Monique read the teleprompter, looking directly into the camera, as she wrapped up tonight's report. "... and that's tonight's national news headlines for this Friday. Next up, let's see what Ken has to say about tomorrow's weather. Edison Carter has the local news after the weather. Stay tuned to Network Twenty Three for Missile Mike after the news."

"Camera two, zoom out. Camera three, lead the weather man. You're on, Ken. Cue Doppler on blue-screen. Fade to camera three. Good job, Monique!"

Monique walked off the sound stage and walked down the hallway to her office.

"Monique! Got a minute?" the news editor called out.

"Sure, Murray. What's up?"

"Last week, didn't you ask me if you could do a story on the bizarre sex trade?"

"Yes. Do you have any leads?"

He handed her a file folder. "There this new club down on Fourteenth Street called Edge Play. Sources report some bizarre goings on down there, you know, transvestite slave auctions, that sort of thing."

"Oh yes, I remember a story that came over API a few weeks ago. Some guy got bought in a slave auction there and then disappeared. Then he was brought to that hospital for torture victims in Copenhagen under very strange circumstances. I'm surprised no one picked up that story. And then there's that guy they found hanging by his balls from a fire escape the morning of nine eleven not too far from that club. That didn't make the news either, of course."

"Yup! There's something funny going on down at that club, Monique. So if you want the story, its yours."

"Thanks, Murray! I'll stop by the club tonight."

"Talk to Theora before you go if you want a crew."

"Nah, I'm just going to check it out for a few minutes on my way home."

Monique returned to her office and changed to jeans and sweatshirt in her dressing room. Then she stopped in to makeup on her way out.

"Hi Monique. How can I help you tonight?"

"I'm checking out a lead on my way home tonight, Carol. It's for an undercover story. I just need a temporary disguise."

"Sure thing. Have a seat. I'll give you a 'Senator's aide', okay?" referring to the disguise she used to get information from a Senator's aide last week.

Monique sat in the salon chair while Carol gave her a temporary hair dye and makeup to change her highlights. Monique also put brown contacts over her hazel eyes.

A little later, Monique exited the private elevator reserved for the top stars into the private parking level and approached a row of black Lincoln Town Cars. Her driver was out of one car and had the door open when she reached it.

"I take it we're not going home, Ma'am?" the driver asked raising his eyebrow at her disguise.

"No Bill. Take me down to Fourteenth Street. I'm onto a story that I think might be interesting."

"Yes, Ma'am."

The traffic down Fifth Avenue was horrendous as usual, so she took her cell phone out of her purse and placed a call.

"Hi honey, I missed the sports report, how'd you do?"

...

"Well, congratulations, dear. That's three games in a row. You're going to win the Stanley Cup this year. I just know it!"

...

"Me? Oh, I'm just off to scope out a story about that kinky sex club I told you about."

...

"Yeah, Murray finally gave me the story! Isn't that great?"

...

"Oh, I miss you too. You'll be back home next week, right honey?"

...

"I can't wait! See you then! Love you!"

...

"Bye!"

The car stopped in front of Edge Play soon after the club opened.

Monique stood before a pair of plate glass doors in a stainless steel frame on an, otherwise, featureless gray stucco building, the entrance to Edge Play.

She entered and walked down a short hallway, past a BDSM bookstore on the left and a novelty store on the right, around a corner and down a short hallway. A bouncer was standing at a podium in front of a pair of elevator doors.

"ID, Ma'am?"

Monique showed the man her license.

"Okay, go on in," he said absently.

"No cover?" she asked, wondering if he recognized her and was letting her in for free.

"There's no cover. Some of the services downstairs are," he paused and grinned, "personal." Getting serious again, he continued, "It'd be like we were charging for prostitution if we charged a cover. If it's free to get in, it's perfectly legal. They make up for it with the price of drinks anyway."

Monique shrugged and entered the waiting elevator.

She rode the elevator down and exited into another short corridor, passing a political poster that said:

Defend our lifestyle against the Puritans, moralists, censors, and control freaks -- vote Libertarian!

"Hmmm," Monique thought to herself, "damn Libertarians are everywhere these days! I wonder if Koppel has done a story about this place for Nightline yet?"

