Controlling Chrissy

by Reese Gabriel

Chrissy walked on through and into the Bound Beauty. The interior had a purplish hue, created by the overhead lights. They weren't regular, straight bulbs, but crazy twisted neon colored ones. It was as if a child had drawn them on with a neon marker.

  The walls were black, as was the ceiling. Soft music was playing, low and seductive. A woman on a small round stage was playing with her breasts and slowly gyrating her hips. She wore black stockings, garters and stiletto heels, and nothing else. It might have been an ordinary stripper's dance, except this particular dark haired beauty was in chains.

  The shackles were shiny silver. One set connected her ankles. She had about two feet of play between them. From the center link she was connected to a chain cinching her tight waist. Her hands were cuffed, and likewise attached to the chain at her belly.

  About three feet away, sharing the stage, was a small blonde in pigtails. She had on blue pumps and blue corset that exposed both her ringed nipples and her clean-shaven pussy. She was sweating, working hard to keep her crotch in full view of a table full of Japanese businessmen.

  This was a good deal more challenging than it might otherwise seem, because the little beauty's hands were cuffed behind her back. As if Chrissy didn't have enough clues by now as to what kind of club this was, she turned her eyes to the bent over brunette, her head and hands in stocks, her naked ass and pussy completely exposed. On one side of her, in vertical letters were written the words "whip me," while on the other, it read, "fuck me."

  Another clue was the waitresses, barely clothed in micro miniskirts, pleated, black and white halter-tops that all but exposed their naked tits. Each wore a collar of metal, padlocked.

  "You are to sit here," the ex-boxer motioned to an empty table, a small round one in the corner.

  "Thank you." Chrissy let him pull out her chair for her. "Will you have a drink with me?" she asked.

  "Sorry, ma'am. That's against the rules."

  "Don't tell me," she smiled sarcastically. "Derek's rules."

  "No, ma'am," he answered quite seriously. "They are his father's rules."

  So Derek hadn't been bluffing about that, Chrissy mused. There really was an all-knowing father. Would she get to meet him, she wondered.

  "It was nice meeting you," the ex-boxer said.

  "Likewise," she extended her hand. His grip was good and strong, the way a man's should be. "And good luck, Miss Newland."

  Chrissy's waitress was a redhead, about five foot four. She had a fairy tattoo on her hip and the traces of a flower at the swell of her half concealed tit. Chrissy identified the breasts as silicon, though the flat belly and toned legs were quite real.

  "Can I get you something, ma'am?"

  "How old are you?" Chrissy wanted to know.

  "I'm eighteen, ma'am."

  "And you've already had a boob job? But why?" Chrissy exclaimed, quite forgetting her manners.

  The girl took the question in stride. "My titties were too small. The manager wanted them bigger."

  "And you … agreed?"

  The girl laughed. "Not up to me to say. The management makes all the decisions about my body. I'm club property. See?"

  The redhead pulled the halter top up over her breasts, revealing the tattoo hidden on her left one. It was a small, round insignia. The initials and design were unmistakable.

  This poor woman was stamped "DT", just like her invitation to the club.

  "But … but a man can't just mark you," said Chrissy, "like a piece of meat."

  "They can here. Now, can I get you a drink or not?" The young redhead didn't bother to cover back up. "Last chance."

  "I'll have a rum and cola," Chrissy managed. "Please."

  Chrissy watched the shapely piece of property walk away. Was this what Derek did – make slaves of women? Certainly he'd dropped her enough hints, but she hadn't wanted to believe such a thing was really possible in this day and age.

  It was a prospect that both sickened and thrilled her in equal measures.

  "May I ask you a couple of questions?" Chrissy inquired as the girl with the fire red hair and the DT tattoo returned with her drink.

  "Sure, why not? As long as no one needs me."

  "Will you sit with me, then?"

  "I can't," she shook her head. "I'm not permitted on the furniture."

  Chrissy felt a tight hot clamping in her belly. "You're not … what?"

  "I'm a slave," she clarified. "My place is on the floor. Or a bed, if I'm being fucked or beaten by a master."

