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Pinki

‘To be or not to be, that was the question’ or at least the line that came unbidden into her mind every time she saw that vast illuminated billboard. To feel justifiably proud or embarrassed? That particular line and ‘Romeo Romeo wherefore art thou’ were the only bits of Shakespeare she could recall from her intermittent high school days. Oh, and wasn’t there something about somebody seeing a dagger in one play about a murder?

Which was correct? Is or was the question? Every fucking time she slowed and turned off at that junction by the billboard, this ridiculous little mental cameo annoyingly cropped up. Equally, every time she made a mental note to check ‘is’ or ‘was’, thus hopefully laying the irritation to rest. Unfortunately, the next few delightful hours invariably made her forget. Is probably scanned better, but then with Shakespeare, you never knew.  

Writers sheesh! Writers and directors both, double sheesh! They gave you a script which you diligently learned, and then when it got to rehearsals and production, they kept changing the fucking thing every five minutes! Sometimes by the end of a day’s filming, she wasn’t even sure that she was still playing the same character she was supposed to!

The billboard was diminishing, but the way it was angled, she could still see it in the rear-view mirror. A brightly illuminated mega-sized image of herself. Pinki Papeete, model, starlet, pop princess, influencer, teen idol, cover girl, etc! Miss cutie-pie herself. Wide-eyed and innocent and yet suggestively not so innocent! Pink lipped, hot with excitement…and apparently giving a bottle of Pinki’s favourite brand of sugar-free fruit juice a ‘blow job!’

That picture was what, four years old now at least. Taken way back when she was about fifteen, so maybe nearer five. God, the fucking lawyers had made a bundle out of that. The arguments back and forth, advertising standards agency, the drinks company, parental pressure groups, that puritanical hag of a politician. The ugly one with the bad teeth, ludicrous dress sense and ten-ton of cheap bangles and beads weighing the squat toad down!

Not her concern anyway beyond those mixed feelings experienced every time she saw that billboard which somehow presented an image different to all the magazine ones. Size maybe. Yeah, it did look a bit suggestive and obscene blown up like that! Not that she gave a damn about it. The drinks company had won out, the lawyers all got their pound of flesh, and more importantly, so had she. Her agent was a shrewd woman who’d leased, not sold, the rights so the money kept on rolling in. Nor had the attendant publicity and media interest in the silly situation harmed her upward career one bit.

Pinki Papeete, so-called because of her overt fondness for the colour pink and Papeete because her agent happened to have watched a documentary about French Polynesia the night before. The name of the capital city had stuck. Her mother liked it, and the agent hadn’t cared for Alice Zelgoszczy at all. ‘We want to make her a star, not a scrabble word, honey!’ Thus, a week after her eleventh birthday, the pretty, petite, blue-eyed, blonde-haired, precocious little charmer was duly christened anew and launched upon the world.

A couple of miles further and the next turnoff took her almost within sight of her destination. The big pink SUV ate up the miles about on par with the rate it gulped the fuel in its tank. Big ranked up there with pink as far as she was concerned for some things. The customised vehicle, top of the range naturally, had cost virtually as much again as the standard catalogue price: the unique shocking pink and silver paint job, the bespoke pink leather interior, plus the individual driver’s seat made to measure.

Pinki was twenty, rapidly going on twenty-one. Visually, twenty still going on about fifteen! Thirteen almost given the right light, makeup and outfit! That had always been one if not her main advantage, still was and one that she shamelessly exploited at every opportunity. The deal her agent had struck with the studio bosses for the show hadn’t entirely been due to that lady's considerable negotiating skills. Pinki, the winsome sweet little girl, had long been adroit at getting whatever she wanted out of whoever she targeted. Tight-fisted TV studio bosses had proved no exception!

Little yes, (she preferred the term petite), but sweet? The sweetness was in the high of the beholder, and some found little ‘sweetness’ about Miss Cutie-pie. Pinki might be the archetypal innocent little cutie, but some of her favourite passions were decidedly ‘big bad girl’ with nothing innocent about them whatsoever!

Pink she liked because of the colour, big she liked because she was the exact opposite. Oh yes, she occasionally had the odd wistful moment when she eyed some tall, elegant willowy model with her head in the clouds and legs that went on forever, but that soon passed. Would she have got where she was today, and more importantly, would her various bank accounts and business interests be so fucking uber if she had not been a perfectly proportioned five-foot cutie! Unless you wanted to be super pedantic, in which case, make that four feet eleven and three quarters!

Her trainers, the first of a mere two thousand numbered special editions carrying her name and pink, touched the brake as she prepared to turn in. The driver’s seat and pedals had all been tailored and adjusted to suit her. That was kinda cute in itself; her car fitted her just like her exclusive footwear and was just as comfortable. Yeah, she could have worn heels and even did so at times, but boosting her height had never figured very high on her priorities, plus trainers were a thousand times more comfortable than stilettos! Not as sexy, of course, but why should she worry about that?  

The impressive wrought-iron gate of the main entrance was about fifty yards down the track, far enough to be discrete for those patrons visiting. There was sufficient space in front for a half dozen vehicles to park up while they waited for admittance, not that it was ever needed. It was rare for even two vehicles to be kept waiting, nor were the occupants the kind of people who appreciated such delays.

Big  George recognised her immediately and shot out of his little hut to swing open the double gates, touching his hand to a peaked cap a size too small, perched atop the tight curls of his silvery grey hair as she drove past. She gave him her customary circular royal wave with a tiny hand plus a big beaming smile. George respectfully tapped his peak again and quickly closed the ornate wrought iron gates behind her as the vehicle disappeared up the winding tree-lined drive to the big building beyond. A modest signboard read ‘Hillcrest Country Club’- Strictly Members Only—nothing else. George or one of his equivalents could deal with other inquiries from lesser visitors.

“Not sure,” she told the parking valet come, doorman, as she handed him the keys. “Three or four hours at least, but it could be a lot longer if I am in the mood, even an all-nighter! You won’t play around with the seat settings, will you? I have it just right now.”

The young Hispanic grinned at her. “No, ma’am, you warn me every time, but I kind of adjust myself even if it is a mite cramped. Only round the corner anyway to the parking lot” he made a circling gesture with his index finger.

Pinki laughed. “Just as well, you are not giant then, then. Thank you, the fucking dealer guys move the damn thing every service even though I ask them not to; I get it set back, but it always feels different. I don’t know why. Pisses me off big time!”

“I’ll be extra careful, ma’am.” He promised.

Pinki giggled as she watched him play contortionist for a moment, then turned and entered the building, thinking what a pity it was that he wasn’t on the menu. Maybe she should complain about a scratch on her car or something, drop him in the shit big time. Possibly? He was kinda cute.

Simon was in reception, and the moment he saw her enter, he went all wide-eyed and immediately rushed up, apologising profusely with none of his usual composure.  “Miss Papeete, he gushed, we didn’t expect, I did not expect, have we missed, we didn’t know, have I missed, I am so sorry, Mrs Anderson ….”

“Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers all tied up in big knots, Simon; I have not reserved for tonight. It was a spur of the moment decision to head out here. The first time and I probably should have phoned first. I was going to wash my hair and read through a couple of scripts, but then you know how it is when the mood hits” Pinki smiled winsomely at him. Did he, probably, the hair washing anyway? He had long hair too neatly tied into an old-fashioned platted military-style queue at the back of his neck and was as gay as fuck to boot!

Simon gave her a half bow and gestured with one hand. “Would you be joining some of the other guests in the blue room or perhaps dining first …or. “

“Nope, not in the mood to jaw-jaw with some of those wrinkled boring old creeps, and I stopped for a burger on the way here….oh c’mon, they are not that bad, Simon, honest!”

Simon hastily assumed his normal servile expression and sighed. “If you say so, ma’am. I will, of course, take your word on that. On the other hand, the lobster tonight is exquisite, absolutely exquisite!

Pinki made a face. “Exquisite or not, they always look like great big fucking bugs to me, and I hate all bugs, so I will never eat one. Too many damn legs! Anyway, my appetite tonight is for something I will find far sweeter and more delicious than any lobster….. “she broke off and giggled, “something else that will wriggle and go red when it gets well cooked!”

Simon smiled politely and gave another of his funny little half bows before escorting her to one of the side chambers. He fussed around, ensuring that she was seated comfortably in one of the three purple covered luxurious armchairs until she waved him away. Someone had once told her Royal purple, but that had meant nothing to her. Why royal? Something else for her to forget to google.

A moment later, he was back with a glass of her favourite champagne on a silver tray and one of the small unbranded electronic menu tablets that they used similarly in size to an iPad mini. A small split bowl with nuts on one side and a few expensive Belgium chocolates accompanied the glass. Then he closed the heavy curtains and quietly departed.

Pinki tapped the menu with a bright pink talon of a nail. Her own not a falsie. Hair, tits, nails, teeth, full lips, eyelashes, all her own! She was the genuine article, not some painted up Tik Tok bimbo influencer! The pinkish highlights in her long blonde high sleek ponytail didn’t count as a falsie in her book!

Her pretty young face promptly changed into a scowl. Only five were available on the menu, and not one of them whetted her appetite. The couples section was blank as it always was. Mrs Andrews had told that such delicious items were exceedingly rare, even those of a lower quality than she would normally serve to her guests. Two men and three girls were available. Three of them she was familiar with, but none of them she deemed worthy of a second nibble. They weren't what had prompted her to come out anyway!

