The Doll's House Hotel - Collected With Special Features free porn video

This story is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters portrayed here to real people living or deceased is entirely coincidental. The author retains all rights to this work, except in allowing that it may be archived and distributed for non-commercial purposes, providing all text remains intact, including this notice. This story deals with 'adult' themes of a highly sexual nature, including 'fetishism', bondage, domination, non-consensual sex acts, use of sex-toys, costumes and sexual transformation in an unrealistic and fantastical manner. If you find such topics disturbing, or if it is illegal for you to read about them, stop reading here. This story was inspired by a very ordinary drive to a house out in the woods in Eastern Germany. It is easy to become lost in some parts, and the forest is much as I describe. However, habitation is somewhat more frequent than the story suggests. I don't speak much German, and what I do speak is almost certainly incorrect, so in most cases you must imagine it for yourself where it appears in the story. The spelling, as much as I can manage it, is intended to follow English rules and not American. They hyphenation rules are entirely my own, for which I apologise. This compiled version of the story contains a number of small changes and improvements throughout the text, though nothing significant. It also has a new Prologue and Epilogue, and at the end you will find a lengthy 'deleted scene' and some authors comments. You could say it's the 'DVD Collectors Edition' of the Doll's House Hotel. The Doll's House Hotel by AmyAmy - Prologue It was a hot summer evening. Insects were swirling in clouds in the cones of bright, white light that shone from the floodlights illuminating the deforested building site. Bright yellow earth moving equipment and other heavy machinery had smashed a sizeable clearing amongst the trees. Work was continuing uninterrupted throughout the hours of darkness. The raucous shouts of workmen and the roar of engines shattered the peace of the night. Standing atop a huge mound of displaced earth, staring down into the scaffold-lined pit of the unusually deep foundation was a beautiful woman wearing a business suit and a pair of knee-high, green rubber wellingtons. Struggling to make her way up the mound of heavy clay soil was another woman. She struggled because she was walking with the aid of crutches. Though tall and powerfully built, she was obviously weak and in some pain. Nevertheless, she persevered and eventually reached the first woman, who had yet to notice her. "Mistress?" called out the cripple to the other, who seemed unresponsive, as if lost in a trance. "Mistress?" called out the cripple once more. The businesswoman started suddenly, as if surprised. "Oh. I'm sorry, I did not realise that you hadn't fully recovered from your injuries when I arranged to meet you here today. I did not intend to put you to trouble or cause you discomfort," she said. Her long blonde hair was blown across her face by the warm summer breeze and she idly pushed it back behind her ears. "There is no need to apologise Mistress. I am well enough," said the woman on crutches. Her voice was hard with a brittle sharpness to it despite her attempt at politeness. She was dressed casually in a leather jacket, jeans, T- shirt and hiking boots. Her dark hair was tied back into a tight black bun that contrasted with her informal dress. "You will need to get used to being on the staff now you are Fourth. You must be both Housekeeper and Chief of Security. It's a heavy responsibility," said the blonde. "I'm sorry Mistress," said the housekeeper. Her Mistress stared down into the hole, nearly half a kilometre on each side, which had been excavated over thirty metres deep, and was apparently in the process of being lined with concrete. Workers were still busy, clambering about the network of scaffold that webbed the interior of the pit. "This will be our new home. Alas, no more the sunny towers and open gardens. The dark corridors and bleak, frozen winters with long nights and short days of your home country will be our lot. I only hope it will prove safer in the long run," she sighed. "Yes Mistress," said the housekeeper. "Though it was the pretext of our meeting, I did not bring you here to review progress in the building work. We are here so we may talk without attracting attention. None of the staff are present, and I think the noise will prevent remote eavesdropping," she said. "Why Mistress?" said the housekeeper. "I am worried that there may still be a traitor amongst us," said the blonde. The cripple made no immediate answer. The noise of the building work filled the space between them. Eventually the housekeeper came to her conclusions. "That makes sense Mistress, but why do you choose to trust me over others? I could also be the traitor, could I not?" "If I am wrong, it would be most unfortunate, yes? I cannot be certain that I can trust you, but I choose to do so anyway. I hope my trust won't cost others their lives. Still, you lacked clear motive or opportunity for betrayal. You remain the least likely candidate," she said coldly. "I understand Mistress," said the housekeeper. "My hope is that the culprit was someone we believe to be dead. The remaining candidates: Number Two and the Doctor, now Third by default, are both deeply committed to our cause. Without their work it would never have been possible. They were two of its originators: the idea was in essence theirs. I cannot imagine them responsible for its destruction, and yet..." She paused. The implication of what she had to say seemed difficult for her to voice. The housekeeper made no rush to interrupt; instead noticing how the annoying gnats that kept attacking her avoided her companion. "It's still possible a traitor remains. Even if she were not a staff member it could still be a disaster. Also, various staff members continue to complain about assistance that was not forthcoming from our..." She paused. Eventually she settled on the word "benefactress," which she announced by itself before pausing again. Finally she continued, "...as if it were somehow my fault. This is peculiar, as they all know that I am not her keeper." "Mistress I was not on the staff at that time," said the housekeeper. "I know. Please bear with me. When we formed the original staff council, there were six of us. We put the idea to 'her': we asked her opinion, hoping she would be enthusiastic. She said she needed time to respond. "During the weeks when we awaited her response the other four members joined and we finally convinced ourselves of what was possible. We began to finalise plans, at which point she made her decision. "She appeared at one of our penultimate planning meeting and in no uncertain terms announced that she saw no future in our idea and that her sole priority was the location of more compatibles. She saw no value in this project except in that it might fulfil that goal and demanded that we make the search our top priority." "And what then Mistress?" "I have seen her since on many occasions, but that was the first and only time she appeared at a staff meeting. She has never appeared without discussing the search for compatibles. She has only once mentioned the enemy, and that only to discuss their awareness of the search program. I don't believe she had any idea that the enemy was going to attack. She would still have warned us, even if she didn't care about the program." "I see Mistress," said the housekeeper. "If you are thinking that it was she who betrayed us... It's not impossible I suppose, but I don't believe she is so callous. In any event, if she wanted to destroy us, she could do it easily herself. Also, the disruptions have upset the search process - she would never disrupt that. I believe she would have aided us any way she could, had she known of the attack." "I