Star Night At The Ajax Club

"Hey, Tom...er Mr. Fairchild. Did you catch the Ajax ad in the Trib?" Bob Haml stuck his head in the door of the walnut-paneled conference room.

Tom Fairchild looked up from the papers on the table and grinned. "Yep. Star night. The wicked wheel strikes again. I'm on the wheel committee this quarter so I was a witness. I wish I could tell you the name of the lady with such bad luck."

"Our Marsha?" Bob asked incredulous. "There are rumors..." Marsha Voltman was the firm's receptionist, lovely to look at with a body to die for and a pleasant disposition.

Tom shrugged cheerfully. "My lips are sealed."

Bob's eyes went wide. "So that's were she's been all day."

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions if I were you." Bob said evenly. It was clear that he was slightly irritated.

Linda Farrington perked up her ears. She'd heard of the Ajax club. All the senior partners were members, she'd been told. "I'd like to go to the Ajax Club sometime." She said.

Fairchild gave her a quick look. Since joining the firm Linda had steadfastly refused to date any member of the firm...even handsome Rodney Stewart, the most eligible senior partner since his messy divorce last year. "I don't think you'd care for it, Ms. Farrington. He said carefully. The honorific was used in the office as part of the office practice of calling all lawyers "Mr." or "Mrs.".

Linda Farrinton was a thirty-three year old divorcee, five foot seven inches tall with chestnut brown hair and fair complexion. She jogged five miles every morning and weighed 135 lbs. Her face lit up beautifully when she smiled which was, unfortunately, a rare event. Even so, half the men in the building had wet dreams about her in her first six months with the firm. She was a product liability special- ist and had already made the firm over a million dollars in fees during her tenure. She would be, probably, named a full partner this afternoon...at least most thought so. Linda did not. She was not a member of the Ajax club and Tom Fairchild was.

"You're a member." Linda said flatly.

Tom nodded. He knew what Linda probably thought. "It's not what you think, Ms. Farrington." He said.

"And what do I think it is, Mr. Fairchild?" Linda asked...sweet- ness dripping from her words. Her tone would make opposing counsel very cautious. Tom knew that tone of voice. Careful here....

"You think that the Ajax Club is a bunch of old fogies sitting in big over-stuffed chairs and smoking cigars while lovely scantily clad waitresses bring them brandy." Tom grinned. He could tell in her eyes that it was exactly what she thought.

It's not like that?"

"Nope."

"Please enlighten me." Linda said.

Tom shrugged. "It's no big secret. The Ajax Club is a Club that is for Dominant men and submissive women...actually that is too sim- ple. It is for men who are dominant concerning sex with their women and women who are submissive concerning sex with their men. Often the women are not submissive in real life nor are the men "dominant" in real life. The members and their women are masked to preserve their identity and all member and their women must adopt new names for use inside the club. Membership is suppose to be secret...but its hard to keep secrets around this outfit." Tom finished ruefully.

"And you think I would not like this place?" Linda asked sweet- ly. Careful, Tom thought to himself. There's that tone again.

He sighed. "A woman must be accompanied by a man to get in...and she must sign a paper which essentially says that she will obey her escort...that means she promises to do what ever he tells her to do or not do. Essentially she becomes sexually submissive when she crosses that threshold...a sex slave if you will."

Linda's eyes narrowed. "That is an illegal contract." She said.

Tom grinned. "Sure it is. But if you violate it on the premis- es, you get ejected immediately."

"I suppose that women are paraded around nude and in bondage and all that." She said. Her voice seemed huskier...she felt her nipples harden under her starched blouse.

Tom nodded. "Often enough. There are fun games and the enter- tainment is top notch. The wine cellar is superb and the chef is the best in the state by far...he enjoys certain...privileges of the place."

Linda shifted in her chair. She felt herself lubricating as she imagined herself...participating. She wet her lips an lowered her eyes. "Would you consider taking me sometime?" She heard herself saying. What am I doing? She thought frantically. Tom was terribly attractive but she had sworn not to date anybody in the office.

"You would sign the contract?" Tom asked, a look of surprise on his face.

Linda gave him her best smile. "Just for you." She said.

Tom nodded. Linda was ambitious and a shrewd lawyer. She could upset things if he was not careful. "You don't need to do this to become a full partner, you know." He told her.

