The Tyler Interviews: Mrs. McCabe’s Ye Olde Bed and Breakfast

By Leviticus

“You know,” I said, tugging at the stiff band of metal that I had only a few minutes before voluntarily locked about my waist, “if God had meant for men to wear chastity belts, he wouldn’t have invented women.”

The only woman in the room chuckled before going back behind her desk. Susanna Boundalot, or SB as she preferred we call her, was my esteemed editor and liked to get personally involved in the fitting of each of her reporters in their, as she liked to put it, professional integrity. That she was gorgeous in that girl-next-door kind of way didn’t make it easy for us red-blooded males, something I think amused her no end…the little sadist. But none of us roving reporters was allowed out on any story without being suitably chastised, for SB wasn’t about to have the reputation of the magazine sullied by any temptation of her troops.

Me, I was a troop member, one of her better ones or so I liked to think. My byline was Tyler Herup, but people called me Ty for short. Get the pun? We of the Bondage Weekly Plus were all amusingly named like that, but then what did you expect from a rag such as ours? Tyler did happen to be my real name, but that was as personal as I liked to get around the office. Of course, having your boss help you into a steel and plastic contraption that would have made the head torturer of the Tower of London gibber with glee was the kind of personal I really didn’t want to get into very far. That she kept the only keys only added insult to injury. So as I was pulling up my pants and adjusting myself as best I could, SB tossed me a file, my assignment and the reason for the belt.

“Care to hit the high points for me?” I asked as I worked to do my zipper.

Susanna smirked. “I think you did that just before we got the belt on you!” I managed a bit of a smile but knew I was blushing. I said she was beautiful, didn’t I?

She continued on, “If you must know, I want you to interview the owner of a bed and breakfast in Bay City, near Portland, Oregon. They have an interesting set up there and it could be worth doing a feature.”

I sat down, slowly. It always took me a little while to learn how to move normally again in the belt. “I take it that their set up is well within our field?”

She gave me the look. “Would I send you there otherwise? Really Ty, you have more brains than that. You’ll find all the details in the folder, including your travel arrangements. Spend a few days out there, soak in the atmosphere, and do me two thousand words. Add a picture or two if they will let you.”

“Sure thing, SB,” I said, glad this was going to be an easy one for a change, “are they expecting me?”

“Of course they are Ty. I booked your room myself. They’re expecting you in three days.”

It took a second for what she said to sink in. “What? Three days? I could have flown there in a single afternoon! Why did you have me come in to get belted now?”

SB gave me that smile, the one that cats who chase mice aspire to achieve when they have their prey cornered. “Oh come now, Ty. You know you write better when you’re frustrated!”

Yeah, my boss loves me.

I got my own back on her though. I cashed in the plane tickets and drove to the west coast instead; a definite no-no, but fun all the same. I arrived in Bay City and found the address without a problem. It was a well-to-do neighborhood filled with old, yet imposing monuments that doubled as housing, and my first look at Mrs. McCabe’s Ye Olde Bed and Breakfast was impressive. The building loomed over the circular driveway that fronted it, and the ornamental bars covering each of the windows, I suspect, were there for more than scenery. The only obvious indication though that this wasn’t a normal hotel, was a sign at the front gate. It told anyone who cared to read it that This establishment was most definitely for adults only; and that you basically shouldn’t be shocked or offended by anything you saw inside. You have been warned! Of course a sign like that only piqued my interest and I had to drive in. I had often thought that if someone put a sign like that on the gates of Hell, I would have to wander in to take a look! Who am I kidding, there probably is one!

I parked, grabbed my single bag and ambled in through an open set of heavy wooden double doors. The lobby looked like a sitting room, and it actually made me pause and wonder if I had come into the wrong building. That impression, though, quickly evaporated when a young lady in a fair parody of a bellhop uniform came up and took my bag. I say parody because no bellhop uniform I had ever seen before had ever been designed to be translucent. It was all there, from the little round hat down to the shiny high heel shoes, but through it all I saw the most delightful shapes.

“Mr. Herup,” I heard vaguely from the direction of the desk. I tore my attention from the grinning girl with my luggage and looked over to see who could only be Mrs. McCabe. Stout? She could have put on a horned helmet and finished off any opera she chose. But her weight didn’t take anything away from her attractiveness at all, she positively glowed!

“It is Mr. Herup, isn’t it? From the magazine?” she asked, her voice a very pleasant tenor.

