Inside the Hotel Bentmoore: Training Ella

ELLA WAS SURPRISED WHEN MR. Cox sent her back to her room; she had thought her “training” with him would start right away. But apparently, he had more important matters to deal with first before he got around to beginning her training.

His treatment of her made Ella seethe. Every time she remembered his haughty, arrogant face, her anger would boil up until it felt like smoke was about to come out of her ears and she wanted to scream. The man got to her like no one else did.

And yet, she was excited to be working with him. Any thoughts she’d had of leaving the hotel were gone now, as Ella wanted nothing more than to prove herself to her new trainer. Why this was so important to her, she didn’t try to ponder. All she knew for certain was that she had to pass his test. She had to show him he was wrong about her. She was not some scared little girl; she could take whatever he would dish out. She wanted it.

She deserved his respect.

He had sent her back to her room with a dismissive wave of his hand.

He’d given her a few parting instructions on her way out the door. “I’m not into controlling what you wear, at least when you’re not with me,” he’d said. “You feel comfortable in those corsets, wear them. Otherwise, don’t. I really don’t care. And I’m not into controlling what you eat, either. Just show me I can trust you, and we’ll get along fine.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not into women making themselves sick or putting themselves in danger to get my attention. You abuse the privileges I give you, I’ll take them away. It’s that simple. Now go back to your room. I’ll call for you later.”

Ella had retreated back to her room like a banished child, barely stopping herself from stomping her feet in a huff. When she got back to her room, she did stomp her feet, and paced her small, dim room for a good half hour.

She suspected he had brushed her off the way he had just to get her mad. Well, the ploy had worked.

Her anger made her skin flush and her eyes gleam, but there was no one around to see it. There was no one around to watch her punch her pillows, either. Her only comforting grace was that she didn’t have to wear the damn corsets anymore, and she pulled hers off in fury.

She tried to jot down a few paragraphs in her notebook, outlining the sudden turn of events, but she couldn’t. She was too angry. In any case, she was so far behind in her notes, it felt ridiculous trying to catch up on them now, with her head like this.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to stew alone in her room for very long. Mr. Cox sent for her about an hour later. By that time, Ella had managed to get her temper under control and her head on straight.

She would not let him see how much influence he had over her. (She would not let herself use the word control; no, it was not control he had over her, it was influence.) She had managed to maintain her composure with her last two trainers; she would manage with this one, too.

Even if it was the infamous asshole Mr. Cox.

Mr. Trowlege brought her to yet another activity room. (Ella had tried to ask him more than once how many activity rooms the hotel had, and she’d gotten only vague replies. She was beginning to wonder if even Mr. Trowlege knew.) This activity room was smaller than any of the others she had been in, and with very little furniture: only a St. Andrew’s Cross, and the spacious wardrobe. But it had a vast array of bondage equipment bolted into all four walls. There was even a suspension bar hanging from the ceiling.

Ella’s eyes fell on the large cotton sheet laid out in the middle of the floor, and the collection of canes, paddles, and floggers spread across it. A pile of terry cloth rags sat in the corner of the sheet, along with a large, nondescript bottle. Ella had no idea what the rags and bottle were for.

Mr. Cox was quick to spell it out for her. “Many of the canes, wood paddles, and flogger handles need polishing,” he said. “Usually the staff takes care of things like this, but I thought we could give them a break this once, and put you to work instead. Polishing toys is an easy job; even a pair of pretty hands like yours should be able to handle it.”

Ella glowered. “And what does polishing toys have to do with my training?”

He smiled. “Nothing. I just thought you wouldn’t mind doing a little work to help earn your keep around here. After all, we’re feeding you, housing you, clothing you—”

“Clothing me! Dressing me up like some kind of sex doll, more like—”

“We’re taking care of all your basic needs, and in addition to all that, we’re teaching you many useful skills. I think you can show a little appreciation, don’t you?”

“Appreciation! Appreciation—why you—”

“What’s wrong, princess? Didn’t think some god-honest work would be part of this arrangement? Thought you’d just skate through your training on your looks alone?”

“No!” Ella’s face fell. “I never thought that. I never thought that.” She looked down, dejected.

Mr. Cox’s eyes narrowed. He had hit a nerve. He hadn’t meant to. “Good,” he said. “Then get to work. Just take your clothes off first.”

Ella’s eyes snapped back up. “What?”

“I’m not going to let you claim later I ruined your clothes by making you wear them while you got dirty. Take them off before you start polishing. You can work naked.”

