Society by deirdre Beatrice and Sandy were talking and I heard them mention having lunch somewhere. "Are you guys going out to lunch?" I asked. I was desperate for a break from work--I guess that made me a little pushy. But they didn't answer. In fact, I saw them glance at each other. A secret? "What is it?" I asked, intrigued. They glanced at each other again. Beatrice looked more than a little nervous. Finally Sandy spoke. "We've already got plans..." she said. "Oh, I'm sorry," I answered. "Something interesting?" I was definitely feeling nosey. Beatrice still looked nervous. "It's... a private club," said Sandy, sounding a little diffident herself. "You guys are in a private club?" I asked, surprised. "Yes," said Beatrice finally, "It's just for members..., well, we *can* bring visitors..." She looked red as a beet and I had the distinct impression she wished she hadn't said that. Sandy looked a little perturbed and I wondered what the problem could be. "What kind of club *is* this?" I asked, not letting it go. "Well," started Sandy, "you understand that this is *private*?" she looked at be dubiously. "Sure," I replied. As I watched, their eyes met again briefly. "OK, you can come today as our guest," Sandy finally said, "We can explain on the way." Needless to say, I was scratching my head wondering what this was all about. We agreed to meet just a little early and Sandy agreed to drive us. I was completely distracted for the rest of the morning wondering what this was all about. Finally it was time to go and after we were off and driving, I didn't restrain myself: "OK, what is this all about." "Like we said, it's a society," said Sandy. "What sort of society?" "It's the Society for the Advancement of Women In Their Twenties." I almost laughed out loud. Certainly I smiled. "Women in their twenties?" "Yes." It was still Sandy doing all the talking. Beatrice was behind us in the back seat. "What.. why?" I wasn't sure where to go with this. "Well, women in their twenties have a lot going for them: of all the ages of women, it's women in their twenties that men are attracted to the most." I wasn't going to let her get away with that. I'm 42 and I know lots of women in their thirties and forties who have no trouble attracting men. "Well, I know men who..." "Oh, there are men who like older or younger women and older and younger women who are very attractive, but generally speaking, the twenties is the woman's age that attracts men the most. In general, men want a woman in her twenties." I could continue the argument, but she did have a point. "And most women want to be like women in their twenties--they try to look like women in their twenties, and often they lie about their ages claiming to still be in their late twenties." "I see." I said. "So women in their twenties have a natural advantage: all men are attracted to them and all women want to be like them." "OK, maybe so," I conceded, "so they need a society?" "But what do women in their twenties get out of this natural advantage?" Sandy continued, "they are at the bottom of the ladder when it comes to jobs: lower than older women and lower than all men--though they have what everyone wants, society-in-general controls them and limits their freedom. "How can a woman in her twenties get ahead. Get famous? For acting or singing or athletics? Yes, for about point oh oh one percent of them. Get a money-making job? Odds are no better. Marry well? That's probably the best way--subjugate themselves to an older man. If their family's rich, get it from their family? Only a tiny minority have that chance, and then they probably get an allowance with strings attached. "Women in their twenties are at the bottom--they get the worst jobs, are supposed to depend on others--they get the worst pay when they get jobs--all this for the ones who have what everyone wants!" She paused and I felt obliged to say something: "Interesting idea..." "You probably never thought of it that way before, but it's true. If women in their twenties have what everyone want, how come they are not at the top? It's today's society *compensating* for our advantage, or *overcompensating* to be more accurate." I couldn't believe this. It was the weirdest argument for such a group that I'd ever heard. "Our own Society is dedicated to giving us our due." "So it's just open to women in their twenties?" I asked. "Well, no, it's open to anyone willing to share our views." "You mean you have members who aren't women in their twenties?" "Sure, in fact most of our members would be in that category. It's just that the society is run by and for women in their twenties-- other people can be members but they have no say in the doings of the society." This struck me as a bit strange. But we didn't pursue it further because we had arrived and soon I was even more intrigued. The building was a large, unmarked aluminum building in an industrial park area, with a door in front and very few windows. There were a number of cars in front. We walked in and there was a small lounge area with a receptionist sitting in a booth. Sandy went up to her