A Night at the Club · Part 2 (2/2)
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The applause finally died completely away and a new song began. This one was more… haunting. It was slow and had violins and everything that normally makes me cry. I’m a sad drunk, I guess because tears were flowing down my cheeks as I watched raven grab her pole and seem to somehow slither up to about half way. Then she began doing a series of very slow, very athletic, acrobatic moves. At one point she was holding herself straight out from the pole with her legs spread wide as she slowly rotated herself around the pole using just the strength of her hands.
I giggled slightly and Shelly leaned in and said, “What?”
“It’s true,” I said between giggles. “We’re all pink on the inside.” She glared at me slightly and I quickly said, “Sorry, that must be the bubbly talking.”
Margi must have caught her drink in her throat because she started coughing and hacking and gasping for air. Both Shelly and Dianne shot daggers at her with their eyes and she immediately took several deep breaths through her nose and quieted down.
By the time I looked back at the stage, raven, was again at the very top of the pole and was lowering her body downward while keeping it flat like a flag waving from the pole. Then somehow she managed to put both feet against the pole and somersault herself into the air, landing facing the front of the stage in full splits with her hands high in the air.
Again, there was tremendous applause. This time, after it had died away, the Head Mistress stepped onto the stage and said loudly, “Time to vote, my dears.” She paused a moment and then added, “Remember, any ineligible female… or sissy… who votes will join the loser up here on a punishment pole… except they will be up here for the rest of the evening.”
I leaned over to Shelly and whispered, “What is a punishment pole?”
“Later, Precious, later. I have to think so I can vote.” She then closed her eyes like she was trying to remember both performances, opening them only to look down at the small pad in her hand before pressing one of the squares on the screen.
As the Mistresses and Ma’ams voted, a running total of numbers appeared above where each of the two slaves was standing. Their Mistresses were now standing by their sides. When the numbers stopped moving raven had 109 votes. Madeline had 103.
“That was close,” I said softly, more or less to myself.
Dianne chuckled and said, “Raven’s performance was by far the most beautiful… and demanding, but Mistress Luann is a bitch that likes to lord her husband’s money and power over everyone so a lot of people voted for madeline just for spite.
I turned to Shelly and asked, “Didn’t Mistress Kiara know that raven was much better than madeline? Shouldn’t a Mistress watch out for her slave and protect her?
“Yes, she should,” Shelly answered. Then she looked directly at Margi before adding, “… unless she wanted to punish a wayward slave.” She looked back at me and brightened. “But in this case,” she said, “Mistress Kiara was looking out for her slave. She knows that madeline is a painslut and the punishment pole is one way to inflict pain without causing any harm to the body.”
“How can you do that?” I asked, and Margi immediately answered, “One way is to use a TENS unit set a little higher than recommended.” As if to emphasize her point, she triggered her joker’s scepter and sparks flew out at the head. “Or,” she continued, “you can just overload someone with pleasure… like on the punishment pole.”
She pointed to the stage and I could see that two stagehands were rolling out a strange-looking doorway that appeared to have a short dancing pole mounted in the middle of it. While they were moving, the lights came up in the club and the waitresses moved rapidly out to the tables. I watched Mistress Kiara lead madeline over to the strange doorway and then leave the stage. The two stagehands guided madeline so that she was standing in the open doorway and then lifted her hands above her head. There were leather restraints in the upper corners of the open doorway.
After her wrists were secured they pulled her ankles out to the bottom edges of the doorway and strapped them into restraints located there. Finally, they grabbed the brass pole and lifted up on it so that it extended up to touch between madeline’s legs. They seemed to move it around just a little bit and then pulled it up several more inches. I could tell because there was a dark band around the pole near the middle. After lifting the pole one last time, they both left the stage.
