You know the girls dancing in those cages at clubs? Sometimes on a pedestal, sometimes suspended over the raving crowd? Ever wondered how they ended up there and what makes them move all night?

Despite the allegedly soundproof glass Bianka felt the vibrations at her eardrums, in the pit of her stomach, in the tip of her pen. The bass pounded its way through every structure, item and living being in the whole building. It was the heartbeat of the club, and with the small hours of the night being near it was hammering wilder than ever. If the owner, manager and icon of Club Noir were to turn around from her desk, she would be able to overlook the main floor through the glass wall of her office. She would see the fetish folk celebrating its own depravity, loosing itself in the dark world the legendary Bianka Schönfeld provided. A world of masks and collars, of monogloves and hobble skirts, where leather was the new lace and black the new black. To the left the long cool-lit bar ran in a wide arc alongside the clubbing area, which in turn bordered at the right on the VIP lounge. Further in the back the entrance to the lower levels awaited those in search for more titillating activities. The rooms for this spicy kind of entertainment were soundproof, for sure.

Despite the generous giving and grateful receiving of pain matching her own disposition, Bianka was indulging in quite a different perversion: the forbidden pleasure of checking the accounts. Numbers wandered from one column to the next, adding up, becoming sexier with each new digit. Now and then latex squeaked on leather as she shifted slightly in her executive chair. Bianka had loosened her rubberised corset a bit, but the rest of her risqué outfit had remained untouched. In an hour's time she would make another appearance in the lounge, granting some high-profile guests (and those with enough money to think themselves as such) the honour of meeting their fetish goddess. The black latex dress with crimson and chrome accents, combined with opera gloves and stockings of the same sensual material, would prove itself to be adequate attire. On top of that Bianka could always rely on her witty charm (real) and her impressive décolleté (fake).

Repeated knocking on the double door opposite to the glass wall disturbed her love affair with the books.

"Come in!"

The door - both wings, that were - opened to create big enough a passage way for the club's chief bouncer. She looked at him over the rims of her reading glasses.

"What is it, Tiny?"

"We've got a situation with one of the barmaids, boss," the hulk with the fitting nickname reported.

That he hadn't waited to the end of the night to inform her was enough for Bianka to feel alarmed.

"Where?"

"Down-downstairs."

She rose and surrounded the desk to walk with the suited man, but remembered her glasses. They didn't go well with the air her current outfit created, so she left them on the table top.

They took the private lift. Climbing two flights of stairs down to dance floor level, and then another one down-down to the basement in thigh-high 20-centimetre-heeled platform boots was something Bianka had done successfully a couple of times - before deciding not to push her luck any more. During their descent and the subsequent walk down the subterranean hallway she had Tiny Tony give her the gist.

"How much?"

"About 120."

They stopped in front of one of the well-equipped playrooms. Only after double-checking that no guest was around, Tiny opened the door for his lady-boss and himself. Both were at once greeted by sobs and unintelligible pleadings. Not only had the culprit already been seized and secured, she had also undergone initial interrogation. Her nude form had been rendered defenceless in a both very cruel and very aesthetic way.

"Anton here has just brought to my attention a series of very disagreeable incidents. Am I correct in thinking that you have played a key role in them, Fay?" Bianka enquired, knowing all her employees by name.

The young bartendress tried to look up with tear-wet eyes, a task prevented by the severity of her bondage. She was bent over a waist-high horizontal pole, ankles fettered to the sturdy uprights at both sides which left her with wide-spread legs. Fay's arms had been cuffed behind her back at wrists and above the elbows. Not believing this measure to be putting sufficient strain to her shoulders, her captor had hooked her handcuffs to an overhead pulley. With the hoist's chain pulled tight, Fay was forced into a brutal strappado position, bent over as much as she could to compensate the fire in her screaming rotator cuffs as her twice-bound arms were pointing straight up behind her back. Any more winching would inevitably pull her up again, no matter the consequences for her shoulder joints.