“Yes, yes it is. Although please call me Ty,” I replied, walking toward her and extending my hand. I heard a suppressed chortle behind me and Mrs. McCabe looked daggers at the bellhop for a second before turning to smile up at me again. Yeah, my name had that effect on people.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Herup,” said Mrs. McCabe, “such familiarity is just not done. You are my guest for the next three days, and I am here to serve. So, if you will just sign in here, Simone will escort you to your room and get you settled.” She pushed a large, old fashioned register toward me and I signed dutifully on the dotted line, glancing at the names already on there. There were none I recognized, but it was a fairly new page.

“I look forward to getting together with you soon and taking a tour of the place,” I said with a smile, glad for the easy assignment.

“That would be a pleasure, Mr. Herup. I’ll set some time aside for you, although Simone is well prepared to take care of your needs during your stay. Will you be dining with us tonight?” she asked.

“I wasn’t aware that an evening meal was provided,” I answered truthfully.

Mrs. McCabe smiled. “There are plenty of excellent restaurants within walking distance I’m sure. But a lot of our guests do like to stay in while they are here, for obvious reasons, so I do lay down an evening meal of sorts for those who choose to partake.”

“Then I would be honored, Mrs. McCabe,” I replied.

The woman smiled again and made a note on a pad. Then she waved the shapely bellhop over. “Take his bags up will you dear, and see to whatever the gentleman needs before supper.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” replied Simone and off she went.

I had good feelings about this assignment, especially since I followed the young bellhop closely up the stairs to the second floor, her delicious-looking ass undulating right in front of me under the unusual uniform, and I wondered just what was meant by “Anything I needed”. Surely it couldn’t be…that would put an entirely different tone on the place. Yet I had to find out, if only as a responsible journalist instead of just being a man. The only trouble was I had to do it within the bounds of my professional integrity, as my boss liked to call this thing locked around my loins. It was one of many questions I had about the place.

Simone led me to a nice looking bedroom with a large bed. The head and foot boards were ornate metal and looked to provide an almost infinite number of tie-down possibilities. The rest of the room wasn’t far behind as my expert eye picked out built-in eyebolts in the walls, ceilings, floor, and even the furniture. I looked at Simone and wished I had brought my ropes. Maybe they provided stuff like that here as other hotels provided tooth brushes for those who may have forgotten them. That made me wonder where my tooth brush was.

Simone began unpacking and I told her to stop.

“Its fine, Sir, all part of the service,” she replied.

“Ty, please!” I said, wondering what she would do.

She grinned. “Not while I’m on duty,” she said, making me wonder if she meant…well, you figure it out.

“It’s not often we get solo guests, Sir,” she continued, “I hope you won’t be bored while you’re here.”

“Well I am here to work,” I said, moving to put away my own underwear. “What do you do when guests arrive here solo?”

She gave me a look. “Not what you think, Sir. This isn’t a brothel. Mrs. McCabe simply provides a positive environment for adult bondage play, nothing more. Guests come here because they know they can relax and have a good time while on their vacations.”

“I see,” I replied and went on to listen to another ten minutes of Simone extolling the virtues of the place before I could get in another word. I asked her if she was in the lifestyle herself, given her current state of dress. All she did was wink and tell me that she would be by later to give me the tour.

What a wench!

The tour did prove informative, and I found myself already composing my article in my head, in Russian, as I am prone to do. I usually take all my notes in Russian, which annoys my boss no end. I have my mother’s parents to thank for those particular bilingual skills, and summers spent at their home in Florida with my brother and sister learning the finer points as to why the Russian Revolution was a bad thing. I miss them.

But back to the present, I got to look at a couple of the empty rooms, for the place was almost full this week, and saw them as being much the same as mine although one had a small cage in one corner, a rather solid-looking cage.

“What do you provide for the guests?” I asked my guide as we ambled down to the first floor.

“Towels,” was her reply, and she gave me a wink and led me out into the courtyard.

Now, I’ve never seen a hotel courtyard with an altar at the far end before, nor a large cross nearby, or what obviously was a suspension frame in the far corner. Evidently this was where the fun and games were conducted.

The courtyard itself was large and well landscaped, with grass and flowerbeds separated by winding stone pathways. I saw places for people to sit and/or lie down so they could enjoy the sun, and several people were out doing just that. At first glance it looked fairly normal, the aforementioned bondage devices not withstanding, but I noticed as we walked by that one young lady appeared to be strapped down to her sun chair in a bikini that would have looked small on a Barbie doll, while nearby a young man in barely anything knelt on the hard flagstones next to his Mistress, rubbing her soft golden body down with what had to be suntan lotion.

