At The Club
by Jo

This is a sequel to "The Fishbowl", "The Birthday Party", and "Quality Time".

Jane knelt between the girl's legs. Cindy had a handful of her long, blonde hair, pressed her face to the girl's pussy.

The girl was tied to the couch, legs spread, ankles roped to the legs. There were ropes above and below her breasts. They had been cinched together making the girl's breasts bulge. There were chrome-steel clamps on her nipples that jiggled as the girl squirmed. She was gagged with a large, red ball and wore a black blindfold.

The girl came. A shuddering shrieking thing that, even gagged as she was, echoed in the room.

Cindy yanked Jane's head back, kissed her, licked the girl juice from Jane's mouth.

"But," Jane gasped, "but I won!"

"My house, my rules. Besides, what makes you think that she's being rewarded and you're being punished? You strike me as the kind of girl who can't get enough pussy. Here, have some more."

She jammed Jane's head back between the girl's legs.

The gallery is crowded. People stand in small groups before each painting. They wander around the sculptures in the room. They ignore Jane. Maybe that's not true. She can feel their eyes upon her, but when she turns her head, they're engaged with other pieces of artwork.

Jane is naked. She's standing on a small, raised platform. She is impaled on a large, rubber penis. She can feel it rubbing on her cervix. Its shaft reaches to and is fastened to the wooden platform. She is wearing impossibly high, spike heel shoes. She is not bound. If she were a gymnast she might be able to reach down, grasp the shaft and raise herself off the thing, but she's not a gymnast. As simple as that, she is helpless. Naked and helpless.

Geoffrey is there. He strokes her nipple with the back of his hand. It's like her nipples is hard-wired to her clit. Jane squirms. But she knows she won't be able to come, knows he won't let her. He just keeps stroking her.

"I told you I like beautiful things. And what is the point of having beautiful things if you never see them, hm? Beautiful things were meant to be enjoyed."

Jane kneels at her Mistress's feet. She glances up. The woman has her hair pulled back in a strict bun. Her makeup, while minimal, is severe. She wears a white, satin blouse under a black satin waist cincher. Her tight, black skirt reaches well past her knees. She's wearing black, spike heel sandals. The laces run up her calf.

"Please, Mistress, may I worship your feet."

The woman says nothing which Jane takes as permission. She bends down, touches her lips to Mistress's toes, darts her tongue over and between them. She kisses them, slowly, gently.

As she works her way over the foot, Jane's kisses become more intense, deeper. Over her ankle, she's nearly up to Mistress's knee.

Jane reaches up and unbuttons the skirt. Slowly the panels fall away exposing soft, white skin.

Jane continues to kiss her way along the leg. Mistress's skin is cool and soft, but as she works her way further she senses the warmth of Mistress's sex. She can smell it. Jane undoes more buttons. Now she can see the delicate pink petals, moist and inviting, poking through Mistress's neatly trimmed bush.

Jane bends her head,


Jane's head bobs up. Next to her Marge ooches around a bit, then settles in. Jane leans over and kisses her bare shoulder.

"Mm. I love you," Marge whispers.

"I love you, too."

Jane settles her chin on her hands, gazes out the window. The rain has stopped, but the sea is awash with whitecaps. Dark clouds scud quickly by. Patches of sun appear, disappear.

She had come to think of the fishbowl as her private place, even though she's spent all of her time there naked behind the glass walls, conspicuously on display. But they were alone in the house and there was that deliciously soft pillow of a mattress. The perfect place to make love with Marge.

The instant they'd stepped off the stairs they had retracted, the lid descended and latched shut, trapping them inside. At first they were startled, but then they laughed. Jane opened the wine. They settled side by side on their bellies watching the rain.

Eventually Marge emptied her glass.


"Uh uh."

She leaned in and kissed Jane. And so it started.

She had never had sex with a girl.

Marge said, "Just do what I do, follow my lead."

Jane decided that sex with a girl was different than sex with a guy. Not better, just different. Because of the mechanics, there was no way for them to hold each other, kiss each other while they did it. They spent some time face to face, hands between the other's legs, diddling each other, true. And they spent some time in 69. But mostly it was a case of 'I do you, then you do me'. And they did.

"Just relax and go with it," Marge had said. "It's different than being with a guy. With them it's all about tits and pussy and cock. Sure, women have their sensitive parts, but your whole body is an erogenous zone. Everything feels good, everywhere."

And she was right.

