Hotel of Humiliation
By Suzanne High-Heels

Copyright © 2007 Suzanne High-Heels.

Fdom, tv, humil, mast, spank.

My name is Ken. I used to be an executive for a financial company. Now I work behind a bar in a remote part of Scotland. My old life changed one day. It was one of the strangest things that ever happened to me. I was staying in a hotel at the time. It wasn’t that the room was dirty or the food terrible, it was…something else. I was in London on business, meeting clients on behalf of the company I worked for. I was to give a presentation in the functions room of the hotel. Well it had been a really long day, after the evening meal I went straight back to my room on the third floor. I was getting undressed ready for bed when I noticed something wedged underneath the cushion of the chair. Something black and shiny. What could that be I thought? I gently pulled it out. A miniskirt? What on earth was a miniskirt doing here; I didn’t remember seeing it this morning. Perhaps the maid left it? But then again why would she do something daft like that. I was tired so thought no more of it. I decided to drop it on the chair and to have a word with the maid in the morning. After a shower I was about to get into bed when my foot touched something poking out from underneath the bed. What the…? I pulled it out from underneath the bed. I found myself holding a ladies high-heeled boot. And a very colourful lady it would have to be to wear this sort of footwear. I bet that if I were to look under the bed, I would find the other boot. I looked and there it was, the left boot. I dumped them both on the chair with the miniskirt. I turned the light out and got into bed. I laid there in the dark thinking, why would any of the hotel staff, who, apart from me, are the only ones with keys to the room, would hide women’s clothing in here? Must have a real strange sense of humour, I thought.
I drifted off into a dream. Curiously, I found myself imagining what it would be like to wear the miniskirt and pose sensuously with it, or to walk down a busy street wearing the boots, the clacking of the heels drawing people’s attention to my sexy legs. I woke up with a start. I sat up in bed slightly shocked; I’d never had a dream like that before. I looked over to the chair. A gap in the curtains was allowing moonlight to shine onto the skirt and boots, illuminating the shiny material. ‘Try them on.’ a voice told me. Well…why not? I could just leave them as I found them, and no one would be any the wiser. I took the items from the chair to the bed. Holding the skirt up I couldn’t believe what I was about to do, could I DO it? I quickly stepped in and pulled it up over my legs and to my waist. I zipped it up. Wow, ‘not bad’ I thought, as I twirled in the mirror. Now for the boots. I sat back on the bed, unzipped each boot, and pulled them on. After zipping them up I tried to walk in them, but fell over onto the bed. Shit, I always thought women had it easy walking on heels, but this was far more difficult than I thought. I staggered over to the bathroom to the hard floor so I could hear my heels clicking on the hard surface. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and made suggestive gestures to my own reflection. “Who’s a naughty girl?” I said, as I rubbed by bottom and thighs. “You’re a bad girl and it gets you off.” Something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. A pink mist was quickly filling the room, I quickly felt very tired and fell to the floor. 
When I came to, I found myself lying inside some sort of bright pink bag, made from rubber. I couldn’t get out, I panicked. 
“Hey someone let me out of here.” I shouted. A couple of minutes past but no reply. Then, without warning, the bag suddenly opened. A lady stood there looking at me. 
“Who the hell are you?” I asked. 
“I’m the hotel manager, Miss Hoover.” she said as she pulled me up. I was instantly aware of a flowery scent, not coming from her but from me. I looked down, I was completely naked. In shock, I covered up my penis with my hands.
“Don’t bother, we’ve seen it all already, we did have to bathe you and get rid of all that nasty male body hair.” she said.
“What? I’m reporting this to…”
“NO YOU WON’T.” she interrupted. “Not unless you want someone to see this.” She handed me a sheet of paper. “There was a hidden camera behind the mirror in your room.” I was horrified to see a picture of me in the skirt and boots, flirting with my own reflection. It had the caption below it, which read: I had a naughty time at the Queens hotel.
“We have your wife’s e-mail address by the way; she’ll get this in her inbox if you don’t do as you’re told.”
“How did you get my wife’s e-mail address?” I said angrily. 
“I have a lot of contacts.” she said with a smug superior grin.
“I don’t believe you know…”