and she handed Sandy three dresses, all alike and some other items including sandals. Sandy handed me a dress and sandals and what I realized were panties and pointed me to one of several dressing rooms to the right-hand side of the room! She told me that the rules said we had to wear these dresses. I was amazed, but took the dress and went and changed. It was solid, and peach colored--almost like a maid's uniform, more or less a tent with a belt. I certainly felt funny in it. I wondered what to do with my clothes. I checked outside and Sandy and Beatrice had already changed and Sandy told me the receptionist would hold our clothes for us. There was a door to each side of the receptionist's booth and Sandy led us through the door on the right. The building was really very nice--carpeted, the walls were light-- almost white--and were decorated with various pictures-- contemporary abstracts. We walked down the hall a little way and it opened into a bar and dining area. In fact, it looked like a typical restaurant--no windows, but lighted by numerous skylights and with hanging plants, and people and waitresses--exactly what I'd expect to see at a restaurant during lunch hour. Sandy led us to a table and we sat down. Our waitress left us menus and they didn't have any prices on the items. That was the only thing I'd noticed that was strange about the place. We ordered and the waitress left. I noticed that all the groups in the restaurant were young women--I could easily imagine they were all in their twenties. There were a few waiters and some waitresses. None of the waitresses looked really young. "So what do you think?" asked Sandy, obviously noticing that I was looking around. "Very nice," I replied, "Where are all these male and older members you were telling me about?" "Oh this room is only for women in their twenties--except for invited guests," said Sandy. "So much for an open society," I said, "Where do the other members eat?" "Well, the society is open to all, but it isn't our purpose to provide these sorts of things to the men or the other women." "Then what do they do?" "Well, for one thing, they wait the tables in here." "I see," and I thought about it: it looked about like what she said, "so you hire them?" "No, we don't *hire* them, it's what they do for us." "Do for you why?" "Well, they join the society and the society is for our benefit." "So they do it for free?" "Yes." "That's weird. What do they get out of it?" "You'd have to ask them. They get to be around us." This was too much. The waitress brought the meals and we started eating, but I still wasn't believing this place. I looked around. It all seemed so normal. "So they have to work as waiters or waitresses if they want to join?" I finally asked. "Or whatever we want them to do." "Oh, so you tell them what to do and they do it?" I guess my skepticism must have been showing. "Yes." Sandy certainly was direct about that answer. I must have asked the same question three different ways, not believing her answer. I thought about it. "You,... you have them run this place all day? This entire building?" "Yes." "How do you get them to do it?" "We tell them to and they do it." "Just because you tell them to?" "Yes." "You just tell them to do something and they do it?" I was getting repetitious. "Yes." "You're joking, aren't you?" It was too weird. "No, when we tell them to do something, they do it." I was amazed. "Like what things?" "Whatever we tell them to do." "Anything?" "Yes." "Come on!" I giggled a little. I looked at Beatrice, who hadn't said a thing. "She's kidding, isn't she?" "No," said Beatrice. "So,... who decides who does what?" I asked. I don't know why I pursued this. It was too ridiculous. "What do you mean?" asked Sandy. "Well, who tells this waitress what she has to do?" "Any of us." "So just any club member can order her around?" "She's a member of the society. Any of the women in their twenties can tell her to do something and she'll do it." I thought about it. I finally replied, "that's a bit weird." "It's what the society is about," replied Sandy. "So, what all will she do for you?" "Anything," Sandy replied. I heard her but somehow it didn't register right away. Then it occurred to me that *anything* is subject to interpretation. "Well, there are some limits," I offered. "Well, there aren't." "Well, if you ask her to do something too wild, she'll just quit." "We wouldn't *ask* her. If she were *told* to do something, she would do it." I thought some more. "I don't believe you," I finally replied. Sandy responded by calling our waitress. Then she told her to bring her a small whip! I just stared. The waitress left and came back in about 30 seconds with this little whip which she gave Sandy! Then Sandy told her to turn around and she did, standing couple of feet from the table. Then Sandy scooted her chair just a little bit away from the table and swung the whip, hitting her on her rear and upper thighs. I was in shock--I felt like my heart was in my throat and I couldn't breath. I just stared. The waitress jerked and took a tiny step forward, having lost