The lights in the club blinked twice signaling the waitresses to return to the bar. The lights then dimmed leaving just a bright spotlight beaming down on madeline in the doorway. There was just enough light for me to be able to grab the drink that had been set before me. Dianne called it a Manhattan, which I think is just whiskey and vermouth, usually with a cherry floating in it. They must have spilled some of the maraschino cherry juice in mine because it had a heavy cherry overtaste when I took my first sip.
The club was very quiet as if everyone were waiting for something. Then I heard it. As it grew louder and louder, it sounded like the strongest vibrator I had ever heard. There were several whoops and cheers as madeline’s eyes shot open and she pulled against the restraints holding her hands. The pole was visibly shaking and the black band was moving up and down. It was the strongest vibrator I had ever heard… or seen.
It took only a little over thirty seconds for her to reach her first orgasm. “No,” she called out, “it’s too much. It’s too much.” But if anything, the noise got louder and the motion got faster. She soon screamed out her second orgasm.
“How long must she stay on there?” I asked Shelly. “What if it actually hurts her… I mean harms her?”
“The normal punishment on the pole is twenty orgasms,” Shelly answered.
“And her safe word is Cherokee,” Dianne said calmly, “… should something go wrong.” She took a sip of her drink and added, “Besides, Mistress Kiara wouldn’t let someone else harm her slave.”
I wanted to ask if that meant that Mistress Kiara would harm her, but all I said was, “Oh.” I was going to take a sip of my drink but realized that I was holding an empty glass.
I may not have been keeping track of how much I was drinking, but my bladder was. “I need to go to the bathroom,” I said softly.
“Go with her,” Shelly said to Margi, “just in case someone can’t read the back of her dress.”
“And leave the joker stick here,” Dianne added.
Margi looked disappointed as she set the joker’s staff on the table. “Come on,” she said as she started walking into the darkness.
As we entered the restroom, I turned to her and asked, “Would you have shocked me with your stick?”
Her face got really weird and her voice got slightly higher than normal as she said, “Until you peed all over yourself and the floor and everything within thirty feet.”
For a moment I was very afraid, but then I got that same warm feeling I get when Shelly looks into me with her black eyes. “Oh, my god!” I yelled as I ran for the stall, hoping to make it before I lost control. If I had been wearing panties, I would never have gotten them down in time. The way it was, I barely got the dress out of the way before sitting down and emptying my bladder.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Margi said from the other side of the stall door.
“Like what?” I said, then quickly added, “No, I wouldn’t.”
The stall door opened. “You would,” she said, “and I would love shocking the piss out of you and hurting you in hundreds of ways that only I can dream of… but you are Shelly’s… or will be after tonight.” She reached out her hand to help me back to my feet. “Still,” she said in a strange almost sing-song voice, “if you ever get bored with Shelly’s lovin’ or want a little pain in your life, Krazy Kitty is always waiting for you.”
“No,” I tried to say firmly, “I don’t think I would like that.”
She barred my way with one arm held across the stall doorway and reached under my dress with the other hand. I felt her hand slide between my legs and go all the way up. Then I felt her fingers push into me… with no resistance. I was as wet as a whore in heat.
“That’s just the liquor,” I stammered. “I’m not used to drinking.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she replied with a crooked smile. “Maybe you will even believe it.”
She then turned and walked out of the restroom. As we got back to the table, we could hear members of the audience calling out, “Eighteen…” then a little later, “Nineteen…” and just as we got to the table, everyone shouted, “Twenty!”
Madeline was hanging limp in the punishment pole doorway as the stage hands wheeled her down a ramp off of the stage and then wheeled her slowly through the whole room so everyone could see– and smell– her close up. Her body was slick with sweat and the pole was even slicker with her juices. I stood and watched her as the stagehands wound their way around the room. I felt myself shuddering as she passed our table. For an instant, I was seeing myself hanging there with the entire club cheering. Margi snapped her electric stick in front of my eyes and Shelly asked, “Is something wrong?”