She raised her eyebrows as a question.

Tom Fairchild gave her an appraising look. "I think the firm would be insane to risk loosing your talent. I will ask you to go with me tonight, sign the contract and the whole nine yards if...and only if you are named a full partner today." He told her.

Linda looked at her colleague with surprise and a new respect. At that moment Rodney Stewart strolled in. "Well well...here they are together...our two newest senior partners." He announced without cracking a smile. Tom grinned and stood up offering his hand to Linda in congratulation. She would have none of that...coming around the table and giving Tom, her new partner, a big hug and a smile. Stewart looked on with a slight wistful expression and then left.

Tom was acutely aware of the lithe body in his arms pressing against him. She stood back eyes shining. "You were saying...?"

Tom smiled. "Come with me tonight, Dear Linda, to the Ajax Club. We'll celebrate our promotions."

Linda looked at her new partner. "Yes, Sir. I understand the rules. In the club I will obey you and I will be totally submissive." She gave Tom a dazzlingly sweet smile and looked him straight in the eyes. "...and in the office I am a full partner...and will do as I see fit."

Tom smiled. "Sounds fair to me." He said cheerfully.

Linda smiled again taking Tom's arm. "Now tell me what Star night means." Tom told her. Linda shuddered deliciously!

***

Even though it was a Wednesday night there was a larger than normal crowd at the Ajax when Tom and Linda arrived. The asterisk in the Ajax ad was a sign to the membership that it was a Star Night.

When they arrived, Tom took Linda to the club office where she signed the contract giggling like a school girl at the pen shaped like a phallus she was given to sign with. After signing Linda was es- corted to the girl's locker-room to change while Tom went to the Men's locker-room.

He emerged a few minutes later dressed in a very light-weight black tuxedo with white shirt and burgundy bow tie. Linda met him in the anteroom looking around slightly embarrassed. Even though she had been told what she was expected to do and wear...the reality was something else...intimidating and thrilling. She had never felt so excited. She wore a white Greek toga of crepe silk. The hem of the toga was ten inches above her knees leaving little room for modesty, especially since she was forbidden to wear anything under the toga. Each wrist and each ankle was adorned with white leather cuffs studded with jewels. On her feet were white sandals. On her neck was a white leather collar, similarly adorned with jewels and with Tom's number stamped in gold. Tom Fairchild sucked in his breath then let it out slowly in a whistle of appreciation.

"My God! You look incredible, Lavender." Lavender was the name they had chosen together to be her slave-name.

"Thank you, Master." Lavender answered, her eyes down cast as instructed. She glowed with the complement, though. She knew she made a mouth-watering sight dressed as she was. Tom put on her white leather mask and bowed graciously. "After you, my dear."

They entered the room and sat at a table to stage-left. The room held less than one hundred and fifty people and it was about three quarters full. Lavender noted twenty to thirty women dressed as she was dressed and masked as she was masked. Tom ordered a light supper including a soup and salad that Lavender ate in a daze, realizing the food was truly excellent but overcome by the ambiance of the club. There were candle lit booths that lined two walls and the third wall to stage-right held an open alcove that was dark. Red velvet drapes and dark wood was the decor. Statues of women nude and in various poses, some in bondage or chains were displayed. Young waitresses dressed as Lavender was dressed except their togas were pale blue scurried around waiting on tables and carrying trays.

A five piece band played on the side. They were very good, Lavender decided.

Tom pointed out several prominent celebrities and Lavender nodded in wide-eyed amazement behind her mask. Promptly at eight o'clock the spot light on the stage lit and the Master of Ceremonies wearing a black Lone Ranger mask stepped out. Lavender could not fail to recog- nize him as a local TV announcer.

"While the waitresses are clearing the tables and filling drink orders are there any Master's here that want to bet on the great wheel? If you do, be sure to drop your card in the slot."

Tom leaned over and tapped Lavender on her shoulder and smiled. "You want to risk it, Lavender?" He asked.

Lavender thought for a moment in panic. "No" was a word that she had promised not to use in the club...in fact she had agreed to agree to anything Tom might suggest. She compromised by smiling at him and giving him a slight shrug. It was not a no but hopefully he would read her intention.

Tom smiled with a little relish. He appreciated Lavender's subtlety but ignored it. Lavender felt a knot form in her stomach.

