Chapter 30 – The B & B & B
It took weeks to plan the wedding. Paula and I would have just gone down to the courthouse and done the deed. But it was a couple of weeks before Paula was healed up enough that she could walk and sit without wincing. Maggie had apparently called Dr. Ana and asked her to drop by, filling her in on the whole story. Ana didn’t say a thing, but she did give me a pretty evil look when she first saw Paula’s naked breasts. A tube of antibiotic ointment and suggestion of some long warm baths followed.
By the time Paula was ready, it seemed like everyone had gotten in the act. Reese had talked to the local clergy, who, since we weren’t members of their faith, declined to marry us. When the Mayor found out we were talking about a court wedding he was hurt – who knew that the mayor was allowed to officiate weddings? When his wife Una found out a wedding was probably going to happen in the mayor’s office, she started making plans for decorations and flowers. Heather would have been hurt if Paula hadn’t allowed her to design and sew a gown. Well, you get the idea, everybody got involved whether we asked them or not.
Before long half the town was coming to a big civil ceremony in the town hall followed by a reception and dinner outside in the town square. Even the slut didn’t throw a fit at attending in a dress with no restraints. Heather served as the flower girl, Maggie as the maid of honor and Reese and Lucija as bridesmaids. Borislav filmed the whole ceremony for us. Madam Cosecu organized some women of the town to cook and serve the dinner.
Paula and I said, “I do.” It was all lovely.
Starting before the wedding, Paula and I had started discussing plans.
“I want to stay here,” Paula said emphatically, “this is our home now.”
“I don’t see why we wouldn’t, my company, OUR company, operates quite well from here, friends are here, I, WE own the Chateau and it’s fixed up enough now to be very livable.”
“Yes, but things are changing.” Paula observed.
“I know,” I said, “but change is inevitable. Tim has moved on.”
“Thank goodness,” Paula laughed.
“Mal and Reese are headed back to England soon. Lucija will finish university in a few years.” I pointed out.
“But they will always be friends!” Paula said. “And what about Heather? We’ve all but addicted her to being our slut / slave / prisoner.”
“I think,” I observed, “that we must consider Heather as ours now. I know that actual ownership of humans isn’t a thing anymore but at this point, releasing her into the wild would be just cruel.”
“It’s like having a child. Or a puppy. I’m not sure which," Paula said.
“Well,” I laughed, “I started it, so I guess I, WE have to own her.”
“Here’s a thought.” Paula had obviously been thinking a good bit about what she was about to spring on me. “What if we turn the Chateau into a Bed and Breakfast? I love to cook. Maggie and Cradic would probably help, the warehouse doesn’t keep them all that busy. We could turn Heather into a maid. We have lots of bedrooms. It would be romantic.”
“That sounds like a lot of work and besides, Heather wouldn’t want to come upstairs if she had to wear clothes and act normal around guests.
“Well, I was thinking,” Paula started. Over the coming years I would learn to dread that opening. “How about a B & B & B?”
“A what?” I asked, confused.
“A Bed and Breakfast and Bondage.”
I got quiet for a minute, so Paula jumped in, “Look, if you don’t like it, it’s fine, the final decision is yours after all.”
“So, you keep telling me!” I smiled.
She suddenly got a very serious look on her face, “Don’t ever joke about that. Ever. Or I might have to insist that you renew your marriage vows! The final decision IS YOURS.”
We both knew what she meant by ‘renewing marriage vows.’
Over the next few days, Maggie, Cal, Paula, and I brainstormed for hours. Then divided up the tasks and did weeks of research into regulations, laws, requirements. Then months of construction during which we REALLY missed Mal. I expected Lucija would object to spending so much of the company’s profits on the B&B&B but she was extremely supportive and responded by creating more products, more distribution and even more revenue. Her attitude was that it was all part of the “brand.”
