A Night at the Club

by The Technician

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© Copyright 2019 - The Technician - Used by permission

Storycodes: F+/f+; bdsm; fetish; slave; public; milking; catsuit; cons; X

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A flatmate becomes a precious slave.

This is the story of a young woman's night at a club with her college roommates. It ends up being a night that totally changes her life.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician ([email protected]).

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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When six college girls room together, certain personality types become apparent. There is always the alpha female– or at least one girl who thinks she needs to be in charge of the rest. Dianne is the one whose name is primary on the lease. Everyone else is a flatmate. In addition, she has everyone’s classes and activities on her calendar. And she keeps adding group activities for all six of us... or at least for the five of them.

She is assisted in planning everyone’s life by Shelly, the activities director. Shelly knows everything that is going on in town or on campus and knows what each of us... or all of us... would really like. There isn’t a club in a hundred miles that she doesn’t have complete information on.

There is the ever-faithful follower... in this case, twin followers, Mary and Marcy. The twins are like a double shadow wherever Dianne goes on campus. It is like they draw power from her, and she draws power from them. Or at least she seems to have power over them.

Every group needs a class clown. Margarita– Margi– gets every class giggling at least once each day. She sees the funny side of everything that we do. And she isn’t satisfied unless one of us pees our panties at least once a week from laughing too hard.

And finally there is the dweeb... the little sister that tags along even when everyone keeps telling her to go home... the desperately shy girl who gets kicked around like a dog and keeps coming back for more. ... That’s me.

I really don’t belong in this group. I’m not sure how I ended up as a flatmate or why Shelly asked me to room with them. They are way out of my league. But for some reason they invited me to join them and for some reason they keep me around.

Actually, I think they keep me around primarily to cook, clean, and do their laundry. I don’t complain, though, because even if I am the lowest in the group, I am still a member of one of the most elite cliques on campus. Besides, I could never afford to pay my share of the expenses for our apartment in cash and they count what I do as my share.

Then one Friday night– or to be more accurate, very early Saturday morning– Dianne, Shelly, Margi and the twins came home raving about this new club that they had discovered. “It’s gloriously decadent,” Mary and Marcy said in that weird unison way they have of speaking. “You really have to come with us next time.”

“You don’t really want me to go with you, do you?” I replied. “Besides, you know I could never afford it.”

“That’s the marvelous part,” Margi gushed. She was a little bit drunk and she gets very gushy when she has had too much to drink. “If you are a first time guest, you get in for free.”

“And you get free drinks for the evening,” Dianne said excitedly. That surprised me. Dianne is normally so cool and reserved. She never lets her emotions show. This had to be a really interesting club.

“What kind of a club is it?” I asked.

“One that is exactly what you dream of,” Shelly said, grabbing my hands and staring into my eyes as she said it.

I always get a little mushy inside when she does that. I have always thought of myself as straight and not at all kinky, but when she does that, I feel like I should kiss her... or let her kiss me... or throw myself flat on the ground at her feet with my face to the ground. I don’t know where those thoughts come from, but they pop into my head whenever she stares at me like that. And then I get all wet... and ashamed that I’m trembling like a whore in heat... and I get even wetter because of my shame. I’m not that way normally. It’s like she casts a spell over me and brings out a whole different me.

She often does that to me just before they leave. She will grab my hands, stare into my eyes, and tell me to make sure I finish the laundry or whatever while they are gone. I always just look down at the floor and mumble something like “Yes, ma’am.” I can hear them laughing as the door closes and I can feel my face flushing red with shame. But as soon as I am sure that they are gone, I flop onto the floor and rub myself to orgasm thinking about Shelly’s black eyes burning their way through me. Her eyes are actually dark brown, but for some reason I always remember them as deep black after she has been staring at me.

“OK,” I finally answered, “but I’m not sure I have anything to wear.”

All five girls began laughing and the twins said in unison, “Don’t worry, ma salope, no one will notice what you are wearing.”

I should have said no. I should have said I didn’t want to go with them. I should have said that, but I didn’t because I really did want to go with them. I wanted to be accepted by them and their friends... even if it was just as their maid or servant or whatever.

So I said, “Count me in.” Then I asked, “When are we going?”

Dianne answered, “Tomorrow night.”

Shelly smiled at me and said, “Actually that’s tonight, but it’s tomorrow after we sleep off last night.” She shook her head, gave me a really weird smile, and then said, “It’d be a lot easier if our days started at noon.”

