Our Only Hope Ch. 02

We didn't go to the normal terminal. Instead the plane taxied to a private area near some small hangars. A black, SUV-style limo was waiting for us on the taxiway. There were four men in addition to the driver, so it was a bit cramped for changing clothes in the back, but the three of us managed. By the time we reached the club, Boris and I were wearing black tuxedos. Natasha was wearing a black, form-fitting club dress that nearly touched the ground. There was a slit on the right side that went up almost to her waist, showing a great deal of her well-formed legs.

While we were changing, I discovered three interesting things about Natasha. One she was a natural blonde. Two she didn't wear underwear. And three, she had two knives plus a small automatic strapped to her body in strategic places that somehow still didn't show through her skin-tight clothing. All five of the men who came with the SUV had that hard, military look to them, but I was betting that Natasha was, by far, the most dangerous person in the vehicle.

As we drove, Boris brought us up to date. "I've hacked into the club database," he said quietly. "You and Natasha are listed as temporary members. I am listed as your guest. That is also how slaves and submissives are listed, but don't get any ideas."

"Don't worry, honey," Natasha said sweetly. "We are always equal."

Boris gave her a quick smile and continued. "We are European sex tourists traveling from the United States. Hopefully, if we hang around long enough, we can pick up some clues as to where slave inez and Master Robert might be being held." That wasn't much of a plan, but it was the best we had.

To say that the club was located in a seedy part of town would be a great understatement. It wasn't quite a Favela shantytown built on the garbage dumps of many of Brazil's large cities, but there probably aren't many places in Cabo Frio that are more undesirable. The parking lot appeared to be bordered by heavy overgrowth, which worried me because anything... or anybody... could be hiding in there and no one would know. The driver and one of the bodyguards stayed with the car. The driver sat inside, pretending- I think- to be asleep, but the guard took up a position outside the car with a Saiga-12 in his hands. That Russian-built automatic shotgun is pretty useless beyond a hundred feet or so, but in the case of a zombie apocalypse, you could mow down a thousand zombies up close and none of them would reach you. Real, live people wouldn't stand a chance.

As we entered, Natasha said something firmly in Portugese to the Maitre D' and handed him several folded bills. A short while later we were ushered to a corner table. One of the guards squeezed in and stood in the very corner while the other two stood just outside the table against the wall. It wasn't perfect protection, but it did proclaim that we were rich and powerful. To my surprise, the club stocked Munich Dunkel. I prefer a dark ale, but once you let it warm up a little, a strong lager like Munich D is nearly the same.

Shortly after we had been seated, an emcee walked into the large open stage area in the center of the club and announced something. Natasha softly translated everything into English for me and Boris. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he began, "tonight we have a special treat. Two slaves have displeased their Masters and are to be publicly punished for your enjoyment."

A woman was wheeled out into the center of the room. She was firmly restrained face down on a horizontal Flogging Cross that held her arms and legs firmly against the white wood. It isn't totally correct to call it a cross because the four pieces of wood don't really connect at the center but instead leave an open space to allow total access to a persons ass and groin. The slave was squirming slightly in her bonds and her body was glistening with perspiration and perhaps a slight amount of an oil of some sort.

"The first punishment," the emcee continued as the Flogging Cross was locked into place, "is a slave who disobeyed her Master in public and then had the audacity to say, 'You can't punish me here. Too many people are watching.'"

He smiled. It was almost a smirk. Then he turned toward the slave and said loudly, "There are more people watching tonight, slave bianca, but Master Santos will most definitely punish you."

He stepped forward and slid a single finger down the slave's body beginning at her shoulder and continuing down one side of her back, over the curve of her buttocks, down back of her leg, stopping finally when he had reached her heel. As his finger slid down her body, her squirming increased significantly.

"You seem to be a little warm," he said derisively. "Perhaps that is because this oil which has been sprayed on your body has been marinating ghost peppers for the past week."

The slave's wail of despair and fear almost drowned out the emcee as he continued, "Just imagine what it will feel like when the flogging begins?"

