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This is an examination of the secretive workings of an exclusive club, Le Château Erotique, where wealthy club members pay to room, board, and play with the sex workers employed by the club, immersed in a lifestyle of domination and submission. This story in particular reviews the annual fundraising auction, where residents in restricted contracts might get a chance to orgasm – or might not.
Content Tags/Warnings: Some mild use of degrading language in a kink scene; uneven power dynamics in a relationship (employee/employer); use of the word “slave” in some instances to refer to voluntary, paid sex workers in a submissive role
In the very near future, deep in the busy metropolis of one of the largest cities in the world, stands a stately and yet discrete building of approximately three floors. The building is constructed of marbled grey stone slabs and is ringed with a small burbling water feature, something like a miniature moat or a very ambitious foot bath.
The first floor of the building has no windows, and the windows on the second and third floors glint with mirrored blues and indigos, catching the sky and reflecting back nothing but views of the city to any passerby curious enough to try and catch a look inside. There is no visible entrance or exit.
This building is host to a very exclusive club known as Le Château Erotique. Members of the club typically refer to it by a simpler moniker: “The House”.
Access to The House is cryptic, both physically and figuratively. Membership in the club can only be obtained via a sponsorship from an existing member in good standing, as well as a substantial up-front monetary donation which contributes to the maintenance of the club.
Each member receives a magnetic key; this key can be used in a particular elevator, accessible from the lobby of a neighboring luxury hotel, to descend to a sub-basement room which exits into an underground tunnel tiled in marble and inlaid at regular intervals with shining metal insignias bearing the initials of founding members of the club. This tunnel is the members’ entrance to The House.
There is a second, more secretive entrance to the building. This entrance is known only to a few, but is used by many. Only select individuals who have held positions on the club’s board of trustees for more than a decade know where it is and how to access it; however, the primary use of the entrance is to bring in the residents.
Residents of Le Château Erotique, unlike members, do not hold any financial obligation to the club. They are, in fact, employees, contracted for terms of either three or five years to provide sexual companionship and adult entertainment to club members.
The residents, as implied by their title, reside in The House for the length of their contract. In fact, they do not leave it; from the time where they pass, blindfolded and deafened, through the secret entrance into the building, they sleep, eat, and live within the House, often for years at a time–decades, if they choose to renew their contract.
There are no other employees of The House; cleaning and maintenance, preparation and serving of food, and administrative duties are all carried out by skilled residents.
But their key duty is to engage, full-time, in the provocative world of sexual domination and submission created within The House.
The majority of residents are enrolled as submissives, although there are some switches and professional dominants scouted by the club’s procurer as well, as necessary to serve the needs of the members. Some contracts focus on specialized kink or fetish services, while others are oriented around availability, or may link a resident’s service to a few specific club members who pay advanced rates for more personal attention.
The residents we are most concerned with today are in what are described by the board as restricted contracts.
Members, being more straightforward, typically refer to them as the “chastity slaves”.
Residents in a restricted contract are required, save for specific situations, to resist and avoid orgasm.
Actual use of chastity belts is employed only as necessary; decorative belts might be used at larger parties to help club members identify them, and may also be used at night if a resident struggles with the self-control necessary not to engage in self-satisfaction in the privacy of their bed.
Instead, typically, restricted contract residents are dressed in such a way as to allow club members to easily view the results of their erotic privation. Crotchless leotards or thin, tight materials that prominently display wet patches, erections, and swollen, throbbing organs are all common requirements for daily wear for restricted residents.
A fine chain with a decorative lock, worn around the waist like a belt, is a common accessory, alerting club members to the fact that the genitals on display are not available for use; restricted contract residents typically offer oral and manual services to club members, leaving their own bodies untouched and unsatisfied as they devote themselves to the pleasure others.
They are also commonly featured in adult entertainment shows hosted on the various stages secreted within The House. At any time, an unsuspecting restricted resident may be tapped to come up on stage to be strapped down or tied up, legs spread, where they may expect to be repeatedly edged and tormented by a dominant resident or a member of the board, their desperate wriggling and needy cries providing entertainment for due-paying members.