Tiny had not put her into bondage. That disputable honour fell to the tough short-haired woman standing behind Fay; Zonda, the club's Head of Security. She was also dressed in black suit and tie, but had chosen to upgrade her professional uniform with an evil-looking riding crop. The pride of vivid purple welts on Fay's behind testified to the implement's qualities. Zonda had also taken the liberty to fit her victim with ultra-tight nip clamps as preparatory torture to ensure a constant baseline of suffering. Since an answer to her boss' question wasn't immediately forthcoming from the frightened lass, she raised the crop again in a wide arc. Gathering momentum from hip, shoulder and arm alike, Zonda brought the fierce instrument down hard. Beautifully aimed, it cut the air with a razor-sharp hiss before connecting with the sweet spot where the left buttock met the thigh. Not with the crop's keeper, but with the thin end of the rod itself, just as it should be.

Fay contorted under the savage pain, all but tearing her shoulder tendons to shreds. The chain between her wicked nipple clamps swung wildly. A hoarse scream filled the playroom, quickly dying to a weak guttural noise as she ran out of breath. Her lungs, already compromised by the unnatural position, simply could not provide enough air to let her fully express her agony.

"Please...!" she croaked

"Did you take the money?"

The bartendress had been caught red-handed. There had been irregularities in the balances for the last few weeks. Small amounts each time, but adding up, and getting bigger. Zonda had started to monitor members of the staff who had access to the registers. And tonight: jackpot. In Fay's provided semi-kinky work clothes Zonda and Tiny had found the aforementioned 120 euro - running total as near as makes no difference 300 euro. Fay had taken the money. It was on tape. She had already confessed to it under Zonda's ministration. But Bianka wanted to hear it from the girl's own mouth.

"I'm sorry!"

Bianka hunkered down, effortlessly balancing on her high heels.

"For what exactly?"

Fay was of slender build, sporting a youthful face with cute buck teeth and expressive dark eyes - now reddened and expressing terror. She knew that she would pay dearly.

"For stealing from you. Please! I give it back, I promise!"

"No, you don't, because you haven't got it anymore."

"I can give it back today!" Fay implored, panting from both pain and anxiety.

"You wouldn't have stolen from me if you didn't need the money badly."

The girl made some pitiful sounds in negation, but Bianka knew she would say anything to be released from her agonising position. In this very moment Fay's mind was awash with horror scenarios of atrocious tortures and unspeakable sexual depravities. There are bad places to be held captive at, and there are worse places. And then there are hardcore fetish clubs with soundproof BDSM dungeons in their basements.

Bianka reached out to flick Fay's dangling nipple chain, causing the girl to breathe even more erratically.

"You know," she began in a patronising tone, "I'm not even angry... I'm just disappointed."

Which was kind of true. In her time behind the bar Fay had shown impressive skills with the bottles, a great chemistry with the guests and a never-tiring dedication as she'd run up and down the illuminated counter all night long, filling in whenever a colleague needed support. If she was in need of an advance or loan, she just could have asked.

"So, how shall we handle this unpleasant situation?"

Although meant as a rhetorical question, Zonda took Fay's lack of reply as defiance. Another full-blown slash across her behind, this time below the right bun, re-established total cooperation.

"I do whatever you want!" the flogged girl cried once she had overcome the aftermath of the crop's latest assault on her flesh. Those bruises would be visible for weeks.

"That's the spirit!" Bianka rose. "I thought of something discreet. Any suggestions?"

It came as no surprise that Zonda presented a whole catalogue of punishments, ranging from extremely nasty to extremely extreme. Just listening to her list sent Fay into another sobbing fit.

"I appreciate the effort..." Bianka broke it diplomatically to her Head of Security, "... but she should still have something similar to a pulse when we are through with her."

She turned to the bouncer and instructed him in a low voice. Tiny set off duty-bound, only to return a few minutes later with a black lacquered wooden box from her office. In the meantime Bianka had gathered some frightening items from the playroom's cabinet. Fay whimpered, but did not resist as her boss put a black latex hood over her head. Although offering openings for mouth, nostrils and eyes, the hood triggered a wave of claustrophobia in the condemned barmaid.

