{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"01d78177-cb7f-48d9-876e-ab511632fa2f","seriesId":null,"seriesName":null,"currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2025-04-08T15:57:34.838Z","title":"Caged At The Club","slug":"caged-at-the-club","shortId":"u5ZSqQhU","authorNote":null,"disclaimer":null,"type":"Short","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"A young woman signs a contract to be displayed as a caged slave at a fetish club.","partCount":1,"parts":[{"partId":"a5538955-7b3d-41c0-b80f-f03d2b348d90","title":null,"summary":"\nI sit naked, staring out through the thick, black metal bars of my\ncage. It was built to be secure ","wordCount":6199,"readTime":31,"number":1,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Chapter 1","content":"

\nI sit naked, staring out through the thick, black metal bars of my\ncage. It was built to be secure and to look good – not for comfort.\nWithout even a blanket on the floor, I'm constantly aware of the bars\nnot just around me but beneath me.

My\ncage is in the middle of a large room, one of several floors in the\nclub. From this level, I stare out at the legs and footwear of those\nwho walk by. If I looked up, I could see their faces. But club\nprotocol says that I don't raise my head unless a customer tells me\nto. Disobeying protocol means going hungry. Or worse.

I\ndon't know the time, haven't known the time since I was locked in\nhere some three days ago. Time doesn't really matter anymore. All I\ncan be sure of is that it's early evening. The club doors for tonight\nmust have opened about an hour ago, that's when the first customers\nbegan arriving. At the moment the place is still not crowded, but I\nknow there will be many more people by the end of the night. Or, for\nthose to whom hours matter, the early hours of the morning. \n

What\nday is it? Thursday? Yes, it must be Thursday. I arrived on Monday\nafternoon and this is my third night in the cage. I wonder how much\nmore crowded the club will become on the weekend. There must be a\nrhythm to the customer numbers. It's one I'm sure I'll become\nfamiliar with as the weeks go by.

The\nmajority of the customers to the club are male, however there are\nsome women either on their own or with partners. The club has no\ndress code. Most visitors wear vanilla clothing. A few – mainly\nsubmissives with their Master or Mistress – are in fetish attire.\nFrom my position on the ground I see everything from trainers and\nbusiness shoes to leather boots and high stilettos. The fact that I\nlook at so much footwear is ironic given that the cage is too small\nfor me to stand up. If I were allowed clothes, shoes would be the\nlast of my concerns.

A\nman and a woman walk slowly past my cage. The music in this club is\nkept low, the customers like to talk about their special interests.\nIt's a place for socialising rather than getting drunk and dancing,\nthough some of both also happens. As this couple walk by, I hear\nsnippets of their conversation. They are talking about the meal that\nthey had at a restaurant earlier in the evening. Hearing that makes\nme feel even hungrier that I was already.

They\npay me no attention as they walk by. For the people who visit this\nclub, a naked young woman in a cage is not a novelty. I'm not even\nthe only one here and, compared to some of the other girls, being\nlocked in a cage is almost a holiday. The clubbers usually prefer to\nstart by catching up on their socialising, then some play with the\ntoys later. So, for now, I am ignored.

Sometimes\nit can be more humiliating to be ignored than to be stared at.

How\ndid I come to be here? It was my decision, my choice. I knew exactly\nwhat I was doing when I agreed to it.

I\ncould just have walked away, but I chose not to.

I\nchose to sign the slave contract.

\n-----

It\nwas Monday afternoon and I was sitting on an uncomfortable wooden\nchair. On the other side of the desk in front of me sat Crawford. His\nchair was black leather and looked expensive – but then, he was the\nowner of this rather special club and I was in his office.

It\nwas the first time I'd met Crawford. The earlier stages of the\ninterview and vetting process had been handled by his subordinates.\nThey'd checked my background, made sure that I was physically and\nmentally fit, assured themselves that I'd arranged things so I\nwouldn't be missed.

The\nbig boss really didn't need to be involved at all. However he liked\nto handle the final signing himself. After all, it was his money. A\nlot of his money.

He\nliked to know what he was buying. Which, in this case, was me.

\"Everything's\nbeen explained to you?\" he asked. \"You've read the contract\nfully? You know what's going to happen? You're happy with being a\ncaged club slave?\"

I\nnodded silently.

\"You\nunderstand that once you sign, there's no chance of early release?\nYou're committed for the duration of the contract.\"

I\nnodded again.

\"Good.\nStand up and strip.\"

The\ncommand wasn't a surprise. I knew that once I signed the contract I'd\nbe naked until its end, exposed to anyone who came into the club. So\nI stood up and began to disrobe slowly. I tried to do it slowly\nenough to give Crawford a show, but not so slowly that it looked as\nif I was trying to delay.

