Chapter Twelve: Bastille Day
On the way home, Rachel stopped by Coastal Uniform supply to order a gift for Sara, and then proceeded back to her apartment. It was almost 7:00 when she arrived home. Sara was still in Art lab until 7:30, so Rachel hit the treadmill trying to burn off her excess energy since she didn't plan on using it tonight.
Sara got home early, around 7:15, while Rachel was still running. Rachel couldn't hear the door over the sound of her pounding feet and the whine of the treadmill, so she was startled when Sara walked in barefoot, wearing beige capris, a curve hugging, lemon yellow sweater and her Kitten collar. Her surprise almost caused her a slip on the treadmill but she recovered and turned the machine off. Sara made an alarmed face when Rachel started to slip, but smiled widely as she retained her balance. "Yay!" She cheered as Rachel dismounted the treadmill.
"Welcome home Kitten," Rachel said, meeting Sara in the center of the room. Rachel was wearing a workout outfit which was wet with sweat, so she tried to keep her distance and give Sara a peck on the mouth but the girl was having none of it. She grabbed Rachel's waist, beneath the bottom of her sports halter and pulled her into an embrace. She looked up at Rachel, sticking her lips out comically, clearly expecting a bigger smooch. Rachel acquiesced and kissed the girl forcefully.
"Mmmmmmm" Sara purred. As they kissed Sara began to run her hand along Rachel's taut, exposed, belly. After their lips parted, Sara looked down at Rachel's stomach and said "looks like you've been working hard." She leaned in and laid a soft kiss at the top of Rachel's sternum while still running her hands over her lover's tummy and hips.
"What are you up to Kitten?" Rachel asked, as Sara began to move her head down.
"Oh, I don't know," the girl said idly as she began to plant little kisses all over Rachel's ripped stomach, "You just look so sexy, when you've been working out.". Now Sara was applying little licks to Rachel's abs and naval. "You're all sweaty, and warm" she said between licks.
If Rachel was going to stick to the plan, she had to nip this in the bud. Any more of this, her self control would crumble, and she'd have to jump the girl right then and there. "Whoa, hold on there Kitten." Rachel said, regret dripping from every syllable.
Sara looked up from Rachel's abdomen and said "You don't like?" innocently.
"No, no, Kitten, I like very much, it's just that I don't think we should tonight." Rachel said.
"Oh."Sara said, disappointed, "Why not?"
"Well, Kitten, I think we should save at least a little of that kind of energy for tomorrow." Rachel answered.
"Why." the girl asked again, "what's going on tomorrow?".
"We are going to Bastille." Rachel answered.
"We are?, Oh, cool!" Sara exclaimed, clapping her hands together in front of her ample chest.
"So you are going to have to behave yourself tonight. And do your girlfriend a favor, try not to wear anything sexy to bed, OK?" Rachel teased.
Yes ma'am," Sara snapped immediately, smiling, "I'll go put on the baggiest sweats I have right now!" the ditz saluted and bounded out of the room, presumably to change clothes.
"Shit," Rachel thought, "Like you wouldn't want to do her if she was wearing a fucking barrel.".
Sara was as good as her word, changing out of her tight sweater and onto a baggie Ambercrombie hoodie and sweats, but she was still to damn cute so Rachel suggested they go out to eat, lest she be tempted to assault the girl over dinner. Rachel had dressed down as well, so they decided just to go to a sandwich shack near the campus.
They ordered from the resident sandwich artists and ate sitting next to one another at a small table on the corner of the restaurant. When they were halfway done, a gaggle of tanned, day-glow college girls herded into the sandwich shop. They were laughing noisily, as they stared at the menu.
"Oh, God." Sara said with annoyance.
"Friends of yours?" Rachel asked.
"Sort of" she said, "A couple of them are in my sorority."
Rachel had never actually discussed Sara's sorority life with her, mostly because it disinterested her, but also because, like the topic of Sara's family, she doubted the girl had yet to grasp the implications of the change she was making in her life. Prancing around Rachel's work as her girlfriend and shouting anonymously from a balcony were one thing, but having that conversation with peers and family could be a whole other matter. Rachel knew she couldn't blame the girl if she wanted to sneak out or play it off like the two of them were merely friends.
One of them, the tallest, tannest, banana in the bunch, looked over and saw the couple in the corner and sauntered over. "Hey, there you are sweetie! We haven't seen you in over a week, you missed house meeting on Tuesday? Is everything OK." She said, disingenuously, Rachel felt.
"Yeah Mariah," Sara said, sounding tired. I've just got a lot of other stuff going on right now, I kinda need to take a break from the whole deal for a little bit.".
Mariah looked as though Sara has said she was taking a break from their church. "Um, OK, I guess." She said, and then she cast her glance at Rachel. "So who's your friend?" the obnoxious girl said, "Introduce us.".
Rachel felt genuinely bad for Sara. Even though Rachel hoped that their relationship meant as much to Sara as it did to her, she knew that, after the tumult of the past 8 days, she really didn't deserve this headache. She was about to introduce herself as Rachel, the casual friend when Sara spoke.
"Mariah Hannsen, this is my girlfriend, Rachel Vancourt. Rachel, this is Mariah."
Rachel couldn't believe it. Sara didn't lie, she really didn't even hesitate, she didn't stutter. She just looked that stuck up bitch right in the eye and said it. She instantly felt guilty about her hesitation to do the same in front of Mrs. Hart that past Monday.
"Girlfriend or girlfriend?" Mariah asked, her bitchy eyebrow cocked at a bitchy angle.
"What do you think?" Sara said sweetly, and then she threw her arm around Rachel's shoulder and surprised her completely with a loud kiss on the cheek.
"Oh," Mariah sounded like she had stepped in something, "I can't believe he was telling the truth.".
"Who, Mariah? What are you talking about" Sara asked, the tired tone returned to her voice.
"Kaylin was talking to Tab the other day and he said you and him got in a huge fight and then some les...some woman tried to attack him at your apartment." Mariah chided.