Next was a huge ballgag, a nice deep red in colour and far too big for Fay's mouth. Unless...

Again hunkering before her prisoner, Bianka seized both crocodile clamps on the girl-nips. A considerable amount of strength was needed to open them against the force of their springs, an indication of how deeply they had sunken their sharpened teeth into the nerve rich flesh. With simultaneous moves of her hands Bianka delivered Fay from the vicious toys. A split-second of death silence followed, used by the fetish star to grab the ballgag from her lap. Fay's eyes grew large, as though they tried to fill out the hood's holes. Then her body arched back into a sharp bow, every muscle cramping.

The blood had found its way back into her abused nipples. The resulting pain was absolute, disruptive, on a par with one of Zonda's bests. Fay screamed, screamed hard. And still her mind, burnt by the atrocious stimuli from her breasts, demanded her to scream even harder.

With a hefty push Bianka shoved the first third of the rubber sphere into the girl's gaping mouth. The gag's thickest part was yet to pass through between her teeth, but a bridgehead had been established. Bianka utilised a twisting motion to make progress, forcing Fay's mouth to open beyond its natural limits. Creaking noises came from the joints of her jaw, and Bianka considered aborting the gagging lest she overstretch and thus permanently damage the cartilages. Suddenly, as if something gave way, the largest circumference popped in. Fay's slightly too long upper incisors dragged a double groove into the material. Though the ballgag's main body was now within the girl's mouth, there was still a good deal to be done. Bianka quickly rose for better leverage and ran the gag straps behind Fay's neck. Guiding one through the buckle of the other, she gave it two, three mighty pulls and secured the prong in the second to last hole. A small padlock, designed to fit in the loop at the prong's tip, made sure that everrything stayed this way.

Wow, Bianka found herself impressed. She knew professional bondage models who couldn't take that amount of gaggage that well. Well, not well as such. Fay was close to hysteria, and the club's mistress granted her some moments to regain what was left of her composure. Being gagged like this was extremely cruel for any length of time. The massive size had rendered her jaw muscles ablaze immediately, and soon horrible cramping would follow. Bianka had no intention of removing the silencing device anytime soon, though. On the contrary: The petty thief wasn't even close to receiving her actual punishment.

"What's your shoe size?"

Fay's reddened doe eyes starred at her in puzzlement. Naturally she couldn't give an answer to begin with, but Bianka had hoped for some sexy gag-talk. A crisp uppercut with the crop to her vulva took care of Fay's lack of response.

"Never mind..."

Whilst Fay was howling into the rubber ball with newfound vigour, Bianka turned to the corner where the girl's PVC outfit lied scattered. After successfully searching the hot pants and the sleeveless top for tonight's stolen money, Zonda had left them on the floor next to Fay's running shoes. Club policy allowed sensible footwear for the barmaids as long as it was black.

Having educated herself on Fay's dress and shoe size, Bianka made another trip to the cabinet. From it she chose a latex catsuit and a pair of fetish boots. Trusting her visual judgement to confirm a good fit, she put them not too far aside for the time being. First things first. The club owner opened the box Tiny had fetched and took out its content with a rush of wicked joy. Again she stepped in front of her victim.

"Allow me to divert your attention to this fancy gadget."

Fay's eyes became even bigger as soon as she recognised the anal plug for what it was and finally delivered the gag-talk her tormentress had hoped for. Although utterly unintelligible Bianka got the quintessence: Please don't put this in my bum!

"Shhh..." she soothed whilst running a gloved hand over Fay's hooded face. Latex stroke on latex.

"This is a very special model. It's originally designed for ponyplay training."

She turned it for Fay to see the flanged base.

"Notice the socket for connecting a tail of any hair colour, for example. Not that we need it tonight - you will be doing quite a different kind of prancing. There's an electric feature within this charming toy that will ensure just that, as I shall demonstrate shortly."