Jane refocused on her reflection in the glass, caught a movement behind her, turned, and scuttled to the opposite wall. Geoffrey and Cindy were there. Jane knelt, opened her legs, bowed her head, crossed her wrists behind her back.

"Marge," Jane hissed. "Marge! Wake up."


"They're back."

Marge raised and turned her head.

"So they are."

"Aren't you supposed to kneel."

"Uh uh. I'm in slave mode. I only have to kneel in service mode."

"Uh, girlfriend, Cindy is pointing at the floor."


She crawled next to Jane, knelt likewise, except Jane noted that she placed her hands on her knees, palms up.

Jane's stomach grumbled. She shot a glance at the clock on the mantle. 4:18. Breakfast was a long time ago.

As if reading her mind, Geoffrey stood, disappeared off to the side, and presently the lid swung up, the stairs descended. Jane grabbed the wine; Marge the glasses.

"J, set the dining room table for four, please."

"Yes, Sir."

It felt strange to eat sitting in a chair, not kneeling at Geoffrey's feet. Jane kept having these odd disconnects. It seemed as she'd been here forever and, yet, it had been barely 48 hours. And so much had changed.

It was supposed to be a spring break party - and it was ... sort of. They had drinking games, but they had their own, kinky twist. Beer pong became bra pong, where you could get both drunk and naked. Penalties in some games included ropes and handcuffs and gags, oh my!

She had lost a dart game to Geoffrey. The penalty was to spend the week with him. She hadn't expected to spend the week naked, cuffed, and leashed.

She had spanked a woman at her birthday party. Her "gift" was to have her back pierced and laced. It kind of creeped her out watching her partner push the silver fishhooks through her skin.

She had witnessed Marge's collaring. Until then Jane had suspected her roommate was a lesbian, but never had a clue that she was a submissive, too. Not just kinky, but now truly owned.

And she had just spent the afternoon making love to her bff. Cindy's idea. And, truth be told, she liked it. No, she was not ready to go over to the dark side, she was too cock happy for that, but still ...

It seemed to Jane as if she'd entered a strange, new world ... and perhaps she had.

"Go freshen up. We're going out.," Geoffrey had said after a round of after-dinner cocktails. "Your things are on the bed."

Things? The last time he'd said that the 'things' turned out to be a corset and skirt that left both her boobs and bush exposed. And the shoes.

Please, dear God, not the shoes.

She said a little thank you when she stepped into the bedroom. There on the bed was a dress. Jane picked it up. It was a simple wraparound thing made of some stretchy, knit material. Peach leaning toward orange. On the floor was a pair of mules.

Hm, no underwear.

Then she saw the thong. She hated thongs. She spent half her life keeping things OUT of her crack. Jane chuckled. Still as clothes go, it wasn't bad.

She stepped into the thong, felt that same antsy feeling as the thin strip of cloth nestled against her anus. The dress was snug across the top. It held her breasts well enough. Yes, she was braless, but she didn't jiggle - well not much. The knee-length skirt was rather full and it flared around her legs when she walked.

She went into the bathroom to run a comb through her hair and do her makeup. Marge was in there.

"We're going to the club."

"So he said."

"Do you know about it?"

"Uh uh."

"Oh. Uh, I think I'll just shut up then, let it be a surprise."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You'll see."

Jane gave Marge an evil look, but Marge just smiled sweetly.

Her long, blonde hair hadn't dried earlier and now it was all kinked up. She struggled to get the comb through it, gave up and settled for a ponytail.

They piled into Cindy's Lexus. Jane wondered why Geoffrey wasn't driving. Call her sexist, but the guy is supposed to drive. It's the rule. He came out of the house via the garage and she saw why. The two vehicles were a pickup truck and a little, two-seater, a BMW, one of those Z somethings in black.

The club was on the south side of the city, just on the edge of the industrial section or residential section depending on how you thought of it. The place looked like it had, at one time, been a factory. A big brick thing. She could hear the music as they walked up. They went in, paid the cover. Marge produced a plastic bag, pulled off her dress, folded it up, put it in the bag, handed it to Jane.

Okay, so it's that kind of club.

Jane slipped out of her dress, added it to the bag. There was a coat room in the lobby. She handed over the bag, got a number. She was at a momentary loss as to what to do with it when Geoffrey reached out his hand.

"I'll take that," he said with a laugh.

It was the first time she'd really seen him smile. He had a nice smile.

A guy at the door stopped them. The sign behind him said: Welcome to Purgatory! No nipples on girls. No genitals on anybody!

