently, I secure your wrists and ankles, your delectable backside presented with an almost defiant curve. Stepping before you, I grasp your nipples firmly, my fingers tightening. A soft moan escapes your lips, and you know that even after four hours of their pleasure, your submission will not end. I will then claim you, and every nerve will sing with heightened sensation…

The doorbell chimes precisely at one. Your eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and excitement, fix on the door. A ripple of delicious dread dances across your skin, visible to me. I watch as you steel yourself, your body taut with expectation, ready to receive the first guest, ready to fulfill the purpose for which you were chosen.

The door opens, admitting the first. He is tall, his frame muscular, his eyes dark and assessing as they fall upon you, helpless within the wood. He smiles, a slow, appreciative smile that speaks of hungry desire, and he approaches your exposed form. Your breath catches, and a shiver, not entirely of cold, traces a path down your spine.

His first attention is drawn to your breasts. His fingers tease your nipples, which are already hard points of exquisite sensitivity. He murmurs something, a low sound of appreciation, and you feel his breath warm against your skin, a prelude to the pleasures he intends to bestow upon you.

Other men arrive, their footsteps echoing in the room. Each one takes his turn, a ritual of examination and claim. They admire your form, praise your willingness, and with each touch, each kiss, each exploration, your body responds with increasing fervor, a symphony of sensations building within you.

They move between your open legs, their hands parting the moist folds of your femininity. Their fingers explore your depths, finding the points of exquisite pleasure, coaxing forth responses you had not known you possessed. You moan softly, then louder, as their ministrations intensify, drawing closer to the edge.

The first wave of pleasure washes over you, a sharp, breathtaking climax that leaves you trembling and weak. A small cry escapes your lips, a testament to your surrender. Yet, there is no respite. Another man is already there, ready to continue the process, ready to push you further into the delicious abyss of sensation.

They take turns, their bodies hard and demanding against yours. They enter you, filling you with their heat, their thrusts deep and rhythmic. You cry out, not in pain, but in a mounting ecstasy, your body arching and convulsing with repeated waves of pleasure. Their seed is offered, warm and heavy, filling every available space.

Time becomes a blur of sensation, a cycle of arousal, penetration, and release. Your body belongs to them, a vessel for their pleasure, and in turn, their pleasure becomes your own. You are filled with their presence, their scent, their warmth, a living testament to your complete and utter surrender.

You scream aloud, a raw, uninhibited sound of pure, unadulterated bliss, as multiple climaxes tear through you. Your body shakes violently, your muscles contracting, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You are utterly spent, yet a deep, profound satisfaction settles within you, a sense of purpose fulfilled.

The four hours are complete. The men depart, leaving you drained and sated, your body aching in the most exquisite way, filled to overflowing with their seed. You hang in the pillory, a picture of delicious exhaustion, your skin flushed, your lips swollen, your eyes half-closed in languid contentment.

It is my turn now. I release you from the pillory, your limbs stiff but yielding. I turn you around, presenting your glorious rear, glistening and marked with the recent attentions. Your breath hitches as you anticipate the next phase, the culmination of the afternoon's activities.

I lay you across my lap, the familiar weight of your body a comfort. I pick up the paddle, its smooth surface cool against my hand. With a sharp crack, I bring it down upon your cheek, then the other, the sting a familiar sensation that electrifies your already heightened nerves.

I turn my attention to your backside, bringing the paddle down with firm, measured strokes. Your cries are sharp and immediate, a mix of pain and arousal. I continue, watching the flesh redden and swell beneath the impact, knowing that each blow is a reminder of your purpose, your obedience, your delicious vulnerability.

Finally, I position myself behind you, your rear elevated, your ass is already open and inviting. I penetrate you, slowly at first, then with increasing force. Your cries turn to gasps as I fill you completely, driving deep within you, claiming you entirely. The rhythm is primal, demanding, and you meet it with a fervent desperation. My seed is ready. With a final thrust, I pull out, positioning myself above you. I watch your face, flushed and marked, as I release myself, covering your features in a warm, thick cascade, sealing the afternoon's ritual, marking you as mine, always and completely.