Our Only Hope

This is Chapter Three of a book. The characters and situations will be more understandable if the previous chapters have been read. Because it is a book, some of the chapters are more exciting than others, and some situations do not complete until the next chapter. I could have run this through my regular publisher and made a couple hundred dollars, but I am posting it instead because many more people read my posts than buy my books.

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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.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. 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.

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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Chapter Three

Taking Down Master Rodriguez

As we drove away from the club, Natasha said something to the driver that didn't seem to go over very well. He and Natasha began to argue, then she said something very forcefully and the driver shrugged and reached up to the dashboard and flipped a switch. A solid partition rose out of the back of the most forward seats, sealing off the driver's area. Then all of the windows slowly turned totally black.

"We are going to their local headquarters," Natasha said softly. "They didn't want to take you there, but I vouched for you."

Boris laughed softly and Natasha gave him a very dirty look. "What she actually said," he said with a smile, "was that if you revealed anything about the headquarters, she would kill you herself."

"Not the first time something like that was said to me," I answered.

Natasha looked directly into my eyes and said softly and slowly, "But they were not just words when I said them."

For some reason, Boris' words from earlier, "You really don't want to know," were echoing in my mind. I decided to shut my eyes and relax until we got to wherever it was we were going. "Wake me when we get there," I said and quickly dropped off to sleep.

What seemed like immediately, but was actually about a half-hour later, I was awakened by a shrill whistle screaming in my ear. I jerked awake to see Boris standing in the door of the car with a British-style cop whistle in his mouth. "Why the whistle?" I said a little more nastily than I had intended.

"I didn't have a pillow," Boris replied. When I wrinkled my eyebrows at him in confusion, he explained, "You never touch Natasha to awaken her. Depending on what she is dreaming, she might knock you across the room... or worse." He shrugged his shoulders and said, "I usually just throw a pillow at her."

"You, my friend," I said as I stepped out of the car, "have a tiger by the tail."

"We have each other," he replied smiling. The smile left his face as he said, "As children of spies, we both had very interesting childhoods." Then his face got very serious, "Natasha and I have a plan," he said quickly. "It will take a lot of my friends and a lot of luck, but I think it will work... and I think we can avoid bloodshed."

"You think?"

"Well," he almost stammered, "these are dangerous people and we can't totally predict what they will do, but I have discovered their weakness."

"And that is?" I asked.

"Technology!" he almost shouted. "Master Rodriguez's club is advertised on the dark web. And it says 'Language is no barrier.' All the guests are told to connect their smart phones to club wifi and select the translation channel."

"How does that help us?" I said, not quite following his excitement.

"They use an internet-based real time translation service, so their wifi is constantly tied directly to that service," Boris said, waving his hands in excitement. "I can hack that connection and get total access to all communications in the club. With any luck, the guards and staff will also be connected to that hub. We can talk to all of them at the same time or send whatever we want to their cellphones."

"And that helps us how?" I said. I really wasn't following his plan.

"We can run AI algorithms on their phone content and..." He shook his head rapidly while waving his hands in the air in front of himself. "Too complicated to explain," he sputtered. "Just trust me... and Natasha," he said, still very excitedly. "But I- and my friends- have a lot of work to do in the next hour or so." He then motioned for me to follow him.

We were in an underground garage of some sort. I followed Boris to an elevator that took us down a couple levels to a room full of electronic equipment. Natasha was already sitting at one of the monitors. Boris took a seat next to her. He motioned to a monitor next to him and said, "You can sit there or in the chair over in the corner. But don't touch the keyboards. They don't trust you."

As if to punctuate his comment, the nearest guard standing against the wall glowered at me. I chuckled as I walked over to the chair in the corner and made myself comfortable. One thing I have learned in my life is that you grab sleep when you can get it. Boris and Natasha knew what they were doing, I had to trust them for now. "It's OK to poke me," I said to Boris. "I might come up a little fast, but I haven't hit anyone... yet."

Boris just nodded his head and began typing on the keyboard. Two hours later I felt someone poking me in the ribs. When I opened my eyes, Boris was standing there with a long ruler of some sort. Evidently he wasn't quite sure enough that it was safe to actually touch me to wake me up.

"We're set," he said firmly. "Time to go."

When we got back up to the garage, Natasha was waiting for us next to an oversized black van with what looked like a matching RV air conditioner unit on the roof. I was betting it was actually a disguise for antennas of one sort or another. When I stepped in, my suspicion was confirmed. The back half of the van was packed with electronics.

The four bodyguards and I squeezed into seats near the door of the van while Natasha and Boris sat in the back at the two electronics stations. She was wearing a different, full-length black dress that was skin-tight to the waist and then became full, almost like a ball gown. The top was a matte black leather that looked very soft. The bottom portion was a not-quite shiny fabric with a pattern on it of some sort.

It took almost an hour to get to the club on the outskirts of Rio, but we were more than on time for the 2:00 am show. "I'll stay out here," Boris said, "while you and Natasha go inside."