Simone started to introduce me to several of the people who could talk, and took pains to make sure they knew I was a reporter. So did I, really. There are times that not being known as a reporter was a definite plus, but not with this group. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that a couple of the guests had actually heard of me and the rag I worked for, and here I was thinking that the only person who actually read it was the owner, the guy who signed my paychecks, oh and my mother.

Still, I spent a pleasant time working my way around the few who had chosen to spend their afternoon lazing in the sun, until my attention was caught by a rather unusual sight in a far corner. It was a middle aged man dressed in a rather old-fashioned suit. In fact, if my dedication to English TV Murder Mysteries was correct, he looked like he was dressed as a Victorian gentleman. He was sitting on a bench reading a newspaper and looked like he had just stepped out of a Sherlock Holmes mystery. I had to go say hello.

He saw me approach and put one finger to his lips, bidding silence. So I treaded lightly.

“Hello, Sir,” I said, nodding my head and wishing I had a hat to tip to him as I’d seen in those TV dramas. Instead I merely introduced myself.

“Good day young man,” he replied, sotto voice, introducing himself as Colonel K____. “Wonderful day for some reflection and relaxation.”

I nodded, “Yes Sir, it truly is. I hope you don’t mind my intruding upon you for a few minutes.”

He put his finger to his lips again, but didn’t look like I was an intrusion. “Certainly dear boy,” he said, his English accent perfect for the role he was evidently playing, “but could I ask that you keep your voice down?”

I blinked. “Of course Sir,” I replied, a lot more softly, settling down on the bench beside him. We sat in silence for a moment and I took the time to note that whoever did the landscaping here did an excellent job of masking the sight lines into the courtyard from the hotel’s neighbors. There was no overlook anywhere that I could find. But the really amazing thing was how they hadn’t also masked the view. From this bench in particular was a fine view of the Pacific Ocean down the hill from us. I had to smile. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to spoil the peace and tranquility of this view with loud voices,” I said quietly.

“Eh? Oh that. Not at all. I just didn’t want you to wake the girl. She had a terrible flight over, hates flying, and was a total wreck by the time we arrived earlier this afternoon. I thought a nap would do her some good.”

“Girl?” I asked, looking cautiously around. No one was close to us, unless he meant one of the women sunning themselves on the other side of the courtyard, but I thought I had accounted for all of them.

He chuckled. “Not over there, young man. Come, we’ll take a peek and check on her.” He got up and taking his walking stick, of course he had a walking stick; he started off across the patch of grass behind us.

I saw quickly where we were going and understanding dawned almost immediately, which kind of shows you what company I’d been keeping lately. For hidden in the shade of a small tree and some other greenery, was a chest somewhat like a pirate chest. The Colonel walked right up to it and with some care undid the clasp that held the lid shut. Then, with another sign to me to be quiet, he slowly lifted the lid.

Inside I saw a very beautiful young woman with short, dark hair. She was completely nude and without restraint except for the chest itself, and was curled into a tiny ball, just small enough to fit her container. She was fast asleep by the look of it and after a moment the lid was lowered again, the clasp refastened. I wondered how she could sleep like that, how she could breathe. But evidently the Colonel was unconcerned about such matters.

Over time, I have learned to take my cue from those around me as far as the safety of submissives is concerned. Rarely do I know all the facts and preparation that may have gone into a particular bondage situation, and only when something is very obviously wrong do I speak up in the negative about what I see. I actually did find out later that the chest was specifically built just for her to sleep in. There was adequate ventilation built into its design, despite the way it looked, and that she had been sleeping like that for years. Still, at the time I first saw it I had to smile and wonder.

The Colonel had a twinkle in his eye too, and after making it back to the bench we sat and talked about their Victorian fetish until called in to cocktails. But that’s another article.

I left the Colonel alone to wake his charge and spent a pleasant half hour talking with a few other guests of this extraordinary hotel, getting their input on what they thought of the place and telling them I was here to do an article about it. To a person they had nothing but good things to say about it and one couple said they had been coming here for years and would never go anyplace else when visiting this part of the country. I was happy to hear that. Testimonials from the guests were always a good sign of the truth. Then I spotted my former bellhop entering the room, serving drinks and picking up empties, and as I watched her I was told that cocktail hour was a sort of tradition here at the bed and breakfast, and it was considered bad form not to show up for it. I nodded in the right places but kept getting distracted by Simone.

