Chapter 2
Amanda’s Coming Out
At six o’clock Kris reported to the front door, dressed as ordered in only flip-flops
and the usual diaphanous cloak the women wore while being escorted to sessions that
required little or no costume. Mary Anne, Elise, Zoe and Sarah were already there.
Miranda was taking their light, filmy cloaks and handing them more substantial ones.
“You might need these on the way back. It looks like the weather is going to get
nasty tonight.”
“Where’s the guest of honor?” Kris asked. She didn’t see Amanda waiting.
“Erik took her a few minutes ago,” Mary Anne replied. “Or maybe she took him. I
swear, it looked like a guy taking his pet terrier for a walk, the way she was straining
at the leash. There’s something wrong with that girl.”
Kyle and Jarod arrived to escort them. The weather forecasts were proving true. The
wind was rising and gray clouds were gathering as they left the Slave Quarters and hurried
along the gravel pathway to Main Building. They women entered by the service entrance and
were taken around through the kitchens to a service hall just off the banquet room. They
hung up their cloaks, kicked off their flip-flops and waited while Kyle went to confirm
their arrival.
After a minute or two, Kyle returned. “Zoe. Congratulations. You get to be the
opening act.”
Zoe looked at the other women. “Lucky me. I bet they want to whip my ass for
appetizers.”
“Well, it is a very whippable ass,” Mary Anne said, giving her a pat on the rump. It
was a standing joke among the women, the sort of gallows humor they resorted to, that Zoe,
small on top and plump but shapely on the bottom was a dream girl for the perverts who
loved to see butt fat jiggle beneath a whip.
Kyle led Zoe away by the service hallway. Henry, the barman, came in. He glanced at
the clock.
“Ladies, it’s showtime,” he said.
They each picked up a tray and filed out the kitchen door, into the banquet room. It
was three-quarters full and more members were still coming in. Kris glanced around as she
headed for her assigned tables. She remembered to check her posture. Whenever they were on
a serving assignment Madam Elspeth was very hard on anyone who slouched or otherwise acted
in less than a seductive manner.
How strange, she thought. This was like one of those weird dreams where you were
naked and everyone else was dressed, except that this wasn’t a weird dream. She was
actually completely nude, carrying a serving tray in a room with probably a hundred
clothed people. And what was more disturbing, she’d gotten to where she hadn’t noticed it
at first.
Of course, she wasn’t the only nude. The other women serving drinks were also nude.
And at the end of the room a portable stage had been erected, with a turntable built into
the top. Zoe was standing on it, her legs spread and ankles strapped to the table, her
wrists fastened to cuffs hanging from the ceiling. She was turning slowly, spotlights
trained on her, giving the audience a 360 degree view. An older, conservatively dressed
woman was standing off to one side, a flogger in her hand. As Zoe turned her ass to the
audience the woman gave her a stroke with it.
It obviously was a lightweight flogger, with soft leather falls. The woman was
putting her arm into it, and Zoe’s rump was rippling with the impact, but Kris noticed
that it was leaving no marks, no welts. Zoe’s rear was barely even getting red.
Zoe, for her part, was playing it up for all it was worth, squealing and yelping.
When the flogger landed, she jerked away, twisting her body, pulling at her restraints.
You’d think she was really hurting up there. And the way she was moving her ass, half the
men in the room must have wood already. What an actress, Kris thought. And then, turning
back towards the bar, she thought when did I become an expert on being a sex slave.
Several more members of the audience took their turn. The MC, an older man who looked
and sounded a bit like Ed McMahon, was choosing all women, mostly older, for some reason
of his own. Perhaps because they seemed to take a wicked delight in laying the flogger on
Zoe with theatrical flourishes. One of them caught Zoe by surprise, catching her across
her small breasts with the flogger. The yelp that elicited was real, though Kris suspected
it was more from surprise than pain. The audience applauded.
The woman gave Zoe a few more swats to the rump, then left the stage. The turntable
stopped, with Zoe facing the audience. The MC stepped forward and to her right.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is one of my favorite girls, Zoe. Let’s give her a
big hand.” Kyle came up to lead Zoe off the stage. As they left, Eric led Amanda into the
spotlights.
