Our Only Hope Ch. 08

Mastress Barbette was a cross-dressing transvestite Master whose secret fetish was not discovered until he was elevated from the Shadow Council to the Inner Circle. He felt he could not accept the position unless the rest of the Inner Circle knew fully what he was and accepted it, so before their vote, he revealed himself to the members of the Circle. To say it was a shock to most of the circle would be a great understatement. He had been a female shadow for Master Brodrick who never revealed to the Circle that Mistress Barbette was a man. No one could ask Master Brodrick if he had known because it was his death which elevated Mistress Barbette to a position on the Circle. After a great amount of discourse, the Circle said that they would accept him, but only as a Master, since he was a man. He argued that since he was a man who dressed as a woman, he should be received as a Mistress. Finally, one of the members of the Circle said, "What should we do? Receive you as a Mastress?" Mistress Barbette answered, "Exactly!" and that is what was done. Mastress Barbette became the first transvestite member of the Inner Circle.

I knew that if I left now, it would look suspicious, so I decided to stay for the show- or whatever it was that passed for entertainment down here in The Fourth Floor. I had just taken another sip of my Jack when the sound system started wailing a very familiar tune and four of the security men walked slowly up the aisle carrying a basket that was hanging from two poles held over their shoulders. The curtains opened and they walked up the stairs onto the stage.

After they set the basket down and left the stage, a familiar-looking green arm began snaking its way up from the basket. She had just begun to rise out of the basket when I noticed someone pulling the other chair away from my table. I turned my head slightly to see Walter Monty sitting next to me.

"So," he said nodding his head at the stage, "is this the act you remember from Iowa?"

The fact that at least four security men in addition to his bodyguards were standing behind him told me that my answer was very important. In fact, my life could very well depend on what I said. Obviously, something was the same and something was different from the act I had watched in Iowa. I sipped my drink, trying to look relaxed while at the same time carefully examining everything I was seeing on stage. The basket was different from what was used at Colonel Boogie's, but Wyatt only had two people helping him so there was no way they could have brought in the basket hanging between two poles. Looking more carefully at the dancer, I could see that she seemed slightly different than the dancer I had watched in Iowa. She looked older and ... harder.

I took another sip. This was possibly a trap. No, this was definitely a trap. Master Walter was trying to somehow verify WHEN I had been at his brother's club. I had no way to know the correct answer, so I just had to go with my gut and guess.

"Well," I said, "the girl looks the same, but that is definitely a different basket."

"They're sisters," Master Walter said. "I wanted to give her little sister a chance to break in someplace where it wouldn't affect my club's reputation, so I sent her off to Iowa. Big sister wanted to protect little sister and went out there for a couple weeks to make sure everything was safe. Little sister just started there last Friday."

I looked over at Master Walter and put on my best concerned face. "Something bad happened to your brother, didn't it?" I said. "And you needed to be sure I had nothing to do with it." I paused and said, "I hope it's not something you can't help him get out of."

"Not your problem," he said flatly. "I'll deal with it."

He then turned to the men standing behind him and said, "He checks out. He's just a dumb rich bastard from Ohio."

I waited until he and his entourage had walked back into the darkness before again picking up my drink. I didn't want him to see how badly my hand was trembling. One of these days, I'm going to guess wrong, but so far my gut hasn't let me down.

I finally took a large sip of my drink and watched as Lady- big sister- Anaconda danced her way around the room, slithering from table to table. As she came past my table, I was able to get a better look at her. There was a family resemblance to the young woman who danced at Colonel Boogie's, but this woman looked much harder and more... experienced than her younger sister. I wondered how many years of dancing in clubs like this it took before a woman acquired that hard, plastic shell.

I waited for her to dance her way back to the stage and then pressed the server call button in the center of my table. The scream from Mistress Tenesha reminded me that it wasn't only my server who got "buzzed" when I pressed the button. My close brush with Walter Monty had distracted me and I forgot. Maybe that was for the best. Even if I knew what it would do, I would still have had to press the button. Harold Guthrie would enjoy hearing the bound woman in the metal globe scream. He might even push the button a couple extra times just to hear the sound of her screams.

