Final Tour

Final Tour – Part One

Home after his final tour of duty in Afghanistan, Jeff was like any newly de-mobbed former soldier, anxious to make up for lost time by having a good time and then thinking about a job.

His former girlfriend was now married with two kids, a nice house and an even nicer sports car.  His former friends had also moved on in life and he felt at a complete loss – apparently a common problem for young guys just out of the forces.  A bit of trolling the bars and clubs had got him an occasional piece of tail but nothing that really gave him any lasting satisfaction until the night a couple of weeks ago when he had ventured into the seedier part of the city.  A few drinks, a couple of joints followed by a few more beers and he found himself entering a club that, under normal circumstances, he would have avoided like the plague. 

The first surprise was that instead of a bouncer standing at the door inviting guys in to see ‘the show’ there was a rather mousy-looking middle aged woman, in  an outfit that wouldn’t turn any masculine eyes,  standing at the entrance with a bored look on her face.

“Well, are you coming in or not?” she asked with a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.

“What’s inside?” he asked.

“If you’re interested come in and see, if not take a hike sonny. There’s no cover charge.”

With nothing better to do, and needing a piss, he went through the door, down a short hallway and in through another door that shut with a resounding click.  Looking round he saw that there was no handle on it – not a good sign.  The first thing he noticed was that the room was quite small, about 25 feet long and only about 10 feet wide with a small stage at the far end.  The second thing he noticed was that there were about twenty women in the room, the youngest certainly well over forty and a few possibly into their sixties.  He was one of only about five guys, all in their early twenties and all looking a bit surprised.

A woman approached him with a tray of drinks and told him to take one.  He told her he needed the bathroom and she told him to grab his drink while he could and then go to the can.  The drink was good – a bit sweet but no shortage of alcohol in it and, in his cavalier fashion, he swallowed it in one gulp and put his hand out for another but the woman had moved on and was plying her drinks to the other guys.  He made his way to the bathroom and as he was unzipping he got a crashing headache and dropped to the floor.

Coming round he found himself up on the stage with the other guys, his hands manacled above his head to an overhead steel bar and his ankles spread wide apart and cuffed to ‘o’ rings bolted to the floor.  The middle-aged women were wandering around the stage checking out the bodies, somewhat like at a meat market.  Other than the prodding, squeezing and the occasional slap across the ass, the women completely ignored the men as they discussed the relative merits of their bodies. 

At the sound of a bell the women left the stage through a door at the back and the guys were left hanging, literally.  The bar above their heads and the stage beneath them slowly rotated in a semi-circle and they found themselves staring at a mirrored wall.  They could hear laughter and some light-hearted haggling as the women continued their analysis of the guys from behind two-way mirrors.

About an hour later the mousy woman from the street door came in pushing a steel trolley.  Without a word she stopped in front of Jeff, picked up a syringe and  stabbed it into his ass.  Moments later he felt another headache coming on and again lost consciousness. 

When he came round this time the scene had changed dramatically.  He was in a small room, on his hands and knees tightly squeezed into a cage, not much bigger than a dog kennel.  His hands and ankles were cuffed to the base of the cage with the only thing preventing the experience from being sheer hell being a foam pad on the floor giving some relief to his knees.  A single light bulb hung from the ceiling and illuminated a large chair, luxuriously padded and covered in what appeared to be soft leather.  It was on a raised platform and Jeff had to strain his neck from his kneeling to see it properly.  The light went off, throwing the room into total darkness.  

What seemed like hours later he heard a noise, sounding like a door opening but no light was admitted to the room.  Next he experienced a swishing noise and a faint hint of perfume.  Moments later another light came on, this one illuminating the elevated chair, making it look more like a throne than a mere armchair and one of the women he had noticed in the club was sitting, ankles crossed, staring imperiously at him.  She was probably in her fifties, taller than average and maybe a few pounds over weight.  These observations were secondary as the most significant feature about her was her face.  It was well shaped, without any apparent age lines and was highlighted by large eyes and incredibly fleshy red lips.  But most of all it was her expression – not one of anger but, nevertheless, incredibly harsh with her eyes appearing to drill right through Jeff.  When she spoke she had a fairly deep voice, the type commonly associated with heavy smoking and drinking.

“I don’t know who you are and, frankly, I don’t care.  You needn’t bother to tell me because I won’t remember it any way plus, as you will quickly learn, talking or speaking by you will only occur when I ask you a question and at no other time whatsoever.  My name is Baroness…. well that doesn’t matter – it is of no concern to you and knowing it will do nothing to help you.  In fact, just to set the scene right from the start, nothing at all will help you.  Life, as you knew it, ended for you last night when you stupidly entered the Cougar Club.  Along with the other idiots that stumbled in you ceased to be a free man the moment you walked through that door.  I bought you in the auction and, in keeping with our club’s long history and tradition, nobody except me and our club members, knows where you are.

You are probably already thinking of how you can escape from this predicament you find yourself in.  Well, let me save you the trouble of trying to figure out a way out.   There is none, period.