  "But that's horrible," exclaimed the fascinated Chrissy. "Not to mention inhumane."

  "It's not so bad," the girl smiled knowingly. "Mostly we are allowed to be ankle chained to our mattresses in the floor. Though if we are bad girls, we are put in our cages."

  Chrissy swooned, staggering at the implications. "You said 'we', you mean that all of you are treated this way?"

  "Every last girl in here," she concurred. "Except for guests like you, is a slave. All us waitresses, dancers, even the clean up girls."

  "And you … tolerate this?"

  "It's not as if slaves have a choice. But it's more than that. I don't have to tell you, do I?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about." Chrissy took a large swallow of her rum. It was a bit more hard-hitting than happy hour margaritas, but that's what she needed at the moment.

  "Sure you do, honey. It's written all over your face. It makes you hot. You're sitting here creaming your pants over this stuff. Don't be ashamed, it's normal. We're all like that. It's how the men lure us in. They use our own insatiable sexual desires to lure us in, and they employ our need for submission to keep us in line."

  "No, I'm not like that. I'm not like you. Not like any of you." Chrissy was on her feet.

  "Going somewhere?"

  Chrissy froze at the sound of his voice. "Derek," she whispered, sinking back onto her beaten behind. "I didn't hear you."

  "Master," the redhead greeted him. "Welcome."

  Derek regarded her intently. "Are you filling this girl's head with nonsense, Sheyenne?"

  He didn't sound overly upset, but she fell to her knees anyway. "No, master, forgive me, master."

  Chrissy's pussy flooded. The girl was putting her blonde head to his foot, licking his shoe just as she had the night before.

  "Kneel up, girl."

  Sheyenne responded to the command with the precision of a well-trained dog.

  "Take that off," he pointed to her top.

  The girl removed the top and laid it on the floor.

  "Do you like your new tits, Sheyenne?" Derek asked, looking down as if from a mountaintop.

  "They are easier to whip now and to clamp, too, sir," she offered submissively.

  "Pinch your nipples," he said. "Hard."

  She whimpered under the pressure of her own fingers. Chrissy felt it vicariously in her own nipples. She wanted to touch them. She wanted to squeeze and maul them. Better still, she wanted Derek to do it, using her for his own amusement, as a toy, an object for pleasure.

  Derek sat himself down across from Chrissy. "Twist them," he ordered.

  The girl did so, severely misshaping her pink nubs. Her obedience, once again, was unflagging. Chrissy was jealous of her discipline, not to mention the attention she was garnering from the handsome Derek. A girl like this would not need so much punishment as her. She would not need to be dragged off to the woods for an ass beating. She would not require constant redirection. She would know how to perform and please.

  Had Derek taken her sexually? Chrissy could only imagine a little female like this in bed, with her enslaved body, augmented tits and all. She would pant and spread and do exactly as she was told. What more would a man desire, in this life or the next?

  "Have you been fucked today?" Derek inquired.

  "Yes, sir," the girl winced. "By one of the parking lot attendants. And a customer, at lunch."

  "Did you enjoy yourself?"

  "I came, sir. I always come when I am used."

 
; "Do you like to be used?"

  "I am club property, sir. That is my purpose."

  Derek slapped her hard, knocking her to the floor. "That is not what I asked."

  The girl resumed her position, back straight, knees apart, fingers back on her nipples. "Forgive me. The answer is, yes, I like to be used."

  "You're a slut, aren't you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You enjoy being treated like a slut."

  "Yes, sir."

  Chrissy watched his eyes lighting up, the way they always did when he was about to administer pain.

  "Bring me a whisky," he told her. "Then go find Vinny. Have him whip your ass and give you a good fucking. Be sure to beg for it first, he's very particular in that way."

  "Yes, sir " the girl whispered.

  The redhead brought the drink in record time. Derek paid her no attention as she placed the glass in front of him. "You accepted my invitation," he said to Chrissy, who'd been watching the entire scene unfold.

  She sat at the edge of her seat. She was incredibly tense, her every nerve ending wide open. "Did I have a choice?"