He\ngave no sign of enjoyment, but his eyes remained fixed on me the\nwhole time. Once I was finished, my clothes laying in a heap on the\nfloor beside me, he nodded. \"Good,\" he said \"Your\nthings will be kept safe, you'll get them back when the contract is\nover.\" He laid out three sheets of paper on my side of the desk.\n\"Now, choose one and sign it.\"

I'd\nalready looked through the contracts very carefully, but I checked\nthem again to make sure that nothing had been changed. In particular,\nI ensured that my limits were listed as agreed. Not that there were\nmany – too many would have disqualified me from the job.

The\nthree contracts were essentially the same, however they differed in\ntwo important clauses: the duration and the payment. The first\ncontract was for a week and would pay a good sum of money. The second\nwas for a month and would pay eight times as much as the weekly\ncontract. The third was for an entire year and would pay two hundred\ntimes the weekly rate – a huge amount, easily enough to buy a house\nin the city.

I\ncouldn't help giving a little smile. It was a standard negotiating\ntactic. Provide three options, one of which is extremely low and one\nof which is ridiculously high. That way the other party thinks they\nhave a choice but in reality they're going to choose the middle\noption. \n

In\nthis case, the money for the week long contract would be useful but\nnot really worth what it would take to earn. The idea of signing up\nto be a naked slave for a whole year was something I couldn't imagine\nanyone seriously considering. So there was really only one contract\non the table.

Well,\nthat was ok with me. I already knew which one I was going to choose.\nEven without the 'choice of three' tactic, I'd have taken the month\nlong option. I picked up a pen.

\"Before\nyou choose,\" said Crawford. I stopped and looked up at him. His\nexpression was serious. \"Remember that you only get to work here\nonce. No repeat contracts, no second chances. Once your time is up,\nyou walk out the door with your money and never set foot in this\nplace again. The punters like to believe that the girls here are sold\nas permanent slaves and it's a fantasy we like to encourage. Of\ncourse, it's not true. We don't really sell the girls. At least,\"\nhe looked me in the eye. \"Not very often.\"

He\nwas joking. Of course he was joking, he had to be. But there was no\nsign of amusement on his poker face. I broke eye contact and looked\ndown at the papers on the desk.

I\nput pen to paper and signed for a month.

\"Good,\"\nhe said. \"Now you're our property for 30 days.\" He walked\nto the door of the office, opened it and called in a subordinate who\nhad been waiting outside. Then he went back to his desk and ignored\nme as I was led away.

\n-----

Which\nbrings us back to here and now, with me naked and caged, on display\nin the club.

I\nbecome aware that a man is standing at the front of my cage. From\nwhat I can see through the bars at this level, he appears to be\nwearing formal clothes, possibly a suit, with expensive, black\nleather shoes. I remain still, looking submissively downwards at the\nground, whilst he slowly walks round the cage, examining me from all\nsides. He returns to the front.

\"Look\nup,\" he says.

I\nobey. My first impressions are confirmed: this is a man in his\nthirties wearing a very impressive business suit. On his wrist he's\nwearing a watch that looks like it must have cost as much as I'm\nbeing paid for the whole month in this cage. His whole demeanour is\nthat of someone used to being obeyed and getting what he wants.

He\nsilently studies me further. Then he nods: \"Very nice. Very nice\nindeed. I might put in a bid for you.\" He smiles and I don't\nknow if it's because he's joking or because he's just enjoying the\nthought. Whatever the reason, I smile back.

He\nreaches into his jacket and brings out a long piece of red cotton\nrope. This he lowers slowly through the bars at the top of the cage.

\"Breasts,\"\nhe says. \"Tight.\"

He\ndoesn't need to ask if I know what to do. Experience of being a sub\nwas one of the prerequisites for getting this job. Breast bondage is\nfar from new to me.

I\nsit cross legged on the floor of the cage. With him watching\ncarefully, I place one end of the rope around the base of my right\nbreast and tie it tight, trying to make sure that the knot is as flat\nas possible. Then I begin to wrap the rope around, pulling tight as I\ndo so. The ropes squeeze my breast, the cocoon of red emphasising the\nuncovered end with its now hard nipple.

I\nstop when I think I've used just under half the rope, then tie\nanother knot to ensure that the bindings cannot slip off. Leaving a\ncouple of feet of spare rope hanging down my chest, I use the other\nend to repeat the process on my left breast.