The MC nodded. "OK. We'll spin the wheel at ten thirty. In the meantime, there is one public whipping scheduled before the main event and you will be glad you came tonight, believe me."

Lavender leaned over. "What's that?" She whispered.

Tom shrugged. "Some master wants to whip his girl in public...maybe its a punishment, or she wants it. Whatever. Details are seldom announced. Just watch."

A tall well-built blind-folded and gagged woman was pulled force- fully and with obvious reluctance onto the lighted stage by two black- clad men. She was nude except for ankle and wrist cuffs. Lavender felt her loins grow warm.

The woman's wrists were attached to snaps on chains lowered from above. Her ankles were spread wide and attached to bolts on the floor. There was a hum of an electric motor and the woman was hoisted several inches from the stage floor, her arms and legs forty-five degrees from the vertical, her wide-spread feet dancing on air. A light black cotton hood was placed over her head. Lavender noticed that the woman's pubic hair had been shaved. Her slit gaped slightly, a moist pink against the white of her mons and inner thighs.

One of the men picked up a whip made up of six leather thongs about twenty-four inches long attached to a cherrywood handle. Experi- mentally he slashed it through the air. Lavender cringed. Shwish! He lashed it through the air again. The room hushed with expectation. Without giving any warning the man half-turned and with a powerful back-hand that started on the opposite side of his body delivered a slashing fiery leather kiss to the women's breasts. Lavender heard a loud muffled scream from behind the gag and the woman's muscles clenched and her body shook with her struggles against her restraints. Without missing a step he brought his arm up then in a big looping circle down and up again delivering the thongs up inside those wide- spread thighs. Lavender could see the woman's muscles knotting with effort as she writhed in the full light of the clubs two spot-lights. The man put down the whip and stood to one side.

The MC stepped forward holding a mike. "We are privileged to- night to have one of the premier Master's of the whip with us tonight. Mr. Maxwell Durham, from Wichita, Kansas! He has agreed to give us a demonstration of his skill and the Master of this woman has graciously agreed to letting Max use her for the demonstration. The club name of the woman to be punished is Jasmine."

Tom whispered in Lavender's ear. "I've heard of this guy. They say he's the best." The best at what? She wondered. Almost as if he had read her mind, Tom whispered, "He can hit whatever he aims at...and he knows what to aim at..."

Durham came out dressed in black right down to his cowboy boots. In his hand he held a nine foot bull-whip. He flicked his wrist and Lavender almost jumped out of her chair at the loud CRACK! of the whip.

Durham spoke into the mike. His voice was deep and melodious. "I just wanted to get your attention folks." He chuckled then turned serious. "I want all you folks to know that whipping a woman is a very special thing...and whipping a beautiful woman bound open this way is a very very special responsibility. Unless you are pretty good with a bull-whip, you should never try what I will try tonight. Also this whip has a soft tip. It makes a loud noise and hurts like hell if it lands right but it will seldom cut the skin." Durham clipped the lapel mike to his shirt. He walked in front of the suspended Jasmine.

He took a small bar napkin from his pocket. "Now many of you people think that if they whip a woman on her pussy, it will get her attention?" There were a number of assenting yells from the audience. Durham tucked the napkin into the suspended woman's open vagina turn- ing to the audience and grinning as he did so, making a great show of it and taking extra liberties with his hard hands. He made sure the white tissue paper was secure. The he stepped back. All noise in the room quieted until Lavender could hear Jasmine's ragged breathing through her nose. Durham stepped back almost to the edge of the stage... his arm moved almost casually.

CRACK! The whip licked out and shredded napkin exploded from between the woman's legs. There was a very loud whine from behind the gag as well as a frantically violent struggle against those relentless chains. "And you are right!" Durham chuckled at a small round of applause. "And it is fun, of course. But there are other very effec- tive places to whip a woman. Let me show you a few." He held up a paper with white label pressure sensitive squares on it. "There are places with lots of potential and lots of nerves...which means pain. What I'm going to do is use these tape-labels to mark the spots...and then I will remove the labels in my own special way." There was a titter from the audience. Lavender was surprised that she herself laughing. She imagined herself up there...and the idea was exciting but she was glad she was not really about to be whipped by this ex- pert.