A discrete cough and Simon was back politely hovering in his obsequious way that she always found slightly irritating. “More champagne, ma’am and have you decided and ready to order?”

Pinki made to toss the table onto the table, changed her mind and waved it at him instead with a contemptuous gesture. “Rubbish, is Kathlyn available?”

Simon gave a discrete nervous cough. “His easy night was about to take a steep downward turn, no make that a vertical drop! This wasn’t going to go well as he knew from past experiences with the spoilt little bitch! “I’m afraid not, ma’am; she had a rather prolonged session five nights ago. I fear that she will be off the menu for at least another week, possibly longer, maybe earlier, for some lighter work in one of the bedrooms if required. Her age is not conducive to as rapid a turnaround as the younger ones, as I am sure you will understand.”

That wasn’t the answer Pinki wished to hear, and understanding other people’s problems was not in her nature!  No one ever said no to her or denied her anything and hadn’t for virtually as long as she could remember. Spoilt child, no! A demanding child, yes, very with a large capital D, but that’s what her money bought!  The tablet bounced once, then skidded across the table's smooth surface and cartwheeled half a dozen times along the plush carpet and out into the hall, where its screen finally cracked as it made contact with the marble skirting.

“I WANT THAT BITCH! Not this second rate crap you are offering on that stupid thing!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but..”

“Not good enough”, Pinki snapped. “No damn buts! Perhaps I should take you upstairs, Simon, instead. How would you like that? I am sure your boss would be willing, provided I crossed her palm with enough silver, gold even. I can afford it, and we both know how greedy your boss is, don’t we, Simon?”

Simon went pale as the pair of sparkling blue eyes went ice cold, and he knew the little bitch was perfectly capable of doing what she had just said; not only that, she could well afford to pay for the privilege. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened here, either—that cute waiter, Charlie, what had happened to him after that Arab woman had fancied him. A lot of money had changed hands that night. Mrs Anderson and the Arab woman had been happy, poor Charlie probably far less so!

“Problem, Simon?” Mrs Anderson herself parted the heavy curtains, the broken tablet in her hand. “Why, hello, Miss Papeete, I didn’t know that you would be gracing us with a visit tonight.”

Pinki tossed her head. “Spur of the moment decision Mrs A, I got the itch. You know how that goes, I expect?”

“Oh, my goodness, yes, I used to itch as you put one hell of a lot then” she paused and waved her hand around. “ I found a way to scratch it and make a little money on the side, well, quite a lot of money actually” She laughed.

“Miss Papeete, I’m afraid, is not enamoured with tonight's unreserved availability”, Madam.

“Fucking mega pissed off might be a more apt way of putting it, Simon, dear! I have driven the better part of an hour, give or take a Big Mac stop, and then find…well, I want Kathlyn,” she emphasised by banging a tiny fist on the arm of her chair. A wasted gesture given the opulent padding but perhaps visually effective tantrum wise!

“Number forty-three, Kathlyn is temporarily unavailable due to her last patron, or rather patrons being a little over-enthusiastic, shall we say. I am sure we can have her ready for you in, say, three or four….”

“NO” this time, both fists banged down, accompanied by one pink designer trainer. “I Want Kathlyn tonight, and I don’t give a shit as to what condition she’s in…, and I DO NOT want her for anything soft. It's her fucking hard luck if she’s not up to a little fun session with me. As long as she’s still breathing, I want the bitch, CLEAR!”

Mrs Anderson gazed back meditatively at her young customer. The term spoilt brat did cross her mind, but then most if not all her customers were very selfish and self-centred, were they not? Equally, something else and far more critical crossed her mind, symbols, dollar, pound and euro’s!  No skin off her nose was it, off that mature bitch’s fat ass maybe, no, there would be no maybe about it with Miss Papeete, but what had she to lose? Number forty-three was by no means the most valuable nor the best looking item currently gracing her menu, was she? Hell, all three girls still available tonight were younger, weren’t they!

Simon was looking at his boss, as was Pinki. One of them was utterly unsure what the outcome would be, the other completely the opposite. Pinki knew what the answer would be. The only thing to decide was how much? Number forty-three, still known as Kathlyn to some, never stood a chance!

Gloria Anderson was a tall attractive blonde widow approaching her fifty-sixth birthday. Mr Anderson had died suddenly about fifteen years earlier, supposedly of a heart attack after discovering the numerous lesbian affairs his wife was having behind his back. At least that’s what went around on the society rumour and gossip circuit! The will and insurance had been exceptionally generous despite them only having been married for fourteen months. Gloria Anderson was also a ruthless hedonist, bisexual, sadistic and an excellent businesswoman.

“Wait for one moment, please. Simon, would you be so kind as to get Miss Papeete another glass of champagne; I will be right back.”

Pinki was of an age where everything naturally still worked pretty darn good. Her eyes were bright and needed no artificial vision aids; her hearing was perfect. Her agent said she had ‘radar ears’. She did have exceptionally good hearing as at least three mouthy ex-Roadies, and a couple of bitchy ex-production assistants had all found to their cost!

Nor was she deficient in the attic department, and another idea was already resident even as she kept one alert ear trained beyond the heavy curtain toward the reception desk telephone. Not a new idea but one she’d had on the back burner for a while, and perhaps now was the right time to bring it to the boil!

“Stella, sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you about number forty-three; I believe you moved her back to her pen yesterday. I see, yes. I have a very important customer who wishes to hire her. Yes, you guessed correctly, and no, that won’t be the case. The exact opposite, if anything, I expect. Yes, uh-huh, okay, thank you, sorry for disturbing you. I know you hate being interrupted when you’re busy with a new one. Please go carefully with him, honey; losing two in one night would be bad for my business” the voice finished with an almost schoolgirl like giggle, adding, yes, yes, I know, only joking, Hun, okay, I’ll get things settled and call you back, bye”. Then the tip taps of stiletto heels approached the curtained alcove.

Pinki smiled and preempted the woman. “I think I see a simple solution to the problem Mrs A, one that would satisfy both of us. You must consider your business interests obviously, so I have been thinking about it. It was an idea I absently toyed with driving home after my last visit. Then, of course, RL intervened, and I was too busy re-shooting some scenes, plus the channel’s publicity people became rather tiresome pilling on additional media commitments, so I didn’t follow through. I did give it a little more serious thought, though.

Now I am back, perhaps a  little proposition for you, one I think you might find lucrative and one that would benefit us both.  Simon, do be a dear, bring a glass of your excellent bubbly for your lovely boss, please and then get lost! The two of us will have a nice little girly chat, or perhaps I should say a ‘nasty girls’ type of chat!” she giggled and imperiously waved a small pink nailed hand at him. “Go on, darling, go fetch and then shoo!”

She looked down at her watch. “Yes, a little chat and a drop more champers, I’m suddenly feeling quite relaxed and then say, what half an hour, no let us say an hour once we’ve agreed on a few things I can and relax a whole heap more” she raised her glass and winked at Mrs Anderson.

 

****

 

Number 43

Kathlyn had heard the phone ring and listened as Miss Stella broke off to answer it. Miss Stella wasn’t someone to take liberties with, as she and all the others had swiftly learned. The first unwritten rule of this evil place was you do not piss Miss Stella off ever, not unless you wanted to spend half an hour or so screaming your head off!

Miss Stella had been busy ‘inducting’ that was their term for it! Induction! Why not call it what it was, torture! That’s what she’d been doing with her usual sadistic methodical, merciless way to the latest ‘recruit!’  Their terminology, again, not hers. Recruit as if any sane person would volunteer for this hellhole!

She was number forty-three, and if she ever forgot, all she had to do was look down and slightly twist her left arm. On her second day, the number 43 had been permanently tattooed in black inch high numerals. The lowest number of those who also occupied cells in this huge soulless air-conditioned dungeon was a pretty Asian girl with incredibly long black hair and a doll-like face. She was number 37 and the highest, a beefy young man known as 51. Only twelve of them were all told incarcerated, although there were sixteen narrow accommodation pens, their term for the cells they occupied. What had happened to the other numbers was a constant thought in her mind and doubtless her fellow captives.

Kathleen had no idea how long she’d been in the damned place, months, six months, maybe more.  She’d once been reported for asking a client what month it was and suffered a severe beating for her impertinence. What did it matter to them, to Miss Stella or that Anderson bitch but evidently it did!

It was her second day, or was it night back in her ‘pen’? Half the time, she never knew, for there were no windows down here, nor were the lights ever dimmed or switched off. That was by her reckoning anyway, which might be way out, with no actual reference points. Miss Stella had brought her back from that treatment room, the medical room, or the recuperation room in their terms.  Recuperation? As if!

Her ex-husband had once taken her and his nephews to a demolition derby event, and they’d sat near the repair and maintenance pit stops. That’s what the medical room reminded her of, a place where old and damaged bangers could be quickly patched up, ready to be sent out on the track again without any genuine regard to the overall effect of the destruction upon them! If they were good enough to race again, then back to the track!

Was that what she was these days, an old banger? Was that what had happened to the other numbers, too many bangs, bumps and finally, one crash too many? Too many vital parts missing or no longer functioning, and then what, the scrapyard of their equivalent of one? What was their terminology for that, she wondered?