wish I knew more of her and the other staff so I could better judge for myself Mistress," said the housekeeper. "She has not forsaken us, but it does not surprise me that she is avoiding us after recent events," said the blonde, not without a hint of bitterness. "I don't suppose there's much she can do to help us at this point, even if she cared to. I fully expect her to appear in a few months time and expect progress on the search." "She wanted none of this Mistress?" said the housekeeper. "She told us all that any project designed to promote conformity was doomed to failure. We felt at the time, as we still believe, that she had misread our purpose. Conformity was never our objective. Unfortunately, it is not possible to argue with her. We hoped that we might ultimately demonstrate our point. You understand don't you?" said the blonde. "No Mistress, not really," said the housekeeper. The Doll's House Hotel by AmyAmy - Chapter One I was lost somewhere in Germany, or perhaps by then I had crossed into Poland. I'd been driving through featureless forest for hours. Somewhere in here was my uncle's house, but the network of tracks and rough roads that I'd been following since I left the highway had led me astray. I could tell by the darkening sky that I was a long way off course. The petrol gauge was heading towards empty and I was becoming nervous. It was late autumn, and only a light covering of snow hid the tracks, but there was no telling how cold it could get, and I wasn't prepared for a night spent in the car. As the last of the daylight faded I spotted a track, the opening barely visible amongst the camouflage of the featureless trees. It was only because it looked flat and recently maintained that I noticed it. I pulled to a stop and considered my options. I decided to take the chance that this new track would soon end in a house. I hoped it would be inhabited, and that the people would be friendly. It seemed that I had gambled wisely, for at the end of a two-mile trail was a fancy wrought-iron gate in a tall brick wall. It opened automatically as I approached. Beyond lay a wide open car-parking area in front of a large, modern and rather expensive looking hotel complex. I had passed an illuminated sign at the gate, in English, French and German that announced 'Landhaus-HotelcEfeucGitter - Country House Hotel'. By the small number of cars parked here, I inferred that there would certainly be vacancies. I parked as close to the main entrance as I could. I grabbed my overnight bag from the passenger seat and dashed for the entrance. The heavy front doors opened automatically for me and I passed into a small entrance chamber that ended in a pair of double-glazed doors in a heavy stainless steel frame. The doors were frosted glass with an insignia cut into them. They also opened as I approached and I found myself in a typical hotel lobby. The doors clicked closed behind me, shutting out the cold of the entrance chamber, and I took a moment to glance about me. All the usual trimmings were in place: potted plants, sofas with coffee tables, hard- wearing carpet, occasional harsh little halogen spotlights, and in front of me a deeply polished reception desk of dark mahogany. The receptionist greeted me with a smile. She was almost hidden in darkness, and the concealed lights above her desk were all extinguished, if there were in fact any such lights. The overspill from a tiny dim desk light was barely enough to illuminate her face. I spoke first, in my awful German. "Do you have a room available? I'm sorry. I am lost. My car ... needs petrol. Sorry, I am English. I do not speak much German. " She answered only half understanding. "Are you English? American?" Her voice was soft, but I thought her accent was German. "Yes, English," I said quickly, nervously. She was pretty. Her make up was dramatic, her hair dark and cut in a short bob. The skin of her hand seemed very pale and very smooth where the light caught it. She moved it away from the light as she reached under the desktop for something. "Please, speak English. I understand it well, though I do not speak it so perfect. Do not worry," she explained. "I need a room. I got lost in the forest and am running out of petrol. Tomorrow I can phone for someone to pick me up. I just need to stay the night," I said, struggling to keep my English simple and not doing very well at it. "That is no problem, we have rooms. Normally, we take only special bookings. Now is the quiet time for us. You can stay as long as you like. Do you need help with your car or instructions for navigation?" "Just a room for tonight for now. I'll worry about the rest in the morning." "You're welcome," she said. "Here sign these forms. You will need a credit card. Do you have it?" "Yes, I do," I said fumbling one of my cards onto the desktop as she passed me some forms to sign. After the basic formalities, she handed back my card, made some notes on the forms and then shuffled them aside. I looked around the room again as she prepared my key. There wasn't much else to see; just more dark wood panelling, all beautifully clean and polished, with spotlights illuminating the plants. I looked back at the receptionist. I was nervous that I might seem to be staring at her and looked away again. I couldn't help noticing her breasts were very prominent. I tried not to look, but my eyes were drawn back. I couldn't see anything, it was too dark but my imagination made up for the lack of light. Before I had time to get carried away, she handed me a key card. "Your key. You are 1F. Take the door to the left and go up one floor. Take the left door, you will need the key to open the hall. Your room is at the end of the hallway. Put your key in the slot by the door for electrical power. Please call if you need anything. The restaurant is closed for the winter, but you may order room service." I thought that possibly her accent was Dutch, not German after all. I nodded, thanked her and headed to my room. The door to the left opened onto a stairwell, and at the top were four doors, the stairs continued upwards. I was thankful for her directions. Each of the doors had a card lock. I opened my assigned door to see a hallway, filled with similar doors, each with a letter. I checked my key in case I had remembered my room identification wrong. It was a typical hotel key card with no markings: no help there. I thought she had said '1F', so I went to try that door first: the lock and handle were heavy brass, polished to a mirror finish, and green light illuminated when I inserted my key, followed by a soft click. I pulled down on the handle and it moved easily, but the door itself was harder to push; like everything else in the hotel it was strong and heavy. Once I had it moving it swung open easily: the spring was very gently pushing it back. I clicked my key card into the wall slot and concealed lights came on, illuminating the room with a diffuse and subtle glow. My room was generously sized and extremely tidy. One wall was filled with a large triple glazed window that looked out onto the snow-strewn forest. There were no curtains, but there were blinds. I stared at my reflection in the dark glass. The usual hotel paraphernalia was all hidden away. The bed was clean and white, and made with hospital precision. One door opened onto a spacious, pristine white tiled bathroom, another onto a walk-in closet. The closet smelled oddly of chocolate and demanded a second look because there was an untidy pile of bedding on the floor. This was decidedly out of character with the rest of the room, but ultimately not very interesting. The third and final door opened onto a large cupboard where the various hotel extras were hiding, along with a remote control. I picked up the remote and looked around for the television. There was no sign of it. Pressing the power button caused the large, built in, wall-mirror to light up. It was also a television. The default channel