Summer at Pond Cove Ch. 07

"Besides," I continued, "it will just end up smeared all over my face."

"That's the whole point," holly replied. "Mascara- especially the cheap stuff like this- will run when you cry. You end up with big dark splotches running down your face... or whatever."

"I don't get it," I said.

"How else," she continued, "can the audience know that you are actually crying and not just yelling in pleasure?"

"Oh," I said. Then it hit me. "Are we going to be on stage tonight?"

Holly laughed. "We will be part of the featured entertainment," she said, continuing to laugh. "I wonder what they have in mind for tonight?"

I was going to ask holly more about the club, but Mistress Gloria shouted from the other room, "Are you two ready yet?"

"Sorry, Mistress," holly replied, "but walter has never used makeup before and I had to put it on him."

"I want you dressed and ready in two minutes," Mistress Gloria replied. She didn't sound angry, but she did sound upset.

Holly and I hurried to finish. It wasn't until holly pulled a black dress-like cape over herself that I realized what I was supposed to wear.

"Am I supposed to wear a dress in public?" I asked. I think my panic showed in my voice.

"Not exactly," holly replied as she picked up our masks from the mattress. She quickly put hers on, then turned around and said, "Zip me."

There was a zipper down the back of the mask. I pulled it into place and she turned back around to face me. The mask was white leather of some sort. On the top of her forehead, the number 173 was branded into the leather. It appeared as a dark brown against the white. All that showed of her face were her eyes and mouth.

She held up my mask. It was identical, except that my number was 341. Reaching up slightly, she slipped it carefully over my head and then said curtly, "Turn around." I did and she zipped the mask closed in the back. It fit very closely against my skin and came under my chin and fit close against my neck. There was no way it would accidentally come off.

While I was still facing away from her, holly slipped the black coverup over me. I don't care what you call it, it was a dress. I thought for a moment about arguing about it. Then realized that my face was totally concealed, and with the makeup on my eyes and lips, I probably looked like a girl anyway. I gave a deep sigh and said, "Let's go." We made it out to the living room with just a few seconds to spare.

Puddy tat and tracy were already in the living room. They were kneeling in the at ease position so I was able to see their masks as I scampered into the room. Puddy tat was 203 and Tracy was 359. I was surprised at first that tracy's number was larger than mine, but then I realized that they must have ordered my mask before tracy fell from Mistress to slave.

"Time to get going," Mistress Sam said almost angrily. "We are running late."

Mistress Sam has this van that is outfitted as a camper. We all piled into the back, except Sam. She got into the driver's seat. She was dressed in a dark pantsuit of some sort. Mistress Gloria and Mistress Cheryl were dressed in black leather. Mistress Gloria was wearing a full catsuit. Mistress Cheryl was wearing what looked like a leather one-piece swimsuit with dark, fishnet stockings. The black thread of the fishnets really didn't show against Mistress Cheryl's black skin, but they were very tight and created a diamond pattern that did show. Both Mistress Cheryl and Mistress Gloria were wearing full masks very similar to what holly and I were wearing except that they were black. The numbers on their masks were imprinted in gold. Mistress Gloria was number 011. Mistress Cheryl was number 219.

It took us about forty-five minutes to drive into town. We pulled into an underground parking garage and Mistress Sam said, "Our ride's already here."

There was a small bus sitting in one of the parking places. It pulled out and she pulled in, then we all transferred to the bus. Mistress Sam took a few minutes in the back of the van to change into her leathers for the night. When she came out of the van, she was wearing a leather catsuit similar to Mistress Gloria's. As fast as she had changed, I think she had it on under the pantsuit. She was also now wearing a black mask. Her number was 009.

"What's going on?" I asked holly once we were sitting in the back of the bus.

"Secrecy," she whispered back. "No one is supposed to know who any of the other members are."

"Quiet in the back," Mistress Sam barked, so I didn't ask anything else.