“And now for the main event,” the MC said, his voice enthusiastic like a TV pitchman
selling organic stain remover. “Give a hearty welcome to the newest addition to our little
dollhouse, Amanda.”
Kris had started for the bar to pick up her next orders. She glanced at the stage.
Eric was removing he collar from Amanda. Her hands were free. Her right hand was raised
and was giving the crowd a cute little wave. Kris looked at one of the big screens giving
a close up view. The girl actually had a shy, coquettish smile on her face.
“Doesn’t she realize where she is and what’s happening,” Kris thought.
As always during the coming outs, Amanada had been dressed in a classic strapless
“little black dress.” When Kris returned from the bar with her tray of drinks, the MC had
rolled down the top of the dress, exposing Amanada’s breasts. She was much better endowed
that it appeared with the dress restraining her. Her breasts were small, but stood out
away from her chest, hanging slightly, as if she were hiding two ripe tangerines beneath
the pale white skin. Kris wondered briefly if it was all natural. The large, pale brown
nipples pointed slightly upwards, slightly outwards. Kris was surprised to see that each
was pierced by a small chrome barbell.
The MC had moved to stand behind Amanda. He was waxing lyrical about the breasts. He
reached around her to cup each globe in one of his hands. He squeezed and fondled them,
pulling on the nipples. Amanda stood there, arms at her side. She still smiled.
“Aren’t these just the most lovely boobies you’ve ever seen? I could play with them
all night. But we must move on.”
The MC moved his hands to her arms, then down to her wrists. A thin chain with a pair
of wrist cuffs had begun to descend from overhead. The MC grasped Amanda’s wrist and
raised her arms over her head. He fastened a cuff around each wrists. She was surprisingly
obliging, holding the free arm up after he released it to work with the cuff. Kris
remembered how terrified she’d been at her coming out.
When he’d fastened both wrists, he stepped to the side and faced the audience. “Now,
who wants to be the first to show Amanda what we do with cute little boobies on Dorado
Cay?” A number of hands shot up. The MC scanned the crowd. “Ah, Mrs. Breitbach! Doro! Of
course! Come on up, Doro.”
A middle aged dyed blonde woman, of medium height and more than medium bust line,
made her way to the stage. She took a position to Amanda’s left, opposite the MC, who
handed her a riding crop.
Mrs. Breitbach felt up Amanda’s left breast, then cupped it in her hand. She brought
the tip of the riding crop down sharply on the top of the breast. She twisted the little
globe so that the nipple was pointed upwards, then brought the crop down twice on the
little nubbin. Amanda quivered and jerked with each blow, emitting whiney little sounds.
“Yes, they’re quite lovely,” Mrs. Breitbach said with a distinctly nasal tone. She
released that breast and then treated the other to the same procedure. She stepped out in
front of Amanda and off to the side and applied a series of slow, studied blows,
alternating left and right.
Elise passed Kris, returning from the bar with a full tray. “That bitch did me one
night,” she whispered. “We could be here all night or until that girl’s boobies fall off
if they don’t stop her.”
Kris turned in her orders, collected the drinks and returned with them. Mrs.
Breitbach had returned to her seat and an older man was standing on the floor in front of
the stage. He held a dog whip, which he was flicking back and forth with an easy,
practiced motion. He was aiming at empty air off to the side of the stage.
“I think most of you know Al Whitaker,” the MC was saying. “I’m sure most, if not
all, of our girls know him too well. And he’s agreed to give us a little demonstration of
his specialty.”
Kris took a closer look at him. Tall, thin, gray at the temples with a razor sharp
profile, he looked like the villain in an old vampire movie. Kris didn’t recognize the
name, but she was certain he’d taken a whip to her rump at least once.
Satisfied with his practice strokes, Mr. Whitaker stepped back a few more paces. He
worked the whip back and forth like a fly fisherman. Then the snapper shot forward and
just tweaked the end of Amanda’s left nipple. She gave a high pitched shriek, like a mouse
when the trap snaps shut.
