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Friday, 29 September 2017

The Black Cat Club

From Blushes 87. My copy of this magazine is missing the top of one of the pages, hence some brief missing gaps in the text.
Black Cat Club 1 — Late for Duty
September for the people of the city of Southminster was a time for a little pause. The early autumn colouring in the trees of its parks and squares signalled the general departure of the summer visitors who had come to view the city’s decorous architectural splendours. There would now be a quiet few weeks before the arrival of the university students who would descend on the city in early October. The little break was welcome but in those early autumn weeks there was always too a sense of anticipation. Southminster had been a university town since Victorian times (its seat of learning had been founded to honour the Queen’s Jubilee) and so there was nothing new in the annual influx of students. But there was every year a kind of alerted expectation as the weekend of their arrival drew nearer.
Some would be returning for a second or third year, others would be quite quite new. Fresh new faces. Fresh young minds and bodies. Both male and female of course but it would only be the latter who would be of interest to those of Southminster’s citizens showing the keenest anticipation. Yes girls, but girls able now to think of themselves as young women, freshly released from the prim confines of their schools into the big world. Virginal and inexperienced 18 and 19-year-olds. Some of them would be eager to gain worldly experience: that was a very stimulating thought. And others maybe not in such a hurry and that was a stimulating thought too. Because whether a girl seemed in a hurry or not, she was at the age when she should get experience.
Those returning for a second or third year of course could have sampled such adult experience already. It might have proved a little strong for them, so that they were hoping now to avoid a repeat.
All of this in staid and decorous Southminster? Ah, but not all of the old city was staid and decorous. Because hidden within its decorous confines there were certain spots where adult experience could be quickly and fully gained. From persons only too eager to impart such experience to nubile young womanhood.
One such little corner was called The Black Cat Club.
----//----
The Black Cat Club was outwardly a down-at-heel basement coffee bar in a back street between the town centre and the main part of the university. During term time it was popular with students who were greatly impressed by its espresso coffee and rather dingy room dimly lit by table lamps formed from old Chianti bottles. But The Black Cat Club had more than that on offer, though certainly not to the normal university student. There were inner premises that were unknown to the outsider, strictly Members Only. Certain students would have seen these inner sanctum regions of the club though. Certain choice and attractive female students.
One of these is called Helen Vosier.
Helen is a tall and shapely 19-year-old with a thick mane of curling dark-blonde hair reaching halfway to her waist. She is back this October for her second year at the university, for excited reunions with all her friends from last year, plus also of course her boyfriend David with whom she has spent part of the summer holiday. In all this boisterous greeting on her first day back Helen is conscious of something she should do, but she doesn’t. It is something that fills her with a good deal of dread. On her second day she knows she can’t put it off any further. In the afternoon, with a not very happy expression on her pretty face, she phones The Black Cat Club.
‘Ah lovely Helen. There you are. I was expecting a call yesterday. Weren’t you back? Anyway come round now. People have been asking for you of course.’
The speaker is a Mr Harry Wanford. Mr Wanford, 50-ish, with a trimmed greying beard, is one of those who run the club. Helen is not at all keen to go round immediately, she is not in fact keen to go to the club at all. But she has no real choice. Mr Wanford is going to be asking hard questions as to why she didn’t come round yesterday, her first day back. If she doesn’t go now it will be a lot worse.
