Wooden Pony Club: Part 1
The story starts with me sharing that this is a revamped version of a series I've previously published, as it shares people and events with other stories I've written, because they're based (loosely) on my real-life experiences and relationships.
Moving on, Arthur Conan Doyle once said, "If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs and peep in at the queer things which are going on... it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable." His words echo my thoughts as I begin to describe my journey.
The story begins when Matthew takes me to a fancy restaurant for my birthday. We indulge in exquisite dishes like chilled avocado soup, char-grilled salmon with asparagus, lamb casserole l'arabique, and dark chocolate feuillantine. Just as the dessert comes, Matthew pulls out a black satin scarf from his pocket and folds it lengthways.
"What's that for?" I ask, curious.
He gives me a strange look, then a grin and presses his fingers against my lips. This wasn't the first time Matthew had blindfolded me - he enjoyed the idea of making me so sensitive, helpless, and dependent on him. Seated in a quiet corner of the room with dim lighting, nobody could see us. The waitress seemed unfazed, so it didn't bother me.
Matthew brushes my hair from my eyes with gentle strokes, ties the scarf around my head, and tightens the knot with a sharp tug. I feel dishes being placed on the table and the sound of a silver spoon against porcelain. Smelling the sweet fragrance of the dessert, my body tingles. Sightlessness not only heightens other physical senses, but also the intimacy one feels when cut off from your surroundings and relying on your partner feeds you adds to its erotic effect. Matthew enjoys that too. He starts caressing my neck and décolletage, ignoring the server clearing the dishes.
As we leave the restaurant, I left wearing the blindfold, unaware of who might be watching. I didn't care. People often passed by whispering, but I was oblivious. Matthew guided me to the street, offered me his jacket, but I declined, enjoying the evening breeze on my bare arms and legs. We went to our favorite pub.
I knew Richard since childhood, when we lived next-door. Although two years younger, he lacked focus - his hair unruly, eyes that never seemed to focus. I always found him indolent and dissolute, undisciplined, and more arrogant than he had any right to be. But he was Emily's brother, and she was my best friend from childhood until she moved interstate for a research fellowship. Emily and I had much in common: we were both straight-A students, socially awkward, and not overly interested in romance. I craved adventure - cave-exploration, sky-diving, base-jumping, rock-climbing.
Now, Emily and I drifted apart, but my path crossed Richard's occasionally. When he suggested moving to a new venue, I hesitated, but two glasses of dinner wine might've clouded my judgment - it could've been three. So, I set aside my "What's he up to?" doubts and agreed to move.
"What about your friends?" I asked, and Richard nonchalantly shrugged, not even looking back.
Matthew reluctantly agreed, and we headed to the new location. This serendipitous encounter in a pub marked my wild adventure through self-discovery.
So, Arthur Conan Doyle said, "If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs and peep in at the queer things which are going on... it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable." My journey began on my birthday in a fancy restaurant, a blindfold and a few glasses of wine. Then, walking to a crowded pub, bumping into a childhood friend, Richard. With Matthew by my side, we made our way to a new location to embark on my outré voyage of self-discovery. I trust this sums up the story better in an informal and engaging manner.
Richard guided us towards a seedy nightclub around a fifteen-minute walk away. In my revealing dress, I regretted declining my boyfriend's offer of a coat. Nevertheless, the fresh air slightly relieved my drunken state, but it brought back doubts... especially with the sign by the entrance saying females had free entry. This, based on my experience, didn't bode well. Still, it peaked my interest that Richard just nodded at the doorman, and all three of us entered without paying.
To my surprise, the inside was not as dingy as expected. It looked like a typical place of its kind, busy and noisy. Women patrons surpassed the number of men, but this was due to a large group of females. The waitresses and female barkeepers wore scant clothing - satin-and-lace bras, panties, garter belts, stockings, and high heels. The music consisted of a contemporary jazz band, which was quite good. There were three guys and two girls, and the females wore lingerie, too. Hence, I wasn't unpleased to see exotic dancing; only, it was not vulgar.