Once\nfinished, I tie off the end of the rope. From what I can see at this\nangle, it looks like I've done a good job and I'm quietly pleased\nwith myself. I can feel the blood pumping through the compressed\nflesh: a dull, regular throbbing made more intense by the knowledge\nthat I did it to myself whilst a stranger watched.

One\nmore step.

I\nlift the central part of the rope that I left hanging between my\nbreasts. Lowering my head as far as I can, I bring the rope up and\nover my neck to the back. I raise my head a little, not fully upright\nbut back to its normal subservient position. As I do, a little extra\npressure is added to my bindings, lifting and presenting my breasts.

\"Good,\"\nI hear him say. \"Now these.\"

I\nknow what's coming.

Through\nthe bars of the cage he drops a pair of nipple clamps connected by a\nshort metal chain. They aren't just simple clips, or even the more\ncomplex clover style. These are the more painful claw type, each\nhaving three metal prongs on the end that tighten with a screw. The\nends aren't sharp, they won't cut the skin, but once they're\ntightened they will dig in with tremendous force.

I\nplace the first clamp on my left nipple and turn the screw. The three\ntalons bite in, pressing hard as I tighten further. I repeat the\nprocess on my right nipple, then give a gentle tug on the chain to\nmake sure the clamps aren't not going to fall off.

\"Tighter,\"\nhe says.

Reluctantly,\nI give the screw on each clamp another twist and the metal claws bite\nharder still. Not only will they now not fall off, they won't come\noff even if pulled hard.

He\nbeckons me forward and I shuffle to the front of the cage. With a\ncrooked finger, he indicates for me to lean towards the bars. He\nreaches a hand through and takes hold of the chain between the\nclamps. I stay very still as he fiddles with the chain. After a few\nseconds, he pulls it gently towards him and I feel the pressure\ngrowing. Then he gives a sharp tug and I let out an involuntary\nsqueal of pain. I was, unfortunately, right about the clamps not\ncoming off.

He\nreleases the chain and I sit back from the bars, breathing deeply.

But\nhe's not finished yet. He reaches inside his jacket again and brings\nout a large padlock then beckons me forward a second time. Reaching\nthrough the bars, he clicks the padlock on to the centre of the chain\nbetween the nipple clamps. He raises it up to my eye level, pulling\non my nipples as he does so. Then he opens his hand.

The\npadlock drops, pulling the chain and the clamps down with it.

The\nweight yanks my nipples down rapidly, stretching them as the clamps\nbite hard and gravity does its work. Again, I squeal with pain. This\ntime, with the padlock fixed to the chain and hanging in front of my\nchest, the pain doesn't stop. It simply changes from a sharp shock to\na constant throbbing. I know that I'll get used to that soon – the\nreal pain will come when the clamps are removed. The longer they stay\non, the worse that pain will be.

The\nman takes a step back to look at his work. My breasts are tightly\nbound and compressed, the red rope around the back of my neck pulling\nthem up. Meanwhile the weight of the padlock is pulling my nipples\ndown by way of the tight clamps.

It\nhurts, but in a strange way I enjoy it; if I didn't, I never would\nhave taken this job. I love being the naked slave-girl, locked in a\ncage with breasts bound in red and nipples stretched painfully. I\nknow everything that happens in the club is captured on CCTV, but I\nwish there was an old-fashioned mirror. It would be good to see\nmyself, I must look hot as hell!

\"Very\nnice,\" the man says, apparently thinking the same thing. \"Leave\nthat all on until I get back.\"

Then\nhe turns and walks away.

How\nlong will he leave me like this? When will he get back? It might be\nfive minutes. Or an hour. Or the rest of the night. That's entirely\nup to him, I have no choice. Maybe he'll forget about me and my\nbreasts will remain bound until the club closes and the staff clear\nup.

Of\ncourse I could easily remove the clamps and rope myself now, but\ndisobeying a customer is the worst sin. Any complaint, no matter how\ntrivial, means I lose that day's money.

\n-----

Money.\nThat's why I signed the contract. I'm enjoying my time in the cage,\nbut I'm here for the money. It was a business transaction, pure and\nsimple: I sold myself to the club for a month.

From\nthe second I was lead naked out of Crawford's office, I was treated\nas a piece of club property rather than as a person. Which, of\ncourse, I was. And still am. There was no conversation, no small\ntalk, just instructions. The other staff sometimes gave me an\nappreciative look, but no more than that. Nobody tried to talk to me\nany more than they'd try to talk to a picture on the wall or the\nlighting system. To them I was a functional piece of decoration,\nnothing more.

