Our Only Hope - S01 E25

Story 10 months ago

Our Only Hope - S01 E25

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 25

After I took the drink, she remained in her difficult position and said, “If you need anything else, Sir, just press the servant call button on the table.”

I said, “Thank you,” and she gracefully rose to a standing position and sauntered away. Her pert ass bobbing as she walked away was at least as interesting as the floor show in the middle of the room.

I watched the edging demonstration for about a half hour before pushing the servant call button. “How may I help you, Master?” she said a moment later when she appeared at the table.

“I could use another bourbon on ice,” I replied. “And is there something more... exciting in the way of a floorshow?”

“There are two other displays,” she said with a smile. “I could arrange for a different table. Would you prefer to watch a display of orgasm control or perhaps some exquisite Kinbaku-bi.”

“I’m sure both are quality shows,” I answered, “and I’m sure that the Kinbaku Master will weave his ropes– and his slave– into a beautiful presentation. But I’m looking for something a little more... active.”

“It is Tuesday night,” she said matter-of-factly. “The better acts are on weekends... actually Thursday through Sunday night.” She then bowed slightly and said in a slightly sultry voice, “There are more active shows on the Second Floor... and the Third Floor, but those would require upgrading your membership.”

“How much would that cost?” I asked.

“A Second Floor membership is six thousand dollars per year. Third Floor is eight thousand,” she explained carefully. “First year is payable in advance.”

“Wow,” I said softly. “That should keep out the riffraff.”

“Precisely,” she replied, now bowing even lower. “Part of what you are buying is privacy.”

“How much privacy do I get for ten thousand?” I asked, lifting her head so I could look her in the eye.

Her composure almost broke for an instant, but then she said calmly, “That will get you full access to Second Floor and Third Floor, but Fourth Floor access also requires an invitation from a member.”

My guess on the dues must have been accurate. I decided to push my luck even further. “Master Wyatt said that wouldn’t be a problem,” I said firmly, “as long as I was willing to pay for two year’s membership up front.”

She grimaced. “He keeps telling people things like that,” she said sharply. “His brother will not be pleased.”

“Wyatt didn’t seem to be the sharpest tack in the box,” I said with a sigh, “but that Lady Anaconda was one of the best dancers I have ever seen. And Wyatt said that the Fourth Floor combined her looks and skill with the more exotic things I was looking for.”

“I will have to check with Master Walter,” she said and padded off into the darkness. A few minutes later, a dark figure pulled the other chair away from the table, spun it so its back was against the table, and sat down. Two even darker figures stood directly behind him.

“Where’d you meet Wyatt?” he asked gruffly, “... and when?”

“A week or so ago,” I answered, “at his club in Davenport, Iowa.” I shrugged slightly and continued, “It’s a real dive and he’s sort of a sleaze, but he had this really fabulous dancer at his Friday night, after-hours show. He joined me at my table while they were setting up some equipment for the second half of the show.” I laughed slightly, like I was remembering something funny, and said, “He was still wearing that ridiculous turban he used during Lady Anaconda’s act.” I paused. “Anyway, he told me that his brother ran a really classy club out here in LA called The Blue Deuce. Since I was coming out here on business, I remembered the name. I’m going to be coming out here a lot over the next two years, so I asked about full membership.”

“What were the names of his bodyguards?” he asked, looking me full in the face. I could see the family resemblance. I was most likely talking to Walter Monty.

“Names of the bodyguards?” I said slowly. “How in the hell would I know the names of his... Wait a minute! He called them Bill and Ted in his act. Was that their real names? They looked like ex-fighters or something. Real muscle heads.”

“Did you hear what happened to Wyatt?” he asked slowly, shaking his head while he spoke.

“Did the police close him down?” I replied. “He was a lot closer to the line than Daisy Dooks, and he wasn’t as strict about things that might be interpreted as prostitution. That sort of thing eventually gets you in trouble.”

“Something like that,” he replied. Then he let out a deep breath and said, “Sorry about the third degree. I’ve had to be real careful lately.”

He slid a small key card across the table to me. “You check out and your credit card has already accepted the twenty-thousand for a two-year membership. Use this card in the elevator after midnight. It will take you to the Fourth Floor. If you have a slave or a sub, they can get in as your guest as long as they are naked and on a leash... and you are willing to offer them up if needed.”

“Sounds like my kind of club,” I said with a smile and tipped my glass toward him. He said nothing else but rose and walked out of the room, closely followed by his bodyguards.

As I watched him disappear into the dimness, something was bothering me. He didn’t seem to fit in with the overall ambience of The Blue Deuce. The club was dimly lighted, but its design and decor were basically bright and open. Walter Monty was dressed in gray-black clothing and overall seemed much... darker than The Blue Deuce. Clubs usually reflect their owners. Perhaps the Deuce was a legit club owned by someone else that Master Walter pressured into fronting for his Fourth Floor.

I had a couple hours to wait, so I decided to check out the other two floors. The Second Floor was divided into three rooms. They were labeled “Bondage,” “Submission,” and “Discipline.” The Bondage room was what you would expect. There were a variety of bondage implements. One Saint Andrews Cross was occupied by a raven-haired beauty with obviously augmented tits. She was firmly strapped at the wrists, the elbows, above her breasts, across her stomach, around her thighs, and around her ankles. There was a short board sticking up from the intersection of the cross that just reached the top of her head and allowed a thick strap to go around her forehead and hold her head firmly in place. Every few moments she would struggle against the straps and then moan in passion. The juices were flowing from her cunt and dripping onto the floor.