I had been dreading telling Heather. In those early months of her captivity, her fetish had been entirely focused on being locked away and kept safe and secure. She would almost panic if she wasn’t kept restrained or if someone suggested she go upstairs. But as time marched on, the slut evolved. The boredom was overwhelming. She remained a bondage freak, wanting to be completely controlled and secured every second of the day. But she came to accept and need sex and pain, and she found fulfillment in service.
Heather, it turns out, actually liked cleaning toilets, naked, on her knees, in chains. So, the slut sewed herself an absolutely obscene French Maid’s outfit and became quite adept at cleaning rooms, making beds, serving meals, washing dishes all in a gleaming and quite heavy set of cuffs chains. On the front of her uniform, she embroidered “House slut” and under that, as a title, “Free Use Slave” and under that “No Orgasm Allowed” in red.
When I first saw the embroidery name-tag I was concerned. “Slut, did you ask permission to put that on your uniform?”
“No sir, but that is my position, isn’t it?” she asked quietly with her head down.
“Conversation on. I’m not sure I’m comfortable labeling you ‘free use’ to all our guests.” I stated.
“But sir, I’m sure you wouldn’t accept anyone as a guest that you hadn’t checked out. And I trust that you, Paula, Maggie and Cradic will protect me,” she said firmly.
“We can’t watch every second, what if someone really hurts you?” I asked.
“Do you think that will happen very often?” the slut said with a seductive smile, then added, “I’m more worried that someone will fuck me to an orgasm without permission. I assume you’ll brief all guests about my restrictions, sir.”
I just shook my head and walked away, saying over my shoulder, “Conversation off.”
Before renovations got under way, Mal and Reese moved out. We needed to renovate their bedroom. Plus, I think Mal was concerned that if he started helping with the renovations he would never leave.
We had a big farewell party, but staying true to our first few nights together, we had pizza and beer! There were tearful goodbyes and the next morning they left for the airport before the rest of us were up. Mal and Reese left a note, “We didn’t want to go through another round of goodbyes, so we just slipped out. Thanks for everything and stay in touch. We will come visit some, promise. Mal and Reese.”
Paula and I fell into an interesting ritual about two weeks after the wedding. We were discussing getting another vehicle. Neither of us thought the Land Rover was appropriate or large enough to pick up clients from the airport or train station. Paula was in favor of a full-blown Lincoln Limo. I didn’t want to spend that much money or have something that unwieldy. I was leaning towards a large SUV with three rows of seats. I had made my views pretty plain but Paula was still ‘debating’ long after she should have stopped. Then I noticed she was slyly taking sideways glances at me when she thought I wasn’t looking.
I realized pretty quickly what she was doing, I’m no dummy, she was testing me.
“Stand up!” I said suddenly in my best ‘domly’ voice.
“What?” she said.
“Take your dress off, now!” I replied.
She smiled and pulled it off in one motion over her head. One could have assumed, up to this point, that Reese was expecting sex, but I suspected the bare hit of a smile conveyed something else. She also didn’t argue or protest when I pointed to the floor and ordered “Lay on your belly.”
That surprised her, but she complied without comment. What followed was total improvisation on my part. I’m not sure where it came from, but I knew what Reese needed.
I put my tennis shoe right on her neck and transferred about ½ my weight to press down. “I value your opinion, but this debate was over several minutes ago. I think you need a reminder of who’s boot you’re under.”
And with that I whipped the one inch leather belt out of my blue jeans in a dramatic motion. She couldn’t see what I did but she could hear that unmistakable sound. Aiming almost straight down, I flicked the very end of the belt across her ass.
Crack.
Paula just grunted.
“Who makes the decisions in this marriage?” I asked.
“You do love.”
Crack.
“What kind of vehicle are we getting?” I asked.
“An SUV.”
Crack.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’ve decided.”
Crack.
“Did you get a fair chance to give your opinions on the issue?” I asked.
“Yes Heath.”
Crack.
“Then why did you keep arguing?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
CRACK.
