Stepbrother, Where Art Thou?

by Fukunishi, Aya

Her questions were answered the moment the anonymous door swung open and Stephen led her through the half light of the lobby and down a flight of stairs into the dark, strobe-lit main bar. The girls here weren't stripping. They were... Kathryn didn't even know what they were doing. In the center of the room above a small, raised stage area a young woman hung by her wrists, suspended by a thick rope connected to a steel girder at the ceiling. The rope was hitched up just enough that she could touch the floor with the tips of her toes. She didn't do anything, just hung there, slowly turning as the rope twisted gently back and forth.

  Kathryn couldn't help but stop and stare. The girl was beautiful. Shoulder length straight black hair framed her slender face, her porcelain skin glistening in the strobe with a sheen of sweat. Her expression was blank, and her deep brown eyes looked out passively, focusing on nothing. She was naked but for a pair of black latex panties, and as she turned Kathryn noticed a wide slit cut into the back. Small steel hooks attached to the latex spread her ass cheeks wide, exposing her tight, pink asshole to the small audience of men sitting around the stage, sipping drinks brought to them by bar girls dressed in a variety of fetish gear. Most of the men barely even seemed to notice her, their eyes passing over her nakedness as if she were simply an ornament to be ignored. Even as she shifted on her toes, searching for a comfortable position, few in the audience so much as turned their heads in her direction.

  Kathryn began to take in her surroundings. She saw curtains around the edge of the dimly lit room, each set leading to a small private area. Close to the entrance a curtain remained half open, and through it she saw an attractive, well dressed middle aged man reclining on a couch with a flogger in his lap, the red leather strands draped across his knee. Before him stood a stunning blonde girl in a red corset, her bare ass matching the color of her outfit. Kathryn watched as the man stood, slowly walked around the frozen girl and then brought the flogger down on her naked breasts, and flinched in sympathy as the blonde girl squealed. Even at this distance she could see angry, bright pink welts bloom on the girl's skin.

  "Did you hear me, Kat? I said come this way."

  Kathryn realized Stephen had been speaking for a few moments. Over the dull, low thump of electronic music he described to her the workings of the club as they left the bar and climbed a flight of stairs to Stephen's office. The club, he said, catered to a small but devoted client base. All of the clientele were into domination, and they paid enormous membership fees - running into thousands of dollars a month for the regular visitors - to enjoy a space in which they could fulfill their every desire. The girls of the club, he explained, were essentially slaves.

  Kathryn was shocked. "Slaves? What do you mean?"

  "Oh, not in any legal way, of course. The girls are free to leave, should they wish to do so. They're slaves in a symbolic sense. When they come to work for me they sign a contract for a year of servitude. They live here in the club, and they can be called on 24 hours a day to serve their masters."

  Stephen noticed Kathryn's look of disgust. "Don't worry, Kat. This is a world you don't understand. These girls come to me of their own free will. Only the best subs can work for me, and they beg for the privilege. These are girls who have devoted their lives to service. They live for the club, for their masters. They train for years for this. Pain turns them on. Submission is their drug. These are girls who'd find your sex life dull and pedestrian. Their wet little pussies gush at the thought of a whip. The idea of a rope binding their wrists makes them come. They love the feeling of tight latex encasing their bodies. Don't feel sorry for them when you see them flogged and spanked. For them, this is heaven."

  Kathryn remained silent, shocked and disgusted at the way he spoke about the girls as if they were objects. What is this place?

  Chapter Two

  That had been three months ago. That first night Kathryn had been measured for an outfit and handed her contract, along with an advance on her pay check that more than covered her rent for the next three months.

  The rules were simple. The clients of the club knew that serving wenches were off limits. Touching a wench against her will was grounds for expulsion, and none of the customers would dare risk losing their membership. Kathryn would be expected to work six nights a week, from 10 until 5 in the morning. She'd never breathe a word of her employment to anyone. She'd never speak to a client outside of the club, and she'd never interfere with any activities between client and slave. In return she'd receive a more than generous pay check.

  The first three months had been difficult. Working at the strip club had desensitized Kathryn to the sight of naked women and leering men, but she was in no way prepared to deal with the things she saw every night while carrying drinks to the private rooms. She'd seen men spank and flog women, slap them hard across the face, ass and breasts. She'd seen women bent double and tied in restraints with their legs wrapped painfully behind their heads, fucked viciously in their frozen position. She'd seen women humiliated, forced to stand still, unresponsive, with their heads bowed as men hurled insults toward them, called them worthless sluts and worse. Much worse.

