The Princess Club

For Helen, part of the fun was pretending that she didn't know what she was signing on for. The fun was thinking the nondisclosure agreement was just a silly precaution. There was fun in thinking that no one was seriously going to violate her. And it was fun to pretend that Emma was her friend and had her best interests in mind.

Emma emerged from the changing room, her tight athletic wear exchanged for a billowing blue dress. It seemed familiar, but it wasn't until Emma flipped her golden hair back and Helen noticed the black choker that the image slid into place.

"Cinderella," Helen nodded, "good choice."

"It was that or Aurora," Emma stared into the mirror and twirled, barely seeming to notice Helen. Helen wasn't sure who Aurora was, her education in Princess culture had been fairly rudimentary, but she kept nodding approvingly until Emma's twirl finally ended facing Helen.

"So, have you picked yours out yet?" Emma asked, seemingly addressing Helen for the first time since they'd arrived at the costume shop.

"Well, as a brunette, I guess my options are pretty limited to Belle from Beauty and the Beast," Helen said, holding up the tiered yellow dress.

"Not necessarily," Emma chided, "There's also Jane, from Tarzan."

"I don't think she's a princess."

"I look like I give a fuck?" For a split second, Emma's hard sorority leader edge emerged and Helen remembered why she'd always been terrified of the other girl. After a split second, the smile eased back into place, and Helen fought hard to mirror Emma's expression, "But Belle's a fine choice."

The young man who'd brought the two girls their costumes knocked once at the door and then let himself in. Helen was fairly sure she'd seen him around campus. Emma had mentioned something about the two of them having hooked up at a party, but at that point Helen had deliberately turned her attention elsewhere. In the girl's brief time together today, Helen had already spent more time listening to Emma's sexual exploits than she had total time spent having her own.

"Have you ladies decided?" the man asked, his courteous demeanor having the same uncomfortable fakeness as Emma's post-freakout smile. Emma paid for the dresses, daddy's money and all, which Helen thought was only appropriate given the theme of the party.

"And will you want the Tower or the Dungeon?"

Helen threw a look of confusion over towards Emma, which was not returned. Dungeon? That seemed a little extreme...

"I'll take the To-" she began.

"The Dungeon," Emma cut her off sharply, finally returning a look that bore more hallmarks of sinister than sweet, "We'll take the Dungeon."

The man looked back at Helen, someone finally throwing back the confused look, but Helen nodded meekly. The Dungeon it is.

The same courtier crossed down the hallway into the men's changing room, where Emma's boyfriend was awkwardly trying to get his tunic fitted.

"We have a number of suites available," the courtier said, this time dropping the pretense of graciousness as the boyfriend had never registered the other man's presence, "including pillory, study, dungeon, tower..."

"What?" he said, finally looking up from the mismatched gig-line. "Oh, uh... Tower. That sounds fine, put me down for that. Hey, are you sure this is the right size..."

It was, but the courtier didn't answer as he wrote the man's name down. The Tower? But Emma was... it took all of his three hours of minimum wage job training to suppress his smile. He wrote the boyfriend's name down next to the Tower, and slipped his own on the list for the Dungeon.

Emma was nearly a half hour late to Helen's house. To be precise, Emma's boyfriend was nearly a half hour late. Emma was only riding in the back. She was 21 years old and hadn't even deigned to get her driver's license. Someone else would always drive, and that was Emma in a nutshell. It did have its advantages though. Helen looked down at the yellow dress, whose bodice hugged her petite frame until it billowed out below there. The poofy shoulder pieces had almost matched Emma's, but at the last minute the other girl had decided to tailor hers so the shoulder straps were cut low, on level with the heaving breasts, and leaving her elegant collar exposed save for the black choker around her neck. Their elbow deep gloves still matched, though Emma's was silver and Helen's was yellow.

A few strands of Helen's rich auburn hair fell down in her face, but most were held back in a mix of a braid and a low ponytail. As she looked at her outfit, she realized it was probably the most "dressy" she'd ever been in her life. By now, she'd almost entirely forgotten about the contract... about the true purpose of the party.

As soon as she looked up, the Limo arrived. The door swung open and Helen saw Emma sitting inside, waving her hand frantically,

"Get in!" she shouted, "We're going to be late."