As long as this conversation had stayed between Sara and Mariah, Rachel told herself that she would most likely stay out of it, no matter how bitchy it got. Now though, if this bitch thought she was going to drag Rachel into the conversation, and worse, bring up that asshole Tab, then that changed everything. Still, she doubted putting the bitch in a much deserved choke hold would do a lot to uncomplicate Sara's life. Instead, she smiled nicely and said, as sweet as could be, "It's nice to meet you Mariah. So, I guess if you talked to Tab, you saw his face right?" Rachel kept on smiling her sweet smile from her beautiful, unmarked face as the haughty grin fell away from Mariah's. "So I guess he told you then about how I get when I think people are being disrespectful to Sara?" she finished, still smiling and sounding for all the world like she was still having a friendly chat. She heard Sara stifle a small giggle.
Mariah looked at Rachel and started to open her mouth. The smile never left Rachel's lips but there was a hard, sharp look behind her eyes, like rusted iron. The girl shut her hole, gave another glance at Sara, but decided that she just wasn't brave enough to talk any more shit. She clucked her tongue once, turned and strode back to her flock.
Sara giggled quietly and said, "Ooooh she was pissssed.".
As the flock of bimbos ordered their sandwiches (to go thank you very much), Sara watched them, and, every time one of them looked over, she would put her arm around Rachel or put her head on the older woman's shoulder. They finished eating and busing their table just as the last of the sorority girls' orders came up. The couple walked out just ahead of them, Sara leaning into Rachel, Rachel's hand in the small of her back. As they exited, Sara reached back and pushed Rachel's hand down to her rounded bottom.
After a hundred yards or so, Sara began to laugh loudly. "That was fun." she laughed, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, "You're my hero, Rach'." she said.
"No, Kitten, you're my hero." Rachel said seriously. "I'm ashamed to say this, but I wasn't sure you could do what you just did, I mean, in front of your friends like that.".
"Jeez, Rach'," Sara said sarcastically, "I already shouted it from the rooftops, what more do you want?".
Rachel reached out and brushed a strand of gold hair from Sara's forehead. "You are strong Kitten, so strong. Don't ever forget that.".
"Oh, it's a lot easier to be so strong when I get to stand next to you." Sarah said softly.
"I don't deserve you Kitten." Rachel said with a sigh.
"Probably not," Sara nodded in agreement, "but you're stuck with me anyway." They walked the rest of the way home, hand in hand, not speaking, just enjoying the company.
Back at the apartment, they decided to watch another movie. This time, it was To Catch a Thief. If there was a bad Cary Grant movie, Rachel hadn't seen it. A few minutes in; Sara started making fun of the star's admittedly cheesy European holiday outfit, Rachel called her a philistine, Sara then insisted that she was, in fact, a California native and they both started laughing, and then gave up and made out under a blanket on the couch. During the rooftop scene in the climax, Sara tried to give her attention back to the movie, but she was hopelessly lost, so she want back to Rachel's warm arms and wet mouth until the credits rolled. Once again, Rachel basked in the satisfaction the she took from the girl's company, even just being close with her like that brought her a kind of fulfillment that a hundred legendary club nights couldn't bring. The went to bed, for the first time in a week, without sex, but still deeply satisfied.
Once again, Rachel rose first and initiated the morning routing. During their shower, Sara started asking questions about the club and what she was to expect. Rachel put her questions off, saying that there were too many things to explain in the time she had that morning. Rachel promised that when she returned that evening, she would tell Sara everything she needed to know.
Sara only had one class on Friday and it wasn't until 2:00, so she decided to forgo breakfast and crawl back under the warm covers, her hair still wet, until some undisclosed point in the future. Rachel dressed, and kissed the damp mass of hair on top of Sara's head, the only part not covered by the bed's thick comforter. "See you tonight Kitten.".
"Can't wait" came the muffled reply.
Rachel decided to skip breakfast and head in early, hoping it might get her back sooner as well. She grabbed a coffee and a cereal bar from the kitchen and headed to the car. By leaving early, she beat a little of the traffic and managed to shave even more time from her morning routine. By the time she got into the office, she would have even beaten Mrs. Hart, had she not already given her the day off. It seemed that the idea of an unofficial three-day weekend had spread throughout the office. Three of Rachel's people were out on "sick" or personal time and every other department on her floor was similarly decimated. Most of the top floor was absent as well, which, for them, was par for the course for a Friday anyway.
Rachel had an amazingly productive morning, finding the empty office ideal for getting done all the little tasks she had been putting off. Rachel often procrastinated or delegated to Mrs. H., things like printing off back-up hard copies or posting event schedules in the bullpen, due to her general distaste for meaningless social interactions. Regardless the reason, Rachel was a dynamo that morning. She worked through lunch and found that, by 2:00, she was just creating work for herself. "Hell with it," she decided. She would take the afternoon to go buy a new outfit for Sara, something perfect that she could put on her perfect girl, for her debut at Bastille.
She first drove back to Coastal Uniform supply to pick up the gift she ordered for Sara yesterday. She stashed it in the trunk of the car; it needed a modification before she could give it to the girl. She then headed for The Genie's Bottle, a lingerie store that carried light fetish attire, costumes and lots of good, old fashioned, slutty lingerie. She began browsing carefully. She was bringing Sara to Bastille as a lamb and that meant her wardrobe selection was very important. Rachel found a cute, white, collared,button down, half shirt and a little white and pink beaded schoolgirl tie along with a matching, short, white and pink patterned tartan skirt. With her clothing picked out, Rachel moved on to choosing appropriate lingerie. Although she wanted something that suited Sara's taste, she also had to maintain on overall look of faux innocence if the girl was to be treated as a lamb.
She chose a white microfiber bustier with rose pink panels along the sides, complete with attachable garters. She picked out a tiny matching thong and some white thigh highs to complete the look. Rachel realized, with some guilt, that she didn't know the girl's shoe size. She decided to hope that Sara had some appropriate footwear at home, paid for her purchases and headed for home.