Simone at this point had changed from her see-through bellhop uniform to an equally see-through maid’s uniform, and as she was the only one showing any skin I half kept my eye on her. She knew this of course and a couple of times winked in my direction.

Mrs. McCabe eventually joined us in the salon where cocktails were being held, and became the center of attention. She was the gracious hostess, asking about our needs and making note of things that needed her staff’s attention. The only entrance that upstaged hers, in my mind, was when the Colonel entered with his girl. Unlike in the box, now she was fully dressed to fit the period of their fetish, in a pale yellow gown that looked restrictive enough to be bondage in itself. Oh those inventive Victorians! But with the way she walked and the way she held herself, my expert eye could tell there was a lot more going on under those voluminous layers than they let on.

I only got a brief chance to say hello before Simone announced dinner by ringing a small bell, and then we moved into the dining room. There were only eight of us at dinner; the rest of the guests going on to various other arrangements. But the Colonel and his ward were one of the couples eating in. Also with us were a couple from New York who obviously had a deep rubber and latex fetish, for their outfits, while respectable in what they covered, certainly were not what you would find at Wal-Mart. The third couple to share our table was normally dressed, but I found out later that their particular fetish was hidden bondage, tight ropes and straps under normal-looking clothes. I think that explained the wide-eyed look they both had all through dinner. That left Mrs. McCabe and me to fill out the table, with Simone serving.

It was a good meal; I gave the chef four out of five dog bowls in my fetish eating guide, and conversation flowed from things normal to things bondage and back again without pause. They were all interested in what I did and things I had seen and I told one or two stories but begged off telling any more, saying that if I did that they would have no reason to buy the magazine. So instead I steered conversation to Mrs. McCabe and got a good history of the place for my article.

Apparently she and he husband, now deceased, had inherited the hotel from an uncle of hers about twenty years before. It was doing very poorly, the entire neighborhood in a bit of a slump at the time. But they tried to make a go of it anyway. What saved them though was their own little kink. Apparently she and her husband were bondage enthusiasts and were members of several groups who met and played in this corner of the country. When one day a question was posed as to where they would all meet next, Mrs. McCabe offered the use of the hotel. The meeting, instead of lasting for just a few hours as they usually did, ended up becoming a full weekend because of the fact that all the Out-of-Towner’s could stay together in one place. This gave the McCabe’s an idea, and they began marketing their hotel to their friends as a place to come when in town where they could stay and explore their fetish without problems. Soon, friends told friends and bondage enthusiasts became the bulk of her business, a business that picked up greatly. That’s when she got into trouble with the City. After assuring the City that she wasn’t running a house of ill repute, that none of her employees took part in anything sexual going on in the hotel, she was allowed to stay in business provided she made proper warning to all potential guests as to the type of business she ran. Hence the sign outside and the careful way they made reservations. So, after twenty years, they had a profitable business and a well-worn spot in the west coast fetish community.

This was all very fascinating, but I was disappointed that after dinner nothing else was planned. Everyone went off to do their own thing, so being alone I took a tour of the local watering holes and paddled in the ocean for a while. I figured that this was a pretty good assignment, a good way to relax and spend a few days, even with my chastity belt on, and wondered why SB had given it to me. Maybe she was getting soft on me? I had to grin, after all it wasn’t the first time I had fantasized about my boss. But the one time I had made a serious pass at her she politely rebuffed it, and then gave me four assignments in a row keeping me locked in the belt for over a month. It wasn’t that she didn’t like me, I think, just that she wasn’t about to dally with the help.

Oh well.

So things were going well, always a bad sign, and I began to get a little nervous. The other shoe fell later that night.

I was stripped down to my shorts and belt in my room, sitting at my desk and going over my notes, when there was a knock at my door. Now normally I don’t answer the door in just my underwear, especially with my belt on, so I quickly pulled on a T-shirt to cover it and opened the door.

I guess in the back of my mind I had half hoped that Simone would come knocking, but the reality of it came as something of a shock. There she stood with a smile on her face; a smile that put me in mind of a cat contemplating a bowl of cream, and my name was Cool Whip!

Then again, the name suited her more than me at that moment, for like a refugee out of a Batman movie this girl was almost dressed in a very tight cat costume, and from her hip hung a curled whip. I said almost dressed for just like her other outfits, this was partially see-through.