My slave came running up to my table. "Do you have a menu?" I asked. "I might be in the mood to try something new."

She replied, "I can recite the menu for you. Do you want food or beverage?"

"Beverage," I replied.

"Beer, wine, or liquor?"

It was like using an on-line menu. "Beer, I think," I said, wondering what she would say next.

What she did was start down a litany of every beer that they carried both on tap and in cans or bottles. I was trying hard not to laugh when suddenly I heard, "Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier Dark."

"Wait!" I said rapidly. "Go back to the weird sounding one. That sounds different." Actually I am very familiar with that brand. Weihenstephaner is a German dark ale that is imported into the United States.

"Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier Dark?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "that one. Is it any good?"

"It's a dark ale if you like that sort of thing," she said. It was obvious it wasn't her choice of drink.

"I don't know if I'll like it," I answered, "but I'm trying a lot of new things tonight, so why not?"

Less than a minute later, a 1 liter bottle of Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier Dark and an ice-cold, frosted glass were sitting on my table. I didn't bother to tell her that German beer or ale is supposed to be served at room temperature or only slightly chilled. Harold Guthrie wouldn't know something like that. The bottle felt like it was only slightly chilled, so I held the glass in my hand for a minute or so, warming it while I pretended to be trying to read the label on the bottle. Then I poured the ale into the glass. I slid the first part of the bottle down the side of the glass and then moved out to the center to create a proper head. When I was done, I had something to enjoy while I waited an appropriate time before leaving.

I had just taken my first sip when Walter Monty stepped out on stage. Lady Anaconda was gone. The four men with the poles had carried her basket back out through the club while I was futzing with my glass. I hadn't seen how she ended her act, but I assume that she somehow actually dropped back into the basket since the lights had never dimmed.

"We need a volunteer," he announced loudly. Then he laughed and said, "... or an unwilling participant."

While he was speaking, two security men rolled a strange-looking device out onto the stage. It was about six feet long and had what looked like two small flatbed train cars on it. In the very center was a silver pole.

"Now, gentlemen," Master Walter said sternly, "don't make me draw membership numbers.

I heard a young woman loudly whine, "But I went up there last time we were here."

"I know," her Master replied. "That's why we came back."

A tall, willowy redhead stood up and walked slowly up to the stage. Except for her collar and leash, she was completely naked. Although she was devoid of all hair below the neck, there was no doubt that she was a natural redhead. Only true redheads have nipples that are that pink and only natural redheads are that pink between the legs. Her labia, as well as some of the skin outside her slit, was a bright shade of pink.

As she stepped up on stage her master called out loudly, "Show 'em your pink little asshole, cutie-pie." She paused and bend forward at the waist until her head was nearly on the floor. Her rosebud definitely looked like a rose bud shining out from between her porcelain white asscheeks.

There was a drunken cry of "I've got to taste that," and a very inebriated young man staggered toward the stage. Six security men appeared from nowhere and grabbed him while he was still a good distance short of the steps. One of them said loudly, "Now, now, Frankie, you come with us and we will call your daddy. One more time, and he will revoke your privileges... or we will."

The young drunk went with them willingly. He really didn't have much choice. A security man was on either side of him tightly holding his arm just below the shoulder. Another was behind him with a solid grip on his neck. One of the other security men walked in front of them as they went to the back of the club. The other two walked behind them, heads swiveling back and forth in case he had any drunken buddies with him who might want to cause a scene. I was definitely impressed with Walter Monty's security team.

Meanwhile on stage, Master Walter was saying, "The safeties are on," as he took the naked slave by the hand and positioned her on the strange machine. He made sure that one foot was on each of the little flatcars and that the shiny pole was aimed directly up between her legs. A naked young woman- perhaps one of the waitresses- came up on stage and strapped the slave's feet in place.