As before, the driver and one of the bodyguards stayed with the vehicle and three others accompanied us into the club. The doorman objected at first saying that we all needed tokens. One of the guards opened his coat, revealing his gun, but I stepped forward and held out a stack of bills to the doorman saying, "I will pay for our security, but they enter with us, or we leave."

I don't know if he understood my English, but he understood my money. This time Natasha requested a front table. That took another stack of bills, this time from the depths of her cleavage, but we were soon seated at a prime table right in front of the stage. I felt a little strange sitting with Natasha by my side and a bodyguard on either side of us. We looked like a wealthy married couple... OK, we looked like a wealthy, kinky, married couple. The third guard stood against a wall where he could see the entire club. There were three other military-looking men standing near him. Evidently we were not the only ones who brought security with them to this illicit den of iniquity.

The room was large and rectangular with a slightly raised stage located in the center of one of the long walls. The area directly behind the stage was covered with a dark blue theater-type curtain. The rest of the room was bare block walls that had been painted a dark shade of gray. Considering what the outside of this mansion looked liked- even though it was slightly run- down- I was surprised at how austere the interior of the club seemed to be. We had entered from the back, so perhaps the front of the mansion was a little more luxurious. I looked around the room checking for possible dangers and escape routes. The ceiling was surprisingly high. Looking carefully at the far wall, I could see an area about four meters off the ground- about the right height for another floor- where the wall seemed to have a rough area that looked like it had been plastered over.

I was trying to figure out what that might mean when Boris' voice in my ear answered my questions for me. "The club is in the back part of the house," he began. "That area is more or less isolated from the main house and was housing for low level diplomatic staff. Shortly after the embassy was abandoned, that area burned leaving just the concrete block shell. A man by the name of Dominic Rodriguez purchased the property and converted the back portion into a club. His son, also named Dominic, still owns it. Dominic senior helped organize the more seamy side of the tourist industry in Rio. Junior is still a key player in that."

"Thank you," I said, and a pleasant-sounding voice just above me said, "You're welcome."

A young woman in a very tight, very skimpy, very short, white spangly dress was standing next to me with a wooden tray that was strapped to her waist and supported by a strap that went around the back of her neck. She reminded me of the old-fashioned cigarette girls from the 1930s. Not that I had ever seen any of them, but I have seen some old pictures and movies. This girl wasn't selling cigarettes. She was renting bluetooth earpieces for the translations... and if I needed it, a cellphone-like receiver. I rented both even though I didn't need either. I, as well as Natasha and the bodyguards already had our own receivers and earpieces which were connected through the electronics in the van. But I wanted to check that what we heard and what the rest of the customers heard was really the same. The earpiece Boris gave me fit completely inside my ear, so I didn't look overly silly sitting there with a additional bluetooth earpiece hooked over my ear like a plastic earmuff. I paid the young woman and she moved on to the next table.

The waitresses were much more interesting. The one that came to our table was totally naked except for a thick metal collar around her neck and matching bands of metal on both wrists. Light chains ran from the center of the collar to the wrist bands. There was a large, dark red metal tag also hanging from the center of the collar. It was oval and reminded me somewhat of a dog's license or rabies shot tag. The number 127 had been punched all the way through the tag. The whole thing- except for the tag- was made to look old and rusted, but it was obviously modern and most likely treated or painted to look rusty. I considered that it might be plastic until the young woman stood at attention before bowing at the waist and clicking her wristcuffs together with a distinctively metallic clank. Similar clanks from other tables told me that this was the standard way a waitress approached a table.

The earpiece girl must have clued our waitress in, because she said to me in English. "How may this humble slave assist you tonight?" She switched immediately to Portugese when Natasha answered her in that language.

Natasha took care of ordering the drinks and shortly the lights dimmed. After a moment of almost darkness, the lights came up on the stage revealing a large figure clad in black leather and wearing a devil pattern Lucha Libra mask. I was surprised that Master Rodriguez was emceing his own show. Well, maybe not totally surprised. This was a special, afterhours, outside the normal limits show and he was likely the sadistic type who would enjoy presenting his playthings for his... and others... enjoyment.

He spread his arms wide and said something that was obviously a welcome in Portugese. A flat, electronic-sounding voice, provided an immediate translation in my ear. "Welcome to the Devil's Club," it said.

"For some," Master Rod continued, "this club is heaven." He laughed evilly. The earpiece did not attempt to translate his laugh. "For others, this club is hell." He made a motion with his hands, sweeping his arms open as if to include everyone in the audience. "Most of you will experience heaven tonight... but some of you will find yourself in The Stiff One's personal hell before the night is over."

That worried me slightly. Was he hinting that he already knew who we were? From the chuckles from some of the other tables, this was perhaps his regular opening and posed no threat to us. A young woman at the table next to ours was trying to speak softly to the man she was with. Her obvious fear was causing her to be louder than she intended. I couldn't understand her, but it was obvious from her tone and body language she was pleading with him.

