Free Her First Submission (Kathryn's Training) by Aya Fukunishi

Chapter One
    There are clubs just like it in every city in America. Hidden clubs, their locations passed quietly by word of mouth, their entrances closely guarded. If you weren't on the inside you'd never hear about them, never see them even as you walked by. If you weren't vouched for you'd never gain entrance; you'd never notice the doorways, the closed circuit cameras and the discreet, well dressed clients who slipped in and out through the night, often carrying a package under their arm, a costume or a favorite toy. That was the one word most often used to advertise them to potential clientele: discreet.
    This club didn't have a name. It didn't need one. All who entered knew what it was, and it maintained its secrecy thanks to the prominent politicians, wealthy businessmen and various movers and shakers who counted themselves among its members; men (and more than a few women) who made sure the eyes of the city never strayed too close to the hidden doorway. If the wrong people discovered what went on inside, the consequences could be dire.
    Kathryn gazed up at the hidden camera above the door, waiting for a moment before a buzzer sounded and the latch was released. She stepped through into a dim hallway, pulling the heavy steel door behind her until she heard the lock engage once more, then stood in the half light until her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness. Every room was like this, from the central bar to the private suites. Darkness ruled in this place where dark deeds were done.
    It had been three months since Kathryn had been recruited. Three months of long, late nights. Three months of watching acts that repulsed and intrigued her in equal measure. Three months of serving drinks for the rich and powerful. Three months of watching them play with the tight, taut, latex wrapped bodies of the pretty, doe eyed sub girls who allowed themselves to be used, posed like puppets, humiliated, scolded and fucked like whores. Most of all, though, it had been three months of a steady, more than generous pay check and the promise of an escape from her crushing college debt. The work was often unpleasant, but a bachelor's degree in philosophy in the midst of a recession hadn't left her with a wealth of options.
    Kathryn was a serving wench. That was actually her official title, the job description she'd print on her tax return, if she was allowed to file by herself. She'd been recruited by the owner of the club, Stephen, an old poker buddy of her late father. She remembered him vividly from her childhood, an ugly, rat faced man with sallow skin and the look of someone who enjoyed too much rich food, too few vegetables and too little sun. He seemed to arrive in a new sports car each time he visited. He also seemed to have a new girl on his arm each time, and Kathryn had always wondered how he managed to attract such beauties with that unappealing face and slimy personality. It was only recently she'd learned that they were all bought and paid for.
    Stephen had caught her at a low point in her life. Eight months out from graduation Kathryn was barely surviving on what little she managed to earn waiting tables at a local strip club. It was depressing work. She paid for her groceries with the greasy, torn and wrinkled dollar bills the local perverts stuffed into the waistband of her skirt as she delivered their Budweiser, all of them no doubt hoping she'd be so grateful for their charity that she'd fall to her knees, wrap her wet, ruby red lips around their cocks and suck them until they sprayed their hot juice across her eager tongue. She could hardly blame them. The tired, used up women on stage - they were far too old to be called girls - were no match for Kathryn's fresh, unsullied beauty. Through every shift she felt their eyes on her young, lithe body.
    Stephen had found her on a bleak Saturday night between Christmas and New Year. He'd bumped into her as he was leaving the club, shaking his head with disappointment at the