“Naughty missy.” she interrupted “That’s it isn’t it?” she showed me her address on paper. I stood there astounded and thought about how I would explain this picture to my wife; I hoped she would be understanding. Then again, this was my wife, so, NO. She’d have me down as some sort of perverted weirdo, and, after the last few months our marriage has been through, leave me. I decided to go along with whatever silly joke she had planned then get out, I mean, how bad could it be?
“All right, I’ll go along with you.” I announced. 
“Sensible choice, after all if you had decided to escape, Kelly and Rachael wouldn’t have liked it.” she said, pointing out two burly females behind me. They grabbed me by the arms and pulled me down a corridor. I could hear voices, many voices. We passed through a couple of doors then I had an extremely unpleasant shock…I was on a stage, in front of countless women. Kelly and Rachael sat me down on a stool in the centre of the stage. “Don’t you dare try to run.” whispered Rachael “Or we’ll spank you hard.” I made a token effort to get up, but, they pushed me back down before issuing their final warning. They unnerved me so much that I co-operated. I became aware of my nudity again and covered my penis. Much to the amusement of the all female audience, I looked down at the floor in utter shame. 
“Good evening ladies, welcome to forced feminisation.” a voice said through a microphone. It was Miss Hoover. She strutted out onto stage as if she was hosting a live show, and she was. A show where a man is forcibly dressed up as a woman.
“Please meet Ken, he will be our unfortunate victim for today.” she said, as I was displayed for all of them to see. “Now we have a choice of five different ways to dress up Ken, The first is a schoolgirl.” A schoolgirl? I thought, no. “The second a businesswoman, the third …a bridesmaid.” Me, wear a bridesmaid dress? I could never live it down.
“Fourth, a sexy tart, and finally fifth, a milk maid. On your keypads, please vote now.” The audience talked among themselves for a moment to decide my fate, but eventually came to a conclusion. The result appeared on a large screen to my left. 52% wanted me to be dressed as a tart. 
“A sexy tart.” shouted Miss Hoover. “He’ll love that.” I heard something on wheels being pushed onto stage. It was of a clothes rack filled with items of a tarty nature, it was being pushed by two young ladies dressed as beauticians. 
“Let’s start with some underwear, shall we ladies?” said Miss Hoover to the audience. She grabbed two sets of bras and knickers from underneath the rack. “Red or white?” Miss Hoover asked the audience. A chorus of reds and whites rang around the room, until at last she decided the red underwear had won. “Kirsty, Amy, please dress our visitor in the red underwear.” The two beauticians motioned me to stand up, at first I hesitated, but a glance over at Kelly and Rachael made me do as I was told. I was ritually dressed in the bra and knickers, the bra was padded which gave me ample breasts. The audience jeered at my discomfort, I began to wish the ground would swallow me up, but there was plenty more to come. “Tights or stockings.” shouted Miss Hoover. The audience this time were much more unanimous as a scream of stockings was flung at the stage.
“Stand up.” said Kirsty. She proceeded at once to put a garter belt around my waist. 
“Sit back down.” ordered Amy. My legs were then sheathed in the sexy black stockings, much to my shame. 
“Great, now time for the make-up.” cheered Miss Hoover. The audience sat and watched with intense interest, and amusement as my face received what seemed like a ton of foundation make-up, some blusher, mascara, and tarty red lipstick. A long blonde wig was also placed on my head and clip-on earrings attached. “How about we choose something nice for you to wear Ken.” She brought out a shiny black skirt with a crop-top, and on the other hand a red mini dress. “Hands up for the mini dress.” Miss Hoover instructed the audience. A small number put their hand up, the crop top and skirt had won. The shimmering black mini skirt was wrapped around my waist. Kirsty delicately put the top on me and tied it up at the front; she made sure plenty of bust was showing. The other thing that was humiliating about the outfit, apart from my navel showing, was the shininess of the costume. I must have stood out a mile on the stage. 
“And finally for the footwear, red boots or red stiletto shoes?” asked Miss Hoover. Shouts of ‘stilettos’ and ’Boots’ echoed around the hall, until at last Miss Hoover decided the majority were in favour of the boots. They were red thigh high boots with a very high-heel. Kirsty and Amy each took one, unzipped them, guided my shaking feet into the boots’ sissy dungeon, then tantalisingly zipped my legs inside. The transformation was complete.
“Come to the front of the stage now, darling.” ordered Miss Hoover. I grudgingly did so, my high-heels tapping on the stage, Kirsty and Amy staying at my side in case the heels got the better of me. The applause was rapturous; it was, however for Miss Hoover and the two beauticians. The immense laughter and the occasional shout of ’aren’t you pretty’ and ’How much for a quickie?’ were harrowing. 