The whip struck at her right nipple, then her left again. Mr. Whitaker repeated the
sequence a half a dozen times. Each time the leather snapper was dead on its target. Then
he turned around and bowed slightly before starting back to his seat.
When Mr. Whitaker had seated himself, the MC ordered Amanda to turn her back to the
crowd. She obliged, with a bit of unnecessary hip wiggle. The MC grasped the zipper pull
at the back her dress and ran it all the way down. The dress started to fall, then hung up
on her hips. The MC gave it an assist and it fell to the floor.
The MC ran a hand over Amanda’s rump. “It’s that just lovely? Often a petite girl,
like Amanda, has a slim, boyish ass. But our Amanda’s not like that. She has a distinctly
feminine ass, the kind you love to play with.” He gave her rump a solid slap with the palm
of his hand. The impact sent ripples across the fleshy mounds. “Yes. She’s got something
you can really get a grip on.” He formed a claw with his hand and seized one cheek,
squeezing hard. “Now, who would like to take a few practice strokes? Break our little girl
in the Dorado Cay way?”
A dozen hands shot up. The MC scanned the crowd.
“Yes, Porter Morrison. You’re an old hand at flogging. Come on up and do the honors,
sir.”
On older man, tall, with an unruly head of white hair and a pronounced gut, rose and
made his way to the stage. He had a slight limp. The MC handed him a flogger. Kris had
been on the receiving end enough now to recognize that it was a lightweight one. The Club
wasn’t taking any chances on serious damage.
Mr. Morrison stepped to one side of Amanda. He essayed a few practice strokes, then
delivered a series of level backhanded strokes against Amanda’s rump. She jerked and
twisted theatrically at each impact.
Kris returned to the bar with more drink orders, hearing the action on the platform,
but not seeing who was doing it. When she came back, the MC was ordering Amanda to turn
around. When she was facing the crowd again he stepped behind her. With his hands he
traced her contours from breasts to mid-thigh.
“Such a lovely girl. And such a lovely little pussy.” He reached around and squeezed
her labia together.” The audience shouted agreement or clapped. “But Amanda has a secret.
Don’t you, my dear?”
“Yes,” she replied coyly.
The MC gave a signal and a pair of ankle cuffs began to descend from overhead, on the
ends of two thin chains. When they reached the floor the MC bent over to fasten them
around Amanda’s ankles. On his signal the chains began rising again. Eric had come up from
behind and was now supporting Amanda as her legs came out from beneath her. Once her feet
had come up to waist level he released her and let her hang. The chains continued rising
for another foot, then began moving apart, pulling Amanda’s legs in opposite directions
and exposing her pussy.
Once Amanda was suspended, her legs widespread, the MC reached one hand down the
spread her pussy lips even wider. “Bring the camera in closer,” he said. With his other
hand he pulled back Amanda’s clitoral hood. “There’s something you don’t see everyday,
ladies and gentlemen.”
Kris looked at the stage. She was too far to really see, so she turned to one of the
large screens. There on the screen was a close up of Amanda’s pussy, glistening pink lips
and the exposed nub of pink flesh that was her clitoris. A metal barbell ran through the
organ, from front to rear.
“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Amanda’s clit is pierced. Often people speak of a pierced
clit when they merely mean the clit hood. But in Amanda’s case, the piercing is through
the clit itself. And we didn’t do it. She came to us this way.”
Kris stood frozen, staring at the image. The idea of someone shoving a needle through
her clit made her want to curl up in a ball and hide.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” a harsh voice said, “could I have my drink?”
Jerked away from the image, Kris picked up the glass and set it down awkwardly on the
table, the glass tipped and spilled its contents into the man’s lap, then rolled off the
edge and shattered on the floor.
There was dead silence in the room. Even the MC stopped in mid-sentence. Everyone
seemed to be looking at Kris.
Elise hurried out from the kitchen with a towel. One of the kitchen staff came
closely behind her with a broom and dustpan. Kris stood frozen, partly for fear of
treading on the broken glass but mostly because she had no idea what to do. The man she’d
spilled the drink on was standing up, mopping at his trousers and glaring at Kris.
“Having a problem there, Don?” the MC asked.