We found a table and ordered drinks. Feeling groggy, I settled with lemonade. The waitress recognized Richard and later, the manager came to talk to us. Richard introduced her as the club's "hostess" Desirée. She was a tall, slender, beautiful brunette with dark, sparkling eyes and a mischievous smile. She donned the same sexy attire as the other women employees, a satin-and-lace bra and panties, garter belt, stockings, and heels. As Desirée chatted with us, Richard caressed and teased her. She batted his hands away but appeared indifferent.
Desirée conversed with us for several minutes, examining my situation likely out of an employment offer. Before midnight, Richard said it was time to go. I wasn't expectant of this sudden exit since it was a weeknight, but I obliged since Richard had unpredictable habits. Matthew agreed, keen to leave, amidst the club's feminine décor, and avoid Richard. He expected a reward for his restraint, and indeed, he was compensated... but I'll save that saga for later.
I almost forgot about that evening's events until, two weeks later, Richard brought coffee, croissants, and an offer to my apartment. At that moment, I was actively seeking a part-time job, supplementing my insufficient tutor income and working through various uninteresting roles. Waitressing was tolerable, so I was amenable when Richard informed me about a vacancy at the nightclub.
"How do you know?" I inquired.
"Because I work there, dope," he replied.
So that day, Richard and I returned to The Wooden Pony Club. Its name was printed innocuously on a small sign above the entry. It held no significance for me at that time.
In broad daylight, the club's facade looked even less reputable than at night, stark contrast to its inviting interior. I sensed the unapologetically seedy exterior was intentional, aiming to create an air of mystery, spurring my interest, but I felt let down.
We were welcomed by an unremarkable middle-aged man with a bucket and a mop. He led us upstairs to Desirée's office where she was in the middle of a phone call. She now wore a business suit and tied her hair in a bun. Even dressed formally, her demeanor carried the grace of a showgirl. When she stood and greeted us, her skirt, short and pleated, caught my attention, revealing her legs in silk stockings and a suspender belt like the one she sported when we first met.
As she unveiled the job terms, I knew it was too enticing to resist. The wages were handsome, the hours flexible, and my attire would resemble my previous experience at a poolside bistro.
Only one aspect of the interview made me uneasy. Desirée sent Richard to wait outside and told me to remove my top and trousers. Discomforted, I complied and displayed my accessories. Up next, she asked me to stand, bend, and rotate. My clothes were still around my ankles, and she ordered me to do these motions. Amidst this, she said to perform them in my current state. This documented my flexibility, however, my postures lacked grace.
Desiree complimented me on my looks and I appreciated her words. She mentioned it was just stating a fact, which made me feel special.
As Richard strolled into the office, I was adjusting my shirt, and he noticeably stared at both of us. With a smile and a nod, he approved of the situation.
I began working the following week. While that one unusual moment in Desiree's office left me a bit apprehensive, I soon forgot about it. The club was conveniently located close to our apartment and the university, making my commute a breeze. Desiree welcomed me and introduced me to my colleagues, presenting me with my uniform. This consisted of a sheer, light pink bra with matching underwear, a lacy choker necklace, a garter belt with four suspenders, see-through stockings, and high heels. Focusing on fitting the garter belt properly was challenging, but the overall ensemble was feminine and stunningly sexy, causing customers to pay attention to me as the new waitress.
Richard took up his position behind the bar that night, and there were several men serving as well. They donned smart uniforms of grey slacks, waistcoats, white shirts with red ties. The men certainly had it easier; the cool temperature of the room meant that if I stood still, goosebumps would appear. Not only goosebumps, but the bra material was so thin that my nipples were visible, which would surely delight the customers. Our supervisor led by her own example in her skimpy outfit.
Throughout my two-week trial period, I carried out the same tasks and received the same pay as the other workers. The large staff, made up of university students, ensured that everyone but the owner and the maintenance staff worked part-time. My fellow servers were all over twenty-one, making them mostly postgraduates; we were arguably the most educated group of waitresses in the city.
The job entailed standard waitress duties yet kept a sensual atmosphere. The guests were relaxed and in good spirits, while the workplace maintained an easy-going, sensual ambiance. However, there was a no-touching policy in place to maintain the experience. Nonetheless, there were instances of groping, but the consequences for wrongdoing were immediate expulsion. This added more intrigue to Richard's playful touching of Desiree's backside during my first visit. There seemed to be a weird atmosphere around the Wooden Pony Club.