The Fifty Per Cent Club

The Fifty Percent Club 03

Thank you for reading my story. I would be very grateful if you would give it a rating, and if possible, to add your comments. This section continues from the second part, but if you have not read that you should be able to catch up very easily. Analia- previously called Amelia- is a member of a club which enables its members to become sex-slaves or users for short periods, usually weekends. She is submissive. After her first two weekends she finds herself becoming more and more immersed in her role, and as this part begins, she is enjoying only short periods of limited freedom.

The bondage described in this story is made possible only by use of medications and procedures that do not exist in real life. It follows that it should never be attempted in real life.

Chapter Nine - Satisfaction

Despite my concerns, Maddie managed to move the prisoner from his cell to the exercise room without any problems, and she left him there and microwaved a pasta dish for our dinner. She soon realized that I was looking forward to the evening, feeling me several times and remarking on my wetness. "I wonder whether it's possible to juice too much," she said. "A man does like to feel a bit of friction when he first goes in."

"I don't know that there's much I can do about that, mistress," I replied. "I've found it very easy to get used to sex with women, and I love it. But you've got me thinking about that hard, hot penis sliding into my quim, mistress, and I feel like I've got a built in waterfall. I try to distract myself by thinking of it penetrating my asshole, mistress, or forcing itself into my throat, but it doesn't seem to make much difference."

"I think, perhaps, that washing your mouth out with carbolic soap would do the trick." She rubbed my labia between her finger and thumb for a few moments, and then declared it time to go downstairs. I was so nervous that I almost outstepped my hobble chain and only just avoided falling forward, but in the end we made it downstairs without any mishaps. My heart was hammering as we went into the gym-cum-torture chamber. I knew that the young man would be in there and in very strict bondage, but had no idea how he would be presented. Perhaps the mistress was teasing me, and it would be impossible for me to mount him.

What she had done with him was almost an anticlimax. He was on his back on a very low bench which resembled a vaulting horse, only longer and with adjustable legs. His wrists were locked underneath it and he was lying straight with his legs and ankles together on the top. Little of his body was visible, as he was bound to the bench with broad strips of a cloth resembling bandage, but she had used so many windings that it was completely opaque. Of his body, only his penis was showing, still long, hard and straight, but a small gap had been left under it to allow access to his testicles. That was not much use to me, but I could just about see that he was ringed around his upper scrotum. I did not know it at the time, but that was often done with male sex-slaves to prevent their balls from rising into their bodies.

Around his head Maddie had used narrower bandages, or possibly the same material folded in half. The windings encircled his throat, although I thought that some wedges of a harder material had been used to keep him facing straight up. The bandages covered his nose while leaving his nostrils clear, but only his mouth was fully visible. The mistress told me to address his penis.

"Suck it, Analia," she told me. "Just for a minute or two. Don't make him cum."

I obeyed without hesitation, bending over his midriff to take him in my mouth. I was actually very good at fellatio, having noticed when I first started looking at porn that most cocksuckers did not take much more than the

glans

, with an inch or two below it. My reading, however, and my later experience, told me that success depended on stretching the skin of the shaft, and particularly the little bridge of skin that connected it to the

glans

. To do that properly, with full control, the lips had to go much further down towards the root. "Deep throating" was not just a stunt or a spectacle, but was necessary in order to give the best possible service.

That was especially true for a sex-slave in bondage. Free persons did with their fingers what they could not accomplish with their tongues, but joining the Club had put a stop to that for me. Since then I had not sucked a cock without my hands being tied or chained, either behind my back or stretched over my head. As I bent down to take the prisoner's whole length into my mouth and throat I could hear some appreciative noises from Mistress Maddie. As we both knew, under all the bandages the prisoner was experiencing the most exquisite pleasure, isolated as he was from any distractions.