"We have to get this pole at just the right height," Master Walter said as he twisted and raised the shiny spear and pushed it slightly into the slave's cunt.

"Now we give you something to hold on to," he said brightly as the naked helper lifted a chain and fastened a restraint on slave cutie pie's left hand. She then repeated the procedure with the right hand. When she was done, the chains hung slack, but Master Walter held up what looked like a remote and said, "Let's set the hand pulls." He pushed a button and both chains pulled taut. Either they were spring loaded or, more likely, they were connected to an electrically-driven ratchet system of some sore.

"Here is how this works," he explained to the obviously frightened slave. "Once I release the foot rollers, they will be free to slide all the way out or all the way back in." He chuckled. "You don't want them in either of those positions. What you want to do is to hold your feet exactly where they are now. Do you think you can do that? ... for ten minutes?"

Slave cutie-pie gave a very nervous nod. Then Master Walter turned to the crowd and asked loudly, "Do you think she can do that?"

There were several calls of "Yes," but the majority called out, "No." One very loud voice, which sounded like her Master, yelled out, "Hell no!"

Master Walter again turned to the now terrified slave and said, "Since so many of the people here think you can't do it, we are going to give you some encouragement. Whenever the sliders come all the way in, you will feel an electric shock on your feet like this."

The slave yelped and attempted to pull her feet together and lift her cunt off the silver pole. Master Walter laughed and said, "I think you have discovered that since both feet are riding on the same rail, we had to find somewhere else to act as a ground terminal for our electric current." He laughed again and wiggled the shiny pole that was impaling slave cutie-pie. "Or maybe I should say we found a ground stake."

He looked at slave cutie-pie who was starting to breathe hard and was looking like she was close to panicking. "Now that was an unpleasant shock, wasn't it?" Master Walter asked her. Then he said, "But the shock is three times stronger if you let the foot sliders touch the outside stops."

Master Walter now stood alongside the machine and once again held up his remote. "The controls are set for ten minutes" A digital display descended from above showing 10:00 minutes on it. "... and once the timer starts nothing can stop it... not me... not you... and definitely not slave cutie-pie."

I doubted that was true. I was sure that a simple push of a button on the remote would shut down the machine, but Master Walter was making it clear to everyone- especially slave cutie-pie- that her safeword would be ignored for the next ten minutes.

"So that you don't accidentally fall off the machine," Master Walter said firmly, "we'll need a safety support."

A cable now descended from the ceiling. The cable was split in two about three feet from its end. The two branches connected to what looked like a steel posture collar with Frankenstein bolts extending out several inches from the sides of the neck area.

"This is one size fits all," Master Walter said cheerily as he strapped the metal posture collar in place around slave cutie-pie's neck. It was somewhat loose on her neck, with plenty of room for her own collar under it, but the flare which went under her chin and behind the back of her head seemed to be adequately tight to hold her head. Once it was in place, he used his remote to tighten the cable until she was just barely held upright by it.

"A drum roll please," he said dramatically and the sound of a drum came over the speakers. On the final hit of the drum roll, he pressed something on the remote and slave cutie-pie's legs suddenly slid wide apart.

You could hear the sliders slam against the outside stops just before she screamed and pulled her legs back together. She screamed again as the sliders hit the inside stops. There were four or five more slams and screams as the sliders slid to the inner and outer extremes before slave cutie-pie was finally able to stop her legs mid-way and prevent further shocks.

She stood rigidly still for a moment, but then one of her feet moved slightly and she tried to pull her legs partially together to stop the slide. With both feet sliding freely, however, she overcorrected and slammed her legs together. This time she didn't scream, but only yelped slightly as the current went through her feet and her cunt. She tried stopping her legs as they automatically spread from the pain of the shock, but she was unable to regain control and her left leg went all of the way out.

There was no loud slamming clunk this time, and no scream. There wasn't even a yelp, just a low-pitched grunt as the current buzzed her left leg and her cunt. I could see muscle tension in her arms as she tried- unsuccessfully- to stabilize herself. Her left leg pulled in while her right moved out and she ended up hitting the stops with both feet, her left leg hitting the inside stop and the right leg hitting the outside stop.