“My clothes won’t be ruined. I can just wash them.”

“Are you arguing with me, Ella?” His tone turned dangerously soft, and Ella pursed her lips shut. “Mr. Lamont told me you had issues with your modesty, but I thought Mr. Harden had that handled by now. If you can’t follow a simple request to strip, then that’s something we should work on—hard. But for now, my little highbrow princess, please listen to what I’m telling you to do, take off your fucking clothes, and get to work.”

“I’m not a highbrow princess!” She shrieked.

“Then prove it.” He pointed to the sheet. “Do the job, and do it right.”

Ella’s eyes shot daggers at him, but she began to take off her clothes.

Mr. Cox watched her take off her clothes with angry jerks and pulls, satisfied with her change in mood. He had triggered something inside her before in a way he hadn’t meant to. He would discover what that was all about in time, but for now, he wanted her temper, not her sorrow. His order that she strip, while spontaneous, had done the job.

Once Ella was naked, she sat down cross-legged on the thin cotton sheet, got comfortable, and grabbed a rag. Then she opened the bottle, held the rag over the top, and tipped the bottle over. The rag grew wet with polish.

“Do you care which toys I start with?” She asked, her voice clipped.

“No,” Mr. Cox answered. “So long as you get them all done, I don’t care what order you go in.”

“How kind of you. Sir,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing up a thin rattan cane.

“You have no idea how kind I’m being to you right now, princess,” Mr. Cox replied. Ella didn’t answer, nor did she turn her face up to look at him, so she failed to see his eyes filling with fierce heat as he gazed down at her gold-tipped head.

In truth, Mr. Cox thought he was being extremely kind to Ella. He was letting her get on with her task, instead of forcing her on her knees and making her suck his cock.

Ella had no idea when she had gotten undressed, her areolae had crinkled in the cold room air, and her nipples had puckered into pink nubs. She had no idea that with the way she was sitting, her hair was cascading down her back in gentle golden waves, and her ribs were articulating her reedy back. And if she had any clue that by sitting in the position she had chosen, her cunt had spread open just enough to reveal her dusky crease and lovely pink folds, she gave no sign of it.

Ella got down to work, polishing the canes with long pumps of her hand over the rag and an intent look on her face. As Mr. Cox watched her, he wondered if she would pump his cock the same way she was pumping that cane, with her hard, steady grip. He promised himself he would find out eventually.

“Tell me about yourself, Ella.”

She still did not look up at him. “What would you like to know, Sir?”

“Do you have any brothers? Sisters?”

“No, I have no siblings.”

“So you are your parents’ little darling?”

Ella finally glanced at him, but that was all. “My father died when I was little,” she said, still working the rag.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Cox replied, contrite.

This time when she turned her head up, Ella’s eyes held his a little longer. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I barely remember him. For as long as I can remember, it was just me and my mom.” She started in on a short paddle that looked like it was made out of a single piece of thick oak.

“What about your mom?” Mr. Cox asked. “What is she like?”

Ella let out a little snort. “Nothing like me.”

“What does that mean?”

She frowned. “It means she has different ways of looking at the world than I do. A different set of ideals.”

“Is this about politics or religion? Cause if it is, I’d rather move on to something else. Those topics bore me.”

Ella glimpsed at him out of the corner of her eye, furrowing her brows. “No, Sir, it’s not about politics or religion. She has different ideas about how women are supposed to behave.”

“Now this sounds more interesting. What does your mother think? I’m curious.”

Ella attacked the flogger she had picked up next, wishing she had never let herself be pulled into this conversation. “She thinks women need to do whatever it takes to get ahead in this world. According to her, the game is stacked against us, so we have to restack the game.”

“And how does she think women should do that? Restack the game?”

“I don’t know, Sir, it’s just something she says.” Ella put down the flogger and the rag. “Is there some reason why you want to know about my mother?”

“No,” he shrugged. “Just making small talk. But if you don’t like the topic, we can move on to something else. What were you doing before you came to the Hotel Bentmoore?”

Ella’s eyes darted around before she quickly picked up another cane in the pile.

“I was in Public Relations.”

It was true, somewhat. She had been an intern in a Public Relations firm during college, before going on to journalism. So why did it make her feel so uncomfortable to lie?

“Public Relations, huh? I can see that.”

Ella glowered. “Why? Because I look a certain way? I fit a certain image?” She sneered. “You know what’s funny? I’ve just realized working in this place is a lot like working in PR.”

