It was the most god-awful conference I'd ever been to, and there was still another day tomorrow.

A whole agonizing few hours before I could head home.

I sat in the bar right after we had finished the afternoon session and I felt miserable. I was a long way from home and wished that I could go straight back then and there to my husband and two kids.

But my job would be on the line if I did. My manager wanted me here for the whole conference. As he said before I left: 'No sneaking away, understood?'

I wasn't sneaking anywhere but I was at least downing a stiff drink. The first of what I planned would be a number that evening.

The woman who perched on the next bar stool to me was someone else from the conference: despite the fact she had gone to her room to change I recognized her long black hair and full red lips. The kind of lips that men usually think goes with a passionate woman. Or one who sucks well.

Me? I'm just an ordinary looking woman, but then I have kids at home and glory passed me by when I came out of the delivery room thirteen years ago.

I had no doubt this woman would soon be sought out by some of the alpha males who usually attend these sales slams. I had been here before and seen it. She'd be fussed over by a couple of hungry, wide eyed males and having made her selection, disappear with the male of her choice to her room.

Perhaps even both if she needed servicing at both ends at once. I'd heard it happened, but not to me. I'm just Jay - but more Plain Jane than Play Jay. I guess I look too motherly, so I either get the fifty year old leeches or ignored, and I much prefer the latter.

I guess that's why my husband Ben doesn't mind me coming. He knows no one's going to be diving into my pants unless it's some over the hill loser who would have cardiac arrest if he saw that I actually have a shaved pussy.

It's my one concession to Ben's sexual ambitions. I know among them he'd like to fuck me in the ass but that, he understands, is purely his fantasy. Not mine.

So I sat in the bar minding my own business. I didn't even want to watch Ms Hot Lips next to me devoured by some man with a smooth line in "Hey, weren't you at the Tucson conference last May?"

I was sipping my drink when Ms Hot Lips spoke to me. 'Hi, I'm Sherri," she said. 'I'm from back east.'

'Me too,' I said, faintly surprised she wanted to talk. Unconsciously I glanced at her left hand, to see if she had a wedding band: I figured she needed some motherly protection from all these sex-eager men and someone who looked as if she might be her mother would do. Sure, I'm only 35 but compared to Sherri - who looked about twenty two - I'd do as the Cooler.

That's the woman in a small group who cools any ardor in attendant males.

But Sherri had no band on her ring finger. Which was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good because she wouldn't be cheating on anyone, but bad because she would be the flame for the moths.

On the other hand, wedding bands can do the same with the men whose line is 'Hey, you want to cheat on your man?'

'I'm from New Jersey,' said the woman, extending her hand. 'Sherri Bridges. I work for Hanmato and Kiko.'

'I'm Jay, from Pittsburgh,' I said, shaking her hand. 'Jay Palmer, of Landistar Enetrprises.'

'Hi. Good to meet you. You know, this is my first,' she said, looking round the bar.

I couldn't resist it. 'First hotel or conference?' I asked.

For a split second she stared at me as I might be one of these conference crazies someone in her office had no doubt warned her about. Then her face dissolved into a wide grin.

'Conference,' she smiled. 'I haven't been with H and K long.'

'That would be your company,' I said. 'Handmotor and Kinky?'

Another slightly disbelieving look but another laugh. She probably didn't know yet that most folks in our line of business called Hanmato and Kiko that.

I had figured I was doing quite well in persuading her I wasn't the kind of person you'd want to be with long. I was particularly anxious that I wasn't going to be the "friend" who is useful when a man says to Ms Hot Lips, "You got a friend for my friend?"

Sherri though was relaxed and not looking like she was being put off. She ordered a rye whiskey.

'You don't look like a rye drinker,' I said.

'It must be being a mom,' she sighed. 'I didn't use to be.'

'Mother of what?' That slipped out. She didn't look old enough to be a mom and even I could tell her figure didn't look as if it had been through labor.

Sherri wasn't offended. 'I have a daughter, who's five.'

'Wow,' I said. Genuine surprise.

'You don't believe me? Her name's Hilton and she's here. You can see her.'

Now I'm used to all kinds of tales in my business - well that's the sales business for you - but here? In the hotel? 'I, um, don't understand. Did you say your daughter's here?'

Sherri sipped her drink and nodded.

I was tempted to say: "Hey, Hilton Hotel," but didn't, preferring to take the less flip approach: 'I guess she must be with her father. You turn this into a family trip?' I could think of better places than this place in downtown Kansas City. It wasn't exactly Disneyland.

'No, I'm not married. Just me and her.'

I wasn't grasping this. I assumed it was because I was tired. I just nodded, not thinking straight.

