As I expect you've heard, Amanda and I are lovers. Intensely so. We're travelling from place to place and passing our time by eating, shopping, drinking and fucking.

Now we are in London and all that money we stole allows us to stay in some pretty swanky hotels. Today it's The Dorchester, Park Lane. I have been to Bond Street and Amanda has been to Covent Garden, (Monmouth Street... Coco De Mer).

We arrive at our hotel at the same time. We both have the same idea, we will pretend not to know each other. (There's a conference or something).

Trolley bags and key cards in hand. "The bar... thirty minutes!" You whisper.

Hotel showers. How spectacular they are. Now I am all pink, and towels are everywhere, and the vast mirrors, and I am so happy. My front-bottom sends me a message, but I tell her to be patient. This is going to build.

Checking myself out in the lift as I go down to the ground floor. If my 'look' was any minimal, I would be stark naked!

Now... my big entrance! It's quiet, some men in appalling suits at the bar. No you as yet.

The Red Room, it's called, and all the walls are glossy red, and there are mirrors and... oooh, a seat where I can see the whole room. My front-bottom is agog! I only turn away for a moment to sneak a look at the girl behind the bar, and when I turn back...

My GODDDD!

It's you, wearing the most utterly perfect LBD. And heels! Are those shoes actually legal? Do I look silly with my mouth hanging open like this? I do not care!

Your hair is all piled up on top, and your neck is bare, and you turn towards me, and I realise that your dress has only one shoulder, and now I am biting my lip SO hard... I watch as you walk all the way across the floor and up to the shiny red bar, your catwalk!

Down below, my front-bottom is networking like crazy, and now absolutely all my bits are in the party mood. Now, with what looks like a dirty martini in your hand, you approach my table with 'cat-like tread'. 

"Is this seat taken?" You say in a voice that is ninety-nine per cent molten dark chocolate.

I nod and smile, and you sit and cross your legs, and I see you are knickerless too. 

The bar is starting to fill up. 

We both sit in silence for a while, sipping our drinks, checking our phones, gazing around the room—same old same old.

I can't help noticing how elegantly you hold your glass. How delicate your sips, how demurely you sit in that priceless dress when I KNOW that your bare bottom and all that it contains is with arm's reach.

You, perfectly deadpan, your hand extended. 

"Miss Amanda."

I take your hand and beam at you, patronisingly.

"Please call me Suzy. Everyone does. How are you?"

My tummy is squirming with repressed giggles. Your accent is perfect. 

"Very well, thank you, 'Suzy.'"

I cover my mouth. You are good!

Then, "Are you here for the conference?"

"Yes, you too, Amanda?"

"Rather!" You say, with a smile.

That does it. I cover my face with a napkin and try and suppress my giggles.

Gathering myself, I say. "Would you care to join me in another drink?"

My voice is all wobbly and shrill.

"Why, that would be lovely... Suzy."

I try and look away, your hands are in your lap, and you move your legs slightly and flash me again. I am in serious danger of leaking now. I walk to the bar and order more martinis. We are attracting more notice now, our look is so 'top-end escort girl'. Businessmen are staring.

I walk back to our table, we raise our glasses to our lips. Our eyes meet. The non-verbal agreement is thus made. We both lean in and kiss.

We are now definitely on the radar of many others in the hotel bar. (It's called the Red Room.)

Your kiss sends me into paroxysms of confusion. I want you so bad. All I can think of was burying my face between your cheeks and simply devouring your sweetness. But we are still In-Game, and we know we are performing for an audience, and we are both so hot and everything.

You take my hand, you kiss me again. Reaching into your bag, you take out a felt-tip pen. Everyone is watching now, and they see you write something on the palm of my hand. You stand up to leave. But in doing so, you reveal your condition of knickerlessness. My own body is going bonkers. I am so fucking wet now.

To play out the drama, you stand up, polish off your drink with a flourish and walk to the lifts. Now, suddenly I am the centre of attention. I try to compose myself, but I know everyone sees that I have utterly submitted. Now I must wait for the perfect moment and walk to those lifts, alone, what remains of my dignity torn aside.

Alone in the lift, I put a hand between my legs and feel my cunt... I am so hot. Looking at my reflection, I realise that I no longer know myself.

Room 117. Why am I so nervous? We are lovers. We are only playing a game for Chrissake.

I tap at the door. I wait. And wait.

Finally, the door opens.

You take my breath away. With your commanding stance, the riding crop, those heels and the look on your face, I know I am done for. I step towards you, and I receive your first instruction.

"You are to take a shower and wash thoroughly."

I immediately understand the implications of this instruction, and my heart misses at least six beats. You sit in the armchair and watch as I undress. No word is spoken. I am now shockingly aroused, and you know it!

When I return, I am clad in just a bath towel, low around my hips. 

"Come closer." 

I obey - how could I not!

You press the riding crop's little leather tongue to my right breast and flick the nipple, and my knees start to tremble.

"Kneel before me, slut."

I do as I'm told, sitting back on my heels, back straight, thighs spread as far as they will go. Then you start. First, just patting the insides of my thighs, then flicking the tongue against my open sex.

I look up into your eyes. 

"Is this still a game?" 

My towel is gone, and I am completely naked and kneeling at your feet. It's not just the last shred of covering that has gone. My will, my self-determination, even my self-control has gone. You have stripped me, literally, figuratively, psychologically and emotionally. 

Looking into your wondrous eyes, I try and read my fate. Your look is as enigmatic as the Sphinx. I have never seen you like this before. I am confused. But I just seem to know that this is not the time for questions. 

I am brought back to reality by a sharp stinging slap in my wet and open vulva.

Now I see you smile. You are in a zone where there is to be no respite for me. Pain is my future now—sexual pain, the kind that brings a particular type of pleasure. Addictive, never enough, never sufficient for my needs.

Your smile is the last thing I will see for a long time because you have wrapped a black silk blindfold over my eyes. Now I feel the toe of your shoe, cold against my open sex. The tip of your shoe moves against my wetness, pressing, entering...

I don't know why, and I couldn't help myself, but I said. 

"Thank you, Mistress."

To be continued... most definitely!