THE PINK PALACE

Where your Fantasies come true

That flashing pink neon sign was the only sign the building was anything more than a crumbling, rundown warehouse. Well, that and the line of clubbers stretching down the side of the large building.

As I approached the line, the first thing I noticed were the clubbers, those young men and women proudly displaying themselves in skimpy, brightly coloured outfits. Looking at them, I felt a strange tightness about the heart.

When I’d been their age, I’d had to bury myself in work and study, and had made myself believe I wasn’t missing out. I found myself imagining their carefree nightlife, so alien to me. I saw them hurling their hot young bodies about the dance floor in sensual abandon, trying to lure in a nameless mate with their primal gyrations, dancing teasingly close and then away again, writhing close enough to taste each other's scent. I could almost feel their bodies grinding against each other with moans of delight, staggering into each other’s arms, tearing off their clothes as they fall into nearest secluded spot…

Woah! Hold on there, Beth! I pulled my hand away from the skin over my pounding heart, and took a few slow, deep breaths. I felt self-conscious, as people in the line glanced over at me, that strange woman with the straining jacket, almost open but for the single button over the cleavage. My skin prickled at the attention, like it was being crawled over by an army of invisible ants.

As I walked down the line, I started to feel like I was in control again. Many of the people I passed weren’t typical clubbers. There were a sizeable number of more mature types – men who might be plumbers or taxi-drivers mixing with architects and accountants, demims mingling easily with suits. Among these groups, there was only a handful of women.

There, for example, was a couple - an obvious upper class businessman and wife - dressed like they were off out to a night out at the restaurant. The wife was uncomfortable, fidgeting with her wedding ring as she asked, “Are you sure this is the right place, dear?”

And there was another couple – another upper class businessman, and the woman with him… There was no polite way to say it: she was a tart. Probably in her early forties, carrying a little excess weight, but she still looked good. Or she would if she dumped the big platinum blonde hairstyle and the hoop earrings, and wore a lot less makeup. She’d also need a dress that actually contained her probably augmented breasts, and a skirt that actually reached her thighs. She made the clubbers look sophisticated - especially the way she giggled vapidly while clinging on the arm of ‘her man.’

And yet, she looks so happy. I absently rolled the pendant between my fingers, feeling oddly wistful. It must be so easy being a bimbo. You never have to worry about anything. Never have to knuckle down and work. Just flutter your eyelashes and a man will come rushing to take care of you.

What was I thinking? Such women were a blight on society. They undermined every step we took towards equality.

“Hey, Jugs, you in this line or what?”

“Yes, I’m –” My response died in my throat as I realised what the speaker had said. I looked around to find him. He was a real sleaze, blatantly ignoring a friend’s nudges and staring at my chest, willing that button to pop off and the jacket to explode outwards. Such open, unashamed lust made me uneasy, a squirming sensation in my gut, trickling downwards.

If Paul was here, he’d waste no time in humiliating the sleaze in full view of the crowd with that barbed wit of his. He’d protect me.

I shook away that thought. I didn’t need anyone to fight my fights. I certainly wasn’t going to back down from this beefy, masculine, meathead.

From his grizzled appearance and the markings on his leather jacket, this was the kind of guy who’d been a biker and troublemaker in his youth, but now spent his middle age ogling the talent in girlie bars and knocking back the beers while watching porn and living off handouts in his filthy, flea-bitten apartment. As he openly gawked at me, I let the warmth of righteous anger heat my blood.

“What do you think you’re staring at?” I said quietly, trying to sound menacing. Then I realised that to him, it probably sounded husky and inviting. It didn’t help that I had to lick my suddenly dry lips.

“Shit girl, you’re one hot babe! And those tits…” He thought that was a compliment! He was clearly enjoying the sight of my chest heaving with indignation and my cheeks blazing. This meathead thought ‘girls’ enjoyed his kind of attention. He was mistaking my outrage for arousal.