I\nwas taken to the club's main floor. Well, one of them – there are\nseveral, apparently catering for different tastes. Although we'd\ndiscussed it during the interview process, this was the first time\nthey'd let me actually see my home for the next month.

The\ncage.

As\nwe approached, my heart started pounding. I studied it carefully,\ndraining in the sight.

The\nthick, black metal bars were intimidating, clearly too solid to be\nbent in any way. They were placed about six inches apart, giving\nenough space to get an arm through but no more. There were a variety\nof hinged sections that could be opened or locked separately to allow\naccess by or to the occupant. Which would be me.

What\nstruck me most about the cage was its size. It wasn't exactly small\nas cages go – maybe five foot long, three or four foot high and\nwide. Big enough for me to crouch and turn round in, but not big\nenough for me to stretch out. I could spend a happy hour or two in a\ncage that size, maybe sleep in it overnight.

But\nI wasn't just going to be spending a night in it. The thought that\nsuch a confined space was to be my home for a whole month was both\nexhilarating and terrifying.

The\nclub worker took out a keyring and opened the lock on one end of the\ncage. The metal panel swung open to form an entrance. Then he stood\nto one side and pointed.

What\nwould they have done if I'd said 'No\" and refused to get in?\nWould they have let me go? Or would they have used force to ensure I\nkept to my side of the contract? I'll never know, because I didn't\nrefuse. I willingly went down on my hands and knees and crawled naked\ninto the cage.

The\ndoor clanged to behind me and the club worker padlocked it shut,\nliterally sealing my fate. Then he walked off without another word.\nHe'd done his job, to him I no longer mattered.

I\nhaven't been out of the cage since that moment.

The\ncontract I signed was quite clear that I would spend my entire time\nbehind these bars. But the human body has limits, so once a day, a\ncouple of hours before the club opens, the staff cuff my ankles to\nthe base of the cage then unlock and remove the top. I'm allowed to\nstand up and stretch while they take away my bucket then hose me down\nwith cold water. I never thought something as simple as standing up\nand stretching my legs could be so pleasant, yet it's become the\nhighlight of my day. Unfortunately I only get a few minutes of this\nfreedom, then I have to get back down and the cage is resealed. I\nsuppose I could try to resist, but the punishment for that would be\nsevere and they'd probably never let me stand up again.

Once\nI am back on my knees, my ankles are uncuffed. The water on the floor\naround the cage is mopped up by the staff, but I am left to shiver\nand dry naturally.

\n-----

I\nrealise that there are three pairs of jeans and trainers standing in\nfront of my cage.

\"Nice\ntits,\" says a male voice.

\"Nice\neverything!\" says another.

\"You\naint wrong,\" replies the first. \"Let's see more of it.\"\nHe bangs on the cage roof. \"Hey, slut! Sit up and raise your\nhead.\"

I\ndo as I'm told. As I raise my head, the chain to my nipples is pulled\ntighter and the clamps lifted upwards. \n

Looking\nup, I see three young men, probably only just old enough to drink\nlegally. If I saw them on the street I'd describe them as 'rough'.\nBut looks can be deceiving: to get in to this club you need money.\nAnd if you've got money, they don't care what you or your clothes\nlook like or how you speak.

\"Yep,\"\nsays the first man. \"Like you said Jerry, nice everything. I'll\nhave to have a word with uncle Crawford about the 'no fucking' rule.\"

That's\none of the few things the punters can't do to me: they can't fuck me.\nThey can dominate me, humiliate me and cause me pain because I've\nconsented to that and signed the contract. But because they pay to\nenter the club and I'm technically an employee, fucking me would be\npaying for sex. Which could get the club closed down.

\"Why\nbother, Reed?\" says the second man, the one called Jerry. \"What\nwould she need your cock for when she's got her little finger?\"

Reed\ngives Jerry a playful shove. \"Up yours pal. But you've got a\npoint: she can fuck herself.\" He turns to me and wiggles his\nfingers. \"Do it.\"

I\nlay back and spread my legs open as far as I can in the confines of\nthe cage. Then I put my hands on my inner thighs and slowly rub my\nskin. I gradually move my fingers towards my pussy, teasing as much\nas I think I can get away with. Reed and Jerry cheer and urge me on.\nMy right hand reaches my pussy and I stroke myself, moaning gently\nand putting on a show.

Although\nit's not really a show. \n

I\ncan see that that the third young man, the one who hasn't spoken yet,\nhas a huge erection beneath his jeans. He stares at me in transfixed\nsilence, one of his hands rubbing his cock absent-mindedly through\nhis fly. The way it's straining, it's wouldn't surprise me if the\nthing burst right through. I wonder if he's a virgin.

