“That’s just the liquor,” I stammered. “I’m not used to drinking.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she replied with a crooked smile. “Maybe you will even believe it.”
She then turned and walked out of the restroom. As we got back to the table, we could hear members of the audience calling out, “Eighteen…” then a little later, “Nineteen…” and just as we got to the table, everyone shouted, “Twenty!”
Madeline was hanging limp in the punishment pole doorway as the stage hands wheeled her down a ramp off of the stage and then wheeled her slowly through the whole room so everyone could see– and smell– her close up. Her body was slick with sweat and the pole was even slicker with her juices. I stood and watched her as the stagehands wound their way around the room. I felt myself shuddering as she passed our table. For an instant, I was seeing myself hanging there with the entire club cheering. Margi snapped her electric stick in front of my eyes and Shelly asked, “Is something wrong?”
“She’s just coming to grips with some realities she didn’t want to believe,” Margi said with a snicker.
“I need another drink,” I said as I sat down.
“You need some food,” Dianne said.
“Let’s split the difference,” Shelly said. “Bloody Mary’s for everyone.”
“Oh, God,” Dianne said. “Not those horrid concoctions from hell that you seem to like so much.”
“OK,” Shelly said, “Make mine spicy and everyone else’s can be boring.”
“I would like to try it spicy,” I said.
“You don’t know what you are asking for,” Margi said with a laugh. I just stuck my tongue out at her and nodded when Shelly asked if I were sure. When the waitress brought back the tray of drinks, Shelly’s and mine had little umbrellas stuck into the celery stick. Hers was red, mine was pink. I took a sip of mine and my mouth was on fire. I certainly wasn’t going to be gulping this one down.
As I sat there sipping my drink and breathing very deeply through my mouth, the Head Mistress again walked up on stage. “We have a sissy with us tonight,” she began, “who is begging her Mistress for some relief. Mistress Abigail has promised slave-slut wendy that if she fully satisfies an even dozen of her friends, she will be allowed to cum. Do we have twelve volunteers for sissy wendy to satisfy.
“Oh, why not,” said Margi as she held her hand– and her stick– high in the air. The sparks from the joker’s crown seemed extra bright in the dim room. “I see Krazy Kat is more than willing,” the Mistress said, “but please leave your wand at the table. The only pleasure for you will come from slave wendy’s tongue.”
“I might as well leave these here, too,” Margi said loudly as she stood up. When she laid her jester’s staff on the table, her vinyl Harley Quinn tights were laying alongside it. I watched her walk up onto the stage. She looked even more naked than slave madeline had been. Having something on top, especially with long sleeves, somehow made her naked bottom look even more naked.
I had thought that the strange tattoos and scars on her legs were designs on a special pair of pantyhose tights, but as she walked up on stage into the bright lights, it was obvious that the designs were on her skin. They were either temporary transfers or real tattoos and scars.
Shelly nodded toward Margi and said softly, “Margarita had a very interesting childhood and an even more interesting couple of relationships as she grew up.”
Dianne continued the thought by saying, “She is too broken to ever be allowed to be a Mistress. She would be too cruel.”
The twins spoke for the first time, “She was our Mistress for a short time,” Mary said. “But she wouldn’t honor our safe word,” Marcy continued. Then they switched into their normal unison voice and said, “Dianne rescued us from her… and from ourselves. She is not truly Margi’s Mistress, but is more of her keeper. Without Dianne, Margi would destroy someone.”
“Probably herself,” Dianne said flatly, “but she might take others with her.” She turned to me and said a little more brightly, “She has never officially submitted herself to me or anyone else, but she knows that she needs me. And I give her what she needs.”
“What is officially submitting yourself?” I asked.
Shelly looked at me and suddenly her black eyes were boring through me. I got all mushy inside as she slowly said, “That means you kneel naked before me at a public ceremony and pledge yourself to me. Then I give you a collar and a new name. After that, you are officially mine.” She continued to look at me in silence for a few moments then asked, “Would you like to do that later, Precious?”
I couldn’t answer her. I was too afraid that if I said anything, I would say, “Yes!” so I took a big gulp of my drink. The spicy hot tomato juice burned all the way down my throat. I guess the vodka accentuates the burn because it felt like it kept burning when it got to my stomach. I just sat there with my mouth open gasping for air.
“We can return to that question later after we watch wendy satisfy Margi and eleven other horny Ma’ams and Mistresses.”
The club lights didn’t dim, and the waitresses didn’t cloister themselves back behind the bar as the Head Mistress stood in the center of the stage with her microphone. “Slut-slave wendy will have ten minutes to bring all twelve Mistresses to orgasm if she is to be allowed relief,” the Mistress said loudly. Margi and the other eleven were lying on short backless couches. They were arranged in a circle with their heads pointed to the center and their legs hanging off the end of the divans. All of them had their legs spread and the smell of hot cunt was even stronger than it had been all evening.
Margi and four or five of the others had removed the lower half of their outfits, but the rest were wearing full-catsuits like Dianne or abbreviated cat-suits like Shelly and they had opened the bottoms to allow access to their slits. I couldn’t imagine how the suits snapped or stuck together down there and still molded so tightly to the shape of their slit and labia when it was closed. On the woman facing directly toward me, it was obvious that the whole lower front wrapped up from the back and then attached at the sides like the front wedge of a bikini, but I couldn’t tell on the others.
A large clock was brought out on stage that was set at 10:00. Then a young woman in a very short, frilly white corset dress was led out. It was very obvious that she was naked under the dress. And when she knelt down in front of the first woman, it was equally obvious that she was a he. Actually it wasn’t obvious, obvious. Her penis was trapped in some sort of clear plastic chastity device and her small testicles were in some sort of clear bag that was pulled back under her crotch by a cord that went up between her legs and tied to the back of her corset.
She knelt silently for a moment or two until the Mistress said, “Begin.” The clock started counting down and the sissy started lapping. She evidently had a large, talented tongue– and a lot of practice– because it only took her about a minute and a half to bring the first woman to orgasm. The next took a little over a minute. That was pretty impressive, but there was no way she would make it through all twelve in ten minutes.