Many restricted residents are, of course, attracted to such a contract for the money. The base pay for restricted residents is already 15% higher than most other initial contracts, and subsequent renewals come with much steeper wage increases than any other resident wage ladder–although the contract renewals come with their own restrictions: unlike other residential contract renewals, which typically allow for a month or two gap between renewals for residents to vacation and decompress outside in the real world, restricted contract renewals are required to be taken continuously. This ensures that a restricted resident considering signing up for another five years of service won’t have any opportunity for unsupervised sexual release between their terms.
As opportunities for release within restricted service are rare and not guaranteed, this means that some restricted residents have gone a decade or more since their last orgasm.
Today, we discuss one of those rare opportunities for release: the yearly fundraising auction show.
The actual auction itself takes place in a silent bidding process.
Exorbitant sums of money are bid by members on extremely specific customized packages: a particular resident, a particular toy or sex act, a particular length of time or condition. Resident A to be stroked on the clitoris with a feather for five minutes; Resident B to rub his cock onto a boot until he ruins; Resident C to be permitted to ride a dildo as long as they wish; and so on.
There are minimum costs associated with each resident, each sex act, and each length of time, which the members are not privy to, encouraging them to bid high if they want to be sure to meet the minimum required bid. As each resident can only be ‘won’ once per year, members bidding on exceptionally popular residents–especially residents who are notorious for having suffered many years without orgasm–are also encouraged to bid high if they wish to beat out competitors.
This one event raises a good 50% of the funds needed to finance the annual operating costs of the club, even after cutting a percentage of each winning bid as a bonus to the residents being bid on.
One week later is the auction show. It is divided by gender, with women being presented first, men second, and alternative and nonbinary genders at the end. Today, we will discuss a typical year’s proceedings for that first show, focusing on the women.
The restricted women are escorted into a presentation auditorium: a large, two-story room, featureless except for a number of anchor points drilled into the ceiling and walls, with two-way mirrors along one side concealing the audience of members looking on.
The residents line up along the back wall, arms crossed demurely behind their backs to present their naked bodies. Many of them are visibly aroused, their shaved vulvas rosy and plump, damp with sexual readiness.
The team of two dominant residents overseeing the show walk the line first, and if any resident appears disengaged or not appropriately eager–or simply looks entertaining to tease–they use gloved fingers to massage her between the legs or to pinch and tug at her nipples until she’s flushed and panting. This is conducted in silence, aside from the occasional soft cries from the harassed residents.
The restricted women do not know what bids have been placed.
Each resident does not know whether she will be granted an orgasm, or submitted to a torturous tease or a ruined climax; she does not know whether she may not have been bid on at all, whether she will be forced to watch her colleagues toyed with and satisfied while she goes untouched and wanting.
Once the dominant attendants determine that all restricted residents in attendance are appropriately excited, the show proper commences.
This year, it begins with a bang.
One of the dominants hauls out two heavy-duty fucking toys, a couple of sawhorse-like machines with thick dildos protruding from the top, which she slicks, business-like, with handfuls of lubricant.
She calls two names, and the corresponding residents step forward, each staring at the machines with wide, eager eyes.
She points to one. “Eighteen months since last recorded orgasm. Is that accurate?”
“Yes, m’am.”
“And you. Two years?”
“Yes, m’am, that’s correct.”
She nods and waves the restricted residents forward. Each has her arms bound and suspended from a hook above her head, and then the attendants help them to step over the machines before cranking the sawhorses up between the women’s legs.
The bound women each gasp loudly when the dildos first presses between the wet lips of their vulvas; three more cranks on the legs of the machine, and they both moan and squirm as the textured pad at the base of the dildo rubs tantalizingly close to twitching clitorises. Both have a foggy look in their eyes, betraying how close they are to orgasm already just from the sensation of having something filling their neglected bodies.
“Announce your orgasms,” the dominant resident instructs, and then she clicks a dial on the control in her hand.
Only one of the machines turns on.
