“And this way we have our wall of debt”
I looked at the owner of the fetish club with a blank look on my face.
I was writing this piece for my magazine about the fetish nightclub scene and had secured myself an invitation and tour to the town’s best known venue. Well, I say best known. In fairness it was best known to those who enjoyed its very specific services and tastes. I did not know such places actually existed outside of fiction, but here I was getting the tour. And what an eye-opener it was.
I had been shown the dungeon, which was pretty much what I expected it to be, and the stable which offered a fun range of harnesses that was a complete revelation to me. I politely declined an offer to try one out. OK, so I admit it, I was damn tempted but I declined and filed the idea as something to look online and have a chat to my boyfriend about. Part of me already had the boots and fancied having him at the end of my reins, and another rather stronger part fancied being pinioned with the bit and bridle and trying some of those damn kinky looking hoof boots which came complete with heavy steel horseshoes on their sole.
“Come take a look,” he said, gesturing for me to follow him. “Sadly some people rather rashly run up debts at our establishment. Debts which they cannot pay off. Naturally we would far rather have the funds, but some people simply cannot raise them. And we would not want to put them into debt, so we offer them another choice. The wall of debt.”
A solid door swung silent open to reveal a room that had more in common with the look of a public toilet than a fetish club. The floor was carpeted, and in the middle of the room was a large circular structure with partitions standing out from it.
The club’s owner motioned me to silence then drew me towards one of the partitions. The cubicle appeared bare at first inspection, then I gasped as I spotted its sole occupant.
At about waist height a bodiless face appeared to me mounted into the wall. At my gasp the head swivelled back and forth as best it could, rouged red lips pursing desperately, a tongue dancing back and forth as if calling out to me.
The owner put a finger to his lips and we walked silently closer. It was a female face, fully made up with a blindfold across her eyes. It was pressed against a face-shaped cut-out in the wall, surrounded by a soft surround that allowed her to move slightly left and right, but something behind the wall clearly kept her pressed tightly up against the space she occupied.
The club owner reached out a hand with two extended fingers and touched the rouged mouth that was still desperately making kissing shapes at the room. When his fingertips touched the lips they closed snugly about them and a tongue flickered about them in a manner I knew would reduce any many to his knees if that had been his penis.
The owner smiled silently and gently pushed back and forth with his fingers as the mouth worshipped them desperately, the sounds it was making making me wet at my crotch and bringing me out in a flush I had not felt since my teenage years.
Gently withdrawing his now wet fingers the club owner licked them with a huge smile on his face before gesturing to me to follow him out of the room.
“I can see you enjoyed that little show my dear” he said “would you like to see our other wall?”
I nodded dumbly and followed him, glancing back at the closed door and the disembodied behind it and felt the nasty secret submissive part of me swelling gently. My boyfriend was going to get some good loving tonight that was for sure.
The next door was closed when we got there, and when he swung it wide I heard myself gasp and felt my hand at my mouth.
Facing us from a wall was a disembodied female form. Naked legs appeared to be mounted on the wall before us, hands mounted on the wall either side of generous hips. It took me a moment to recover myself and reassess the scene before me.
The upper half of the woman was clearly on the other side of the wall, a flexible rubber collar closed tight about her waist about three feet up the wall. Her naked legs were on our side of the wall and clearly not able to withdraw. She wore black shoes with ridiculously high heels that kept her on her tiptoes. She must have been bent over at the waist as her hands extended from the wall either side of her wantonly offered up womanhood and anus.
“We can speak,” said the club owner, “she cannot hear us.”
“Why the hands?” I asked in spite of myself and all the other questions that were lining themselves up in my brain.
He threw back his head and laughed.
“Hands move when you make love to the legs” he explained “Quite involuntarily. Some people like to hold them while they fornicate, others like to see them twirling and grasping in the throes of orgasm. If they are really loud, you can sometimes hear them even on this side of the wall”
“You are telling me women actually volunteer to be treated like this?" I asked.
“Oh yes,” he replied, “some like to keep coming back as a paying job after debts have been discharged. An evening here can make you as much as a week of a more trying and harder-working job. Before you say it, yes, I know, it is just like prostitution, but with more safety and complete anonymity. Not to mention periodically some great orgasms.”
“I doubt that part very much,” I snapped, even though part of me very much agreed with him at the prospect.
“Oh you would be surprised. We have a few very special lesbian members who like nothing more than to spend some time with their tongues making those hands twirl and see if they can make the girl on the other end of those legs scream loud enough for them to hear. I understand the effect can be quite mind-blowing for the recipient. Completely helpless, anonymous and coming so hard you cannot remember what day it is.”
I blushed a deep shade of red and he laughed out loud. As I watched the hands flexed and the disembodied legs shifted on their heels.
“The heels are coded,” he said as if by way of an explanation to an unasked question. “Black means no anal, Red means any orifice is available. By complete agreement with the woman of course. We do not want any disagreements with our clients or employees or clients.”
