The First Night Room:

The First Night Room

The next day I felt sluggish but there was no time for it. I found myself on a strict schedule of lessons and forced sex. I was glad that it had been so dark the night before. What I had done with the other girl hadn’t been found out as far as I could tell. Somehow I didn’t think the people who ran this hell would like what we had done. I didn’t care if they did or not. It was the first really nice thing that had happened to me here. Still I’d rather it not be found out because I didn’t know what they might do about it if they didn’t approve.

I thought all day about the differences between men and women. I wondered if I were turning into a lesbian. I thought it would make sense under my current circumstances. I didn’t even know who she was. That fact shocked me. Such sweet warm lips, such a perfect touch and I didn’t know who she was. During the day I’d look at the other girls for some clue but none seemed evident. The truth was though that I was still attracted to men, at least I thought I was, just not these men. I decided I’d take kindness and care anyway I could get it. I would not be ashamed of enjoying another woman. Not when the men around me were such brutes.

This woman had not been gentle though. Her skin had been soft, so very soft but underneath she was rough and hard. She had been just perfect for what I’d needed. It was like she knew my body better than I did. What she had done was a gift to me and caused an awakening of sorts. I wanted it to happen again. Only I couldn’t figure out which of these bitches she was. They all acted cold to me, or as if I didn’t exist. Could they have done anything crueler? What is worse, neglect, abuse or indifference? I would have thought we would all help one another if we could. Maybe they helped out one another but except for my shadowed lover none of them had ever acted like I was even in the same room with them.

My life, such as it was, had become a charade here. Pretend you are coming. Pretend to enjoy being touched or fucked. Pretending was required. Whenever I was told to do so and I was told to do so all too often. I hated it. I hated living a lie. I hated acting as if I enjoyed what was being done. I felt stilted at first in this but eventually it got easier to do. It seemed there was always some new sort of service to learn too. As much as I hated this place, the constant stream of new things to learn or endure was interesting in it’s own way.

I think my mother might have been pleased to find out I was learning so arrange flowers, play the piano, draw a ball room dance and so on. It was almost like a finishing school except for the nearly constant humiliation and forced sex.

You might think it strange but I settled into the routine easier than I would have expected. I wanted so much to be liked or valued. I missed the value Ian had seemed to place on me. I missed feeling as if I mattered to someone. The girls continued to ignore me but the teachers might like me, or so I hoped. I needed someone’s approval particularly when I didn’t have my own. I think I sort of hated myself then. I think I always have but these days crystallized my awareness of that self-hate.

Sometimes one of the trainers would tell me I’d done something well. That would fill me with a warm joy that seemed sick and ridiculous considering the debased nature of most of my tasks. Still, I wanted, no, I needed, care and approval from someone. These fragile tatters of it, that I sometimes got, I could only cling to them and wonder why I was this way? No wonder I hated myself.

I also had to wonder why me? What did they see in me to grab me and force all this on me? Did one of them know me from school or work? Was there some sort of revenge I didn’t know about at work? Or was there some way to see how well I would take to everything? Did it matter? Or did all of the girls feel the same? Could each of us be broken down to accept, and at times, even enjoy, what was done to us?

If only the other girls would talk to me. Except for during the lessons, when it was sometimes required that they talk to me as well as each other, they continued to keep me outside their circle. I had come late to the “party” and that was inexcusable it seemed. I was not acceptable somehow to them. I might have felt the same way if I had been further along in my training here and a new girl came in. I hoped not though. I promised myself to be kinder and more accepting, of anyone who came in, than these girls had been of me.

After my lessons, I was told I would be taken to the “first night” room, that day. I didn’t know what it was. It seemed misnamed because it certainly was far from my first night in the building of this horrible place. I hoped the room wouldn’t be as bad a thing as my wild imagination was making it out to be. I was prepared to act my way through whatever it was. Hey, maybe I would have made a good actress after all, I thought bitterly. At this rate I might qualify for an Oscar before long. The lies were burning into my soul.

The room as it turned out was large. There were a number of people in it when I was wheeled in. I was once again tied down. The stand I was on, was positioned, the wheels locked. The night in this room began. As was usually the case I wasn’t told ahead of time what to expect.

“Ladies and Gentleman, for most of you, this is your first night with us. Many of you have told us you are not sure what you wish to do here, others simply enjoy public sampling, in any case, welcome to The First Night Room.” The announcer paused waiting for the spontaneous polite applause to die down.

“Here we have a piece new to the public. The curtain in front of me rose slowly exposing me to the room of people. If you would like to see her later for more than this room provides that can be arranged. First we will let any who want to put a finger on her or in her to do so. You know the fee.” He said with a hand flourish that might have indicated they look above me.

There were lights in the room behind me. I couldn’t see them they were too high. I couldn’t move my neck much tied as I was. I did see many looking at the lights during the night and counting their money. So I suspected it might have been the price for what they were offering each time.

What they were offering of course was me. I thought it was crazy. Why would anyone think I was that great? Why would people pay for such a small thing I wondered? At the same time I wondered why would anyone think I was nothing more than an object? My thoughts were all mixed up while I considered this.

The “small thing” though was an invasion of my body. It was not so inconsequential to me. I was instructed to “act orgasmic” at each touch too. Really I just wanted to sink through the floor or maybe, bite their damn fingers off.

I think the amount of money was very low for these things. I tried to do as the trainer said and act like each finger that slid along my skin or probed inside me actually excited me but I hated it. I hated being displayed this way. I despised being sold bit by bit. I didn’t like feeling powerless. Part of me wondered what would happen if I don’t do what they say? How much worse could this get?

Then someone did the obvious and slid his large finger between my legs. I felt a shock roll through me because once again, my body was responding to being treated in this debased way. My mind tripped over this simple fact. I hadn’t realized I was wet until his finger squished inside me making it all too clear. I was sick to be excited. I had to be. I needed to talk to someone. I even thought about talking to the Magician about this. I wanted to see what he would say. He was one of my worst enemies but who else was there to talk to? There was no way I could ask to do any such thing and no time. My agenda wasn’t a consideration here.

Next it was mouths. It was too soon for me. I would never be ready for those mouths on me, nipping, sucking, making my skin moist, and worst of all kissing me. Anyone who wanted to and who would pay for it, could put their mouth on me and do as they wished, briefly. It was horrible watching them queue up and pay the (assumed) pittance for this. I found myself disgusted and yet hotter, in turns. Or maybe it was all at once. I’m not sure. I was a very confused girl at that point.

As they continued with increasingly invasive services, it occurred to me that this was simple marketing in a way. Management ultimately wanted these people who didn’t know what they wanted, to make a decision and pay bigger fees for more. I was a sample platter of what they could have. I was the new item on the menu. Some of them, after fingering me or tasting me, might want more and might be willing to pay for it. What I was doing? I was cooperating. It seemed to me that I shouldn’t be. I just couldn’t force myself to rebel; not yet anyway. I was too afraid of my captors and their punishments.

Next they got to touch me with two fingers. That meant they could pinch among other things. After that a whole hand could be used, then two. Last they were allowed to touch me anywhere with their cocks. I endured and pretended to the end. The relief when I was wheeled away from The First Night Room was overwhelming, but all too short lived.