“Ye-hh-ohhhhh,” the woman on the left groans, her attempted response becoming an incoherent sound as the machine comes to life between her legs, vibrating noisily and thrusting jerkily into her wet cunt. The woman immediately bends her knees, pulling her arms uncomfortably high so that she can grind her clit down into the textured pad at the base that vibrates as well, and her eyes roll back in her head at the sensation.
The woman on the right looks over at her, eyebrows pinched in confusion, shifting restlessly on her feet and squirming as her own machine remains still and silent. Then she looks at the attendant. Whatever she sees there must help her understand that this is not a mistake; this is the performance that has been purchased for her.
She whimpers, then bends her knees as well, rocking on the inert dildo and brushing her clit against the unmoving textured base, her eyes fixed on the woman on the left being thoroughly pleasured.
It’s only seconds before the woman on the left gasps out, “I, uh, hhhgh…ohhhh…I’m ff–I’m ffuuuh–” her mouth works soundlessly for a moment and her hips twitch, her toes curling against the white tile floor, and then she gasps out, “I’m f-f-fucking coming, I’m c-o-o-oming, ah, ah, ah, oh my Go-o-od–!” as her back bows and a gush of clear liquid runs down her legs and drips off the machine.
“One,” the dominant attendant announces, and clicks the dial.
“AhhAIEEE!” the woman on the left woman shrieks, doubling over and yanking at the ropes holding her arms up as the machine kicks up a gear, buzzing louder and churning unceasingly into her wet, still-gushing pussy. “Oh God, oh God, oh God, I, ahhh, I’m–ag-a-a-ain! I’m coming again, no, wait–“
“Two,” the attendant counts, and clicks the dial again.
The woman on the left, unable to escape between the suspension of her arms and the height of the machine between her legs, jolts and shrieks as her oversensitive sex is unceasingly pulverized.
The woman on the right looks from her sweating, writhing companion and then down at her own wet sex, filled by an unmoving machine that refuses to stimulate her, and whines desperately. She rocks her hips, fucking herself on the dildo with the small movements she’s able to make. “Please…Please…” she whimpers to herself, not intending to be heard, but the professionally-installed microphones in the room pick it up easily, transmitting it to the audience on the other side of the glass.
Over the next five minutes, the woman on the left is driven to a total of four bucking, shrieking orgasms. She loses strength in her legs after the third one, forcing her to sit down heavily on the machine in spite of the strain on her arms; the combination of her own body weight and the near-violent intensity of the next setting on the machine makes her squirt again on the final orgasm, her entire body trembling and twitching as if she’s being electrocuted.
The woman next to her stares with jealous tears in her eyes, humping vigorously at the useless machine between her legs, straining and twisting to try and find some way to bring herself to climax.
“Four,” the attendant announces, and clicks the dial, and finally the machine on the left goes silent.
The woman sitting on it lolls her head, her eyelids fluttering as she fights to remain conscious. The assistance of both attendants is required to haul her up and off the machine and to untie her; once they let her go, she slides weakly to her knees in the puddle of her own fluids splattered on the floor. She’s too uncoordinated to kneel properly, half-sprawled instead, her thighs gaping open to display her obscenely flushed and well-fucked cunt.
The other woman whimpers and shakes her head when the attendants turn to her. As they crank her machine down and pull her off of it, her cunt is on full display as well, red and wet and clenching desperately on the air. She goes down to her knees when instructed, her lip curling on a pout as she finally accepts that she won’t be getting an orgasm today.
“Say thank you to the club member who paid for your pleasure,” one of the dominant attendants instructs.
“Th-thank you,” the fucked-out woman on the left slurs, her muscles still twitching and trembling with aftershocks from the repeated forced orgasms.
“Thank you,” the other woman whispers, voice shaking with disappointment and raw need.
“Good,” the attendant says, and returns both women to their respective spots in line. The satisfied woman sprawls on the floor, no longer able to stand; the residents around her stare at her with a bald mixture of sympathy and envy.
Nobody makes eye contact with the other woman, who shudders with tension and presses her hands against the wall behind her to avoid the temptation of reaching down to satisfy herself.