The windows were very darkly-tinted, so I couldn't tell where we were going, but we rode for an hour or more in silence. It wasn't until much later that I found out that the whole name for the club is The After Hours Social Club and it is located way out in the middle of the woods about fifty miles from town. It used to be some super-secret government installation. Once I knew where it was, I looked it up on a network map program. There is only one road leading out for miles through the trees to get there. I even used the satellite view, but all I could see was trees... except there were these strange square paths cut in the trees all around the house. Zooming in closer, I could see that those cut areas were actually fences, one inside the other. There were four of them. The last one was strange-looking. It was smooth wire on slanted wooden poles. The house itself was blurred out with a little message that said, "Restricted Area, do not enter. Lethal force authorized." That was all left over from when the government owned it... I think. Mistress said that some really powerful people were members.

Like I said, I found out all of that later. That night, all I could see through the tinted windows was blackness. Once we got away from the lights of town there was nothing. As far as I knew as we were driving out there, we could have been on the dark side of the moon. Then, looking up through the front of the bus, I could see some lights up ahead. We pulled up to a large covered portico and the bus driver opened the doors. "Masters and Mistresses first!" she said gruffly.

Mistress Sam was the first to get off the bus. I heard someone- a man- call out, "Mistress Nine! What a pleasure to have you with us tonight."

Then the same voice continued a little less loudly, "Mistress Eleven, Mistress Two Nineteen, welcome to the club."

He then added, "I understand your slaves will be part of the entertainment tonight."

I looked over at holly. She just shrugged her shoulders and pushed me toward the door. As I stepped down from the bus, I could see that there was a uniformed doorman standing with the Mistresses. His uniform looked like he could have been standing in front of any major hotel or apartment building, but his head was covered with a gray mask. I noted that there was no number on the forehead of the mask. Instead, there was a nametag on his uniform which said, "Max."

Neither Max nor the Mistresses paid any attention to us as we got off the bus. Instead, a man and a woman in what looked like bell hop uniforms hurried over to us. Both had gray masks over their heads. The nametag on the man said, "Bad." The nametag on the woman said, "Worse."

Bad said roughly. "Take off your covers and follow me."

We followed him to a side door and down a long hallway. Worse followed behind us. At the end of the hallway was what looked like a narrow cloakroom with clothing hooks on the walls. There was a small white board above each of the hooks.

"Find your number and hang up your covers," he growled, "then follow Worse."

I leaned over to holly and whispered, "We just went from Bad to Worse."

I expected her to at least smile, but instead she leaned close to me and whispered, "That's not a joke. That's the truth."

She smiled when my eyes went wide beneath my mask.

Worse led us down another long hallway into a fairly dark room with some really strange machines in it. They were huge and looked like giant wire mesh wheels. Worse opened a door on the side of one of them and pushed me inside. She then strapped my hands to the center axle of the wheel and attached stick-on electrodes to my chest right over my nipples. When I whimpered slightly she said very curtly, "You've got it easy. The girls have weighted nipple clamp electrodes."

There was also a small computer screen attached to the center that showed six vertical bars labeled one through six.

"You're number three," Worse said sharply. She tapped my hands and the electrodes on my chest. "The power of the pulses depends on your place in the race," she added. "First place gets level one pulses; second gets level two; and so forth."

She then got out of the wheel and pushed holly into the wheel next to me. She was strapped in the same way I was... except for the nipple clamp electrodes. Puddy tat eventually ended up on the other side of me. I never knew where tracy ended up or who the other two were in the wheels, but after about a half-hour or so standing there in the dark, a curtain opened in front of us and I was suddenly blinded by very bright spotlights.

A very tall, very thin man in a tuxedo- and, of course, a gray mask- stepped out onto the front of the stage. "For your entertainment tonight," he called out in a very smooth, almost singing voice, "our first presentation shall be a hamster race."

He waited while the spotlights flashed back and forth across the six of us. "Remember," he continued, "this is a timed race. It will last for fifteen minutes. That means there are two classes of betting. One is to bet on who finished in first place... and second... and third. The other bet is to guess how far the winner ran before the end of the race." He paused and then added, "There are, of course, some specialized bids for the more adventurous among us tonight, but you can see all those posted at the betting windows." He pointed over to a side wall.