Natasha translated for me. "She's saying, 'I've been good,'" Natasha said very softly, "and she's begging him not to 'offer her' tonight. Evidently some of the Masters here volunteer their slaves to be part of the performance."

I nodded my head to acknowledge that I heard her and went back to concentrating on Master Rod. "Our first presentation," he said loudly, "is a simple punishment of one of our staff slaves. Each of you will have a chance to rate your servers this evening. Tomorrow night, the server with the lowest rating will be the first presentation at our afterhours show."

He rubbed his hands together and bent slightly at the waist so that he was looking down almost directly at me. "That way," he continued, "you won't intentionally score your server badly just to watch her get punished at the end of the night." He laughed, "And more importantly, if a server slave knows that they have not done a good job, they have the whole day to worry whether or not theirs was the worst score."

He clapped his hands together loudly and all of the waitresses came up and stood facing the stage. "Who is it?" he said excitedly. Then pointing at the servers he said, "Which one of you failed to do your job properly last night?"

There was a soft drum roll from the sound system that ended with a single strike of the drum. Exactly when it ended, one of the slaves screamed and jumped forward, falling down on her hands and knees, shaking from the intense shocks that were coming from her collar and cuffs.

"Slave 139 come to the stage," Master Rod said firmly. The rest of the servers melted back into the darkness, leaving slave 139 kneeling on the floor. When she struggled back to her feet, I could see that she was a he... more or less. She was a sissy shemale with prominent breasts and a small, totally shaven prick and balls. The breasts didn't have that stuck-on look of implants, so evidently she had been treated with large doses of female hormones to create natural breasts. The hormones would also explain the atrophied male organs. As she cowered on the floor in front of the low stage, an oddly-configured spanking bench was hurriedly pushed into place by two large men with white cloth wound around their waists and groins like strange adult diapers. They had an odd muscular fatness to them that reminded me of illustrations from novels set in the Ottoman Empire. Such body shape is normally the result of castration after puberty.

"You will only make it worse on yourself if you don't get in place," Master Rod said harshly.

The sissy pushed herself to her feet and unsteadily stepped up onto the stage. The two large men pulled her over to the device. She was forced to kneel on a low, padded shelf. One of the men held her in place while the other used wide leather restraints built into the shelf to strap her legs in place. Then they bent her over a narrow, padded beam and pulled her arms forward. Again one held her in place while the second connected black nylon straps to her wristcuffs. The straps went into a rachet mechanism like you would see on a flatbed truck. Soon both arms were pulled tight.

"Normally," Master Rod said to the crowd, "we would use a combination anal-cunt hook to hold the penitent in place, but..." He laughed and then continued, "... obviously part of that hook would have nowhere to go."

A totally hairless, naked young woman ran onto the stage carrying a metal object. Master Rod held it up for the audience to see. "So," he said cheerfully, "we have to use a combination anal hook and cock trap."

He pulled on the strap which was attached to the object and the circle on one end of it pulled almost closed. Evidently the circle would be placed around the sissy's prick and balls when the anal hook was set in place.

Master Rod, himself, walked over to the restrained slave and reached under her to slip the shiny steel trap over her prick and balls before pulling the anal hook up between her asscheeks and forcefully shoving it into place. There was no lubrication as the chrome ball slid into place.

The slave had been whimpering throughout the process, but yelped loudly when Master Rod pulled on the straps and secured them to the base of the spanking bench more or less directly beneath her head. He used some sort of rachet mechanism to tighten the strap even tighter and then stood back up and glowered down at the bound slave.

"You will have to make sure you remain in place," the Master said ominously, "or you might end up like my Egyptian eunuchs." He laughed again. "Well," he said, "you would never be big enough to be a good eunuch. Perhaps it would just make you a better ass cunt."

I looked over at Natasha and smugly raised my eyebrows. She just gave me her normal fierce look and returned her gaze to the stage. I had been right about the eunuchs and should have said something about my suspicions. It's nice to be right once in a while, even if nobody knows it.

I also turned my gaze back to the stage. Master Rodriguez had stepped back slightly to allow one of the eunuchs to attach two cup-like electrodes to the slave's nipples. The other handed Master Rod a long, black leather paddle. There was a wire extending from the handle of the paddle that went over to a small box sitting on the floor near the slave. The wires from the nipple electrodes also went to the box.

"This is an interesting paddle," Master Rod said to the crowd and he swished it slowly through the air. "I am told it feels very much like a regular leather paddle, but there are sensors built into it that control that little box." He was pointing at the box on the floor. "If I tap lightly," he said as he lightly slapped the slave's ass, "a very slight shock is delivered."

The slave bounced slightly in her restraints.

"If I smack harder," he said as he slammed the paddle forcefully into the slave's ass, "the shock is correspondingly higher."

This time the slave shrieked and pulled against her bonds. Her hips rose slightly up from the padded bar, but the pain from the anal hook and cock trap caused her to drop back against the bar.