by Art Allen

Originally Published in Bound To Please Vol.5, No.  3

Transcribed by guardian46w

Story Codes: M/f, bdsm, game, payment, taped, payback, cuffed, collared, pierced,
leashed, cropped, cons, pain, oral, public club, initiation, X

Wake up!  Wake up!  You've been lost."

My husband was pulling me up out of bed by my arms.  The overhead light was glaring, the windows were pitch black, and the neon numbers on the clock read 3:l7 a.m.I wasn't awake enough to reason out what was happening, just followed him in my daze.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" I protested as he pulled me down the hall.

"You'll see, just hurry," he replied as we stopped in the kitchen for a roll of silver duct tape, then headed for the living room.

"To the victor go the spoils," my husband quoted out loud.  All the lights were on in the room.  I was getting mad at my husband's antics, then I saw him, the stranger, handsome in a rugged sort of way with a muscular body wrapped in an expensive suit.  He was staring at me, and I realized at that instant how inappropriately I was dressed.

I had, in fact, planned a romantic evening with Eddie, and had dressed in my sexiest outfit, a shorty nightgown that thinly veiled my breasts and only came down to my hips.  Below it a black garter belt and black nylons framed my exposed red-bearded cunt, just the way Eddie liked it.  I had drifted off to sleep waiting for him.

I assumed he was drunk.  My husband was the type who liked his wife to dress sexy, but it was unlike him to flaunt me half naked in front of strangers.  Just as I turned to ask him what the hell was going on, he slapped a piece of sticky tape across my mouth.  My bewilderment gave him enough time to snap my arms behind my back and wind duct tape around my wrists.  He quickly stooped and taped my ankles right over the nylons.  I struggled uselessly against my bindings as my husband announced, "Here she is, Carter, she's all yours."

You sure you want to go through with this?" the man asked.

"We've already agreed," my husband responded.

The stranger bent low and scooped me up belly-down across his shoulder.  My squirming only tightened his grip on my waist.  Kneeing him in the rib cage brought a swift open-handed slap across my bare ass and a warning to stop.  He carried me out of the house and to his car, dropping me unceremoniously into the back seat.  He drove northwest toward Pine Bluff, the decidedly better part of town.  From an underground garage he carried me up the back stairs to his Condo and deposited me on the living room couch.

"I'll take the tape off if you don't scream."

I nodded my head in agreement.  He started at my ankles, talking as he cut and unwound the tape.  "I know you're upset," he said in a deep voice.  "Let me explain.  I won you in a card game.  Your husband thought he couldn't lose.  He was holding four fives, but was shy the money to cover the bet.  He offered you.  I accepted the bet as a lark.  He nearly gagged when I showed him my straight flush.  I had no intention of actually collecting the bet, but he insisted, saying he'd never welshed yet and wasn't going to start even if it was his wife." I could envision the conversation, my husband, and his over-wrought pride.  "So let's make the best of it, and I'll let Eddie win you back next week."

He finally pulled the tape off my mouth.  I was angry at my stupid husband's wagering and losing me in a bet, even if he thought it was such a sure thing.  "That dumb son of a bitch.  I'll get even, just you watch me.  He'll rue this day, that's for sure." I rumbled, full of determination.

Carter was the perfect gentleman that week, treated me nice, and didn't take advantage of the situation.  While Eddie and I agreed that sexual fidelity was not part of our marriage vows, that didn't mean I jumped into bed at the first opportunity.

Carter was a highly successful gambler and I never lived in such opulence before.  He had a live-in maid, a pretty thing, tall and slender.  She accented her long legs by wearing a maid's uniform with a very short fluffy skirt and little girl style buckle shoes.  She looked fifteen, acted twenty-five, and was somewhere between.  She knew I was out of my class and tolerated me as if I were a nuisance that would pass.  Neither Carter nor the maid appreciated my four-letter word vocabulary, frowning every time I cussed.

It wasn't until Monday that Carter asked if I were serious about revenge, then told me his plan.  It took two more days for me to work up the courage to have done what was needed.  By Friday I was ready.  We arrived at the poker party late as planned and I had Carter's long overcoat draped over my shoulders.  The four other players audibly gasped as Carter removed the coat.  I was wearing nothing underneath.  Nothing except wrist and ankle cuffs linked together with industrial chain; gold rings pierced my nipples and another ring passed through the lip of my smoothly shaved cunt.  A thin gold chain made a triangle across my body as it threaded through the gold rings.  Finally a leather collar was fitted around my neck with a leash held by Carter and, just for effect, he held a riding crop in his other hand.  Oh, how my husband's eyes bulged at the sight of me.  How he cringed as I catered to Carter's every need.  I thought the revenge was perfect; maybe it was too perfect.