Helen had hoped to spend some time with David, and perhaps also a couple of friends, but now she will have to tell them. They will understand. She had a job at the Black Cat Club last year and will continue it this year. She needs it to supplement her grant. A job working in that front room, serving and waitressing. That is what her friends and David know, but of course there is more to the job than that. Quite a lot more. Those back rooms that people generally don’t know about. That David and her friends don’t know about. The Members Only parts of the club.
Helen phones David to tell him. She says perhaps she will be able to see him later, this evening, although she is not very hopeful of this. Then she puts on a pair of high heels and a light coat, also some lipstick. The high heels and lipstick will be required at the club. She sets out.
During the vacation she had told herself she won’t go back to The Black Cat. She will tell Mr Wanford or his associate Mr Griggs that she doesn’t want to work there this year. On holiday far from Southminster and The Black Cat Club it was easy to think this, to imagine it was possible. But now she is back Helen knows it was just a dream. They won’t let her leave. Not until she finishes at the university at least. They are not going to let such a good-looking girl leave. The members would never accept it. Nor will Mr Wanford and Mr Griggs. Now they have got her they are going to keep her. They are going to be annoyed she didn’t turn up yesterday.
The club advertises itself at street level with a small hand-painted sign of a grinning black cat. Helen descends the worn stone steps and at the bottom goes in the side door which leads anonymously to the rear premises. The coffee bar is open and there are people in there, newly-returned students, perhaps some of them acquaintances, but Helen has no wish to meet them and in any case she knows she will he wanted in the hidden back premises. In the door and along a corridor. At the end she opens a glass-panelled door.
Into one of the members’ lounges. A brightly-lit room with a bar at one end, and leather armchairs and tables scattered around on a red carpet. Mr Wanford is here plus another man whom Helen recognises from last year. A big heavy man with grey hair, he is a member but Helen can’t recall his name. Mr Wanford looks up, and greets her. He comes out from behind the bar. Helen feels a little shiver.
‘Ah our lovely Helen. Take your coat off and let’s have a look at you. We were expecting you yesterday. Mr Figgis here for one has been quite distraught.’
Helen stammers something about not being able to come yesterday. Registration... Harry Wanford is helping her off with her coat. Taking it from her and tossing it on a table. And then turning her so that her back is towards him. His hands come round and take hold of Helen’s large high boobs through her white blouse. She gives a little gasp.
‘I do believe she’s put on a little weight Stanley. Do you think so? All that lazing around in the sun or wherever she’s been. Yes I do believe an extra half-inch on these lovely tits.’
Stanley Figgis is stepping forward, grinning. He reaches to grab the calf-length hem of Helen’s dark skirt and lifts it up. Her long, bare, shapely legs are exposed. Helen lets out another involuntary squawk. Just as Mr Figgis’s other hand darts in. Under her raised skirt to the crotch of her brief white knickers. The clutching fingers close on Helen’s cunt. There is an immediate shock reaction, the pretty blonde’s body frenziedly writhing, accompanied by more desperate squawks, as she seeks to shake off the mind-zapping hand.
But Stanley Figgis is holding firm, as is Harry Wanford at Helen’s tits. Figgis wheezes, ‘I bet this has been seeing some action Harry. In amongst that laying on the beach. I bet she’s had a few ferrets up here!’
Eventually he does let go, and Mr Wanford does too. Helen is red-faced and shaking as she wraps her skirt down round her legs. ‘I... I...’ Turning to Mr Wanford. ‘He can’t do that... Tell... him... He can’t... do that. Or I’ll...’
‘Or you’ll what, young lady?’ Harry Wanford asks coolly. ‘I’m sure Stanley was only being friendly. What’s more to the point I must ask why you weren’t here yesterday. That registration only takes an hour at the most, I happen to know that. There were members in here not at all happy to find you — and certain others I may say — not turned up.’
