Zanny: Performance Ch. 3

She was still high, but not so high that she could keep from blushing deep red as he led her through the tables as men applauded and made wisecracks. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore them as Doc led her along. Her behavior frightened her. It was if she had no control over herself at all.

He led her down some stairs, through a corridor, up more stairs, until she was thoroughly confused. The drug was starting to assert itself again, so that she forgot what it was that she’d just been so upset about. She was so absorbed in her own fragmented thoughts and swirling emotions, that she didn’t notice where they were when they stopped.

They were in the shadowy vestibule of some large, dark room. It was all so dreamlike. The room was spot lit, and she saw some sort of a bed, some other pieces of furniture. From the ceiling several very large mirrors tilted over the room at a 45 degree angle. Zanny noticed this, though it was odd, then thought no more about it. Beyond the bright white cones from the spotlights she could see only darkness.

Doc turned and took her in his arms. She raised her face to his kiss, and again felt herself melt into a puddle of need against his body as his lips came down on hers.

“Do you want it, Baby?” he asked.

“Oh yes.” she breathed. “please.”

“You sure?”

“God yes!”

Dimly she was aware of a squeal of electronic feedback from somewhere far off, then a man’s voice, coming through a loudspeaker as if he were announcing something. She didn’t pay attention.

Doc suddenly turned and led her into the room. The floor was wood, and three sides seemed to be hung with floor-to-ceiling drapes. The fourth wall must have been a long way off because she could see no sign of it in the darkness.

Doc led her to a plain wooden chair that sat beneath a white spotlight and had her sit down, then he moved a few steps back. As soon as he left the beam of the light Zanny could not see him, though she could still hear his voice telling her to relax.

Zanny could tell dimly that the room was immense. She could feel the space stretching away in front of her, and she wondered vaguely where she might be, but she didn’t care about that. She only cared about the aching need in her body.

“Do you want me?” Doc whispered from the darkness.

“Yes!” she said.

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“I want you to prove it.” Doc said in a low voice. “I want you to prove that you want me, Baby. I want to see how hot you are. I want to see you play with yourself.”

“What?” Zanny didn’t understand. She didn’t understand why he was doing this to her, playing this game.

“Come on, Zanny.” he said, “Show me your pussy. Show me how hot you are. Make me want you.”

“Oh please…” she said.

“Come on Baby. Get me hot. Get me hard. Let me see that pretty cunt.”

Zanny smiled slightly as she finally understood what he wanted. He wasn’t the first man to ask her to do this kind of thing, and she didn’t mind showing him what she had. Teasing was something she knew she was good at.

She laughed. She leaned forward in the chair, put her hands between her legs and squeezed her arms together, forcing her cleavage out at him.

“Ask me nice.” she said with a giggle. “Say Please.”

“Please.” Doc said. “Pretty pretty please, Baby. Please show me.”

Acting the coquette, Zanny slowly hiked up the dress, past the top of her stockings. She reached down and stroked herself through the dress.

“Is this what you want?” she asked slyly.

“Yes.” he said. “Please show me your pussy, Baby. It makes me so hot.”

Zanny laughed. She stroked herself again and began rolling her hips.

“Oh!” she breathed, keeping one eye on him, “that feels so good!”

She was doing it to tease, but soon her body took over. She rubbed herself faster, as her hips fucked lewdly at her hand. She moaned. “Oh yeah! Oh that feels good, baby. That feels so good!”

“Show me.” Doc said softly. “Show me what you like.”

Zanny turned her head to the side. She took the hem of her dress and pulled it up to her waist, spread her thighs and exposed her shaved vagina to him, her labia shiny with her moisture, as her hips rolled slowly and sensuously in the chair.

“Like this?” she teased. “Like this?”

Doc’s voice was no more than a whisper. “Yes, baby. Now play with yourself. Get yourself hot.”

“Yesss.” Zanny moaned. “I have to. I have to touch myself. It feels so good!” Her fingers began to trace up and down her bare slit, parting her labia to stroke her clit and explore her opening. She pushed her hips forward on the chair, spreading her legs wide, bit her lip and groaned with pleasure.

She hung her head and gasped as she inserted two fingers inside her vagina and plunged them slowly in and out while her other hand kept her dress up on her stomach so that Doc could see every move.

“Oh Yes,” she moaned, “Oh yes, oh yes. I’m just so hot, baby. So hot!”