She beat Sara home by nearly an hour. Rachel took a brief run on the treadmill and then called Renee to finalize their arrangements for the evening. They decided to meet in the foyer at 11:30 to make introductions before heading into the club. After she hung up with Renee, she heard the click of the key in the lock. Sara skipped into the apartment, and, upon seeing Rachel, she cheered "Yay, you're home already!". She took a running leap and jumped into Rachel's arms, giggling madly. Rachel took the unexpected weight easily using the exuberant girl's momentum to spin around, hugging her tightly. Sara briefly threw her legs around Rachel's waist and kissed her quickly, but loudly on the mouth. She hopped down, looked at Rachel sweetly and said "Hi."
"Hi" Rachel said.
"Be right back." Sara said, skipping off. When she returned, she was once again, wearing her Kitten collar.
They puttered around the apartment for a few hours, both sensing the unspoken build up of anticipation. After dinner, Rachel said it was time to talk. She mixed Sara a strong Sapphire Tonic and one for herself, and sat the girl down on the couch.
"Okay Kitten," Rachel began "First things first, everything I tell you about Bastille absolutely must stay between us, the things that go on inside are never, ever to be discussed with non-members, do you understand Kitten?"
"The first rule of Fuck Club is, you don't talk about Fuck Club" Sara said, snorting with laughter.
Rachel looked at her quizzically.
"No? Nothing?" Sara said, "Never mind, sorry. Go on." Sara said, shaking her head sadly. It was such a pity that Rachel sometimes couldn't appreciate how hilarious she was.
"I'm not fucking around here Kitten," Rachel said, seriously. "There are a lot of really important people that are members of this club. They go there expecting not to have their business in the streets and if you can't respect that, than I can't take you there.".
"I understand Rach'," Sara said. "My lips are sealed, and no more jokes."
Rachel could see that the girl was sincere. "Anyway," she began again, "one of the reasons this club is so strict about secrecy is that, well, basically it's completely illegal. Everybody knows there are fetish clubs and dungeons all over L.A., but they all have to adhere to city health codes which strictly forbid any kind of sexual gratification. This club doesn't pay much attention to city codes though. It doesn't hurt that, over the years, city councilmen, state assemblymen, police lieutenants and judges have been among the dues paying members, although rumor is, members in those type of professions get substantial discounts on the annuals. In any event, there will be sex going on in this club, and likely lots of it. All different kinds with every imaginable combination of partners. There will be some S&M, sometimes couples or groups get up on stage and perform, the disco room usually has an pretty big orgy happening...."
Sara had been listening intently, her eyes getting wider as Rachel started talking about the activities she could expect, but at this point she interrupted, "Disco room?".
"Oh, that's just what Renee and I call it, you'll have to see it." Rachel said, offhandedly.
"Tell me about Renee." Sara said suddenly.
Rachel explained her friendship with Renee, and told her that she would be looking out for Sara while Rachel was putting on a show for her.
"Um, so, did you and Renee, um, ever..."Sara said shyly.
"No, no Kitten. We're more like,um, tag team partners. Neither of us buys what the other is selling, but when we work together, we can sell sand to an Egyptian."
Thus placated, Sara allowed Rachel to continue. "Now, another thing you should know is that, for the most part, Bastille members are really just rich sexual dilettantes, lightweights basically. The club frowns on the really heavy stuff that some way-underground clubs trade in. There's a dungeon with some restraints, a pillory and the like but you won't see anything hard core, breaking the skin intentionally is highly frowned upon so no cutting or piercing, no electricity and nothing hotter than candle wax."
"Um, that's good, I guess." Sara said, anxiety mixing now with her anticipation.
"Don't worry, Kitten, you probably won't see anything that you wouldn't see in a pretty vanilla porno movie." Rachel said.
"Um, I don't actually watch a lot of porn Rach'." Sara replied, giggling in spite of herself.
"Neither do I Kitten, that's why I go to the club." Rachel said, a suggestive smile on her face.
"Another thing, " Rachel added, "there are more than a few celebrities who are members, you'll see a lot of people in masks, and disguises. Everyone goes by aliases, it's considered extremely rude to acknowledge anyone by their life outside the club, so no gawking or autograph seeking, Got it?"
"Seriously?" Sara said in disbelief, "OK, I promise."
"Now tonight, you are going as my lamb." Rachel explained. "Some members, such as Renee and myself, are allowed to bring one or two guests with us to the club. A guest dressed in white is considered a lamb. Lambs are basically thought of as the property of the member that brought them. No one will talk to you or even approach you without first asking my permission. You will be able to move around the club freely, but I would like you to make sure you stay with Renee or myself anyway. Lambs are able to participate as they choose, but once those white clothes come off, they look like any other player. No one will force themselves on you, but with your looks, you may get a little more attention than you bargained for."
"Um, should I ? Participate I mean? Do you want me to...?" Sara asked nervously.
Rachel didn't know the answer to that question herself. Part of her wanted to tell Sara to do what she felt like, that this could be as voyeuristic or as interactive as she wanted it to be but another part of her was unsure how she would react, seeing Sara pleasured by someone else. "Why don't we burn that bridge when we get to it Kitten?" She said.
"There's just one thing, could I ask you to do for me Rach'?" Sara asked sheepishly
"Anything Kitten," Rachel replied, "name it.".
"When you, you know, put on your show, can you, um, make sure you do it to a boy?".
"A boy?" Rachel asked.
"Yeah,"Sara answered, "It's just, I don't know, I'm not sure I'd like to see you do that stuff with a girl. One that isn't me, I mean.".
Rachel smiled adoringly at the girl and kissed her forehead. "A boy then." she said.
After the Q&A, Rachel said, "it's time to get dressed." They headed into the bedroom, where Rachel presented Sara with her new clothes. Sara was suitably impressed and kissed Rachel romantically, in gratitude. Sara put on the bustier, garters and stockings in the mirror and looked herself over appreciatively. Her full breasts scoffed at gravity, held up by the tight bustier and the tiny, gauzy triangle of the thong that just barely covered the thin strip of hair between her legs made Rachel's mouth water.
"I gotta tell ya' Rach'" Sara said, grinning lewdly, "I'm kinda wantin' you to rip this thing off me right now.".
"Please, Kitten." Rachel said hoarsely, "You have no idea how hard it is not to do exactly that."
Sara giggled, but rather than tease Rachel any further, she put on the rest of her outfit. When she was done, she looked herself over once again and said, "Nice, very slutty virgin schoolgirl.".