“Hi,” she said, and swore I heard her purr.

“Hi,” I replied, hoping she couldn’t hear me swallow.

She put one long and not so delicate finger on my shoulder and pushed me aside, walking into the room on high heels that could have doubled as stilts. I could see her body moving under the whisper thin fabric of her outfit and that may have contributed to my lack of speech and failure to take control of the situation. Okay, I was also curious as to where this was going to lead; I am a guy after all. Then I remembered the belt and figured that it wasn’t going to lead anywhere I wanted it to go.

While I was attempting these mental gymnastics I was trying to prevent my mouth from dropping open and drooling all down my chin. Simone walked around the room as if inspecting it. She glanced at my notes on the desk and I saw her composure break for just a second. No one expects my Russian. But then she looked up at me and that smile was back. She undulated back over to where I was standing and put her hands on my chest, her face turned up and looking deep into mine.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you spending your first night here alone,” she said softly, “so I thought I’d…drop by.”

“Oh really,” I replied, feeling her heat and also my professional integrity, “and do you do this for all the solo guests who stay here?”

Her eyes narrowed and her hands gripped me a little tighter, making me wince. I was glad I had the shirt on or she might have torn out a few hairs. But in a second she relaxed and moved away.

“That was not a very nice thing to say,” she said, “I can see you need a little disciplining.”

I almost chuckled at the stereotype she presented to me, but I had to admit she was good with the whip as she took it from her belt and cast the end around my waist in one fluid motion. She must have practiced a lot.

She saw my smile and mistook it for a signal to go on, for she began hauling me in toward her until we stood toe to toe. Her scent was exotic, her presence erotic and I was very tempted, believe me. So tempted that we did kiss, long and hard while her arms wrapped around me and began exploring my back and moving downward. Me, I kept my hands to myself, knowing that any second she would say…

“FUCK! What’s this?” She stood back and looked at me for a second before reaching for my groin. I was glad I couldn’t feel those probing fingers. “What’s going on?” she demanded, her sex kitten act vanishing quickly.

I just shrugged. “Professional integrity,” I replied.

Now, here is where things could go well or get nasty. Believe it or not folks, this wasn’t the first time yours truly had been approached like this while on assignment, and I had come to figure out a few things about what could happen next. What did happen was a shame, but not all that surprising, for she just gave me a strange look before saying, “God, you’re weird. I guess no fun and games for us tonight!” And then she left.

I didn’t take it as a personal rejection, not much anyway, because it was likely she wasn’t here for personal reasons, but to maybe influence my article in favor of the hotel. Why do women persist in thinking that we guys are so easily corrupted? No, don’t answer that. But had she really come for personal reasons, she might have stayed anyway, some have, and decent rolls in the hay have been managed even though it was mostly for their pleasure, not mine. So, with a chuckle I closed my door and got ready for bed, wondering how I should let this influence my article.

I got my next little surprise much later that night. It was dark and I had been sleeping when I was awakened by the latch of my door turning. I always slept lightly when in my belt, go figure. Anyway, the room was lit for a moment by the light in the hallway as someone stepped in and I figured it was simply Simone, coming back after realizing her mistake and her obvious attraction to me. So I smiled and kept my eyes closed, just waiting for her to climb into bed with me.

Someone did climb into bed with me, a very large someone. My heart started pumping hard when I felt a hand touching my belt, fingers examining it carefully. I opened my eyes to see a well-coiffed head lying on the pillow next to me.

“So it is true,” the head whispered.

“Mrs. McCabe?” I gasped.

“Of course, Mr. Herup. I couldn’t believe what Simone told me about you, but I see she was telling the truth. Wonderful! It’s been too long, Mr. Herup, and I do love a man who can’t love back.”

She moved over me, and I could tell she was starkers under the bed clothes. “Mrs. McCabe!” I exclaimed, wondering what the hell I was going to do now.

In the dim light I could see her smiling. “I did say I was here to serve, Mr. Herup.” And she bent low to bite one of my nipples.

Now I’m a gentleman, so I won’t go into any more detail…hey, stop sniggering in the back, it’s true. So I won’t go into any more detail but I will say this, I didn’t miss Simone that night at all, and my next two days at the bed and breakfast passed most pleasantly.

As for the article, well, I’ll let you read in the next issue of Bondage Weekly Plus!

More Tyler interviews another time.