It had been impossible to sleep, desperate as she had been to escape into the freedom of unconscious oblivion. No one could possibly sleep not when Miss Stella was busily at work, ‘inducting!’ The evil bitch never seemed short of the sort of terrible work Mrs Anderson, Madam with a capital M to Kathleen and her fellow captives, employed the sadistic bitch to perform!

Her last assignment had been to the red room, an early evening and overnight session she’d been told and had to squeeze herself into an all-enveloping latex catsuit and hood. Her body wasn’t designed for squeezing into latex catsuits, being of the voluptuous curvy variety, generous in both hips and bust. She could have matched any catwalk model for height, facial looks and hair when younger, perhaps still could in the right light and makeup despite her last birthday being her forty-second.

The long legs were good, especially in high heels, which she loathed, but the rest was a bit too, too ample despite losing a few pounds over the last couple of months. Madam A had recently instructed Miss Stella that number forty-three was to be kept on a strict diet, a permanent diet! Her added term, ‘Fat cow,’ was a bit cutting, though!

Maybe that’s why she rarely had to wear one of those horrible rubber catsuits very often, a tad too clingy and revealing for those additional pounds! Was there a picture of her so clad on their stupid menu, she wondered? An obliging and rather shy young customer had told her about the menu system,  pillow talk after he’d pounded her a couple of times. She sometimes wondered what had happened to him, for he’d only used her that one time and hadn’t left so much as a single bruise or mark on her body. A cunt full of cum, but that was all she’d received from him, and he’d even been kind in a vigorous, possessive way. Maybe he’d chosen one of the others if he was a regular?

He hadn’t even wanted her to dress up. Most fetishists wanted the French maid’s uniform, lingerie or maybe the nurse’s outfit, the nun or even the absurd schoolgirl one; although that was usually, well, she didn’t even want to think about that one! It looked absurd on her, but that wasn’t why she was keen to banish all memories of it! Fucking latex, she hated the stuff, and it was a nightmare both to put on and take off and if you got so much as a tiny rip, sheesh! They couldn’t exactly take it out of your wages, so they took it out in other, more painful ways!

That was the only time they were permitted any clothing, an additional enhancement when their bodies were required to titillate the establishment’s exclusive clientele. Otherwise, they were kept naked save for a leather collar and caged like animals in a zoo. That’s exactly what this evil place was, a sort of sophisticated petting zoo patronised by wealthy but very perverted visitors. However, unlike other zoos, these customers paid a lot of entrance money and were allowed to touch the rare animals. Not just touch but do far worse if they desired and paid for the privilege, and the animal had no say whatsoever in the process!

Not unless they wanted an extended session with Miss Stella, and none did. Sometimes it would be with Mrs A, even occasionally both but keeping a client one hundred per cent happy was their goal. Some of those they ‘entertained’ were absolute bastards and would report them no matter how pleasing and enthusiastic they’d been. Those bastards knew what would happen later to those they so casually marked down, but what did they care! They would be back in the real world, getting on with their lives, not strapped to a padded leather bench undergoing a touch of remedial educative therapy from Miss Stella!  

Kathleen hated that thin pink latex suit. It was so uncomfortably tight and claustrophobic to wear and did nothing whatsoever for her figure. When she looked at herself in the big mirror, she saw something different from those who wanted her so clad. If that was their idea of visual eroticism, then it wasn’t hers.

Not that you could count it as being dressed, not with every lump, bump and curve on show under a thin, tightly clinging second skin. Not when her ample breasts thrust through the front openings while her front and back holes were also strategically uncovered, likewise a couple of ovals for her bum cheeks!  The worst part was the hood if they wanted that horrible addition, and most did. Maybe they felt less guilty if they could not see her face, just eyes and mouth and the shape of her nose above the two small breathing holes!

That fucking hood! Hell, back in her cell, behind bars and starkers, she ought to feel more like an animal than in that suit, but the moment that thing was forced upon her head and remorselessly tweaked into place, she really felt like the captive animal she had become. A creature with neither face nor future nor a will of her own anymore!

Plus, it damn well hurt a hell of a lot more than squeezing herself into the entire fucking suit did!  Miss Stella or one of her minions performed the task, and they were not gentle; they never were at any time come to that! The worst part was when they pulled her hair into a ponytail through the hole at the top, that hurt like fucking hell! It was a miracle her damn roots hadn’t given way, not that it would have mattered. At least four of her captive fellow entertainers, ‘entertainers’ another of their stupid fucking terms, two women and two young men were completely bald!

They’d done that to them on purpose, of course. Kathlyn had once heard Madam A waxing lyrical on the delights of stroking a smooth-shaven head between your thighs while its submissive tongue was energetically providing exquisite pleasure. Such a sensual feeling beneath the palm! Male or female, it wouldn’t have mattered to that cruel bitch!

Losing her hair had always been something of a nightmare for Kathlyn, ever since her first year in high school. There had been a girl in her class, a pretty girl who suffered from severe alopecia and was quite open about it. Sometimes she wore a wig; she had a large and varied collection and used to amuse her classmates and annoy her teachers by sometimes showing up in some quite outrageous styles and colours!  

Authority might not have approved, but it turned a blind eye apart from that day she’d worn the purple pageboy with the yellow stripes! Sarah had spent the rest of that day bald, but that was no big deal. She invariably shed whatever she had on her head in the swimming pool, gym, soccer pitch and shower afterwards. One of her favourite jokes was that she could never put a boy off with the old ‘washing my hair tonight’ excuse. Doesn’t work, guys, not when you can rinse it and pop it into the microwave for two minutes to dry; she used to giggle!

Sarah hadn’t been one of her friends, which was a pity, the girl had a great sense of humour and an irrepressible personality, but somehow that problem of hers had always frightened Kathryn to the extent that she carefully avoided using the same shower, toilet cubicle and even the same end of the pool.  Silly, but that’s the way she was! The last she’d hear the girl, women now, of course, was that she’d married someone in Italy and was something to do with Italian TV at a very high level!

Kathryn had always been rather vain in respect of her hair and grown it as long as practicable as a kid, encouraged by her indulgent mother. Various levels of education, practicality and mainly age reduced the length over the years. Still, it was being allowed to grow again for the first time simply because Madam fucking A probably liked it that way! The bitch’s hand had entwined within it often enough and grasped handfuls when it was her tongue providing that ‘exquisite pleasure!’ rather than a bald one.

Kathlyn lay on the narrow bed in her equally narrow cell, trying to shut out the noise from the centre of the big room beyond the bars of her cell. Antiseptic was the word that came to mind if anyone looked into those narrow enclosures for the first time. White-tiled walls, a glossy white painted ceiling with a permanently recessed light, and a grey vinyl floor. At the far end was a shower cubicle, the non-tiled side and door made of transparent plastic.

There was a small toilet with a seat but no cover and a small handbasin between the two amenities in the opposite corner. On a small shelf above the basin was a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a bar of scented soap, a neatly folded face cloth, and a small nailbrush. No toilet paper was considered necessary given the availability of warm(ish) water nearby!

The shower had one simple lever. On or off, temperature and water flow were set elsewhere to warm, likewise the single faucet in the handbasin but for some reason, that never rose above lukewarm and had to suffice both for washing and teeth cleaning!  A couple of feet of open space separated the ablution area from the bed. A large mirror with a light above it and a laminated shelf about a foot wide underneath ran along the opposite wall to the bed. Arranged upon it neatly as per the chart she had been obliged to learn stood the many pots, pens, brushes, creams, tubes, and the ‘glamgloss’ paraphernalia. Glamgloss, yet another stupid in-house term.

Apart from the bed, the only other item of furniture, indeed item of anything, was the small wooden stool she sat on while applying the ’glamgloss’ to her face. Even that wasn’t her choice, and she’d spent part of her first month or whatever learning the different looks they expected her to achieve from the photo cards they supplied. Sometimes she regrated that she’d learned so fast now there was nothing for her to do other than lay on her back and stare at the ceiling. At least then, she’d had something to keep herself occupied, however demeaning it had felt.

Unfortunately, Miss Stella had other ideas. Her timescale was a lot more abbreviated. She had the means readily to hand for encouraging slow learners and enthusiastically did so at every given opportunity or perceived infraction of the rules!

Occasionally, they might toss her a book or a newspaper as they might toss a favoured pet a tasty titbit invariably though the paper was a crappy tabloid and the book some poorly written tale of erotic bondage, usually with a high lesbian content! Didn’t those prisoners serving life sentences in solitary confinement have better and more stimulating living conditions?

She was not a phycologist, but she’d long concluded that the enforced and endless boredom was deliberate. When they were summoned upstairs to ‘entertain’, the change of circumstances would produce a more enthusiastic performance from them.

Kathlyn lay back with her hands behind her head, staring blankly at the white glossy surface above her, lacking even a damp spot or minor defects to stimulate the imagination trying to see shapes that were not there. Was that the reason for the tedium? If so, it was a waste of time, she concluded, listening to those slow, steady slaps and loud, heartfelt cries from beyond the bars of her cell door, a mere foot away from the end of her bed. Cries of pain, despair and bitter humiliation that she’d heard hundreds of times before, although in different voices.

Sometimes, that voice making those cries had been hers, shouting and screaming as she writhed on that inescapable punishment bench. Laying on her upper back with her legs wide apart and stretched upwards, her bottom raised off the bench and at a height convenient for Miss Stella’s merciless paddle.