Without pulling her right leg in, she moved her left leg out until it, too, was against the stop. Then, with her body vibrating from the shocks, she slowly pulled both legs inward until they were at the midway point. The look of relief on her face lasted for several seconds until one foot again started to move slightly. She pulled as hard as she could against the chains holding her hands, but the little stabilization that pull provided wasn't enough and the whole cycle began again.

When the shocks hit, she threw back her head and again screamed loudly. This time much more loudly than she had originally screamed. She also lost control of her bladder and sprayed the stage. Obviously, the voltage had stepped up higher. Her body now more than vibrated. It shook violently as the higher voltage assailed her feet and her cunt, the current coursing through her legs causing them to shake like a cheap Elvis impersonator. She must have done a cleansing routine in preparation for going out with her Master tonight because she did not lose control of her bowels- or at least there was nothing to expel.

This cycle of pulling herself into the center and holding it for a few moments before losing control and slamming into either the inner or outer stops continued. The voltage evidently stepped up twice more, judging from the yelps and the increased shaking of her legs. Finally, shortly after the timer read 03:00, she gave up, letting her legs spread completely and hanging there from the weird posture collar letting the voltage bounce and shake her body like a marionette on a puppet stage.

When the timer finally ran out, there was a huge burst of applause from the crowd. Master Walter went back up on stage and called for some assistance from his security men. Four of them hurried up on stage and held slave cutie-pie while he adjusted the chrome spike down out of her cunt. When he removed the steel posture collar, she slumped forward and would have fallen if it had not been for the men holding her in place. Master Walter then stepped away and the men released her arm restraints and unstrapped her feet from the roller platforms. One of them then picked her up and carried her back to her Master's table. When she appeared to have difficulty staying in the chair, one of the men produced a long, black silk scarf and tied it around her body under her arms to hold her in place. She sat there staring glassy-eyed at her own Master as Master Walter stepped back on stage to introduce another act.

While he was talking, I got up and walked to the elevator at the back of the club. I had seen enough. I now knew where Walter Monty was and where several of the hostages were held, including Master Tyrone and Mistress Tenesha. The only problem was that there was no way some simple trick out of Boris' magic box was going to set them free. Master Walter was no Wyatt; his highly trained security team were not Bill and Ted; and the specially-constructed room beneath The Blue Deuce was no Colonel Boogie's. I was going to need some serious help pulling this one off.

Luckily for me, among the few trusted people for whom Master Randolph had given me names was Sam Two Feathers. I knew Sam. I had helped him when his wife's sister was abducted by some crazies who hated "Indians" but for some reason wanted Precious Rock as their squaw / sex slave. Sam knew who they were and where they were, but the tribal authorities wouldn't listen to him because they considered him white. The local authorities wouldn't listen to him because he was "just an indian," and "it was an indian matter." He needed a white man to act as a go-between with the racist white authorities and I was eminently qualified for that.

He would handle the tribal side of it. He was eminently qualified for that, or should have been. Sam Two Feathers was full-blooded Sioux, or at least as full-blooded as anyone can be anything, but he wasn't on the official tribal registry and therefore was not a member of the tribe. His wife, Ruby Waters was removed from the tribal registry when she married Sam against her father's wishes. Sometimes it's nice to know that prejudice and bigotry isn't isolated to one ethnic group.

We got Precious Rock back alive and intact, but she would need a lot of counseling and therapy before resuming her normal life. I had the foresight to take a couple of federal agents with us when we raided these scumbags' love nest in the mountains. Their presence had a calming- or at least restraining- effect on Sam, so the four men who had abducted Precious Rock ended up alive, but would spend most of the rest of their lives in prison. In appreciation for returning Precious Rock, Sam's father-in-law got Ruby Waters reinstated on the tribal registry. That means Sam Two Feathers' children are official Sioux even though they live off the reservation.