I didn’t think. I just strode forward, and raised my hand to slap him. Me, the thinks-too-much always-talk-things-out head-shrinker. I had so much pent-up emotion, I needed some sort of release. So I slapped him.

Or tried to. He caught my hand easily, and laughed. “If you like it rough, babe, I’m game!” Then he pulled my arm, and – caught by surprise – I clumsily fell against him. His powerful body.

The crowd was hooting and laughing as he tried to kiss me. I couldn’t believe it – were there no decent men left, to save me from this meathead? I recoiled from his hot, beer-soaked breath and tried to push him off, squirming helplessly in his unbreakable grip. He probably thought the way I was grinding myself against him was for his pleasure! I was burning as I beat my fists ineffectually against his chest, burning with rage.

“Just a little kiss, Jugs,” he said, to cheers of encouragement from the crowd. I was humiliated as he grabbed my hair and, holding my head in place, pressed his mouth against my clenched lips.

“Still playing hard to get, lover?” He asked. “Or would you prefer I kissed you lower?” He looked meaningfully at my chest, and the audience cheered again.

Horrified, I declared, “You wouldn’t!” And while my mouth was open, he forced his tongue into my mouth. The rage inside me erupted, surging through my body - a wet heat that turned my legs to jelly. I collapsed against him, so outraged I couldn’t think.

And then, he let me go! He stepped back, saying, “Wow, that was some kiss!”

There was more hollering and cheering, and people were slapping him on his back and slapping each others palms as I stood there, stunned. Speechless. They were acting as if I was some kind of trophy. I felt myself getting even angrier.

And why did he let me go? Why did he stop? Burning hotter than I thought was possible, I wanted to grab him, to shake him, to press myself against him…

Then it hit me, a hot spear thrusting between my thighs. I was in denial. I wasn’t angry. I was horny. Wet. Almost crazed with lust. I actually wanted him to kiss me.

And then someone called out, “I’m next!” And I felt hope. And then horror. And then, the world tilted, and fell away beneath me.

It was too much. I fainted, blacked out for just a moment. Meathead was there, my saviour - his beefy, tattooed arm wrapping around me, and I fell against his powerful bulk instead of the floor. I clung to him, actually grateful to feel his raw power against my soft feminine flesh. His masculine scent washed over me with each ragged breath, invading my senses.

His hand moved down my back and he casually gripped a buttock and squeezed appreciatively. I may have moaned aloud, feeling the wetness of my thighs pressed against his leg. I couldn’t deny it to myself any longer - my lust, my weakness.

I looked up at him, to find him lecherously looking down the vee of my jacket. I arched my back, before I realised that would give him a better view. What am I doing? Must get away from him! He’s a thug!! An uneducated, unsophisticated loser! A Neanderthal!! And yet… so bold, so strong, so comforting…

“Hey babe, you okay now?” he asked, stroking back my hair from my face, and then helping me stand. I couldn’t believe it, he was letting me go again! Didn’t he want me?

He looked at me curiously. “Do you work here? You have the look. And one of those jewels.”

That question shocked me to my senses, reminding me that things other than him existed, that I was here for a reason. “You know about this place?” I asked as I forced myself to pull away from him, watching his lips move as he spoke, hanging on his word.

“Oh yeah, do I ever. It’s a real classy joint. The girls – they’re all natural.” He cupped his hands in front of his chest, that eternal male gesture to describe female anatomy. I remembered I should feel scorn, but I felt only relief that the thudding of my heart had begun to slow.

“Not like you, though,” he continued, looking admiringly at my heaving chest. “Well, except for Pandy, and she’s a freak. And these girls, they know how to treat a guy. They make us feel like Gods. It’s like they’re slaves, there for our pleasure.” I gasped, my heart starting to pound again. Slaves! That’s what April said!

