The Fifty Percent Club 05
Thank you for reading this story: I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. In this section Analia, after spending a very busy weekend being used for sex by many different people, is having a few quiet days at home, with only a shemale slave for company.
To readers of the earlier sections of this story: please keep an eye open for the revised version of Section Two, which eliminates the discontinuity between it and Section Three. It was submitted almost as soon as the anomaly was spotted, but at the time of writing it is still languishing in “pending.”
Chapter Sixteen – Home
After my weekend of almost continuous sexual exploitation, I wanted nothing more than rest and sleep when I arrived home, driving my car into the garage as if on automatic pilot. Once inside I stripped off my clothes first. It feel uncomfortablee now to have my skin covered and concealed. I could tell that other people had been in the house, but that didn’t both me as I took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and headed for the sofa in the living room, where I intended to spend the next couple of hours.
I stopped short when I saw the three items that rested on the cushion. One was a pair of thick ankle-irons, connected with a heavy iron chain about fourteen inches long. The other was a pair of much lighter wrist cuffs, linked together by a thin and slightly longer chain. The third item was a steel collar of the type that I was used to wearing at weekends. The ankle fetters were provided with big and forbidding padlocks, and the other restraints had integrated mechanisms. No keys of any kind were provided.
Still anxious to get to sleep, I put everything on quickly. They were not adjustable but all fitted perfectly, so it only took me a couple of minutes. The ankle-irons were very heavy and the chain would dragon the floor when I walked, slowing my movements and requiring great care on the stairs. The wrist chain was long enough to allow me to double up and put my feet through it, confining my arms behind my back. After arranging a couple of cushions I did that and lay down, and was sleep in two or three minutes, but not before I had spotted some tiny cameras, lodged in the corners of the room.
It was mid-afternoon before I was fully awake, and although I was hungry it was at least half an hour before I could bring myself to move from the sofa. The iron on and between my ankles felt completely natural, and I felt no urge to move my arms from behind my back. Probably, it was as I lay there, completely relaxed, that I fully accepted that I was not only a sex-slave, but also a bondage slave. I no longer thought- if I ever had- that restrain deprived me of my freedom. It was something positive, to be sought, acquired and appreciated. It relieved me of the need to decide what to do withmy limbs, and how to move my body.
For the moment, I had to live with a compromise situation. I was technically a free woman until the next week, despite the metal that was locked on my body. What was I going to do with myself? I felt that I was only marking time until I summoned up the courage to ask for permanent enslavement. I thought of Gina, locked in a tiny cage until her owners decided to use her again. Her life was so much simpler.
Eventually I moved my arms back to my front. It was more difficult stepping backwards through the chain, but I knew that I would soon be used to doing it. After something to eat I checked my messages and did a little work, although I no longer had to earn my keep. I wanted to finish my last few “outside” projects, but had to avoid video calls on which I would not be able to conceal the collar and cuffs, not to mention my nakedness.
I was nervous about the stairs, so it tried them as soon as I had a few minutes to spare. Going upwas not a problem, as the hobble chain was long enough to enable me to step from one to the next, although I put both feet on each step and hung on to the bannisters with both hands. A quick look into my bedroom revealed the cameras that were everywhere now, and that my double bed had been replaced with a king-sized four-poster that dominated the space and had as many as ten chains permanently attached to various parts of the iron frame. What could I conclude from that? Presumably my house had been earmarked for regular use as a place for keeping and using sex-slaves, and my occupation was seen as temporary and intermittent.
A quick look into my rarely-used spare bedroom confirmed that. The single bed was still there, but all the other furniture had disappeared and been replaced by a single large cabinet, one side of which was a tall, thin wardrobe in which hung a variety of whips, canes, and loosely-wound hanks of rope. The other drawers and cupboards housed a huge variety of BDSM equipment that must have been worth thousands of pounds. It included at least three different chatity cages and several scrotal rings and ball-stretchers, confirming my impression that I was not the only slave who was expected to occur the house.