There was a table next to him. It held several rolls of black tape. He picked one up, peeled off a short strip, pressed it to Jane's left nipple. He added another making an X. He Xed out her right nipple. He repeated the process with Marge, pressing the tape in place to ensure a good bond. Yeah right.

Nice work if you can get it.

He barely gave Marge's modest black lace panties a glance, but he checked Jane's thong - twice. He nodded.

They opened the door and were hit with a wall of noise. It took Jane's ears a few minutes to adjust. It was early yet and the place was only half full. There was room at the bar and Geoffrey ordered drinks.

The crowd reminded her of renfest. Two thirds were in street clothes. Tourists, gawkers. Most of the rest were in some sort of scene wear, although they looked more like costumes. A small number looked, well, real. And there were a few that looked just plain weird.

Your basic tourists, people out to play dress up, and the scene folks. And of course, the weirdos. Jane recalled one renfest where a guy had traditional Scottish garb from the waist down: kilt, sporran, knee socks with garters, a skein dubh, the whole nine yards. From the waist up he was encased in plastic, the white plastic body armor of an imperial storm trooper - complete with helmet!

Geoffrey and Cindy looked like a couple Both wore black jeans, black blousy shirts, black leather vests, and black boots. The only real difference was that hers had a more feminine look. Jane lusted after her boots, booties, really. Dainty little things with pointy toes and high heels.

Drinks in hand, they milled about. The band was loud, but Jane's ears had adjusted. Some people danced. Off to the side men lay side by side, head to foot on the floor. They were mostly wearing street clothes. There was a red carpet draped over them and women, most of them in scene wear, got to walk what was called, appropriately enough, The Red Carpet. At least that's what the sign said. The sign also said $5.

Jane pointed.

"What's that?" She had to shout a bit.

"Charity. There are scenes going on. Artists. The money goes to a diversity awareness group."

She only caught half the words, but she got the meaning.

Jane heard a squeal, turned, and saw a woman sailing through the air. She had on some kind of rope harness and had been hoisted off the floor. Now she flew over the crowd. People clapped and cheered.

In back and off to the sided were rooms. Most were empty. In one a woman lounged on a, well, lounge. She had several needles in her breasts. A large, black man popped the cap off the tip of another needle, pressed it to her breast. The girl flinched. Jane felt her stomach flip. She so did not like needles. She gripped Geoffrey's hand. He raised it and kissed it.

"That's the doctor. He's not really a doctor."

Jane tried to process that, couldn't, decided to let it go.

"The girl goes by Sushi Asuka."

Sounded Japanese, but the girl wasn't Asian. She was tall and slim with pale skin and red hair and a narrow, hawkish face - and large breasts, very large breasts.

"She's going on a nice little trip to sub-space. Strange to see her here this early. Usually she comes in around midnight."

Jane knew about sub-space, but had never experienced it.

"How does that work? I mean if you use a strap, say, you can increase the intensity little by little, build up the endorphins. But needles? I mean needles, well, needles just hurt."

"It depends on how close they are. The further apart, less pain. The closer, more pain. Watch where he places them. They'll get closer and closer, until he'll actually cross them under her skin."

Jane nodded, not really understanding, but willing to take his word for it.

They watched for a while, but then the music stopped. They headed back into the main hall. On stage was a skit of some kind. Two caricature dominatrices came down into the crowd. They pulled a guy up on stage and proceeded to tie him to a chair. They tied his left arm, then his right. He raised his left hand. The women argued about whose fault it was. They tied his arm again, but when they turned away he raised it, tucked it behind him again when they turned back. It became a running joke. Every time they turned from him he'd wave at the audience. And their props didn't work. At one point they were flogging him and he was giggling a bit. One of the women tapped him on the head, shook her finger in his face, leaned her head back and made the o-face. They proceeded to flog him again. He made the o-face, then burst out laughing as did the crowd.

When the skit ended, the band came back.

"Show time."

Jane didn't know what show time meant, but she followed Geoffrey to a small stage at the back of the room. A couple dressed in Chinese garb were arranging piles of rope on the stage.

Jane shook hands with Maya and Mr. Kim. They led the two girls up onto the stage. A small crowd had gathered. Maya picked up a piece of rope, put a bight in it (that is found the two ends and made a loop), knotted it, and slipped the loop over Jane's head. She knotted the rope between Jane's breasts. Again down on her belly just above her navel. She pulled the rope between Jane's legs, chose a spot and made another knot. She pulled the rope up between Jane's cheeks. The knot dug into her pussy, buried itself between her lips. She could feel them bulge.