As soon as she climbed in, Emma quickly pecked her on the cheeks formally and then turned to her boyfriend in the front.

"Let's go! Don't worry about tickets, the cops here all know daddy's plates."

Emma's perky but fairly volumous breasts were almost fully exposed in the pumped up cleavage of her dress. Her blonde hair was pulled up now into a high bun with a silver tiara laced in. She'd fit her stereotype perfectly, having been a cheerleader for years until focusing more on her sorority activities, and it still carried in her body and her demeanor. There was even a slight southern twang that, in its own curious way, seemed to fit the aesthetic of the classically French princess perfectly.

Helen had almost missed it, but Emma wiped a glob of creamy white away from her lips. She turned to Helen with a faux-innocent smile when she noticed the other girl staring,

"Isn't a girl entitled to a little cake before her party?"

Helen didn't respond, though when Emma turned away, she did furiously wipe the lingering wetness away on her own cheek. After a long trip down the forested driveway, the looming castle of a home came into view. There were already several partygoers in immaculately accurate fantastical costumes. Among them Helen spotted a few members of Emma's sorority as scarily perfect Snow Whites and... the others extended past Helen's knowledge of Disney films.

The thought had occurred to Helen several times before now, but she finally couldn't put aside articulating it. This may have been her last chance. As Emma reached for the car door, Helen grasped her smooth, ivory shoulder and asked,

"Emma... why am I here?"

Emma responded with a curious look, though Helen suspected it was a delaying tactic.

"We have a couple classes together, but we've never hung out before now," Helen continued, "and I'm not in your sorority, so why am I here? In fact, I always kind of had the impression that you didn't like me..."

Helen caught most of the expressions that flittered across Emma's face: fear, coyness, even a strange moment of outrage, before the persona resumed and the cool princess demeanor smothered them. She didn't respond though, and she slid out the door her Prince Charming had opened.

Helen quickly got separated from Emma, though she always remained in orbit around the blue-silver princess as the latter mingled around the party. Helen tried mingling too, but discovered quickly that the crowd was as predictably "not hers" as she'd expected. She tried imitating Emma, who was nursing a bottle of champagne, and tried to allow a wine bottle to escort her around. She quickly found encouragement with her new friend and settled down by the garden fountain with another brunette in a sea of blondes. Her new friend wore a pinkish toga, her curly hair was kept up into a high ponytail, and she seemed to accept Helen's company more out of a disinterest in taking the time to shoo her away.

"Is this your first?" her new friend asked.

Helen nodded. Her first? She wasn't even aware that this was a thing that happened more than once.

"Well, don't struggle. If you struggle, they'll probably rate you higher. You can't be sure, but they're pretty sick that way."

"Rate me?" Helen didn't dare ask the question out loud, but that didn't keep it from haunting her mind. "What the hell is going on?"

Suddenly, a bell rang from across the compound. Her friend Megra grabbed a collar from her purse and latched it around her neck, then linked it to a chain dangling along the fountain wall. She lounged against it and nervously looked over her shoulder at the sound of voices.

"You'd better go find your fantasy," Megra whispered, "or someone else might pull you into theirs."

Helen lifted her yellow skirts and ran as fast as her heeled feet would allow her to. As she neared the maze around the back of the home, she ran directly into a man who instinctually enveloped his arms around her. He felt familiar, but the mask over his face and the soft tingle from the wine immediately eliminated any possibility of remembering his identity.

"This isn't yours," the man said, and she looked over his shoulder to see an Alice, as in from Wonderland, slip into the maze.

"I'm sorry," Helen stammered, "I'm headed to-"

"The dungeon, I know. Follow me."

The man led her into the estate, passing an Arabic woman in a shockingly see-through outfit suspended in an elaborate rope network. He led her down a corridor and a set of stairs until letting her walk into a cold cellar. Where there weren't wine barrels around the walls of the expansive room, it was exposed stone, and in the center a sizeable square was set aside and lit by candles. Seated there was Emma, and despite her regal pose, the woman emanated sex more than ever before. The lower tresses of the gown had been trimmed away, the remaining short dress revealing crossed legs in thigh high white stockings and, obviously, a pair of glass stilettos.

"Well finally," she hissed, "What took you so long? Get started."