“Yours usually do,” Margi said, and everyone laughed... except me. I was too scared to laugh. They were taking me to a club with them.

I barely slept the rest of that night... or morning... or whatever. A little after two the next afternoon, Shelly wandered out of her room into the kitchen where I was working and slowly turned me so I was facing her. “We want you to make a good impression tonight, so I think you should take a long hot bath and make sure that you are freshly shaved.” She stared into my eyes and added in a deep voice, “... everywhere. I don’t want to see even a hint of hair anywhere below your neck.”

I swallowed hard and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled at me and said, “Use a half-bottle of baby oil in that hot bathwater so your skin gets all soft and smooth.” She started to turn, but then turned back to face me and said, almost harshly, “And make sure you thoroughly clean the tub afterwards. You don’t want any of us slipping when we take our showers, do you?”

I stood there vibrating and mumbled, “Yes, ma’am... I mean no, ma’am... I mean yes, I will use baby oil and yes, I will clean the tub and no, I don’t want any of you falling and hurting yourselves.”

She laughed slowly and again gave me that black-eyed look. “You are precious,” she said slowly, “did you know that? I really should call you ‘Precious.’”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, trembling as I said it.

As she left the room, she called back over her shoulder, “And don’t go jilling yourself off... now or in the tub.”

I suddenly froze. Did she know about that? I stuttered out, “No ma’am,” as she walked laughing back to her room.

I didn’t have a whole lot of time before I needed to start fixing supper, so I immediately went down to the bathroom and filled the tub with really hot water. It wasn’t quite hot enough to burn me, but it was way hotter than anything I had ever used for a bath before. There was a brand new bottle of baby oil sitting on the counter, so I poured half of it into the water and then stepped in.

I tried not to yell out, but I did yelp softly as the hot water closed in around my leg. I really had to force myself to step in with the other leg and it took even more effort for me to lower my ass into the steaming water. The hot water hurt even more on my ass cheeks and many times more than that on my labia. It must have taken me almost five minutes to fully lower myself into the water.

It didn’t feel too bad after a while and the oil was making my skin feel really soft and slippery as I used my hands to pour the water over the rest of my body. My fingers felt really good as they touched my skin and I really, really wanted to take myself high, but Shelly had told me not to, so I lay back and lowered myself the rest of the way into the water and just let myself soak for fifteen minutes or so. Then I reached for my razor. The hot water had really softened my body hair and the oil caused the razor to slide smoothly over my body. I was able to shave myself smoother than ever... except for the area between my ass cheeks. I had to get out of the tub and squat on the bathmat to shave that. Then I got back in and just lay there and relaxed.

I wanted to stay and soak in the hot tub for a while longer, but I needed to clean the tub and I still needed to shampoo my hair. So, I got out and, after the tub had drained, scrubbed it thoroughly with dish washing detergent to get the oil off the surface. Then I took a quick shower and washed my hair. Luckily, I keep it fairly short, so all I had to do was dry it and let it hang around my face. After making sure that the bathroom was completely clean, I threw on one of my t-shirt style nightshirts and went back into the kitchen to fix supper.

By the time supper was ready, the girls were all up. Dianne and the twins had showered. Margi was still looking a bit scruffy, but Shelly looked marvelous. She must have showered first because her hair was already perfect and she had her makeup on and a new coat of deep red, almost black, polish on her fingers and toes. Dianne somehow manages to make it look almost like she isn’t wearing makeup, except for the bright red lipstick that accentuates her lips and makes her mouth look bigger and more inviting.

Supper was more or less normal except that everyone kept making me get up to get them something. Dianne needed a new spoon. The twins each wanted another glass of water. Margarita had me reheat the dinner rolls. And Shelly... Shelly didn’t want anything. She just said, “Precious, would you mind standing up for us again so I can see the sun shining through that thin nightshirt?”

I immediately turned all red, but for some reason stood up and faced her, knowing that I was standing in front of the window and the almost-setting sun was shining directly on me– or through me if you count the nightshirt. She held her hand up with the index finger pointed straight up in the air and twirled it slightly. In response, I turned slowly around.

“Let us see how smooth you are.” Shelly said sternly and I automatically lifted the nightshirt up so my bald pussy was clearly visible.

“You take orders so well, Precious,” she said. “You will make me proud tonight.”

I started to say, “Thank you,” but one of the twins exclaimed, “Look at her! She’s gushing! This turns her on!”