So much for no genitals.

Maya tugged the rope up and through the loop behind Jane's neck, brought it down and secured it to her wrists, drew them up between her shoulder blades.

This part of the room was dark, but there were two spotlights on her and Marge. She looked over at her friend. Marge was getting the same treatment.

Maya and Mr. Kim worked slowly, methodically. Because of the light Jane couldn't see what Maya was doing, so she watched Mr. Kim bind Marge.

He drew the ends of the rope around her arms, across her chest, slipped them between the ropes just above her breasts and pulled. A diamond opened up. Jane could feel the same thing happening to her. The ropes became a bit tighter. She had a bad feeling about this.

Mr. Kim proceeded to wrap the ends of the rope around Marge, feeding them through the others, drawing them tight, opening more diamonds. Everything got tighter still.

He grabbed another length of rope, fastened it to one at Marge's waist, and worked his way down her right leg, hitching the rope every couple of inches. He actually had Marge raise her leg so he could bind her foot. Jane felt her own left leg being similarly bound. The two were doing a synchronized kind of thing. Whenever Mr. Kim made a knot, Jane felt it on her body.

Mr. Kim stepped to the back of the stage. A metal ring appeared over Marge's head. She looked up and saw its twin.

He took a length of rope, worked it into the knot at Marge's wrists. He cinched it to the ring over Marge's head. Jane felt the same thing happening to her. Mr. Kim stepped away. There was a tension. Jane was being lifted. Not off the floor, but well up onto her toes.

Another piece of rope from the pile and Mr. Kim raised and bent Marge's left leg. He tied her ankle to her thigh. The ring was almost out of reach, but he managed to slip the end of the rope through it. He stepped over and did the same thing to Jane. Jane found herself hanging, toes barely brushing the stage.

It was distinctly uncomfortable, being bound, hanging - but it got worse.

There was more rope, thinner rope, almost chord-like Jane noted. The couple began to weave the chord through the ropes on the girls' bodies. Every knot created a new diamond, every knot tightened the whole until Jane had passed from discomfort to pain. Every inch of rope cut into her skin. The knot between her legs felt as if it was embedded in her pussy. She looked over at Marge. She didn't look too happy, either.

The couple produced white scarves from their robes. Maya wrapped one across Jane's mouth, knotted it behind her head. She placed the other across Jane's eyes. Jane said a silent thank you. Now no one would see her grimace, see the pain on her face.

Where the hell are endorphins when you need them?

There was applause. Jane sensed the crowd dispersing. She hung, nearly naked, bound, barely balanced on the toes of one foot. And then ... nothing. Just the music and the noise of the crowd.

Time passed. She/they hung there in their own little pools of light. Whether the endorphins had kicked or she had merely become numb, she didn't know, but the pain was gone only to be replaced by a dull throb. A throb that kept time with the beat of the booming bass.

The music stopped. Jane felt a footfall on the stage. Felt the touch of cold steel, felt the snip as a rope was cut, felt her body, little by little, become free.

* * *

Back home, Jane knelt on the floor, Geoffrey's cock in her mouth. She liked sucking cock, liked kneeling at a guy's feet looking up at him. It just felt ... right. Jane was good at it. They say there's no such thing as a bad blow job, but Jane worked at it. It was a pride thing.

She was naked, wearing only the yellow cuffs and plain black collar. It seemed to have become her standard uniform.

Her pussy ached where the knot had dug into her. The throb was mildly distracting. She wouldn't have minded being fucked. She would have liked to feel him on top of her again. Feel his weight on her. Feel him inside of her. Still ...

Geoffrey didn't seem in any rush, wasn't making any of those twitchy movements. He had his hand in her hair, but he wasn't urging her on. He just let it rest there entwined in her blonde tresses. Every once in a while he'd stroke her hair and Jane purred. She didn't mean to. It was a purely animal thing. She liked it, liked being Geoffrey's pet. She wanted his collar, a real collar, not the thin, black dog collar she wore. Maybe she was rushing things. It had been only two days. And would he even want to collar her? Maybe this was just a fling for him, a spring break thing, a bit of fun. Jane pushed the thought away, focused on Geoffrey's cock.

Her whole body ached and she knew she'd be sore tomorrow.

But for now life was good.

The End

Copyright© 2012 by Jo. All rights reserved. I welcome your comments. Email me at