Meathead pointed down the line to the entrance, where bouncers were shepherding people through the door. As in countless clubs across the nation, people were paying their money to get their hands stamped with the symbol of the club. But at this club there was a difference. “The cover charge gets you Blue, what they call Aquamarine.” That long word didn’t feel comfortable on his tongue. His tongue…

Oh, Beth, focus! I knew I should get away from him, from the strange effect he had on me, but I needed to know what was really happening here. And anyway, it was healthy to acknowledge your feelings. That gives you power over them. So I was feeling aroused. He caught me at a weak moment. I certainly wasn’t attracted to this neanderthal. I could handle him, now.

“Yeah, Aquamarine,” he said. “That’s your basic cover charge. You can sit, watch, buy drinks, throw money at the girls, the usual. Pay more and you get Yellow, or Amber they call it. For that you can pick a girl for a private dance.” His eyes drifted away, fondly remembering one of those experiences.

“So it’s a lapdancing club?” I was disappointed. April’s fantasy was so much more exciting.

Meathead nodded, “More than that! If you’re really loaded…” His eyes dropped back to my cleavage, and I felt the aching tightness of my nipples rubbing against the silk lining of my jacket.

“If you have lots of money, or if you win the raffle, you go Ruby. Then you get a girl that’ll do a lot more than dance, if you know what I mean. I know a guy who won the raffle. He said it was like heaven …” His voice trailed away wistfully.

He looked back at me. “Me, I wouldn’t pay that much for a piece of ass. Unless you worked there, maybe…”

I shook my head at what passed for compliments here. I should have been angry that he was comparing me, a respected and successful psychotherapist, to a common prostitute. Still, I suppose it was flattering in a way. H wouldn’t pay for just anyone…

“So you’re interested in the girls here?” he asked, with a leer. It’s not like that! I thought. “Why don’t you get back here, and I’ll tell you all about them.” And with that statement, he invited me to slip back into his arm. My breath tightened in my throat. I’m in control! He’s just a thug! So not-my-type. Why was it so hard to refuse?

“Hey you!” The voice came from a suited bouncer walking up the line, keeping order. He was looking straight at me. Seeing my look of puzzlement, he said, “Staff use the service entrance,” and pointed to a little door beyond the main entrance.

His comment drew surprised and excited reactions from the people nearby. Not least from me. Staff?

He pointed to the door again. “Get going! You’re late.”

I was moving before I thought about it, glad to have a reason to get away from Meathead. I heard him turn to the nearest person. “Fuck, did you hear that? She does work here! I’m going Ruby tonight!”

And then it occurred to me. What an opportunity! If he thought I worked here, others probably would. I could sneak inside, have a free run of the place. Look around and find out how much of April’s fantasy was real, and how much imagined.

My thoughts raced as I stood in front of the service entrance door. I was nervous, wondering if I could go through with this deception.

What made that bouncer think I was staff? I wondered as I absently rolled the pendant in the fingers of my hand. Was it the way I looked? The jacket, straining to contain its load, and so obviously, nothing underneath?

Or was it something else? Something in my expression, my eyes? What had that meathead said? Did I have the look of the kind of girl who’d work here? Why did that thought make me squirm, forcing me to think of something other than the heat still gently simmering between my thighs?

And what was the matter with me tonight? My emotions were all over the place, it was so hard to think clearly. I knew I should go home, take some time to relax and get my bearings, but I knew somehow this was April’s doing. Her kiss, her tongue… She had awakened something in me, a side of me that I wasn’t sure I could control. I needed to find her, and this was my only lead.

And besides, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so alive. This was an adventure! On that thought, before I could change my mind, I knocked at the door.

Immediately, a hatch opened at eye level, and a pair of eyes glanced quickly at my face and then down to the pendant. The hatch closed and bolt was drawn. The door started to open.