One of my club members, you met her several nights ago, the one with the drinks tray, will be coming here shortly to brand you with your identification, the number seven, but more about that later.  To put things into the right perspective let me tell you a few things.  I am 53 years of age, independently wealthy since my husband’s ‘tragic’ accident 9 years ago and have been a committed sadist since I strangled the family cat at the tender age of six.  I was too much for my parents to handle and I was sent to a special school in Bavaria where, far from curing me of my psychopathic traits, they encouraged me to ‘find myself’, which I certainly did.  The house you are in sits on several beautiful acres of rolling countryside  with beautiful gardens, an in-ground swimming pool, riding stable and many other trappings of a wealthy existence.  I am telling you this because you will only be able to imagine it.  Unfortunately for you, you will never see daylight again, in fact, it will be a rare (but painful) treat for you to even leave this room. 

Now, about your brand, the number “7”.  Since my husband died  I have had six live-in guests, no let’s cut the crap and talk realistically, I’ve had six incarcerated slaves and you are now the seventh, hence your brand.  All six slaves found peace here, but to their collective regret, only when they died.  Only one passed away in his sleep and I leave it up to you to contemplate how the others died.  My first slave lived for almost three years and that surprised me at the time as I thought I was being really brutal.  But I did learn from the experience and if you do the math you will figure out that the next five, between them, lasted only six years, averaging a little over a year each.  But I am getting older now and as I age, I am finding myself more anxious to experience all the highs that I possibly can as quickly as I can and, as a result, it seems that each subsequent slave has lasted a couple of months less than the preceding one.  Slave four was the exception.  Frankly, I knew I had made a mistake just a few days after I had bought him and had to put him down.  I really didn’t get my money’s worth from him but, understandably, there are no guarantees offered or expected at our club.  His was probably the most excruciatingly painful death of them all, took him several days to die, with me in almost constant attendance enjoying his pain and tears and sending him on his way, so I did receive something of a rebate, I suppose.

You look to be a fairly strong young man so breaking you down will be enjoyable but disposing of you will probably take longer but, have no fear, I will cherish every aspect of the challenge!  Oh, the English language is so colorful isn’t it?  Did you hear what I just said?  I said ‘have no fear, I will enjoy every moment of it’.  What a wonderful use of words – have no fear – good God!  You will be in absolute fear every waking moment of the rest of your miserable short life!

You are no doubt having a hard time taking all this in and probably think that I am a crazy old bitch.  Well, ‘seven’, let’s analyze that phrase right now – crazy old bitch.  You will quickly learn that I am a totally unforgiving bitch and, yes, at 53 I suppose I could be called old, particularly by someone as young and impressionable as you but, crazy?  Absolutely not! I am as sane as anybody I know.  I have master’s degrees in education and philosophy (helps me understand and really appreciate my lifestyle) and I am a fully trained medical doctor, adding some wonderful dimensions to my enjoyment of pain and torture.  I currently lecture at the local university and support many philanthropic organizations.  From time to time I host dinner and garden parties here with some of the most influential society people in attendance.  To put it another way, I am a paragon of virtue both loved and respected by people in all walks of life in the community.  Ah!  I know what you are thinking but don’t bother.  This section of the house is completely self-contained and is utterly soundproof – there is absolutely no way you can or will make yourself heard beyond these walls and, anyway, I would never tell you when the parties are taking place anyway.”

She pushed a button on the arm of her throne and the cage revolved about 180 degrees so that Jeff was now facing a solid wall.  Another push of a button and a whirring sound was followed by  a section of the wall moving slowly to one side revealing a smaller room full of different types of equipment, some looking positively medieval and some looking twenty-first century high-tech.  She got up from her throne and walked into the room, heading for the far corner on the left.  Opening a cupboard she uncovered a round metal door that she opened by lifting a heavy-looking latch and then turning the circular door about six times in an anti-clockwise direction.  All he could see was a black nothingness from where he was positioned in his cage.

“This is where it will all end, seven, right here in this high-efficiency furnace that I bought when I took up pottery.  Slave one had to brick it into place and connect up the chimney.  I have always been scrupulously honest with everybody so I told him what it was for and that he would have the privilege of being its first ‘firing’.   While I am playing with you this door will always be open as a constant reminder to you to keep me satisfied or face the consequences. 

Well, I think that’s enough for now – I just wanted to give you a brief orientation so that you might feel a little more comfortable in your surroundings.  Oh I’m sorry, that was rather spiteful of me wasn’t it. 

Mistress Fire will be here later to brand you.  In the meantime I’ll leave you facing the torture room so you can contemplate your fate.”  She walked over to his cage and pulled two plastic tubes from brackets on the wall and threaded them through the top of the cage securing them to clamps.   These are your food and drink pipes for you to suck on – drink on the left and food on the right.  From time to time you will enjoy table scraps in a dog bowl but, for the next couple of days, to show you that I am a very serious and totally sadistic bitch, you’ll be enjoying my urine from the left tube and, well, you can guess what you’ll get from the other – enjoy!’

She left the room, the door closed with a solid thud and he heard a motor that, he thought, was probably moving a section of wall over the door completely covering it up.

End of Part One.