The Rather Special Club by Old Greebo. (c) Old Greebo 2008
Tiles. White tiles as far as I could see. And my body ached. God, how it ached!
It took me a while to gather my senses. My head ached. Had I been drugged?
I was lying on my back, on something that was soft. Not cloth. Leather, perhaps? Padded leather? I wasn't level - it felt as though my head was thirty centimetres or so higher than my arse. A white tiled barrier prevented me from seeing my body, but from the feel of things I knew I was naked. Warm air circulated gently about me.
My arms were completely immobilised somehow. It felt as though there were rigid restraints fixed tightly around my wrists and my elbows, holding my arms out at right-angles to my body. My legs were wide apart - and raised above my chest - held by similar restraints. I could feel all this, but was prevented from seeing my body by the weird wall of tiles at my neck.
There was a polished brass number '5' screwed to the tiled wall, about three feet above my head.
Something about my prick didn't feel right. I couldn't work out exactly what it was, but there seemed to be something gently rubbing it on the inside. The sensation at the tip of my glans wasn't exactly stimulating, but there was certainly something faintly pleasing about it.
My head was also restrained, but not too severely. If I moved my jaw I could feel the stubble on my chin rubbing against the cold, glazed white tiles. I guessed I had a couple of days of beard growth. Fucking hell, I thought, this must be Monday! What the hell had happened on Saturday night after Jeff had bought me that third drink?
"The capture was easy, Sir" reported Jeff. "He was alone in the bar, and ready to be befriended."
"Did you have to drug him?"
"He'd probably have come with me anyway, Sir, but a little of your special powder in his white wine made sure he was docile. He's still under the influence, but it won't be long before he starts to take in his surroundings."
"Hmm. OK, make sure he gets to drink plenty of diluted Produce when he does come round. Has he been installed?"
"Yes, of course, Sir. The partitioning was built around him within an hour of his arrival, and the tiler did an excellent job in record time. His head's in cubicle five for urinal duty, and the rest of him is available for the enjoyment of Club members in the Special Lounge."
"Good work, Jeff! You'll be Five's carer for the next few weeks. He needs to be properly nourished, and you must clean him at regular, frequent intervals, especially at weekends and on busy nights. Is he catheterised yet?"
"I put it in as soon as I got him here, Sir. I do know the routine. It stays in place all the time except when the Club is open. His Produce is already being collected and labelled at frequent intervals, and will be kept refrigerated until required."
"Good. What about fecal matter?"
"I know the Club's strict rules about scat in the Special Lounge, Sir. He will be kept clean and free from bacterial taint. Do you want me to keep him under review for eventual transfer to the Raunch Room, for excremental duties? Frankly, Sir, I doubt whether he'd be a suitable candidate. Still, you never know!"
"Some members do pay well for that sort of service! But it's not to everyone's taste! At present we're well enough served in the Raunch Room, but I might ask you for updated recommendations on Five in a few week's time. Now go about your duties, Jeff. It's just gone four o'clock! We'll be open for the evening in a couple of hours, and there's much for you to do!"
"Thank you, Sir! He'll be ready for you to initiate him at five minutes to six!"
My head was much clearer, but I still felt like shit. I remembered going to the Bjorn Bar and sitting down with a king-sized glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. And I remembered eyeing this guy - Jeff - with a physique to die for and a twinkle in his eye that made me want to pull his cock from his pants and suck it till his packet of hot, viscous cum spurted in spasms over my tongue and teeth, to slide easily into my throat and warm me deep inside!
I remembered him buying drinks at the bar and walking towards my table, still with that delicious twinkle in his eye. And the discreet bulge in his pants. He had invited himself to sit with me, and I felt honoured that he'd done so. We chatted. Or to be more precise, he asked questions and I chattered incessantly about the submissive streak that I struggled to keep sublimated. He brought me another drink - he'd hardly touched his own - and ...
... and nothing. Until now.
I now had a better idea of my surroundings. Or at least, of what I could see surrounding my head. I knew nothing of what was happening to the rest of my body, beyond what I could feel. My head was in a sort of tiled cubicle. I had called out, several times, but no-one had come. Sound echoed in my cubicle in much the same way as it would echo in a toilet stall.