  He smiled, the joke known only to himself. "There are always choices, Miss Newland."

  "Just not always pleasant ones, right?"

  "That depends on what one is looking for in life. What about you, Miss Newland? What is it your little heart desires most?"

  At this moment, it was to get out of this strange dungeon, though she didn't dare say so. "I suppose I want what everyone does. Health. Happiness. Love."

  "How sweet. Just like a greeting card."

  "Not everyone is as … exotic as you," she countered, being as forceful as she dared.

  "Not everyone is as honest, you mean."

  "Some of us are simpler, that's all. We are content with a normal life."

  "And that's what you want?" His eyes danced with amusement. He was playing with her and she didn't like it. "A normal life?"

  "Stop mocking me, Derek. I'm not stupid and I'm not a child. In fact, I'm probably as old as you or older."

  "I would never treat you as a child," he said. "For one thing," and he was grinning now, "the things I want to do to you would hardly be appropriate with a minor."

  Chrissy's pulse set to racing. It was the first time he'd ever actually mentioned wanting her. "You mean … you really do feel something?" She tried not to stammer.

  "Don't be coy, Miss Newland. It's not becoming. You are well aware of your effects on the male body."

  She was, but there was no substitute for hearing it, especially from a cool customer like Derek Trace. "I … I wasn't sure."

  "Well, you need to be sure," he told her. "Because tonight is the night."

  Chrissy swallowed hard. "It is?"

  "There are rooms in back," he explained. "For the convenience of the customers."

  "Just like that?" she exclaimed. "After all this, you're going to just … do me?"

  "Don't make more of this than it is. It's not an emotional thing, just sex."

  Her eyes dotted with tears. It was hitting her hard and she couldn't help it. "I am not a piece of meat."

  He showed no mercy. "You treat others that way, Chrissy, and now it comes back to haunt you."

  "Stop, Derek, just stop! Haven't you already hurt me enough? I'm sorry, I am truly sorry I hurt you!" Chrissy wasn't sure where the energy was coming from, but there was no halting it now. "But you can't go on holding things against people for life. I am sitting here asking for another chance. A real chance."

  "You have a chance, Chrissy. A chance to go back to room number eleven, take off your clothes and get on the bed. Legs spread. Wide."

  "I won't. Do you hear me? I won't."

  "Then you will never see me again."

  She drew a breath into her shattered frame. "I'll die without you, Derek."

  Oh, god, was that really true? Had she managed to fall in love with this, the most dangerous and unavailable kind of man in the world?

  "You are being melodramatic, Miss Newland. Go to room eleven and I will be along soon enough." He signaled for another one of the waitresses. She was an Asian girl, with black hair down to her pert ass. She had long, dancer's legs, and small, high tits. At the moment they were bare, revealing a pair of nipple rings with an attached ring. She had a dragon tattooed on her hip and a snake on her bosom. She wore stockings with garters and high heels.

  Chrissy noticed the long slash marks through the mesh. Underneath her skin was red and angry. She'd been whipped, quite recently.

  "Master Derek," she said with a beaming smile.

  She let him stroke her clean-shaven pussy as he addressed her. "Nia, how are you, little one?"

  "I am well, Master Derek," said the masturbated slave. "Even more so now that you are here. Will you use me later?" she asked, her eyes warily on Chrissy.

  "I am not making promises tonight, Nia. For now, I want you to take Miss Newland here to number eleven. Help her get ready."

  "Yes, Master Derek."

  Nia took Chrissy along with her, though she looked as if she would much rather have provided escort for the woman out the back door, or into a pit of live vipers.

  "Why is Master Derek bothering with you?" Nia asked bluntly as they walked down the long corridor past the row of numbered doors.

  "I'd like to know that myself."

  Nia stopped in front of number eleven. "You're nothing special," Nia looked her up and down.

  "Thanks," said Chrissy dryly. "It's good to know where I stand with you."

  "I don't like you," Nia decided.

  "Believe it or not, the feeling is mutual."

  Nia caught Chrissy on the back of the neck as she walked through the door. Some kind of karate chop that stunned her upper body. She followed up with a roundhouse kick to Chrissy's midsection.