The\nknowledge that I am physically exciting this young, possibly\ninnocent, young guy is a massive turn on for me. I can feel myself\ngetting moist, partly from the touch of my fingers but mainly from\nthe gaze of the three guys. If I wasn't at least a bit of an\nexhibitionist I would never have signed that contract.

Just\nat the moment, as I humiliate myself in front of these three young\nmen, I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be.

Since\nthe customers can't fuck me, this is the only sort of sex I'll have\nover the next month. I want to make it last as long as possible. My\nfingers stroke slowly, gradually pushing further inside of me. I'm\nclose to cumming, but force myself not to; that's something I mustn't\ndo unless ordered.

\"God,\nthe bitch really is hungry for it,\" says Jerry.

\"Probably\njust hungry full stop,\" says Reed. \"The girls here don't\nget to eat unless they please the customers.\"

\"Well,\nshe's pleasing me!\" says Jerry.

\"Yeah,\"\nReed nods. \"Me too. And I've just had an idea.\" He turns to\nthe third guy, who rapidly removes his hand from his fly in the vain\nhope that the others haven't noticed what he was doing. \"Hey,\nDan. Stop fondling yourself and go get the girl a sandwich. Get her\none with some meat in it since she can't have ours.\"

Dan\nblushes. He nods silently and heads off towards the bar area.

They're\nright about me being hungry. I am, almost constantly. The contract\nclearly stated that the club would ensure my welfare and feed me. It\ndidn't say how much I'd get fed... \n

\"Now,\"\nsays Reed. \"What shall we do until he gets back?\" He gives\nme an evil grin. \"Come close to the bars, slut.\"

I\nmove forwards on my knees and thrust my breasts up against the front\nof the cage. The metal feels cold.

Reed\nsquats down, his face now level with mine. He reaches out with one\nhand through the bars and massages one of my rope bound breasts.

\"Nice,\"\nhe says. \"A good, tight job.\"

He\ntakes his hand off my breast and runs his fingers around the base of\nthe clamps where they bite into my nipple. Then he reaches down and\ngrasps the padlock at the centre of the chain. He slowly pulls it out\nbetween the cage bars until it goes taut. He holds it there with just\nenough pressure for me to feel. Compared with the weight of the lock\npulling down, this position is actually more comfortable. But somehow\nI don't think he's doing this to make my life easier.

He\nlooks me in the eye, a grin on his face as he holds the padlock. We\nboth know what's coming, I don't try to hide the unpleasant\nanticipation from my face; after all, that seems to be what he's\nafter.

He\nwaits, the seconds ticking by.

Then,\njust as I am almost relaxing, he yanks hard on the padlock and\nattached chain. The chain pulls on the fierce clamps attached to my\nnipples, tugging them sharply forwards. My breasts are already\npressed on to the bars, so are unable to follow. That means the full\nforce is felt on my nipples.

Reed\nis clearly experienced at this. He pulls hard enough to cause maximum\nsensation without physical damage. The pain that shoots through my\nnipples is the worst I've yet felt.

I\nlet out a shriek of genuine pain.

He\nreleases the padlock and lets the chain drop back down again. This\ntime, the force of the heavy padlock dropping seems as nothing\ncompared with what I just experienced. The extra jab of pain is just\na coda to the main event. I try hard not to sob.

Reed\nhas been watching my face all this time, soaking up the pained\nexpressions. Now he nods. \"I enjoyed that, I hope you didn't.\nWhat do you say?\" he asks.

\"Thank\nyou, Sir.\" The response is automatic, but the sentiments are\nactually genuine. It hurt, it hurt very badly. But the pain was\nwonderful.

Reed\nstands and I'm aware of the third pair of legs having returned.

\"Well\ndone, Dan. This looks perfect. Why don't you do the honours, Jerry?\"

\"Oh\nyes, with pleasure.\"

Jerry\nnow squats down in front of the cage. In his hand he has a small\nplate containing sandwiches cut into triangles. They are garnished\nwith greenery and there is an artistic whirl of what looks like some\nsort of sauce around the edge of the plate. But I really don't care\nabout the presentation, I just want the food. My stomach growls in\nanticipation.

Jerry\nsets the plate on the floor in front of the cage. Then he brings out\na key from his pocket; many of the locks in the club share the same\nkey, every customer is given one when they arrive. One of those keys\ncan open or lock certain parts of the cage – but not all of it. The\ntop of my cage is on a separate lock, so the customers couldn't\nactually let me out even if they wanted to.