was some kind of cooking channel in German. The sight of food reminded me that I was pretty hungry. I muted the sound and dropped the remote on the bed, looking for the phone. A few moments later, without having to resort to my bad German, I had ordered a light meal with spicy soup and crispy dumplings with a slice of New York cheesecake to follow. Hopefully, if the rest of the hotel was anything to go by, they would both be excellent. While waiting for my food I decided to take a shower. The hot water would be just the thing to take the kinks out of my back that the long hours of driving had created. I stripped off and dumped my clothes on the bed. The bathroom contained a huge walk-in shower and I turned it on to be surprised with almost instant hot water. It was perfect. I must have drifted into a dreamland because it could have been an age later when I was startled by a noise from my room. I quickly finished up in the shower, wrapped myself in a towel and headed out. Room service had been and gone, and they had left my food. Without dressing I sat down to eat. When I turned back from my food to look for my clothes, I was distracted by the television. The cooking had been replaced with some kind of strange pornography. I was sure I hadn't changed the channel. I checked, and it was the same number as before. Had this been on when room service entered? In the video, women encased in skin-tight transparent rubber were indulging in bondage play and lesbian sex. It looked so strange that I wanted to look away but I couldn't do it. I'd never seen anything like this before, but the women looked very erotic with the transparent rubber clinging tightly to their skin while they rubbed lube all over their breasts. It was unreal, but completely seized my attention. I sat down on the bed to watch and was soon extremely erect. It wasn't until I had masturbated watching the video that I could look away. The sound was still muted, and I left it that way. I felt oddly guilty. It felt wrong to enjoy masturbating to such a perverted sight. Sure, I'd seen the occasional Internet image of that kind of thing before, but I'd never studied one properly and the video was something different: something much more powerful. I spent the rest of the evening watching more of the videos before falling into an uneasy sleep; I had never been comfortable in hotel beds. * * * * * The next morning I tried to call my uncle on the hotel phone. There was no mobile reception so there was no alternative. There was no answer from his number, and no answering machine. I decided to call the car rental company and see if they could offer me any advice. Their number seemed to be continually busy and I couldn't get through. I gave up, determined to try later and went down to reception to see if they had a map or some other solution that might help me. Reception was still very dark. The only map the receptionist was able to give me wasn't very helpful: one of those simplified diagrams that showed how to reach somewhere from the nearest major road. It suggested distances to the major towns that would be impossible without more petrol. I asked the receptionist if there was any other solution. "Is there a place nearby that I could get petrol?" I asked. "Sorry, one hundred and forty kilometres to nearest auto gasoline." "Is there any petrol here? What do you suggest?" "We have benz... gasoline cans here, someone will find it soon. I will call you in your room. Please wait: let us look after you." "OK. Thanks," I said, relieved that it seemed the problem was solved. I headed back to my room to wait. I was bored, so I looked around the room for something to do. There didn't seem to be anything interesting on the hotel television, it seemed to have nothing but dull domestic programs in German that I couldn't follow. Usually in a hotel, there would be movies in English with subtitles, but I couldn't find any. It seemed peculiar that they put the porn channel on for free and then locked out the ordinary movies. I was opening and closing the cupboard like an idiot, trying to work out if I had missed some instructions for the television somewhere, when it occurred to me to look in the closet again. There was nothing in there but a pile of sheets as far as I could remember, but I hadn't looked properly. It wasn't as if I had anything better to do, so I took another look. There was the heap of bedding I remembered, but on closer inspection it was hiding some boxes, and behind them was a suitcase. The odd smell of chocolate grew stronger. I knew this stuff wasn't mine, but I decided to take a look at it anyway. I expected the suitcase to be empty, or locked, but it wasn't. I pulled it out and opened it. It was filled with a man's clothes, travel guides, the usual tourist accessories. None of it was of any interest, and I didn't want to rifle through the case too obtrusively in case it made my tampering obvious. I had no intent to steal, I was just curious. The only thing of interest was a brochure for the hotel. I couldn't make out the German too well, but it seemed to say something about special services that were tailored or customised somehow for the executive or elite customer. I was soon speculating as to what those services might be, but the brochure itself seemed very evasive on the subject, or perhaps I simply didn't understand its turn of phrase properly. I put it back in the case and stuffed it back in the closet. I pulled out one of the boxes. It was a parcel, as might be sent through the mail, and still had a label addressed to the housekeeper of the hotel attached. It had been opened already, so I pulled off the lid. Inside was a mess of tissue paper wrapping. The chocolate smell was intense. Was this box full of sweets? At first I didn't find anything. For an instant I imagined this was an empty box that china or glass had been sent in, but when I poked deeper into the wrapping, I found there was something else in there. My fingers found something smooth, cool, and soft to the touch. I pulled the paper aside and found a pile of dusty black rubber material. Lifting it out of the box I found it was a garment of some sort. I shook it out. It seemed to be a sort of rubber leotard. It looked very different from the material in the video: this was opaque matte black and dusty. The smell was rubber, not chocolate. I had never imagined it would smell like this. My fingers made marks in the dust as I straightened it out. There was a short black nylon zip at each shoulder, and some sort of shaped arrangement at the bottom that looked like an obscenely large pair of labia. I had never before seen anything like the rubber garment in the box, or the outfits the women wore on the porno channel. I had never imagined I could like women who seemed to have no hair - though that was just an illusion the tight rubber hoods created. As for some of the other things I'd seen, I didn't know what to think. I was coming to the realisation that the strange looking rubber outfits were the most erotic things I'd ever seen. They went far beyond the allure of any plain naked woman, however beautiful she might be. It wasn't easy to cope with: all my life I'd been told things like this were wrong. I knew the right thing to do was to put the rubber thing straight back in the box, clean my finger marks off as best as possible and hide it away in the closet where it came from. Of course, I couldn't do it. The evening of videos had made me very curious to experience the rubber for myself. I'd never imagined it would be so soft. I had been imagining myself feeling that smooth slippery looking stuff on my skin. I had time to kill. I would try on the leotard, then wash it and cover with talc from the bathroom. Nobody would be any the wiser. Sure, it looked like it was designed for a woman, but there ought to be plenty of stretch in it. I gave it a few test pulls to be sure. Soon I had slipped out of my clothes and had pulled the