“DAMN that hurt!” Paula started to put her hands on her ass. I pushed down harder on her neck to indicate that would be a bad idea. I noticed that the last stroke had left a nasty welt.
“Well, then I guess I’ll just have to keep using this belt until you figure it out and tell me the truth.”
CRACK.
“DAMN, OK, OW, OK, I guess I was testing you.”
“You guess?” I asked.
CRACK.
“Heath, please, yes, I was testing you, I’m sorry, I had to KNOW!”
“Do you know now?” I asked.
CRACK.
“YES, yes, I know, you’re in charge.”
“Stand up darling,” I said. Paula stood slowly and I wrapped her in my arms, kissing her neck and whispering in her ear, “I love you SO much that I will remind you who’s in charge any time you keep debating or arguing past when I’ve obviously decided.”
“Yes, love.”
“Good. All is forgiven,” I continued, “But, you will stay naked until I can’t see the marks on your ass anymore.”
“That could take days,” she started to protest, “I have groceries to buy?”
I stopped putting my belt back in its loops around my waist and just raised my eyebrows at her.
“Yes, love, I’ll ask Maggie to make the grocery run,” she wisely replied.
This was the first of what became a ritual with us. Every few weeks Paula would push a debate too far, or occasionally “forget” something that I had clearly decided, and I would simply point at the floor. She would strip and lay face down on the floor wherever we were. It also didn’t matter who was around. The ritual always started with me putting my foot on her neck and asking, “Whose boot are you under?” And it always ended with my statement “All is forgiven,” followed by a hug for aftercare.
How many times I would hit Paula’s ass or upper back would depend on how much reassurance I thought she needed. Sometimes It was just a few strokes that faded in hours. At other times I was brutal and left welts that took seven or eight days to disappear, during which she had to greet, cook for, and entertain guests naked.
More than once over the years to come Paula and I would enact this ritual in front of B&B&B guests.
The ritual always took guests by surprise because, in all other respects, we had a ‘normal’ husband and wife relationship. Paula did not call me ‘sir’ or ‘master’, she did not immediately defer to me, we had debates and discussions in which we were equals – right up until I made a decision.
When the renovations to the chateau were finished, we had two wings in the upstairs hall. Paula and I had the master bedroom and Cradic and Maggie had a smaller bedroom across the hall. We shared a bathroom at this end of the hall; this is a 100-year-old chateau, we were lucky to have indoor plumbing. We added a door blocking off that end of the hall from the stairs and the four bedrooms at the other end. These bedrooms also shared a bath at that end of the hall. Each of these four bedrooms had a theme but they all had some things in common. All of the beds were substantial four-poster and had obvious tie points all around. Each room had a cabinet or armoire full of all kinds of sex and bondage toys, most from my company. And every room had some type of cage or cell.
Bedroom number one was classic “leather bondage” aesthetic. Dark leather covered the head and footboard, the chairs were covered in leather. There was a St. Andrews Cross mounted to one wall that was wrapped in leather and a 4 X 6-foot cage at the base of the bed had a leather padded top. The toy cabinet featured a huge assortment of leather belts, restraints, and hoods.
Bedroom number two was a rope bondage and suspension theme. The four-poster bed had massive top beams with a remote-controlled winch built into the bed. There was another winch mounted to the ceiling in the middle of the room. The cage in this room was on wheels and could be rolled under the winch and raised off the floor. The toy chest held a huge selection of rope, hard points, and other suspension toys.
Bedroom number three was designed specifically for femdom. Its cage had a queening top. The toy cabinet was full of CBT toys, and the middle of the room featured a frame perfect for securing someone in a standing spread eagle for a good ball busting.
Lastly, bedroom number four was a spanking and whip room. The middle of the room featured a classic whipping post, spanking bench, and the end of the bed was a pillory, adjustable to restrain someone standing or kneeling. The toy chest and a peg board on the wall featured every impact tool my company made.
Of course we could do “special requests.” We could move things around, remove toys from a room, add equipment on special requests, etc.
