It was early on a Tuesday night at Scot's, a men's club that allowed women to enter, but only with strict rules in place. Women were viewed as accessories, pets, and on occasion, amusing toys. They had no real power here, and their behavior was strictly monitored. They were allowed nothing except obedience and submission to the male patrons.
For example, they could move around the club, enjoy a drink at the bar, even come and go as they pleased. But women were not allowed to sit on the furniture unless invited to share a seat with a male that was relaxing on one of the many comfortable sofas or chairs. For the women, there were cushions scattered around the club on the floor, strategically placed near those finely crafted leather chairs and sofas. Women were even encouraged to display themselves on a floor cushion, until a male dominant took notice of them and brought them into service.
If the service was not to the woman's taste or liking, it didn't matter, this was Scots, and one should know what to expect when they entered the door. The club made no apologies that the reason for its very existence was to provide men with certain needs, desires and intentions, a place to gather and enjoy themselves. Scot's was old fashioned that way, their clientele often were misogynistic and sadistic. Even if they were not male dominants, it didn't matter, they were served and catered to at Scot's as if they were kings.
In some ways it was surprising how many women found their way through the doors at Scots, but then again, maybe not so surprising, because a great many were like Elaine, in search of that strong male hand that would guide and direct them into....was it bliss? Women that frequented Scot's knew the rules, or at least they should. The rules of the club were clear and for women, life long expectations needed to be adjusted to fit what their roles were in a club that made no secret of where women were on the food chain.
But, this was Tuesday and Elaine was back at the club once more. Tuesday nights at Scot's had become a night designated for couples along with a flood of unaccompanied women, all flocking to attend a weekly event that was known as Scot's Thong Tuesday. There was music, a dj, dancing and the mezzanine floor was open as well, allowing patrons to filter up the stairs to the overlooking balconies. Men were dressed in normal attire, but all the women were required to be wearing thongs, bare breasts exposed, thighs in stockings if they wished, and of course a variety of heels and even boots were worn to show off those legs, and provide one more frame for the female form to be admired, leered at or just observed. On these Tuesdays, women were allowed a thong, it was required attire.
It was also a night where they had even fewer protections or rights in the club than usual. As men were allowed to touch, tweek, tug and even abuse those bare breasts at will, as women moved about the club or just settled on a display cushion waiting to be called into service. No matter how the woman felt about being handled, touched or even disciplined, the only accepted response was, a humble thank you Sir, and a calm subservient demeanor until they left the club at closing.
In spite of her own needs and sexual leanings, actually in spite of them, for all those reasons and more, Elaine rarely came to the club on a Tuesday. The event, although wildly popular, tended to draw an unruly crowd of men that were undisciplined and crude in their manner and interactions with the female patrons.
Privately Elaine thought management had made a mistake in catering to so many couples. In spite of the dancing, some men didn't like to share and fights often broke out, bringing even more chaos to the club than usual. Of course, the women bore the brunt of the blame and the consequences.
Tonight, Elaine had made an exception to her hard and fast rule of avoiding Scot's on Tuesdays at all costs. She had been so long without a lover, she had become quite lost and needy. Her uneasy, near desperate sexual state was made worse by a visit to this same club weeks ago. She should have addressed this much sooner, but now it was almost as if she had no choice.
So here she was, no longer a detached observer, she had taken a chance and entered the club. With a deep breath and a squaring of her shoulders, she had handed over her clothing at the counter kiosk that acted almost like a coat check. Accepting her ticket so she could claim her outer wear when she left, she waded into the crowd, instantly overwhelmed by the noise and chaos that spilled right up to the front door. There was no help for it, wearing only a thong and high stilted heels, she made her way through the writhing mass of dancers looking for a certain man that she had spotted at the club several times as he attended to various woman. He had caught her attention as he seemed to deal with the adoring fawning of the women with an almost bored manner. But from her long silent observations of him she had caught glimpses of his cruel and determined nature. She had also witnessed the women that inevitably, crumpled in submission at his touch, breathless and exhausted from his use.