Proceeding down the corridor, she came to a schedule of events.

Cass Carnaby Five live tonight
Big Boob Parade in Blue Dungeon at 8:00
Branding Demonstration in Orange Dungeon at 8:00
Co Ed Tandem Beer Pissing Contest in Red Dungeon at 9:00
Comedy King in Yellow Dungeon at 9:00
Hot Male Revue in White Dungeon at 10:00
Master of Illusion in Green Dungeon at 10:00
Slave Auction in Blue Dungeon at 11:00
Torture Demonstration in Violet Dungeon at 11:00

Looking down, she saw that there were narrow colored lines on the floor leading away from the wall under the sign. The colored lines streaked away into the room where they split up and each went their separate way into smaller rooms and corridors.

She ignored the rainbow on the floor and walked over to the bar and paid $10.00 for a White Russian -- at least it was a fairly large glass that would last a while. Then, drink in hand, she found an empty table in the main room. Then she watched and listened.

The band, five guys in pastel blue leisure suits, were playing a bossa nova tune. She had expected a lot of leather and scene garb, and outrageous antics, but most of the people were dressed in street clothes, talking quietly.

After a half hour she stood and explored some more. She walked through the maze-like club through all the smaller rooms. She found a small room that was relatively empty and took a seat at another empty table. This room was much more interesting. Over at one table, a group of men were sitting. But they weren't sitting on chairs. They were siting on the backs of women who were all on their hands and knees while dressed head-to-toe in black leather.

On one wall, was a topless woman in leather pants chained spread-eagle to a big wooden "X" mounted on the wall with her feet dangling inches off the floor. She seemed to be a prop of the club for no one was paying any attention to her. Monique quietly turned on her micro cassette recorder, checked the microphone under her collar, and walked over to her.

"Hi," she said, "What are you doing hanging on the wall here?"

"Hello Mistress. It's a service of the club. They let masters park their slaves on these Saint Andrews Crosses while they go and party."

"So you're a slave?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And your master 'parked' you here while he is enjoying himself elsewhere in the club?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"How long have you been here?"

"I'm not sure exactly how long, Ma'am. Maybe about am hour."

"And when will he return for you?"

"He didn't say, Ma'am. He usually likes to close the club on Friday nights."

"So you're going to wait here, shackled to the wall, for him until two A.M. or so? While he's having fun?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And this is okay with you?"

"He owns me. He can do whatever he wants to me."

"I see." Monique returned to her seat and made some comments onto the tape before stopping the recorder.

She continued exploring the club, losing track of time. Looking at her watch she said to herself, "Look at the time, it's after ten thirty already!"

She stopped into a restroom labeled, "Alternate Ladies' Room" before leaving. Passing a row of sinks, she was pleased to see that each toilet was in a private little room rather than just surrounded by those flimsy metal partitions that give no privacy. She closed the door and looked down and let out a gasp. In the hole in the middle of the toilet seat was a mannequin's head. Wait -- no -- a real man's head -- as if his body was embedded in the wall behind the toilet.

Monique looked down at him looking up at her and backed out of the stall. She hurried out of the restroom and waited in the corridor for a moment. Quickly regaining her composure, she turned on her recorder and went back inside the restroom. She chose a different stall this time and closed the door.

Looking down, Monique saw that there as a woman in this stall. Her face was framed by the toilet seat as if her body was also embedded in the wall. But for the life of her, Monique couldn't think of anything to say -- unusual for a reporter with her usual nerves of steel. Realizing that she had to go pretty bad, Monique decided to try her services. She turned to face the door, and pulled her jeans and panties down. She hesitated a moment before taking a seat on the woman's face. It was eerie to be exposing herself to a total stranger, a woman yet, and about to sit on her face. Monique reminded herself that she wasn't being gay -- she just had to use the toilet really bad, and as they way, "When in Rome..." So she sat and squirmed a moment to position her clit over the woman's open mouth. Her bladder was nearly bursting, so she peed easily enough.

Surprisingly to her, the woman didn't seem to have any problems absorbing her pee. She emptied her bladder after a moment and then stood again. She tore off a stream of toilet paper and wiped herself and then wondered what to do with it. Seeing a trash bin mounted on the wall, she tossed it in there.