Downstairs looked vanilla but had its kinky side as well. The dining room table had hidden tie down points all around. The dining room chairs had arms and could be used as interrogation chairs. The arch between the dining room and living room still had its attachment points for spread-eagling a submissive. The coffee table in the living room was substantial and could be used as a spanking bench.
And then there was the back yard. We left the slut walk, put in a large suspension frame, a St. Andrews cross and of course we kept the cistern. The back patio with its fire circle and chairs was also available for outdoor drinks or dinner, with appropriate slave service.
Finally, it was opening day. We threw an open house party and invited every kinky person we had met in our time in Croatia. We had beer, wine, appetizers, served by a very naked slut in chains. We gave handcuffs as party gifts, not a few of which were in use before the party was over. We gave tours of the house, and we opened the website for reservations. We advertised heavily on kinky forums and websites.
It surprised no one that our first guests were Luka and Una Babic, our esteemed Mayor, and his wife. They took the leather suite from Friday night to Sunday morning and only came out for meals. Una looked radiant and Luka exhausted when they left Sunday morning for church.
Other clients came in from all over the world but especially Europe. Some stayed a weekend, some for weeks. Since humans can’t fuck 24/7, guests would frequently spend some time on our rocky beach and spend some time wandering the town. We strongly encouraged buying from local shops and eating at least one meal at a local restaurant. As a result, the town loved us and totally adopted a “don’t ask, don’t tell,” approach. They completely ignored those few who went to dinner in town in fetish wear, or with hands cuffed, or led on a leash. I understand that most of the restaurants and bars even learned to put straws in wine glasses for handcuffed patrons.
Lucija made sure Madame Corsecu’s shop was stocked with everything we placed in our rooms, and she did very well selling bondage equipment and souvenirs. Borislav opened a photography studio downtown and specialized in fetish shoots. He would gladly come to the Chateau to help clients document memories of their stay. He kept a closet full of lights and other equipment, so he didn’t have to haul it back and forth.
Ana and Carl continued in love. Carl continued to handle our company’s IT needs and continued to build his business across Croatia. Dr. Ana started a side to her medical practice doing piercings and other sexual body modifications. It wasn’t enough that she could leave the clinic, but it provided a nice side income for her and Nurse Sara Gruber. Speaking of Sara, she would spend at least a few days a month in the cistern and a week or two once a year. I don’t think she ever took a vacation anywhere but locked in that hole. And her husband Quinn? Well, Quinn got a lot of head from the slut.
Lucija graduated and went on to get an MBA. A few years later I turned the management of the company over to her and retired. Paula and I started traveling the world. Maggie and Cradic could run the B&B just fine when we were gone, especially with the slut’s help. Since Paula and I didn’t have heirs, we made sure our will’s left most of the sex toy company to Lucija with smaller shares to Carl, Reese and Mal. The B&B we left to Maggie, Cradic and Heather.
Heather, our slut, worked 18 hours a day. We gave up the demerit system, the trials, and the iPad points system because there just wasn’t time for them. Plus, she was getting more than enough control and abuse to keep her happy now. The slut slept most nights in her cell unless she was ‘requested’ by a guest. Any guest that requested to use the slut was given an assessment as to their intentions, experience and skills before the request was granted. They were also given a full briefing on keeping Heather orgasm free, a restriction that most of them embraced with relish. Those few that insisted on making the slut orgasm were charged extra, a lot extra. It turned out to be quite a revenue source which Paula suggested we place in a trust fund for the slut’s retirement.
During the day Reese, Maggie, Cradic and I made sure the slut never stopped moving. She did all the yard work, gave head, cleaned rooms, licked pussy, cleaned bathrooms, took it up the ass, cleaned common areas, walked on the slut walk, helped cook, served as a model for bondage demonstrations, did dishes, served as a target for whipping demonstrations, did laundry, and fucked every dick in sight. Every once in a while, she got to play at her sewing station.
She was a very happy bondage and service slut.
We never heard from Tim again.