thing up around my legs up to my crotch. There seemed to be a pouch for my balls to fit into, each cupped and held separately. It hurt a little getting them in there, but once in place it was comfortable. Similarly, there seemed to be a pocket for my penis, though it had to be bent back. Apparently, this was a garment for a man after all. It didn't seem slippery at all, and the way it snagged the hairs on my skin was painful. With some serious struggling I was able to pull it up tight around my body. It gripped my waist very tightly but came over the chest more easily, seeming loose at the front. At last I was able to zip the shoulder zips closed. The feeling of confinement was extraordinary, even though my arms and legs were uncovered. My penis was trying to get hard in its pouch. In fact, it was as hard as it could get with it bent backwards under me. I was longing for release and reached my hand down to try and find my penis head beneath the giant moulded 'labia'. I could feel my hand touching it through the rubber, so I lay back on the bed and did my best to rub myself to orgasm. Though I could stimulate it somewhat through the rubber covering, I had cum too many times the night before to climax with this limited sensation. On the other hand, the rubber was exciting me; it felt good to be in its grip. I struggled for release for some time before giving up. I got up to take a look at myself in the mirror. I thought I looked rather silly, dressed as I was in a black rubber leotard with grotesque over-sized labia, and pubic hair sprouting out at the sides. My waist looked somewhat feminine - squeezed in as it was - but my pasty white arms and legs looking very sad compared to the smooth black surface and destroyed any possible illusion. Also, with the dust all over it, it looked like I was wearing an outfit made from a grubby inner tube. I looked at myself in the mirror and felt idiotic, but when I looked away I felt excited, and somewhat erotic. Then the phone rang. It was reception: they were ready to help me fill up my car. I said I would be down in a minute. As I put down the phone I was filled with panic. Quickly, I went to pull off the outfit. Somehow I'd managed to trap the rubber flap into one of the shoulder zips and I couldn't get it open. I wrenched at it in panic and the tab snapped off the zip. There was no way I could get the thing off with only one shoulder undone, not without tearing it, if I was even strong enough. The only thing to do was to do up the zip on the other shoulder and put my clothes on over it. I would invent some story later, maybe offer to pay for the loss over the phone once I was gone. Or perhaps the loss wouldn't be noticed until long after other occupants had been through the room. Whatever the solution, I would work it out once I was out of the hotel. I got dressed and hoped that my normal clothes would mask the squeaking of the leotard. This seemed to be the case, as long as I was careful how I moved. "Please move your car into the underground employee parking. I will open the parking door for you," said the receptionist. I stood well away from her so it would be harder for her to hear me squeaking. Hopefully, my heavy outdoor coat would cover most of it. As I stepped out into the freezing air, I realised it was snowing heavily, and had been for some time. The snow in the high walled car park was already deep, and it would be difficult to move my car, even with the chains on. There was no way I could drive anywhere today. I would have to wait for the snow to stop, and the road to be cleared, or packed down by a heavy vehicle with enough ground clearance. It was with difficulty that I moved my car the few hundred meters around the corner and down into the 'employee parking' area. This was an underground garage that contained almost two dozen cars. Most of them were much more luxurious than my basic rental Passat; executive BMW and Mercedes surrounded me. There were a couple of Porches, and some sports cars I couldn't name. Whatever was going on, the staff here were well paid. I waited a while in the car, but nobody arrived to show me where the petrol cans were. The garage door had already closed, and I wandered around the garage looking for petrol, or the way out. I found the way out first. Behind a curtain of clear plastic strips was (the by now obligatory) heavy door leading to a stairwell. Unlike elsewhere, these were steel steps with non-slip rubber coverings. A hallway at the top took me past anonymous locked doors and eventually emerged in the lobby. The receptionist turned to me with that smile. "Did you get gasoline?" she asked. "Uh no. Was somebody supposed to come down and meet me?" "Yes. There should have been," she said. "Anyway, it's snowing really hard. I can't leave," I said weakly. "That's bad. You will stay another night then?" "I think so. Not much alternative," I said. "That is true," she said. I was wincing at my terrible conversation as I headed back to my room. If I intended to chat up the receptionist I'd need to do a bit better than that. The squeaking beneath my clothes reminded me that at least I'd have some more time to work on the stuck zip. Maybe I could get some scissors or tools to release it. I cursed myself for not looking for something while I was down in the garage. I doubted I could even find my way back there now, never mind deal with all the locks. Perhaps there was something useful in the room I'd missed. I hadn't been looking for that kind of thing before. There was nothing. I'd probably have to wait until lunch and I could try my cutlery. In desperation, I looked properly through the suitcase in the hope of finding something, but it was devoid of sharp metal objects. Frustrated, I decided to see what was in the other boxes. They all contained rubber clothing, if you could call it that. By the time I'd checked most of them, I'd found a pair of tights (crotchless of course), a skirt, some kind of laced and buckled garment I supposed must be a corset, long sleeved gloves, an open faced hood with shoulders and arm holes that zipped in the back, another hood with a mix of clear and black rubber and a pair of insanely high heeled rubber boots with endless lacing. There were some other items I'd rejected, and some smaller boxes I hadn't looked in. After my mishap with the leotard I decided that if I were to try them on I would leave it until late at night, when there was no chance of being disturbed. It did occur to me that it was probably pretty stupid to try them on at all, particularly as they were women's clothes, but I was just so curious. This would probably be my only chance to do such a thing, and I might as well make the best of my misfortune with the snow. For lunch I ordered a steak, to be sure of a decent knife, and then added some innocent stationary to my request. The restaurant would be closed all winter and I would be eating alone. I wondered if I was currently the only gust. I hadn't seen anyone else, but then again, I hadn't really had the chance to meet anyone. Room service delivered lunch, and the stationary with exact timing and perfect efficiency. I heard a knock on the door, and by the time I had it open, the tray was waiting there for me. Clearly, they didn't seem to need a tip. I ate my steak, and then set about the troublesome zip. I managed to free it after inflicting just a few small cuts on myself. I fashioned a replacement tag out of a paper clip. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. Without something to lift it, the zip head would lock in place, so I needed to do this to open the zip properly. With great relief I got the rubber thing off me. It made a terrible noise. It had been comparatively easy to get it on, but now it was stuck to me with sweat, and every time I pulled it free it made a loud noise. I was sure someone would hear. If they heard me they didn't come running in to accuse me of perversions, or theft, or vandalism, or all the things I was irrationally afraid of. Instead, after I endured the terrible pain of removing my balls from the little compartments, I was left with a sweaty wet mess of black rubber. I was equally covered in a mess of sweat and talc. A shower was essential, and I brought the leotard into the shower and washed that too. I now had nothing to do until my next meal. I was so bored that I found myself watching a program I could barely understand that seemed to be the most boring thing on earth. It seemed to be an instructional video for hotel staff, showing how to collect laundry and make up beds. An even more tedious program on the care, use and maintenance of floor polishing machines replaced it. By the time I'd ordered dinner and eaten it, the programming had improved a little. It looked like an old, Italian lesbian vampire film from the seventies. It was in Italian, which I didn't speak at all, and was subtitled in German, which I couldn't read at that speed. It didn't matter because the dialogue was plainly irrelevant nonsense. By the time the film was over, I figured it was safe enough to get the boxes out of the closet. Lesbian, rubber porn had resumed on the television. This seemed even stranger than before, with shiny black clad ladies playing with gas masks and all kinds of things that pumped up. I didn't follow it properly, as I had my own toys to play with. First I put on the crotchless tights, which were already talc covered inside, and had no hazardous zips. They were easy enough to get on, and felt very strange. The most peculiar feeling was in my feet, which were not used to being hugged so tightly by clothing. The leotard had dried and stuck to itself, but I peeled it apart. Covering myself in talc I was able to slide into it once again. The hardest part was probably getting my now erect penis into place. It didn't want to fit in its special pouch, and it wouldn't go down, so eventually I had to resort to my preferred method of getting it soft. When I was done masturbating, I was eventually able to get it properly positioned, and the slippery semen on it helped lubricate it on its way in. Sorting through the clothes, I decided that the next thing I should put on was the boots. I was quite surprised when my feet slid into them, but I was only a size 40, so that wasn't inconceivable. They forced my already compressed toes out in a point. I imagined standing in them would be impossible, but I didn't have to stand. I leaned down and fastened the laces. Fortunately, once the old fashioned eyelets were laced tightly around the foot, there were speed- lacing hooks for most of the way up my thigh. I pulled them nice and tight and tied them off with a bow. Just as an experiment, I tried standing in the boots. The toe points were slightly flattened, and with the support of the lacing, all the weight wasn't pressed directly onto my toes. I could stand, but it wasn't comfortable, it was very tiring, and hard to balance. The spiked heels didn't help at all. I felt idiotic because I had to stick my bottom out, bend my knees a little and lean forward to stay upright without holding on to something. I sat back on the bed. My plan suggested that the next thing should be the black rubber mask with the transparent face. It had no zipper, and was made of very thin rubber. I was able to stretch it over my head without much effort. The face was clear rubber with eyeholes and a hole at the nostrils for breathing. The mouth didn't open, but instead had bright red lips that formed an enigmatic smile. They were probably plastic, and covered my mouth, concealing it. The rest of the mask was opaque black. I couldn't see what I looked like, but I felt hot and enclosed, already slightly claustrophobic. I was restricted to breathing through my nose, and with the mask clinging tightly to my head I could barely open my mouth anyway. I still had the hood to go. I slipped my arms through the holes and pulled it up over my face. Reaching back behind my head I pulled down the zip and the pressure on my head, jaw and neck increased. I now felt really enclosed. My breath hissed so noisily through my nostrils that I was afraid that people in the corridor could hear it. I now had to choose between the corset and skirt as the next item. The skirt seemed like it would be the easiest. I couldn't stand to step into it, so I lay down on the bed and pulled it carefully over my feet and the sharp spiked heels, and then up to my hips. It took me a while to work it into place as it tended to stick to the tights. Eventually, I was able to begin tugging the zip up. It flared slightly from the knees down, which was not far above where the zip began. As the zip pulled up, my knees were squeezed tight together, followed by my thighs. It zipped all the way up to the base of my rib cage, squeezing in my waist. My knees had just an inch or two of movement, and my ankles considerably more, perhaps just short of a foot. The corset would be next. I carefully swung my legs over and sat on the edge of the bed. I opened it out, unhooked it and pulled it around my back so that the metal closures met in front of me. I held it closed with one hand and hooked the shoulder straps over my shoulders with the other. Then I hooked the top closure together. Once I had the first in place the rest followed easily and it sat loosely on my hips. There was a nylon zip to pull up that closed a flap over the hooks in front, concealing any metal. I now had to tighten the laces. I had neither the desire nor the patience to pull the laces tight, but I got the slack out of them and then pulled, and to my surprise the corset closed up quite easily. I could feel more pressure on my waist and stomach, but it wasn't as uncomfortable as I had expected. I pulled a little more as it was still easy to tighten, and it began to feel uncomfortable. That seemed a good place to stop. I tied off the laces with a single knot. There was a lot of lace left. I wound it around my waist and tied a bow in the front. I went to take a deep breath and found I couldn't. It didn't hurt, there was just the firm pressure pressing against my diaphragm muscles. I could make it stretch if I tried really hard and tensed up, which produced a pleasant feeling of stretching against pressure. It was too tiring to breathe like that so I had to resort to upper chest breathing, which felt strange. Already short of breath as a result of only breathing through my nose, and from my exertions I felt light-headed. I lay back and the spots before my eyes began to fade. I wanted to sigh with relief, but I had to concentrate on my breathing. I still had the shoulder straps to tighten. They cinched up easily with a kind of roller buckle made of tough black plastic. The corset had a sort of built-in breast enhancement at the front, and though I had no breasts it created the impression that I did. I squeezed one of the small mounds. It felt soft and padded between my fingers. It felt like a gel pad sandwiched in the rubber layers. It was quite subtle and unobtrusive. I couldn't really tell if it looked realistic, but it was quite peculiar looking down at the little breasts. They even seemed to have nipples, poking hard at the rubber. I rubbed at them, but felt nothing. My finishing touch would be the gloves. They were far harder to get on than I expected. I tried rolling them up, but that made them too hard to get over my hands. Eventually I came up with a sort of compromise where I turned only the sleeve part of the glove inside out. I then donned the glove and then slowly inched the rubber sleeve up my arm. There was actually a little suspender and catch at the end of the sleeve that hooked up into the shoulder of the hood to stop it falling down. The next glove was more difficult because I had to grip it with rubber covered fingers. Finally I hooked the second suspender into place. At last I was dressed. I sat very still, concentrating on the sensation. Tight