"Perfect," Rachel laughed, "that was exactly the look I was going for.".
As for Rachel's outfit, Sara insisted that she wear the same outfit that she was wearing that second night when she was about to head to the club and elected to stay and devour Sara's eager asshole instead. Rachel said that she had lots of different sexy things she could wear for her, but Sara held firm on wanting to see Rachel in that particular outfit; the red and black corset, black vinyl panties, stockings and gloves.
At 10:58, Rachel received a text from their driver. and They both put on overcoats and headed downstairs. In front of the building, a nondescript black limousine, something that only exists in LA, was waiting. The driver exited and opened the door for the ladies. As they entered, he handed Rachel something black. Once inside the limo, Rachel sat next to Sara and said, "OK, Kitten, her we go. Now, I have to blindfold you for this. Non-members are forbidden from knowing the club's location. I'm not even allowed to drive you myself, that's why were taking the limo. Are you OK with that?"
"As long as you stay right here next to me it'll be fine Rach'." she said nervously.
Rachel kissed the girl softly, on the mouth, and then pulled the black, velvet hood down over her sweet face. She tapped on the partition, and the limousine pulled out into traffic.
The limousine took about a half hour to navigate the freeways and Friday night party traffic before arriving at the apparently boarded up public works building what currently played host to Bastille. In almost two decades of operation, Bastille had inhabited at least nine different locations, mostly vacant but serviceable buildings. Through connections in city planning, club organizers would secure leases to these buildings, and then rather than advertise, or renovate, every effort would be taken to make the building appear condemned or otherwise inhospitable; ground floor windows were shuttered, unused doors welded shut and fences with your standard "Get the Fuck Out" signage would be erected. The building was staffed 24/7 by some very low profile private security.
The limo pulled around to a rear parking lot, it's view obstructed by a massive freeway on-ramp. The driver opened the door and Rachel exited first, then guiding the hooded Sara, they proceeded through a battered set of graffiti tagged double doors. Once the doors were closed behind them and Rachel removed the girl's hood. Sarah was surprised to find herself standing in the hallway of a dilapidated office building. It was clean, it's walls recently painted and free from graffiti, but it retained a distinctly abandoned feel to it. Office doorways on either side of the hallway were bereft of doors, and through them, no furnishings or contents of any kind, just a thin layer of dust. At either end of the 10 meter hallway, stood a large, stoic man wearing the standard black suit, black shirt, black tie and ear piece ensemble common to upper end nightclub security.
"Not quite what I had in mind." Sara said cautiously.
"This is the foyer." Rachel replied, "The club is through those doors at the end of the hall."
"What are we supposed to do now?" Sara inquired.
Rachel looked at her watch. "We wait."
While they waited, the doors they had entered opened once more, allowing entrance to a tall,well dressed African American man. His hair was pulled into rows of tight braids and he wore sunglasses, despite the hour. He smiled brilliantly, and nodded his head to Rachel as they past. "Good evening Sister" he said, in a honey-rich baritone.
"Cairo." Rachel said simply, her head returning the nod almost imperceptibly.
He walked on and through the double doors at the far end of the hallway. Colored light and, surprisingly, the sound of chamber music, spilled from the opening as he passed.
"Cairo? Sister? Do you all have, like code names or something? Sara whispered.
"Everyone here uses aliases. It's not just about anonymity, some people sort of, imagine themselves as someone else. It makes it easier for them to reconcile what they do here with whatever they do in their supposedly normal lives." Rachel explained
"So you're alias is Sister?" Sara asked.
"Actually, no. Renee and I are both, sort of, nicknamed Sister, as in Sisters of No-Mercy. Some of out performances are quite...well regarded around here. People who know me more by reputation than acquaintance call me that but it's a fairly recent nom de guerre, The members that know me call me Ms. Valentine."
"Ms. Valentine?" Sara asked.
"But I'd like you to still call me Rachel, or Rach' is fine." Rachel said. She couldn't put the reason into words, but she didn't want her precious Kitten talking to her like some club toy.
"OK Rach." Sara said, slipping her hand into Rachel's.
Only a moment later, the rear doors swung open and Renee walked in, followed Sara assumed, by her husband, Milo. Renee looked like a cross between Rachel and an Amazon. She was as tall as Rachel, but broader at the shoulder and hips. She had large, perfectly formed breasts that were currently being accentuated by her black and purple leather bustier. Her lower half was covered in painted on leather pants laced up along both sides with matching purple laces and impossibly spike-heeled pair of boots. Her flawless, caramel colored skin sparkled with a light dusting of gold glitter and her hair hung in long, dyed strawberry blonde ringlets. She moved with Rachel's confidence but was more brash. If Rachel was a panther, then this woman was a tiger.
Sara wasn't sure what to make of Milo on the other hand. He was thin and tall, Sara guessed maybe 6'4". She was pretty sure he was white but he looked like he had been covered head to toe in some kind of road tar. It looked like the tar had hardened and someone had ripped holes in the material to allow his mouth and nostrils access to the air. There were two little holes higher up, from which a pair of blue eyes peered. He was tethered by a leash to a ring mounted in a leather wristband worn by his wife.
The glamorous woman smiled as soon as she saw Rachel and Rachel smiled back. "There's that BITCH!" yelled Renee as she marched over and embraced Rachel in a friendly hug.
"Who are you calling bitch, BITCH!" Rachel laughed, returning the hug. They stepped back quickly and Renee immediately cast her eye on Sara. For a long moment, no one said anything. Sara felt like she was getting an MRI. Eventually, Renee smiled a broad, perfect smile and clucked her tongue. "It's starting to make sense to me now." she said.
Sara looked puzzled but before she could say anything, Rachel said, "Renee, this is my Kitten." Rachel hoped that Sara understood that she wasn't trying to hide their relationship, which is why she said my Kitten. It was just that, in this place, no one had a girlfriend.
"Kitten, this is my friend Renee and her..." she paused and looked at Renee questioningly; "what is he tonight anyway?".
Renee simply said "Dog".
Rachel glared at Milo, shook her head and said "pathetic." And to Sara she resumed the introductions, "And her Dog Milo." she finished finally.