I was kept on stage for what felt like a lifetime. They had asked me to walk up and down a few times, flash my knickers at them and simulate oral sex on a dildo. Eventually I was taken back stage, stripped down to nothing, make-up removed and showered. I was placed in a cage for the night, the bars decorated with pink fur and the edges with bows. I had a pink cover to sleep with. Kelly and Rachael left the room turning the light off behind them. I began to think about what had just happened. What if someone had recognised me, how would I ever escape? No one would guess I am missing for at least two days when I was supposed to meet up with clients for an important business presentation. Hours must have past; I drifted in and out of sleep. 

The door opened and the light turned on, a pair of shapely legs in black stockings and black stiletto shoes entered the room. They approached, the person knelt down. I looked up and it was a young girl dressed in a maid’s uniform. She smiled down at me, however did not seem to be amused at my predicament, rather more sympathetic.
“I’ve brought you your breakfast.” she said in a soft, pleasant voice. She produced a baby’s bottle full of milk.
“What, can’t I have it some other way?” I pleaded.
“Sorry, they ordered it should be served this way.”
“Couldn’t you at least let me out of here?”
“No, I don’t have a key for the cage.”
She put her arm through a feeding slot in the bars and held the teat of the bottle to my lips. I felt like refusing, but I hadn’t had anything at all since yesterday evening, so I began to suck at the bottle, emptying it fast. 
“My name’s Sindy by the way.” she said looking back as she walked out the door.

Well later on Rachael and Kelly were back; they opened the cage door and pulled me out. “Come with us.” Rachael said coldly. I followed them to hall, once again nude and once again, an audience was waiting there. As before, I was sat on a stool and kept a very close eye on by my minders, Kelly and Rachael. Miss Hoover once again introduced me and called this show the ‘Dolly Dress up’ show.
“The first lucky lady to donate one of her feminine garments will be.” she paused as she took a look at the screen behind her as a number appeared on it. “Seat number 22.”
“YAY.” shouted a lady in the audience.
“Come up here, please.” called Miss Hoover. The lady excitedly ran up the stairs and onto the stage. Miss Hoover asked for her name.
“Sheila.” replied the lady.
“OK Sheila, if it’s not a rude question, what colour knickers are you wearing today?” asked Miss Hoover. The audience sniggered. But Sheila cheerfully answered the question.
“I’m wearing a sexy pair of white ones.” 
“All right, if you’d just go behind the screen and change out of them, you’ll find a replacement for your own there too.” Sheila disappeared behind the screen for a minute and emerged holding out her white knickers for me to see. I think I got the idea of what was going to happen now, well, almost. She walked over to me and thrust her knickers into my face, her exact words were:
“Smell, smell, smell my knickers.” she shouted. The audience cheered her on in a rapturous applause. Finally, she held them out and told me to climb into them. I put my legs into them and allowed her to pull them up.
“They’re nice on you.” teased Miss Hoover. “Thank you Sheila.” Sheila re-took her place in the audience while another number appeared on screen. Again, another lady came up onto stage; Marie dressed me in her red bra, followed by Katrina, who dressed me in her black tights. She could not keep a straight face while pulling them up. She even remarked at how smooth my legs were and how ‘pretty’ I was looking. I felt like getting up and running out, but decided against it, besides, I knew what would happen if I did.
“Now.” said Miss Hoover “Time for the outfit.” The audience watched the screen with bated breath for who was going to dress up this strange Barbie doll, which unfortunately was me. She called the number. 
“Number 102.”
A lady at the back of the room stood up and cheered. She hurried up onto stage, I got a look at the dress I was about to be wearing. It was a black cocktail dress that had a long pleated skirt and entirely made of silk. She gave her name as Louise on the stage before going behind the screen to change out of the dress. She re-emerged a couple of minutes later holding her dress and wearing a skirt and blouse she was given behind the screen. It seemed that preserving female dignity was everything here. Yet my own was not even considered. Louise crossed the stage over to me and ordered me off the stool. She took a playful swipe at my pantied bottom. She smothered my face in the dress and taunted me about my feminine fate.
“Ooh you will look so pretty, although I hope you don’t look better in it than me.” she said.
She then had me raise my arms and slipped it over my head, a round of applause erupted from the audience as Louise sealed me inside her dress.
“And finally.” said Miss Hoover. “Who will provide his footwear?” Again, a number appeared on the screen. “Number 12.” A lady in the front row who must have been in her early twenties suddenly realised it was her. She uncrossed her legs and arms and made her way up onto the stage. She seemed nervous and couldn’t help laughing. She eventually managed to give her name, Vicki. She was wearing black ankle boots with block heels. She stood next to me, smiled, yet not in a nasty way, so she seemed friendlier than the rest. She unzipped her boots and took them off.
“Make him smell them.” shouted her friend in the front row.
“What? I wear these without socks they smell so badly inside.” replied Vicki. The audience cackled at this.
“Well then.” laughed Miss Hoover. “Now you have to make him smell them.” She thought about it for a second but a sudden grin told me she had seen the funny side. She took hold of one boot, zipped up the side to form a tight seal around my nose and mouth, pressed it firmly against my face and said:
“Smell my boot.” She wasn’t kidding when she said they smelled bad. I didn’t think a woman’s boot could smell so strongly. Eventually she quit the game and pushed her boots onto my feet. With them both zipped up it was complete. 