rubber was pressing on me from every direction. My every breath smelled of rubber. My chest heaved awkwardly as I struggled to learn a new way of breathing. My legs were deliciously tight at the thighs. My penis was straining painfully in its pocket, already hard again. I went to touch it, but the multiple layers of rubber denied any satisfactory sensation. I seemed to have miscalculated in that respect. Denied that gratification I wondered if I could stand up and inspect myself in the mirror. I ended up crawling slowly, crouched, leaning forward but not leaning on my knees. It was the fastest way to move safely. I used my hands for balance, but the movement of my feet for motion. Supporting myself with the wall I stood up in front of the mirror and edged ever so slowly backwards. I was astonished at what I saw. Concealed under the rubber could have been a figure of either gender, but with the small waist, pert, tightly squeezed breasts and pouting red lips, the outward appearance was all female. My hips were a little narrow, but apart from that, it was hard to tell anything amiss. I was standing with my bottom thrust back, bent slightly at the knees and my hands waving around weakly for balance as my chest heaved out of the corset. I not only looked female; I looked wanton and lustful. I was a total rubber slut. I couldn't help thinking of the women in the videos. I crawled back to the bed and spent hours watching the shiny black clad women in their masks inserting huge inflatable dildos into every orifice. I wanted to cum even more desperately than they did. I wanted to be them. Eventually I came, even though I couldn't touch myself: I was so excited. Exhausted, I lay there for a long time, unable to even feel where the semen had dribbled. I couldn't separate it from the sweat. It took a long time to get all the clothes off again, but at least they came off without any disasters, and nothing got stuck. I now felt more confident. I washed everything in the shower, towelled it dry and covered it in talc before restoring it all carefully to the correct boxes. Finally, I showered and collapsed into bed. I slept in late. The next day it was still snowing. Again I had no luck with the phones. I arranged to stay another night, and then spent the whole day waiting. I watched some more tedious instructional videos on and off to relieve the boredom. At last, when it was late enough I repeated the whole dressing up game. Tonight the porno women were sealing people into inflatable rubber coffins and balls, tying each other up with ropes and using metal bars and straps to spread and restrain. I came twice without being able to properly touch myself, just by rubbing my thighs against my crotch as best I could. I wanted more. The Doll's House Hotel by AmyAmy - Chapter Two In the morning I headed down to reception, my head still full of memories from the night before. I could think of nothing else but sex and tight, shiny rubber. Reality was intent on rearranging my priorities. Standing in front of the receptionist's desk, I felt nervous and somehow inadequate. Once again, she fixed me with that smile. All I could think was that she knew I was staring at her breasts. As always, she had the lights off above her, with only the tiny desk lamp illuminating her face. I could hardly see her breasts in the dim light, but I could see enough. My imagination did the rest, perhaps too well. "Good morning," she said. "Good morning," I echoed. I was thankful for the darkness as it hid my embarrassment at my feeble reply. "I'm sorry to speak this to you, but on the telephone we have had a problem with your credit card," she said. Her slight accent and the odd timing of her words made everything sound very serious. "Oh. What problem? I'm sure it's nothing more than an error," I said, trying to sound confident, but I wasn't sure. "There is a stop on your card. This is a problem regarding funds for payment of your bill... Ongoing," She added disjointedly. "I see. Perhaps I need to call the card-company and sort this out? Is that alright?" I said despondently. Not only was I a dork, but I was a dork who couldn't pay his bills: not too impressive. "Yes, please do. Our urge is always to take care of our guests," she said. I guessed she meant that their mission statement was always to put their guest's comfort first, but her English wasn't quite there. "Can you tell me how much is owing?" I asked, wondering if I had enough cash to cover it. "Yes, just one moment please," she said. She tapped away on a keyboard hidden beneath the desktop. I waited, still nervous. I wanted to touch those breasts beneath their tight black restraining jumper. Then she named a sum that got my full attention. It was obviously a mistake, no hotel could charge that much for just a few days - or if it tried, it would certainly be illegal, particularly in my own unfortunate situation. After all, I didn't choose to visit this place deliberately. "Are you sure that's correct?" I asked. "I mean, you can't possibly charge that much for just three nights. Does your system think I was calling long distance for all of that time or something?" She studied me seriously, "It is correct. We do not make mistakes. The price is necessary for the special services we charge here." "What services? I haven't had anything special, a few meals and a couple of local calls maybe. What's going on here?" I couldn't believe how strange this all was. I was angry, but the peculiarity of it all was making me somewhat afraid too. "Really? I think you have. You cannot pay can you? That is correct?" she sounded even more serious than her usual dour tone. I was stuck here. What could I do? I sighed and nodded. "You are correct. There isn't even any point discussing that sum with my credit card company. I'm not at all surprised they refused it. It doesn't seem reasonable though. Whatever your normal charges, I didn't end up here out of choice. It's extortion to charge me so much when I'm stuck here because of the snow: it's outrageous. And as for special services, I don't know what you're talking about." "Really?" she said again. "I think you are not admitting to something." I shrugged, "You're talking in riddles? Anyway, what do you intend? You can't mean to throw me out: they'd be digging out my frozen corpse when the snowplough comes." "Of course," she said, almost angry. "We are not murderers! No, we take very seriously the care of all that come here. Always full attention is given." She paused, regaining her composure. "You accept then that you cannot, or will not pay?" "I suppose I must, but I don't accept that your charge is fair or reasonable, and can't possibly be legal," I said as firmly as I could muster. I hoped she couldn't see my sweat. "It is fixed then, this will be your outcome: you will be employed here until all your debts are finished. We will set terms. You will sign a binding contract," she said firmly. It sounded a lot like an order. "Um, I don't know about this. It doesn't sound very fair?" She didn't let me finish. I was going to say it wasn't legal either. No contract signed under duress could stand. "No! There will be no argument. You will do this easily or we will make it a shock for you. Do not imagine there is any alternative. There is no respect for lazy slackers who do not pay their bills here." "You can't make me do this. Are you threatening me?" I didn't like the sound of any of this. Now she was just being rude. My whole body was trembling. I didn't know if it was anger or fear. I gripped the edge of the desk to try and conceal it. "Here, sign," she said, pushing papers in front of me. "Do you agree? Or shall I call for help?" "Um, what?" I said, stalling, my eyes staring at the papers but taking in nothing. It was all written in incomprehensible legal German anyway. "Make your decision. You have been long enough. It will be better for you if we must not compel you," she hesitated, then whispered, "It is best