She removed her fingers and began to wiggle them against her clit. She raised her legs and managed to hook her heels on the chair rail, so she could keep her knees apart. As she concentrated on her masturbation, she used her free hand to massage her breasts.

Doc could see everything she was feeling right there on her face. And he knew that the audience behind him, sitting in the dark, could see it too. They were absolutely silent, rapt with attention watching Zanny masturbate, and they could hear every moan, every gasp, even hear the wet sluicing of her fingers in her pussy thanks to the stage microphone that hung just behind her chair picking up every sound.

“Oh fuck!” she squealed. “Oh God, baby! I’m going to come! Can I make myself come, baby? Please? I need it. I need it so much!”

Doc smiled in the shadows. “Do it, Zanny. Make yourself come. I want to see you make yourself come!”

“Oh God!” Zanny groaned, her head lolling back. She let go of her breast and used both hands on her pussy now, the left plunging into her vagina, the right vibrating desperately at her clit. She began to whine as she felt herself climb that hill towards orgasm, her whine grew louder as her thighs began to tremble and she felt the sparks gather in her belly, building, building…

She glanced up at Doc to see his eyes shining at her, hot with lust, that male look she knew so well, and the naughty thrill of being watched was about to lift her up and over into her climax when someone in the club opened a door, admitting a shaft of light that fell on a slice of the people watching her from below, all the well-dressed men and their women, all breathless, every eye fixed on her, riveted to her hands working in her pussy as she masturbated shamelessly before them.

The sudden realization of where she was burned through her sexual frenzy, burned through the numbing fog of the drug, burned directly into her mind. She was on a stage, with hundreds of people watching her, smirking or smiling or mouths hanging open in shock at her perfectly depraved performance.

A bolt of shame rushed through her and she turned her head to the side so as not to see, but she’d already seen. And worse then that, the sight of them suddenly rocketed her into a violent shrieking orgasm. She tried to hold it back, tried to deny it, but that only made it more intense. Her hips fucked wildly onto her fingers and all her muscles tightened into a rictus of agonized pleasure as throb after throb of burning ecstasy ripped through her body again and again. She tried to grit her teeth in denial but she couldn’t hold back the savage scream of joy that ripped from her throat.

And suddenly she wanted to show them all, show them what a shameless whore she really was. She wanted them to see her pussy contacting around her fingers with each glorious spasm, the juice of her own arousal leaking down over her asshole. She closed her eyes and let her release and her shame and joy wash through her in mind-numbing waves, leaving her panting and exhausted and damp with sweat.

There was no applause, no wise cracks, not a sound but her panting and gasping. The audience was totally silent as Doc came over and kissed her. Zanny looked up at him weakly, seeking some answer in his face as to how he could have done this to her, but she saw nothing but a knowing smile.

She felt someone behind her, and reached up as she felt a collar of some kind being fastened around her neck. Craning around she saw a black man standing behind her. She could not recognize him because he had a leather mask over his face, but she had no doubt that it was Z. He was shirtless, and wore a harness of black leather straps across his chest. Aside from that and a leather g-strong he was naked.

Together, Z and Doc fastened leather cuffs to Zanny’s wrists, and Z quickly clipped some short chains to them, then a long sliver chain leash to the collar. Zanny watched in disbelief, still weak from her orgasm.

Now the audience began to stir. Throats were cleared, there was some nervous laughter. But the crowd was still very tense. the air was thick with sexual tension.

Doc stood back and said in a stage voice, :”My dear, you’ve been very bad. Playing with yourself like that is not acceptable, and you know it. I’m afraid you leave me no choice but to discipline you.” He turned to Z. “Maestro, she’s all yours.”

Z jerked her neck chain, pulling her from her chair. Her fear was real. “Oh my God! What are you doing?”

“Quiet, baby. It’s all part of the show.” Z whispered in her ear as he manhandled her towards the back of the stage. “You ain’t gonna be hurt. Not too much.”

Z reached up, attaching the leash to a wall hook. Despite his dubious assurance, despite the fog from the drugs she’d been fed, Zanny was frightened. She was not only frightened of Z and the chains, but of the audience as well. What kind of place was this? Who were these people? How could they do this to her?