Carter earned himself a tidy sum.  The others lost quickly, maybe because I was such a distraction.  The last hand was played between Eddie and Carter with me as the wager.  Carter picked up his hand, and I saw three fours, a nine, and a king.  He discarded two fours to worsen the hand and help my husband get his wife back, but luck dealt him another four and a king.  My husband showed his hand of a lousy pair of sixes.

They tried again, this time playing high-card wins.  They both cut the cards; Carter won again.

"I'll tell you what," Carter said to Eddie as we all stood.  "Your wife tells me you own a '63 Corvette.  I'll trade your wife for the car, and we'll call it square."

"Are you nuts?" Eddie asked.  "That car is worth a fortune, a lot more than my wife.  Keep her, she's yours."

My temper flared.  I couldn't believe he thought that the car was worth more than me.  "You fuckin' cocksucker-!" was all I got out before the riding crop came down hard on my ass.  The pain was instantaneous.  I scrunched my eyes closed against the flood of tears and caught my breath sharply in my throat.  I sagged against Carter as my knees went weak.  The pain slowly receded and brought on something totally unexpected.  Arousal.  My nipples went rigid and my cunt moistened.  I wanted to intimately touch Carter.  I wanted him to touch me, to screw me there in front of my husband.  He hustled me out of the building.  In the car, my hand went to his crotch, surprised to find a hard-on.

"Do you like the whip?  I know of nothing more erotic," he said.

All I could do was sigh my agreement, still feeling the afterglow in my cunt.

After we entered his condo, he said, "Bend over and grab your ankles."

The crop was in his hand.  I knew what he was going to do to me.  I complied, emphasizing my ass for him, pursing and biting my lips shut against the scream that I knew would come.  I don't know how many strokes he gave me; it was pain, then arousal, more pain, more arousal, on and on, so that by the time he stopped my pussy nectar was dribbling down my thigh.  We went at each other like two sex-starved animals right there in the front hall.

A week went by, then two.  The sex became an obsession and the pain an addiction; I was no sooner satisfied than I wanted more.  Carter loved it when I begged, when I came into the living room naked, the crop in my mouth, and my hands clasped at the small of my back.  I would drop the crop in his lap, get on my knees, and plead with him to use it on his bad girl's ass.  After he punished me, after I thanked him, I would open his pants using only my mouth and teeth, then kiss and lick his cock and balls, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours, however long he wanted.

It as at one of these sessions that I first felt like someone was watching us.  I looked around as inconspicuously as possible, but couldn't detect anyone.  Time and again, I had the feeling of being watched.  Finally, one day I saw her, not by the door as I had expected, but in the alcove by the window, her hand under her dress.  Our oh-so-perfect maid was a voyeur!  I sprang across the room and grabbed her by the wrist before she could flee.  I stood her in front of Carter.  She was trembling like a wounded sparrow.  On my knees, I reached up and pulled down her panties.  They were full cut and almost canvas like to give her maximum modesty protection, because her little skirt wasn't enough.  Her crotch was covered with a wild tangle of raven-black hair.  I took her hand and guided it to her cunt.  I took Carter's cock in my mouth.  I watched her lose her fright as her eyes locked on my mouth and his cock.  It didn't take long before she was moaning.  Her hand rocking in the opposite direction of her hips.  Then she climaxed, her skin glowing with sweat.  Her fear quickly returning, she bent down to get her panties, I grabbed them first.

"You don't wear these anymore." I said.  Tears welled in her eyes as she dashed out of the room.

The next morning I wondered if she had followed my command.  As soon as I saw her, I told her to lift her skirt.  She turned a bright red as she reluctantly pulled up her dress.  She was panty-less, her previously wild bush was brushed and trimmed to perfection.  Maybe that's what makes her such a good maid, always so neat.  I told her that she was to bend only at the hips and not the knees.  She reddened even more when she realized doing so was going to expose her tight little ass every time she bent down.

"Yes, ma'am," she whispered.  Her attitude toward me had changed overnight.

"That'll be all," I said like some la-de-da lady.

"Thank you, ma'am," she answered as she curtsied.  Well, being a lady wasn't all that bad, I thought; maybe I would start watching my language.

I tried calling Eddie for the tenth time that week, but as soon as he heard my voice he hung up.  I decided to give up and talk to a lawyer about my options.

