The Fifty Per Cent Club

The Fifty Percent Club 07

Thank you for reading this story, and a special thanks to those who have stuck with it from

the beginning. This is the last section, and if we encounter Analia again she will be a lifetime pleasure slave in a stand-alone story.

One acknowledgement: The science fiction novel to which Analia refers late in the story is actually a trilogy; the

Helliconia

saga by Brian Aldiss, written in the 1980s. I read them a long time before Analia, but the wheel in those books is a very much larger stone structure that takes years to rotate, being pushed round by the manual labour of its occupants.

As this section begins, Analia's wrists are in semi-permanent bondage behind her back, fixed together and in place with a self-annealing rubberized tape that can only be released by exposing it to a unique chemical. Her hands are enclosed in balls of the same substance, which is entirely fictional.

Chapter Twenty-Three - Back to the Clinic

Thirteen and I were collected by the usual van on Saturday morning, We were not at our best, for we had spent a passionate night. She had conceived the idea, as we retired, of chaining my tongue by a foot-long loop to her collar, so our lips were almost touching, and our tongues writhing around the chain as we kissed felt novel and very erotic. She could use her fingers on me, and I was always conscious of the butt plug that she had put in me; the biggest that she could find. I could not access her vagina or her bottom, but I had not been aware, until then, of just how much her mouth, as well as mine, had been sensitized. After an hour's French kissing, with the chain in play, we were both cumming almost continuously. For much of the time we were able keep one or both of our nipples rubbing together.

We could not be a hundred percent sure that we would still be together after our trip to the clinic, but Slave-Nurse Thirteen seemed very confident, so there was no tearful parting. When we arrived we were separated, as she was allowed to spend a day resting with one of the auxiliary nurses chained for her pleasure.

Although I was examined very thoroughly and endured another barrage of injections, it was not a strenuous day for me. Strapped face-down on a narrow bench, the muscles and joints in my arms and shoulders were measured with a scanner and tested with electric shocks that were so mild that I barely felt them. The scanner was used on my hands, and I was asked to try to tense and relax the muscles in all my fingers. With them encased in rubber I had almost forgotten they existed, unlike my arms. I was always conscious that they were restrained.

The rest of my body got more cursory treatment, although the padlock was removed from my ankles, leaving the longer hobble-chain in place. "Doctor Charles will want to fit between your legs," remarked one of the nurses, which was good news. I was fed my lunch face down, having to suck up gruel through a pipe, but sometime later I was turned over, and my breasts came under scrutiny.

I had been conscious that my boobs were slightly larger than before, but if anything they felt more inflamed than expanded, so I had not really registered that the change was permanent. It was a huge relief when they decided that there was no further need for the beatings, but the massages would resume after a three-day break. As yet there was no sign of milk. They were pleased that I was now producing more pussy-juice, and took samples by "squirting" me into a bottle. Since I had never had a problem with dryness, I had not been aware that they were interested.

I was fed proper food for dinner, sitting up at a table, and for the time being the nurses had finished with me. At about seven o'clock I was wheeled along the corridors to Doctor Charles' suite of rooms, and this time he was not in his office but in the living quarters behind it. His day room was plain, with comfortable furniture that might have come from IKEA, and he was lounging on a sofa reading reports. He smiled, greeting me with a kiss on the forehead and dismissing my escort. Then he surprised me with a passionate French kiss, which I welcomed but had not expected so soon.

As I was already naked there were very few preliminaries. When he led the way into the bedroom I felt graceless and clumsy, trudging and scraping with my hobble chain and with bare feet. He didn't seem to mind, and took my arm to lower me onto the bed, which was king-sized but otherwise featureless. The room resembled those found in inexpensive hotel chains, and I felt that the doctor must have a more personalized home elsewhere. It seemed to take him no time at all to undress, and his penis was already erect, straight and upward-pointing. He was well-endowed for his modest size.

Doctor Charles proved to be conservative in his sexual tastes, or so it seemed at first. He rolled me onto my side, and I opened my knees as far as the hobble chain allowed. That left enough room for him to slip his legs and hips through, and with me effectively scissoring him, he could drive straight up into my vagina.