Sara shook the hand that Renee offered as the tall woman laughed and said, "It is a pleasure to meet you Kitten, the first lamb I have ever seen in the company of my wicked step sister.". Sara then looked at Milo. "Speak" Renee said.
"Good evening, Miss Kitten, it is very nice to meet you. Allow me to welcome you to Bastille. Rachel has been our good friend and I hope we will become friends as well. Please don't hesitate to ask Renee or myself for any help you may require." Renee tugged the leash and he slammed his mouth shut. She reached up and patted him on the top of his head.
Sara didn't know what to make of the eloquent, wordy greeting that emanated from the tall man who looked like the freak from that American Horror Story show. In fact, she still didn't know what to make of Milo at all. There was something about Renee however, that told Sara she could be trusted.
"Well," Renee said, "now that introductions are out of the way, shall we proceed?"
The two couples walked together to the double doors at the end of the hallway . Renee stepped forward, turning to face the group. "Welcome Kitten," she said, smiling wickedly at Sara, "to the Bastille!". As she spoke, she pushed both doors open fiercely, and they stepped inside.
The main floor of Bastille surprised Sara. The bland, unused décor of the foyer gave way to a large. richly furnished chamber appointed with dark wooden panels and deep pile carpeting; Sara couldn't accurately judge the color because of the presence of hundreds of scintillating colored lights mounted to various racks bolted to the walls and ceiling. There was a bar along the East wall, where a dozen or so people stood, mostly talking and sipping at cocktails from red glasses. The center of the room contained what must've been the thing that Rachel referred to as the stage. It wasn't a stage as much as a round dais positioned intentionally to provide every place in the room a good vantage point to observe the depravity that no doubt took place upon it. Atop the dais was a large, flat, marble platform or altar as well as a Gothic high backed wooden chair. There were marble columns with a series of iron rings mounted to them, on either side of the altar. Perhaps the strangest thing of all, Sara noticed, was the boom mike hanging from the ceiling, about 8 feet off the ground.
There were several doors as well as a stairway leading from the main room, but Renee led the group over to the bar for drinks. Rachel passed, Sara ordered another dirty martini, Renee thought that sounded ideal and followed suit and when the it came time for Milo's drink, the bartender looked instead at the Glamazon holding his leash. "Toilet water for the dog." she said.
The bartender handed her an ice coated Bud light and a shiny metal dog bowl. She poured half the beer into the bowl and placed it on the floor. "Go ahead boy." she said. Her faithful hound assumed a position on all fours and began to lap the beer from the bowl. Sara noticed that neither the bartender nor any of the patrons seemed to take any notice of Milo's behavior.
"Alright, ladies," Rachel said to Sara and Renee, ignoring Milo completely, "I've got to go see a Man about a boy.".
"Why not just use the dog, Sister?" Renee asked.
Milo looked up from his bowl, suddenly interested. Sara thought he may have been panting. "No, I don't think so. I'm looking for a challenge tonight, not some weak, broken, puppy" Rachel sneered and, once again, shook her head disdainfully at Milo. The dog whimpered and returned to it's bowl. Rachel looked at Renee and said, "Take good care of my Kitten.". Then she grabbed the end of Sara''s beaded tie, pulled her close and licked the girl's ripe lips. "Make sure to stay with Renee, Kitten" she said, and then leaned closer to whisper in the girl's ear, "When you see my show, just remember, you're the only thing I care about.". With that, Rachel walked off toward the stairway.
Upstairs, there was a smaller, quieter lounge, complete with cocktail waitress, that emptied into a long hallway braced on one side by some private rooms and the other with an amusing row of a dozen lined up gloryholes. There were a few cocks jutting through them, and one shaved vulva visible as well. There was only one person offering relief at the moment, if you could call it that. A heavyset 40ish woman with dyed red hair was on her knees, in a latex maid's uniform and what appeared to be green dish washing gloves, pulling ferociously on two stiff dicks, in adjacent holes. Rachel had been coming here so long, she no longer noticed the weirdness. She just strode down the hall to one of the private rooms and rapped firmly on the door.
"Enter." a gravelly female voice said.
Rachel entered a long, narrow room, once likely packed to a few rows of cubicles and a handful of worthless public sector drones, now home to rows and rows of flat screen monitors. All set to display a cornucopia of depraved pornography, just images without sound. In the center of the room, four people were gathered around a poker table, playing cards. Rachel had never actually visited the card room before, she disdained gambling. She sauntered up to the table and waited, silently. After the hand ended, a slender woman in her early 60's with lustrous white hair, piled atop her head in a tight bun, wearing an Armani suit and black sunglasses collected her winnings. "Valentine." The woman said, after piling her chips.
"Lady Angelica," Rachel said. Anyone raised in L.A. would have recognized Lady Angelica as Angela Mulvine, widow of the grandson of one Anthony Mulvine, pre-war civil engineer, real estate tycoon and Southern California institution. The elderly woman cocked her head at Rachel, expectantly.
"I need a man." Rachel said simply.
"Don't we all." said a razor thin, sharply dressed gentleman seated opposite Lady Angelica said.
"A boy for the show, a real hardcase."
"Ahhh, so that is why you came, to have this boy delivered to you on the wings of Angels?" Angelica crooned in a gravelly voice.
"Theatrical old bitch" Rachel thought, but said, "Well, Lady, you have been known to keep an unbroken animal or two in your stable. I was hoping you might allow me the honor of trying my hand at one of them tonight. I feel the need to stretch myself.".
"And to put on a show for your lamb?" the old woman asked?
The monitors weren't all prerecorded porn it seemed. Rachel remained silent, refusing the bait, but the woman continued, "She is quite the treat isn't she? Interested in a trade?"
"No" Rachel said, a bit too quickly.
The old woman slid her sunglasses down and peered at Rachel with watery blue eyes. "Very interesting." She said eventually, "a lamb so sweet that even someone as heartless as you wants to show off for her? And unwilling to share her as well?".
Angela Mulvine placed her bony hand to her open mouth in mock surprise. "Oh, yes indeed, must be true love," she mocked. Rachel stood silently, face burning with shame. "Perhaps we should play a hand, my boy against your girl?". The old woman suggested icily.