  Even after three months Kathryn was still shocked by some of the more extreme activities at the club. She knew the subs were there willingly, even eagerly, but there was something about watching a girl slapped and spanked, held down by her wrists and fucked deep in the throat that turned Kathryn's stomach. She couldn't understand why anyone would volunteer for such vicious, cruel treatment. She couldn't understand how any girl could be aroused by the pain of a rope bound tightly around their breasts, a line of clothespins pinching their skin. It was all she could do not to flinch with sympathy pain when she delivered drinks to a room in which a girl was bound to a steel frame and told to remain still as her master tied a length of dental floss in a slipknot that around her nipple, then tugged it snug until the girl squealed. These girls, Kathryn decided, were an alien species, abnormal and damaged in some way. She swore she'd never become involved in anything like that.

  Until one night...

  "Stephen wants to see you right away, Kathryn. He's up in the office with a client."

  Kathryn gave Henry a puzzled look. "You're sure he wants to see me now?" Kathryn never had any contact with the clients beyond delivering drinks and collecting empties. She'd never been introduced to one, and she was happy to keep it that way.

  "That's what he said. They're waiting for you now. Here, I'll take those." Henry took a tray of empty glasses from Kathryn's hands. He was the head of security, far too busy to work as a bus boy, but he knew better than to let Kathryn leave glasses lying around by the stage. Tonight's act was writhing on the floor just feet away, bound at the wrists and feet and encased in Saran wrap. Periodically a client would climb onto the stage and use her for a few minutes, teasing her to the brink of orgasm before taking his seat again. The girl wasn't allowed to come until 4AM, and in the two hours she'd been up there she'd become frustrated and prone to kick out at anything within reach. A few broken glasses might distract her from the torment for a moment.

  "Thanks, Henry. Could you ask Ebony to cover my area for a few minutes?"

  As Henry nodded and left for the kitchen Kathryn took a moment to watch the girl on stage. She lay on her back with the head and shoulders poking out over the edge, holding herself perfectly motionless with her mouth wide open as a man in a nicely cut gray suit held his erect cock lengthwise against her lips, holding it there like a bit between the teeth of a horse. He teased her, refusing to slide it into her mouth, and instead moved the long, thick shaft back and forth, grazing against her wet lips and tongue, pushing the throbbing head out beyond her cheek. With one hand he supported the back of her head and with the other he pinched and teased her clit, trying his hardest to force a squeal from her lips.

  Kathryn sighed, knowing that the image would appear in her head against her will the next time she played with herself. In the last three months many of the less violent acts had begun to feature in her fantasie
s, and it often worried her. Before working at the club her fantasies had always been... well, normal. Muscular men taking her tenderly. Strong lovers expertly bringing her to orgasm. The usual fare she'd always assumed most women enjoyed. Now, more often than not, she replayed memories from the club as she masturbated. She pictured herself in her wench uniform, a tight, black latex skirt that rode high, showing just a hint of shaved pussy from the right angle, paired with a tight corset that cupped her naked breasts, and finished off with a simple leather choker around her neck. In her fantasies unseen hands reached out to grab her as she walked through the club. Fingers tugged at her costume, pulling her to her knees. Men towered over her supine form, holding her steady as they toyed with her body, sliding into her. Forcing open her lips and pulling her mouth towards them, onto them. In her dreams she could never resist, never do anything her captors didn't want her to do. She was at their mercy, but she'd never been so aroused.

  Kathryn shook her head, trying to brush aside the image. Stephen didn't like to be kept waiting. She adjusted her skirt, suddenly self conscious of her exposed snatch, uncomfortably aware that it had become ever so slightly wet at the sight of the girl on stage, and strode quickly to the stairs up to Stephen's office.

  "Ah, Kat, come on in. Come come, quickly now."

  Stephen sat behind the large mahogany desk he loved so dearly, the air filled with the thick, greasy smoke of his Cuban cigars. Kathryn stepped through the door into the large office and immediately saw the client Henry had mentioned, standing it the corner as far as possible from the acrid smoke.

  Kathryn didn't dare turn her head in his direction - even as a serving wench she was expected to act in a subservient manner to the clients - but she knew she'd not seen him in the club before. All she could tell from the corner of her eye was that he was younger than the average client, perhaps in his early 30s, he had short, dark hair, and he was dressed in a simple but obviously well cut dark gray suit.

  As soon as Kathryn stood to attention before Stephen's desk she heard the man behind her begin to move. "Yes," he said, his voice deep but soft. "She'll do." Kathryn didn't turn around, but when she heard the door close she could feel that he was no longer in the room.

  "Take a seat, my girl. Would you like a drink?" Stephen didn't wait for her reply before filling two tumblers half full of bourbon from the decanter on his desk.

  "You asked to see me?" Kathryn didn't like the way Stephen looked at her when she was dressed in her revealing wench uniform, and she was eager to get down to business. She sat carefully, immediately crossing her legs so Stephen couldn't steal a glance between her thighs.

  "Yeah," he replied, taking a gulp of his drink. "Look, Kathryn, I have a little problem I think you may be able to help solve. The man who just left is potentially something of a cash cow. We're on the verge of stealing him from a club in New York where he spends... well, that's privileged information, but let's just say he's a serious high roller."

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