“She’s just coming to grips with some realities she didn’t want to believe,” Margi said with a snicker.
“I need another drink,” I said as I sat down.
“You need some food,” Dianne said.
“Let’s split the difference,” Shelly said. “Bloody Mary’s for everyone.”
“Oh, God,” Dianne said. “Not those horrid concoctions from hell that you seem to like so much.”
“OK,” Shelly said, “Make mine spicy and everyone else’s can be boring.”
“I would like to try it spicy,” I said.
“You don’t know what you are asking for,” Margi said with a laugh. I just stuck my tongue out at her and nodded when Shelly asked if I were sure. When the waitress brought back the tray of drinks, Shelly’s and mine had little umbrellas stuck into the celery stick. Hers was red, mine was pink. I took a sip of mine and my mouth was on fire. I certainly wasn’t going to be gulping this one down.
As I sat there sipping my drink and breathing very deeply through my mouth, the Head Mistress again walked up on stage. “We have a sissy with us tonight,” she began, “who is begging her Mistress for some relief. Mistress Abigail has promised slave-slut wendy that if she fully satisfies an even dozen of her friends, she will be allowed to cum. Do we have twelve volunteers for sissy wendy to satisfy.
“Oh, why not,” said Margi as she held her hand– and her stick– high in the air. The sparks from the joker’s crown seemed extra bright in the dim room. “I see Krazy Kat is more than willing,” the Mistress said, “but please leave your wand at the table. The only pleasure for you will come from slave wendy’s tongue.”
“I might as well leave these here, too,” Margi said loudly as she stood up. When she laid her jester’s staff on the table, her vinyl Harley Quinn tights were laying alongside it. I watched her walk up onto the stage. She looked even more naked than slave madeline had been. Having something on top, especially with long sleeves, somehow made her naked bottom look even more naked.
I had thought that the strange tattoos and scars on her legs were designs on a special pair of pantyhose tights, but as she walked up on stage into the bright lights, it was obvious that the designs were on her skin. They were either temporary transfers or real tattoos and scars.
Shelly nodded toward Margi and said softly, “Margarita had a very interesting childhood and an even more interesting couple of relationships as she grew up.”
Dianne continued the thought by saying, “She is too broken to ever be allowed to be a Mistress. She would be too cruel.”
The twins spoke for the first time, “She was our Mistress for a short time,” Mary said. “But she wouldn’t honor our safe word,” Marcy continued. Then they switched into their normal unison voice and said, “Dianne rescued us from her… and from ourselves. She is not truly Margi’s Mistress, but is more of her keeper. Without Dianne, Margi would destroy someone.”
“Probably herself,” Dianne said flatly, “but she might take others with her.” She turned to me and said a little more brightly, “She has never officially submitted herself to me or anyone else, but she knows that she needs me. And I give her what she needs.”
“What is officially submitting yourself?” I asked.
Shelly looked at me and suddenly her black eyes were boring through me. I got all mushy inside as she slowly said, “That means you kneel naked before me at a public ceremony and pledge yourself to me. Then I give you a collar and a new name. After that, you are officially mine.” She continued to look at me in silence for a few moments then asked, “Would you like to do that later, Precious?”
I couldn’t answer her. I was too afraid that if I said anything, I would say, “Yes!” so I took a big gulp of my drink. The spicy hot tomato juice burned all the way down my throat. I guess the vodka accentuates the burn because it felt like it kept burning when it got to my stomach. I just sat there with my mouth open gasping for air.
“We can return to that question later after we watch wendy satisfy Margi and eleven other horny Ma’ams and Mistresses.”
The club lights didn’t dim, and the waitresses didn’t cloister themselves back behind the bar as the Head Mistress stood in the center of the stage with her microphone. “Slut-slave wendy will have ten minutes to bring all twelve Mistresses to orgasm if she is to be allowed relief,” the Mistress said loudly. Margi and the other eleven were lying on short backless couches. They were arranged in a circle with their heads pointed to the center and their legs hanging off the end of the divans. All of them had their legs spread and the smell of hot cunt was even stronger than it had been all evening.
