Message-ID: <13564eli$9808011242@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: Mahgirb@webtv.net Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Subject: "Rubber in the Night" Part 2 of 4 (bd,sm,tor,nc,rub) by Mahgirb Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: Mime-Version: 1.0 (WebTV) Content-Type: Text/Plain; Charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7Bit X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <26963-35C2C33A-141@newsd-123.bryant.webtv.net> Warning: The following is intended for those who are legal, consenting adults in their respective communities. As always, comments are encouraged. If you have story ideas, requests, or wish to be placed on a mailing list, then email: Mahgirb@webtv.net "Rubber in the Night" Part 2 of 4 Gina entered the dance club Studio 54 and she had to blink several times to verify what her eyes were telling her head. Every kind of rubber outfit imaginable---and many that Gina would never had independently imagined---were on display under the haze of smoke and music. Dominants led submissives on leashes and chains, some rubber slaves were standing facing corners, having been instructed to "stay." Only a few of the guests were actually using the dance floor for the purpose of dancing. Most of the guests were standing at the railing with their pets, or sitting back in the booths, feeding their submissives who mostly were on their knees waiting to be fed. The cocktail waitresses working the room were decked out in extremely revealing attire, even by Las Vegas standards. Waitresses wore all red, perhaps so that they could be spotted easier in the low-light room. Gina noticed how slowly and purposely the waitresses walked by her and the others. When one walked by close enough, Gina looked down and noted the unusually high heels, which were known in the fetish community as ballet shoes; the heels were 6 inches tall if they were an inch, and Gina marvelled at their ability to walk in them, let alone walk, navigate through the crowds, and balance a tray full of drinks. In addition to the painful shoes, the waitress wore a dental floss-thin g-string. The waitress in front of Gina had an exquisite ass, and as she turned away, Gina could hardly keep from staring, as the g-string didn't cover any part of her ass cheeks. All the servers were topless, unless you considered their tight rubber collars as clothing. "Please, Gina, have a seat in my personal booth," T.S. instructed his guest. Gina shuffled in and T.S. followed next to her, but the two quiet women walking in unison behind him did not take their seats in the booth. Instead, T.S. commanded one of them to crawl beneath the table and then to get on all fours so that he could prop his feet up on her back. The woman did this without hesitation. The other one he directed to kneel at the end of the booth and, extending his right hand out, he ordered her to suck his fingers. She took the fingers into her mouth without question, hands behind her back. Gina tried not to stare at this, but her eyes drifted back to the kneeling woman making oral love to T.S.'s fingers. As Gina took a longer look, she saw that this woman had a thick metal ring through her nasal septum, extending nearly to her upper lip. A little glare of light could also be found in the woman's mouth for she had a fairly wide gauge metal bar piercing through her tongue as well. Gina had known friends who showed off their belly button rings, but this was a little too much she thought. Who is this guy, and who are these girls? A waitress rushed to the table. Gina's amazement continued. This girl of probably no more than 21 had a gorgeous face, but Gina was focused entirely on the elaborate dragon tattoo that began at her jawline and cascaded down to her nipples, wrapping around the areola. And within her nipples, two metal bars crisscrossed north-south, east-west in the tender flesh. After her host ordered the drinks, the waitress turned away and Gina saw what looked like a slightly raised tattoo on each of the girl's ass cheeks. On the left, the letter "T", and on the right, the letter "S." Now things were starting to get a little scary. For about an hour, Gina tried not to appear worried or fearful, and to be completely honest with herself, her host talked up a fairly intelligent and interesting conversation. IN the meantime, the two quiet girls had been rearranged. Now they were instructed to unzip his pants beneath the table and bring him to erection and keep him there with their tongues. Watching this activity made Gina incredibly nervous and a little more than uncomfortable. Suddenly, an announcer entered the center of the stage and asked for attention. After a few pleasantries, a round of applause went out to the host of the evening. But rather than call him T.S., this man announced him as "ThunderShark." Odd nickname, but then everything around Gina was odd tonight. The M.C. continued with what he called the Random Numbers Game. "I direct your attention to the glasses at your table. Please set your glasses, empty or full, to the edge of your table, and we're going to have someone go around and check the numbers that are embedded in the crystal on the bottom of each glass. I hold in my hand the number that we drew backstage, and I'm waiting to see which glass at which table has that number." After the inspections, and a few minutes of conferring, the number drawn was revealed to be 39. It was Gina's wine glass; she double checked to make sure. Uh, oh, what does this mean? ThunderShark turned to her and told Gina this was her opportunity to be the center of attention, to have the experience of a lifetime. Gina remained unconvinced. He saw the reluctance in her eyes. "Listen, Gina. You came to Las Vegas to get away from yourself. Is this something that the overworked, hard-nosed, no thrills Gina would recommend doing? I think not. You are young and beautiful, why not be the desired object on stage? Why not take the opportunity to enjoy men and women lusting after you?" "But I don't know. All this stuff, I mean, no offense, but the rubber clothes, the rings, the weird way that---" "Listen to me. If you don't like something, just state your objection and we will stop the experience. If you become unhappy or uncomfortable, then say so. No one will think any less of you for trying. You might find yourself enjoying so much concentrated attention." Finally, Gina acquiesced and approached the stage to the polite applause and a few whistles. As she made the walk to the stage, her feet began to feel heavy. She hadn't drunk that much alcohol. But the room quickly became a dazzle of unfocused light and sound. The announcer had to help her negotiate the steps to the stage. His hands looked wobbly, and out of reach when in actuality he was holding her from falling. Her last conscious thoughts were of perplexion. She couldn't understand how that glass of alcohol was hitting her so hard...Oh, my God, that glass! What was in that glass?! ThunderShark smiled to himself at his table, congratulating himself on his clever game and on the impeccable timing of this soluble drug. Time to play with a new toy, he thought silently. End of Part 2 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----