It felt indescribably good: my tunnel was much more sensitive than before and my overall sex-drive had increased, and as I had the hots for Doctor Charles as well as being generally cock-hungry, he only had to penetrate me to get me fully aroused. During the week the various treatments had worked to improve the links between the various erogenous zones that were themselves spreading, so I could feel his pumping penis in my clitoris. A finger in my bottom would have brought me off like a rocket, but without that I was able to hold out for another minute or two.

That was important to me. I did not want him to think that he was fucking an animal that would be reduced to mindless orgasmic spasms by rubbing against a fence post. I wanted to test my growing control over my vaginal muscles, and give him the satisfaction of using his own skills to raise me to a climax, and then to wring me dry by forcing me to go from one to the another until I was spent and helpless with exhaustion. I did not want to make him cum before he was ready, but to let him decide when I was worthy of his sperm.

I think I just about managed that, and afterwards he seemed pleased, happy and relaxed. I thought, however, that he usually did seem relaxed; he was that kind of man. He did have a slightly unusual habit. After sex he liked to remain erect and inserted for a long time; more than an hour. He kept water bottles very close where he could reach them, and he did not initiate any conversation for about twenty minutes, after which we had both recovered enough to talk.

It would have been easy to lose concentration, lying with an erect penis in my vagina, but what he had to say was important. "Slave-Nurse Thirteen was very pleased with you, and I must say that her judgement was as good as it usually is. Your test results are very pleasing. There has been almost no muscle wastage and everything seems to be in good condition. Your breasts are responding slowly, but that isn't anything to worry about. So we can think about the next step in your development."

I was doing my best to keep up. How did he know my test results already? Presumably he had some kind of implant which could be used to communicate with him even when he was in bed. Most bosses would want a bit more privacy than that, I thought, but he was starting again.

"We'll keep your hands where they are for another week. We do need to continue until we see some changes that we can measure. As you probably know, you'll be classified as a pleasure and bondage slave, but the 'bondage' is far from being a sub-category. You'll be rather special, in fact. I'm going to put in your profile that you're a three-point bondage slave. Do you understand what that means? Let me move you a bit further away from me. I want to be able to reach forward and knead your breasts while we chat."

I knew that I had to keep my mind on what he was saying, even with his thumbs on my nipples. He was telling me what the rest of my life would be like. "Basically, a three-point bondage slave is always restrained in at least three ways. At the moment, you are only doubly bound: your wrists and ankles. They will usually account for two of the three, and a hogtie lock or rope could be the third. So could a suspension rope or chain. But a gag, a blindfold, a chain in your nose, tongue or pussy piercings, or breast cuffs, could all serve as the third. Obviously, you'll often have four or five restraints, especially if you're being used as a pony, for instance, or a hucow. You're getting the picture now?"

"Y..yes, master," I stammered, and he didn't object to the title. "It sounds exciting, master, but exacting as well."

He laughed. "I'm sure you're up it, Analia. Remember that bondage is your calling: it's the life that is right for you. Learn to let your restraints work for you; relax into them, and see them as a support, not a hindrance. You and Thirteen have already been a hit with online audiences. They love to see a black girl whip and cane a white girl. The marks show up so much better than when it's the other way around." He grasped my breasts more firmly. "I think these have earned themselves a fair few appointments with the lash."

He said it as if it was a major and praiseworthy achievement for me, or my breasts. It was then that the thought popped into my mind, that Doctor Charles might be mad. It did not make me like him any less; perhaps the opposite. I think that, subconsciously, I began to regard him as a personal project, as if I thought that my bound and naked body, willingly surrendered to him, would be a soothing draught that would bring him back to sanity.

There was more. "As you're so dependent on Thirteen anyway, I thought that we'd let you try blindness for your second week. Tomorrow, you'll be fitted with opaque contact lenses. Obviously, you won't be able to reach them with your hands, but for future reference, it's very important that neither you nor anyone else tries to remove them. It would do serious damage to your eyes. It requires a unique chemical to detach them from your eyeballs."