Margi and four or five of the others had removed the lower half of their outfits, but the rest were wearing full-catsuits like Dianne or abbreviated cat-suits like Shelly and they had opened the bottoms to allow access to their slits. I couldn’t imagine how the suits snapped or stuck together down there and still molded so tightly to the shape of their slit and labia when it was closed. On the woman facing directly toward me, it was obvious that the whole lower front wrapped up from the back and then attached at the sides like the front wedge of a bikini, but I couldn’t tell on the others.
A large clock was brought out on stage that was set at 10:00. Then a young woman in a very short, frilly white corset dress was led out. It was very obvious that she was naked under the dress. And when she knelt down in front of the first woman, it was equally obvious that she was a he. Actually it wasn’t obvious, obvious. Her penis was trapped in some sort of clear plastic chastity device and her small testicles were in some sort of clear bag that was pulled back under her crotch by a cord that went up between her legs and tied to the back of her corset.
She knelt silently for a moment or two until the Mistress said, “Begin.” The clock started counting down and the sissy started lapping. She evidently had a large, talented tongue– and a lot of practice– because it only took her about a minute and a half to bring the first woman to orgasm. The next took a little over a minute. That was pretty impressive, but there was no way she would make it through all twelve in ten minutes.
She was on her fourth or fifth woman when Shelly nudged me and said, “Your round. I’m paying, but you’re naming.”
I looked up and realized that a waitress was standing next to me. “Something really big… and really strong,” I said in a loud, but shaky voice.
“That would be a Long-Island Iced Tea,” the waitress said with a laugh. She looked over at Shelly and she nodded her head. “Long-Islands it is,” the waitress said as she turned to go back to the bar.
I turned my attention back to the stage and was surprised that the sissy had only three women left to do and there was just over four minutes left on the clock.
“How is that possible?” I stuttered out. “Don’t Mistresses have more… control than that?”
Shelly laughed softly and said, “Mistresses are women, too, Precious. We have been drinking and watching sex shows all evening. Booze may make a man less responsive, but it usually makes a woman more responsive.” She nodded back toward the stage and continued, “Plus, how long would you last if you were lying next to woman after woman who was being tongued to orgasm? The sights… the sounds… the smells… would probably make you pop even before slave wendy got to you with her tongue.”
I could feel the wetness between my legs. She was right. I was almost ready to go over the top and no one had done anything to me… yet.
Shelly’s voice then got very soft. “Wait until after you have finished your drink to answer me,” she began, “but would you like to go up on stage and do that to me?… as my slave? We would have the submission and collaring ceremony and then you could give your mouth to me for the first time.” She patted my arm and said, “Think about it. I’ll accept whatever answer you give me.”
I sat staring at her until the clunk of a glass being set on the table in front of me brought me out of my state of shock. Shelly had just asked me to be her slave!
I took a big gulp of my drink and started coughing. There is no iced-tea in a Long Island Iced Tea. I could taste something very sweet with an overtaste of oranges and lime. I could also vaguely taste something like rum and over all of it was the taste of Coca Cola.
“Wow!” I said as I got my breath back. “So that’s a Long Island Iced Tea.” I smiled at Shelly and said, “I may have found a new favorite drink.”
“We’ll have to order those first next time we come here,” she replied.
I just closed my mouth over the straw and sucked in another mouthful of my drink. Then a loud moan from on stage, followed immediately by an even louder bell caught my attention. When I looked up, the last Mistress was thrashing on the divan with her legs wrapped around the sissy’s head. There were still eleven seconds left on the clock.