I turned beet red, but Shelly just smiled and said, “That’s why I call her ‘Precious’”

She then made a motion with her hands indicating that I should lower the nightshirt and sit down. I couldn’t face any of them for the rest of the meal and was really thankful that no one else asked me to stand up and get something for them. I was sure that the back of my nightshirt was one giant wet spot.

Around nine o’clock, Dianne announced that it was almost time to leave. Shelly had told me not to dress after my bath because she would be giving me something to wear, but hadn’t given me anything yet, so I was still in the night shirt.

“Shelly,” I almost squeaked, “what do you want me to wear? You said you would give me something appropriate for tonight so I haven’t changed yet.”

I was trembling with fear that this was all a big prank and they might not let me go with them. But Shelly put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Precious, I thought you were already wearing it.”

She then handed me a pullover dress that wasn’t much different from the thin, cotton, nightshirt I was wearing. “Go ahead,” Shelly said. “Put it on.”


We were all standing in the living room and the window shades were all open, but I pulled the nightshirt up over my head and quickly slid the dress in place. It was different from the nightshirt in two ways. It was even thinner, and it was much, much shorter. It barely covered my ass and it was so thin that the slight darkness of my areolas was clearly visible through the front where my nipples formed little tents in the fabric.

“Are you sure this is OK for the club?” I asked, and the twins laughed and answered in unison, “Don’t worry, honey. Wait ‘til you see what we’re wearing.”

Dianne said sternly, “We are changing at the club.” Then she gave them a disapproving look and continued, “Now you’ve spoiled the surprise.”

There was a lot to be surprised about when we got to the club. To begin with, the only sign was the image of the face of a cat in blue neon over the door. One of the eyes would blink and then the words, “The Club” would slowly write themselves out beneath it in bright blue LEDs. Maybe the whole thing was LEDs, but the cat face looked like old-fashioned neon.

There were four really burly women at the door in all black. It said “Security” in white across the front of their black t-shirts. They were very carefully checking everyone’s ID so it created a line waiting to go in the door. As we got closer, I could hear one of them gruffly say, “Membership card and ID.”

I looked over at Shelly in panic. She had told me to leave everything at home, so I didn’t have anything with me. We were suddenly at the bouncers and Shelly held up a small folder with her ID and credit cards in it. She then pointed at me and said, “Newbie. She’s mine... or at least will be after tonight.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant, and got even more confused when Dianne, who was at one of the other bouncers, pointed to the twins and said, “They’re mine.” Neither of the twins held up any membership card or ID.

I felt something pull my arm and realized a third bouncer was wrapping something around my wrist. “That guarantees you get free drinks,” Shelly said with a smile as we walked in.

Just inside the main doors were a set of restrooms... or at least that’s what it looked like at first. Then I realized that one door said “Restroom” and the other said “Locker Room.” Shelly pointed to a spot between the two doors and said, “Wait right there... and don’t wander off with anyone.”

I thought that was odd, but after standing there for only a minute or two, a tall, pale woman with very straight, very long black hair smiled at me and said, “Are you looking for someone to play with you tonight?”

“Shelly...” I stammered, “Shelly... she told me to wait right here for her.” The woman smiled at me again and said, “Have fun,” as she walked into the locker room.

Several more women walked into the locker room, but none came out. A really nice-looking young black woman stopped on her way in and carefully looked at me. After a few moments, she asked softly, “Taken?”

“Shelly,” I answered. She smiled very broadly and then said, “Lucky girl.”

I almost asked her whether she meant me or Shelly, but she walked into the locker room before I could say anything. I was still staring at the locker room door when the twin voices of Mary and Marcy said from behind me, “Did you miss me?”

I spun to look and let out a small yelping scream. “Was that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?” they said in unison.

I stood there with my mouth opening and closing, but nothing was coming out. The twins were standing before me naked. Well, they weren’t exactly naked. They were each wearing cloth cat masks that covered the upper portion of their faces and added furry ears that matched the color of their hair. There was expertly-applied makeup around their mouths that made them look even more like a cat. The effect was amplified by their hair, which had been teased out so it looked like a reddish blond lion’s mane. Both had large collars around their necks with a brass name plate on the front. One said, “Kitty One,” and the other said, “Kitty Two.” From each collar a leash led back to Dianne’s hand.

Dianne was fully clothed, but she might as well have been naked. She was wearing a thin, skin-tight, shiny black catsuit which molded to every curve of her body. The only flesh showing was the bottom portion of her face, which looked extremely white against the black of the vinyl suit. Her bright red lipstick accented her lips as she said, “Show her your tails, kittens.”