  Chrissy ended up on her knees, Nia looming over her. "I said I don't like you," she repeated.

  This time Chrissy said nothing.

  "Get your clothes off, bitch," Nia ordered.

  Chrissy' fingers were numb. She dared not get back up again. It was difficult, but she managed to take off the red dress and underwear.

  "Shoes, too," said the imposing Oriental woman, hands on her hips.

  Chrissy surrendered it all.

  "You don't fuck with me," Nia explained, though the point was moot by now. "I am the main girl here. You will learn that plenty fast. I don't like smart ass girls. I don't like spoiled girls. I'll give it to you in the ass with the biggest dildo you've ever seen and you'll understand a whole lot better."

  "Nia, I don't want to fuck with anyone … I want to go home."

  "Home?" She laughed derisively. "This is your home now. Why else do you think you were brought here?"

  "I – I don't know." Chrissy had had her fears going into this, but she'd assumed they would prove to be groundless. True, the evidence was mounting all around her about what really went on at this club, but she'd still expected it to turn out to be some bad dream.

  "Master Derek and his father Master Simon don't export lamps, you little fool. They trade in flesh. Woman flesh."

  The blood drained from her face. White slavers. It couldn't be. Then again, what else could he be – the way he'd been treating her, the way he'd so callously punished her and talked of training her?

  "This club is only a small part of their business. They entertain here. The captured women are kept elsewhere, trained and sold at secret auctions."

  Chrissy looked over Nia's shoulder at the door.

  "Try and run," Nia said, the eagerness written all over her face. "Give me an excuse to break your legs."

  "Derek isn't making me stay here. I came of my own volition."

  "Master Derek said to take you to room eleven. And that's where you're going to stay." Nia pointed at the bed, low lying covered in a zebra striped fur. "Lie on your back, spread wide."

  Chrissy did as she was told. Nia secured her wrists and ankles in leather straps attached by chain to the legs of the
bed.

  "That's too tight," complained the splayed Chrissy.

  Nia trailed her long, hooked nails down Chrissy's belly making her shiver. "You really are a pathetic little bitch aren't you? Before long you'll be begging to be fucked in a nice bed like this. You have no idea, slut, none at all."

  "Just let me go, Nia, I promise, I'll never bother any of you again."

  "Bother us?" Nia pinched her clit. "Oh, you won't be any bother. You're an animal now. A pleasure slut. You'll do as you're told, you'll crawl, you'll beg and suck, and all those other nice little pet things I know will suit you so well."

  "But I have a life, Nia." The pressure on her clitoris was driving her mad. It hurt, but it was making her need to come, too.

  "You had a life, you mean. And it obviously wasn't enough to keep you from coming here in the first place, so what makes you think it will save you now?"

  "Derek," she cried in increasing desperation. "He … he never said anything about this … none of it."

  "He never does. That's not his style. He probably just told you he was going to come in here and fuck you, didn't he?"

  "Y – yes."

  "And that's what he'll do. After which he will walk away and leave you. To me."

  "N – never." She strained at her bonds, but they were too much. So was the pressure on her clit. Her orgasm was a screamer, taken in pleasure and pain both.

  Nia glared at her in contempt the entire time, adding to her shame. When it was over, she made Chrissy lick her own fingers clean. "Remember," the woman told her. "You are mine later. As soon as Master Derek leaves."

  Chrissy closed her eyes, shutting out the woman and her cold harsh predictions. She would never let this happen to her. She would stop it. Derek would stop it.

  "Sleep well, my Sleeping Beauty," Nia mocked, gently caressing her face. "You will awaken soon enough to your own little hell."

  Nia closed the door behind her, leaving her in the small, cork-lined room with the fluorescent ceiling lights. It did not comfort her in the least to think that in all likelihood, the cork was there to hide screams. Her eyes wide as death, her heart on the razor's edge, Chrissy waited, spread eagled, covered in her own come, ears straining for every sound. It was anguish, a paradox of the worst kind. She was so terribly lonely and yet at the same time so terribly frightened of company.