'You got kids?' She asked, clearly seeing my wedding band.

'Oh yeah. Two of 'em. Grant, the boy is 13. Lucille is 11. Quite a handful, when they behave.' I was aware Sherri was looking at me with added interest. 'It's easier when they step out of line. We keep them bound and gagged when they misbehave,' I said in mock-seriousness.

'Good idea,' she said.

I got a faint impression she hadn't understood the joke. Maybe, I thought, she was one of those folk who can't tell what's funny unless its played on TV to canned laughter. "Laugh Now" say the signs. Maybe it's the mischief maker in me, but for some reason I thought I'd tease her. I shook my head. 'Trouble is, getting the gags. Kids grow out them so quick these days.'

She nodded. Then she surprised me. 'Yeah. Hilton could do with a new one.'

I could have thought she was bouncing my joke back, but then she added: 'I don't think you can beat taping their mouths up. Hilton always looks so sweet when I tape her up for the day.'

I still might have thought it was all a joke but she even said: 'But I have to tie her hands behind her so she can't peel it off.'

'Excuse me?' I finally thought I had to clarify this.

'Your kids, when you gag them. You tie their hands out of the way, right, so they can't ungag themselves?'

There was a seriousness about her that made me shiver. I'm not sure why, as sales conferences are the natural habitat of creeps and weirdos. But maybe it was because she was an attractive woman and not some slimeball man with bad breath and wandering hands. 'Ungag themselves, right,' I said. I gulped my drink and thought, this is one crazy lady. Time for me to go.

I was about to get up, smile weakly and say, "Hey, is it really ten after seven? I'd better get to my room for a good night's sleep. Especially as we have the seminar on direct distribution via email lists first off tomorrow."

'You want to see Hilton?' The woman stopped me in my tracks.

'You want me to see your daughter? Here?' Part of me still thought this was somehow the weirdest conversation I'd ever had. Apart from the guy once in Chicago who wanted to interest me in nude skydiving. Though this was running it damn close.

'Hilton and I are in room 1206. What's your room?'

'Uh, I'm on the eleventh. Er...' I didn't want, for some reason to tell her where I was. '1130.' About as far away from my room as you could get without falling out the window.

'Great.' Sherri finished her drink and hopped off the bar stool. She led me - there is no other word for it - by threading her arm through mine and through the bar and to the elevator. I wondered if a couple of the guys in there thought we were lesbian and were getting off early.

I kept to my side of the elevator, going up. I tried to tell myself this is all some great joke, that there was no kid called Hilton and no ropes and gags and stuff. Hilton was probably some big soft toy. And she was a lesbian who wanted me in her room... No, I didn't feel too good about that, either.

Her room was probably just like mine, I thought as she fumbled for her key. Two beds, bathroom, one easy chair. One TV. Mini bar. Same painting on the wall (Sunset over Colorado, unless it was Sunrise over the Rockies) as my room.

She led the way in. Well, I got the detail right. Even the painting on the wall above the beds - the Sunset one.

The only detail I got wrong was that there was a five year old child stretched out on the bed, spread-eagled and tied down with a large piece of tape over her mouth.

---

I have no idea how long I sat there, in the big chair facing the bed, staring at the child. I didn't know what to say, even if it wasn't shocking in itself. I mean, the child wasn't naked or anything weird. Blue jeans, a pretty blue flower top, hair in bunches held with white ribbons. Hilton even had white socks on with those cute lace turn downs. But no shoes, not on the bed.

But Hilton did have thin but strong black leather bands buckled at her wrists and ankles: bands I could see were lined so they wouldn't chafe (or leave any marks) and a D-ring connected her to the ropes that held her to the bed.

The TV was on and the child had her head propped up by a pillow so she could see the cartoons. She looked at me, kind of curious when I went in but soon turned back to the show.

Sherri must have been unconcerned about me seeing her daughter like this (I guessed it really was mom and daughter as Hilton had the same shape eyes and long black hair). She sat for a few minutes on the bed and then disappeared into the bathroom. I wondered whether I should call the cops, the hotel management, the local TV station or simply leave.

I could even untie the kid and take her with me. Or untie her and leave her. Kind of a message to her mom: don't tie your kids up.

I got up and looked down at Hilton. She looked back at me, away from the TV. She wasn't crying or struggling or trying to talk.

Sherri came out of the bathroom, straightening her dress. 'Seen enough?' she asked innocently. Like she was asking me if I has seen enough of the room and the painting on the wall. 'Shall we go back to the bar?'

'Sherri. You can't just...' I waved my hand airily. 'Tying kids up is...' I paused. 'Surely you can't...' There was a real danger I would not finish my sentences.