She fumbled with the collar, trying to unbuckle it, but Z took her wrists and attached them to chains that hung from a free-swinging bar a few feet over her head. When both wrists were fastened, he reached over to a crank and winch on the wall and slowly wound it up, raising Zanny’s arms, spreading her out until she stood almost on tiptoe.

“Stop!” she cried. “Stop it!”

The white spotlight that had been on her changed suddenly to a menacing red. Z stepped aside, letting the audience get a good look at her as she stood there helpless in the restraints. The fear on her face was real.

There were murmurs of approval from the audience. Her outstretched arms pushed her breasts up and out and raised the hem of her dress so that the tops of her black stockings were visible, along with the creamy flesh of her upper thighs. They could see Zanny’s very real fear, and feel her helplessness, and it excited them. Men shouted and whistled, encouraging Z to proceed. But it was the women who yelled the loudest, urging Z to beat her, whip her good, make her hurt. Z cocked a hand to his ear, feigning deafness, as if he couldn’t hear. The audience erupted in more shouting.

“Whip her! Beat her ass! The whore!”

Now pretending to understand, Z took Zanny’s bound hand and turned her slowly around, so that her back was to the audience. He slowly lifted the hem of her dress, showing her naked behind to the crowd, who only grew more excited at the sight of her exposed ass.

In a few swift, brutal moves, he ripped the dress from her body, leaving her standing there in only her black stockings, shoes, and the leather collar. Her smooth skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration under the red light, and the black stockings set off the soft fullness of her proud round ass..

“Oh God!” Zanny cried in shame and fear. “Oh my God!”

It was doubtful that anyone could hear her, despite the microphone above her head, the audience was so loud.

Z bent down and picked up a flogger, a cat o’nine tails, and whipped it over his head experimentally. Zanny could hear it as it cut through the air with an evil sound. He raised it up and held it overhead as the audience shouted, then brought it down with a loud crack on Zanny’s naked ass.

“Owwww!” she screamed as the audience roared. It burned, stung, and left a fiery red swath across her trembling ass. But worse than the pain was the humiliation of being whipped, of being whipped in front of a room full of strangers for their erotic amusement.

Z raised the whip again. Zanny could see his shadow against the wall, and she braced herself, trying not to cry out as the cat slashed across her buttocks again. It stung sharply this time and she felt her ass grow warm. She closed her eyes so that she wouldn’t see when the next stroke was coming.

But now Z seemed to be getting into it. His strokes were less theatrical and more direct, and once her ass was warmed up, the blows didn’t sting so much, the pain wasn’t so sharp. Instead she felt it as a deep throb, a dull ache in her ass and spreading to her vagina, making her ache there with a desperate emptiness.

Now Z took her hand again and spun her around so that she faced the audience, so that they could see her naked body strain and tremble as the lash fell, could see her struggle to escape the bonds.

Her attempts to twist away to avoid the lash were futile. Z easily followed her as she tried to squirm away from him. She was fully aware that the audience could see every reaction, every expression on her face reflected in the mirrors overhead. There was no hiding from them. The idea of being treated like this, like something less than human filled her with anguish, but as the beating continued she found it hurt less and less and began almost to feel—dare she even admit it?--good.

The tension from the audience was palpable, the room was electric with repressed lust, but Zanny dared not open her eyes to see the faces staring at her. She was afraid, afraid that they’d see the growing excitement and arousal in her eyes. For there was no longer any doubt that the whippings now felt good as they ignited a blaze in her cunt, and she began to thrust her ass back to meet the falling lash.

The women were now yelling louder than the men, telling Z to put more force into it, to let her have it, to whip her pussy and her breasts. Several of them were standing up in their excitement, eyes wild, wanting to see Zanny hurt, degraded, punished. They called her bitch, cunt, slut, and the words burned into Zanny’s addled mind.

They hated her because she was beautiful, because she was young, and because all their men wanted her. All their men were staring at Zanny’s naked body, her proud. heavy breasts, the nipples keen with excitement, her flat, taut stomach, the lush swell of her hips, the smooth curves of her long, stocking-clad legs, and the naked and vulnerable mound of her sex. And her face, her face twisted into a grimace of sensual agony, disturbingly like the face of a woman in orgasm. The men looked at her with desire and contempt, and the women with savage jealousy.