The man quickly looped a silken black strip of cloth around Helen's yellow-glove covered wrists and, like a leash, pulled her forward into the center of the room. Emma's smile broadened, but it was now more openly sinister. The man tugged the other end of the cloth over the lit chandelier above them.

"Wait, what's going to ha-" the statement was cut off with a gasp as he tugged the cloth around the chandelier and tied the other end tightly to a pillar, forcing her up onto the tips of her shoes as her arms were pulled tight over her head. Emma stood and crossed the small square to bring her face close to Helen's.

"Daddy's money is running out, and you're our ticket to the grand prize. If The Master chooses you, me and my boyfriend," she nodded her head towards the man who'd guided Helen in, "will get a million dollars. We've already got a lead with the first round set. All that's left now is to show you your place, but leave enough of you for four more rounds of fucking."

Her slender fingers slid up along Helen's torso before firmly grasping the hem of Emma's dress.

"You're our whore now," she said, the sinister grin never leaving her face as she fiercely ripped the bodice away, shredding the shoulder straps, and the top part of her yellow dress falling to her waist. Helen started to scream, but Emma's hands were full of some silvery blue fabric that she immediately stuffed into Helen's mouth. After a moment, Helen realized what it was. The lace of Emma's panties filled her mouth. The mix of Emma's juices and, presumably, her boyfriend's cum began to seep down onto her tongue. She tried to spit them out, but Emma slapped a strip of silvery duct tape over Helen's mouth. Emma stood back for a moment and her eyes ran up and down the top half of Helen's exposed body. Helen could feel the warmth of the candles on her bare, teardrop breasts, though the room was still cold enough to leave her upturned pink nipples jutting out.

"I hate you so much, you pretty little bitch, and I'm going to get so fucking turned on watching my boyfriend fuck your pretty little ass, so save your screaming for that."

But even as all of the swirled around in Helen's mind, there was one piece that didn't make any sense. Where was Emma's boyfriend? Was he somewhere in the room? Because the man who'd brought her in wasn't him. Helen only pieced it together from the shocked look on Emma's face a moment later.

"Sit back down, whore."

Emma tried to spin around, but one of the man's hands seized her blonde hair and pushed her face forward into Helen's exposed breasts. The other hand took her wrists and pulled them behind her back, tying them with a similar cord to those that bound Helen.

"Who the fuck are you?" Emma howled, her voice reverberating off of Helen's breasts as the blonde girl was pushed between them. Suddenly the man reached around and seized the top hem of Emma's dress, tugging it down just beneath the girl's heaving breasts, pushing them both together and upwards. The perfect pink nipples jutted out of the pale globes. As she was leaned over against Helen, they dangled tantalizingly below her like ripe fruit.

"You should have followed the rules, you little slut," the man reached forward and, with one tug, pulled the rest of the yellow dress to the floor, leaving Helen standing in just her heels, the gloves, and the black thong she'd worn under the dress. Helen's eyes were still wide and the grunted under the filthy gag, but she wasn't quite as fiery as she'd been a minute ago. The masked man reached forward and stroked her cheek while the other hand, laced in Emma's hair, still held the woman's face deep in Helen's cleavage. "You, on the other hand, are getting off a little easier tonight."

Slowly, the man tugged on Emma's bun, pushing her lower and lower on Helen's body.

"You think you can get away with this," Emma started to scream as her pouty red lips reached Helen's naval. "You fucking bastard."

Helen stopped fighting entirely as she felt Emma's lips reluctantly brush over her waistline, and her eyes started to glaze over as the other woman as pushed lower. Those eyes wandered up and down the masked man as the hand that wasn't holding Emma in place began removing his own clothes. The jerkin and pants fell to the floor to reveal what, under normal circumstances, might have been considered an attractively average body, if not an averagely attractive one. Helen's growing urges were compounded by Emma's hot breath spreading against her thighs and warming those thin panties. Finally the free hand wrapped around the back of Helen's neck, pulling her in for the man to kiss along her neck.

"What the fuck are you..." Emma started, but the man's the other hand pushed Emma forward, forcing her lips to full envelop Helen's already soaking cunt. The frantic obscenities didn't stop there, but the vibrations only served to send shivers throughout Helen's body while the man bit at her neck. As the lips reached her ears, he softly asked if she'd cooperate when he removed the gag. With a grunt and a nod, she consented, and he peeled the tape away and retrieved the panties from her mouth. Discarding them aside, he took her in a full kiss while his hand compelled Emma to circle Helen's clit with her tongue in small circles. The blonde complied reluctantly, and the effect on Helen was reflected in the passion of her kiss.

