Friday Night at Mephisto's

Seeing the dangerous toy, Betsy watched closer. Occasionally, a dominant who had no idea what they were doing tried to use a bull whip and had to be stopped. There was no way management was going to give the city an excuse to close the club down, certainly not because of a guest's incompetence. Soon, however, Betsy knew the Mistress knew what she was doing; especially her own limitations. She made no attempt to produce the whip's infamous crack. Impressive welts were being paid on the man's back. Even more impressive was the near silence from the slave. Welts like that didn't come pain free, yet he made no more than a grunt or two with each blow.

It was rare to see such intensity from the start. Most dominants (and submissives for that matter) preferred to warm up with lesser levels of sensation so that when the high levels of pain started, the slave was well into or close to subspace. When the Mistress changed instruments, Betsy realized the scene was actually going to see a gradual lessening of intensity. This would certainly be different. Betsy imagined that the submissive would experience the lesser pain levels almost as pleasurable sensations.

The scene finished with a hand spanking from the woman accompanied by moans of obvious pleasure from the man. Surprisingly, there was no evidence of an erection having ever occurred. It seems the man was well trained in keeping it down. Betsy found herself wondering if he was as well trained in getting it up.

As the crew was taking down the cross and setting up the stocks for the next stage scene, Betsy wandered over to the main entrance to see how Mary was holding up. The petite blond was arguing with a couple; or rather the couple was arguing, Mary was just listening and shaking her head. When she got closer, she recognized the male half of the couple.

"Hi Mary. Donald, it's good to see you. What seems to be the problem?" she asked with a wink at her coworker.

"Betsy, will you tell Mary that Kathleen is really over 18; that this is just a schoolgirl roleplay?"

"Don, you know better than that. I assume Mary asked for ID?" When he nodded, Betsy continued, "Then there's nothing anyone can do. That's the law. Once she asks for ID, you have to show it, she can't withdraw the request. You'll just have to go home and get hers." Betsy nodded towards the lady in the classic English schoolgirl outfit, complete with plaid skirt above the knees, white shirt that was barely able to close, knee high socks and two inch high heels. "Kathy, you look scrumptious. Have you been a good girl today?"

"No, ma'am," the mock child replied, staying in character, "I've been bad." The pout on her face was to die for. "Mr. Donald caught me cheating on a test. I need to be punished."

"I see. Seriously for a minute, Kathy, where's your ID? You had to know you were going to be carded?"

The sheepish look said it all; the answer was just confirmation. "It's expired."

Betsy shook her head. "Then you're stuck. The law cares about how old you can prove yourself to be, not how old you actually are. Get to DMV tomorrow and this won't happen again." Getting back into the spirit of their roleplay, she added, "I guess you're due for some special discipline at Mr. Donald's residence."

As the couple moved off, Betsy turned to Mary. "Do you want a break from the door?"

"I could use a few minutes. Thanks for the backup; Donald can be quite insistent. Why doesn't he buck you?"

"I called the cops on his ass once. He knows I mean business. Go on, have a sit down and I'll cover here for a bit."

After the initial rush at opening, the door was usually fairly easy to handle. There was a steady stream of people coming to the club, but nothing that spoke of large numbers of people. About half the people who came were people Betsy knew from the lifestyle or frequent club attendance. The woman with the matching silver collar and cuffs on her wrists and ankles had become a good friend in the last year or so. Her partner, with a similar set, was being led on a leash.

"Valerie, Sally, it's so good to see you. Coming to watch or play?"

As Valerie paid the entry fee, she replied, "A little play. I'm going to publicly torture Sally for a while."

"Sounds like fun. I'll come by and watch for a while. What have you heard about Francine?"

"She's improving steadily. She was able to watch a scene at Master's place without having a panic attack."

"That's great. I miss seeing her around."

Francine, Valerie's best friend, had violated Valerie's safe word while suffering from post traumatic stress from an attack on herself. Since then, being around BDSM play had been too horrible for her. Betsy was glad the therapy she was undergoing was doing some good. Francine had been one of the most innovative dominants that Betsy had ever met. The scene was reduced by her absence.