“How so?” Mr. Cox asked, trying to keep her talking.

“You have to know how to entice people, how to tell them what they want to hear to lure them in. It’s all about attraction. Appeal.”

“You could say that about a lot of things, princess,” Mr. Cox replied. “A doctor who’s starting a new practice has to look and sound professional if he—or she—wants to bring in new patients. A teacher has to know how to talk to a school board to get hired at a school. I could go on, but I won’t. My point is, to get ahead in this world, people have to sell themselves, and to do that, they have to show their best.”

Ella bristled. “You might be able to find a few cases where women are judged on their brains,” she said, “but you can’t deny no matter what the industry, women are judged on their looks, too. A woman looking for a job as a receptionist or a restaurant greeter is not going to be judged on her talent. She’s going to be judged on whether she has the right face.”

“I could say the same thing about men. People everywhere are judged on their looks, Ella, women and men both.”

“But women are judged more than men.”

“Maybe. But why are you so caught up on this issue of judgment? Who’s judging you?”

Ella swallowed, thinking fast. “Aren’t you, right now?”

Mr. Cox gave her a twisted smile. “Touché again, princess. I guess I am. But not on your looks.”

“I think Mr. Harden was. He had me wearing those awful corsets.”

“Those weren’t about your looks, Ella. Those were about control. Harden gets a kick out of controlling his women even when he’s not with them. So do I—so do all of the hosts here—but we control our women in different ways. Harden likes breath play, so he starts with corsets.”

“Breath play?”

“If you had stayed with him long enough, he would have been choking you out. Lots of women love to feel the grip of a man’s hands around their throats. It takes skill, though.”

Ella’s eyes narrowed into small slits. “And how do you like controlling your women?”

“You’ll find out eventually, if you make it that far,” Mr. Cox said. “But back to the subject at hand, I guess it might look like the Bentmoore judges on looks, but we don’t. We appreciate talent and skill more than anything else. Now, we do expect our staff to maintain a certain level of fitness, but that’s because it’s required for the job. I can’t do a marathon fuck session if I’m running out of breath after ten minutes, can I?”

Ella’s nerves tingled as the words “marathon fuck” came out of his mouth. “I guess not,” she agreed. “But my original point still stands. Women are typically judged more harshly than men.”

“And what would you do to change that?” Mr. Cox asked, cocking his brow. “The world is what it is, princess. You can’t always be banging your fists against a brick wall. Sometimes, you have to accept the obstacles in front of you, and find a way around.”

“Now you sound like my mother.” Ella turned her attention back to the pile of canes, looking stony. Mr. Cox narrowed his eyes.

“That’s enough for today,” he said softly, motioning her off the floor. “I’ll have the staff do the rest. C’mon, you need some exercise.” As he opened the activity room door, Ella gasped.

“Let me put some clothes on!” She yelled, grabbing up her panties.

Mr. Cox looked at her over his shoulder. “No,” he said. “We’re going to the pool. Go grab a towel from the bathroom and put it around you. That’ll be good enough.”

“I can’t walk around the hotel naked!”

“You won’t be naked, you’ll be wearing the towel,” Mr. Cox said. “It’ll cover you up better than that bathing suit I caught you in the last time. Which reminds me, I owe you a punishment, don’t I? So go get the towel and drop the panties, or you’ll be facing your punishment right now.”

Ella’s mouth clenched. Her nails dug into her palms.

But she threw the panties back on the floor and went to the bathroom to grab a towel. When she came out, she had the thick white towel wrapped around her body from armpit to thigh.

“C’mon,” Mr. Cox repeated, holding the door open for her. Ella walked through nervously, looking up and down the corridor for any sign of someone coming their way. When she saw there was no one, she ran to the elevator and quickly pressed the button, praying she wouldn’t be seen.

Inside the elevator, Mr. Cox admonished her. “You’re being ridiculous, Ella,” he said, looking at her through the mirrored doors. “Nobody can tell you’re not wearing a bathing suit.”

“I can tell,” Ella hissed. The doors opened, and Mr. Cox led her through the back corridors to get outside. Ella tiptoed behind, grabbing the towel around her in tight fists and gripping it tight. Thankfully, she saw only a few people inside the small office rooms lining the hallway, and all of them were busy doing their own things. Nobody looked up as she walked passed.

The pool was empty, as it had been the last time, but Ella didn’t know how long that would last. Anyone could show up at any time.

“Get in,” Mr. Cox ordered, pointing to the water. “Do some laps.”