The next morning I woke up again locked in the cage without a clue what was going to happen, I didn’t think my male pride could be dented anymore by these women, but boy was I wrong. As I lay there thinking Sindy walked into the room.
“Hello Ken.” she said in her demure voice. “Here’s your breakfast.” It was a small dish of porridge. At this point, I was happy to eat anything. She spoon-fed me through the bars like I was a little child, delicately putting each spoonful gently into my mouth. We were about half way through when Rachael and Kelly showed up.
“Feeding times over Sindy dear.” said Kelly. “You’d best get yourself ready as well.”
“Yes madam.” replied Sindy. “I was just going.” 
“Come on you, to the hall” said Kelly. They released me from the cage and took me down the corridor. In the hall, the chairs had been arranged into a circle, the audience already waiting patiently. In the centre was a table with raised edges and a rubber covering. The two beauticians were there, Kirsty and Amy. They brought in with them a trolley full with jugs of what Miss Hoover announced to the audience was chocolate sauce, several cans of whipped cream and some syrup. They began emptying out the chocolate sauce onto the table and spreading it out, then without warning Kelly and Rachael lifted me up and placed me onto the table. That was it, I was lying down naked in chocolate sauce in front of a couple of hundred women, the humiliation couldn’t possibly get any worse, I got up, and immediately Rachael violently pushed me back down. 
“Lie down and stay there.” whispered Rachael. I daren’t argue, so I lay there and once again took whatever they had to dish out. I then had my body covered with syrup and whipped cream. It was cold and slimy.
“The unfortunate gourmet, and now here’s our lucky diners.” announced Miss Hoover. Six young women all dressed in pink outfits walked up to the table, one of them was Sindy. She looked at me for a second then hungrily started devouring the food on my body like the others. It was so intensely pleasurable. Tongues licking off the cream and ravenous lips slurping off the syrup from my naked body. When they were finished, I was ordered to roll over so they could remove the chocolate. Later the table was removed then a pink reclining chair was put in its place. I sat down in it and they put me back slightly. Kirsty produced a gold stiletto shoe, held it out to my penis then proceeded to pump my cock. I shot my load into the shoe, the six girls then passed it among them taking little sips of my cum. Next, they put me even further back in the reclining chair, two of the girls approached while Rachael and Kelly held me down at the waist. The six girls dropped their panties and to my horror, they were really sissies made up as girls. It was mortifying to have just been licked down by six transvestites but the next bit was even worse. Two of them stood by my face and began to masturbate. I was about to have my face splashed with their cum. All I could do is wait in horror as two hard penises pointed straight at me. The inevitable happened and they delivered me a hot, sticky fate. The next two then proceeded to spunk in my face. Enormous laughter was continual from the audience as my face dripped with cum; it came to Sindy’s turn.
“Sorry Ken.” she whispered as she began pumping furiously at her member. The other ’girl’ with Sindy was first to cum, sending buckets worth of cream onto my already soaked face. Sindy moaned.
“MMMM” I shut my eyes as she was about to cum. Sindy’s spunk shot out and degraded me even further. Her hot milk running down my face. The only person to be nice to me in this place had just utterly humiliated me.

