Our Only Hope - S01 E26

Story 10 months ago

Our Only Hope - S01 E26

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 26

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The Fourth Floor

I returned to The Blue Deuce a little after midnight. The same valet was still on duty. He greeted me with “Welcome back, Mister Guthrie. I’ll park your car in one of our VIP slots. Just tell them at the desk when you are ready to leave and I will have it ready for you.”

I handed him my keys and a twenty and said, “Remember it’s electric... high torque and all that.”

“I won’t forget,” he replied as he took the keys and the bill. It’s funny how spending twenty thousand at a club in one night will greatly improve the service from the staff. Word evidently gets around in a hurry.

I walked past the reception desk to the elevator, which was open because someone else had just stepped into it. Elevators are death traps and I would normally never enter one that opened so conveniently, especially with a rather stocky man two inches taller than myself entering first. But since I was just Harold Guthrie, a rich business man from Ohio who wouldn’t be anywhere near as paranoid as W, I stepped into the elevator.

I swiped the key card through the reader beneath the standard buttons and waited. My pucker string got a little tighter when we started up rather than down, but then I noted that the button for the second floor had been pressed. The other man was evidently just a late visitor to the land of Bondage, Submission and Discipline. He and I did the standard avoid each other’s gaze routine required of all elevator travelers until the doors opened at the Second Floor and he stepped off. I again swiped my card and we started down.

I watched the lights above the door as they showed 2, then 1, then nothing as we still continued down. It felt like we went an additional two or three stories down before the elevator stopped and the rear doors opened. I turned around and stepped slowly out into a new reception area. There was a hostess desk very similar to what was upstairs except that the hostess behind this desk was wearing a slave collar, a very tight corset, very high-heeled shoes, and nothing else. I’m not normally into that type of fetish, but she did look sexy as hell standing there.

“Please swipe your card to verify membership and open a billing for food and drinks,” she said with a smile. When I did so, she said “Follow me,” stepped around the high desk and began walking into the inner room. Following behind her I realized why I’m not into corsets. From the front, the pressure from the corset cinched her waist and pushed up her boobs, but from the rear, it interfered with the natural motion of her buttocks. Her ass didn’t move like it should... or at least like I preferred an ass to move.

“Is this table acceptable?” she asked brightly, gesturing toward a table a little back from front and center. There were a couple tables available up front, but I had a feeling I would have to drop more than twenty grand here to automatically be ushered up to those seats.

“This is fine,” I said as I seated myself such that I could easily see the stage and what appeared to be one or two side attractions at the corners of the room.

“Your slave will be with you shortly,” the hostess chirped as she turned and walked back to her station. At the restaurant in the hotel, the waitresses were “servers.” Upstairs in the main club, they were “servants.” Down here they were “slaves.” I wondered if the entertainment also stepped up– or down– accordingly.

A naked slave came running out a few moments later. She literally ran up to the table and dropped to the floor at my feet. Speaking from her prostrate position, she said, “This slave begs your forgiveness for my tardiness.” She took a deep breath and then, still with her head on the floor, said, “What may this worthless slave bring to an esteemed Master for his pleasure?”

With an introductory line like that, I wondered what all might be on the menu, but I decided to stick with bourbon... no, Yukon Jack. I know a lot of connoisseurs consider it to be cough syrup made from distilled reindeer waste, but I find that the cheap Canadian whiskey, flavored with honey, makes a nice sipping liqueur and there is no danger that I might accidentally over-imbibe. With Jack, more than a sip is more than enough. “Yukon Jack,” I said. “... double ... neat.”

The slave ran off into the darkness and returned just seconds later with a heavy, double shot glass filled to the brim with an amber-colored drink. I took a very small sip and nodded at her. “That will be all for now,” I said.

She pointed to a call button on a pad near the center of the table. “If you need anything else,” she said hurriedly, “that button will buzz my collar.” She then turned and ran back into the darkness. I wondered how many tables she was responsible for and how fast she would have to be running before the night was over.

I sat back to survey my surroundings. Things seemed darker than the standard club dim upstairs. A dark blue-black curtain was drawn around the main stage area and all lights were off on-stage, but I could see... or perhaps sense that there was more to the darkness. The carpeted floor was black. The walls up front were covered by the same dull, blue-black curtain that hid the stage. The ceiling was an open rafter works that had been painted a flat black. The walls, where I could see them, were either really old-style very dark concrete blocks or were some sort of faux-stone that was supposed to look like the basement dungeon of some ancient castle. I chuckled to myself. This was Master Walter’s club. This fit his personality.

On either side of the stage, in front of the curtains, were raised platforms– black, of course. On the platform on the left there was a wooden spanking bench which was currently empty. On the right was a strange pipe sticking up that had four large braces sticking out of it that were bolted to the top of the platform. Overall, it looked like it should be holding a large Christmas tree.