Once Mary was back from her break, Betsy took one of her own. With her legs rested (the staff spent most of the night standing and walking) and her thirst slaked, she was back on the floor. There was a new couple on stage, a male dominant and a female submissive. The naked sub was bound across a padded horse, similar to a vaulting horse from gymnastics, with a hood covering her face. Her mouth was gagged and the hood's eye holes were closed.

The man was naked as well, his cock standing at attention. The crowd was clearly anticipating some wild sex soon. Right now, however, he was engaging in a classic bit of warm up. He was wielding a cat; one of the softer ones with lambskin lashes. Arnold Schwartzenager would be hard pressed to leave welts with that whip. It was good at increasing the warmth on one's ass and driving a sub wild with those little stings that increased arousal. From the color of her ass (deep pink), the way her pussy glistened and how much she writhed in her bonds, Betsy figured she'd been under the whip for at least 20 minutes.

Every few minutes, an upward stroke form the cat would impact her cunt and her head would jerk up and her muscles tense in near orgasm. Betsy had seen many a sub at this level. It would only take three or four strokes on her pussy to send her over the edge. As it was, each isolated upward stroke took her to the brink and moved the brink farther away at the same time. Another 20 minutes of this sensuous torture continued while the woman became increasingly desperate for relief.

The man wasn't in much better shape. His cock was visibly purple in color from having been erect for so long. Betsy was amazed that he'd not given into temptation by now. He tossed the whip to the side and placed his cock at the entrance to her cunt. The woman stiffened, as if in fear that any movement would end the contact (and in fact, for some dominants, it would). He slid slowly in with the ease that a greased pig slid through fingers. Once fully inserted into her cunt, he began a slow motion fucking with each stroke taking a full fifteen seconds to complete. It was clear from the way she held herself rock still, that she was under orders to not respond to his fucking of her.

This new torture seemed to be even harder to take than what had come before. Her body was trembling from the strain of preventing it from doing what it was designed to do; buck and fuck against the cock that was embedded in her. Betsy could see beads of sweat forming and dropping from her nipples which were themselves, engorged and stiff. The only sounds from the stage were his breathing and her gasps as she continued to struggle.

When her orgasm broke, it did so with a vengeance. Her head snapped up and a muffled wail carried out over the crowd. Her body started to buck against it's bonds. In the midst of this, the Dom plunged in deeply one last time and cried out himself. The pair shook in their climaxes for nearly a minute and then seemed to collapse. He lay against her for several seconds before rising and pulling out. His cock glistened with the mixture of their cum as he walked to her head and removed the gag. She greedily suck him in and cleaned every trace from him. Little rivulets of fluid dripped down her legs, leaking out of her pussy.

Once she'd been released, he spent a few minutes massaging her arms and legs, getting out the inevitable kinks that come from long periods of bondage. He'd also scoop up the trails of liquid from her legs and feed it to her with his fingers. The crew waited in the wings for the couple to finish their aftercare before cleaning up the area and moving the horse off the stage. Betsy wandered away again before seeing what was next in line.

By the time the club was ready to close, Betsy was feeling that familiar low level arousal that always accompanied witnessing uncounted acts of sexual domination. She had just finished counting the door when a younger redhead was let in the side entrance. Betsy looked up, eyes widening in amazement. She'd never seen Pamela that tense before.

"Pam, what's wrong? Why so tense?"

"Mistress," the girl answered, letting Betsy know that she was already in her submissive headspace. "Frank came by work and we had to call the cops. I haven't been able to calm down since."

"That bastard!" Frank was Pam's ex-boyfriend. He hadn't taken their break up very well and had started stalking her. Showing up at her job was a violation of his restraining order. Knowing what her submissive needed, Betsy grabbed a handful of Pam's hair and growled, "You need to be put in your place, don't you?"

"Yes, Mistress, please, put me down."

Betsy thought for a moment and then replied, "Go upstairs to room five and strip. Don't touch anything."