A not quite middle-aged man walked out to join the emcee. He was dressed in black jeans and a black dress shirt of some sort. "My contract with slave bianca"- even I could tell that he mockingly pronounced 'bianca' in a distorted fashion so it sounded more like 'bitchanca'- "my contract says that I may never give more than twenty strokes... and, I may never use anything heavier than a whisk flogger to punish her."

There was an appreciable groan from the audience.

He held up a rather limp-looking short-handled whip that appeared to have at least a dozen or more strands of very flexible leather- or perhaps rubber- each about twelve inches long. As he lifted the whip higher so everyone could see it, he smiled. His smile was at least as smirky as the emcee's. "She even insisted that the contract specify with how much force I could strike."

His voice changed. It became deeper. Even Natasha's translation somehow sounded... evil.

"But she never said," the Master continued, almost laughing, "that I couldn't prepare her skin first if I wanted to."

The slave began to weep, sobbing softly and continually repeating, "I'm sorry, Master. I'm sorry."

"You will be," Master Santos answered as he swung downward with the flogger, striking slave bianca on the right asscheek. "You will be," he repeated.

The Master was actually swinging rather softly and he was not using his wrist to cause the whip to accelerate at the final moment before striking. Normally such a flogging would cause not much more than a slight reddening of the skin... and perhaps a very pleasant pain sensation for a sub. But the redness is caused by capillaries breaking in the skin and by the skin itself become slightly abraded and sore. Both actions cause the skin to lose its natural defensive state and allow penetration of the skin by sweat and dirt. That is why aftercare, even for such a mild spanking / flogging, must include wiping clean the surface of the skin with a soft rag and a non-irritating oil.

In this case, however, it wasn't dirt or sweat that was penetrating the skin. It was a very irritating oil that had been made extraordinarily hot by absorbing the capsaicin that floods the flesh of a ghost pepper. Since the ghosts were only marinating in the liquid, but not actually cooking in it, the resulting oil was only hot enough to cause severe irritation, not actually hot enough to damage the skin. That technical detail was lost on slave bianca as the tendrils of the flogger quickly changed the warm glow on her skin to burning fire.

Master Santos was counting loudly as he swung the flogger. On about the sixth stoke, slave bianca began screaming for mercy and shouting loudly, "Crocodilo! Crocodilo! Crocodilo! Crocodilo!"

Natasha didn't bother to translate that for me. Even if it didn't mean crocodile, it was obviously slave bianca's safe word.

"Don't you remember?" Master Santos said sarcastically as his slave continued to scream, "according to the contract- which you helped write and then signed- you can object to a punishment and even prevent it, but once a punishment has begun, your safeword is null and void."

The Master then went back to counting his carefully-applied strokes. He wasn't swinging any faster. In fact, he may have even slowed down, but he was making sure that the flogger was thoroughly warming the entire surface of the screaming slave's buttocks and legs.

After stroke nineteen, Master Santos stopped completely. "My little wayward slave," he crooned softly, "just in case your sweat and your gyrations haven't moved the oil all the way down into your sensitive honeypot..." He then swung upward with the flogger. This time flicking his wrist to accelerate the strands at the moment of strike.

The tips of the flogger, now wet with the tormenting oil, slashed into slave bianca's partially-gaping cunt, striking hard, but more importantly, transferring the irritating oil onto her labia and even onto the inner tissues of her canal. Her screams became extremely shrill as she bounced against her restraints. Master Santos laughed softly and said, "Why do you make me go through this every couple months, my pet? I'll let you think about that for the rest of the evening while I enjoy some drinks... and maybe much more... with some of my friends."

The Master lay the flogger in the middle of the slave's back and walked back into the relative darkness of the club as the emcee once again came into the spotlight. Slave bianca was no longer screaming, but was sobbing continuously as a couple stagehands wheeled her over to a blank area on the outside wall of the club.

"Would such a disregard of a safeword be allowed in one of your clubs?" Natasha asked quietly.