to not make trouble. If not for the snow I would say run now, take your chances." The way she looked at me, she seemed unafraid, but the terror in her whisper was unarguable. "What? What do you mean?" I stalled. "Sign!" She barked loudly, then whispering, "I am trying to help you, it is best not to fight them. Please, this is all I can do. If they know I helped you I will be punished." There was something in her frightened whisper that decided it for me. Whatever they intended, it would probably go easier for now if I signed the papers. Once the weather had changed for the better and I could get out of here I could reassess things. "OK. I'll sign. Show me where," I sighed. "Here... Here... Here..." She flipped through the paperwork. "Remember, you are now most inferior employee: you must do as you are told. You must act immediately. You must work hard. If you fail you will be punished." "What do you mean punished?" I said. "You must try hard. Try hard not to discover punishments," she said, and for an instant I saw an expression on her face, and a sort of movement of her head that conveyed the awfulness of the threatened punishment to me. I knew I would do a great deal to avoid it. A few seconds of silence passed between us. I shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. "Give me your key," she eventually demanded. I handed over the key card. She typed some things into the computer, and a few moments later she handed the key back to me. "You are now Twenty-two. This is your identification. The way to your room is through the doorway behind me. Follow the corridor. Go down the stairs. Go through the door in front of you. Your room is at the corridor end." She looked at her screen again, then back at me. "You are to now go to your room Twenty-two. Go there and wait until you are collected. Do not do anything else that you have not been told to do." I hesitated. She gave me a look that clearly meant "Get moving before you get in trouble." So I hurried off, exactly as she instructed. I couldn't think clearly. I was in a sort of panic. The situation had turned from strange to downright scary. I had no idea what I had got myself into, but I felt sure that it couldn't be good. I knew there had to be a way out of this, but I couldn't focus my thoughts to think of it because my nerves were so rattled. Unable to make a better plan, I followed instructions. My card opened the mahogany-panelled door behind the receptionist and admitted me to a dimly lit corridor with a spotless white tiled floor. The doors here were stainless steel, and the effect was forbidding and ominous. The atmosphere seemed overly warm and humid despite metal air conditioning vents in the ceiling. I descended the stairs with their non-slip rubber surface, and opened the heavy stainless steel door that was facing me with my key card. My trepidation was increasing, but behind the door was just another corridor like the first I had entered. The concealed lights were set very low and I had to examine each door carefully to determine which of them was Twenty-two. The door opened to my key card in almost exactly the same way as my old room's door. The room amounted to a tiny cell about two metres by two and a half metres. A bed/bench extended smoothly from the opposite wall. There appeared to be some cupboard doors below, allowing access to a storage space. The walls and the bench were covered with thick white rubberised paint. The floor had the same spotless white tiles of the hallway, with the addition of a drainage grille set in the centre of the room. Light came from a square panel set into a ceiling that was otherwise identical to the walls. I pulled the door closed behind me with a loud click and sat down on the bench to wait. The surface of the bench was softer than I expected. I was almost looking forward to meeting somebody new, as it felt like I'd been alone now for several days, apart from a few moments with the receptionist. Now that I had a chance to think. I tried to calm myself and take stock of my situation. I didn't like the look of this tiny bare room at all. There was no way I would be staying here, that was certain. I bolstered my confidence by thinking that I was sure to get out of this soon: it was all a mistake, or the hotel management were acting illegally and their claims would be void. That last thought worried me though: if the management were prepared to act illegally regarding the bill, then they might be prepared to do other illegal things. I became afraid they had something sinister in mind, and that I might disappear, never to be seen again. I imagined I might sit for some significant length of time before someone came to deal with me. Instead it was a matter of minutes before that happened. I had barely begun to control my panic and was still extremely flustered and nervous. I didn't know what I expected to see when the door opened. It was almost inevitable that the white garbed figure that was framed there would come as some kind of surprise. She was tall, dressed in a long, medical styled white coat and her coal black hair was fastened back in a severe bun. I stood up as she entered, but she was still a good six inches taller than I was. "Welcome to our house Number Twenty-two. I am Number Three. You may call me 'Doctor' or 'Mistress'. No other form of address is appropriate. I will speak English to you for now, as I understand that you do not speak much German. I will warn you now that I do not look kindly on laziness or tolerate a lack of appropriate enthusiasm. However, I am a reasonable person, and I do not expect miracles. Just follow my instructions promptly and accurately and you will begin to earn my appreciation. I do not expect you to be clever, but I do expect you to be obedient. Do you understand?" "Um, you know I'm not sure I should really be here... Erm, well, I think there's been some sort of mistake," I mumbled. Doctor Three did not like this at all and the force of her angry cry was enough to make me step back. I almost stumbled as I bumped into the edge of the bench. "No! It seems you do not understand. I am to be addressed correctly and you are to answer only yes or no. I did not ask you to be sure or to think. Do not imagine you are here by mistake. We do not make mistakes. You are supposed to be here and you are here." She paused for a minute only to blast out a deafening, "Now! Do you understand?" The look on her face was furious. She had got herself quite worked up. I was terrified. I had no idea what might happen or what she might do next. "Sorry," I mumbled, "umm... Doctor. Yes. I understand." "Good," she said, and smiled coldly, pausing for effect. "Now follow me." With the heels of her white stiletto boots clicking rhythmically against the tiles, she led me through a maze of doors and corridors, much like the others I had seen. The doors opened for her without a card, though I had no idea how this worked. We arrived in a huge room that looked like some kind of hospital built by someone with a fetish for spotless white tiles. Stainless steel trolleys were pushed against the walls; some filled with trays of instruments. All kinds of complex looking medical apparatus was positioned around the room. We were in a kind of spacious glass cubicle that separated us from all that, while allowing people in the room to look in on us. In the centre of this cubicle was an examining table of sorts, which looked rather complicated. "Remove your clothes and push them through that hatch into the bin," said the Doctor. She gestured to a hole in the clear wall that was about six inches across. On the other side of the wall a black plastic tub was positioned to receive anything pushed through the hole. I began to ask if this was really necessary, and then stopped myself. I could tell by her expression that this would not be a wise course of action. I felt like a coward, but there was something in the demeanour of the Doctor that made me instantly