her balance, then straightened up, and stepped back to her position, standing there, waiting. She hadn't made a sound except for a sharp intake of breath after the whip struck her. Then Sandy told her to take away the whip and she turned around, took it, and left. "There's a little demonstration," said Sandy. I still didn't say anything--my throat still felt tight. I glanced at Beatrice; she looked as if nothing like what I just saw had happened. No one else in the club gave us any notice either. I didn't say a word the whole rest of the time we were there: I was almost like a zombie, just staring when Sandy said anything. Nothing else strange happened and we went back to the changing rooms and changed back and drove to work. I was still feeling a little faint and had trouble concentrating that afternoon, and just lay in bed with my mind racing that night when I tried to sleep. The next day I was in better shape, but I was still having trouble believing what I actually saw. I guess I avoided Sandy, and Beatrice too after that. I couldn't bring myself to talk to Sandy, but one day I did talk to Beatrice again: "How could they *do* that?" I couldn't help bringing it up the first time we talked--it was just gnawing at me. "Who do what?" "How could... Sandy do that... and that woman just stand there?" "Oh, everyone in the society knows the rules when they join." "But to... to *subjugate* herself like that." "That *is* the idea: give women in their twenties control." I sat there thinking and Beatrice just looked at me. She seemed to *want* me to understand. "It all takes place among people who *agree* to it," she added, finally. I didn't talk to her about it any more and I guess I got over it--if there were strange people who wanted to play strange games, who was I to interfere? I didn't have much to do with them, but I did get so I could say hi to Sandy again without dying of embarrassment. She didn't have any problem. Then, a few weeks later, Sandy and I were walking to a meeting together and *I* brought up the subject again. "I still can't understand why they do that," I said. "They understand the natural order of things," said Sandy, "want to see more of the place?" I agreed to it. Curiosity was overcoming my better judgement. It was like before. I changed into one of their dresses in the changing room and left my clothes with the receptionist. They took me through the other door--the one on the *left* side of the receptionist. I was in for a shock. It was a large room about twenty feet long, absolutely *full* of naked bodies! I mean live people, all tied to the ceiling by their wrists, blindfolded and gagged, but otherwise naked! There was some kind of track of something on the ceiling, that looked like it was designed to attach ropes to, so one could move the length of the track if attached to it correctly. Men and women! None of the women looked really young--in their twenties. There was a man standing by the door we came in, in a breechcloth and another man standing by another door. They were both huge and muscular. Another woman, wearing nothing but a g-string was whipping one of the women tied to the ceiling. After a few whippings, she switched to the next person, another woman and started whipping her. "They all get stripped and whipped when they enter the club," said Sandy. "It's the rule," added Beatrice. I noticed the woman who had been our waitress, hanging there. Sandy seemed to catch me. "You want to see her whipped?" she asked. "Whip that woman," she told the woman in the g-string. "She's already been whipped," the woman answered. In a couple of seconds, she froze with a frightened look on her face. She dropped her whip and took off her g-string and walked over toward the door we had entered. The *guard* at the door blindfolded and gagged her and attached her wrists to the ceiling. "She realized she accidentally questioned my wish," said Sandy. The guard took the whip and took up where the woman had left off, whipping people one at a time, down the line. Sandy drew me out the other door which led into the corridor that I had been in the previous time. "They have to go through that every time?" I asked. "It's the rule," said Sandy, "anyone not a woman in her twenties must be stripped and whipped." "Except visitors," I said. "Actually, visitors too, though we tone it down & hide it," I was confused, "That's why you had to change clothes--so you would be naked and fulfill the rule." "You guys changed to. And I wasn't whipped," I added. "We just changed to make you feel at home. And we tone down such whippings to a simple, casual pat on the rear." She patted my rear once. I remembered that she had done that once during my first visit. "Here's the room where servants wait until one of us wants them," and we walked in another room. There were a number of men and women, wearing all kinds of outfits, just waiting. They all stood when we entered. We stopped in front of a woman. She was too young to be in her thirties. "This woman hasn't reached her twenties yet," she said. My mouth dropped open. She was easily 18, but I could believe