Chapter 24: Discussions in the Club

In the basement of the Regina Club, Sam Danubo looked up as Natalie was walking towards him. She was smiling and holding up a maid’s costume on a hangar.

Sam had got used to most of what he was expected to put up with at the club but he still hated the sessions where he had to wear women’s clothes. Somehow it was a greater humiliation to be forced to dress as a caricature of those that now claimed supremacy over him. He knew that Natalie knew how much he hated it. No doubt that accounted for the smile.

“Time to be busy,” Natalie breezed, “I’ve got someone that really needs a sissy maid right now. I’ll just get your underwear.”

Sam grimaced as Natalie went towards the cupboards at the back of the room. She was half way across when the intercom from the bar upstairs buzzed.

Natalie answered it and then came back to Sam’s cage with a disappointed look on her face. “Seems you won’t be wearing hose and heels today,” she said. “Your Chinese friend is in again asking for you especially. So, I guess we’ll save the bra and panties for another time.”

With a small sense of relief, Sam let Natalie fit the cock cage and wrist cuffs that Catherine required him to wear. He pulled the hood on over his head and then fitted the gag in place and tightened its strap. Natalie stood by watching patiently and then, as usual, checked the straps for tightness. She clipped a leash to his collar and led him off towards the club room.

As he entered the room he saw Catherine sitting on a couch by the far wall. She was looking straight at him, her eyes expressionless, her head motionless so that her black hair hung like a lacquered frame for her face. Her look betrayed neither anticipation nor boredom, attraction nor disdain. As they reached her side a tug on his leash from Natalie indicated that he should kneel.

“The guaillou again,” Catherine said. “I ask myself is it fair to make you suffer for all the wrongs of your kind? But then I think, you are here, so why should you not suffer? Please, my feet.” She unfastened his gag and extended one leg towards him. “No,” she said, as he went to bend his head forward, “not my feet. My shoe.”

Sam knew what was required of him. He had done this so many times now he was becoming habituated to it, there was even a pleasure in doing what was desired with skill, care and precision. He may have attracted her scorn but at least that was recognition. There were many women that came to the club and used him as a toy but he saw her as intriguing and more than that. She wore exotic, dramatic, traditional Chinese clothes that clung to her slight frame in a way that he found exciting. Today she was wearing a short black qipao, its skirt reaching only to her mid-thigh. A bright red embroidered dragon curled sinuously across it. She offered no clue of her response to his actions in her expression. He found it intensely arousing. His feelings were at odds with the strictures imposed by his cock cage and still more with his political views.

His fingers fumbled at the strap that fastened her shoes. As he took them from her feet, she said, “Place them there on the floor.” She gestured to him to kneel beside her. As he did so she reached forward and unfastened his gag. “My shoes, with your lips, guaillou,” she said.

Guaillou – he had come to view the term almost as an endearment. He knew that she intended it as a term of contempt but still it was a recognition. He bent his head towards her shoes. As his face neared the floor she stretched out her feet close to it, so that as he attended to her shoes, pressing his lips to the toe caps of each in turn, he could see her toes, nails crimson polished, stretching and flexing only inches away.

He saw her lift her feet and felt them placed on his back. “It would be very dangerous to tread upon a real leopard,” Catherine said, gazing down at the tattoo on the crouching man’s back, “but you, I think, are not so dangerous.”

Sam said nothing, keeping his attention for her footwear.

“Have you ever been to Hong Kong?” Catherine asked him.

Surprised to be engaged in conversation, he replied. “No, miss, never.”

“My mother worked at the Hong Kong Club. Before ‘97 the only women there were those that worked in the bar or the restaurants or cleaning the rooms. It was the same for all Chinese too. So Chinese and a woman, my mother felt out of place. They would not expect her to kowtow, of course. They would not be so direct, so obvious. Nothing would be said. But there were expectations. It was clear, it was not a place for us. We had to know our place. Now you have your place.”

“Yes, miss.” Sam had learned that when those he was serving embarked on this sort of talk, agreement was the best response. Catherine became silent for a moment. A pair of feet in stilt heeled boots appeared beside his head.

Sam heard Natalie’s voice. “Can I get you something?”

“Another Bloody Mary, please.”

“And is your toy all right?”

“He is very well behaved. Obedient and respectful. A credit to the club.” Sam felt quietly proud. “Tell me, is the playroom free? I might like to use it in a while.”

“I will check. I believe it is available.”

Sam returned to pay his assiduous attention to Catherine’s shoes, hoping that either the playroom would be occupied or that Catherine would change her mind. The return of Natalie’s boots to his line of sight dashed his hopes. “Yes,” she said. “The playroom is free. Shall I have your drink brought in there?”

“Please,” said Catherine getting to her feet. “Come along, guaillou,” she said to Sam as she jerked his leash. “And bring my shoes.” Sam followed her on his hands and knees, Catherine’s shoes dangling by their ankle straps from his mouth.

Sam followed Catherine into the playroom. He knew the room well. He could (and sometimes did) find his way around it blindfold. On one wall stood a rectangular steel frame. Catherine took him to it and fastened his wrist and ankle cuffs to the frame so that he was spread out like an almost naked human X. She reached around his head and clipped the back of his collar to the frame so that he could hardly move his head. “There, guaillou,” Catherine said, as she sat down on a stool beside the frame “We shall see how to play in a moment.”