“It looks like slut-slave wendy has won the right for release and relief,” the Head Mistress announced loudly. She clapped her hands and the twelve women left the stage. I noticed that Margi, who had been number eleven, wasn’t walking very straight as she came back to the table. She sat down without putting her pants back on and downed about half of her tea. “That sissy has been well-trained,” she said firmly before taking another huge gulp of the drink.
Meanwhile, the stagehands were wheeling what looked like a portion of a huge barrel onto the stage. “We keep this in back for times such as this,” the Head Mistress explained as she pointed at the device which, now that it was in place, looked more like the rounded roof of a small shed.
Mistress Abigail had joined her on stage. She pointed to the ground at her feet and wendy scurried over and knelt there. “Stand up and I will prepare you,” she said firmly and wendy jumped to her feet.
Mistress Abigail turned wendy so she was facing away from her and began loosening the corset. Once it was totally loose, she pushed downward on it and the entire dress fell to the ground.
“Step out,” she ordered and wendy did so. Wendy was now standing naked on the stage. I was surprised that her breasts were real, but all that takes is hormone pills. Her hips were slightly rounded and from the back she looked like a teenaged girl, but that illusion was shattered when she turned around. Her penis, which was now clearly visible, was enlarging and straining against the chastity device which had it tightly contained. Mistress Abigail tapped the plastic with the tips of her fingers and said smartly, “That comes off last. Now lay over the stretcher frame.”
Wendy walked over to the rounded device and lay over it on her back. It was slightly wider than she was and long enough so that her feet and hands– when she stretched them out– were well within its length. Stagehands hurried to wrap restraints around wendy’s ankles and wrists. The ankle restraints appeared to be attached directly to the stretching frame. The wrist restraints were attached to ropes which went through pulleys almost concealed within the frame. There must have been a wheel or something on the back side of the frame, because one of the stagehands stood there and the ropes got tighter and tighter.
After a few more turns of the wheel, Mistress Abigail said, “That’s enough,” and then signaled for the stagehands to leave. Slut-slave wendy was now tied in a very tight bow with the highest point of her body being her prick, which was straining painfully at the constraint of the chastity device.
Mistress Abigail was in a full-body, black catsuit with a removable panel which covered her crotch. It had a belt-like strap at the waist which held the bikini-shaped panel in place. Since the edges of the bikini panel were in the creases at the top of the legs, it was not apparent there was a panel until the Mistress removed it.
Mistress Abigail was a true red head, or at least the carpet matched the drapes. I hear that there are special dyes that can be used down there now. She maneuvered herself over wendy’s face and then settled herself down. Meanwhile, a slave girl– or perhaps a naked stagehand– walked up behind the stretching frame and removed the chastity shield. As wendy’s cock unfolded and grew, the slave girl slid something over it.
The device was a thick, clear tube about three inches long that apparently had a bladder of some sort around the inside of it. I couldn’t tell if the bladder was filled with air or warm liquid, but it was liberally greased with something. The girl began moving it slowly up and down wendy’s cock while she moaned from between her Mistress’s legs.
“Remember,” Mistress Abigail warned, “if you cum before I do you will be severely punished… and the chastity cage will go back on for two months.”
It sounded like she answered, “Yes, Mistress,” but it was hard to tell because Mistress Abigail lowered herself the rest of the way down while she was speaking. Mistress Abigail ground herself into wendy’s mouth while the slave girl moved the masturbation sleeve up and down on her prick. Her cock was starting to quiver and it looked like she might be in for some severe punishment, but just before she spurted into the air, Mistress Abigail gave a loud sigh and quivered slightly before standing up and pulling the bottom panel of her catsuit back in place.
“Abigail has always been something of a cold fish,” Dianne said softly. “… a very sadistic cold fish, but a cold fish nevertheless.”
Everyone at the table laughed softly… except me. I was staring at my empty glass and wondering what answer I was going to give Shelly.
“So,” Shelly said calmly, “have you decided on an answer?”
“Yes,” I said in a shaky voice.
“Yes, you have decided or yes, you want to submit yourself to me?” Shelly replied.