Kathlyn hated Miss Stella, and her fucking paddle hated her with a depth of intensity that sometimes shocked her. Likewise, the intense, prolonged and exquisitely agonising deaths she wished upon the woman in those daydreams born out of endless fearful tedium. Fearful because you never knew day from night in this awful place nor when you would be called to ‘entertain’ again nor what form such entertainment might take. Likewise, and equally horrible, just what kind of rich pervert would be paying for that entertainment. The number of women who patronised the establishment was even more astonishing to her! The one certain thing was that refusal was never an option. Not with Miss Stella and her punishment paddles as the only alternative!

There were other and far more terrifying implements dangling from hooks along one wall, but the woman was a virtuoso with her range of paddles. Never fast, never slow, just unceasing. At first, it hardly hurt, a mere nuisance and then it started to become uncomfortable, warm, and you began to feel sore. You began to wriggle around to try and escape from that steady stream of blows against your softer parts, but you couldn’t. There was no escape, no safe place, just the continuing constant slap, slap, slap, perhaps the intensity creeping up a little, and that was only the beginning!

Before she was finished, you would be a mass of bruises feeling like she’d run a blow torch over your bottom and thighs and yet she never broke the skin, never damaged the goods, unlike those who rented rooms upstairs and paid for that privilege! A good session with Miss Stella, and maybe you would pass out several times only to be brought back from unconscious bliss to face another session of agony as that steady slap, slap, slap remorselessly continued!

You could not escape it, not ever. There was no mercy, no let-up and even when it was finally over, you were never truly free from those endless slaps, especially during those first few weeks. Day or night, you could be strapped to that bench so that the paddle could begin again until you were nothing but a mindless screaming lump of meat ready to join the rest of Madame A’s little circus troop of performing animals. Even then, you were never free from the fear of Miss Stella. The slightest failure or even a whim on her part or Madam A’s and that slap, slap, slap would begin anew!

You couldn’t shut the noise out, and Miss Stella had been working on the new arrival for a couple of hours now. Hours that would soon feel like a lifetime to her latest victim as the pain grew and grew.  Occasionally you received a hard slap or worse from one of the others and maybe something more severe if merited. One of the little bitches who assisted Miss Stella had caned her once, but painful as that had been, she’d endured worse, far worse while ‘entertaining!’ in one of the upstairs rooms. It hadn’t been a new experience by any means! Some faded from memory, other sessions lingered longer, and a few even gave her ongoing nightmares. The establishment didn’t cater for brief encounters. Three hours was what Madam A sneeringly referred to as a quickie! Most stretched for hours and frequently all night because the clientele could afford it.

Men, women, couples of either or both sexes, young, middle-aged, and elderly patronised the establishment. Even a bizarre threesome once that still revolted her, that one had involved a middle-aged couple. On the plus side, they were both attractive and in great physical shape, as was the enormous German Shepherd that accompanied them. That beast being very much the negative aspect of the terrible session! Madam A had been well pleased with her after that encounter and the fee she’d earned! As if she’d had a choice strapped to that unique hurdle they’d brought with them.

They’d watched sipping chilled champagne while she….well, no, it wasn’t something her mind cared to dwell upon and that had only been the start of a long overnight session! Worse, they’d become regular, highly valued customers, but she’d only been selected upon one other occasion, thank heavens!

That ought to have been her worst encounter, but it wasn’t. Well, maybe it was, in some ways, perhaps the most degrading, but she’d had other equally humiliating ones and certainly far more painful ones. The twins, for instance! That had been a shock when she’d walked into the room on the end of her leash stark naked, and they’d handed her leash to two giggling identical pretty blonde teen girls who certainly weren’t old enough to be legally drinking what was in that ice bucket!

A birthday treat, that’s what she was, and those two might have looked like a pair of angels, but they soon proved to be a couple of demons of the worst and most sadistic sort. She knew hidden cameras in all the rooms watched and recorded everything, so someone should have stepped in and stopped them, but no one had, not even when they stubbed their cigarettes out on her after using her mouth as an ashtray!

Her reward had been three weeks in the medical room and then pure sexual duties for an additional couple of weeks, nothing heavy! She dreaded ever meeting those two again, but maybe she wouldn’t. Their English had been word perfect, but they had German or possibly Nordic accents, so perhaps they were visitors and just one-offs! God, she hoped so!  Fuck, how could they be like that at such an age, but they could. Then again, how many times had that other little savage Pinki Papeete hired her for the night and roasted her ass before wearing out her tongue!  Everybody’s favourite TV cutie, like fucking hell she was! Not her favourite, no fucking way! That little bitch scared the hell out of her, and she could be as cruel as those twins had been but in a slower, less direct but equally perverse way!”

Kathryn's thoughts paused as her senses suddenly became alert. Was something different? Those constant slapping sounds had momentarily ceased but now restarted, likewise the futile protests and angry outbursts that accompanied the agonised shrieks. Presumably, Mrs Anderson's latest recruit, the new boy, had decided to have a little sleep for a few blissful minutes when his body thought the pain too great, and now his pitiless re-education was continuing.

Kathlyn stretched out and moved various limbs around, thankful that she had at least a few more days of comparative freedom ahead of her. Release from her ‘entertaining’ duties and then a period of light sexual bedroom use only. Licking pussy and sucking cocks or being fucked front and back by men or women might be degrading. Still, it was a damn sight better than doing the same, plus being repeatedly flogged and abused while clad in a tight pink rubber suit by a young oriental couple whose awful body odour, rotten teeth and bad breath had made her physically sick. Naturally, that had only added to their combined ire and the savagery of the subsequent beating!

The phone rang again, and the slapping stopped. Then Kathlyn heard Miss Stella mention her name and say she’d have her ready in the pink room in thirty minutes. Kathlyn froze in disbelief! No, no, no, that wasn’t fair. No way! Not one of the ‘special’ rooms, not yet! No, no, no!

The phone was replaced, and that hated voice spoke, “Number forty-three, up girl, up on your feet. Fifteen minutes for your face, Glamgloss face scheme ten. Get yourself, busy girl. You have an eager customer to entertain impatiently waiting for you!”

Miss Stella turned away, and a moment later, the sound of her remorseless paddle started anew while Kathlyn sat miserably on the edge of the bed staring at her disconsolate expression in the big mirror. No, not scheme ten and the pink room, not again, not so soon.  Surely, even this awful life could not be that cruel and unfair!

 

*****

Pinki

The cane was her favourite ‘toy’ if that could be considered the appropriate term for such a wicked device! Simple but oh so deliciously wicked. Given the use she put it to, then toy was undoubtedly the wrong word, but somehow it always seemed so appropriate in her mind. She had bonded with those slim lengths of bamboo in a way that felt different to the generous selection of other ‘toys’ that were available hanging from the many hooks along the walls. Not that she disregarded them, of course, and had delighted in experimenting and viewing the results of her experiments!

Not just viewing for Pinki was known on the TV studio set as a ‘touchy feely’ person, free with her hands absently touching others that made some of them a little uncomfortable. Her agent shrugged it off and told everybody not to worry. It was merely insecurity, a result of being propelled fully into the adult world and a vicious bitchy segment of that world at an early age! It's just a subconscious thing; no big deal, and it doesn’t hurt! The woman always laughed when she said that last part.

Despite being a successful player in that bitchy, money-driven artificial world, Pinki's agent had neither lost nor forgotten her small-town religious roots. Although long since past the point of being shocked by the many aspects that tarnished the ‘tinselled world’  both monetary and sexually, she still attended church almost every Sunday, never losing her innate conservatism.

The days when she and her number one client’s mother had trailed everywhere with the talented protegee were behind her. Nowadays, her office, computer and cell phone were the tools that kept Pinki Papeete’s career on a lucrative upward path. The fussy mother, thankfully’, was also out of the picture these days, contentedly occupying a small but luxurious mansion on the coast, along with two immigrant house servants and a pack of small but highly irritating yappy dogs!

Pinki’s agent had donned an invisible pair of ‘rose-tinted glasses’ early on in their lucrative relationship and never taken them off. Had she done so lately and spent less time in her office as her client grew older, perhaps listening a tad closer to those studio whispers and rumours about ‘Little Miss Bitchy’, that comfortable conservatism might have taken a significant hit!

Pinki herself was not conscious of that ’touchy feely’ tendency as her agent correctly described, it being an entirely subconscious action. Maybe she was reaching out to people for something missing from her young life as she passed from small precocious child to petite young woman along with a humongous pile of cash in her bank accounts! (Naturally, not all of it was known to the taxman!).

However, Pinki was very conscious of her actions when touching and feeling in the pink room, the black room, the red room, the wet room, and the others she’d sampled. Looking at the damage she’d wrought was very satisfying, but nothing compared to that thrill of subsequently touching, feeling, caressing the blistered hot, tortured flesh she’d so recently cooked!

There was a large framed erotic drawing by Eric Stanton, the famous fetish artist, downstairs on one of the walls that had taken her fancy, a copy.  Pinki had a few framed originals, two of them signed, on her bedroom walls at home but not this one. It depicted a man secured to a chair with his bare bottom prominently available for what was to come next. His head was half-turned, looking fearful and listening to a one-sided conversation.