'She's fine,' said Sherri. 'She's used to it. She's been tied up in quite a few hotels since I started this job.'

'What?'

'I don't have anyone to look after her. She comes with me.' It was matter of fact stuff.

'Sherri, you know what you're saying? You tie your girl up and what, just leave her all alone?'

'I do check in on her,' she said, rummaging in her purse. 'I don't leave her like that all the time.'

'Thank God,' I said.

'Mostly I tie her up in the closet or to a chair or under the bed. But she likes it where she can see the TV.'

I don't think I made any clear and intelligible sound in response, but a gasp emerged.

'Okay, got everything, let's go.' Sherri turned back to the door, but added over her shoulder - aiming her words at the bound child: 'Mommy'll be back soon, honey. Be good and don't fight your ropes.'

I caught Sherri's arm. 'You're just... leaving her?'

'Sure. Like I say, she'll be fine. She's happy waiting.'

'But this is ridiculous,' I objected. 'If anyone knew there'd be hell to pay!'

'You know,' the woman shrugged. 'You see a problem?'

'Yes, I do!' I drew breath. 'You're her mother and no parent ties their kid up.'

Sherri looked puzzled. 'You said you did.'

'That was just a goddamn joke,' I hissed.

'Look,' Sherri shook her head as if explaining the obvious. 'I have to have a job. I'm on my own and there's no other money for us. No one I can call on - no one I'd trust with Hilton. So she come with me. When I travel to do my job it means she has to stay where she's safe. If I let her run round the room... hell, anything could happen. She might get hurt, breaks something, start a fire. Maybe get out of the room and get lost.' The young woman looked at her child, still not struggling, still absorbed in the TV. 'She's safe like this. Check her ropes - they're not too tight and she can wriggle some on the bed so she doesn't get sore in one spot.'

'B-but...' I was lost for words, which is rare for someone in Sales. 'Hell, even if I bought this - and I don't - she's gagged! Does she need that?'

'I don't want her calling out, that's all.'

'So you tape her mouth up and just leave her!'

'I thought we'd been through that.' Sherri sighed. 'I'm on my own, she's safe, I can do my job without worrying.'

'There must be someone who could look after her, where you come from!'

'I don't think so. I need to know she's safe.'

'You just can't...' I was struggling for a logical argument. 'What if she needs a drink of water?'

'I always come back and feed and water her. At least twice in the day.'

'But you're just going back to the bar now.'

'I have to meet other sales people. I get to know what they're doing, what business is out there. I have to be good at my job, agreed? If I am, they keep me. If I'm not I'm back looking for work. This job is great because I can keep an eye on my daughter. I know she's safe, which matters to me.'

I was exasperated by this. 'And what if she needs, you know, a pee?'

'She wears a diaper, naturally,' said Sherri.

'Naturally,' I echoed, realising foolishly that this kid bound on the bed wasn't just fat round the hips. She was wearing something under her jeans.

'You coming back to the bar?' asked as she reached for the door.

'No. I'll stay,' I suddenly blurted out. 'If you're so damn keen to get to the bar and rub elbows with some of those men who -'

'Men and women. Like you,' she grinned a little. 'People who have been in the business for a long time.'

'Okay, you go and do whatever. But I stay here. I untie Hilton and look after her. Until you get back.'

Sherri actually laughed. 'You don't mind then if I meet someone who wants to, you know...?'

'Do what you want, but be back by ten.'

'You sound like my mom used to.' The young woman grinned. 'Let's make it eleven.'

I opened my mouth to argue but thought, hell, I am being her mother. 'Eleven,' I agreed. 'But so help me if you're a minute late.'

'I won't be.' The woman's eyes twinkled. And then she was gone.

---

I learned a few things after I untied the child, after I had peeled the tape of her mouth. And after Hilton spat out the small rubber ball that filled her mouth.

'You going to tie me up?' was the first thing she asked. Again, not upset and certainly not afraid.

I assured her I wasn't going to tie her up or gag her. And then we talked. Slowly at first as she was still absorbed in the cartoons on the TV, but gradually more and more.

It was difficult getting an idea of time scales and family history and locations as she was so young but I learned that her mom had been doing jobs like this for a couple of years. Or two birthdays, as she called it. She had, as if understanding there was no alternative, gone along with everything her mommy wanted. Even if that meant being bound, gagged, diapered up and left on her own in strange hotel rooms.

I began to feel close to the kid. Of course, having had kids yourself helps but Hilton was a sweet child and even had a surprisingly well-developed sense of humor. At least, she laughed if I told her a joke. I watched her as we sat. I guess I expected her to be so glad to be free she'd do cartwheels round the room, or at least want to be away from the bed. But she sat on it, or lay on it and given the ropes were still attached to the bed corners she didn't seem concerned.