Mary and Marcy– Kitty One and Kitty Two– turned so they were facing away from each other and wiggled their asses. The long, cat-like tails hanging behind them wriggled back and forth as they moved their asses. The color of the tails exactly matched the color of their hair.

“Show her your whole tail,” Dianne said and the kittens bent way over and turned another ninety degrees so their butts were facing me. From that angle, it was very clear that the tails were attached to shiny, chrome butt plugs.

Dianne reached over with her right hand and pressed something on her left wrist. Both kittens yelped and jumped back to a straight up position. She pressed again and both kittens began purring... or at least they were humming so that it sounded like purring.

“I can control the vibrators and shock controls in the anal plugs,” Dianne said. “If they are good kitties, they get pleasure. If they are bad kitties, they get pain.”

“Good kitty,” I said nervously as the twins rubbed slowly against me purring and arching their backs like real cats.

“I’m the crazy kitty,” a voice said from behind me. Margi was standing in the doorway of the locker room. If she had been at a Comic Con event, she would have won first prize for her Harley Quinn costume. Instead of a baseball bat, however, she was carrying a jester’s stick with what looked like a carved Harley Quinn doll’s head on the tip of it. She held it out in front of my face and suddenly intense sparks jumped between the tips of the doll’s jester hat.

“Want to feel what it’s like to get bit by Krazy Kat?” she said, stepping up right next to me.

“N... n... no,” I sputtered.

“Didn’t think so,” she said quickly and then suddenly plunged her staff into Kitty One’s side.

Both kitties stopped purring and screamed out together.

“That’s what’s so fun about twins,” Harley– Margi– said with a laugh, “they each feel what the other feels. It’s twice as much fun.”

“What have I told you about tormenting the kitties?” Dianne said sternly.

“Sorry, Mistress,” Margi said, bowing in an almost curtsey. “I was only trying to break the tension. Precious seems to be a little tense.”

“I will worry about Precious,” a voice said from the darkness behind Margi.

I recognized the voice as Shelly’s, but it sounded different... stronger... and more forceful than usual. When she stepped into the dim light so I could see her, I almost fell to my knees. She was dressed in an abbreviated catsuit that was at least as tight as Dianne’s. It looked like a very tight one-piece swimsuit, and– if possible– was twice as black and shiny. Her legs looked so creamy and perfect descending from the black of the suit. And her arms seemed so long and powerful as they reached out toward me.

She turned me so I was facing away from her and then I felt something rubbing against my back. It took me a minute to realize that she was writing on the simple white dress. I concentrated on what she was writing and figured out that the last letters were l, l, y, and s. She must have written “Shelly’s” across the back of my dress.

“Now we’re ready to go into the club,” she said firmly as she took my hand and led me toward a set of black doors with the winking cat logo in the center of each of them.

The club, itself, was even more dim than the entryway. There didn’t seem to be any lighting except for the lights shining on a circular stage in what I assumed was the middle of the club. After a few minutes, when my eyes adjusted to the near darkness, I could see that there were also very dim lights hanging from the ceiling above each table. A naked waitress with a cat tail similar to what the twins were wearing led us to a table in the far corner.

“We’ll start with Margarita’s,’ Margi said. “For some reason that is my favorite drink and whoever is paying names the drink.”

When the drinks arrived, it looked like mine was a slightly different color. I don’t normally drink, so I don’t know all the variations of the various drinks. Mine tasted like pineapple with an overtaste of strawberry. I tried to nurse it along, but a short while later it was gone.

Evidently so was everyone else’s because Shelly waved at one of the waitresses and said, “Let’s go with a round of Vodka Gimlets.”

I know that is just vodka and lime juice because Shelly has me make her one once in a while when she is studying. “Make the newbie’s a double,” she said with a laugh. “She appears to be thirsty tonight.”

Apparently the bartender at The Club adds a little sparkling water because there were bubbles in mine when the drinks arrived. I usually don’t like a Gimlet, but this one wasn’t quite as bitter as the ones I made for Shelly. Again, I tried to nurse it, but mine was the first one gone.

“We’ll have to wait until after the first show for refills,” Dianne said calmly. She then snapped her fingers and pointed at the floor next to her chair. The kittens immediately slid off their chairs and assumed a kneeling position at her feet.

“Good kitties,” she said as she pressed a button on her small remote. Soon both kitties were purring gently as they swayed at her feet.