About three feet in front of her, facing her, was a man with equally black hair who was strapped in an identical fashion to an identical cross. His prick sticking straight up in front of him signaled that he, too, was enjoying his captivity.

A male voice alongside me said, “The show gets really interesting after midnight. I will release Mister and Misses Smith and they will fuck each other silly right there on the floor between the crosses.” He laughed slightly. “They come in here four or five times a month.”

“To each his own,” I answered and walked over to the Submission room. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but wasn’t surprised by what was there. In one corner, a fully-dressed woman was seated in a chair with a naked man at her feet. He was kissing and licking her naked foot and caressing her other foot which sported a six-inch stiletto high heel.

“Show me your devotion,” she said roughly and the naked man turned so that he could lie face up at her feet. She used her naked foot to play with his cock and balls for a few moments and then brought the other foot up so that the stiletto heel was pressing against his ball sack. “How much do you love me?” she asked in a mocking tone and he spread his legs wide. She pressed down with the high heel so that the stiletto pinned his scrotum to the floor. When he cried out, she laughed and pressed harder.

There were three other people seated in the room. Two were women, one of whom had a naked man up under her full dress, nuzzling and licking at her cunt while she lightly tapped his ass with a long-handled black leather crop. The other woman was likewise involved, but it was a female who was buried in her twat and she was using a whisk flog as encouragement. The seated man was fully dressed in what looked like a formal jacket and pants. His zipper was open and his prick was in the mouth of a naked female. As she bobbed up and down on his stiff organ, he was saying in an almost mocking way, “Now, now, Karen, I know you can do a better job than that.”

The remaining Master in the room was standing against one wall fully dressed. A naked female was licking his shoes, including the soles. “If you do a good job,” he said sternly, “we will go to dinner.” Then his voice got very harsh, “If you do a bad job we will go to the punishment room.”

I took that as my cue to check out the Discipline room. For the most part, it was set up for play punishment. The whips and paddles hanging on the walls were all rather lightweight.

The room contained two upright Saint Andrew’s Crosses and one horizontal version. There were also two spanking benches and a medieval-looking rack. The only item occupied was the rack, which held an oriental woman. A man– perhaps her Master... or husband... or lover– had moved the gear mechanism until she was pulled very, very tight. He was now tormenting her with a feather. She would scream and beg as he lightly ran the feather under her arms or across her feet, but would moan and buck when he ran it across her dripping slit. I watched as he repeated those motions five or six times before speaking.

“When you can’t stand it anymore,” he said firmly, “and ask me to fuck you, I will take you right there on that terrible rack.” As I said, it was primarily play punishments.

The Third Floor was divided into four private rooms. There was a sign alongside each room that could be changed from “Available” to “In Use.” There was a second sign which could be turned to say “Restricted.” Supposedly my Fourth Floor membership allowed me to still enter, but the only room occupied did not have the Restricted sign in place so anyone with Third Floor access could enter to watch.

There were loud yelps coming from the room, so I decided to see what was happening. In the center of a totally-mirrored room, a young woman was bound face down over a very familiar-looking slatted barrel. It had been turned so that her feet were just off the ground. That meant that her head was basically at the top of the barrel staring at herself in the reflections in the mirrored walls. She probably had the best view of her naked ass of anyone in the room. Her ass was red from where it merged into her back to well into the top of her thighs. There were also a half-dozen or more dark purple caning stripes across one or both asscheeks.

A middle-aged man was standing next to her wielding a very thin cane which flexed back and forth as he whipped it rapidly in the air. He would stand alongside the crying woman whipping the cane back and forth until it sounded like a huge angry bee was buzzing around the room. Then when the young woman was least– or perhaps most– expecting it, he would suddenly make one of the motions just a little larger and the tip of the cane would sting the girl’s asscheeks or the full cane would slam across her entire ass. When he did that, she would scream loudly and thrash in her restraints, shaking the slatted barrel and moving it slightly on the floor.

After two or three minutes of this, he stopped to lightly massage her ass. When his fingers dipped slightly between her legs, she let out a deep, shuddering, moan. I had no doubt that if I stayed around long enough, I would be able to see her cum from the pain of the whipping. I had seen enough, however, and decided it was time to return to the hotel and share information with Boris.

***

The first thing Boris said when I told him that I had an elevator card to take me to the Fourth Floor was, “W, I swear to you, there is no Fourth Floor on that building.”

“What about a basement?” I asked.

“There is no basement under that building,” Boris replied. “The elevator pit is the only thing under the First Floor.”

“Boris, I have a question,” I typed.

“What?” he responded.

“The elevator is at the back of the building,” I said. “Why are there two doors on the elevator?”

“Son of a Bitch!” Boris typed a few moments later. “I just pulled up the original designs for the building. When the building was first built, it was supposed to be offices and there was a private parking area beneath it on the hillside. After it became The Blue Deuce, The lower land was sold off and a strip mall built there. The mall building covered over the old entrance and the current designs don’t show it.”

“What is in there now?” I asked.

“Several small shops,,” he replied. “But the floorplan of the stores filed with the city doesn’t match the layout of the building visible in the satellite view. There is a huge blank area in the back behind Millie’s Dress and Fabric Shop that butts right up against the hillside.”

“Who runs that?” I asked. “The fabric shop?”

“Checking,” Boris replied. After a moment he again gave me a “Son of a Bitch!”

“What?”

“The manager of Millie’s Dress and Fabric, and the owner of the strip mall, is Mrs Montgomery Walters. According to driver’s license and other records, she doesn’t exist.”

“I think we found The Fourth Floor,” I typed. “Now all we have to do if figure out how to get the hostages out and hopefully capture Walter Monty.”

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To Be Continued

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