Rachel looked at the other players at the table and said, "the room, please.".
Three of them immediately said "certainly, Sister." and got up to leave. The fourth, the thin man, sat unmoving until Lady Angelica gave a barely perceptible nod, then he too got up and exited the card room.
When the room was empty, Rachel looked at the older woman and said, "Jesus Christ Angie, I just wanna borrow one of your toy boys for an hour or so, why the fuck are you making me go through the whole Bond villain routine.".
"Dammit Rachel," Angela said, "this is my fantasy club too. Don't be such a bitch." And the she paused, "Unless...oh my God, that's it isn't it, I struck a nerve with this girl? Did some little thing actually catch you by the heart?".
Rachel suddenly sighed and put her hand to her face. "Can you believe it?" She said quietly.
"No I cannot," the old woman laughed. She took her glasses off and said "Miracles never cease, Good for you Rachel. So if she's the real thing, why do you want one of my boys?"
"She wants to see me at my most evil, and, and I can't bring myself to take her like that." Rachel said, with some difficulty.
"So you are going to go down there and put on a show for the ages, not because you want to but because some little girl asked you to? Oh, count me in, standing in the way of that would be unforgivable." Angela laughed. "You're in luck too, I brought a new one with me, a real stallion, or rather a mule. He's a smart as one, as stubborn as one and hung like one too!"
"Sounds perfect." Rachel smiled.
"He is, I've got him in one of the bungalows on the property, he cleans the pools and takes care of a few other...odds and ends. He's a proud one, I've smacked him around a little, but he shrugs it off, and gets me so worked up, the next thing you know, I'm the one taking the pounding." Lady Angelica smiled ruefully. "I call him Francis, as in Francis the talking mule.".
Rachel gave a slight chuckle until she realized that she was apparently more likely to get pop culture references from a pensioner than her 21 year old girlfriend. "Where is he?" she asked.
"Probably neck deep in tail, in the Dionysus room, just tell him Lady Angelica is loaning him out, and if he disobeys, he's out on his rock hard ass." Angela said
"Seriously, thanks Angie, I owe you." Rachel said
"Just make it a good show" Angela replied
"You going to watch?"
"What channel?" Angela asked, waving a hand at the rows of monitors.
"All of them." Rachel said coolly as she strutted out of the card room, Bond style.
Angela Mulvine was a good, dirty old broad. Rachel had occasion to meet with her from time to time through her work and Mulvine's foundation. When they first met at her estate three years ago, both had been wearing the little gold pins that looked like Chess rooks, elite membership pins for Bastille. Since then, they had sparked a sort of club friendship. Angela wasn't too into S&M, in fact, Rachel figured a lot of her sex talk was just that, but she liked to smoke cigars and drink and play poker and she was known to always have a young stud or nubile trollop in tow when she was at the club. It was more for show than anything.
Rachel found Francis the fucking mule, as expected, just about neck deep in tits and ass in the Dionysus room, the Disco room she told Sara about. They called it that because it was always filled with bass heavy funk music, and the sound of moans, like a 70's porno flick. That and the bean bag chairs. The room was filled with at least 50 bean bag chairs. Every week, the club just tossed them out and replaced them from some mystical massive hidden stockpile of bean bags.
She found him taking some brunette silicone model type doggie style while he ate at the pussy of another similarly plastic blonde draped over the first girl's back. Rachel walked up to him, kicked him in the ass and said "Francis?" in a commanding voice.
Francis stopped pumping for a minute and looked Rachel up and down. "You want a ride too? You're a sexy bitch, strip down and I'll be with ya' in a minute." He turned back and started fucking again."
"Hurry up and cum, shit for brains," Rachel barked, "Lady Angelica has given you to me for the evening. You are going to be the puppet in my puppet show.".
Francis gave a look of resentful surprise, and then said, "Fine bitch, one second. He started fucking the brunette furiously, she started screaming her lungs out until the blonde that had been laying across her, getting her box eaten, slid off and stifled her cries with her tongue. Francis glared and bared his teeth at Rachel as he pounded the slut beneath him..After less than a minute, he pulled his cock out of the woman's cunt, ripped off a condom and sprayed cum all over her tramp stamp. He got up, pushing himself up off the ass of the girl he had just fucked, however she seemed to be too preoccupied checking the blondes tonsils to care. "Ready!" He snarled.
"My that was fast wasn't it" Rachel said condescendingly "Good boy."
"Bitch" he muttered under his breath.
Sara or no Sara, this was starting to sound like fun. She led Francis into the main hall and toward the waiting Dais. Francis looked like a partially shaved caveman, all lean muscle and sinew, with a broad jaw and a wide, sloping forehead.. He had a trimmed brown goatee and stubble covered his cheeks and scalp. He had numerous tattoos covering his muscular arms and lean torso.
Rachel's preferred method of domination relied more on the psychological than the physical, and for her to succeed, especially with a hostile stranger instead of some sub whose predilections were known to her, she needed to be able to make a quick, accurate deconstruction of their life. It was not unlike a TV psychic performing a "cold reading", and Rachel could have worked the side show circuit. She smiled when she saw the tattoos, a sucker's play, your whole life story written out on your skin for anyone who wanted to bother reading it.
Rachel looked around the hall. Things had started to heat up around the place, several of the bar patrons were either getting sucked or down on their knees. No one had really started to notice Rachel and her plaything on the Dais yet. That is, except for Sara. She was standing next to Milo. Apparently Renee had given the dog permission to speak again because they appeared to be engaged in conversation until Sara noticed Rachel climbing the dais. As their eyes met, Sara gave Rachel a giggly smile and waved her fingers at her. Rachel sighed inwardly, "that girl just doesn't get it."
"Lie on the Altar Francis" she commanded. Francis snorted, but did as he was told. Rachel put her palm on Francis' forehead, keeping his head still as she whispered in his ear, "Angela is a friend of mine. If you so much as move a fucking muscle without my say so, you'll be back, sleeping in your shitty car, by tomorrow morning. Understand me Francis.".