I was going to be blinded! Even though it was only for a week, the prospect was frightening. I had to accept that it was going to happen. Pleading would be both demeaning and futile. Besides, there was more. "By a happy coincidence," he went on, "there's a VIP meeting for three days next week. That's an event at which none of the guests want to be identified. Some are happy to be seen by one another, but others require complete privacy. All the sex-slaves are blinded for the occasion. It's a bit of a logistical nightmare, and it's good that you'll have an early chance to experience it. Now I'm starting to feel randy again."

He was not the only one. For the last few minutes he had seemed restless, and as his body kept shifting, his cock stirred in my vagina. Those were the circumstances which were most frustrating when in such strict bondage. I could do nothing to minimize what I was feeling, nor could I speed up the process to seek relief through an orgasm. This time I did not have long to wait, and he seemed to detect my mounting arousal, perhaps from my breathing or the way I was pushing my breasts into his hands.

He fucked me in almost exactly the same way as before, except that he accelerated more slowly and took much longer. He worked on my breasts and nipples as before, but when he realized that he was about to cum he moved a hand to press on my clitoris, so we both began at once. I was pleasantly surprised when he continued to finger me afterwards, keeping himself erect and going through the full cycle from slow to vigorous pumping.

Afterwards he moved out from between my legs and up my body, requiring that I lick his cock clean. That was something that I had done before, and although I couldn't hold it in my hand, I think I was able to inject a little extra enthusiasm and thoroughness into the task. Then we both sat with our backs supported by piles of pillows, and spent the next hour talking and sipping wine; mine through a straw in a glass that he held for me.

Doctor Charles would not talk about anything relating to the organization and financing of the Club- of which he was not a member- or the clinic, or the process of slave-holding and trading in general. He was much more interested in hearing about my past experiences, of which he knew less than I had imagined. Was I capable of deep-throating the largest penises? I thought so. Did I experience any discomfort during anal sex? No, I enjoyed it. Had I been gang-banged, and if so, had any of the males used me for intermammary intercourse? Yes to both. Did I drink full-cream milk? That one seemed oddly out of sequence, like those asked of travellers attempting to cross

Monty Python

's Bridge of Death.

The reason, it turned out, was that he wanted to know whether I'd be able to perform taste tests on human milk, including my own. That might involve making comparisons with the very best cow's milk; both in its natural form and as yoghourts, cheeses etc. It still seemed an odd thing to ask, under the circumstances, but apparently he was a member of a small board that certified the quality of hu-milk products, and he took the work very seriously.

He did tell me a little more about the VIP meetings, because I was shortly to service one. Access was confined to Privy Counsellors, peers, senior bishops and their equivalents in other religions, and executive mayors. Senior members of devolved governments, and those of the Republic of Ireland, were eligible. Certain other officials, particularly from broadcasting corporations, were invited on a case-by-case basis, and foreign dignitaries were also chosen. He was on the membership committee, but throughout our conversation he never mentioned a name.

"All the slaves go to these things thinking that they might recognise a voice, or a mannerism, or a facial feature. It's highly unlikely. If you do, you show no sign, and you don't mention it to anybody, for the rest of your life. It's very important that you understand that. All guests, however eminent, are addressed as 'master' or 'mistress,' If in doubt- if you haven't touched the naked body, for instance- don't use any form of address. There will be very little to talk about, as they will almost certainly never speak to you."

"Yes, master," I replied. I was looking forward to it, and knew that I'd be one of the slaves that played guessing games. I was trying to keep my mind off the subject of my intended blindness, with limited success. Doctor Charles had decided that I was going to spend the night with him, so two auxiliary nurses were summoned to prepare me for bed. The doctor was in no hurry to sleep so we spent an hour drinking wine and discussing our tastes in music, paintings and holiday resorts, and part-way through I deep-throated him, washing his ejaculate down with the red wine, which was one of the best I had ever tasted.