In a deep part of Zanny’s mind she knew this was right; that she deserved to be punished like this, punished for her desires, for her beauty. She wanted it. She was aware of her body, her nakedness, of every stroke of the lash, the burning in her tender ass, the weight of her tits on her chest, the gnawing hunger in her cunt. She realized that she was terribly aroused, that her cunt was leaking, and the realization filled her with a deep shame that only increased her excitement.

“Oh yes!” she whispered. “Oh God yes! Harder! Harder! Beat me!”

Zanny tried to choke back her tears of anguish and humiliation. She would not let them see her weep. She tried to shut out the audience’s calls and whistles, but one woman’s voice kept getting louder, and when Z paused with the whip to catch his breath, she realized dimly that the woman was approaching the stage.

The woman made her way forward from the back of the room, stumbling but determined. She was obviously drunk, her face was flushed, and as she worked through the tables she was stripping off her clothes, her blouse and skirt. Some hands reached for her to try and stop her, but others just shouted encouragement as she passed by their tables.

Through half-closed eyes Zanny saw that it was the blonde with the rhinestone choker, the one who’d given her the look earlier, and the blonde was full of jealous anger. The man she’d been with was now also hurrying through the crowd, trying to catch her before she reached the stage, calling “Lisa! Wait! Lisa!”

But the blonde paid him no mind as she quickly mounted the stairs clad only in her shoes and white stockings, white panties and bra, the jeweled choker and earrings blazing with color in the spotlights. Z stood there unsure of what to do as the woman walked boldly up to him, took the whip from his hand and strode over to Zanny.

“You cheap bitch!” the woman spat, “You worthless slut! Tramp! You’ve got this coming! Whore!”

She raised the whip and brought it down on Zanny’s sore and reddened ass, making the girl cry out in alarm and lurch in the chains. The blonde beat her again and this time the audience responded, angry and lust-choked voices shouting words of encouragement.

But the woman was simply not as strong as Z, and though each stroke was filled with feminine fury, the blows only added to the rage of guilt and masochistic pleasure burning in Zanny’s body, the heat from her beaten ass fusing with the ache in her pussy and filling her with a confusion of shame and not desire.

The man by now had reached the foot of the stairs and paused, not wanting to join the tableau on stage. “Lisa, damnit! Get back here!” he called, but the woman paid him no mind. She was totally absorbed in punishing the helpless girl before her, whose naked body twitched and writhed in the chains as she beat her.

Nothing like this had ever happened in one of these private sex shows before, and Max and Doc both stood out from the wings not sure what to do, while Z watched the woman work on Zanny’s body with a professional eye and the man tried to coax her odd the stage.

The blonde was apparently getting some deep satisfaction from lashing Zanny’s voluptuous body, and she whipped her until she herself was red and sweating, her neatly arranged hair coming lose and hanging around her face in sweaty tendrils.

She came around in front of the helpless girl and lashed her across the thighs, across her defenseless breasts, her eyes glowing with anger and lust. She beat her until she beat the anger out of herself, and stood there, her breasts heaving as she gazed at Zanny, panting for breath from her exertion.

Then she dropped the whip, and suddenly overcome with remorse she began to kiss Zanny hungrily, her neck, her shoulders, her face, sobbing and gasping, “Oh baby, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, baby! I’m so sorry!”

The touch of the woman’s hands on Zanny’s bruised and tender flesh almost made her swoon, and she gave herself over to the woman’s touch. moaning as the blonde’s hand slid down her body to cup her wet pussy.

“Oh yes!” Zanny hissed, “Touch me! Please, touch me!”

The audience was dead quiet as they watched the two women kissing open mouthed, tongues lashing at each other. The blonde worked one leg between Zanny’s and grabbing Zanny’s red and aching ass, she pulled the girl to her, sliding Zanny’s damp slit across her leg as she herself worked her pussy on Zanny’s thigh. Their sobs and gasps of desire were audible throughout the room.

The men on stage looked at one another with confusion and shrugged. Then, as the audience called out, Z pulled off his mask and undid his loincloth, letting his huge erection bob free. He started towards the two women but Doc grabbed his arm and signaled him with a nod of his head to just watch and wait.

Lisa dropped to her knees in front of Zanny and pushed her face into Zanny’s crotch as the girl looked on with panting excitement. Zanny’s pain, humiliation, her shame and her confusion, nothing seemed to matter to her now as much as getting this woman’s tongue to touch her, and she rocked her hips up in an attempt to spread herself for Lisa’s seeking tongue, whining with need.