As the man pulled away, he locked eyes with her.

"I'm going to fuck you now."

It was a statement, but in other ways it sounded like a question. Helen bit her lower lip sheepishly and nodded. The man jerked Emma away from Helen and up to her feet. He shuffled her over back towards her chair and pushed her back down again, quickly rebinding her arms behind the chair and her ankles to the wooden legs. Emma never looked up at him, continuing to glare spitefully up at Helen through the few strands of blonde hair now fallen in her face. Emma glared as if the whole thing had been an elaborate conspiracy on the brunette's part rather than her role as an unwitting participant. She kept her lips pressed tight together as the man waved a bright blue ball-gag in front of her face, and she held out through a firm smack to her left breast, but yielded after a sharp slap to her face. After the gag was fitted around her, Helen noticed that both her cheek and tit still bore a bright pink hand-prints.

From a nearby bag, he also took out a familiar piece of glass. The champagne bottle Emma had been carrying, still mostly full. One of the man's hands wrapped around Emma's throat, not squeezing too tightly, but pinning her to the back of the chair while the hand retrieved the bottle and slip it up against the blonde's increasingly wet pussy. Helen watched in increasing admiration of the man as he poised the lip of the bottle against her entrance. Emma writhed in the chair, those perky breasts jostling from side to side. Without saying a word, he pushed the bottle in, the neck slowly disappearing into her even as her his raised off the seat to accommodate the advance. The silver and blue skirt still covered her thighs, so Helen couldn't see the bottle in play, but she could hear it in Emma's frequent grunting and the sloshing as champagne filled her pussy. The man worked the bottle more furiously, ramming the bottle faster and faster down to the widened base. Helen imagined Emma's inhibitions loosening as her body absorbed the alcohol flooding her cunt. After a few minutes, the man pulled the bottle away from her thoroughly ravaged body and took a swig of whatever champagne or juices were left.

But the coupe de grace, which even Emma's widening eyes indicated she hadn't anticipated, was the industrial size vibrator retrieved from a bag. Finally, Emma began to squirm and let out muffled screams as her skirt was pulled up to around her waist and the round end of the device was taped to the chair between her legs. She finally looked up at the man, pleading, and let out a sharp squeal as the machine was activated.

The man ignored the trembling protests as he crossed back to Helen, whose eyes followed his movements with a transfixed interest. She tried to turn her head over her shoulder as he passed behind her, but his hand darted around and seized her chin. Her gaze was locked on Emma, on the beads of sweat rolling down the woman's heavily made-up face, some dripping down on to the heaving breasts now stiff from the attention between her legs.

"Are you going to..." she began but the man silenced her with a finger from her chin shifting to her lips. He pulled it away, and a moment later a strip of black silk crossed over her eyes, bound deep in her auburn braid. For a moment, there was no sense of touch, and the only sound in the room was the dull humming of the vibrator. Helen shifted uncomfortable, her body just now beginning to notice the soreness in her arms, but a quick graze of a finger over her left breast evaporated that thought. It was only there for a second, then gone. Another moment without touch or sound, and then a finger trailed from her knee up to her inner thigh, then gone again. The movements repeated along her body in random patterns, but always caressing a sensitive spot before disappearing. After a few moments, they grew more bold, some pinching at her breasts while others slipped beneath the hem of the thong. Eventually, one hand found a semi-permanent home alternating between tugging and caressing her breasts. Another reached down to where Emma's lips had been, an area still slick from her spit and Helen's own enthusiasm. Lightly, the fingers began to push against her clit. Teasing, probing, circling.

Helen wasn't sure when, but at some point he'd removed her panties. His hands were now cupped between her thighs, tenderly but with a dedicated purpose. Everything between his pinky and thumb alternated between her pulsating clit and the increasingly wet entrance to her body. Small circles in one, probing slips into her body at the other. Back and forth, Helen never really sure when to expect a shift. Suddenly, she felt something throb against her lower back, but the horror only really set in as she felt it descend down the crevice of her perky ass. Tears were beginning to well in her eyes, smearing against the interior of the blindfold.