“No, no, Ed,” the man replied. “I’m about to take care of it.” He was taking off his
leather belt. He ordered the kitchen staffer to clear the table. He did so quickly, then
retreated to the kitchen.
Don motioned at Kris with his free hand. “You, stand against the table. Facing it.”
One of Don’s tablemates moved the chairs away. Kris half turned and stepped up to
the table, her upper thighs against the edge.
“Bend forward. Lie on the table. Jim, you hold her wrists.”
It was obvious where Don was going with this. Kris resigned herself to the inevitable
and leaned forward, stretching her arms out towards Jim. He grabbed her wrists and pulled.
Her belly was flat on the table, her feet almost off the floor.
The room had grown silent. Kris knew what was coming and braced herself for it. She
still screamed when the first blow came. Don’s belt was made of stiff leather, much
stiffer than the floggers and straps that had been used on Kris before. A second blow
landed, harder than the first. Don was swinging left, then right. Kris screamed louder
with each stroke.
She could hear the crowd. They were loving it, laughing and clapping. Fuck you all!
Kris wanted to scream. But she was in too much pain to form intelligible words.
Don stopped. Kris, panting, waited for Jim to release her wrists. He didn’t. Instead
she heard Don say, “Turn her over.”
Oh, fuck! She thought. This couldn’t be good. Jim kept his hold on her wrists. The
other two men who had been sitting with Don moved in from either side and laid their hands
on Kris, rolling her onto her back.
“Spread her legs,” Don ordered.
Kris, unbelieving, didn’t resist as each man grabbed an ankle and pulled her legs
apart. He wouldn’t dare! They wouldn’t let him! There were scattered hoots from the
crowd.
She saw stars when the first stroke landed on her mons. She was still screaming when
the belt landed again, directly on her pussy. A third direct hit caused her to spasm, most
of her body coming right off the table.
“This is it!” Kris thought in panic. “He’s going to kill me!”
Instead, she heard the MC’s voice calling out mildly but with an air of authority,
“That’s enough, Don. We’ve got a show to do here.”
For a brief moment, she felt incredible love for the MC. Then she was being helped
off the table by Kyle and one of the kitchen staff. They walked her back towards the
kitchen.
Don said something. The crowd laughed. She didn’t catch it, but he seemed to be
making a joke about a dry cleaning bill.
Plump, frumpy Doctor Standish was waiting in the service hall. “Well, I hear we had a
little unscheduled entertainment.”
Kris glared at her. She smiled back with that infuriatingly jaded smile of hers.
“Turn around. Let’s have a look.”
Kris turned and leaned forwards, hands on knees. Doctor Standish gently poked and
felt her battered bottom. “Ed should never have let it happen, of course. We have fairly
strict standards on implements here. Members aren’t normally allowed to use anything that
hasn’t been inspected and approved. Letting a member use his own belt, that’s just
absolutely not supposed to happen. He could have caused some serious damage.” Kris felt
something cool and gelatinous being spread over her buns. “Some nice welts, a bit of
bruising. Skin broken here and there. It could have been worse. I’m applying an antibiotic
mixed with a topical anesthetic. Should do the trick. Now, turn around and let’s see the
prime real estate.”
Kris turned and stood spread legged. Doctor Standish knelt down and with a gloved
finger inspected Kris’s pussy. “I imagine that hurt like Hell.”
“Yes, it did.”
“Lucky he stopped when Ed told him to.” She smeared some of the gel over Kris’s
battered labia. The pain immediately began to fade. “And that the female genitalia is
remarkably tough, all in all. You may be walking a little funny tomorrow, but in a couple
days you should be fit for duty. Tell you what. I’m sending you back to your room now,
excused from service for two days. Then I’ll take another look.”
“Thank you,” Kris said, gratefully.
“She’s all yours, Kyle.”
Kyle handed Kris her cloak and flip-flops, fastened the collar around her neck, and
led her out the service entrance. Halfway back to the Slave Quarters they passed Jarod,
leading Ellen, Claire, and Jenna. Some of the members obviously already had plans for the
post entertainment festivities. They looked at Kris questioningly as she passed.
“Walking wounded,” she said.
| 