Pam nodded, her breath catching, and walked to the stairs that led to the private rooms. While Pamela waited her fate, Betsy reclaimed her toy bag from her locker. When she joined the submissive, Pam was standing in the center of the room, her hands behind her back. Her large breasts sagged a little, now that they had no bra to support them. Around her were the furnishings and tools of a classic medieval dungeon.

Betsy walked around Pam, keeping a stern visage on her face. Occasionally, she'd let a finger brush against Pam's skin, watching her jump at the unexpected contact. She grabbed Pam's hair again (Pam loved hair play) and dragged her to the rack.

"Get up there you disgusting slut!" Betsy yelled.

"Yes, Mistress," she replied with a shaky voice.

Betsy deftly placed Pamela's ankles and wrists in the padded cross bars. A few turns of the crank later and Pam was snuggly held in place. The upper bar had a second, smaller, winch mechanism. Pulling two clover clamps form her bag, she attached them to the helpless woman's nipples and clipped the chains to the smaller winch. The clamps were soon pulled tight, the pressure making them close even tighter on the tortured nipples.

Once the nipple clamps were where she wanted them (with tears beginning to form in Pam's eyes), Betsy turned the crank on the rack another couple of clicks. Pam gave a cry of anguish as every one of her muscles was pulled completely taut.

"Color?" Betsy asked with a whisper.

"Green," came the breathless reply.

Next, Betsy pulled Pam's shoulder length hair into a ponytail and tied a silk rope to it. The end of the rope hung off the end of the rack and she added a two pound weight, pulling Pam's hair. The sub's gasp of pain seemed to belie the smile that was creeping onto her face (Pamela really liked hair play). Pulling out a crop, Betsy started to give Pamela's entire front side a light beating. None of the strikes were terribly painful, individually, but the cumulative effect was a mild aching sensation over her entire skin surface.

Once tears were flowing freely from Pam, Betsy upped the force in her blows while restricting her strikes to legs, breasts and arms. Now, instead of the light red rash that had been left, each stroke was leaving a darker red commas on Pamela's skin. Pamela was openly pleading with soft cries of, "Please, please." Neither Betsy nor Pam could ever tell whether these were cries for more or for mercy. While not a true pain slut (Pam couldn't climax from pain), she did have a masochistic bent that allowed her both great tolerance and the ability to enjoy the feeling of being hurt, in the right circumstances. What Pam could do was climax in spite of the pain she was experiencing.

That time came just as Betsy had turned the individual crop commas into a more homogenous shade of dark red. She thrust the vibrator she'd gotten earlier into Pamela's cunt and started laying into her breasts with the crop. Pam shrieked and tried to hump the vibrator. She wasn't able to do more than pull at the already strained muscles and increase the pressure on the clamps. Betsy pistoned the plastic cock into Pam's pussy with long slow strokes. Pam's breath was coming in ragged gasps as she neared the edge. Just as she tensed at the verge of cumming, Betsy dropped the crop and release the clamps from Pam's nipples.

The sudden surge of pain toppled the helpless sub over the edge into her orgasm. Her body tried to shake, but only managed to tighten the muscles that were already at their limit. Betsy kept her orgasm going for over a minute with continued fucking and an occasional pull at a nipple. Once it subsided, she released the catch on the winch and let Pam's body relax for the first time in over an hour.

"How are you feeling, Pamela?"

"Oh God, you do that so well. I ache all over and I'm a little dizzy, but I feel great."

"I'm glad. I'll get some water, you stay right here."

It took Pamela 15 minutes before she felt ready to stand again. Betsy left her in the showers and headed home herself. "Another Friday night at Mephisto's," she thought to herself. "Never a dull moment." She smiled at the wetness she felt between her legs, knowing that Frank would help her deal with that little problem in his own unique way.

If any of you are prayer people, please include Dani in your prayers. She's disappeared from the radar and hasn't responded to emails from myself or Xantu. As a result, this has not been proofread and I apologize for the errors that no doubt got past me. Still, I enjoy feedback and welcome any comments.