"The rules of The Society are very specific," I replied. "Unless it is punishment for an egregious action against The Society, safewords must be honored." I pointed to the slave who was still sobbing. The cross on which she was restrained had been rotated to vertical so she was now standing more or less upright against the wall. "In the case of a slave such as bianca, there would possibly be a double safeword system. One safeword, such as 'Crocodilo' would be to say that the event is more than she could bear. That safeword could be overridden in certain circumstances. A second safeword, perhaps 'Alligator'- or whatever that word is in Portugese- would mean that the slave wanted to end- or at least modify- the entire relationship." I looked around. "But I have a feeling," I said flatly, "that there are much more serious violations of safewords and slave agreements in this club."

Natasha looked like she wanted to say something else, but the emcee began speaking again and she switched to translating his words. "Our second punishment," he began, "is a punishment by pleasure.." He held one hand flat to the ground and wiggled it slightly. "... more or less."

A new horizontal cross was wheeled out into the spotlight. This one was empty, and was a complete cross. An olive-skinned, tall woman with extremely long, straight black hair walked out to join the emcee in the center of the room. "Mistress Diago," he said, gesturing toward the tall woman, "is very upset that her slave," Natasha paused a moment and appeared to be confused, then she continued her translation, speaking quickly to catch up with the words of the emcee. "... her slave, pumpkinhead, has said 'Fuck you' to her one too many times."

Another woman walked out into the spotlight. She was naked and flanked by two burly men dressed in black jeans and black t-shirts. A tall, black collar covered most of her neck. A medium-sized, dark, rather anatomically correct, dildo pointed straight out in front of her from an extremely tight leather harness. The straps for the dildo harness appeared to almost cut into the slave's hips and the crotch strap totally disappeared between her legs, cutting deeply into her cleft. It did not look like it had been adjusted for the comfort or pleasure of the user.

The emcee paused while the woman was pulled into place. "So," he continued, "Mistress Diago is going to make her do just that."

The tall, black-haired woman reached her arms around her head and with one fluid motion pulled the long dress from her body. She was- as expected- totally naked under the dress. The thick curly hair which covered her mound was even darker and more black than the hair on her head. Dropping her dress on the floor, she walked over to the cross and lay down on it, spreading out her arms and legs to match to the configuration of the cross. The two men who had brought out the slave quickly wrapped wide leather restraints over Mistress Diago's ankles, knees, wrists, and elbows so that she was quite effectively held immobile on the cross. Before tightening the restraints, they carefully pulled her body down slightly so that her ass was slightly off the center of the cross, making her cunt accessible to whomever stood in the center of the cross.

"Slave pumpkinhead," the emcee said with a slight laugh, "has been given the chance to fuck her Mistress. In fact, she must bring her mistress to complete orgasm four times."

He paused and looked around the room, his smirking smile growing wider and wider as he made eye contact with many of the patrons at their table. "That doesn't sound like punishment, does it?"

Two naked slaves ran into the spotlight. Each one was carrying a multi-strand flogger like had been used on slave bianca. "But Mistress Diago has ordered that her slave be flogged by two of our expert whipmasters while she brings her Mistress to each of those orgasms."

The two men pulled slave pumpkinhead over to between her Mistress' legs. One of them squirted some lubricant on the dildo. The other pushed on the slave's ass and guided the dildo into Mistress Diago's cunt. It went in more easily than I expected, indicating that the Mistress was turned on by what was happening and was ready for it.

The two men then took the whips from the slaves and stood just outside Mistress Diago's bound legs. One was holding the whip in his right hand, the other was holding it in his left hand. The emcee shouted, "Begin!" and they both brought their whips down with great force, one striking the slave's left asscheek, the other striking her right.

She gave a yelp and pushed forward. The two whipmasters timed their strokes perfectly. They waited until the slave pulled back and then struck just as she started to move forward. Sometimes only one whip struck, sometimes they struck in unison, but in any case, the slave was forced to ram the dildo heavily into her Mistress.

The first orgasm took about ten minutes. When it shook through her body, Mistress Diago turned her head back and yelled loudly, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" and then went into a long, loud scream that matched the wild thrashing- or attempted thrashing- of her arms and legs. If she hadn't been restrained, she would have thrown herself off the narrow wood of the cross.

Slave pumpkinhead stopped thrusting while her Mistress came down from her orgasm, but quickly resumed when the whips again began to flail. She started saying something and soon was shouting it over and over and over again. "She is saying, 'That hurts!'" Natasha said. "There must be something else going on that we aren't seeing."