Margi leaned across in front of Shelly and said to me, “This first show is a pole dancing contest. The winner gets a thousand dollars.” She looked up at the stage and laughed. Then she looked back at me and said, “The loser gets to do a different kind of pole dance.”

I looked over at Shelly hoping for an explanation, but all she said was, “Their Mistresses made the bet. If I made the bet, it wouldn’t be the losing dancer on the punishment pole. It would be her Mistress.”

The lights got even more dim and bright lights came up on the stage. An extremely beautiful black woman in a white catsuit very much like what Shelly was wearing walked out to the middle of the stage. She was apparently the Mistress of Ceremonies or Head Mistress... or both.

“Mistresses, Ma’ams, and slaves,” she began. It wasn’t until she spoke those words that it sank in that there were no men in the club, only women. She continued, “Our first display is a wager between Mistress Luann and Mistress Kiara. Mistress Luann thinks her slave, raven, is the best pole dancer in our club. Mistress Kiara, however, thinks that her slave, madeline, is best. Your vote will determine the winner of this wager.” She paused, looked around the room, and then said firmly, “Remember only Ma’ams and Mistresses may vote.”

I leaned over to Shelly and asked softly, “What’s the difference between a Ma’am and a Mistress?”

It was Margi, however, who answered me... more or less. She gave me a really strange smile and said, “It all depends on who’s moving and who’s on top.”

Shelly gave her a very stern look and said very softly, “A Ma’am is an independent woman who knows her own power. A Mistress is a Ma’am who exercises power over another woman... or man.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” I replied. Then I turned very red. I had called Shelly Mistress. I would have to be careful with what I drank for the rest of the evening or I would totally lose control.

Shelly just smiled at me and said, “You are so precious, Precious.”

I tried not to look at her. Besides, raven and madeline had come out onto the stage and were standing next to their poles. Both were totally naked and from the way the lights reflected off their skins, both were heavily oiled or greased.

The music was unfamiliar to me, but it was loud and had a strong, swaying beat. There must have been some agreement as to who went first because raven stepped back and madeline grabbed her pole and began swinging around it with her feet on the ground. After just a few minutes she had one leg bent around the pole and was swinging faster and faster with her other foot right at the bottom of the pole evidently pushing her along. Then suddenly she flipped herself into the air and began circling with her body fully out from the pole.

When she let go with one hand, everyone in the place gasped, but their gasps turned to applause as she twisted her body and placed her hand back on the pole about three feet higher than she had been. She did this several more times until she was at the top of the pole. She was losing momentum and her spin was slowing, but she somehow kept her body almost straight out from the pole. As she slowed almost to a stop, she suddenly seemed to lose her grip on the pole and began falling. It looked like she was going to crash headfirst into the stage, but somehow she was able to regain control– or perhaps she had never lost control– and curved as she reached the floor so that she came sliding out onto the stage on her stomach with her hands held high above her head as if she were flying. As her body slowed, she brought her feet up under her body and brought herself to a yoga sitting position so that she was facing the tables at the front of the stage. She then bowed low with her face touching the stage just in front of her crossed legs.

The applause was tremendous.

Margi disappeared from the table and when she returned, she was carrying a small tray with six champagne flutes on it. “Waitresses can’t come out during a show, but there’s no rule that says I can’t go over to the bar.” She smiled, held up her phone, and said, “Besides, I texted an order over to the bar for pickup as soon as madeline finished her portion.”

“Someday you are going to go too far, Margi,” Dianne said dryly. “And the whole club will enjoy watching you get your just desserts.”

“Until then,” Margi said, “drink up.” As she quickly handed the drinks around she said, “The Newbie’s is the one with the bow on the stem.”

My drink didn’t look any different from theirs. I wondered why it was marked. For a moment I was worried that perhaps it was drugged. Shelly must have sensed my concern because she took it and downed about an inch of it. “They have to mark the free drinks,” she said. “Something with the liquor license.”

“Oh,” I said, “thank you.” Champagne normally tastes like bad wine to me, but this wasn’t too bad. There was an overtaste of something that tasted almost like lime, but I couldn’t place it. I was still trying to figure out what it tasted like when I realized that I had downed the whole flute before anyone else had taken their second sip.

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. “Didn’t you read the rules posted on the wall outside the changing room?” she said, smacking her hand flat on the table and then pointing back to the entrance. “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.

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Wayne Mitchell “The Technician”

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