Durham placed small reflective-white label squares on the out- sides of her breasts, her nipples, under her nipples, in her arm pits, the insides of Jasmine's thighs, the backs of her thighs and the backs of her knees. He held up about ten or more additional squares. "Where should I put these?" He asked. There were many suggestions shouted from the audience but Durham reached down and pointed to a woman dressed in a white toga like Lavender's. "Come on up an put these on her." He told the masked girl. Her escort gave her a sign and she extended her hand to Durham who helped her climb up on the stage. Lavender noticed the flash of a bare cunt as the girl climbed up.

The girl placed labels on the underside of the suspended woman's breasts, surrounded her nipples with labels and put the last four squares on the insides of her defenseless pussy lips. The girl grinned under her mask as she climbed down. Durham turned to the audience. "That is a nasty lady." He said. There was a general round of laughing agreement. "There are thirty-six targets on this beautiful spread-eagled body... and I do love to whip a big girl." He looked directly at Lavender. "Aren't you glad it's not you up here?" He asked. Lavender nodded affirmatively. To be spread like that! Oh My!

"It is important not to go to slow or too fast. I like a nice even pace. At ten to fifteen seconds apart, thirty-six targets are six to nine minutes work. However, Jasmine's master has told me that her transgression is a particularly bad one. So I have decided to demonstrate a technique I very seldom perform...and it is an honor for me to do it for you tonight. For each target I will also give our beautiful Jasmine a 'LINE OF FIRE!!!' just above or below each target." Durham cleared his throat. "I should explain that a "Line of Fire" is a particularly painful lash of the whip using the end twelve inches of the whip or less...but not just the tip. Quite often, I am told, that tip whipping just catches the target without striking any flesh. You get a spectacular disintegration of the target...but the flesh remains untouched."

Durham grinned out over the audience. "I shouldn't be giving away such secrets, I suppose." The was a tittering from the audience. "Anyway...the "Line of Fire" has no such problem. Each lash will create an impression on our dear Jasmine, I assure you. The welts will be hot and, in a very short time, quite rosy. Our Jasmine is about to experience what few will ever experience...and you will witness her fifteen minute ordeal. Well, let's proceed!." There was a scattering of applause. Linda thought she heard a whimper from Jas- mine but wasn't sure.

There was a drum-roll and then... CRACK! The tip of the whip licked out too quickly to be seen but a white target that had been stuck to Jasmine's left nipple floated to the ground in shreds. It was then that Jasmine's gyrations really began. The sound of muffled screaming was continuous. "The flesh did not escape the whip that time." Durham observed, his words amplified by the lapel mike. Lavender watched with fascination.

Drum-roll...Crack! Jasmine redoubled her struggles frantically twisting and pulling her knees up as far as she could. Linda heard the mewing sound coming from Jasmine as she violently twisted her body to the left and then right....attempting to close her legs... then sagging in defeat. A pink welt just under Jasmine's left nipple turned darker as Lavender watched.

"Please notice, ladies and gentlemen, that last lash used just the last four inches of the whip." Durham's voice sounded very pleased. Lavender was profoundly impressed with his skill.

Drum-roll....Crack! Drum-roll.....Crack! After about six minutes Durham paused and turned to the audience putting his fingers to his lips. Jasmine's open position displayed many splotchy hot angry welts. He approached Jasmine's suspended body and, without touching her he pointed to the four pieces of label stuck on the inside of Jasmine's pussy lips and just peeking out. He moved back into posi- tion and stood quietly until the entire room was quiet.

Durham's arm raised and he moved like a cat. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! In rapid succession the whip lashed out, all six fiery kisses of the whip tip tearing at Jasmine's cunt before the first shred of the paper label hit the stage floor. Jasmine's body went wild in reaction to the sudden agonizing explosions of pain in her pussy. Durham turned and bowed at the explosion of applause from an appreciative audience.

If the first six minutes were artistry, Lavender knew that last ten minutes were a fascinating study in observing sexual pain ...and ten minutes of hell for the woman in chains. Durham was not perfect. Toward the end it took him seven tries to get three pieces of label from the inside of her right thigh.

During the intermission, Jasmine was left as she was. Tom in- sisted that Lavender come up on stage and inspect her at close range. Lavender ran her fingers lightly over the hot welts on Jasmine's slim thighs and wondered at her swollen labia. Rather indignant demanding sounds were coming from under the hood so Lavender concluded that Jasmine would be very very sore but not other wise injured.