She pulled her jeans back up and exited the stall, feeling mildly giddy from the experience.

After washing up in the restroom, she found her way back to the corridor to the elevator to leave the club when she noticed the event schedule on the wall again. She peered at the last two entries again.

Slave Auction in Blue Dungeon at 11:00
Torture Demonstration in Violet Dungeon at 11:00

"Hmmm," she thought, "either of those might be worth observing." She spun around and followed the blue and violet lines into the room. The two lines stayed together to leave the room and go down a short corridor. They entered a small lounge room where they split up to, each go down a different corridor.

She flipped a coin. Heads, follow the blue line to the slave auction. Tails, follow the violet line to the torture demonstration. She tossed the coin and caught it in the back of her hand clasping it with her other hand. Lifting her hand revealed the head side of the coin.

She followed the blue line into its corridor and around a corner, past more rooms, where it veered into an open doorway.

There was a table sign just inside the doorway piled with flyers. The blue dungeon was a small assembly room decorated in the motif of a medieval torture chamber. She took a flyer and read it over. It explained how the slave auction worked.

Every time you enter the club, you are given 10 slave points. That must mean she had 10 points to her name right now. You can offer yourself for sale, and the high bidder gets you as their slave for 24 hours. You also gain 10% of their bid amount added to your total number of points.

To offer yourself, you sign a release form stating your sexual orientation: straight, gay, or bi. If you're straight, you're only offered to masters of the opposite gender; if you're gay, then only to masters of the same gender; and if you're bi, you are offered to anybody. You give your minimum bid, which works much like the "reserve price" on eBay -- you only get sold if someone bids at or above your minimum bid. You also list your limits and print your safe word -- they recommend "may day," but "red" is the customary safe-word. If a slave refuses to do something that he didn't list as one of his limits, then the slave is banned from the club for life.

On the other hand, if you buy a slave, you can't leave the premises with your slave except under special circumstances. For this reason, there are suites that you can rent for the night like a hotel room -- with a bedroom, bathroom, kitchenette, and dungeon. Likewise, a master who violates a slave's limits is banned for life from the club and is reported to all the newsgroups.

Monique barely gave it a thought -- what a way to get a story from the inside! She filled out the form and gave it to the couple sitting behind the table.

She listed her orientation as straight, but she wasn't sure about what limits to list. She put down, "No children or minors," but couldn't think of anything else to list as a limit. She also gave no minimum bid.

They gave her a numbered tag and told her to go wait into the back room, pointing to a door on the rear wall of the room.

She entered the changing room. A woman dressed all in black leather looked at her tag and ordered her to strip naked and put her clothes in a like-numbered Tupperware bucket. She hesitated, seeing that the room contained about twenty other slaves-to-be -- both male and female, some naked and others becoming so.

"Now, slave!" the dominatrix yelled at her at her moment's hesitation.

"Yes, Ma'am," Monique meekly answered, shocked at being addressed this way. As a TV anchorwoman, she was accustomed to being treated oh-so-courteously all the time. Oddly enough, being without her press pass, recorder, microphone, and notebook made her feel more vulnerable than her nakedness.

She took a seat in one of the folding chairs there and the auction got started out in the blue dungeon.

One by one, the auctioneer brought the slaves out to the auction block as Monique waited her turn. About halfway through the auction, when about half of the slaves had been auctioned off, the auctioneer ushered her out into the room.

Her face turned beet-red as she stepped up, buck naked, on a pedestal, and faced the small crowd.

The auctioneer started the bidding, "Here we have a newcomer to the scene. She's five feet six and 118 pounds. Just take a look at that beautiful head of red hair, at those big brown eyes, and those firm breasts and buttocks."

She almost spoke up at that description of her when she remembered she was still in disguise. Her blonde hair and hazel eyes were well hidden.

The auctioneer continued, "She's straight, so only guys can bid. She has no experience, but such a beautiful woman rarely comes our way. Do we have an opening bid, fellas?"

The audience murmured. After a few moments, Monique worried that no one was going to bid on her. Then a big burly biker-looking guy opened the bidding by calling out, "Two hundred slave points!"