Standing next to him was a very sexy, big breasted girl in an abbreviated French maid outfit, a long cane in one hand and a telephone in the other. ‘That bottom round you wanted cooked is all prepared, Madam, but I forgot to ask how you wanted it cooked, rare, medium or well done? Pardon, Madam, did you say roasted under intense heat! Very well, I’ll attend to it at once!”

Cooking and roasting, such delightful terms, and so very descriptive! By her own admission, Pinki was one hundred per cent useless in the kitchen, but then she had a couple of menials for that sort of thing and all the other tedious house and garden stuff.

‘Bother’, that was something she hadn’t thoroughly considered, had she been silly! One of them would definitely have to go. Still, the other, yes, Maria might prove an amiable ally, very agreeable especially if she benefited from a substantial, a very substantial salary increase. Money talked, they said, but equally, it could have the exact opposite effect! Maria never said much anyway, did she? Then again, maybe the woman wouldn’t even want that much?  Pinki wasn’t the only one who admired all those ‘naughty/nasty’ pictures that decorated her bedroom and computer games room!

 

*****

Number 43

They stopped halfway along the corridor beside a door aptly coloured shocking pink! Apart from the large, polished brass handle, it was just a plain flat wooden featureless door painted that garish eye-catching colour. The door looked oddly out of place. Indeed, as did all the doors in their differing colours, given the elegance of the long corridor. The white walls with the gold-coloured trim, the hanging chandelier-like light fittings, the oval-shaped multi-paned windows along the right-hand side, the marble tiled floor and the deep purple carpet strip down the centre.

Miss Stella made a twirling motion with one finger. Kathlyn immediately swivelled in a one-eighty-degree turn with  Miss Stella casually tossing the leash she held over Kathlyn's head as she turned so it wouldn’t foul her pink leather collar. Pink, just like most of her outfit and makeup!

Miss Stella reached out with the hand that wasn’t holding the leash and made a minor adjustment to the ‘girls’ hair flicking at some stubborn strands with one leather-gloved finger. Then she reached down and lightly ran the same hand over the multihued bruised buttock cheeks. The original heavy black and blue had faded to shades of purple and red, but many of the ridges were still prominent both visually and under her palm and fingers.

The whole area was one big soft sensitive nerve ending, and some of those wheals had still been oozing traces of blood yesterday to the point that she kept her touch as light as possible, yet the girl still flinched at every touch. Hardly unexpected given how that oriental couple had used her. Miss Stella was a sadist but a practical one. If she’d had a personal motto, it might have been, ‘tomorrow will always be worse than today!’

However, if there was to be a tomorrow, then one had to be sensible today and in her view, sending the bitch back to the rooms in this condition ran contrary to that simple rule. Number 43 would have found it difficult to lay back and open her legs in the missionary position, let alone provide an entire evening and overnight session for the person waiting behind that door. At least this client preferred to receive her sexual gratification passively, so number 43 would deliver that face down with her mouth. However, it would be this same rump and thighs that the little sadist would use for her variety of foreplay to excite herself!

Tenderness and merciful thoughts and deeds played little part in Miss Stella’s daily routine, a structured, orderly routine. She had a job to do, a job she thoroughly enjoyed and so bought, order, structure and above all, unquestioning obedience to those in her charge.  It was not her position to question her exceedingly generous employer, and bar the tiniest objections; she had number 43 ready and on time. When she was collected afterwards, the girl's condition was Mrs Anderson’s concern, not hers!

“Turn, girl!”

Kathlyn obeyed instantly and faced the tall blonde woman holding her leash.  She kept her eyes lowered as was required. That was one of the first lessons Miss Stella’s paddles taught you. Never look at your ‘betters’.

Betters! That painful lesson was quickly learned likewise that there were just two types of people in this hellish place. Those who wore a collar and those who held the leash attached to it, the betters! Kathlyn was the one wearing the pink leather collar along with the rest of her outfit for the evening’s entertainment.

Entertainment that she was expected to provide for the sexual and sadistic enjoyment of another or others and for the further enrichment of the evil bitch who ruled this hideous little criminal empire of pain and humiliation she’d created.

There might have been a time, now long past, when Kathlyn might have rebelled, shown some spirit, and attempted to attack the awful woman. That would have been a brave and foolish act. Kathryn was no midget standing five feet nine in her bare feet, but Miss Stella must have stood six feet two in hers, plus she invariably wore heeled calf boots that increased her stature. The woman was physically strong but no muscled Amazon bodybuilder, slim with golden blonde hair always in a high ponytail and her facial features hinted of Slavic origin or ancestry.  

The trainer come overseer was also, if not muscular, extremely capable of dealing with any foolish attempts upon her well-being by one of her charges. Kathlyn had witnessed such attempted assaults twice through the bars of her cell. Once by some tiny slip of a girl who should have known better, far better given the relative size differences, let alone anything else. The other had been by a well-muscled hunky young guy who somehow managed to get an arm loose as he was being manoeuvred onto that bench prior to a little more ‘induction!’

One moment he’d managed to land an ineffective blow with his free hand, and the next, he was down on the floor, his other hand stretched upwards to where it had been secured, retching up the contents of his stomach as he bobbed about upon his haunches in silent agony. Both of those mutineers had subsequently spent a long time on the bench singing a loud accompaniment to the steady slaps of the paddle!

The hand that invariably wielded those painful implements was running over her bust, her waist, hooking her chin upwards to look directly into her face, a final check to see that the makeup was to the required standard, that foolish tears hadn’t ruined it en route. There was nothing remotely sexual about the intimate touch. It was merely practical, checking the goods about to be delivered were up to standard!

The return journey was a different matter. One of Miss Stella’s assistants frequently performed that chore, and the ‘entertainments’ condition, both visually and physically, was not important other than for the financial assessment. New customers paid a considerable deposit to be offset against severe damage to the goods should they exceed agreed limits! It wasn’t unusual for a customer to lose that deposit, but there were few complaints, most deeming the experience worth the price!

Regular customers like the one waiting behind the glossy pink door maintained substantial standing accounts. Some merely covered the membership basics and the occasional mild fling, expensive by ultra-exclusive country club standards but by no means shocking, not to the wealthy elite anyway. By the time number 43 was collected, a sizeable amount would have to be deducted from this particular customer’s account!

The unfairness, no, the extra unfairness of it all was affecting Kathlyn badly. The sudden shock of being returned to full availability so soon and with that near-certain suspicion now in her mind made it hard not to let her eyes water.  Again, she’d blinked her heavily made-up eyes to avoid committing that cardinal sin. It happened before, especially in her early days. Miss Stella would not take her back downstairs to refresh her face; they would never keep her customer waiting. They would, of course, apologise for supplying less than visually perfect goods and adjust the required fee downwards a little accordingly! Refunds, discounts and concessions were alien and unwelcome fiscal terms in Mrs Anderson's vocabulary as those responsible for introducing them swiftly and painfully learned!

That combination of makeup scheme, outfit, and room colour had instantly alerted her. That recipe was responsible for the dread and fearful loathing in Kathlyn’s head and the rise of nausea in her stomach. It didn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to deduce what or rather who had requested her presence and who was prepared to accept and pay for previously damaged goods! Who could easily afford to pay for such goods regardless of condition and, worse, pay quite unconcernedly for subsequent additional damage? The fact that such damage was going to occur was a foregone conclusion!

Situated at regular intervals between the coloured doors along the corridor, there were mirrors almost as tall and wide as those out of context gaudy doors. Kathlyn could see herself in the nearest one. At this precise moment, she hated the latex schoolgirl costume a thousand times more than that recent catsuit and horrible confining hood she’d had to wear. It was a ridiculous outfit to be wearing. A nineteen-year-old model with more bosom than brain or self-respect could get away with it, but not a respectable, or once respectable forty-two-year-old woman!

The thin white latex blouse was half unbuttoned to display her cleavage. The silly little pink necktie was only long enough to touch the gap between her breasts: the ruffled pink micro skirt, the white latex knee socks and the pink Mary Jane strap shoes. If pants and a bra were optional extras for the outfit, they were not an option for her!

The light foundation of makeup, the glossy pink lips, heavy blue eye shadow and lashings of mascara on the false lashes, eyeliner pus her hair teased into two ridiculous bunches, each bound up by a length of pink ribbon. That nineteen-year-old might have looked good, looked sexy to certain people but all she could see reflected was some bizarre parody. A replica of one of those desperate ageing window whores she’d once seen on a tourist tour through Amsterdam’s red-light district!

Miss Stella gave her a final once over with both eyes and hand, moved the silly short necktie off centre and then respectfully knocked upon the door. There was no immediate answer, just a long pause, a very long delay that seemed destined to go on indefinitely. One of those time-stopping moments that Kathlyn wished would go on forever and even seemed to in one sense, but she knew that the summons would come, and there was no refusal. Not ever!

Miss Stella waited patiently, her ice-cold eyes continually but dispassionately assessing the woman on the end of the leash, and eventually, that polite knock was finally acknowledged. A sweet, young voice confirmed Kathlyn’s worst fears, her belly nausea giving her an abrupt kick that far transcended any fear of tears!

“Enter!”

Number 43, once known as Kathlyn, knew that voice and also knew there was nothing remotely sweet about the little demon to whom it belonged!