In theory, I should have been able to go downstairs as easily as I had come up, but I felt safe crawling down backwards. Luckily, my stairs were Not steering. Once down in the kitchen I found a liberal supply of ready-meals and other supplies in the freezer and the fridge, and all the cupboards had been restored. I would not need anything else before Friday, even if I entertained guests.
I spent a restful evening in front of the television, watching mainly porn, which had the unfortunate effect of making me very horny. Nevertheless, I found that with some special libido-retardant pills that had been left for me, and a generous helping of red wine, I was able to sleep the night through, lying in the new bed with my arms behind myback. In the morning I again experienced that reluctance to bring them forward, but with no-one to look after me I had no choice.
I spent most of Tuesday working. It took me a few minutes to get used to typing with my wrists cuffed. I had plenty of free movement, but the chain keep falling over the touchpad, with unpredictable effects. The “fix” was to disable the pad and use a mouse, which fortunately I had in one of my desk drawers. By the end of the day I had signed off the last of my external commitments, which was a relief. If the members of the Club wanted me to design their dungeons and torture chambers, the Club would have to allow me the time.
By the evening I was tired, lonely and horny. I would get through another night without relief, with the aid of more pills and more wine, but I was very much hoping that at least one of the promised visitors would arrive on Wednesday. Whether it would be male or female, slave or free, young or old, black or white, slim or obese, I cared very little. If it was female I would munch its cunt. If it was male I would take his penis in any or all of my holes. I woke up and hurried downstairs, walking upright now, in the hope of finding a message.
Chapter Seventeen – Best of Both Worlds
Nothing came until I had been back upstairs for my ablutions and had come down again. Moving about in my chains now came quite naturally, as I was resigned to allowing the hobble to scrape on the floor as I walked or climbed, often with the links rattling and rustling quite loudly. At first I had tried lifting my feet very high with each step to keep it in the air, but that was hard work. I had even tried beending down to hold the chain up with my hands, but I soon gave that up.
When the message came I was looking at numerous pictures of torture racks, trying to work out how much space they needed around them for the interrogator to move freely and work the crranks. Iopened it immediately, and found that it was quite long.
My Dear Analia
At one o’clock this afternoon, you should go upstairs and remain there for an hour. When you come down, your guest will be in your living room. She is a shemale slave- we have named her Cockgirl for the time being- and she will be in your charge. It is your responsibility to keep her tight and secure, and you may and should use her sexually. If necessary you may whip and/or cane her, but try not to leave marks that will last much beyond the weekend.
It may help you to know something about her. She has no speaking voice but has a native understanding of English. Born male, she was a younger son of a Brazilian drug dealer who proved too aggressive to be tolerated by his competitors. He died a very unpleasant death and his wife, and some of his children, began new careers as lithium miners. A local clinic picked him out as an experimental subject, because of his androgenous appearance and clear, pale skin.
They used relatively untried drugs and techniques to turn him into a shemale quite quickly and cheaply, but he/she was still too recognized to be sold locally. One of our members, visiting the area, made them an offer, and he was shipped over as a rescue slave, and is the property of the Club, although she will soon be sold.
The gangsters who sold her as raw material to the clinic did so reluctantly, holding the view that she deserved more severe punishment. Her mother and siblings will, after all, spend their lives toileting under the lash in the harshest of conditions. They were presented by the clinic’s undertaking to deprive her of her speaking voice. They agreed that all future owners would have to undertake to keep her in strict bondage, to subject her to frequent corporate punishment, and to impose on her periods of blindness. She is, however, sighted at the moment.
Remember that there are always cameras onyou. Any footage that is deemed especially entertaining will be shared on subscription websites, and will thus help to earn your keep.
The message was clear, although the ending seemed abrupt. I contemplated it over an extra cup of coffee and then did an hour’s work. I realized that I needed to watch a punishment whipping, for I had very little idea how much space was needed to wild a full-sized single tail. The two rooms for which I was planning conversations were simple rectangular boxes. I felt that arched ceilings of bare brick, or stone vaults, would improve the atmosphere, but I had no idea how much of the height I could sacrifice.