I was enjoying myself, relishing the feeling of the hard, warm shaft sliding back and forth between my lips, across my tongue and into my upper throat. I felt, almost, that my mouth was another vagina, and I was appreciating, more and more, the effectiveness of the medicaments that were enhancing my libido and my sexual response and performance. At that moment my weak link was the muscles in my waist, torso and neck, for it was an unaccustomed strain on them for me to bend over and repeatedly bob up and down. I could give it my all because I knew it would not be for long, and in due course Maddie told me to stop. I fancied, as I stood up, that the prisoner was straining upwards after me, but he was so strictly tied down that I was probably imagining it.

Maddie then lowered the bench to floor level, the structure underneath sinking smoothly into a recess. Momentarily, I wondered how much the thing had cost to buy and install. Then she was urging me to kneel over his midriff, and as long as I kept my knees wide apart the hobble chain allowed me to do that, with a slight tendency to tip me forwards. I was able to raise myself high enough for Maddie, with a certain amount of pushing and pulling, to get his cock into my vagina, and as it was still wet with my saliva it slipped in easily.

It felt breathtakingly wonderful to have a male member, warm, stiff and throbbing with his desire, deep inside my quim. What I could do with it was another matter, for although I could use my knees to raise and lower myself on it, I would fall over forwards if I did so. It was one of many times when I reflected on the extra work that masters and mistresses caused for themselves by keeping their slaves in such restrictive and constant bondage. For a minute or two Maddie held me by the shoulders, but then she straddled his face and lowered herself, facing me and steadying me with both hands, mostly holding my breasts.

It had been nearly a month since the last penis had penetrated me, and the treatments I'd been given since joining the Club had had a cumulative effect. I was virtually pre-orgasmic from the moment that I sank to take his full length into my body, and the feel of my mistress's hands on my boobs sparked off the first of many climaxes. I was surprised to see her taking cunnilingus from a male slave, but with me on his cock, none of his body was visible, so perhaps his gender didn't matter. He would doubtless do his best to tongue her, knowing that he would receive condign punishment if he did not, and that the presence on his erection would be removed immediately.

I knew that the prisoner would not want to cum too quickly. He would not go soft if he did, so we would be able to ride him for as long as we wanted, but he would derive much less pleasure from being inside me. On the other hand, if he held himself back for too long, would my mistress decide she'd had enough, and he would then be left hanging? How long would he have to spend blind and chained in his cell before he got another chance?

Did the prisoner have any control of when and if he ejaculated? He had been deprived for long enough to make him very quick on the trigger. On the other hand, he was virtually mummified, so his inability to push upwards into me might be holding him back. He might also be experiencing difficulty breathing, with Maddie's vulva on his mouth and his nose in the cleavage between her substantial buttocks. I did not want to send him back to his cell with 'blue balls', whatever his crimes, so eventually I used my weight and the post-orgasmic pulsing of my vagina to push him beyond the limit, and I felt his jism filling me and squirting back onto the bench. Maddie told me to stop, meaning for me to lift off, but I deliberately misinterpreted her order and kept him pinned down until the last drops had been extracted.

I felt pleased with myself as my mistress led me across the corridor into the bedroom. Although I had not been able to see his expression through the bandages I knew I had given a moment of extra pleasure to another human being. Maddie seemed happy, so I was naïve enough to think that she had not noticed me "misunderstanding" her order. She wanted to relax, so we sat propped on pillows against the bedhead and sipped wine from a single glass that she held up for me from time to time. I asked her what the prisoner's life would be like in the brothel to which he was to be sold.

"They showed us round when we went to negotiate the sale," she replied. "It's not very far from here. They could use him in several different ways, but he's not a bad looking chap, so I'm guessing they'll put him on one of the reversible pleasure racks."

"I'm sorry, mistress, but I don't know what they are."

"If I'm right, he'll spend his days chained between four bars in an "X" shape: the way you like to spend your nights. The bars are a rigid frame that can be lifted with an electric winch and turned over, and they rest on a washable mattress, parts of which can swell up to form bulges. Ladies will use him on his back, and will be able to mount his cock or his mouth. If they want, they'll urinate on him, or into his mouth, after they've finished cumming."