Of course you silly girl, the pendant! I reflected on April’s wild tale of a secret cult where sex slaves used green stones to identify themselves. I lifted the stone, and examined it in the light from the now open doorway, admiring how it caught the flickered and twinkled. It wasn’t a real emerald, but it was very high quality. I could see my face reflected in its depths, again and again…

The man at the door coughed to catch my attention, and I tore myself away from the fascinating gem. Such fine craftsmanship wouldn’t be easy to replicate. Maybe it’s not a bad security system, after all.

Except that anyone could steal one. I was walking in here with someone else’s ID. If this really was some kind of secret cult, it was the least secure one in history!

The doorman stepped aside to let me in, and was looking me over in a way that made me uneasy. It wasn’t simply lust. Would that make me feel better? It was like he was appraising me, evaluating me in some way. But he seemed to approve, and pointed down the corridor. “Third door on the right.”

I sighed in relief. I wanted to ask him some questions, but he clearly wasn’t a talker. Whatever. I was in, and planning to have a quiet look around. I stopped at the indicated door, and noticed the guard was still watching me. Damn.

If I was the kind of girl who worked in a place like this, I thought to myself, I’d be able to use my feminine charms to persuade him to let me go where I wanted. First time I’d actually seen the advantage of being that kind of girl! Oh well, here goes. I took a deep breath and entered.

Oh. My. God. A sea of female flesh, moving, giggling, touching, stroking…

I took a deep breath and looked again. At least a dozen scantily clad and sexy women crammed together in a crowded dressing room, the sort you’d find backstage at a theatre. They were primping themselves at tiny cosmetics-strewn dressing tables, or playfully helping each other out of – no, into - the kind of outfits that fuelled many a man’s secret fetish. Here was the busty French maid, and there a bespectacled, stocking-clad secretary. Over there, two burlesque dancers helping each other into their corsets. And that was certainly no real policewoman!

And everywhere, flashes of green, from the pendants dancing around their necks.

I felt dizzy, my temperature soaring. I saw another door behind them, and tried to hurry through before I was noticed. Don’t look around, I told myself. Just put one foot in front of the other…

My arm was caught and I was spun around by a cute Asian girl, dressed as some kind of sailor. “What’s your name, you’re pretty! I’m Kimmi!” She cried out in childish and cheerful voice, playing with her pigtails. I half-expected her to jump up and down in joy.

“Holy shit!” exclaimed a fantasy version of a blonde cheerleader. “Would you look at those!” She bounced over to me, her skirt fluttering, and dragged me startled into the centre of room.

And then they were swarming around me, laughing and giggling, spinning me back and forth. I tried to tell them to stop, but I was woozy. I tried to fight, but I kept seeing things that threw me off-balance – a silver chain dangling from a bouncing breast, a flash of thigh leading to a completely naked mound. Perfumes fogged the air and my head, including one all-pervasive scent that was strangely enticing and disturbing.

“She’s gonna be popular!” I gasped at the sight of the buxom nun. Was nothing sacred? It was a figure hugging outfit, cut to reveal garters and stockings, and topped by a spiked collar!

“Are they real?” a trampy schoolgirl in pigtails was asking. “They must be or you wouldn’t be here! Can I touch them, Miss?” She was pawing eagerly at my jacket, her eyes excited, and the button popped free. “No!” I caught my jacket before I gave them more than a quick flash and shoved her back with my shoulder.

They were startled into silence for a moment. By what they’d glimpsed or my near-hysteria, I couldn’t tell.

Then a hot nurse giggled. “The patient is agitated! Nursie needs to take your temperature!” She advanced towards me, slowly, reaching with her rubber-glove-clad hands. I backed away, mouth dry, trying not to think of how they’d grab me, strip me naked, and…. I bumped up against a dresser. I was trapped!

It was University all over again!

“You’re frightening her, Bambi!” Someone shouted, breaking the spell.

“Looks like Pandy’s got competition!” The girl who spoke wasn’t involved in the scrum; she was at her dresser, completely naked except for sticky, shiny black stocking she was sliding up over her leg. I averted my eyes from her smooth sex, but there was nowhere to look that wasn’t filled with temptation!

