The sheer exclusivity of the invitation was a coveted prize.
The Club was the trendy kind of place in the City that catered to the rich, the powerful and the famous faces of the moment. The kind of place superstars and young hopefuls adopted as their proving grounds for style, image and the latest headline in the tabloids. The crowded dance floor with the DJ’s booming club mix sent the younger, wilder generation in a hypnotic frenzy. It was a fashionable jungle of glitz and excess with animals definitely on the prowl.
Those that didn’t want that kind of fervor or to be noticed, who wanted a bit of privacy for themselves and their entourage of artificial companions, hangers-on, agents and handlers retreated to ‘the third floor. Away from the crowds of fans and rabid paparazzi, these private rooms were their own $10,000 a night versions of Vegas; what went on in those private rooms, stayed there; and no one was the wiser. The binge drinking, the million-dollar brokered deals, the carousel of drugs, the $1000 prostitutes, the private rooms were highly in demand; a private playground for the men and women who could afford the excessive price.
Although I knew of the concealed goings on under the roof of the Club, I was privy to something even more clandestine: The Fifth Floor. It didn’t matter who you were, how much money you had, who you knew, or how famous you were, entrance as well as invitations to The Fifth Floor were extremely restrictive. None were allowed unless invited by ‘the owner’ of the Club. Money didn’t matter, social status didn’t matter. Only select individuals were carefully evaluated and few were ever sent invitations. I was one of those handful few.
I arrived at the Club a little after nine. Looking stylish in my tailored Armani black suit and dark blue shirt, no tie, to the crowd already there waiting in line to come in or to catch a glimmer of their favorite movie star or musician, I must’ve looked like someone important coming out of the town car that chauffeured me here. And it came to that conclusion when the bouncer working the door, a ‘trusted’ security man who recognized me, welcomed me in without hesitation. He knew who I was and where I was going and didn’t want me to be late.
Another ‘trusted’ bouncer met me inside and escorted me through the first floor, past the turmoil of the young people on the laser lighted and strobe flashed floor, past the huge encompassing center bar pushing the legal drugs for the evening, past the booths and mini bar tables for the lucky ones who occupied them, past all that to the bank of express elevators of the elite. The left one, guarded by a pair of expensive looking security guards, was only used with a ‘chaperone’, an employee of the Club who handled the ‘private’ rooms on the third floor. The right one, which was also staunchly guarded by a pair of ex-linebackers, was remotely controlled by someone monitoring, for this was the only way up to the fourth floor where the main offices for the Club were, as well as the security checkpoint for my intended destination.
Once the doors opened to the fourth floor, I was met by a concierge where my identification was certified and my membership to the Fifth Floor was confirmed. I couldn’t help but think of the irony in the couple of minutes I was waiting. The power brokers on the third floor, not to mention the playboys and girls of the second floor thought their membership to the Club was exclusive with their dues ranging from $25K to nearly $250K a year. My membership to the Fifth Floor however was absolutely free. Not that I ever abused my position or status, but as this membership was indeed coveted and exclusive, I attended, and sometimes participated at these gatherings as often as I could.
Everything was in order by the concierge within three minutes. It never took very long. And though all of them knew I was a familiar face, security and the rules were enforced at all times; no exceptions. I was led by the ‘trusted’ concierge to the next elevator on the other side of the building, the one and only access to the fifth floor. This elevator only went in between those two floors and was again controlled remotely by the destined floor’s security. As the doors closed and the lift started to ascend slowly, I was greeted by a prerecorded message coming through the elevator’s speakers overhead. It was a message I had heard many times before.
In a faintly Russian accent, it spoke: “Privacy and anonymity are our dictum. Safe, sane and consensual is our supreme directive. Violation will result in severe penalties. The Fifth Floor is an exclusive honor for those few elites. Please, enjoy your evening.”
They needn’t have warned me. Being properly educated and trained ‘safe, sane and consensual’ was indeed important in our practices. Those who didn’t follow these rules were the undisciplined, who faltered in becoming proficient in the lifestyle. I, as a Master of several teachings and instructions, knew my control and had honed my discipline into local prominence, which lead me here tonight. Tonight, I was invited to the Fifth Floor for a BDSM gathering.
The ‘Attendant’ came to me a little after one o’clock, right after I had lunch. I hadn’t met her previously, but then I was rarely greeted by the same ‘Attendant’. She informed me only that there was an event tonight and I was to participate. The ‘Attendant’ then left without saying another word. Last time I went to an ‘event’, I was a servant, before that, I served as a fixture, as well as some ornament months ago. But I was not told what I would be tonight. All I was told was to prepare in the usual manner and be ready to be picked up at five o’clock this afternoon. After leaving a message on friend’s machine, canceling our previously made plans, I immediately got to work to prepare myself for tonight.
Although I had a shower this morning, I took another one, this time I carefully took the time to thoroughly wash all over, every crevice and crack, including my breasts, my pussy, my legs, my butt, every inch and limb. I took particular care in lathering up and rinsing my long hair properly as it had been considered by some men as my best feature. Of course, I knew it was mostly a line; from sly and overt glances, I knew men really liked my ample chest and curvy, yet firm butt. However, if they only knew the truth; that I loved them watching my naked body; that I loved to flaunt it. And though I grew my hair long for that luscious mane, below my eye line, there was no hair whatsoever anywhere on my body. That I loved to be bound, spanked and held firmly they would be turned on even more. It turned me on that I could turn men on; it made me smile as I lathered my hair up with shampoo again.
Out of the shower and drying off, I was getting ready at my vanity when I started to wonder what I was going to be in service tonight. As usual, I was going to be masked, blindfolded or even hooded the entire time. I never was otherwise, unless at the discretion of ‘the owner’ of the Club or whoever owned me for the evening. I remember one time when I was being prepared for the night, before I was masked, I was painted statue white all over my body as I was to stand as decoration for one party. I was to change poses from time to time, but was ordered to be frozen in place for the entire evening. At first I thought I wouldn’t like it, but by the end of the night, I found it exhilarating. I found myself quite turned on by being on display like that, not only to mention the frequent pokes and prods by people to see if I was real (and the additional pokes and prods in very sensitive places after they found out I was real). Part of me wanted to be that way again tonight. I also thought of being a suspended fixture on the wall being held up by rope, which was purely for decorative purposes. That was fun as well, being held on one of the posts with the silken rope as the only thing holding me in place. Being a server had its perks as you were bound tightly with a serving tray tethered close to your body. You could see, but only through blinders to keep from bumping into people and tripping. You were led by an ‘Attendant’ on a leash. Each job had its pros and cons. Whatever I was to do though, I was still giddy with anticipation for tonight.
By the time my hair was dry, I put on my four inch heels and my required wrist and ankle cuffs and knelt by the door as I still had a half hour to wait. I resigned myself to meditate in preparation for tonight. Although, I felt like I was physically ready, it never hurt to be prepared mentally. The eagerness that had built up in me throughout the afternoon was still just underneath the surface. Concentrating on the meditation quelled the erotic feelings a little. It kept things calm so that I wouldn’t peak too soon. It relaxed my giddiness, but not my enthusiasm for tonight.
The knock at the door broke me out of the spell I was in. I put on a robe and answered the door blindly. I knew it was five o’clock and the ‘Attendants’ were always prompt. Without a word, she came in and I cast my eyes down. As I closed the door, I took off my robe and knelt at her feet.
.... There is more of this story ...