"But he'll be used by men too?" I asked.

"Of course. I'm guessing more than half of his users will be male. Obviously, they'll be able to take his mouth or use his cock, but more often they'll have him turned over and penetrate his ass. When we were there, they raised the mattress a bit under the male whores' hips to make it easier."

"How long is a shift, mistress?"

"Usually twelve hours, but the supervisors make sure that the clients are distributed so the slave-whores get turned over regularly. I can imagine that it's quite a satisfying, even pleasurable role, although I wouldn't volunteer for it."

"I expect it could be monotonous, mistress, after the first twenty years or so."

"The manager makes it fun for them. In any one shift, a whore will usually ejaculate at least twice. The customers are encouraged to make them cum as often as possible, because they get a discount the next time they visit the brothel. They also get to give the whore half a dozen lashes."

"Sounds like a giggle, mistress."

"

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit

. Remember that this guy robbed little old ladies for a living. He'll be fed and housed, with lifetime medical care. He'll have unlimited sex, and at least two orgasms a day, and probably more at night. The whippings do just a little to restore the balance."

Chapter Ten - Rest and Return

The rest of my time with Mistress Maddie was surprisingly relaxing, with lots of sex and some interesting conversation. I spent another night spread out on her bed, but after breakfast we returned there, my hands now behind my back, and lounged together for the rest of the morning. She was in a reflective mood, and happy to discuss the more ethical and philosophical aspects of sex-slavery. While she toyed with one of my nipples I ventured to ask her why sex-slaves were kept in such strict bondage, when they would be able to serve more effectively with more freedom of movement. I wanted to hear her answer, even though I think I already knew what it would be.

"That's an interesting question," she replied. "There are plenty of groups in which people can pretend to be sex-slaves, obeying their masters and mistresses without any constraint or compulsion. To people like us, that's just role-playing. A real slave has given up his or her right to choose, to make decisions, even how to move his or her limbs. To me, and to my friends, slavery means bondage. It means that by becoming a slave, you surrender your rights over your body. I can allow anyone I choose to use you for sex, as I did with Hattie. I can direct you to have sex with another slave, as I did with the prisoner downstairs."

She paused for a moment for a sip of water before going on. This, I surmised, was a standard briefing, and it was not the first time she had given it to someone. "You no longer have the right to give your own consent to sex," she went on. "If a stranger bonks you without my consent, it's rape, even if you're gagging for it. Of course, I would be the injured party, not you. It would be my right to consent that was being violated. I hope that's clear to you."

"Sort of, mistress. If there were lots of Club members around us, like at the dinners, it might be difficult to know who does and who does not have permission to use me, mistress."

"In practice, there's some leeway. In gatherings of people, the default position is that any master or mistress can have you, unless your keeper- that's me at the moment- has said otherwise. They can also let their slaves couple with you. Misunderstandings are dealt with by discussion and give-and-take. It's mainly outsiders who could be viewed as rapists. After all, your

raison d'être

is to have sex, not to live in chastity."

I wanted to cover all bases, so I went on with my questions, trying to ignore the fact that her fingers were now toying with my pussy lips. "Mistress, I go home later today. Suppose I get myself a boyfriend before I come to the Club again. Would there be precisely known days and times when he could have sex with me, and others when it would be rape?"

For the time being she ignored the question and dived into my muff, so by the time we satisfied one another it was lunchtime. She did not usually give me cunnilingus first, so I surmised that she had done so to give herself some thinking time. As she fed me bits of Cornish pasty she returned to the subject.

"I think that your relationship with the Club is evolving," she began. It won't always be possible to switch it on and off at will, as you do at the moment. We'll assume that, from now on, you'll be chaste except with partners approved by the Club. There must be no outsider boyfriends. You will not masturbate without permission, and you'll wear a monitor all the time, so we'll know about any violations. Your appetite for sex is growing all the time, so you'll obviously have to attend more functions than you have in the past."