The room was bigger than I’d thought. Around a corner, more women appeared, several of which were completely naked. And smooth. “Pandy! Pandy!” One of them shouted. “Come look at the new girl!”

As the summoned woman waddled into view, I felt my eyes widen in shock and for a moment forgot my panic. I remembered the meathead’s words, She’s a freak. She made me look flat-chested! Barely 5’ tall, her breasts were fleshy mountains flowing practically from neck to groin. And yet, they had shape, bulging far out from her chest. They seemed to defy gravity. They were enormous. How could anyone find those monsters sexy? I tried to imagine what it would feel like burying my head in those. Being enveloped, swallowed by feminine flesh, transported back to the womb, maybe suckling on a big juicy nipple… Whoa!

A sudden loud crack rent the air. A gunshot? “Get back girls, give her some room!” A tall – no, statuesque – black girl held a whip, and strode through the crowd.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves. You all know what it’s like the first time.” She was dressed in a leather corset which seemed to offer her impressive breasts to the observer. The metal heels on her leather boots clicked against the floor as she closed on me.

I felt relief, gratitude, but that drained rapidly away when I saw the way she was appraising me. I was now backed up against the wall, pinned, and she leaned into me sensuously, sniffing my face and hair.

“So we have a new slave in the stable,” she said, oozing confidence, strength, power. “I’m Tigra. I’m going to like you. I’m going to take my time liking you.” I trembled weakly as she stroked my hair, the gesture both tender and sinister. I had the sudden desire to kiss her.

“Stop teasing her,” the childlike sailor – Kimmi – said, pouting. “You’re aww so beastwy.”

And then someone shouted “Angela’s coming!” and the atmosphere in the room instantly changed. Was that fear? I wondered as the girls rushed back to their dressers.

Only Tigra remained. She looked deep into my eyes and I was a gazelle caught by the lion. “We’ll continue this later,” she promised, and leaned to gently bite my lower lip. I heard myself whimper. Then she coolly walked to her table, and Angela arrived.

She was a slender yet shapely brown-haired beauty, with a cute little nose. She certainly couldn’t be much older than twenty. She looked wholesome, the sort of woman you’d see entering a local beauty pageant. Her expression was open, friendly, almost tender.

And she was terrifying.

She wore a delicate silver choker about the neck, containing an amber stone.

She surveyed the room. “The burlesque show is on in five minutes,” She said, and clapped her hands. “So get backstage. Chop chop!” The half a dozen girls dressed like burlesque dancers immediately leapt to their feet and hurried out of sight, putting finishing touches to their outfits and makeup as they went.

Then her eyes fell on me, and my heart froze. “You. Come here, please.” She spoke so softly, but with such assurance. She ruled here. Disobedience was not an option.

Gulping, I rushed over to her, still clutching the lapels of my jacket with one hand. She looked disapproving, and that little scowl might have looked cute on anyone else.

“Hands by your side.” My palms were sweaty, clammy, as I did as I told, feeling the jacket beginning to fall open, willing it to stay shut.

She looked me up and down, casually, and tilted her head as she peered at the shapes half-revealed under my top. Meeting my eyes, she asked, “What’s your name?”

“Elizabeth Summers.” I was caught off-guard and answered without thinking. Silently, I cursed myself. Some spy I was, giving away my identity to the first person who asked!

With relief, I noticed the name meant nothing to Angela. She was thinking aloud. “Beth? No that’s no good., Betty? Lizzy, Lisa – aha, Leeza.”

She looked at me again. “Your slave name is Leeza. What’s your name?”

“Leeza,” I answered, swallowing. At her little smile, I felt a sigh of relief that went straight to my groin.

I gulped again as she unfastened something I hadn’t noticed from her belt – it looked like a riding crop.

“This is your first night, so things may seem a little strange for you. But the rules are simple enough. If you pay attention, you’ll be okay.” She was stroking her hand along the crop, it wasn’t a violent gesture at all. She spark calmly, casually, without a hint of menace. “You will pay attention, won’t you?”