In\nthe front of the cage, at the bottom, is a small section that opens\nindependently. Jerry unlocks it and swings the little gate open. It's\njust large enough for my head. He moves the plate towards my cage,\nwhere I'll be able to reach it.

\"Eat\nup,\" he says.

I\nput my head through the opening. It's humiliating. I'm naked, caged,\nkneeling and eating from a plate on the floor like an animal. But I\nreally don't care. I just want food.

I\nlower my head. Open my mouth. Prepare to bite into the bread.

At\nwhich point I feel pressure on the back of my head. It takes me a\nsecond to realise what it is: a foot, pressing my head down. Down\ninto the food.

Rather\nthan being allowed to eat the sandwiches, I am having my face\nsquashed into them. I hear the three guys laughing. The foot is\nremoved and I raise my head. Then Reed – I guess it was his foot –\nreaches down, grabs the plate and presses it into my face, smearing\nme with what is left of the food. He takes his time, putting on his\nown show for his friends. Then he removes the plate then uses his\nfoot to press my head back into the cage before re-locking the panel.

I\ncan hear the three of them still laughing as they turn and walk away.

\n-----

I\nwon't starve, there's no danger of that. The club will keep their\nside of the contract as strictly as I must keep mine. That includes\ngiving me enough food and water to keep me healthy.

They\nprovide plenty of water, that isn't a problem. During the day I have\na large bottle of water placed into my cage, along with the bucket to\npee in.

Food\nis another matter. Giving me enough to keep me healthy doesn't mean\ngiving me enough to stop feeling hungry. And what they do give me is\nfar from pleasant to eat.

Once\na day, at what I assume is around lunchtime, one of the staff brings\nover a bowl. The panel at the front of the cage is opened and the\nbowl placed into my cage. I'm not forced to eat this meal with my\nhead sticking out of the cage, the staff don't care enough about me\nfor that. To them I'm nothing, not even worth humiliating.

So\nI eat my food alone in my cage, slurping it from the bowl. It's\ndesigned to be slurped. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but it's\nsome sort of grey, foul tasting muck with the consistency of lumpy\nporridge. The first day, I only ate a few mouthfuls, it was all I\ncould manage. At the time, I didn't realise it was the only meal they\nwere going to give me. When feeding time the second day came round, I\nwas so hungry that I literally licked the bowl clean.

Apart\nfrom that one 'meal' a day, the only food I get is if the customers\ndecide to give me some. Of course, it's against protocol for me to\nask. Unless, of course, they order me to beg for it.

\n-----

Once\nthe three guys have left, I scrape the remnants of the sandwiches off\nfrom my face. Bread crumbs and a few tattered shreds of meat fall on\nto the floor, between the bars at the base of the cage. \n

I\nput my head down and lick up every last, delicious morsel. Even\nsmall, green pieces of garnish.

Eating\ncrumbs from the floor would be degrading, even if I wasn't locked\nnaked in a cage. But I don't care. All I care about at the moment is\nreal food, even if it is only a few tiny scraps. Any pride I once had\ndisappeared the moment I signed the contract.

I\nmake sure that there is no tiny crumb I've missed, then I sit up\nagain. There wasn't enough left of the sandwich to make a meal, but\nat least it was something. Hopefully someone else will take pity on a\npoor slave-girl later tonight. \n

For\nnow, all I can do is sit and wait again. I hope the first customer I\nsaw first thing will return soon. The pressure on my breasts and\nnipples is extremely unpleasant. The clamps have already been on long\nenough that removing them is going to make me scream as the blood\nrushes back. Every minute longer they remain on means that the\neventual pain will be worse.

So\nI wait. The club is getting more crowded now. Conversations blur into\na background drone. I can no longer make out whole sentences, but\ncatch a few words as customers walk by: \"...did I tell you...\nsailing next weekend... had to punish her... the new book by...\"

Some\ntime later, I have no way of telling how long, two pairs of legs stop\nby my cage. This time they are male and female. The woman is wearing\nhigh heeled leather boots that make it very clear even from floor\nlevel that she is not a submissive. She is nothing like me. In real\nlife, I'd be her equal, I might be even her boss. But here, in this\nclub, she is my superior in every way. As is everyone else.

\"Oh\nlook, darling,\" I hear her say. \"In the cage. What an\nadorable pet. Isn't she cute?\"

\"It's\nnice enough, I suppose,\" a male voice replies. \"If you like\nthat kind of thing. I prefer real women, like you. Not worthless\nsubmissives. I really don't understand what you see in pathetic\ncreatures like this.\"

He's\nright. A pathetic creature is what I am and what I will remain until\nmy month in this cage is up.