Helen attempts another stammered justification, but is cut short.
‘I don’t want to hear it. You’re going to have to be taught a lesson. A lesson you should have learnt last year but it seems didn’t. So get your things off. Your blouse and skirt. I’m going to smack your bum. And after that... we’ll have a little session in the Dungeon.’
Helen emits another and more desperate yelp, while vigorously shaking her head. Fresh from the summer break it is all even worse than before, because toward the end of last year she had unwillingly become to a certain extent inured to some of this. The thought especially of that awful Dungeon! She pleads with Mr Wanford. His growled response is that if she doesn’t get moving immediately Stanley Figgis will hold her while he, Harry Wanford, rips off all her clothes. And then give her a caning she won’t forget in a hurry.
Helen feels like weeping. Recalling that naive idea she had on holiday, of telling Mr Wanford she is leaving the club and he will merely say OK. It was just a simple-minded dream — and deep down she had known that of course. Fighting the tears she begins to take off her things. Her blouse and then her skirt.
Mr Wanford has gone to sit in one of the leather chairs. Helen bites her lip. She is now in just her brief white bra and knickers. She is virtually nude before the two men because the skimpy garments hide nothing. She tries to close her mind. She has got to get across Mr Wanford’s lap. She knows the form. He will pull the little knickers down to bare her bottom. And then start spanking. The thought of it makes her stomach churn.
As she hesitates Stanley Figgis comes up behind Helen and with a cackle gropes her bum. She yelps again... and stumbles forward. Wanford grabs her and pulls her down. He is pulling her knickers down even before he has her properly in position over his thighs. He too gropes Helen’s bottom, now bare. And then his hand is cracking down. Pistol-like cracks searing her defenceless rear. She feels sick. This is really dreadful. But maybe he won’t make her go down there. The Dungeon.
But Harry Wanford hasn’t relented, believing that a girl newly returned from the freedom of the long vacation needs to be given a sharp reminder of the facts of life. So it is to be a session down in the Dungeon.
The Dungeon is a cellar down in the bowels of the earth. Down another flight of stairs below the club’s main premises which of course are already below street level. It is dark and damp and there are things down there. Big crawly cockroaches. Once last year Helen was taken down to the Dungeon and left along in the dark for half-an-hour. Around her in the pitch dark she could hear these unthinkable things rustling and scurrying. She was babbling with terror when she was finally brought up.
That was a punishment for trying to refuse to go with a club member whom she found particularly objectionable. But after her stay down in the Dungeon Helen had obliged, she had been eager to comply. His crawly hands on her were nasty but not as bad as the thought of all those crawly things in the Dungeon.
She had been caned of course as well. Down in the Dungeon before she was allowed to come up. You were always caned when you were taken down to the Dungeon. But for a caning the light was on and all those scurrying things, the cockroaches, would have hidden from the light. Waiting for it to go out again.
Now today, her first day back at the club, that is to be Helen’s punishment. A caning down in the Dungeon. But she is not going to be left down there in the dark. So it could be worse. Although just having to go down there, for a caning, is bad enough.
There is another girl too, called Amanda. Amanda Denvy is another second year student who if anything is even more striking-looking than Helen, not as tall but with a full ripe mouth and waist-length ash-blonde hair. Like Helen she also was unfortunate enough in her first year to fall into the clutches of Harry Wanford and his friends. She has likewise turned up late at the club — and so the two of them are being given a session in the Dungeon together. They are both to be caned.
----//----