I nodded quickly, my mouth too dry to speak.

“Now first, some terminology.” She tapped the stone at her throat. “I’m an Amber. You address me as Miss, or Miss Angela. Do you understand?”

“Yes… Yes, Miss.” At her smile, my whole body sighed.

As an afterthought, she added, “If we’re alone and getting intimate, you may call me Mistress if you like.” Her tone of voice indicated that she’d like that very much. I could feel my breathing getting ragged again.

“Now.” She reached up with the crop, and opened my jacket, and I was exposed me for everyone to see. Several of the girls were stealing sneaky glances, lustily enjoying the panicky rising and fall of my chest.

“Nice,” she said, taking a long look and I could feel her eyes leisurely gliding across my chest.

She then looked into my eyes, and asked, “What are these? What do you call them?” Then, with the crop, she gently tapped each breast, directly on each stiffened nipple, each tap causing me to jump, driving a hot pulse between my legs.

“My – my breasts, miss?” At the open laughter that burst out in the room, my heart sank. I’d given the wrong answer. Why was I so hot?

“They’re your tits, girl!” someone shouted, laughing. “Hooters!” shouted another. “No, bazookas!”

Angela looked around the room, furrowed her brow, and instantly everyone went silent. She turned back to me. “Let’s try again. What are these?”

I could feel my burning cheeks. “B- boobs, Miss?” There was some suppressed chuckling. Angela looked a little disappointed. I remembered what Meathead called me. “Jugs? Tits?” I was throbbing with shame.

She smiled, and then tapped the crop up, between my trouser legs. It felt like a hand suddenly clasped about my sex, and squeezed. “And this? What’s this?”

Vagina, I wanted to say, but I knew that’s not what she wanted. “Pussy, Miss?” Why was my body reacting to her casual humiliation? Why couldn’t I control myself?

“Can you think of any other words that might apply?” I couldn’t believe it. She spoke slowly, using the tone of a schoolteacher talking to a particularly dim child, and that’s exactly how she was making me feel.

I knew what she wanted to hear. It was there in my mind. I’d never say something like that, it was unimaginable.

And the tension, the terror, grew like the heat between my legs.

Oh god. “Cunt, miss. It’s my CUNT!” I shouted. And at her broad, happy smile, I nearly came.

She was talking again. I needed to listen, to pay attention! “You’re doing very well. Some of your clients will expect you to use language like that, so it’s best you get used to it. You may find it helpful to use such terms when you think about them, substitute them in your mind for the clinical terms you’re obviously used to.”

“Now, let’s have a good look at you. Take off your clothes.”

My mind went blank. I stood there paralysed. Angela waited. The tension in the room grew. The girls – the slaves – gave up pretending not to watch. They knew this was a special moment.

I should just – just refuse, and leave.

But what if she is part of a cult or criminal gang? They are all terrified of her. What might she be capable of? I knew in my hot, throbbing heart that she was capable of anything.

They think I’m one of them. If I act any different, they’ll know I’m not. Could I really do it, in front of all these woman openly lusting for me? Did I have the strength?

And besides, my bre… my boobs are already on display. It’s not that big of a step . I was rationalising, trying to find a way to make my compliance seem a little thing.

But it wasn’t a little thing. If I do this, there’s no going back…. I’d never be able to forget how just thinking about obeying set my blood on fire, I’d never be able to tell myself that these feelings didn’t exist.

And that’s what made the difference. I realised I had to do it. I had to know if the act was as exciting as the thought. Regardless of what it would mean for me soul, my sanity - I had to know. Who am I, really?

And so, with every muscle trembling, I slowly took the jacket off and dropped it to the floor. It felt like I was shedding some essential part of me; the feeling of liberation, of air on my tingling flesh, was dizzying.