I knew that night was going to be different because Carter was more solemn than usual, because he dressed in his Tux but didn't care what I wore.  We drove to a nondescript building in the seedy part of town.  The inside was warm and richly furnished.  When I was as naked as she was, I turned to find Carter waiting for me with my leash in his hands.  It wasn't connected to the collar, but to a red rubber ball.  He told me to bend over and grip the chair.  I followed his direction without understanding, then felt the ball against my ass cheeks.  I shivered at the thought of what he planned to do, positive the ball would never fit in its intended destination.  He ordered me to relax as he pushed on the ball, and suddenly it breached the hole and drove deep into my rectum.

I didn't know then that the anus leash was to become part of my adornment, inserted and removed by the maid, that I was to wear it all my waking hours, except when it was removed through necessity or because someone wanted access to that hole.  Carter told me to get on my hands and knees, walk doggie style, and only do as I was told.  He explained what was expected of me when we entered the adjoining room.  I seriously considered refusing.  He had a way of stretching me way beyond my limits, and I inevitably complied, first to please him, then I found it pleased me too; that night was no exception.

There were a dozen couples in the main lounge.  All the men were in evening clothes.  All the women were naked, some, like me, devoid of body hair, giving them that unmistakable look of vulnerability.  Some wore jewelry, some wore only leather cuffs around wrists and ankles.  Each wore a tattoo of three links of a chain on their left breast.  They were docile and demure, with an almost hidden pride in what they were: beautiful and owned.

Carter stopped and talked to all the men.  I followed my instructions, kissed the men's shoes and licked the women's feet.  Sometimes while the men chatted the girls pushed their toes into my mouth.  Did Carter have any idea how humiliating and debasing it was to be on hands and knees with a leash up my ass, kissing and licking feet?  Did he know I found it erotic just sucking on those toes?  I was finally told to stand.  Carter was standing next to a portly gentleman.

"So this is the girl you wish to have initiated into the club," the gentleman said.

"Yes, she is," Carter responded.

"Do you wish to join?" the man asked me.  "Do you wish to take your place among these delectable creatures?"

When I agreed, I could see a glint in Carter's eyes even as he held a poker face.

We moved into a small office.  The gentleman handed me an official-looking document.  It was entitled "Code of Conduct". The first section defined master and servant.  Several paragraphs advised me of my duties and responsibilities, how I was to act, dress, and behave.  The opening of the third paragraph stuck in my mind: "Every master has the right to use you as he sees fit.  You have no rights to sexual denial."

The next section dealt with discipline and punishment, under what conditions I could expect to be whipped, restrained, or caged.  Then a paragraph of my rights, my right to redress if I felt wrongly accused and my right to refuse to do anything illegal.  How I was to regard all members of the club, even the other servants, as my masters while I was an apprentice.  I was to be assigned all the menial tasks.  I could expect my punishment to be less severe and more often than a full servant.  When I graduated I, too, would wear the linked-chain tattoo.  There was a space for my signature at the bottom of the page, right under the final sentence, "I, the under signed, do hereby enter into the conditions of bondage under my own free will."

Right after I signed.  the man said.  "Well good".  Is there any reason to delay the initiation?"

I started to quiver as soon as Carter shook his head.  I remembered every word in the sentence about initiation.  They guided me back into the lounge, to a whipping post in one corner.  I was gagged and securely tied to the post.  It was not going to be a whipping to get me sexually excited; it was a flogging to show me what kind of punishment I could expect under the terms of the contract.  The cat-o'-nine-tails swept its way across my back, each strand an instrument of pain, each knot adding its own emphasis.  My back pleaded for mercy to my brain, which had no power to stop the whip.  The whip master knew exactly how strong and at what tempo to whip me so I received the maximum punishment without passing out.  The flogging was effective.  I promised myself to be the best servant they had, to never do anything that would earn me another flogging.  The contract called for ten strokes, and that was exactly what I got.  When they untied me, I fell into the arms of my lover, weak as a kitten but proud to be called his.

My divorce went well, the judge was astonished at my husband losing me in a card game and considering his car more precious than me.  I was awarded the house, its furnishings, and his Corvette.  I wonder if the judge would have been as generous if he knew my lover's leash dangled between my legs under my skirt during the whole proceeding.  I am still working on the maid.  She has acquiesced to wearing only a skimpy apron, but what is really needed is a good whipping.  My only trouble is I don't know who should be the recipient her or me.