blackmagicjack1
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Aug 22, 2003
- Messages
- 1,532
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This is a work in process and will bounciing into the tickling section as it gets to that part of the story
The air trembled with the heavy bass oozing out from the band on stage. Red, green and white beams of light crossed another breaking up the smoke filled shadows of the club. People moved like ghosts through sound and light, one moment here the next there.
Sammi sat at her table, angrily taping the bottom of her tumbler next to the empty four that had come before. For the last three nights she had been sitting here, waiting for the bloody “Princess” to show herself. Sitting at this table, drinking scotch and waters, sending suitors away with a glare, dressed in just about nothing, and waiting. She was very tired of waiting. The club got to her, she could no longer deny it.
The club was called “Pandora's Box” and it was a fetish club. Opened only a year ago, it was the new hot spot, and had only two rules: Come dressed to play and don't make promises you can't keep. The police never bothered Pandora's, someone would have to die first. The clientèle wore the most provocative of clothing and most had a good time. For Sammi this place seemed like a private hell, that she had managed to avoid till now.
Sammi was a private investigator or as some liked to joke a private dickless. Her job demanded that she be aware, tough, and ready ... especially ready. But “Pandora's Box” called to her secret weakness. Watching men and women practice their trade upon one another for the last three nights was driving her mad. Right now, in a corner booth across from her, a woman was strapped to the table. The straps of her negligee pulled down to expose her to down to her navel. Two men were taking turns with her. One would pour whiskey on her, light it with a match, watch the woman convulse, then put the flames out licking the remaining liquor from her. The other man was using what looked like a fork to scratch and tickle the poor woman's bare feet. When one grew bored, he would switch places with the his partner. Throughout this the women would scream, laugh and struggle with her bonds, but she never cried for mercy. Sammi licked her lips entranced by the scene, knowing if she gave into her desire she might never leave Pandora's Box.
“Hells!” spat Sammi, tearing her eyes from the trio and her hand from her thigh.
The outfit she was wearing made indiscretions too easy. A leather teddy the woman at the store had called it, though sex leotard might have been better. The outfit resembled an ice skater's costume, minus the frilly skirt. It was cut like a diamond in front, with breasts covered but all the flesh between exposed down past her navel. It was also cut high around the thighs, exposing her cheeks to the world. It was good that she shaved. But the way that the outfit showed off her bountiful assets was not the reason she bought it. Covering the teddy were sharp steel spikes that were three-quarters of an inch long covering the front of the outfit. She had wished that they covered the back to, but considering how much time she had spent sitting it was just as well. Knee high leather boots, fishnet arm warmers, and a very thick spiked leather collar completed the ensemble. All had been purchased but the collar, that was hers. Anyone observant enough would notice that it had a clasp in back to attach a leash. Her coat she had to leave at the door, along with her .45.
Taking a deep breath, Sammi looked about the club again. She was here for the “Princess,” not to have her senses over-stimulated. Though she did long for it, and it made her very angry to have to confront these feelings.
“Enough of this,” she thought, “where is that wench?”
She had been hired to find a girl named Jezebel. Her contacts on the streets had told her that Jezebel was one of the “Princess's” girls. Sammi had found out through her friend on the vice-squad that the “Princess” only showed herself at “Pandora's.” Seemed she and the mysterious owner of the club were close friends. But for someone who was supposed to “play” a lot, the damn bitch hadn't showed herself in days.
Sammi laughed to herself. If the “Princess” didn't show she was going have to invite some over for some fun of her own, otherwise returning to this place tomorrow would get her into some serious trouble. Leaning back in her chair, Sammi ordered another drink and kicked up her heals. Then she spotted her! It had to be the “Princess,” the woman by the bar was just has she had been described.
The woman was short, petite, had long blond hair that was almost white, and was dressed all in white. All she wore was two inch strap-ons, silk bra and panties, and a choker. At the moment she was leaning against the bar talking to one of the bouncers. Her stance showed off the curves of her body to good effect. Sammi stood deciding that it was time to make her introduction.