The next name called is for a resident whose last recorded orgasm was over three years prior. At the orders of the attendants, she stands with her legs spread and her hands on her head while one of the dominant residents runs a small fingertip vibrator in circles over her clit.
She is instructed to count down to her own orgasm. It’s less than thirty seconds before she begins hurriedly blurting out “Five–four–three–fuck, two, one–“
The attendant pulls the vibrator away on one, and the restricted resident wails, her hips jolting wildly in the air.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, no-no-no-no, I’m–mmmm–” she whines and gasps and then finally lets out a choked sob as her cunt visibly pulses and dribbles its way through a ruined orgasm that, from the crumpled look on her face, appears excruciating. “Ohh-hh-hh…”
“Say thank you to the club member who paid for your pleasure,” the attendant reminds her.
“I…wait…” she mumbles. “I’m…I’m still…” and then she gasps as her hips jolt and her pussy releases a bit more liquid that runs down her leg. “Uhhhh-nn…I…fuck…thank you. Fuck.”
“Good,” the attendant says, and sends her back to her spot in line, where she folds her arms tightly over her stomach, digging fingernails into her own skin as her cunt continues to pulse and occasionally dribble with the echoes of the ruin.
The next two names called are displayed in a similar manner, but one has the vibrator pulled away on five, leaving her stuttering and straining, wild-eyed, on the edge of orgasm; the other is permitted to finish, and collapses sideways into the attendant as she does, already gasping out a choked litany of “thank-you-thank-you-thank-you” as she shakes her way through her climax, grinding down onto the attendant’s hand and the gentle massage of the vibrator.
They are returned to the line, where they stand side-by-side, refusing to look at each other.
Next, a woman whose last orgasm was over two years ago is sat in a chair and handed a paintbrush, instructed to stimulate herself with it.
She teases her clit with the hard end first, then strokes with the soft end, moaning increasingly loudly as the minutes drag by. Her lazy cries of pleasure make the women waiting, and those that have already been chosen and left unsatisfied, squirm.
When she finally declares, “Oh, God, yes, here it comes, yes–!” and spreads her thighs to show her convulsing vaginal opening and her twitching clit under the soft spread of the brush, more than one of the women standing against the wall bites her lip and rocks her hips, watching in open jealousy.
After she thanks her benefactor and returns to line, the next restricted resident called up–a newbie, whose last recorded orgasm was prior to the start of her contract the year prior–is instructed to grind her pussy into one of the attendants’ shoes while sucking the juices from the used paintbrush, held in the attendant’s hand.
She whimpers at the first touch of leather boot to her neglected sex; from the pathetic expression on her face, it’s clear that she’s braced for her orgasm to be denied or ruined. But as she works her hips and the boot begins to shine with the slick evidence of her arousal, the trepidation washes out of her expression, leaving behind only slack, stunned pleasure as she moans and suckles at the brush in her mouth.
“Enough,” the attendant says finally, when the woman’s thighs are starting to shake with tension. “Clean the shoe now.”
The woman lets out a long, deep-throated groan as she obediently shuffles back, strings of sticky grool dripping from her cunt to the shoe. She kneels forward and starts to lick her fluids from the leather; her pose exposes her sex, twitching and pulsing, to the audience behind the mirror.
When she is finally ordered up and back to her place in line, her expression is dreamy and ecstatic, despite her lack of orgasm.
Another newbie is called up and is instructed to kneel and rub her own clit until she cries out, sweet and almost innocent, with her orgasm. A woman who hasn’t come in eight years is called up to fuck herself with a dildo, forbidden from touching her clit, and is stopped at five minutes, just as her cries are becoming frantic and hopeful.
Two women, both over a year since their last orgasm, are given one chair, instructed to take turns sitting in it for one-minute intervals while the other kneels and eats out the seated woman; it takes four rotations before one of the woman finally screams out her climax, and the other is informed that they were only allotted one orgasm between them and is returned to line visibly trembling with need, her labia plump and wet and drooling, eyes half-wild and still fixed on the mouth of the other resident.
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