This past weekend, I finally got a proper hotel room. Normally the university sticks me in some depressing little motel when I visit, but the sub who serves me in this city was more than eager to upgrade my accommodations. All it took was a brief explanation of how I planned to use him all weekend.

I checked in Saturday evening. We had dinner brought up to the room and spent the evening on the balcony. A few leftover fireworks were still going off. You know, the ones from people who just can’t shoot their full load on the Fourth. It made for a nice view. Especially with my sub bent over the balcony railing, completely naked, taking my strap as the bursts of red and gold lit up the sky.

Sunday morning, I ordered a full breakfast. Pancakes, strawberries, whipped cream, coffee, juice. The works. I had to handle the order myself because my sub was tied face-down to the bed, his ass propped up by the extra pillows I had the night clerk bring.

Funny enough, it was the same young man who delivered the breakfast tray.

I didn’t bother covering anything. Just let him in, calm and casual, and asked him to set everything up on the little kitchenette table. My sub was right there in full view. Naked, bound, completely exposed. The clerk froze for a second, taking it all in.

Then he quietly set the table. His face turned bright red when he handed me the receipt. I signed it and told him he was welcome to stay and play, or come back on his break.

He left quickly.

I half-expected a knock on the door later that morning. Maybe before checkout on Monday. But he never came back.

I guess he was too afraid of what I might have done to him. Shame. He would have looked just right bent over the other side of the bed.

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