Chapter Twenty-Four - Darkness Falls

I realized, when I parted company with Doctor Charles in the morning, that my night with him had been a one-man serial gangbang. He woke me in the night and used me for intermammary intercourse, and I had to admit to myself that I was coming to like it as much as any other kind of sex. I was sure that there was more pleasure to come from it, for at that time the tenderness from Thirteen's ministrations and all the injections mingled with my increasing sensitivity to any kind of sexual contact, and it was difficult for me to climax from a tit-job alone. When we woke up in the morning he buggered me, so he had completed the "set" unless he was going to use my armpits or the soles of my feet. He did not.

The morning was quite leisurely, with only a handful of injections. It was a very pleasant surprise to be taken outside to sit on a bench in a secluded rose garden, surrounded on one side by the clinic buildings, and on the other by dense woodland. The weather was fine but the sun was hiding behind a layer of thin cloud, and with a light breeze blowing it was refreshing to feel the air on my bare skin. I tried to "fix" images in my mind; the various kinds of roses, the birds flying overhead and hunting for worms and insects on the ground, and the shapes of the trees and shrubs. I wanted something to bring back to mind when I could see nothing at all.

Instead of sending auxiliaries to bring me in for lunch, Eight came out herself with a few minute to spare. She was as pretty as Thirteen, but white and with a much more compact, less voluptuous figure. She sat by me, gave both my breasts a little squeeze, and fixed her eyes on the nearer treetops. "I just wanted a quick word with you in private," she began. "You'll be even more in need of a nurse to take care of you next week. The default choice is Thirteen, as she's already familiar with the role. I know that she's handy with the whip and the cane. I can't guarantee that anyone else would be different, but if you want I'll swap her for someone else."

I was surprised to hear that I still had a choice. Eight was personable and attractive, but perhaps a trifle reserved, even prim. "I think I'll stick with the devil I know," I told her, "but I hope that you and I will get the chance to know one another better. I haven't been kissed since Doctor Charles finished with my services."

Instead of leaning over to kiss me, Eight sat on my knees. She was more petite than Thirteen, so it felt cosy and comfortable to have her there while she pressed our lips together. She was gentle and intimate rather than passionate and intense, but she did leave me hoping that we would have our time together. Then she led me, jumping while outdoors and then shuffling inside, to be fed my lunchtime gruel.

The afternoon brought more surprises. An optician visited the clinic after lunch, purely to give me an eye test, and pronounced me free of defects. She was followed by a dentist, who found no problems, gave me a quick scale and clean, and lectured Eight on the proper use of toothbrushes and mouthwash. He obviously knew that I would not be cleaning my own teeth. Throughout the afternoon I was conscious that my blinding would happen before dinner, and it happened at about five o'clock.

It was done very quickly, probably to minimize the stress that I suffered. I was led to a couch on which I reclined comfortably. Everything had been prepared, so within a few seconds a nurse who I had never seen before loomed over me, pulled back the lid of my right eye, and slipped the "lens" into place. I blinked, and my initial instinct was to close the other eye to see if the insertion was fully lightproof, but the nurse held that one open and completed her task in a very few seconds. Although I felt almost nothing, the world was black, without the tiniest chink of light penetrating the thin membranes. I heard the nurse lecturing Eight on the absolute necessity of keeping my wrists bound behind my back. I must not be allowed to reach or touch the lenses. After a day or two had passed, she said, the urge to do so would fade away, and I would be resigned to my blindness.

Dinner, which was steak and kidney pies, was messier than usual, but I soon got the hang of opening wide at the right times. Thirteen was at the meal: I heard her voice but she was not the one who fed me. In the evening six of the nurses and auxiliaries took turns to lie with me, kissing and fondling me, and in some cases fingering me to orgasm. It was a sort of game-cum-exercise, as I was supposed to try to identify them. I always got Thirteen right, but could only guess at the most of the others, including Eight. Just one was easy. One of the auxiliaries had very long hair, and when on duty she kept it wound in a kind of turban. I heard her squeal with delight as I got her right, and it was decided that I would spend the night with her.