Date: Thu, 9 Oct 2008 01:22:58 +0000 (GMT)
From: velveteel <velveteel@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Rather Special Club  -  #1

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.

====================================================================

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?