Briefly, I wondered what they’d think of me now, at University? Those people who’d made my life a misery. Was I confirming their accusations?

That thought flitted away when I looked at my audience. They were spellbound. Several women were touching themselves openly. Others had raised their pendants to their mouths, kissing them as if they were some perverse rosary. I felt glorious, divine.

I couldn’t get my trousers off fast enough. I peeled them from my thighs, shuddering at the sensation, fascinated by the oily slickness coating the crotch. Then, frantically, I tore them off my legs and threw them away, and stood up straight, crying out a cheer of exultation, of ecstasy! Several of the women cheered with me.

And then, as quickly as it came, the feeling vanished. I was naked, vulnerable, defenceless. And still, my body boiled with lust and shame.

I lowered my arms and started to cover myself, before realising that if I touched myself, I wouldn’t be able to stop - I’d have to quench the fire with my fingers. Not knowing what else to do, I clasped my hands behind my back. It felt somehow appropriate. Feeling utterly humbled, I looked down, at her feet.

Angela seemed oblivious to my mental rollercoaster ride. Once happy with my position, she handed her crop to Bambi, and stepped close enough to kiss me. She unceremoniously hefted one of my boobs in each hand, as if they were hers to with as she wanted. Her casual touch sent shivers of anguished delight through me.

“Very nice. I like the way your blush spreads all the way down to your tits. They look like they’ve been spanked already.” My mind recoiled from that statement, dismissing it so I didn’t have to think what it might foreshadow.

She gave each tit a gentle squeeze, making an exciting little murmur of approval, and rubbed her thumbs across the dark, hardened flesh around the nipples. I didn’t realise they could get that hard, so painfully hard.

Then she took each nipple between finger and thumb, and gently squeezed, pinching them. It was a flash of lightning to the pleasure centres of my brain, and I almost fell.

I was hyperventilating. When she released me and stepped back, I almost followed her to maintain the contact. I couldn’t think anymore, I could only feel.

She took the crop back from Bambi, and gently tapped my thighs, forcing me to wide my stance. Then she was bending forward, and as I felt her warm breath on my sex, I remembered April’s tongue. Only terror stopped me from grabbing her head and forcing her face against my hungry pussy.

“You don’t shave.” I couldn’t tell if she was displeased. I needed to know! “Still, I like the colour, and it’s quite light.” She had taken a tuft of hair between her fingers, and the gentle pressure was sweet torture. “Perhaps it needs a little trim.” Her mouth was soooo close!

Then she was standing up, and I groaned in frustrated desire, swaying unsteadily for a moment.

“What have we here?” She asked as she walked behind me and ran a hand across my buttocks, gently squeezing. I felt the reverberations in my pussy.

“My ass, Miss.” I sounded so hoarse, so breathless. And that breath suddenly caught in my throat. She was sliding the tip of the crop down one cheek, to the thigh, and then back up, up to my pussy. Oh god, she’s not going to push it inside…

Then she pulled the crop away, and I almost cried out in disappointment. I wondered for a moment if I should have been feeling relief.

“I think you’re just about ready. But you need something to wear.” She turned, and walked around the nearby dressers, selecting a few garments from the clothes hooks behind them.

She handed me a garter belt and a pair of fishnet stockings. Breathing heavily, I stood paralysed. I was getting dressed? But… But…. I don’t want to!

I wanted her to throw me to the ground and ravish me, while all these girls watched.

I wanted to be fucked!

But then I realised I was waiting too long. Her scowl returned, and terror clamped about my cunt like a vice.

I took the belt and stockings and leant forward. As I did, the loose chain of the pendant fell forward and became tangled in my hair. I just caught it in time, before it fell to the ground. Then, with my boobs pressing against my arms, I pulled on the stockings.

“Carefully,” Angela said. “Slowly. Savour it.” She was right. As I slowly pulled them on, sliding the stocking slowly up one leg, it reminded me of April’s tongue sliding into me. I moaned.