I even asked her a few times if she wanted me to unbuckle the leather cuffs off her wrists and ankles but she said she was okay like that. Likewise the diaper. She was happy to wear it.

Accepting she still had her cuffs on and was happy to stay diapered I guess we could have stayed like that all evening, being relaxed as we were,. Then about nine I needed the toilet. I got up to go and Hilton started to follow me. 'It's okay Hilton,' I said gently. 'I'm not leaving you. I just have to go to the bathroom.'

'Me too,' said the five year old girl without batting an eyelid. 'I need to poop.'

I didn't quite know what to do. That was what, to use her phrase, I needed. Hilton had, of course, a diaper on. 'Uh-huh,' I said, not sure what the procedure was in this. Did she do it in her diaper or did she shuck it off and use the toilet normally? From my angle did I let her go first? But then, my need was pretty urgent.

Normally I'd put her needs ahead of mine but I was suddenly desperate. 'Okay, well I'll be as quick as I can. You wait here.'

'I'll wait if you let me come in with you.'

'Honey. We don't do that,' I said.

'I do. Mommy lets me in the bathroom when she's having a bath.'

'I'm not doing that. I'm just... I'm going to -'

'I know. Poop.' Without another word she headed past me into the bathroom.

I might have thought she had tried to get there in front of me but in the bathroom she just stood back, facing the toilet and completely unconcerned.

I thought for a moment I should insist and send her out. I even thought, naughtily, of tying her the bed while I went but my bowels were telling me hurry. Without a word I shucked down my slacks and pants and perched on the pan. She would, I figured, just have to cope with the smell - which I'd have to do if I removed her diaper later.

That was when Hilton grinned and said: 'You're like me. Not like Mommy.'

I began to ask what she meant and then I realised with shock. She could see my shaved mound. I grabbed my top and tried to pull it down to hide myself but it was too short.

'I don't mind,' said the child. 'See, I haven't got any mommy hair here.' To my astonishment she peeled her jeans off and unsnapped the tape from her diaper, dragging it clear of her crotch.

Of course she was hairless. I remember my daughter Lucille when she was that age. But it wasn't the sight of her hairless pussy that made me catch my breath. It was something else. Something smooth and vaguely metallic emerging from her small sex.

I knew what it was the instant I saw it. I know because I have one as well: it was a vibrator. Smaller than mine, admittedly, but a sex toy just the same. I stared at it and Hilton must have noticed because she snickered. 'This is my friend, Dilly,' she said, touching it with her fingers as if about to remove it. But all she did was push it deeper up into her, saying: 'Dilly's in me all day. It's got these long-life batteries and it tickles me every so often. Um, it's a sort of buzzer. Mommy says it's in there so I'm not lonely.'

I felt myself blush. Not at seeing a vibrator but seeing the child's everyday reaction to it - and the thought it was in there all day. Not for the first time I thought of me in that boring conference and a few floors above me a child was bound to a bed with a vibrator buzzing in her, kept in place by her diapers.

'You got one in you?' asked the child innocently, snapping me back.

'Uh, no. Not in me. Not right now.' I tried not to blush any more. 'I got one, in my room. It helps me not be lonely, but only at night.' God, I thought, I'd never go any place without my dildo. Couldn't get through some evenings in dreadful hotels without a little vibrating comfort.

'What you call yours?' asked Hilton, still fingering the bottom end of her friend Dilly.

'Dolly,' I said on the spur of the moment. And blushed.

'Dilly and Dolly,' gurgled Hilton. 'They can be friends!'

'Uh, Dolly's asleep in my room right now.'

Hilton nodded, and then asked. 'You gonna poop yet?'

I felt my face color up. 'Of course I am,' I said, remembering why I was sat on the pan with my pants round my ankles.

Hilton just stood there idly holding her vibrator in and watching, unmoved, as my bowels moved.

I finished and reached out for some paper but Hilton waddled across towards it. 'Can I wipe you?' she asked, clearly not minding the smell. As I'd made it I couldn't smell much of it but I imagined it would be strong for the little girl. Like I say, she was unconcerned. 'I like wiping Mommy's bottom.'

'Well...' I began, startled by the request. 'Usually I do it myself.' Usually? Who was I kidding? I always did it myself and had for about 34 years. Yet I was intrigued at someone doing it for me. 'Um, okay, but it's kind of messy.'

'I know,' said Hilton, tearing paper off with one hand and keeping her Dilly in her with the other. 'Turn round please so's I can get to your bottom.'