"Or," he said, turning back to fully face the audience and pointing to a naked young woman walking between the tables, "you can check the bet sheets hanging from the tits of the in-house runners who will carry your bets to the windows."

He stepped over to the first wheel and said, "Each wheel is eight feet in diameter, so each rotation of the wheel is approximately twenty-five feet. That means it takes two hundred ten rotations to make a mile."

He laughed a very deep laugh. "For those of you who want to just watch the hamsters jump and twitch, eight pulses are delivered during each rotation. That means for every mile, there will be over sixteen hundred pulses."

I was pulling at the restraints holding me to the center axle, but it was useless. There was no way I could escape. I was strapped to some sort of tube so that my hands could slip as the wheel rotated, but I was held fast. The display was also attached to a tube with a big weight, possibly its battery pack, sticking down below and keeping it upright. I looked over at holly. She was all calm, taking deep breaths, relaxing herself like she was about to go out for an evening run.

"Just so our hamsters have the proper motivation," the emcee crooned out, "this is a level one pulse."

I jumped slightly as I felt a mild shock go through my hands and feet.

"And this is level three," he said.

I twitched even harder. This time I felt the shock all the way through my body, especially around my nipples.

"And this is a level six pulse," he said. His voice was very firm and didn't sound at all musical.

I yelped as my entire body went stiff. I felt water on my feet and legs as I lost control of my bladder.

"Of course," the emcee said with a slight laugh, "if the hamster is running, the shock is nowhere near as severe."

He then turned to us and said, "While the bets are being placed, it would be best if you kept walking so your muscles are warmed up for the race." He chuckled slightly and added, "the computer controller is set to warmup so the pulses will be locked at level one until the start of the race."

I really wanted to say "Thanks a lot" in a real snarky voice, but I knew that would embarrass my Mistress so I said nothing. Instead, I started walking slowly. Every two or three steps I felt a slight tingle on my hands and feet. I tried timing it and skipping up just as the pulse was about to occur, but I ended up almost being dragged around by the wheel.

Everyone laughed as I struggled to get back on my feet properly and start walking again. The emcee came up to my wheel and said harshly, "Try that again slave three-four-one and your wheel will be set at level six for the whole race." I figured it was best to not reply, but just keep walking.

We kept walking for at least fifteen minutes. After a while, I barely noticed the shocks at all. Then there was a loud "Thunk!" and all the wheels stopped turning.

"Are you ready for a race?" the emcee asked the audience. They responded with cheers and shouts.

He then turned to face us and said loudly, "Three... two... one... RACE!"

I started running as fast as I could and to my amazement, the screen in front of me said I was in first place. My joy quickly evaporated, however, as I realized that I was running full out and couldn't keep up that pace for very long- definitely not for fifteen minutes. I slowed down to a pace I could maintain. As I slowed, I fell back to second, and then third, and then fourth place.

With each position I lost, the pulses became stronger. I again tried to time things so that I might get both feet in the air at the same time during a pulse, but all that did was cause me to stumble slightly. By the time I got back to running properly, I was in sixth place.

I tried for a burst of speed and made it back up to fourth place. Then I decided that if I pushed myself up on the axle bar and got both feet off the wheel, I would get a short respite from the shocks.

That was REALLY the wrong thing to do. Evidently, the very center of the axle bar where the display sits is somehow connected to the wheel itself, so the next time the pulse hit, my feet were off the wheel, but my groin was against the axle bar.

I screamed, dropped my feet back onto the wheel, stumbled, and then got back to running. I could hear people laughing at me. I could also see through the wire of the wheel that several people were pointing at me. I didn't think it was funny and besides, I was back in sixth place.

I knew I couldn't win, but I wasn't going to lose. I forced myself to speed up and kept pushing myself until I was in third place. Then I concentrated on staying at that pace. My lungs were on fire and my whole body hurt. I decided that if I went into the pain like I did when Mistress Gloria was punishing me I might be able to keep running at that pace.