I was starting to feel my skin prickling, as it did when I felt that what was left of my freedom was slipping away. I tried to keep the discussion anchored in practical problems. "Mistress, I don't know how many functions I can afford. I'll be paying more, and working less."

"It's up to the Club to square those circles," she replied. "We have a duty of care, so you'll never starve or be homeless. During the next week or so, put all your financial affairs into a folder and give us access to it. We'll always make sure that the books balance."

There was no more discussion, but it was a shock to feel my enslavement deepening so rapidly. It seemed that, although I would still be at liberty for several days a week, I would still be watched over and guided by the Club. There was no point in arguing, for I was sure that I had already passed the point of no return. At least, I would not have to worry about money anymore.

After lunch we had some time to spare. Mistress Maddie explained that she had intended to start my training as an "under the desk" slave, but we had munched one another so thoroughly in the morning that she needed more time to "recalibrate," whatever that meant. Instead, I was going to learn elementary pedicure, which for all practical purposes, since my wrists remained locked behind my back, meant toe-sucking and foot-licking.

There was more to it than I had imagined. Maddie kept up a running commentary which made every toe seem to have its own personality. Big toes and little toes required very different treatment, and the smallest could be addressed singly or in pairs. It was especially important to separate toes with the tongue to get between them, and to get a good balance between the lips and the tongue. It helped to imagine that a toe was a miniature penis, or with the smaller ones, a clitoris.

It took a surprising amount of time to deal properly with all ten of Maddie's toes, but there were a few minutes left over to make a start on the soles of her feet. The pressure was important, but in licking them there was an important distinction between that applied by the point and the flat of the tongue. Often, she told me, only the point was available, as most slaves had their tongues ringed at some point. That was something to which I could look forward. There was no time to deal with the heels or the tops of her feet, as after a quick cup of tea, she started getting me ready to return to the venue to collect my car.

I was surprised to hear that she was not going to take me herself, as she was going to visit a friend with whom she would stay overnight. "Another member- Bill- is coming to collect you. He wasn't at the dinner the other night. I don't want him shagging you, so I'll give you a belt."

I wasn't a hundred percent sure I understood what she meant, but my suspicions were soon confirmed. Taking elaborate precautions to ensure that I was always chained to a strongpoint, she removed my ankle cuffs with their hobble chain and locked me into a chastity belt. It seemed, from what I had seen on the 'net, to be a fairly standard type, with a grill to allow urination and washing with a showerhead, and widely spaced straps across my buttocks to facilitate defecation. That suggested it was meant for long-term wear. She closed it with a combination lock, promising to email me the numbers. She did not say when she would do that.

Then she strapped a monitor device to my right upper thigh. It glued in place, bonding to my skin, and she assured me that it would release instantly when exposed to a unique chemical. It was small and very slim, and so would not impede my walking, and it had no exterior features.

"It's very sensitive, and can distinguish between a host of different stimulations," Maddie explained. "It will detect any attempt to masturbate, but if you get desperate you may use a vibrator in your mouth or your asshole. It will tell us which hole you are using." Then my own skirt went back on, just about concealing the device. It only remained to release my wrists, put me in one of her oversized shirts, and relock my hands behind my back. Then she suddenly remembered that Bill used an ordinary car, so she found a tight-fitting blindfold and applied that, shutting out any glimmer of light.

Maddie spent a few minutes kissing me goodbye, with lots of tongue and squeezing of my boobs. Then she went away, presumably to attend to the prisoner in the cellar, and left me sitting on the sofa to wait for Bill. That seemed odd to me, as if she did not want to meet him. It was about ten minutes before I heard footsteps, and I was pulled to my feet and led out to the waiting car.

"I was told you're a pretty one," said a man's voice with a slight northern accent. "I'll put you in the front seat. The windows are tinted, and we probably won't pass anyone close enough for them to look in."