A look of hatred crossed his eyes, but he nodded his agreement. "I can take more pain than you can dish out, you skinny bitch." he hissed.
"I certainly hope so Francis." she said, grinning evilly.
Rachel bent down and opened a drawer concealed in the base of the altar. She withdrew a pair of black, cashmere gloves and a ball gag. She then stood up and unzipped the frock she wore, letting it fall to the dais. She stood there now, in her corset, panties and stockings and called out loudly, "Ladies and Gentlemen of Le Bastille!". A few heads turned toward the stage. "May I introduce you all to Francis," she said, lowering her voice as the boom mike clicked on, and the smokey sound of her voice reverberated from the hidden speakers around the hall. A baby spotlight clicked on, controlled by the unseen operators of the club, and focused on Rachel.
"Francis is going to undergo an amazing transformation this evening, from this proud warrior, this chiseled demigod, to become my craven, begging bitch.
A smattering of applause rose from the thin crowd as Francis gave another audible snort of derision, so Rachel turned and approached him with the ball gag. For her work to succeed, he would need to listen, not talk. "Francis is an ill mannered beast" she said, "so we will muzzle him, for now." and she fitted the gag into his mouth and fastened it tightly around his head. "Watch now, and enjoy as Francis learns his place!" She yelled to the growing audience. It would be the last time she would address them for a while; it was time to focus on Francis.
Rachel began to talk to Francis, sometimes loudly, sometime in a whisper. She started by insulting his manhood. It was obvious that the narcissistic Francis kept his body in amazing shape and was had a firehose swinging between his legs, so he had always thought his manhood unassailable. But as ever, Rachel focused on Francis' psychological weaknesses rather than play to his strengths. He may have been a well molded example of all that is male, but he was clearly a mess of anger, poor impulse control and a heady mixture of self loathing and self love.
"So, Francis the pool boy bitch," Rachel began "just the little he-whore, a kept boy, a dog in a kennel.". She warmed up for a while taunting Francis about having to live off of others, renting his body and the like. As she did so, she dawned the soft cashmere gloves. She began to walk around altar, running her gloved hands along Francis' naked body as she did so. Despite having expended himself into a stranger fifteen minutes prior, his cock twitched as her fingers traced their path. The tone of her voice would change, much as it did that second night with Sara. She would shift from syrupy sweet to screeching hatred without warning, all the while running her hands up his muscular body.
She began to study his tattoos. She studied the first one closely, a God of Thunder image on his right upper bicep. Her keen eye detected that some of the lightning bolts coming from Thor's hammer were much older than the rest of the ink. "Ah-ha." she thought.
"So Francis "her voice dripped toxic honey, and she rubbed circles around his nipples with the palm of her gloved hand. "Do you know what you remind me of, cleaning your pools and servicing the golden girls? You remind me of a slave. Not the kind of slave we like here in the club, but the kind that shames us, the kind that reminds us of how brutal we can be. You see Francis, that's what you are, a slave, a field hand, just the ignorant black buck that has to come up and please the master's wife while he's away. Isn't that right Francis, are you that buck, just oily black muscles and a big dumb cock?".
Rachel didn't have a racist bone in her body, but Francis' tattoo told her that he did. When she made the comparison, his hands clenched into fists and her started to rise, but Rachel moved her hand from his nipple to his sternum and pressed him back down saying "Remember, Francis, what happens if you move.".
The young man didn't want to lose his meal ticket, so he lay back down. Rachel rode that horse around for a while, comparing Francis not only to a slave, but a black street whore, on her knees begging from a grandmother pimp. Meanwhile, her hand prowled his body restlessly, but remained away from his considerable package which was standing at a constant half mast even without any direct attention. While she talked, Rachel once again searched the ink laid into his skin for clues. Below the Thor tattoo, on top of his brawny forearm, was a large, dark tattoo pf a pot leaf. It was nearly all black and lacked any detail other than it's jagged outline; a cover up. Rachel could see the faint outline of four initialized letters running down the center of the leaf; U.S.M.C. "Just too easy," Rachel thought.
Rachel took a moment to scan the crowd for Sara. She was seated, on a velvet bar stool at near the front of the crowd, Renee standing behind her, hand protectively on her shoulder. Milo appeared to be curled up at her feet, watching the show disinterestedly. Sara's mouth was parted, and she stared with rapt fascination. "Just getting started Kitten" she thought.
Rachel shifted gears on the neanderthal. "So, Francis, if you're the big strong buck, the man with all the meat for the ladies right? Have you ever heard of over compensation Francis? The idea that maybe you play so hard at being the big strong man, banging all those dirty old ladies and ditzy young whores, because you don't know want everyone to know what you really want.". At this point, Rachel reached down and grabbed Francis' dick firmly in her hand. She held it mid shaft, squeezing a little more than gently, but not stroking it's rapidly stiffening length.
"I'll bet that's been your problem all your life Francis, always settling for fucking the bitch when all you really wanted was to be the bitch." She began to stroke him slowly, squeezing his cock tightly. "Is that why they drummed you out of the corps Francis? To much trouble with don't ask, don't tell, Francis?"
When she said this, he went rigid all over. Veins throbbed at his temples, bulging grotesquely against the straps of his ball gag. Somehow, though, he managed to remain still. "That's enough of the stick for now." Rachel thought, "Time for a nibble on the carrot."
"Don't worry, Francis." She said now, lips pressed against his ear, "This is Bastille, all your fantasies can be yours, you don't have to worry. There's no shame, no judgment, just total freedom to do what you've always wanted." Something in the tone of Rachel's voice, a genuine soothing quality, looked like it had done it's job. Francis was no longer looking pissed, he was looking nervous, but in Rachel's expert grip, his meat was still stone stiff.
"Sister!" Rachel yelled, without turning her gaze from Francis, "Mind if I borrow your dog?"
"All yours Sister!" Renee hollered back, laughing. A laugh rolled through the crowd as well.
"Heel!" Rachel snapped, and instantly Milo was there, crouched on his haunches, leaning up against her thigh.
"Suck, boy." Rachel commanded.