The auctioneer announced, "We have a bid of two hundred for this fine specimen of womanhood. Surely such a catch can command a higher price. Can we have a counter bid?"

At that, another bid came from a beefy black guy dressed in the usual black leather, "I bid two hundred and fifty!"

The auctioneer continued his pitch, "We have a bid of two fifty! Anyone care to up that? Come on ladies and gentlemen!"

Then a geek in a jeans and a Tech TV T-shirt yelled out, "I'll pay three hundred for the bitch!"

"Three hundred, folks!" the auctioneer called out. "The bidding is getting serious now."

"Four hundred!" from the black woman.

Then an older bald man wearing the seemingly obligatory black leather called out, "Four fifty!"

The biker dude who opened the bidding called out, "Five hundred!"

Geek called out, "Six hundred!"

The black dude countered, "Seven fifty!"

"Wow!" the auctioneer announced. "We have quite a bidding war here, folks. Anyone else care to make a bid before her price gets too high? Come on folks!"

A smallish Chinese man called out, "I bid one thousand points!"

After a pause, the auctioneer called out, "Wow, we're up to one gee already! Can anyone top this?"

"One point two," geek called out.

"Can someone top twelve hundred?" called out the auctioneer.

The crowd started to murmur a little, then the auctioneer announced, "We have a final bid of one thousand two hundred! Going once! Going twice! Gone for one thousand two hundred slave points to Hungry Guy."

Hungry Guy approached the podium. The auctioneer clicked a leash to Monique's collar and handed the leash to him.

That moment felt so humiliating, yet erotic, for her -- standing there completely naked while a total stranger held a leash attached to a collar on her neck.

Hungry Guy led Monique by her leash into the back room and then through to an adjoining room. Purchased slaves were there getting dressed, some in their original clothes, and others in fetish-wear provided by their new masters.

He asked one porter, "Please bring my slave's clothes in here to me."

Then, to Monique, he handed her a leather and steel mesh garment and said, "Put this chastity belt on, bitch."

Monique gasped, but pulled the chastity belt up -- this was her idea, after all. He then belted it and clicked a padlock onto the clasp over her crotch. He also latched a padlock to her leash and collar.

The porter then returned with the plastic tub that she placed her clothes in before the auction.

"Thank you," he told the porter as he took the bin.

He then yanked on her leash hard as he led her out of the room with a curt, "Come."

He led Monique through the club. People at tables barely seemed to notice a man leading a naked woman by a leash as if this was a common occurrence here. After passing through the warren of rooms and corridors, they stopped in front of another dungeon. Monique gasped when she realized where she was -- the torture demonstration.

Upon walking inside, past a couple of big beefy bouncers watching the room, Monique couldn't believe her eyes. She had expected it to be some lame fake show.

Upon walking inside, there was a woman hanging by her breasts from a pulley in the ceiling.

Next they passed to a man shackled spread-eagle to a giant wooden X standing upright. He was naked, and he had a sort of collar wrapped around his balls. Hanging from that collar was a cloth sack containing what seemed like a bowling ball. A woman in leather occasionally touched the ball with her foot, sending it swinging back and forth.

Next, was a woman laying on her back on a low wooden platform with her feet hanging over the ledge. Monique almost puked when she saw the woman's feet, for they were all slashed and blistered. One of her toes was cut off, and a couple of her toes were missing their toenails. In a tray at the base of the table were assorted bottles labeled, "Sulfuric Acid" and "Rubbing Alcohol." Monique looked away as they walked past.

Next, there was a woman straddling another sawhorse. The top beam was made into a point lengthwise. She was standing on her tiptoes while her wrists were bound together over her head and toed to a shackle mounted in the ceiling. As Monique watched, the victim lowered herself onto the beam, sit for a few moments, then lift herself back up on her toes, then sit, then stand. Her constant rising and lowering reminded Jack of someone riding a horse.

They stopped at an unoccupied sawhorse at the rear of the room.

"What are you planning to do?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"You didn't list any limits, so I thought I might start with some tit torture, then move to your cunt, and maybe a few of your other holes."

He led her up to the sawhorse and told her to lean over it.

"Wait," Monique hesitated, "I'm having second thoughts about this."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch and get that ass in the air!"