As if to answer Natasha's question, the emcee popped back into the spotlight and said, "We prepared a little surprise for slave pumpkinhead. The whips that are being used on her were soaked overnight in the same ghost pepper oil that was used on slave bianca." He laughed in a very exaggerated and evil way. I almost expected him to rub his hands together and twirl his mustache like a melodrama villain. Instead he said, still laughing, "Slave pumpkinhead... and Mistress Diago... still have three orgasms left."

He stepped back and shouted, "Resume! Faster!"

The two whipmasters sped up their assault on the slave's ass, now moving their strikes further down her legs and up her back. The light was beginning to reflect off the oil that was deposited on the slave's skin with each strike.

The slave was now thrusting furiously, attempting to drive her Mistress to orgasm and to end her agony. The next orgasm took about fifteen minutes, but pumpkinhead didn't stop to let her Mistress come down before resuming. Instead she pounded into her even harder, driving her toward an orgasm on top of an orgasm. Mistress Diago was wailing continuously as her slave thrust relentlessly into her cunt with the strap-on. The third orgasm- or new peak to the second orgasm- was only about five minutes later, but the slave still did not stop. She continued ramming, driven by the whips on her ass and back and legs, until only two or three minutes later, a final, almost explosive orgasm tore through Mistress Diago's body.

The whipmasters stopped and slave pumpkinhead stepped back, pulling the dildo from her Mistress' cunt, but the scream and wild thrashing continued on for several more minutes. Some of the people in the club were starting to chuckle or even laugh as the Mistress continued to wail and thrash.

"Did I mention," the emcee said with a leer, "that the cream used to lubricate the dildo contained an experimental drug that multiplies a woman's sensations down there?" He gave another of his smirks. "I'm told it is almost addictive if used too often, but then, all pleasure can be addictive."

The whipmasters walked into the darkness while two naked slaves came out and led pumpkinhead, still sobbing, out of the stage area. When Mistress Diago finally calmed down, the emcee walked over and stood above her head. "We have another surprise for Mistress Diago," he said slowly and firmly. "You see, she has told Master Rodriguez 'Fuck You,' many more times than poor pumkinhead has said that to her. So it is only right that while she is restrained on a slave's cross that a true Master fuck her properly."

Mistress Diago began thrashing even more and throwing her head from side to side. "No... no..." she was screaming as a large man dressed in black leather walked into the spotlight and stood between her legs. He was wearing a Lucha Libra, a Mexican wrestler's mask, so his face was hidden. The white design on the mask was evidently intended to be the face of a devil. His leather shirt was long-sleeved, so his arms were also hidden. Only his hands... and his eyes... were visible. His hands appeared soft, as if he were not used to manual labor, but his slate gray eyes were extremely hard looking. They were not the type of eyes that gave a person hope for mercy.

"The Master," the emcee said flatly, "is protecting himself from the pepper oil which is all over slave diago's skin... well, Mistress Diago's skin... for now."

The large man was obviously Master Rodriguez, and he was obviously protecting himself from more than just the spicy oil which had splashed on Mistress Diago's open thighs. He stood stroking her for a moment and then spoke in a low and gravely voice. "Well now, little cunt," he said, "It seems that your taunts and curses have gotten you exactly where you belong... on a slave's cross."

He reached up and tweaked one of her nipples and she moaned softly. It was hard to tell if it was a moan of pleasure or pain.

"I think," he continued, "that you secretly want to be a slave. That is why you allowed yourself to be bound to a slave's cross."

She screamed "No! You pig! Let met go! Release me!"

"That is what your mind is saying," Master Rodriguez said harshly, "but what is your body saying, eh? Why don't we listen to your body?"

He opened his fly and pulled out a massive prick that was semi-hard. As he positioned it against the Mistress' slit, he said, "If you don't cum before I do, then I will accept that you are a true Mistress in mind and body. But... if you cum before I do, or if you cum multiple times before I totally finish, then I will know that you have the body of a slave." He gave a low laugh before continuing, "... and we will all know that in the dark recesses of your inner self, your mind wants to be a slave mind."