she wasn't twenty yet. "You don't have members younger than 18 do you?" I asked, wondering. "That would be illegal," said Sandy. We went back into the corridor. "Does someone organize all this?" I asked. "We have a council made up of one woman in each year from 20 to 29," said Sandy, "each is elected by the women her own age, and each gets a vote in the council except that for the last four years, their vote counts half." "That's to keep the council from raising the maximum age," said Beatrice. "Here is an interesting room," said Sandy, opening another door along the corridor. There were curtained cubicles along the wall, and the floor and walls were padded. The cubicles were larger than store dressing rooms, maybe six feet by eight feet. Most of them were empty with the curtains opened, but a few had the curtains drawn. Sandy went up to one, slipped in, drawing me. Beatrice came in after me. A woman was standing, blindfolded and gagged but otherwise nude, her arms tied to the ceiling, just like in the other room. Another woman was whacking her bottom with a thin piece of bamboo. "This room is where we punish the servants, or do anything we feel like doing with them," said Sandy. "They disobeyed?" I asked. "Maybe, but we don't need a reason to punish a servant." I stared at the spectacle. Sandy drew me out and we peeked in another curtain. A man and a woman nude with their wrists bound behind them were kneeling between another seated woman's legs, licking her. I stared in amazement. We left. "Remember that young woman less then twenty?" said Sandy, "Do you remember her eyes? She's thinking about punishing *us* later on, and she thinks you'll join so she can punish *you*." I stared, thinking that through. We left after that. On the way home, Sandy explained that the woman I saw was being initiated as a servant since she turned 30. "We have a ceremony at midnight on your 30th birthday. Right before midnight, you punish a servant (or a bunch, if you care to), and right at midnight, you strip and the women in their twenties have their way with you." I tried to imagine it. "It's great! Anyone with a grudge against you has you where they want you, and lots of the women love to try out someone new. Having it be someone who you used to look up to makes it doubly delicious. It usually turns into all-day orgies, and the new servant usually doesn't get out for days!" "But I'll bet a lot of women quit right before that," I said. "No, none do," said Sandy, "and any that lose interest in their twenties are right there for their thirtieth birthday." "Why?" "Well, to join the society, whether you are a woman in your twenties or not, you pledge to remain in the society and you back this up by allowing the society to shoot some, uh, compromising pictures of you." "And you sign away rights to them," said Beatrice. "Blackmail?" I said. "It's all up front," said Sandy, "Everyone knows what they are getting in to." "They have pictures of you two?" "Oh, yes!" said Sandy. "Did you know that woman back there, being initiated?" "Oh, yes," said Sandy, "we were right there in her big moment, and helped her, uh, *celebrate*". "You *whipped* her?" I asked. "Among other things," said Sandy. "Beatrice really *liked* her, didn't you, Beatrice?" Beatrice blushed. I was afraid to ask what Beatrice did with her. I couldn't believe this. I thought for a moment. "Why are you showing me all this?" I asked, "Do you want me to join?" "The society is always looking for new members," said Sandy. She *looked* evasive. I wondered. Some time later, I noticed that Beatrice had been absent for a few days. I mentioned it to Sandy and she told me Beatrice had just turned 30! "Is she still there?" I asked. "Yes," said Sandy. "What does she do so long?" "Oh, some of the women like to spend hours during their first session with the new servants. The servants get round-the-clock attention their first few days." "Did you see Beatrice's ceremony?" "Oh yes!" "Did you... *take a turn*?" "Absolutely! She is really something!" "What did..." but I couldn't go on--I was too embarrassed. Curiosity was killing me. "Beatrice was hoping you'd join before this." "Why?" I asked. "She was hoping for the chance to punish *you* before this." My heart was in my throat. "She missed the chance now." "Beatrice wanted to whip *me*?" I blurted. "And more," said Sandy. "Why would I want to join?" "You might find yourself attracted to our activities?" said Sandy. "We can also add other inducements. Would you like to whip Beatrice?" "How..." I started. "We can order servants to punish other servants. I could promise you the opportunity. She'd be yours for an hour." I thought about having Beatrice do my bidding, a slave. Why was I thinking about this? "Or I could promise you that young girl for an hour... or that waitress." "Why are you looking so hard to get *me* to join?" I asked suspiciously. Sandy sometimes had a sly look on her face. "The Society is always looking for more members," said Sandy blandly. I looked at her. This woman *wanted* to whip me! I was *sure* of it. How long would it before I said *yes*?