 

*****

Pinki

Pinki loved that moment at the start of each session. When the door closed, leaving her alone with whoever was helpless before her on the bench. Helpless and almost always fearful, which she found both amusing and a little odd. Like the poor dears didn’t know what she was about to do to them. Then again, some of them did know what she would do and had done on numerous occasions, so perhaps that fear was justified. Who said money couldn’t buy happiness!

Not that the one waiting outside would start on the leather punishment bench like some of the newbies did, silly fuckers! Did they honestly think they could somehow magically escape their restraints, and what was that that thing the wizards did in the Harry Potter books? Aperture, no silly, apparate, that was it! Apparate to another location.

They might wriggle and struggle, but they were going nowhere other than onto that leather-covered bench. If they were new and uncooperative, Miss Stella or one of her helpers would provide them with the necessary ‘assistance’. Refusal was never an option in this establishment, no matter the requirement.  Everything had a price, after all!

The new ones, especially the young and attractive ones, commanded a premium price for their first session on the bench or wherever else the customer might want them. Even their first few follow up sessions cost an exorbitant fee. They might be broken goods but not significantly damaged, not unless whoever paid for the privilege of being first was nigh on a billionaire.

Pinki herself wasn’t exactly short when it came to spare loose change, but she’d never added her name to that list Mrs Anderson kept of those to be contacted when fresh meat arrived! It was probably way cheaper to go to the tree yourself if you fancied such a fresh apple or pay someone to pick it for you!  Now there was an idea to consider!

She’d had seconds once, and that had cost way too much! Pinki was no juvenile spendthrift despite her age and wealth, but it had been worth the money as a one-off. Also, one of the few times she’d chosen a guy, but he was new, fresh and oh so cute, like mega cute. A young Latino boy probably only a year or so older than she’d been at the time.

Mrs A had owed her one anyway after her previous visit hadn’t proved very satisfactory with the slut she’d chosen. Naturally, Mrs A hadn’t been keen on the discount she’d demanded. Still, Pinki could haggle with the best of them, plus she was a valued customer, not to mention being exceedingly cute and accustomed to always getting her own way almost always!

She wondered what had happened to Tony, number whatever he’d been? He hadn’t featured on the menu for very long. Here one day and gone the next, almost! She’d asked, but Mrs A had said it was business and she couldn’t talk about him, pity.

Poor boy, he’d even been hopeful, communicative when they delivered him, and he got a complete eyeful of her at her sexy best! Pinki preferred names to numbers and invariably got them to cough up a little information about themselves. She always found it amusing to indulge in a bit of interrogation! She could play good girl bad girl to perfection. One moment a little savage armed with paddle and cane, and the next cooing sweet sympathies and calming her agonised victim with a cool soothing little hand while making promises she had neither the authority nor the inclination to make good!!

Tony's first ‘entertaining’  experience had been with a couple of middle-aged transvestite queens whose chief interest had been fucking him good and hard for half the night. Undoubtedly, that had been a far greater shock, and humiliation to his youthful machismo than the few hand spanks his cute butt had received. It wouldn’t have been the outside of his bottom hurting when they collected him in the morning!

He would soon learn otherwise if his eyes had lit up when they delivered him to Pinki the following night. Sodomy and anal rape might be humiliating, even painful to a degree, especially to a virgin butt-hole, but the stamina of those that had used him hardly matched their lust.  They could and did cum in him several times, but their staying power was a thing of the past. They might have had bank balances that could afford him, but age and years of debauchery had taken a toll on their body’s reserves of stamina and vigour!

Shock and shame at his degradation had probably damaged Tony far more than the two cocks that had emptied into him several times during the night.  Added to that, the hot greedy hands and slobbering tongues that had explored every inch of his body and the sickening insincere endearments the gruesome duo had continually whispered into his ears!

Pinki’s bank balance or numerous bank balances shared the same robust health as those of the two queens insofar as absorbing Mrs Anderson's outrageous bills! Unlike them, though, her youthful petite frame was equally robust.  She was not lacking in stamina and possessed energy levels that had sometimes alarmed her agent standing in the wings.  Watching as her number one meal ticket danced on stage, cordless mic in one hand, hair, arms and legs kicking and flying continually as she gyrated on stage, whipping herself and the enthusiastic young audience into a hysterical frenzy!

A little longer, Pinki thought, her eyes flicking towards the door. Let the bitch wait, both of them! After all, they’d kept her waiting, hadn’t they! The fact that she had bucked the regular reservation system and that they’d made a special arrangement meant nothing to her. Why should it? She was paying, wasn’t she, and no had ceased to be a word she understood many years ago now!

Tony had said no, said it many times that night. Initially in horrified, angry disbelief and later in a far more broken and pitiful tone interspersed with pleas to her nature's more merciful and compassionate attributes.  It was a complete waste of breath for anyone she had strapped helplessly before her upon a punishment bench!

Pity he’d disappeared so soon, for she had enjoyed that lengthy session with the boy. How would he have ‘enjoyed’ a follow-up, she wondered. Not so silly and naive as he’d been at the start of the first, that was for sure! Pinki smiled at the memory.

A couple of years younger than she was now, she'd been relatively new to the establishment. Not a complete novice, for it must have been her eighth or maybe ninth visit, perhaps? Pinki recalled her first visit and watching that expression on Mrs A’s face as greed fought a battle with circumspection as she surveyed her youngest ever prospective for club membership along with her sponsor. Greed, of course, had won out the moment Pinki produced the sizeable deposit cheque as a sign of good faith! Forewarned she hadn’t shown a flicker of emotion at the exorbitant amount requested!

That had indeed been a fun night as well as a total eye-opener. In retrospect, she’d have preferred to have been left on her own rather than share the experience with Maggie. Still, it had been Maggie who’d introduced her to the club in the first place. Poor Maggie, she’d lusted after Pinki’s body from the first time they met on set, but the nearest she’d ever got to it was when they shared a bed with that scrawny Asian bitch that first night. Pinki couldn’t even remember the girl's name, assuming she’d bothered to ask the bitch, nor her number. She was another one who’d disappeared off the menu over the intervening years.  Anyway, much as she liked amusing herself with the more mature members of her own sex, her older sponsor hadn’t floated her boat!

Maggie was gone due to a bad batch of so-called ‘white-nose candy’, silly bitch! Died a virtual pauper as well, mainly due to that expensive one-way habit and then the resultant medical and nursing home bills! They’d also dropped her from the show and persona non grata in the business due to the negative publicity! Depression after the messy divorce and not gaining custody of her twin daughters had doubtlessly been another contributing factor.

Probably not a bad thing, though. The kids were super sweet, and she was a sort of surrogate young Aunty to them, and she liked daddy Charlie a lot. He’d been younger than Maggie, exceptionally good-looking and cute with a sense of humour that appealed to her and a darn sight more sensible. Pinki had contemplated seducing him more than once but decided against it. Anyway, Chuckie darling was way too straight-laced, wasn’t he, and she did so enjoy her other diversions!

Tony had been a good-looking boy too in that swarthy Latino fashion and completely unmarked body-wise, a first in her experience in this place! Hell, she’d seen one or two on the menu that even the infamous Spanish Inquisition might have turned down out of pity! Mrs A must have got her money’s worth out of them!

Tony, so innocent, so naive, the poor boy foolishly thought she would help him escape. How amusing had it been playing that game for the first half-hour or so? He’d recognised her at once of course; they usually did. That was a foregone conclusion that had initially concerned her, but Mrs A had emphatically assured her that it was of no consequence. Anonymity was something her unique establishment could guarantee all members. Those who provided her customers with such satisfying entertainment would never succumb to ‘loose tongue’ syndrome!

For the first half-hour, she’d played the good girl, expressing her horror and outrage at the situation in which they both found themselves. She was only visiting the place as a guest with her friend, never imagining it would be like it was, shock, horror, disgust! The poor dear had told her all about himself, all the while imploring her to release him. She had made moves a couple of times to do so, even undoing a few secondary fastenings but always breaking off and resuming her adopted persona, dumb, skittish with an ultra-short attention span!

Poor silly boy, how infuriating he’d found that as he struggled and writhed impotently upon that bench, not for one moment realising that he’d soon be writhing upon it for an entirely different reason. How funny it had been when she’d gone into mild hysterics after releasing that second buckle because she’d supposedly broken a fingernail! The expression on his face as she’d pranced around nursing her finger. The frustration in his voice was priceless!

The idiot had seriously believed she would help him, incredible despite all that. What an utter airhead! It couldn’t last, of course, and hadn’t. Inevitably the ‘good girl’ persona had begun to bore her, and the impatient bad girl eagerly took her place. Even then, he didn’t get it as she refastened those loose straps far more nimbly and expertly than when she’d seemingly struggled to undo them. Not even when she’s selected a swishy cane and stood flexing it before him had the penny dropped. A blank look of incomprehension that had changed abruptly when her arm swung up and down!

Umm, yes, Tony had been fun. There was a right dumbo upstairs in the little grey cells department, but there had been nothing dumb voice-wise, not once he’d started singing for her! Almost musical as he hit those high notes a few times before passing out!

He more than made up for what he lacked in the attic downstairs aways, albeit that impressive part of his anatomy being securely caged. Pinki had been tempted to ask them to unlock the monster, although not for his benefit. She decided against it, for the captive had sufficient leeway in its prison to amuse her teasing fingers, plus that would have meant having to take a break, only a brief one, but she was having so much fun even that would have been annoying! Besides, she was still new here and would such a request breach local protocol?