“Can I see the other side of the wall?" I heard myself asking.
“Of course you may,” he said, “an unoccupied part of course. Anonymity is an essential part of our employment contracts.”
I was led to another door and through it we went into a brightly lit room. There was a padded shelf extending from the wall, and above it three holes in the wall edged with expanding rubber collars. I reached out and ran my hands over the shelf clearly designed to support the incumbent in complete comfort. I crouched and peered through the large hole and looked into the room beyond. I felt myself flush an even deeper shade of red.
“Would you care to try it for size?"
“Pardon?" my head snapped round, and a terrible traitorous part of me felt myself getting hot and wet.
“Would you care to try it for size?" he said again, “just for the experience, of course.”
I looked at the oval space in the wall with its snug rubber collar and I felt my tongue flickering over my suddenly dry lips, wicked fingers tugging at my collar.
“May I?" I asked in a voice that came out worryingly huskily. “Just for the experience of course. And I shall need to keep my clothes on.”
“Of course,” he smiled, “but some disrobing will be required to fit the device I fear, it is not designed for the clothed body.”
I looked at the wicked oval orifice and hooked my thumbs into the waistline of my long skirt. I was wearing tight leggings underneath which were damn near next to nothing and there was nothing underneath them as the day was warm. I slipped off my blouse to reveal my sports bra. If he was expecting the titillation of saucy undies he was going to be disappointed.
I knelt up on the shelf that extended from the wall facing the room and bent forwards onto all fours with my legs facing the wall and that terrible, tempting hole.
“I shall support you from the other side,” he said cheerily, “in your own time.”
Feeling myself gulp I slip my feet back towards that rubber lined hole, suddenly making me think of a mouth about to consume me whole.
My feet slipped through the hole and I felt the club owner's hands grasp them and support them as they passed through. Fingers curled about my ankles and suddenly they were being drawn through faster than I was comfortable with. I tried to cry out as I fell forwards onto my stomach and my legs vanished through the wall as if I were falling.
I felt the tight rubber collar snap tight about my waist, my legs bending towards the floor. I felt shoes slipping about my feet and suddenly I was on my tiptoes. I relaxed for a moment, then I felt a panic gripping me and I tried to pull myself back through the wall but the rubber collar gripped me tightly and I became its prisoner.
I looked and saw the club owner had returned.
“Nearly done,” he said, and before I could stop him or protest he had thrust my hands through the outer two holes; all I could do was lie helpless on the thickly padded table.
I tried to pull my hands back through the wall, but they were as firmly gripped as my waist. Panic overcame me for a moment and I fought the implacable restraints like a demon, but there was no release. I have never been so utterly helpless and so utterly turned on.
“I can see you are enjoying the feeling,” he said “It takes some ladies that way. Would you like to go all the way? I understand one of our very special ladies is coming along soon and we always like to tell her when we have a newcomer at the wall. I understand she enjoys ‘breaking them in’ as she puts it.”
“Yes… no… yes… I don’t know.”
His only reply was the closing the door and a gentle dimming of the lights. Moments later I felt hands on my hips, my leggings slithering off my legs and being whipped away. On the other side of that blank wall I was suddenly naked except for a pair of high heeled shoes.
I shouted my horror, my displeasure, and yes, as I did it I realised my hands were twirling in their collars on the other side of the wall. I was helpless, exposed and so damn turned on it was not true.
I froze as fingertips trailed over my palms and I felt a warmth close to my upturned arse. Whoever it was, she had arrived and I was theirs to do with as they pleased. A pair of fingers with what felt like long fingernails were trailed the length of my womanhood and I whimpered. I tried to press my legs together in a helpless move of self defence but unseen hands stopped me and my legs remained spread.
There was a sudden warmth at my womanhood, there were hands on my buttocks and I screamed as a tongue flickered up and down me. I was wet, I was horny, and now I was going all lesbian as the tongue gently probed me.
I tried to pull away, I felt my hands grasping at the air but the wall held me tightly in place as the tongue pressed softly forwards. Would she hear my scream when the inevitable happened? And if not, how much longer would her insidious attack on my womanhood continue until she could?
I tried to lunge forwards as the tongue pressed firmly into me and caressed every tender spot only another woman knew where to touch, but the collar held me firmly in place. I squealed as I felt a finger press gently on my anus, and I wondered what colour shoes I was wearing beyond the wall.
When the orgasm came it was as if a bucket of hot water crashed over me and I felt rather than heard myself screaming. Then there was only silence, and moments later the tongue and fingers were back again. Clearly I had not screamed loud enough for my lesbian tormentress, and as I felt the waves of passion and impending orgasm rising again I wondered if I could actually scream loud enough to satisfy her hearing. I guessed I had no choice in the matter, as her fingers and tongue continued their assault and I remained there for her taking.