If I hadn’t had so much to drink, I never would have had the nerve, but I said loudly, “Yes! I want to be your slave!”
Conversation at all of the tables near us suddenly stopped and it got very quiet in the room. I know I was trembling almost violently as I looked over at Shelly. “That was probably all of the alcohol talking,” I said in a shaky voice, “hopefully I will still feel that way in the morning.”
That’s when Margi started laughing uproariously. “Rule number seven: No potential slave may be served alcohol or any other substance that might impair her decision-making. Violation of this rule will result in expulsion from the club.”
“You mean?” I stammered.
“Yes,” Dianne said, “your drinks were all non-alcoholic. All of your wild behavior tonight was just you.” She looked over at Shelly and continued, “And I have watched you melt every time Shelly looked at you. I kept expecting you to throw yourself at her feet and beg to be her slave.”
“So did I?” I replied softly. Then I looked into Shelly’s deep black eyes and asked, “What do I do now?”
“First we get you properly dressed for the evening,” she said as she lifted my dress over my head. I must have put my arms above my head to let the dress slip off because the next thing I knew I was standing naked in front of her. “Now,” she continued, “we go up on stage.”
The Head Mistress was waiting for us. She pointed to the floor in front of herself and I sank to my knees in front of Shelly. “Do you do this of your own free will?” the Mistress asked.
“I do,” I answered.
“Mistress Shelly,” she continued, “do you claim this submissive as your own slave with all the rights and responsibilities that entails.”
“I do,” Shelly answered.
The Mistress leaned down to me and said softly, “Now you bow down and submit yourself to Shelly as your Mistress.”
I intended to bow, but somehow I ended up flat on my face like I had always imagined myself. My arms were stretched out and my fingers were just short of touching Shelly’s feet. “Mistress Shelly,” I said clearly, “I submit my body, mind, and spirit to you as my Mistress forever.”
“What name do you give your new slave?” the Mistress asked.
“Precious,” Shelly answered. “Her name shall be slave precious.”
“Come back upright on your knees,” the Mistress instructed and I did so.
Shelly was now holding a collar and leash in her hands. The Mistress looked at me and asked, “Do you accept this collar from Mistress Shelly as symbol of the bond which holds you to her and the protection which she gives you?”
“I do,” I said firmly and the Mistress nodded to Shelly.
Shelly– my Mistress– turned the collar so that I could read the brass nameplate on the front. It said, “precious – Property of Mistress Shelly.” She smiled at me as she turned the collar back around and then strapped it on my neck. The leash draped slightly down my back and then over my shoulder to Shelly’s hand.
Margi was suddenly standing behind Shelly. She reached for something on the sides of Shelly’s catsuit and the bottom panel swung down and open. Shelly lowered herself down on the divan which had been placed behind her and I crawled up between her legs.
“Kiss my mouth first,” Mistress Shelly said and I moved up so I could do so. Our tongues darted in and out of each other’s mouths. After a few minutes, Shelly said, “Now do what you have been dreaming of doing while you masturbated on the floor after I left.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I answered as I slid back down and began lapping at her nectar. The club clapped and cheered when, many minutes later, my Mistress finally had her first orgasm at my hands… or should I say my tongue.
A few other students questioned my collar when I first began wearing it to class, but most just accepted it for what it was, a symbol of the special relationship I have with my Mistress. Mistress Shelly wants me naked around the apartment, even when friends are over or we are having a party. But she allows me to dress if outsiders or trades people are going to be in the flat. She also allows me to dress appropriately for the weather, especially when I am walking to class when it is cold outside.
When it is warm, I prefer to wear a sundress with nothing under it. One of the last warm days of fall, one of the other girls in one of my classes said to me, “I wish I had the freedom to dress like that.” That’s when I realized that night at the club had not enslaved me. It had set me free.
A Night at the Club · Part 2 (2/2)
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