Bianka positioned herself at Fay's unprotected rear end. To further boost the girl's inclination to "prance" the latex-clad lady covered the plug in a thin layer of opaque gel. It was of low viscosity and would do nothing to lessen the pain of penetration. What it would be doing was slowly dissolve under body heat, thus releasing a nasty chemical agent to the rectal lining. The intense burning sensation it would cause would last far beyond the morning hours.

Under ever-increasing whimpering from Fay the plug's blunt tip found her anus. The ring of muscles was constricted by fear, and Bianka had to really lean into it with her busty yet light frame. Bit by bit the besieged sphincter weakened until the bulbous object overcame Fay's last line of rectal defence and sunk into her fundament. A rubber-oppressed scream accompanied it, and the dark penetration that followed wrung fresh moans from the hard-gagged girl. Only after having been forced to stretch wide around the largest circumference her anal opening was mercifully allowed to close around the tapering stem of the invader.

Bianka delivered a playful smack to the freshly plugged bum before her.

"Release her."

With quick moves Zonda freed the hapless thief from the semi-strappado. Fay yelped as her arms came down. Not too gently the Head of Security pulled her into a standing position and uncuffed her hands and elbows from behind her back. The naked girl was exhausted from the strenuous bondage and had trouble coming to terms with the butt plug.

"Stand straight," commanded Bianka.

She had picked up the catsuit. It opened in the back by means of a strong zipper. Already wearing a latex hood, it was easy for Fay to deduce what would happen next. She struggled with the tight material but could luckily rely on a very helpful mentor. If somebody knew how to put on latex, it was Bianka. It took some squeezing and stretching, and here and there another kiss from Zonda's crop, but eventually Fay was completely hugged by black rubber, with the zipper's slider pulled all the way up.

The barmaid offered no resistance beyond her lovely contingent of moans and whimpers as the fetish boots went on. They were of the ballet-toed kind, forcing her feet into agonising en-pointe positions. Just like the oversized ballgag the boots punished on a musculoskeletal level, unfolding a passive torture where the body had its own biological attributes and limits used against itself.

"Up," Bianka ordered.

Fay was desperately clutching at Tiny as she balanced on her new ballet heels. Like the hood had added a sense of claustrophobia, the boots were adding vertigo. A robust flap covered the top of each lacing, secured by a padlock - a small assistance for the girl to accept her cramp-inducing foot posture. A locked leather collar had found its place around her neck for a similar end, preventing both the hood and the suit from being removed without Bianka's permission. She had a few minutes left to learn how to stand on her toes as Zonda used silicone oil to polish every square centimetre of exposed latex to obsidian smoothness.

It might be an analogy Bianka was tired of hearing yet had overused herself quite thoroughly, but it was spot-on nonetheless: Her involuntary fetish model appeared to have been dipped into liquid rubber!

"You look absolutely gorgeous! And you must be dying to hear about that special feature of your new anal friend!"

With cattish cruelty Bianka guided a finger along the latex that was snuggling deep between Fay's buttocks. She palpated this most private region through the thin layer some centimetres beneath the lower end of the zipper. There was the plug's base... and there was the first of two sealed buttons. She pushed it.

"You felt that? What is activated now isn't some impersonal electronic black box stuff but a quicksilver switch. If you fail to stay motionless, you will get shocked. Great for ponies who have difficulties with standing still whilst being groomed or parked. Observe."

She poked Fay in the shoulder, and the rubberised girl tottered this way and that in a pathetic attempt to regain her footing. A moment later her abdomen tensed visibly underneath the suit, then a second and a third time. Emitting a more panicked sound with each shock she clasped at the bondage bar for stability.

Bianka wrapped an arm around Fay's still twitching midsection and reached into her victim's bum crack to deactivate the pony plug.

"I know it hurts like buggery. And trust me, it's none of those pains one can adjust to."