Milo bounded up to the altar. If Rachel were being picky, she'd say he was really moving more like a monkey than a dog, but hey, why be a bitch, he was doing her a solid. Milo leaned over the altar, between Francis legs and engulfed the first few inches of Francis' raging hard on into the jagged hole in the mouth of his latex skin. Francis' legs stiffened and he began to shake his hips, like he was trying to shake Milo off his dick.
"Hold still, Francis." Rachel warned. The man's man grunted and screamed something through his ball gag, spittle hung in ropes from the corners of his mouth. For such an unhappy guy Francis sure had a hard dick, and Rachel told him so. "Oh wow, Francis," she teased, "look how hard you are, all this time you've been chasing a piece of ass when what you really wanted was a man's mouth pussy!"
Francis groaned, although it was unclear now if the cause was impotent anger or shameful pleasure as Milo worked more of his massive cock down his throat.
Francis settled down, too overcome by the rewarding suction his aching dick was receiving after nearly forty minutes of Rachel's abusive teasing. Rachel held up Francis' head and forced his eyes open, making him watch as his manly dick was being gobbled by another man's mouth and throat. Milo bobbed up and down, with a world class no hands, no teeth blow job. He knew Rachel's game though, and made sure to back off for a while each time the trembling stud got close to popping. If he knew Rachel, this kid had a lot more suffering to do before he got any release. And he was right.
"Heel" Rachel said. Milo was well trained, he let Francis' dick drop from his mouth with a wet plop and was back at Rachel's thigh, once again on his haunches. Rachel looked at Francis, he had tears rolling down his cheeks and a red raging boner. She grabbed hold of his scrotum and held it very gently in her palm. "Are you sad I took the mean man's mouth of your cock, Francis?" she mocked. Francis made some kind of squealing noise and a snot bubble inflated and popped in his nostril. I tell you what Francis, you've been a good sport, I'm gonna let you take care of yourself, I'll let you move one hand onto your dick. Francis' left hand shot down to his tool and he began to frantically pump the spit slick shaft. As soon as he did, Rachel squeezed his balls, hard. His hand came off his dick and he began shake it in the air like he had touched something hot. "Stroke your meat Francis!" Rachel commanded. Francis quickly put his hand back on his dick, but held it still, scared to stroke. Rachel cupped his ball sack gently. He began to stroke, slowly. As he did, Rachel applied just a little pleasant pressure to his balls. As he picked up his pace, she would increase pressure, and soon, as he would approach orgasm, she would squeeze violently, causing him to scream through the gag and pull his hand away. After four or five rounds of this new game, Francis was getting weak and his mind was getting frayed.
Rachel worked him for another hour, alternating between verbal abuse, masturbatory abuse, and having Milo suck him on and off. By the end of that period, Francis had to be hurting. Drool and snot poured freely from his face and he spent most of the time with his eyes clenched shut. Rachel had to give him credit though, he held remarkably still. Rachel returned to the drawer beneath the altar and removed a box of long red candles and a book of matches. Then, she moved up so that she was face to face with Francis. "Oh, Francis, my sweet baby, I'm so sorry, look what I've done to you. Here let me take that nasty thing out of your mouth." Rachel cooed sweetly. She gently removed the ball gag.
"Oh God, Oh fuck." Francis burbled, running his swollen tongue over his dry lips.
"Don't worry Francis, I'm going to let you cum soon. Is that what you want?" She purred.
"Ungh, Yes! I need it!" He whined.
Rachel held up one of the candles, where Francis could see it and asked him, "Did you ever play naughty games with candle wax Francis?".
"Yes" he whimpered weakly.
"It's not so bad is it?" she asked, running the unlit candle along his face, "Not too hot, kind of feels good doesn't it?".
"Uh-huh," Francis sniffed, clearly very anxious about where this may be going.
"Don't worry baby," Rachel cooed into his ear again. She withdrew a match and lit the candle, holding the flame in front of Francis' tearing eyes, "Tell mamma what you need."
"Oh, God, I need to cum, please! God, please!"
"Don't worry Francis, honey, I'll let you cum but first, You need to tell me something" she said softly and then, "to TELL US SOMETHING!" she screamed to the crowd, addressing them for the first time since she began."
"Oh,oh,god, what?" Francis squealed, trembling with need.
"Whose bitch are you Francis?" She said in a stern voice.
"Unngh" Francis moaned.
"Tell us Francis, you'll feel better and I will let you cum soooo hard!" Rachel teased, lightly slapping the head of his prick.
"I'm your bitch alright, I'm your bitch, please just let me cum!"
"Are you my black, slave bitch Francis!" she asked in the same strict monotone.
"Yes I'm your black slave bitch, please!" he cried.
"Are you my faggot girly bitch Francis? Are you my big cock hungry fairy bitch?!" Rachel yelled
"Yes, I'm your big faggot bitch! I want big black cocks in my ass, please just fucking let me cum!" Francis wailed with frustrated desperation.
"Well, now your just ad libbing Francis." Rachel said loudly, and crowd burst out laughing. Rachel turned to the crowd, spread her arms and yelled, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Francis, the bitch!" The crowd broke into applause and Rachel turned one last time to the desperate quivering man. She held the lit candle in front of his eyes for a moment as his pupils focused on the tiny flickering light. "Are you ready?" she whispered
"Ung, yes!" Francis strained.
Rachel made as if to tip the candle's melting wax onto his chest but suddenly she blew out the slender, tapered candle and, in one smooth moment, stabbed it's narrow length up Francis' virgin asshole. He screamed, despite the relatively narrow diameter if the candle, and tried to draw his legs up to his chest defensively. Rachel jerked her hand to the right and broke the top half of the candle off in Francis' rectum. "Now finish yourself off, bitch" she spat and walked off the dais toward Sara and Renee. Not even bothering with the 5 plus inches of candle that now occupied his ass, Francis grabbed his engorged rod with both hands and jerked three or four times until he emitted a guttural grunting sound and shot a rope of pearly white semen out of it's head, at least 7 feet straight up into the air. The crowd went wild, clapping cheering and calls of "bitch, bitch, bitch". After the tenth jet of cum dribbled out of his cock, the power of Francis' orgasm cramped up his abdomen and he went fetal atop the altar.