Black Cat Club 2 — Down in the Dungeon
Helen Vosier and Amanda Denvy are each to receive a caning down in The Black Cat Club’s dank and scary Dungeon. Second-year students at Southminster University, they both failed to report to the club yesterday on their first day back. So Harry Wanford, joint owner of the club, intends to give them a brisk and salutary lesson. It is always a good idea to give girls a sharp reminder of what’s what right at the beginning of the year. By now showing up yesterday they have provided him with a convenient excuse.
Girls are always required to wear suitable dress for a punishment down in the Dungeon. Suitable sexy gear, for the delectation of Harry Wanford and whoever else may have the pleasure of taking part or merely observing. Also of course these sexy outfits serve to emphasise to the wearers that they are sex objects, their function being to provide sexual pleasure and gratification to Mr Wanford and his associates and club members.
In a small changing room Helen and Amanda begin unhappily putting on these brief and revealing garments. As they do so they exchange a few words. They are not exactly friends but their jobs at The Black Cat Club have thrown them together. For both it has been employment that started off as something highly exciting, which they eagerly told their friends about. But that all changed when they found themselves caught in Mr Wanford’s insidious grip.
They have worn these awful outfits before of course. For scary visits down to the Dungeon like this and sometimes also for members delectation in the Members Only bar and lounge. Helen’s comprises a tight and brief bright-red body suit, with a red suspender belt fastening dark nylons; with over the nylons a pair of scarlet thigh-high PVC boots. There are also elbow-length black gloves, chunky black bracelets and a matching studded black belt round her slim waist. Amanda’s outfit is black: brief black bra and bikini knickers with a black suspender belt and stockings and high heels. For further decoration she is to wear broad black bracelets and a gold waist chain.
‘When I was on holiday this just seemed like an awful dream,’ Helen mutters. ‘At times I just couldn’t believe I had got into this.’
Amanda nods in agreement. ‘But it’s real alright. Another sickening year of it. And next year?’
Helen shudders. It is difficult to believe there is no way out. But there isn’t. No way that they can contemplate. Not with those photographs which Mr Wanford took and which would be sent to various people if either of them made a serious attempt to break away.
They have got their outfits on now, with their own clothes piled on the dressing table. So they had better go out to the waiting Mr Wanford. If he decides they have been hanging about unnecessarily he may easily decide to give them a double dose of the cane. They exchange rather desperate looks. Amanda tries to force a smile.
‘I was just coming in there after you,’ Harry Wanford says. Moving in he gropes first one flinching bottom and then the other. ‘You two girls almost give the impression that you don’t enjoy sessions down in the Dungeon. And I know that can’t be true.’
Are they supposed to laugh? Stanley Figgins does of course. He has a cane in his hand and he pokes the end of it in between Amanda’s legs, near the tops of her thighs. His other hand grasps the end as it comes out just underneath the ripe swell of her bottom in the tight black knickers. Holding the cane fore and aft he raises it.
Amanda gives a yelp of alarm as the cane cuts into her pussy. Figgis continues lifting. Pulling her up onto tiptoe as she tries to avoid the sharp cut of the cane in her cunt... Higher... She yells out as she is lifted off her feet by the cane in her cunt... It is a killing pain.
After some long moments he lets her down. Amanda is shaking with fright and that awful, devilish pain. The two men both laugh. Then Harry Wanford goes to open the door. Outside it is the corridor leading to the steps which go down into the Dungeon. They are to go down there and wait.
For a horrible moment they both think he means without the light on. Both girls have an hysterical fear of being left down there in the dark which is stronger even than the fear of the cane. A panicky fear of those horrible creatures scurrying in the dark! But Mr Wanford indicates that the light will be on. He and Mr Figgis are going to follow the girls down in a few moments, after they have had a drink.
The door at the top of the Dungeon steps is opened, releasing a current of cold damp air. Is it their imagination or is there a strong smell — of nameless decaying substances! Helen for one feels a rising sense of panic. But the light is on. Mr Wanford pushes her in, and Amanda is made to follow. At least there are the two of them — and the light is on. They descend uncertainly in their high heels and on trembling legs.
At the bottom there are no rats or cockroaches to be seen. The light shows the damp bare grey walls and near the foot of the steps a metal ladder suspended horizontally from the ceiling by heavy steel chains, so that it hangs at about waist height. Both girls are familiar with that ladder. It is used for caning. A girl is either bent face-down over it with her feet still on the floor, or she is made to get completely up on the ladder and lie on it, again generally face-down. Either way the ladder can swing in a sickening vertiginous way — while of course the cane whips down on your bottom. It is really horrible. But not as bad as being left down here in the dark.
The door at the top clangs shut. Then as they both think that same fearful thought, it happens! The light does go out! Suddenly they are in pitch darkness. They both scream. In a blind panic they reach out for each other, but fail to make contact. Immediately they think they can hear the dreadful creatures. And feel them! Cockroaches intent on crawling up their legs.