My only indication of passing time was the amount of stubble that had grown on my chin. I guessed it was about forty-eight hours since I had last shaved, at six pm on Saturday. I was already a whole day behind schedule with my eBay business transactions! Not good for business to get behind with my orders! I could imagine the dozens of customers faithfully sending me Paypal payments for my special range of Flurribelles - soft but firm bondage gear for the discerning sub! But that was the least of my worries right now! What the hell was the situation I'd fallen into?
I was thirsty; my mouth felt as dry as the soft, black, puckered skin of a camel's anus. If I stopped to think about it, I was also hungry.
I heard a door open. Behind me? Above my head? Depends on your point of view, I suppose. I tried to croak out a question about what the hell was going on, but it only came out as a sort of moan.
"I expect you're thirsty?" A man was looking down at me. Fucking hell, it was Jeff! I tried again to speak, but my throat was too dry.
So I just nodded. Or I tried to nod - my chin was fairly tight against the tiled wall.
"I've brought a drink for you. You'll have to take it through this plastic tube - I can't sit you up to drink in the way you used to drink."
He was holding a plastic container, about two litres I suppose, with a plastic tube emerging from the top. He put the tube between my lips, and I sucked. The liquid was cool and refreshing, with a taste that was elusive but somehow familiar.
"It's nine parts plain water" Jeff said, "plus one part of your own Produce. Your urine. You need the water to flush out the effects of the powder I slipped into your drink on Saturday night. You get the urine as part of your calorie-controlled diet while you're here with us."
As soon as I heard the word 'urine' I wanted to spit out the tube and smash my fist between Jeff's still twinkling eyes! But I had no fists available for the purpose, and hell, my throat was so parched that it would have welcomed neat cat's piss! So I sucked on the tube, and reflected ruefully on the fact that every tenth gulp represented a gulp of my own piddle. I had to admit to myself that it was a refreshing drink, and the taste was by no means repulsive. I could see the container, and when I did at last spit out the tube I had drunk about three quarters of its contents.
At last my mouth was moistened enough to let me speak coherently.
"Jeff? It is you, isn't it? What the fuck have you done to me? The last I remember is when you brought me that third drink. I thought I could trust you!"
Yes, I had so wanted to trust him!
"I'm afraid you mustn't call me Jeff. In this Club you refer to everyone as Sir. I'm an employee here myself, but even I have to call everyone Sir. Well, everyone except enlisted staff such as yourself."
Enlisted staff? Oh, fuck off Jeff! I don't work for you! I ..."
He slapped my face, and I immediately shut up. There are situations when you can argue, I decided, and this wasn't one of them!
"OK. Sorry. Sir!" I looked up at Jeff's face. Even though my view was an upside-down one, I could see he was smiling.
"Well done, Five! You're learning!"
"Five? Er, I mean, Five, Sir?"
"Five. That's you. Look up. Your name's on the wall above you! Maybe you had another name in another world, but in the Club you're Five, and nothing else. Live with it!"
I shrugged. Then I realised that Jeff - Sir - couldn't see me shrugging, so I said it.
"Yes, Sir."
"I'm going now" he said. "Someone will bring you some food in a little while. Don't worry - it'll be proper food! If you speak, remember to call him Sir. Or her. We do have some girls working here."
He went, and for a while I was surrounded by silence. Eventually the door opened again, and a young, pretty, female face looked down at me.
"Brought you your dinner, Five!" she announced perkily. Hope you like moussaka! It has to be something we can feed you with a spoon, you realise!" She had long, curly hair, and when she spoke to me it hung down and tickled my ears!
"Thank you, Sir!" I said, remembering what Jeff had said.
And she fed the moussaka to me, gently and caringly. It was good moussaka too, not that awful sugar-and-sodium-intensive ready-meal stuff you get in the supermarkets. This Club must have a very good chef, I mused.
There was more fluid available too. It tasted stronger than the diluted drink I'd had earlier, and I asked about it.
"We call it Elixir. It's two parts water to one of your own Produce" she said.
"Produce? Er, Sir?"
"Produce is the name the Club gives to one's own urine" she replied. I grimaced.