Deciding that the question would have to wait until I could consult Matron or Mistress Maddie, I hauled myself upstairs to gather some equipment, bringing it down by pushing it from one step to the next and leaving it in a corner of the living room. I did not want to have to keep interrupting my sessions with the shemale, about whose visit I was now very excited. I had found a very compact but strong pulley that could be hung by a folding metal hook over the single beam in my living room, and left it there with the ropes hanging from it, ready for their load. Back upstairs, I rested on my bed from one o’clock until two, and then went down promptly to meet my guest.
Cockgirl was kneeing on the sofa, naked and leaning back slightly. The reason for her slightly odd posture was that she was strictly hogtied and propped against the back. Her wrists were locked together in steel cuffs behind her back: her ankles were in heavier irons, and both pairs were joined with a single padlock. She was looking at me appreciatedly, her big brown eyes topped with very long lashes that were certainly enhanced or artificial. There was no missing it when she blinked, as she did frequently.
Viewed as a whole, Cockgirl’s face was feminine but unusual, with a rectangular shape framed by a mass of curly black hair. Her skin wasVery pale, so her lips looked naturally red. They were her most remarkable feature; a master-class in the use of Botox and fillers combined. They were not carefully sculpted and there was no Cupid’s bow arch, but just a pair of soft, suede-like pads that looked soft, moist and inviting; irresistible in fact. They pouted very slightly, leaving no doubt that she was hoping and looking for something to suck.
I tried her lips before examining the rest of her body, and found them heavenly. She was fully cooperative, opening them slightly on contact to allow my tongue to push into her mouth, but the area of contact was large, and the texture smooth but with enough friction for me to feel mine moving against them. Because of the way they were constructed they were not as mobile as they looked, but that was not necessarily a bad thing. With my hands behind her head they were trapped against my lips as I explored them like a landscaped park, with every tiny movement bringing new and unexpecteded sensings.
There were other unexpected discoveries. Her tongue was pierced and had a surprisingly large swivelling ring on the top, although I understand that almost any presence in the mouth felt larger than it really was. It was also coloured to match her tongue, and therefore easy to miss at first glance. Then, as I drew back, I spotted something odd in her nostrils, and found, exploring with my fingers, a big piercing in the septum between them. It was held open by a grommet which, similarly, had been coloured to match the surrounding tissues, but from the right angle it looked paler.
After another minute’s kissing- I suspected there’d be a lot of that- I looked at the rest of her body. She was pale, slim and hairless below the eyesashes, and had surprisingly large breasts. No-one would ever think that they were completely natural, but I thought they had probably been partly grown with hormone injections and then enhanced with impants. The latter were not silica but something that responded more slowly to being deformed, so the boobs, although rather too symmetrical and too “inflated”, still swayed and bounced really. The areolas were large but too perfectly circular, and the nipples were pierced with large, thick rings with no visible joins.
Her wait was narrower than it had any right to be, and had probably been achieved by removing one or more of the lower pairs of ribs. Below that her hips flared, and between them was her raison d’être. Her penis was long and straight, and unlike most of those that I had seen before, had a distinct tape towards the helmet, which was therefore smaller than average. Feeling it with my fingertips, I thought that it was particularly suitable for anal penetration. It was fully erect, and I noticed at that point that her remote control was on the coffee table, next to that of the television. I picked it up and used to soften her completely, and then to raise him to a level that obviously hurt, before relenting and letting her go slack.
While access was easy I lifted the flaccid member to examine her scrotum, which had a broad, thick metal ring at the top, trapping her balls lower down and preventing them from rising into her body. In what I later realized was standard practice with male slaves, the ring had a central post that passed through the flesh of his scrotal sac, and could never be removed. Two rings provided attachment points for cock cages and other accessories.