fearful of inciting her anger. Blushing with embarrassment and staring determinedly at the floor I stripped down to my underpants and pushed my clothes through the hole as she had asked. I hesitated at the last step. Surely, she didn't intend for me to be completely naked? The Doctor made a small impatient sound, and I quickly yanked off the pants and stuffed them through the hole. I stood up straight, though my eyes were still focussed on the floor. I didn't know what to do with my hands. My arms hung awkwardly at my sides. At that point the door opened. I let out a small squeak of surprise. Framed in the doorway and smirking at my discomfort was a nurse. At least, she was dressed somewhat along the lines of a nurse. She wore a short, pale green dress that came to just above her knees. It was short sleeved and had white cuffs and collar. A white nurse's cap decorated her pageboy hair. My eyes dropped down, past her curvaceous cleavage to look at her flat white shoes. She closed the door behind her. Something seemed wrong about her outfit, and the Doctor's too. I couldn't figure out what it was. They didn't give me much time for introspection. It can be tricky to think things through when you are naked in front of two strange and very beautiful women. "Your timing is perfect Nurse Five," said the Doctor. "You can trim Number Twenty-two's head." "Sit there," ordered the Doctor, pointing to a low stool. It was far too small, but I squatted down on it anyway, feeling very foolish. My eyes were now level with Nurse Five's crotch. She had collected a set of electric clippers from the examining table, and now came up behind me. I glanced around to look at her and she gently steered my head back so I was looking forward. She was wearing rubber medical gloves. I could feel the warmth of her hands through the thin latex. The smell of it was very powerful. Now I knew what had seemed wrong, it had been right there in front of me: both she and the Doctor were wearing rubber clothes. Their outfit's looked almost normal, but they weren't. "Hold still," said Nurse Five. She methodically and remorselessly trimmed my hair down to a stubble with the clippers. It was almost a pleasant sensation, but I felt very small and childish, sitting hunched up on the little stool. My hair hadn't been long before. Now it was just a scattering of dark clumps on the otherwise spotless white tiles. I felt somewhat cooler without my hair. I was thankful for the warmth of the room now, though the humidity was still more than I preferred. I had a temptation to rub my head, but I was afraid to move without permission. "Wash in here," said Nurse Five, walking over to a shower stall in the corner of the glass cubicle. A glass panel had been added to keep the water from splashing all over, with the inner corners of the cube making the other two walls of the stall. There was no door, and the entire floor of the shower was a drainage grille. I walked into it and paused, looking for some taps or a means to start the water. There was nothing but the showerhead above me. Nurse Five passed me a bottle of thick white shampoo. It smelled foul and medicinal. "Cover yourself in the soap thoroughly. Do not miss any part, especially on your face or head. Keep your eyes tightly closed or it will burn," said the nurse. I wanted to complain and stop all this, but it was far too late for that. I was now naked and shaved in a shower stall. This really didn't seem like a good time to argue. Nonetheless, I hesitated for a moment. It must have seemed like too much of a delay to the impatient nurse. "Now! Hurry up!" Demanded the nurse. She wasn't as frightening as the Doctor, but I knew that if I didn't obey I would soon have her to answer to as well. I quickly started smothering myself in the stuff from the bottle. After a short while it started to itch uncomfortably. By the time I had covered myself, the more sensitive parts of my skin felt like they were burning. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't see: I had my eyes screwed tight shut, and I knew that I certainly didn't want this foul stuff getting into them. I felt terribly vulnerable. I wanted to say something. I wanted to explain how this stuff was burning me. I didn't know how to address the nurse, and I knew the Doctor would not want to hear me. I felt so helpless that I began to whimper. It was all I could do to communicate my pain. After what seemed like an eternity, I felt a gloved hand taking the bottle from me. In its place I was given a thick, flat piece of rubber with one sharp edge. "Now, scrape off all your hair as you rinse under the shower," said Nurse Five. She turned on the shower, and I gave a sigh of relief as the blast of hot water hit me. At last I could start getting this horrible goo off my body. It had thickened in contact with the air, and the scraper was very useful for removing it. I did my head, eyes and face first. All my bodily hair came away too as I scraped off the depilatory. As I rinsed away the last of it, I finally dared to open my eyes and could see I was completely hairless. My skin felt raw and very sore, though there were no visible signs of burning. The more sensitive skin around my face, genitals, and anus were the most painful. The nurse stopped the water and handed me a rough white towel. I was so thankful for it. As I wiped my face dry, I realised that I must no longer have any eyebrows. I no longer even had eyelashes: everything was gone. I felt more naked than I ever had before in my life. It's hard to explain what it feels like to be so bald, hairless and unnatural. Even a baby has fine hair on the body, but I had nothing. Once I was dry, I found that the Doctor's attention was on me once again. As Nurse Five took the towel from me, the Doctor began to speak. "It is necessary to make sure that you are properly clean in all respects. We ensure proper hygiene at all times here for the benefit of all staff and guests," she recited. I had no idea what she intended next. How could I get any cleaner? I'd just come from the harshest shower I'd ever experienced. Surely there was nothing else? "You will now have further cleansing and examination. Lie on the table face up, and place your arms and legs in the rests provided," ordered the Doctor. In a daze, I clambered onto the table. It was padded, but even the padding was unyielding and cold to the touch. The positions for my arms and legs were clearly marked. My feet hooked into stirrups. Together, the Doctor and Nurse Five secured my wrists in place with padded Velcro restraints before I had even realised it. I gasped in fear. Silently they secured my ankles with similar straps. I was spread completely helpless on the cold examining table. Nurse Five released a lever on the table, and swung my legs apart. The end of my body was hanging off the edge of the table, and there was a recess that gave clear access to my bottom, which was now feeling very exposed. Naked, bald, strapped in position on this cold, unyielding table, with my most private parts exposed to scrutiny I felt utterly helpless and insignificant. That I was so blatantly on display to two women was making me very embarrassed. I flushed a bright red. I had no idea where to look. I had no idea what to think. I just wanted to crawl away and hide in a dark place, but I was fixed under harsh bright lights that stripped everything bare. What disturbed me the most, and what made me the most shameful, was that in some way I was enjoying this. Not only had I co-operated in it without complaint, I was experiencing a powerful sensation of excitement. It was incredibly thrilling to put myself in the power of these two rubber clad medical stuff. What is more, it was a forbidden thrill. The mixture of guilt and rising excitement was overwhelming. That I had put myself in a position where I could no longer escape or back out made it all the more powerful. Glancing down I saw some kind of readout th