Ella eyed the water and gripped the towel around her tighter.

“Do it, Ella,” Mr. Cox said, his voice louder. Ella didn’t move.

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, he yanked the towel away from her naked body and pushed her into the pool.

Ella rose to the surface with a scream. “How! You! Oh!”

As he watched her splutter, Mr. Cox sat down in one of the pool chairs, lay back, and put his hands behind his head. A smile curved his mouth.

“You arrogant son of a bitch! You—” Ella reached for the ladder at the side of the pool, ready to pull herself out.

“Don’t get out of that water yet, Ella,” Mr. Cox sat up to say, a stern look on his face. “Do some laps. I’ll tell you when you’re done. And unlike Stacey, I’m going to sit right here and make sure you don’t go wandering off where you’re not supposed to.”

“I can’t swim naked! Anyone might come and see me!”

“No they won’t. This is the private pool. You have to reserve a time to use it. I reserved it this morning, so no one is going to walk over and see you—unless they’re wandering around where they shouldn’t be, which has been known to happen.”

Ella stared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me before this is a private pool?”

“You didn’t ask. Now start swimming.” He leaned his head back against the chair again and closed his eyes.

For a second, Ella debated climbing out of the pool and clawing his eyes out. But the water, now that she was used to it, felt pleasantly cool. The sun shined on her face, and other than some birds’ song, Ella couldn’t hear a single soul. The area felt entirely secluded. Her anger dissipated.

She began to swim up and down the length of the pool. Mr. Cox continued to sit in his chair with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. Every so often, Ella would glance at him, but he looked to be dozing. After a few minutes, she stopped glancing at him every few seconds, and focused on her swimming.

Mr. Cox was not dozing. He was, in fact, watching Ella go back and forth across the pool with her strong, graceful strokes. She swam like an expert swimmer, like she’d been doing it for years. He would have to find out about that.

For now though, all he cared to focus on was the way her ass swayed and dipped in the water, how her coltish legs rippled under the waves, and how her nipples peeked over the surface with every breath she took. Every time she turned, her hair would wave around her body like a cloud of gold, then pull back behind her in a shimmering train of smooth silk. She reminded him of a water nymph.

Mr. Cox knew the moment Ella relaxed in the water: it was the moment she stopped doing her unvarying laps, gave him one last suspicious glance, and then turned over in the water to start in on a lazy backstroke. The water beaded off her shimmering breasts, and her hips dipped in and out of the water as she smiled up at the sun.

He couldn’t take it anymore. “Get out of the water,” he said.

Ella stopped swimming and stood up straight in the water. She turned around to glare at him, wiping her hair away from her face with both hands. “Why?”

“Because I said so,” Mr. Cox said with a growl.

Surprised by his tone, Ella swam over to the ladder and pulled herself out of the pool. Mr. Cox watched her dry off with the towel, his eyes catching every inch of her creamy skin.

When she moved to wrap the towel around her body, he stopped her. “Not yet,” he said. “Before we go back to the hotel, I want you to make yourself come.”

Ella froze. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Make yourself come. Play with your cunt, rub your clit, pinch your tits, whatever it takes. I want to watch you do it, and I want you to do it now.”

“That’s disgusting!”

“Why?”

“We’re out here in the open! Anyone might see me!”

“I told you, this is a private pool.”

“Still…I can’t….”

“Yes, you can. But you know what, I’m feeling magnanimous, so I’ll give you a choice. You can come on your own, or you can use my shoe. Which is it to be?”

Ella looked down at his feet in horror. “Your shoe?”

He pulled over a short coffee table nearby and rested his foot on it. “Just have a seat and go for a ride,” he said. “It’s fun once you get the hang of it.”

Ella couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You…are…disgusting,” she whispered. “I am not going for a ride on your shoe!”

“Fine,” Mr. Cox replied. “Then use your own fingers, or whatever else you can find around here to make yourself come. Hell, I’ll even let you use the towel if you want. But do it—now!” He waited, and watched as Ella processed what he was ordering her to do.

“Can I at least sit in a chair?”

Mr. Cox smiled at the question. She was negotiating now; she was relenting.

“By all means,” he answered. “Have a seat.” He pulled another lounge chair over for her, but situated it directly across from his. He would make sure he had a front row seat of her performance, Ella realized.

She sat down slowly, leaning a little to the side, with her legs pressed together. Looking shamefully down at the floor, she moved the towel away just a few inches from the venus of her thighs, and dug her hand inside.