\"You\nreally don't enjoy them, do you? Not even the pretty ones?\" she\nsays. \"But you still bring me to places like this, even though\nyou don't like playing with the toys. You're always putting my needs\nbefore mine, making me happy. That's why I love you.\"

\"That\nand my money.\"

She\nlaughs easily, it's obviously a familiar jest. \"True, darling.\nVery true.\"

\"So\ndo you want to play with this one? I assume you've got something in\nyour handbag?\"

\"Of\ncourse! Let's see how this suits her.\"

There's\na pause as I hear her rummaging in her bag. Customers aren't allowed\nto bring in their own toys, for health and security reasons. However\nthere's a room in the club where they can hire equipment to use on\nthe resident subs; anything that's left in place after closing time\nis removed by the staff after they've done the important work like\ncollecting up the glasses. I saw the equipment room when I was being\ninterviewed for this position and it was packed full with racks of\nleather, chains and more.

What\ndid this woman rent? I want very badly to look up and see what she's\ngetting from her bag, but I know I mustn't do so without permission.

I\ndon't have to wait long to find out. Through the bars at the top of\nthe cage she drops a bright red rubber ballgag on a black leather\nstrip. Looped through one of the holes in the strap is a small,\nunlocked padlock.

\"There\nyou go, pet,\" the woman says. \"Put that on for me. Make\nsure it's nice and tight.\"

Tight.\nThe same word used by the earlier customer when I was applying the\nrope to my breasts. I'd almost forgotten the dull throb, but hearing\nthat word brings it back again. I become aware of the blood thumping\nthrough my roped up breasts and the squeeze of the clamps that are\nstill on my nipples.

I\npick up the gag and check the padlock to make sure it has the club\nmark. If it doesn't, I'm not allowed to wear it; it's one of the few\ntimes that the rules let me refuse an order from a customer.

The\npadlock is fine. It has the club mark which means it's on the\nstandard lock. It can be opened by the key carried by all customers\nand staff. But not, of course, by me.

I\nlift the gag up to my head and open my mouth. I push the red ball\nbetween my teeth – it only just fits in my jaw, the woman clearly\nselected the large size. I take the strap round the back of my head\nand feed one end through the buckle. I know they are watching\ncarefully, so I pull it through as tightly as I can, the strap\ncutting uncomfortably into my face. Then I take the padlock, feed it\nthrough the hole nearest the buckle and snap it shut.

It's\nnot coming off without the key.

\"Say\n'thank you' to the lady,\" says the man.

\"Thnnoo.\"\nThe garbled sound is all I can produce through the gag. I won't be\nsaying anything – or eating anything – until it comes off.

With\nmy voice effectively removed, I am now unable to beg for release even\nif I was ordered to. Until now I've stayed silent because of the\nrules, but I always had the option to say something. Knowing that\noption has now been removed is a very powerful and erotic thought.

\"Oh,\nshe sounds wonderful! One more thing and she'll be perfect. Just a\nsecond... ah, here they are.\"

Through\nthe bars, an open pair of steel handcuffs drops into my cage.

\"Behind\nyour back, dear,\" she says.

I\npick up the cuffs and check them, ensuring the club mark is in place.\nThen I put my arms behind my back. I click one cuff around my left\nwrist and slowly ratchet it closed until it's secure but not cutting\nin to my flesh. I repeat the process with my right wrist. Even over\nthe background noise of the club, I can hear the clicks of the cuffs\nas my bondage tightens at my own hand.

With\nmy mouth gagged and my hands locked firmly behind my back, any last\nsemblance of control I had over my fate has gone.

\"Turn\nround,\" the woman says.

I\nshuffle around until I am facing the other way, giving the two of\nthem a good view of my steel encased wrists. I feel a hand reach for\nthem and check the cuffs are secure with no space for me to pull my\nhands through. Then there is another small click; she has activated\nthe double locking safety mechanism. In some ways this is a good\nthing, as it means the cuffs won't accidentally tighten further and\ncut off the blood supply to my hands. Any customer renting handcuffs\nis told about this, though most have enough experience to know how to\nuse handcuffs safely.

But\nthere's a downside to her using the safety mechanism. She wouldn't\nbother engaging the double lock if she was planning to release me any\ntime soon.

\"Turn\nback again,\" she says and I comply.