Not letting go, she turned to her henchwoman, rotating a yelping Fay with her.

"Zonda, final touches, please."

The Head of security put a perforated vinyl mask, not unlike a muzzle, over Fay's mouth and nose, thus hiding the gag and the distortion it was causing to her face. The girl's world turned black when darkened welder's goggles, adorned with cyber-goth insignias, were placed over her eyes, effectively blindfolding her.

Bianka's finger went to work at Fay's rear passage again, pushing both buttons.

"You are ticking again. I also inverted the logic. Now it is acting as a dead man's switch. To make sure a filly performs nice highsteps. Or a little thief does some sexy dancing on the scaffold."

Fay was already struggling, moving her hips to avoid any more anal electrocution. Squeaking and snapping sounds filled the playroom as her catsuit rubbed across Bianka's equally kinky outfit.

Finally the club owner let her go, yet not without delivering another slap to her bum.

"Have fun!"

Blinded and unwilling, but far too terrorised to refuse, Fay allowed her fetishised self to be walked out by Zonda. The boots which would literally keep her on her toes all night long did wonders to her posture, and the first effects of the special ointment pressed into her rectal walls by the plug were setting in.

Bianka followed as Zonda ushered the doomed bartendress down the corridor and up the flight of stairs to the dance floor level. Fay wobbled dangerously, but far worse things were to come. The ponding music and the noises of a crazed crowd grew louder. Zonda entered the club's main level quite briskly, dragging Fay with her. Nobody touched them, but wolf whistles from all sides and the overwhelming presence of the aggressive electro beat sent the disoriented girl back into a state close to desperation and hysteria.

Having been tending the bar for quite some time now Fay knew her destination and what it looked like, despite the goggles. The dancing cages were narrower than those found in more benign night spots, designed willingly to resemble mediæval gibbets. An empty one had already been lowered, and with some final ushering by Zonda the culprit entered her private little place where she would be dancing non-stop for the next couple of hours. Zonda closed and locked the cage's door. Paying her overdue visit to the VIP lounge, worshipped by guests brave enough to approach their idol, Bianka watched as the cage was lifted into the air. Fay's squeals were drowned out as she clinched to the cage bars. Tears of pain and humiliation were finding their way from under the goggles and running over her hood, invisible for the crowd which cheered at the latest addition to their amusement. A shock, this time for staying stationary, raced through Fay's digestive system. Twitching and hopping about, she finally started to move in an industrial style dance, adapted to the confinement of the cage.

Bianka was enjoying the sadistic display, bathing in the fact that she was one of only three - well, four - people knowing about the new dancer's true motivation. The punishment was cruel, she was aware of that. It meant pain, despair and last but not least public, if anonymised, debasement. But it would also provide Fay a way out of her monetary troubles.

"You need that money?"

Fay would be given the choice to answer this question freely once her stint in the cage was over.

"You come back for your normal shifts."

Her traumatised feet, even back in her running shoes, would kill her after that ballet ordeal - and so would her bum every time she sat down for a short rest. Every word, spoken or not, would remind her of the gag. And from her regular place behind the bar she would always have the dangling cages in her sight.

"You come to me if there's anybody demanding money you owe. You come to Tiny if there's anybody demanding money you don't owe."

Things Fay should have done in the first place.

Above the floor the girl's enforced dance continued, rapid in the hard-paced phases, hypnotic in the slow ones. Always with an aura of torment. As Bianka repaired to her office, she was granted an even better view of Fay's intriguing moves. That lass was really showing some body control, even with her stamina fading. Spectacles back on her nose Bianka attended to her numbers again, but kept catching herself throwing glances over her shoulder. Eventually accepting this sweet defeat, she switched off the desk lamp and turned her chair to the glass wall. Bianka allowed herself to be engulfed in the smell and sound of latex, in the blast of music and laser light against the window. Maybe, just maybe, she would let Fay out of her predicament. The girl surely wouldn't mind tending the bar in a rubber outfit the next few nights.