The next morning when Sindy came in with breakfast, I didn’t want to talk. She passed me a bread bun through the bars.
“I’m sorry for what happened Ken, they force us to do things as well you know.” she said. Still I said nothing. “I heard some of them talking and they’re going to let you go today.” she got up and walked out, I never saw her again. Later, I was again on the stage, but this time for the last time. This show was called dishonourable dispatch. Miss Hoover had me dressed up in very feminine underwear, pink frilly knickers and a lacy bra. A baby pink prom dress was the theme today, a dress Miss Hoover referred to as the Princess Prom dress. It had several layers of tulle and a strapless bodice edged with sequins. The skirt flared out elegantly as it glittered exquisitely in the light. The audience were speechless.
“Such a beautiful creature.” I heard one woman say, as I had make-up applied. Kirsty placed a matching pair of baby pink stiletto heels on my feet and a long blonde wig on my head.
“And now.” said Miss Hoover. “Can we have the guest of honour on stage please?” Who was she talking about? A lady at the back of the room stood up and proceeded to walk to the front of the audience. You know the feeling you get when you receive a horrendous shock, well I was about to experience this. The woman walked up onto stage, upon removing her dark glasses and hat I realised who it was…it was my wife.
“Hello Ken.” she said.
“Sophie? What the hell are you doing here, I’m being held prisoner…”
“No need for an explanation Ken. I know all about it. I’ve been watching your misadventure these past few days and…well…it’s been fun. She said with a little laugh.
“Why didn’t you do anything?” I asked.
“To get my moneys worth, this isn’t free you know.”
“You mean you PAID to see this?”
“Yes, I also paid to have it done.”
“You what? You BITCH.” I should not have done that. Kelly and Rachael restrained me, then decided to punish me.
“Stand up.” said Kelly. Rachael held my dress up while Kelly took several swings at my bottom with a cat-o-nine-tails. I screamed out in pain at every stroke that hit, to the clear delight of the audience, but especially my wife. When they finished I was sat back down. 
“I realised one day that I didn’t like being married to you, I thought you might be a bit of a tranny after all the times you’ve admired my dresses. Your carry on with that skirt and boots in your room confirmed it. SO, I want you gone.” I was truly horrified, and angry. Sophie made the finishing touch to my make-up by applying the lipstick. She looked at me with a leering grin, then placed a hood over my head. I was taken out of the room and into a lift. Then out to another room. Whoever it was with me sat me down and chained me to a chair. A short outburst of giggling followed, then silence. Several minutes must have passed, I could not move, I was completely stuck. I could only wait for someone to find me. Suddenly I began to hear voices, a door opened and many people piled into the room, I felt sick. The chatting abruptly turned to quiet murmuring. The hood came off my head. It was my boss Mr Campbell; It must have been the start of my own presentation. How I did wish I would just die on the spot as he looked in sheer disbelief at my heavily made-up face, my flowing blonde hair and my glittery dress. 
“Ken???” he shouted. “What the hell are you doing?” I couldn’t say anything.
“Your wife told me you’d gone loopy, but I didn’t know it was this bad.” he said. The clients at the back of the hall looked at me with anger and walked out.
“Wait, please.” pleaded Mr Campbell, this man no longer represents my company. The room fell silent, that was until Kelly and Rachael released me and threw me out onto the street. They threw out my suitcases full of my belongings. It was a blessed relief; I ran into a backstreet and changed back into my own clothes. Strangely enough, I put the dress, shoes and the other feminine abominations into the suitcase. I tried to get as much of the make-up off my face as possible using a bottle of water and some tissues. 

Well that was it, kicked out of home, heading for a divorce and too embarrassed to ask for my job back. Not that Mr Campbell would give me my job back. I decided I wanted to get far away from here. So, I hurried over to King’s Cross station and took the next train to Scotland.

And that’s how it happened. That’s how I came to be living in western Scotland working behind the bar in a remote hotel. I enjoy the peace and quiet; it’s a lot less stressful up here than my old job. As for the prom dress, I still have it. The whole experience has awoken something inside me. I frequently like to dress as a woman or as a teenage girl with my ever-expanding female wardrobe. My wife hasn’t seen me since, but she e-mailed me one last time to say how pleased she was to be rid of me, and she gave me a link to an enforced feminisation website. All the videos of men who’ve been humiliated at the Queen’s hotel are there, including me. My friend Sindy is there as well. On one particularly embarrassing film, she is dressed as Little Bo Peep and forced to have sex with an inflatable sheep. I often dress in female clothing, to be elegant and graceful, just as long as no one knows.

Thanks for reading. Send your comments to: shoegirl900@yahoo.co.uk