\"Now\nlook up so we can see your face properly.\"

I\ndo so, presenting my gagged mouth and, in the process, pulling up my\nbreasts a little due to the extra pressure on the nipple chain. Now I\ncan see the two customers properly for the first time. Both man and\nwoman are dressed in clothes that I couldn't even dream of affording.\nThese are the sort of people the club was designed for. People with\nlarge amounts of money who are looking for unconventional\nexperiences. But the unconventional experiences they want are on the\noutside not the inside of the cage.

\"Oh,\nso pretty and so wonderfully helpless,\" says the woman. \"She\nlooks absolutely gorgeous like that. Doesn't she, darling?\"

Despite\nthe circumstances, I feel a wave of inappropriate pleasure at the\ncompliment. \n

The\nman gives a little grunt by way of reply.

\"Oh\nyou. You've no sense of fun. OK, so you don't like her. But I do!\nWill you buy her for me?\"

\"Buy\nher? What do you need another pet for? You've got three at home\nalready and you hardly ever play with them. You just leave them\nchained up in the basement for weeks at a time. If the staff didn't\nfeed them occasionally, they'd starve.\"

\"That's\nbecause I'm bored with them. You know how easily I get bored. They're\nno fun after the first six months. I need a new one. This one. Pretty\nplease?\"

\"And\nwhat happens when you get bored of this one? What happens six months\nfrom now when this toy is no longer new and is left forgotten in the\nbasement?\"

\"Then\nyou'll buy me yet another one, sweetie. I know you will.\"

He\nsighs. \"The trouble is, you're right. I can't refuse you\nanything if it'll make you happy. OK, you win. Let's go and ask how\nmuch they want for her.\"

They\nwalk off without a backward glance, leaving me gagged and cuffed.

And\nsill hungry.

Now,\neven if there was food in front of me, I would be unable to eat it.\nI'm going to stay hungry for the rest of the night unless a customer\ndecides to remove my gag. Which, from my experience these first few\ndays, is unlikely. Once restraints go on, they are usually only\nremoved in order to replace them with something more severe.

\n-----

So\nhere I am, sitting naked in a locked cage in the middle of a room\nfull of strangers. There's a large ballgag preventing me from talking\nand my hands are cuffed behind my back. My breasts are tightly bound\nin red rope and there are evil clamps attached to my nipples. \n

The\nnight is only a few hours old and already I've been bound, hurt and\nhumiliated. I'm hungry and am likely to remain so.

And\nthis isn't even a weekend. What will Friday and Saturday nights be\nlike?

It\nfeels like a lifetime ago that I was locked into the cage, but in\nreality this is only the fourth night. I signed the contract for a\nmonth, so I'm less than a quarter of the way through. I have many\nmore days and nights of this to go.

There's\nnobody I can blame. I did this of my own free will, I knew exactly\nwhat I was getting into. I chose to sign that contract. I consented\nto everything that has happened, is happening and will happen to me.

Do\nI regret it? Absolutely.

The\nthing I want most in the world – after a good meal – is to be\nable to rewind time. To be able to go back to that moment in\nCrawford's office and change the past. Signing that one month\ncontract was the biggest mistake I've made in my entire life.

I\nwish I'd done things differently. If I had my time again, I wouldn't\nsign that contract.

I'd\nsign the year long one instead.

","authorName":"Amber Talidge","authorUserId":"51f6c2d1-3999-49fd-86fb-773dfdb72dc6","rating":4.5,"ratingCount":6,"reviewCount":2,"quoteCount":0,"storyCodes":["Light","Real Life","Bondage","Domination","Exhibitionism","Humiliation","Submission","Consensual"],"language":"English","readTime":31,"recommendations":[{"id":"50ab7099-10b8-47a2-b64b-558b271efb27","title":"The Businessman’s Toy; Part 1","slug":"the-businessmans-toy-part-1","shortId":"AEYabsb9","synopsis":"A businessman and his online submissive Toy meet for the first time during a business meeting in a distant city. She soon learns what it's like to be His submissive for a few days. This is part 1 of a several part series.","rating":5},{"id":"aad0200c-2df6-40dd-8aeb-f818966496a5","title":"Bonnets and Bondage Chapter 5","slug":"bonnets-and-bondage-chapter-5","shortId":"fzIIFMjW","synopsis":"A mysterious highwayman strips, binds and gags beautiful young noblewomen in Regency England.","rating":5},{"id":"4c63efd0-1110-4744-abf5-5e7c58e2513f","title":"Therapy","slug":"therapy","shortId":"F3YFf9JL","synopsis":"A pair of high-end female escorts are hired to provide cathartic therapy to the widow of a billionaire, who wants to sexually torture beautiful women. But things are never that simple.","rating":5}]}}},"actionData":null,"errors":null}