The Golden Knot
Chapter 1: Thursday

Copyright© 2019 by Ridden

Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: Thursday - A little story about an annual competition held between six rather special and very private clubs. Warning: Not my usual kind of story. Proceed with care. Please read the codes first. Enjoy (I hope)

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fiction   Bestiality   Caution  

The play area was closed, being prepared for the following night’s event, so tonight the bar was packed full. From my place I could see out across the room, the dance floor was busy, but not full, unlike the seating area. The main bar looked like a scene from the storming of the bastille.

The club was one of two that I frequented, easier to access for those who lived in the city, discrete enough, tucked away in the corner of an industrial park. Discretion is everything to those who desire the company of others who share their kink. The club caters exclusively to those who enjoy bestiality. Mostly dogs, those being the most popular and easiest to keep.

Buried at the back of the main room was a small bar with a few alcoves allowed extra privacy or just a quieter place away from the chaos of the main area. My place was at the end of the that bar, quiet enough to enjoy a conversation, yet perfectly placed to see the antics of the other members. People watching is a long enjoyed pleasure of mine.

The girl that approached caught my eye, not so much because of her appearance, though it was pleasing. No. It was her manner, it seemed the closer she came to less confidence she displayed, a certain nervousness seemed to grow as she stepped carefully, navigating around the tables and groups of comfortable chairs that formed the main part of the room.

I sipped from my glass, still people watching, but aware of the girl.

She slowed, body nervous, mind made up. Eventually she reached a spot just with my arms reach. It was as far as her determination could stand.

For a long moment I thought she might turn and flee.

Then she transformed, right there before my eyes. Her body straightened, shoulders drew back, breasts thrust forwards, hips rolled and her head lifted. Eyes burned with a desire as yet unknown, but very obviously fed from a furnace long stoked by need.

Her eyes locked not onto my face, but onto the collar around my neck. Not once did her attention wander, not once did her laser focus drift from their target. It made talking to her a little distanced, not that I minded, she wasn’t the first, would not be the last.

“I ... Umm ... I need ... FUCK IT... !! I need a sponsor, they won’t let me register without one. Please ... Help me... ??”

The mix of shyness and determination amused me. The request wasn’t new, the wording was ... Different.

“Why exactly do you think you need to enter... ??” I always tried to be cold, uncaring, detached.”

“I need ... Have to prove...”

“To who... ?” I think I actually succeeded in making my voice crack like a whip.

“To me ... To myself...”

I nodded, not like I couldn’t understand her, I had once been her. “You understand the consequences... ?” Of course she didn’t, not completely, nobody did, until it was too late.

“Yes ... I ... I memorised all the rules. Honest.”

Now that was funny. There are only really two rules, and they are simple enough for anyone to understand. The rules are simple, it’s the consequences that are complicated. I made her wait whilst I studied her. Watching for her body language to reveal its secrets. She never moved, just waited, anxious, yet resigned.

I studied the room, there was nobody watching her, nobody to ensure her obedience. Good. Well, good and bad. Good to know she was not being forced, bad that she’d have no support.

“You have the application... ??” Why is it I can’t quite lock the compassion out of my voice... ??

Hands scurried to a back pocket, fumbled with the thin sheaf of papers. Arms reached out, part supplication, part offering. I took the papers, flicked through the forms, application, medical, the usual. Flipping back to the application I laid it on the polished bar top, took a pen from the jar the barmaids kept next to their tip box. I signed, dated. Silently sighed.

The girl transformed again, body almost effervescent, the happiness of the innocent, she took the papers, reached out to embrace, paused, collected herself. Nodded her head slowly, formally.

“That you... !! Thank you SO much... !! I won’t ... I mean I will ... Fuck... !! You will be proud, I promise... !!”

“Go, register, then return.” Yes... !! I got the chill back in my voice.

She scooted away like I’d stuck a blowtorch up her ass. Cute ass too, I watched it as she raced to obey, almost dancing around the tables and other patrons. Her antics greeted with smiles at her giddy happiness.

Her return was a study in opposites, exuberance vs respect.

Again her eyes locked upon my collar, arms out, palms flat, offering the drawstring bag to me. I took possession without a word. Again I made her wait. Finally. “Here, that exact spot, tomorrow afternoon, two o’clock. Precisely.”

“Yes ... Mm ... Mis...”

I cut her off, dead. “Save it, follow the instructions and obey.”

Dismissing her was easy, I simply turned away, my expression summoned one of the barmaids. I didn’t need to name my poison, I just needed to drink it.


I frequented two clubs, but there were another four whom I could enter without question. The six clubs covered a good part of the country, all were long established, maintained a large and sometimes well positioned membership. Between them they served those who loved their animals literally. Exclusive often means expensive, but the price of admission wasn’t particularly high in monetary terms, instead members were carefully vetted and required to validate their desires, on camera. A step that caused a few to withdraw, but ensured each member was genuine.

The other thing the six clubs had in common was a friendly rivalry, not so much between the clubs themselves, but between the members. Especially those drawn to the more extreme side of bestial lust. That friendly rivalry had born the idea of the competition, an annual event that allowed a few to immerse themselves to a degree usually not possible, and of course it allowed the wider membership to enjoy the spectacle. It was inevitable that bets would be placed, so as the competition evolved, certain rules were set in place, a format agreed, and each club took a turn as host. Less obvious were the measures taken to deal with those who competed, especially those who not only lost, but crashed out in occasionally spectacular fashion.

The number who entered each year varied, all were female, not that men were not active, just that it was recognised that women competitors drew larger audiences, profit is important, not just to cover the cost of the competition, but to add to the coffers of the club holding the competition. There is no such thing as a free dinner bowl, even amongst zoophiles.

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