The remote control had nine buttons, so I deduced that the highest comfortable level was seven, and raised her that before continuing my examination. I pushed her over sideways and rolled her onto her front to examine her buttocks, which seemed well-shaped but not bulging to form a “bubble-butt”. I thought them her least feminine feature, and I had to root Under her legs to feel her backdoor, which was certainly a little bit looser than mine. She had probably been slackened with a locking plug, but it was not there now.
It was difficult to assess her legs, bent and bound as they were, but they were certainly very smooth. Her feet were not bare, but adorned with extremely high-heeled shoes made of flexible and transparent material, the bottoms being shaped and bonded to her soles and heels. If she stood up she would be almost on tiptoe. I assumed that they could be removed with a coded chemical wand, but nothing like that had been left for me to use. There was a soft bag on the table that contained keys to her cuffs, irons, collar and hogtie padlock, but nothing hi-tech. I wondered how easy it would be to get her up the stairs, but that was a problem for later. What I wanted now was her cock in my pussy.
Having sex with a hogtied person, especially with one’s own wrists and ankles restrained, is Not the easiest thing in the world, but my need was great. With her on her side, propped against the back of the sofa, I was able to slide myself down her body, my ankles crossed to keep my knees wide open, until I was fully impaled on her shaft. Then I hooked my wrist chain over her head and held her mainly by the buttocks, and I tried to use her like the handle of a dildo, pulling her hard and then loosening my grip to get some “in-out” movement. A few hearty slapses persisted her to jerk her hips in time with my efforts, but I found that a gentler but equally effective method was to slip a finger or two into her asshole.
I had wondered whether Cockgirl would ejaculate prematurely, but that didn’t happen, and it would not have troubled me unduly. She would not have lost her erection, which was what mattered most to me. I was not disappointed by the limited range of movement, for it was enough to keep me drifting in and out of a mildly orgasmic state, and it was a change to be able to make it last so long. Most of the men who had used me during the weekend had seemed to be engaged on either a public or a private record attempt. Now I could justenjoy the feeling of fullness, and keep it going for hours on end.
I also kissed Cockgirl a lot during that afternoon, Her lips were so wonderful that I could scarcely believe that the Club had given me- a mere part-time sex-slave- a full twenty-four hours to enjoy them. I had to part company with her in order to rustle up something for my dinner. For Cockgirl a small bag of gruel sachets had been left on the coffee table, and a larger bag of pony pellets on the floor. All I had to do was to mix the gruel in milk and heat it in the microwave, like instant porridge. It was then spooned into her mouth with a pellet or two added every time.
Afterwards, with Cockgirl still hogtied on the sofa, I had to consider how she was going to empty her bladder. To undo her enough to get her to the downstairs loo would have been a disproportionate amount of effort, so I softened her penis and held it while she peed into an empty coffee jar. Male organizations are so much easier to aim, and watching his steady stream I have to confess that I was tempted to move hers to my mouth. I knew that, sooner or later, I would have to experience “golden shows”, and wondered how I would react. I decided, however, to give myself longer to get used to the idea. Afterwards I cleaned him with wet-wipes.
I found it remarkable that Cockgirl had not cum during her afternoon in my vagina, and wondered whether she had been treated with some kind of inhibitor, whether a drug or a hardware device. Was it possible that she was functionally impotent, capable of echo but not ejaculation? That would be a punishment indeed, to spend her life pleasure others and getting nothing in return.
I had no idea of what depths of cruelty our masters were capable, but that notion was dispelled after I had fallated her for about half an hour, when she gushed a very general load into my mouth. I made her give me cunnilingus then- I had not attempted a “69”- and she proved very good at that, so I enjoyed my first really major multiple orgasm with her.
Except to let her urinate I had not slackened Cockgirl’s penis since my first experiments with her controller, and after giving her- and myself- some water I turned my back on her, pushed my legs through my ankle chain and, with my hands behind my back, used them to work her into my back passage. After that a certain amount of wriggling about was possible, but I could not say that I felt properly sodomized. It was a pleasant way to spend an hour after dinner, but no more than that. In the end I did off, and I felt a little later to find that she had slipped out.
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