"The Elixir is beneficial to you. You need the water to keep the body functioning properly. And there are many sects and cults where the consumption of ones own urine is considered to be advantageous. Once you get started on urinal duty you'll be fed neat urine by all the Club members. Sometimes it can be pretty acrid! It'll make you thirsty, so every hour or so there'll be someone coming in with a container of Elixir for you. A long drink of your own piss, diluted with two parts of delicious cold water, will be very refreshing for you after a few pints of stuff from our members' bladders!"
"Christ! You mean they'll be pissing into my mouth? That's so fucking gross! Er, Sir!" I added carefully.
"It's part of what this Club's all about!" she replied, laughing. "I suppose you've been told what will be happening to the rest of your body? The bits that the members have access to in the Special Lounge? On the other side of the tiled wall that's been built around your neck?"
I shot her a puzzled look. I don't know if she realised it was a puzzled look! After all, it was upside down to her!
"Oh well. Perhaps I'm speaking out of turn. The Club Secretary will be down soon for your initiation. I expect he'll tell you everything you need to know!"
She picked up her food tray and the empty Elixir bottle, and made her way out of my cubicle. It amused me to realise that I was already regarding it as 'my' cubicle! And I was left to contemplate my fate for an unknown period of time. But it wasn't long before the cubicle door opened again.
An elderly male face, ruddy of complexion and heavily jowled, peered down at me.
"Open your mouth!" he ordered.
I did so, slowly.
"Wider!" he commanded. "We do have ring gags that can force you wide open, but they're extremely uncomfortable. It's better to open wide voluntarily, I promise you!"
I forced my chin down as far as the proximity of the tiled wall would let me. Apparently it was enough, because I saw a smile spread across the jowls that peered down at me.
"This is your inaugural piss experience, Five. I have deliberately been eating onions, corned beef and fresh garlic so that the event is as extreme as you are likely to experience from the most gross members of our illustrious Club! Be ready to receive my piss. You may swallow as it comes, if you like, but keep your mouth open at all times! If you choose not to swallow at once I shall merely fill your mouth, then relieve myself on your face and on your long, wavy, faggot hair. The rank smell of my piss on your hair will stay with you for the rest of the evening, and overnight. Your carer will not clean you until tomorrow morning. If, in the end, you choose to spit out my piss instead of swallowing it, there will be punishment."
"What punishment, Sir?" I asked timorously.
"You would rather be left in ignorance, Five. Just obey, and avoid the punishment!"
I wasn't sure if I could think of a punishment more severe than having a fat, disgusting old Club Secretary piss in my mouth! But then, I thought, if he thinks pissing in my mouth is an ordinary, day-to-day experience, his take on 'punishment' must be really vile! I opened as wide as I could.
I was expecting a horse-piss strong stream! What came out was a rather pathetic trickle! Blimey, I thought, he must have a prostate problem! Can you catch prostate cancer by drinking a sufferer's pee, I wondered.
The flow was easy to contain, and (despite its thick yellow colour and acrid taste) I was able to drink it all down. When the trickle subsided to its last few drops I closed my mouth. I wanted to know what he would do.
With open eyes I watched the final drops hover on the edge of his drooping foreskin. One drop landed on my left eyelid, and when I blinked I felt the slightly acid piss burning my eyeball. He positioned the final drop to fall in the middle of my forehead just where I usually part my copious locks of not-quite-blond hair. I felt it trickle slowly into my hair, while he shook the remaining wetness from his tool.
"With my piss" he intoned, flaying the impressively-long (but pathetically slender) tool to a semblance of erection, "I hereby initiate you into the service of The Rather Special Club. Serve the members faithfully and earnestly, and you will be rewarded. Fail in your tasks, and you will join The Forgotten Ones. Are you ready to be used?"
What could I say? A gesture of defiance would have fallen on deaf ears, and might even have proved fatal.
"I am ready, Sir!" I replied.
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I do have ideas for progressing this story. And I don't just mean the use of our hero's head as an urinal.
Hero? OK, maybe not, but you know what I mean!
It's more a matter of what the Rather Special Club members decide they want to do with the rest of his body.
There he is, restrained in an alcove off the Special Lounge, waiting to be used. Pretty, eh? Arse and genitalia there for the taking. Arms and legs severely bondaged, but hands and feet not completely immobilised.
How would YOU use him?
Is our hero in a 'snuff' situation? Or can he hold his own, and progress to being a Club employee?