The air trembled with the heavy bass oozing out from the band on stage. Red, green and white beams of light crossed another breaking up the smoke filled shadows of the club. People moved like ghosts through sound and light, one moment here the next there.
Sammi sat at her table, angrily taping the bottom of her tumbler next to the empty four that had come before. For the last three nights she had been sitting here, waiting for the bloody “Princess” to show herself. Sitting at this table, drinking scotch and waters, sending suitors away with a glare, dressed in just about nothing, and waiting. She was very tired of waiting. The club got to her, she could no longer deny it.
The club was called “Pandora's Box” and it was a fetish club. Opened only a year ago, it was the new hot spot, and had only two rules: Come dressed to play and don't make promises you can't keep. The police never bothered Pandora's, someone would have to die first. The clientèle wore the most provocative of clothing and most had a good time. For Sammi this place seemed like a private hell, that she had managed to avoid till now.
Sammi was a private investigator or as some liked to joke a private dickless. Her job demanded that she be aware, tough, and ready ... especially ready. But “Pandora's Box” called to her secret weakness. Watching men and women practice their trade upon one another for the last three nights was driving her mad. Right now, in a corner booth across from her, a woman was strapped to the table. The straps of her negligee pulled down to expose her to down to her navel. Two men were taking turns with her. One would pour whiskey on her, light it with a match, watch the woman convulse, then put the flames out licking the remaining liquor from her. The other man was using what looked like a fork to scratch and tickle the poor woman's bare feet. When one grew bored, he would switch places with the his partner. Throughout this the women would scream, laugh and struggle with her bonds, but she never cried for mercy. Sammi licked her lips entranced by the scene, knowing if she gave into her desire she might never leave Pandora's Box.
“Hells!” spat Sammi, tearing her eyes from the trio and her hand from her thigh.
The outfit she was wearing made indiscretions too easy. A leather teddy the woman at the store had called it, though sex leotard might have been better. The outfit resembled an ice skater's costume, minus the frilly skirt. It was cut like a diamond in front, with breasts covered but all the flesh between exposed down past her navel. It was also cut high around the thighs, exposing her cheeks to the world. It was good that she shaved. But the way that the outfit showed off her bountiful assets was not the reason she bought it. Covering the teddy were sharp steel spikes that were three-quarters of an inch long covering the front of the outfit. She had wished that they covered the back to, but considering how much time she had spent sitting it was just as well. Knee high leather boots, fishnet arm warmers, and a very thick spiked leather collar completed the ensemble. All had been purchased but the collar, that was hers. Anyone observant enough would notice that it had a clasp in back to attach a leash. Her coat she had to leave at the door, along with her .45.
Taking a deep breath, Sammi looked about the club again. She was here for the “Princess,” not to have her senses over-stimulated. Though she did long for it, and it made her very angry to have to confront these feelings.
“Enough of this,” she thought, “where is that wench?”
She had been hired to find a girl named Jezebel. Her contacts on the streets had told her that Jezebel was one of the “Princess's” girls. Sammi had found out through her friend on the vice-squad that the “Princess” only showed herself at “Pandora's.” Seemed she and the mysterious owner of the club were close friends. But for someone who was supposed to “play” a lot, the damn bitch hadn't showed herself in days.
Sammi laughed to herself. If the “Princess” didn't show she was going have to invite some over for some fun of her own, otherwise returning to this place tomorrow would get her into some serious trouble. Leaning back in her chair, Sammi ordered another drink and kicked up her heals. Then she spotted her! It had to be the “Princess,” the woman by the bar was just has she had been described.
The woman was short, petite, had long blond hair that was almost white, and was dressed all in white. All she wore was two inch strap-ons, silk bra and panties, and a choker. At the moment she was leaning against the bar talking to one of the bouncers. Her stance showed off the curves of her body to good effect. Sammi stood deciding that it was time to make her introduction.