At last, after some frenzied moments, the two girls do find each other. Desperately grabbing, clinging. Both are already in tears. Then as they cling to each other the light floods back on. And the door at the top opens. Mr Wanford is coming down. Carrying a cane. He is a desperately welcome sight! Mr Wanford with his cane. He is coming to cane them, but anything is better than the terrors of the dark.
When he reaches the bottom he asks, ‘Did the light go off for a second? I may have knocked it accidentally.’
Mr Wanford gives a little laugh, then tells them both to stand against the wall with their hands behind their backs. He comes close in front of Helen. She is making desperate little gasping sounds, not recovered yet from that awful scare. His hand reaches down to feel her pussy. ‘Shivery, are we?’
He laughs again, then reaches to grope Amanda. Her pussy and then her tits. Amanda gives a little squeak.
[missing]
off as Stanley Figgis comes over and runs his hands over Helen.
‘What would be interesting,’ Harry says as he plays with Amanda’s now nude tits, ‘would be to leave one of them down here tied up. Stripped off and tied up on the ladder.’
Helen thinks she is going to faint with fright.
‘We’ll think about that one,’ Harry says. ‘But right now we need to get on with the regular business. Which is to warm their bottoms up.’ He moves back. ‘Let’s have both of you bent over the ladder first of all, for a few preliminary whacks.’
Helen and Amanda stumble over to the ladder, zonked out with this truly horrendous suggestion he has put in their heads. It can only be a horrible joke, to scare the daylights out of them. Can’t it? But you can’t know that.
They get into position over the ladder, in the process making it swing in a giddying manner. And then the canes zip into their bottoms. The hot pain takes their breath away. Forget about rats for the moment. There is just this hot mind-searing pain. The dank walls echo to the sound of shrill, desperate squeals.
They are given four real scorchers each, and then Mr Wanford says they are to stand up. That will do for starters, to get them warmed up. It is time for something a bit more interesting.
Grimacing with the pulsating pain in their bottoms, the girls move away from the ladder. Harry Wanford decides to take Helen first. For a proper up-on-the-ladder session. Stripped off of course, she needs her bottom bare for this. He strips off the
[missing]
pale swaying moons bearing those bright red cane stripes.
[missing]
being left down here, spread out on the ladder.
----//----
Quite a bit later, about 9 o’clock, Helen gets back to her digs. She doesn’t know what she wants to do, she doesn’t really feel like seeing David, but then he turns up saying he has been looking for her. He went round to the Black Cat Club earlier but she wasn’t there. Helen was there of course but not in the coffee shop. She was in the back. Down in the Dungeon... and then in that other room. She tells David that she was at the club, most of the time anyway, but she had to go out once or twice on errands.
David doesn’t question this explanation. He has found Helen, that is the main thing. He is with her. And he wants to screw her, that is the central thought in his head. But Helen doesn’t want to. She says she is not really in the mood. She is tired from working at the club
‘That bloody club!’ David groans. He is annoyed that she has to work there, annoyed that she has spent most of today there when she could have been with him. In a quiet little voice Helen says she needs the money. David says she should look for something else, something that doesn’t take so much of her time. Helen shakes her head.
She can’t leave The Black Cat Club of course because of those pictures Mr Wanford took of her last year. Pictures of Helen after she had been plied with wine and gin, first of all wearing that sexy outfit and then wearing nothing at all. And then finally shots of her being screwed by that bloke, one of the club members. Mr Wanford has got those pictures and so she can’t leave. It’s the same for Amanda and the other girl he’s got his hooks into.
The main reason Helen doesn’t feel like screwing David is that an hour earlier she did it with Mr Wanford. In that little back room, on the sofa. It was that business about the Dungeon, Mr Wanford’s talk about leaving someone down there. It was probably just a joke, but what if he actually did it. After the caning session she had pleaded with him to promise he would never, ever do it. Mr Wanford had just joked about it, and felt her up. So then... she said if he would promise her she would do it. Screw him. Mr Wanford had said OK.
There was one other thing. He wanted her to find him a nice new girl. One of the new girls just starting at the university this autumn. Someone really fresh and straight from school. He said if Helen could find him a really nice one like that he would let her have her photographs.

3 comments:

  1. Inspector Rudkin27 August 2019 at 11:43

    Good shots, pretty girls, hard times. Glad Mr Wanford screwed Helen - if she dresses as a tart she must expect to be treated like one. I'd keep them down in the cellar all weekend, sure they can be found plenty to get on with.

    ReplyDelete
  2. There would be a queue all the way up the steps, hope that ladder has strong anchor points. Actually I would like to see the two perform together, whoever comes first gets let off the cane. No cheating girls...

    ReplyDelete
  3. There would be a queue all the way up the steps, hope that ladder has strong anchor points. Actually I would like to see the two perform together, whoever comes first gets let off the cane. No cheating girls...

    ReplyDelete