I thought it was working, but then I heard a loud bell and my wheel started slowing down real hard like someone was applying a brake. I looked down at the computer screen and it was flashing a final order. Even though I had kept running at the same pace, everyone else had sped up as we approached the end of the race. I had finished dead last.

They took us out of the wheels and brought us out into the audience to be with our Mistresses. I immediately knelt down in front of Mistress Gloria with my forehead flat on the floor. "I'm sorry, Mistress," I wailed out. "I failed you."

"Don't worry three-four-one," she said with a laugh, "you made me quite a bit of money."

I looked up at her in shock.

"I've seen you run," she said, still smiling, "and I knew you couldn't run for shit." Her face hardened and her voice became rough as she continued, "And I knew that despite now being a slave, 359 is as competitive as hell. So, I did a first-last bet. Everyone thought that because she was a degraded Mistress, she wouldn't try. And they thought that because you were a male, you would run faster... or at least wouldn't lose " She laughed slightly again before saying, "I knew better."

I knelt there with my head down as the emcee said with great enthusiasm, "Our winning hamster this evening was slave three-five-nine." He then lowered his voice "And our loser was the wimp, sissy slave, three-four-one." He voice then became very contemptuous as he practically spat out, "If it were up to me, I would make him the club's slave zero."

"But it's not up to you," Mistress Gloria said loudly and firmly. "He is my slave; he is loyal to me; and he is an important part of my slave network."

I looked over at holly and mouthed, "Slave network?"

She giggled silently and mouthed back, "You keep me happy and I keep the Mistress happy."

There was a loud snap and both holly and I looked up at our Mistress. She was glaring down at us and holding her hand like she had just snapped her fingers.

She smiled a very cold smile at us both and said, "And they will both do much better in the beautiful butt contest."

She watched as holly gasped and I looked back at her wide-eyed, not knowing what she meant.

"I wasn't going to enter them," she said evenly, "but they have just displeased me and I will enjoy seeing their beautiful butts displayed for everyone's amusement."

Actually, it was called, "The Cutest Ass Contest," and like about everything else at the club, there were six contestants. I have no idea who the others were... except holly. But I didn't even know which one she was because I couldn't see anything once they got me prepared. When we went backstage, Mistress Gloria was leading holly and Mistress Sam was leading me. They had attached leashes to our collars just to add to the humiliation.

Mistress Sam strapped me into this really strange-looking thing with a lot of padded shelves. I'm not exactly sure how it worked, but I ended up strapped over one of the shelves with my knees on another and my arms crossed above my head on another. Then they cranked a bunch of handles and turned me almost upside down so that my ass was really high in the air.

At that point, Mistress Sam said, "Time to add a little decoration to help you win."

She came around in front of me and showed me four paddles. One had really sharp ridges on it that stuck up almost an half-inch from the paddle itself. Those ridges would really cut and bruise your ass. The second was divided long-ways into three segments. The center segment was leather while the outer two segments were wood. The center segment was slightly longer and had little pyramid-shaped metal things near the end of the leather. Evidently the wood would hit first and then the leather with the metal. That one would really tear up your ass. The third paddle had holes of various sizes drilled through it. The smallest was about a quarter inch. The largest was at least two inches. Those holes would cause welts and blisters with every swat. The fourth paddle had a heart carved into it. It wasn't quite a hole because it was only cut about half way through the wood. Mistress Sam flipped that one over so I could see that there were two smaller hearts carved into the other side.

"Which one should I use?" she asked aloud.

I thought she was just thinking to herself and didn't say anything. Then she slapped me with her hand, low on my thigh.

"They all will hurt," I said quickly.

"They're supposed to hurt," she replied curtly. "Which one do you think I should use?"

I was thinking fast. "If my ass is supposed to look cute," I answered, "then you shouldn't use any of the first three. They would make me all bruised and bloody."

"So you WANT me to use this one?" she said, holding the heart paddle up in front of me.

"Y.. Y.. Yes," I sputtered back.

"Say it!" she hissed in almost a whisper.

"I want you to use the heart paddle on me to make my ass look beautiful," I said quickly.

"Good," she answered with a smile, "because the rules of the contest say that we can only whip your ass for display if you want it."