Angela was talking. Pay attention!! “Most of the clients are Aquamarine. They are just normal guests. You are expected to be polite, charming, submissive. But that’s all. Nothing more. You call them Sir. Or Miss.”

I started to slide the other stocking on. Sooo good.

“And then we have the Amber guests. You aren’t expected to dance yet, so you treat them the same as Aquamarine. Dancers wear their collars like this.”

She drew my attention to Bambi, the naughty nurse, and how the chain of the pendant was looped around her neck twice. “That’s how the guests recognise a dancer.” I wondered what Bambi’s tongue would feel like.

Reluctantly I finished putting the stockings on, fastening them to the belt, and wondered for a moment if Angela would notice if I slid my fingers further up… I glanced furtively around, and noticed the girls watching me, spellbound by my little show. They’d notice. They’d like it. Maybe one of those gorgeous girls would lose control and ravish me…

Focus, Beth, focus. I stood up slowly, my hands and legs shaking. Angela was looking directly at my face, with a little smile playing at the corner of her lips. She knew what I’d been thinking. I hung my head, shame and lust feeding into each other.

She handed me some shorts – actually, shocking pink hotpants, that barely reached the bottom of my ass-cheeks. I savoured the feeling of pulling them on. They were tight against my pussy – I’d feel them caressing my lips with every movement.

“That brings us to our Ruby guests. If you’re chosen by one of them, you’re to take them into the back room and do what they ask.”

I don’t want them, I screamed in my mind, not really registering her words. I want you! Take me now!

Angela handed me some matching heels – Pink shoes!! I’d never worn pink. I’d also never worn four inch heels before, but it was surprisingly easy to balance. And the sensations they created at my thighs and above were… interesting.

“We expect that you make our guests happy. If our guests leave unsatisfied, it reflects badly on us. We don’t want that. Do you understand?” When she spoke like that, she was so terrifying. So fuckable. I’ll beg, I heard myself thinking. But I didn’t dare speak out loud.

She handed me the final garment, a simple, white T-shirt. She continued speaking as I struggled to pull it down over my chest. It was tight; it felt like having two enormous hands, lovingly squeezing my heavy tits. It didn’t even come down to my abdomen – I could feel air on the bottom of my boobs.

“Now, let’s have a good look… Oh yes, deliciously slutty.” She turned me towards the mirror, and I gasped. The woman in the mirror looked like an unusually gifted entrant to a wet T-shirt competition; the shirt was stretched so tight, it was practically transparent, and my tits had never looked so large. The nipples were trying to poke through the material, the darker flesh around them plainly visible.

Below my naked abdomen, the pants looked sprayed on, the lips of my pussy plainly visible from the right angle. With the stockings and silly pink heels, I looked hot. Ready for sex. Fuckable. So why doesn’t SHE want me?

Only as an afterthought, I looked at my face, and was shocked by the lusty stranger, her wild copper hair, her cheeks blazing with lust, her trembling and pouting lips, her smouldering eyes. She was so hot. I’d fuck her in a heartbeat.

I jumped as Angela clapped her hands, addressing everyone. “Well, Ruby girls, you’ve enjoyed the show, but it’s time for you to go out and mingle.”

The spell broken, around half of the girls leapt up and headed out, either eager to get to work or eager to escape Angela’s presence. She turned me away from the vision in the mirror and back towards her. My heart filled with hope and lust. “I almost forgot,” she said. She took hold of my pendant’s chain, and looped it once around my neck. “That’s the sign of a Ruby girl,” she explained, “a girl who’s here for only one thing. Also, you’ve seen how easily it could fall off when you bend over. You might be doing a lot of that.”

I groaned with disappointment as she pointed me to the door. Then she smiled, leaning in to my ear, “If you’re very good, I may request your service myself.” It felt like she’d just slid her tongue into my hot, wet cunt. As I revelled dizzily in the sensation, she patted me on the ass and propelled me towards the door. “Off to work!”