She hadn’t ordered a boy for a while now, had she? The last one hadn’t been a boy anyway, much older and a real tough looking specimen, the mean sort you automatically step aside for and avoid looking at on the street. That’s why she’d chosen him, and then he turned out to be a complete wimp, sang louder than any bitch she’d ever caned. He’d spent so much of the session going sleepy bye-byes that he might have been fitted with an ‘off switch!’ So much so that she’s asked for and received a sizeable refund, to her surprise!

The thought of money terminated Pinki’s recollections and returned her to the present. She walked over to the nearest implement collection and selected a medium length thin bamboo cane after a moment's deliberation before walking back towards the door.

Her eager eyes flickered once more around the room with all the exciting opportunities available to someone of her sadistic disposition. The bench, the frame, the diagonal wall cross, the pillory and sawhorse. The racks of punitive instruments and shelves of assorted sex toys, the throne where she could rest and survey her captive subject weeping piteously upon one of those evil pieces of furniture or alternatively squirming submissively beneath her dainty feet

The king-sized double bed with its leather-covered mattress was the last port of call for her roving eyes. It had nor needed any coverings, for the room temperature was more than sufficient to negate such items. It was a very comfortable bed to stretch out upon and recline against those pillows with their soft sensual leather covering caressing her naked body. Her eyes lingered speculatively on the bed; she’d enquire downstairs before leaving where they got those coverings from, maybe go the whole hog and buy the complete setup bed as well.

“Enter!” she called out, knowing from experience just how loudly to call without actually stooping to shouting.

 

*****

 

Kathlyn obeyed the pull of the leash without needing the accompanying curt command of ‘Move’ from Miss Stella. Hesitation and perceived reluctance would be remembered later and dealt with by that same hand that held the leash. If she were in no condition to receive such a reminder when they collected her, she would get it later. Like the proverbial elephant, they never forgot and certainly never forgave!

As she’d expected and dreaded, Miss Pinki was the one awaiting her as they entered. The brat, the demon imp, the pocket-sized sadist who’d bought her body for however long, probably the entire night! Standing there smiling that sweet, cute smile of hers that had charmed so many global millions, yet in reality, was as sour and bitter as the most rotten piece of fruit imaginable.

How old was the evil little bitch now?  She seemed to have been around for years, a decade at least since winning that silly TV talent contest. The channel had dropped that show a while back once the novelty wore off, and ratings plummeted, yet she hardly looked any different, did she?

The same pretty angelic face still seemingly devoid of apparent cosmetics. The baggy pink top covered a pair of small but perfect breasts, the sort she’d have died for by her late teens. Kathlyn had developed early, and that initial enthusiasm and pride in her burgeoning womanly protuberances quickly waned somewhat as she grew older. They might have caught the eyes of all the local boys and a fair few older admirers, but they’d effectively curtailed her athletic and ballet prospects, becoming a nuisance rather. Not that she was prominent in the big busty out-sized sense but enough never to have been thoroughly comfortable and had rarely ever worn anything tight or with a low neckline! Figure wise, she was what the Victorian era would have called ‘a fine woman!’ so one of her friends had jokingly once told her.

“Hello, Kathlyn”, Pinki purred. Her eyes were bright, her small hands flexing a bamboo cane. “They told me you were not available for me tonight, silly people”, she giggled. “But I persuaded them otherwise” one end of the cane was released, and reached out to lightly tap her on the nose as the giggle sounded again. “I knew how disappointed you’d be to miss me!”

Kathlyn didn’t respond, not verbally, for that was forbidden. Miss Stella’s paddles soon taught that you spoke only when invited to in this place. Screaming yes and frequently but talking rarely! Her mouth moved to form the obligatory smile. Otherwise, she remained impassive; her eyes respectfully downwards focused upon an expensive designer pair of ripped blue denim jeans above the pink trainers sporting the name ‘Pinki Papeete’ all over in white letters of different sizes and fonts.

The brat had been wearing those last time she’d been required for ‘entertainment’. She’d proudly boasted that a pair had recently sold on eBay for over ten thousand! Jesus, ten thousand for a pair of fucking trainers with the evil little bitch’s name plastered all over, crazy!

“Do you require her positioned anywhere, ma’am” that was Miss Stella’s voice from behind, politely asking the question? How did that tall, tough dispassionate woman feel about having to show such respect before this malevolent bite-sized cutie, Kathlyn wondered?  Then again, did the sadist bitch have any feelings whatsoever anyway?

“No, thank you, Stella”, Pinki replied promptly as Kathlyn felt the tip of that cane lightly tap her left breast twice. “I think not. Kathlyn knows all too well what happens to difficult girls here, doesn’t she? If I need your help at any time tonight, the consequences both with me and later with you will not be pleasant for her!” the cane tapped again. “You know that, don’t you, girl?”

“Yes, Miss Pinki”, Kathlyn replied, knowing the question required a response and trying to put some flicker of life into her words.

She felt the leash drop down her back to her buttocks and heard the sound of the door opening and softly closing as Miss Stella departed. A long moment of silence followed that seemed almost eternal to Kathlyn, keeping her humble gaze fixed downwards upon those pink trainers with that hateful name splashed all over them. On and on, broken only by the tip of that cane tapping upon her breasts, nose, belly, and mons. Tap, tap, tap!

The cane paused, and Kathlyn unthinkingly glanced upwards for a second. Pinki didn’t notice, her gaze was focused on the cleavage she was displaying on account of the tight latex blouse. A spasm of humiliation made her shudder as she saw the girl’s tongue emerge and slowly lick those pink lips as the little bitch slavered over her body like a dog with a tasty bone. The cane tapped twice once against each rubber covered nipple.

“Decisions, decisions”, came that sweet but hateful voice. “Ditch the blouse, girl. I want to see those luscious boobies bouncing free tonight. In fact, lose the lot. I’m not in that sort of a mood tonight for games.  I’m almost ready for a nice long relaxed skin to skin session on the bed right now. I feel so deliciously randy!”

Kathlyn obeyed instantly, being long past the embarrassment of dressing and undressing at the behest of others. She almost forgot one thing and only just stopped herself from switching her gaze to her tormentor’s pretty face again in surprise; that would have been a first! Bed without the bench! Surprise and hope despite the humiliating and degrading demands that would be made of her upon that big bed for the night. It was a hope doomed to die as Pinki spoke again.

“No, let us not be over-hasty. Turn around, girl. I want to see that fat bottom of yours. I want to see what condition it’s in, turn, turn and touch your toes for me!”

Kathlyn tried, and not for the first time, but her long slim fingers were still several inches short of their target much as she strained and was conscious of the impatient sigh from behind plus the tattoo of light taps on her right buttock from the tip of that cane.

“Not losing that belly overmuch are we, girl!”

An unfair and inaccurate comment given her weight was lower than it had been in years and any excess fat, belly or otherwise, had been lost due to the diet she’d existed on for the last six months or however long it had been.

Kathlyn felt a small cool hand on her left buttock cheek, a finger end explored some of the numerous welts that still smarted so severely, but she held her position despite wincing with pain at the touch. Likewise, when she felt the palm of a small hand rubbing and stoking all over her tender body wherever that couple had left their painful mark upon her.

“Up, follow!” a hand grabbed the free end of the leash, and she obediently followed the tug as it led her across to an all too convenient bench, its restraining straps unbuckled and laid out, ready to secure the next victim, her!

“Down!”

Kathlyn obediently positioned herself on the bench as Pinki’s fingers promptly set to work, threading straps through buckles and pulling them tight. There was no point in her doing otherwise even though she knew what was to come. Any form of resistance or reluctance would only worsen the inevitable, so why bother even though her every instinct still prompted her to take such action.

Perhaps the inbuilt survival instinct was a natural reaction to the imminent and humiliating prospect of being cruelly flogged by this brat purely for her sadistic and sexual amusement? Whatever, but attempting to avoid or escape would be foolish and vastly more painful in the long run!

“Up, girl!”

Kathlyn immediately pulled in her stomach and raised herself as far as she could, feeling a couple of the straps loosen. A thick leather-covered pad was slid under her lower belly, and the straps were retightened. The familiar addition meant that her bottom was raised a little higher, and her private parts were no longer pressing down hard against the leather-covered surface of the bench. Apart from her bottom now being that bit more vulnerable, there was sufficient room for a small, manicured hand to insert itself where it was least wanted and explore or torment with vicious nipping pink fingernails should their horrible owner desire.

A few moments later, Kathlyn caught a movement out of the corner of one eye as something flew over her head, something baggy and pink. Her ears caught a few more sounds and that of a zip being pulled, and then several more objects flew over her head to bounce off the wall onto the floor. She didn’t need to look; she knew what they were. A pair of designer ripped jeans, two expensive pink trainers, and a tiny pair of panties.

“No need for a little preheat on this fat bot bot tonight, eh girl? It looks like that’s already been done for me!” Pinki laughed. “Overcooked even!”

The bamboo cane touched her left buttock cheek again, but it stayed instead of merely tapping. Kathlyn winced as it pressed down upon a sore spot, the tip bending a little under pressure.  It was about to begin—no preamble with hand or paddle, no softer introduction to the intense pain that would soon follow.