“That won’t do,” Mr. Cox said. He was sitting up now, and staring at her with rapt attention. “Open your legs. I want to see.”

Ella opened her legs another inch.

“Wider, Ella. Wrap your feet around the legs of the chair.”

Letting out a small whimper, Ella opened her knees until her feet could bend behind the legs of the chair, and twisted her ankles around.

She curved her fingers into her pussy, but kept her fingers tightly together, so that they covered her mound and soft pink lips from his view.

“Spread your pussy open,” Mr. Cox said. “I want to see it.”

Closing her eyes in mortification, Ella spread her vaginal lips, revealing her rosy pink folds and spongy clit.

“Now keep it open, and rub it with your other hand,” Mr. Cox said. He grew impatient when she didn’t move right away. “Go on, rub your clit!”

Ella turned her head away in shame. But she lowered her other hand between her legs and, with two gentle finger pads, began to rub her clit.

She rubbed slowly at first, trying to work up her arousal. But to her alarm, it didn’t take more than a few gentle strokes to feel the first stirrings of an orgasm building. She dipped her fingers lower to her cunt opening, and found it dripping wet.

“That’s it, get your fingers wet,” Mr. Cox said in approval. “Now rub a little faster.”

Ella began to rub her clit faster now, but followed a steady rhythm, gliding her fingers along her stiffened clit with soft strokes. She kept her pussy lips open with her other hand, as ordered, and found that in this stretched position, she could get into nerve-rich folds she wouldn’t otherwise be able to get into. The strange, sensual stimulation added to her burgeoning distress. Her face scrunched up as if in pain, and her feet lifted onto her tiptoes around the legs of the chair as her mounting desire spread across her body like wildfire.

“Faster,” Mr. Cox hissed. “Rub faster!”

Ella rubbed faster, crying out with her rising need. Her fingers moved in a blur of speed between her legs. Her cunt squirted juices.

“You like playing with yourself, don’t you Ella? Tell me! Say you like to play with yourself!”

Ella rubbed furiously. “I like to play with myself,” she said, her words punctuated by pants and jerks of her hand.

“I thought so. You treat your clit like a private little sex toy that only you get to touch. But it’s mine now, Ella. I get to play with it, and I get to decide when you get to touch it. You’re my clit-toy. Isn’t that right, Ella?”

Ella continued her frantic rubbing.

“I said, isn’t that right, Ella?”

“Yes…yes Sir.” She was very close to coming now, and could only barely respond.

“Tell me you’re my clit-toy, Ella.”

“I’m your—I’m your—”

“Go on. Say it.”

“NO!”

In that moment, something snapped inside her. Ella pushed herself up from the chair so forcefully it fell on its back behind her. Her body shook with strain. “Red!”

“Excuse me?” Mr. Cox had risen from his own chair in alarm, but now stared at her with narrowed eyes that glowed with fury. Ella saw it, but didn’t care.

“I cry red! I don’t want to do this!”

Mr. Cox’s voice was soft and menacing. “I didn’t ask you if you want to do this. I ordered you to. Now get back in that chair and finish what you started.”

“But—but I said red! I used the safeword!”

“I told you before I don’t put stock in safewords, Ella. You should’ve believed me. Now sit down.”

“No!” She looked like she was about to cry. Her lip quivered, and her hands clenched at her sides.

She didn’t know how he had done it so quickly, but Mr. Cox had sneaked past all her defenses. He wasn’t like Mr. Lamont or Mr. Harden; he had a power over her she couldn’t overcome.

Maybe because she didn’t want to.

She had been so close to losing all control. She had felt herself sinking down, drifting into that strange, dark territory of her mind where everything felt deliciously tranquil and gracefully erotic, even agonizing pain and humiliation.

She wanted him to force her to yield, make her obey, because she knew in the end, she would enjoy it beyond imagination. She just didn’t want to go willingly. To acquiesce so easily, without a struggle, without a fight—that was what she couldn’t do.

“Sit down and make yourself come, or I’ll punish you right here and now,” Mr. Cox said, his voice hard. “And believe me, Ella, I take my punishments very seriously. By the time I’m done with you, the only thing you’ll be crying about being red is your ass!”

“NO!”

Mr. Cox took two long strides toward her. His eyes were dark with fury, and his hands were tight fists at his sides.

Fear overcame her, and she did the only thing left for her to do.

She ran.

She could hear Mr. Cox’s voice bellowing behind her: “ELLA!”