That touch was how the little bitch usually introduced her poor bottom to the evil implement. The randy little brat was impatient to get her onto that bed, but that had never yet happened without ‘imposing her authority’ as she deemed it upon her victim, and that lesson always involved pain, hers! The pressure eased, and Kathlyn braced as she heard a little giggle and then that dreaded whistling sound indicating the cane's rapid descent!

 

*****

 

She didn’t even have the use of her hands, not that she really needed them for the task she’d been engaged upon and would be again and perhaps again and again. That decision was not hers to make, and the brat was in a very demanding mood tonight.

The caning had been agonising, and the bitch hadn’t hurried despite her apparent desire to get Kathlyn doing just what she was now doing. Every stoke felt twice as bad as it usually did, not that you could qualify pain that way. Even if her bottom had been fresh and unsullied, the way she used that cane would have been bad, very bad. But for the little monster to do as she’d done on top of the previous damage wrought by that Chinese couple or whatever they were had been pure and absolute sadism!

Kathlyn had briefly caught sight of her abused bottom a couple of times in the big mirror in the medical room and again in the one that sometimes stood before Miss Stella’s paddling bench. How could anyone in the right mind ignore that and even want to add to the livid painful mess?  Then again, none of these wicked people had a ‘right’ mind, did they?

Fortunately, by the brat’s usual standard, it had been a short session and would have been even shorter had she not fainted twice. That was an unwelcome first for her, having previously managed to avoid giving little Miss fucking cutie-pie that additional satisfaction. She’d even absorbed the first couple of strokes in silence, willing herself to concentrate on something else. What nationality had that couple been, Chinese, Japanese or perhaps Korean? Korean, yes, she was sure of it. They had a sort of different look, did they not?

Kathlyn had yelped loudly at the third stroke, and by the fifth was screaming loudly and by the eighth begging and pleading with her giggling tormentor. She’d seen the internal debate on the brat’s flushed face as the smelling salts dragged her unwilling mind back to full consciousness the second time. To carry on with the caning or use her victim more personally?

The little bitch’s lust had won out, and Kathlyn had been released from the bench and crawled to heel across to the big bed, where it had amused the brat to cuff her hands behind her back. That forced her to wriggle on her belly like a damn worm towards the waiting outstretched legs with the target area, that patch of neat blonde fuzz awaiting her tongue. The little bitch wouldn’t drop that cane either, at least not until she was writhing ecstatically in the throes of her first orgasm!

The bombshell fell a few minutes after the diminutive figure had recovered from her second orgasm of the night. Kathlyn lay perfectly still, resisting that desperate urge to wriggle and somehow lay her cuffed hands across her tortured bottom. It would make no difference physically, but the desire to do so was strong, but the fear of disturbing ‘young madam’ and her unpredictable wrath was even greater, so she lay perfectly still.

Even laying still was difficult with the stench of the brat’s orgasmic secretions all over her face and the reeking blonde snatch barely an inch from her nose. Of course, the little fucker just had to be a prodigious squirter; what else! Kathlyn had always arbored the thought of lesbian sex and any form of oral sex, but that had been before she’d become an ‘entertainer’ and personal aversions were a luxury that no longer counted.

Kathlyn felt nausea rising within her. It wasn’t only the odious act and the smell but also the taste. Almost no different from sucking off a cock, and distasteful as that was, it was somehow natural, at least in one way! Kathryn wasn’t a religious woman, but somehow, she felt far more shammed and perhaps damned when she was required to entertain another woman!

It wasn’t that different from swallowing sperm either when the brat gushed her creamy fluid, with a similar yet different salty taste, only a lot more. You felt as though you would drown in the filthy stuff for a couple of seconds, especially when those strong young thighs clamped tightly, holding you in a headlock as she climaxed!

It had been a revelation that women could cum like that, but she’d never been terrible orgasmic. They varied, and she’d sucked and licked enough cunts by now to know that likewise with cocks. Ditto the amount of creamy filth they disgorged into her mouth, which was another early lesson she’d had to learn. What comes out of them goes into you, be it mouth, cunt or ass! Such liquid was a gift from her betters and to be savoured, not spurned!

The pressure around her head and neck eased as Pinki shifted herself slightly into a more comfortable position, giving a long sigh of contentment. Her fingers absently stroked Kathryn’s head, teasing tufts between her fingers.

“You are getting better, girl, much better, aren’t you!” Pinki mused aloud partly to herself and partly for the benefit of the mature woman cowering between her legs.

Did that require an answer or not, Kathlyn wondered, wincing as those small fingers absently tugged and twisted particularly hard on one lock? Not, she decided, remaining silent. The legs shuffled a little more, and another relaxed sigh reached her ears as her hair was released and a couple of fingers rapped on her head.

“Girl, girl, are you listening to me?

“Yes, Miss Pinki, I’m listening” the respectful reply was instantaneous.

The was movement on the bed as the legs disappeared, and a moment later, Pinki had crossed her legs and was sitting upright in the lotus position, both young and supple enough to do so with ease. She’d been doing that since a dancing teacher had introduced it to the class way back in her childhood.

She smiled down at Kathlyn, reaching out to cup the older woman’s chin and lift her wet face so she wasn’t addressing the top of her head. It wasn’t the gesture or unaccustomed gentle touch that suddenly terrified Kathlyn but that smug, self-satisfied smile on her youthful tormentor’s face. That and this unaccustomed break in the usual process of ensuring the young madam was thoroughly satisfied sexually!

“I had a long discussion with Mrs Anderson earlier, Kathlyn” the fingers tapped again. “About you, girl!”

Kathlyn decided to risk it. “Me?”

“Mmmm, well, you know I like you, don’t you, girl?” this time, a finger tapped her on the nose like a pet puppy. “My favourite, in fact, and I’ve been thinking about you and me a lot lately.”

Katheryn froze, that sudden feeling of terror growing alarmingly. ‘You and me?’

“Mmmm”, Pinki released Kathlyn’s chin as she arched her back, stretching and moving her head from side to side. “You’ve become such an accomplished clity licker, and I adore our fun sessions beforehand on the bench. You wriggle that fat butt so delightfully and sing so sweetly for me!”

Kathryn froze as the small finger absently tapped again on her nose, dreading what might come next, instinctively knowing it would be nothing good.

“It’s such a bore sometimes, you know, having to drive all the way out here, and they positively refuse to put their menu on the internet, so if you don’t reserve way ahead, you’ve no idea who or what’s available, ludicrous!” Pinki uncrossed her legs, fussed behind her with the leather-covered pillow, then slid forward till her crotch touched Kathlyn’s upraised head, then slowly slid under her chin.

“Plus”, the young girl continued. “I’m the jealous sort, and I don’t lie sharing my things with anyone, so it’s good news and even better news, girl!” she giggled. “the good news is that you are now off the menu for good, no more ‘a la carte’ for you with sweaty male pigs and gross, smelly women!”

Kathlyn stiffened just for a moment; a wild hope had started, but it died instantly as reality kicked in. No way would they let her go, no way!

“The even better news for both of us, my girl” she paused.  “As of an hour ago, that’s exactly what you are now, my girl! My very own tasty menu item. I bought you from Mrs Anderson. My own ‘hors d’oeuvre, main course and sweet desert’ all rolled into one tasty package that I can dine on whenever I feel hungry” Pinki paused and giggled. “Like now, so get busy again, girl”, she giggled, “you know what a big appetite I have.  Begin!”

There was a long pause, and then that tongue began to perform its duty as Pinki relaxed and allowed her hands to stray downwards to stoke the head between her legs. That reminded her of something else, and her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as her body gave a slight shudder of delight. Why not!

 

*****

 

The door pink door opened, and it was Miss Stella herself who’d answered the summons rather than one of the usual minions.

“Finished with the bitch for now”, Pinki yawned, laying back contentedly with her hands behind her head. “I might pop down and say goodbye to her before I leave. She will be boarding with you for a couple of weeks, as you probably know. I need to make certain building and staff changes before she becomes a permanent resident. Of course, she’s no longer available, but there’s no need to treat her differently. I don’t want the bitch getting any silly ideas. Paddle her fat ass every couple of days as necessary, please.

Kathryn was back on her hands and knees, waiting beside the punishment bench where she’d been sent to stay pending the person's arrival to escort her back to the basement pens. Waiting like an animal, she even had her leash in her mouth like a pet dog waiting for walkies. Usually, that sort of humiliation would have rankled, but despite providing Pinki with two more orgasms, her mind was still in a numbed shock. Bought and sold! Bought and was now owned by that brat. Owned!

Miss Stella smiled slightly, nodding as she acknowledged that last instruction and pulled the leash from number forty-three’s mouth, clipping it to her collar.

“Walk her back like that as well, please, if you would. She’s my pet now. Maybe I should put her in one of those special puppy suits Mrs A once showed me. Your kennel and stable at the rear were most interesting to visit but not exactly my thing, but yes, that’s an idea. Maybe I’ll walk her around there on my next visit! Oh, and one other thing before you go. Please shave her head and rub in that acid stuff you use to kill the roots good and hard. I want a smooth sensitive, sensuous billiard ball between my legs and under my hand from now on!”

Neither Pinki nor Miss Stella paid the slightest attention to the horrified gasp that number forty-three emitted! Why should they?