Will to Live

by M. Christine

  When Kevin had wooed her, Ginger just finished a season as a Clippers Spirit Dance Team member. She was living in the house with her mother, who had since passed away. By the time basketball season rolled around again, Ginger was pregnant with Paul and could not audition to be on the Spirit Dance Team.

  Though Kevin’s financial help was minimal, he did manage to continue seducing Ginger, eventually impregnating her with her second son, Will. Kevin somehow convinced her to keep their “thing” hush, hush, because if a father was officially in the picture, she couldn’t collect welfare. And of course, there was his official family that he planted into his great urban experiment.

  The truth about the extent of Kevin’s caddish behavior gradually came out. Female friends in the neighborhood revealed to Ginger how they made him romantic dinners and he spent passionate nights at their houses.

  Before Paul started fucking up, Ginger was already a wreck about the messy situation with their biological father. Ginger stopped being his mistress, but he did periodically bring money over to her, mostly when his sons were not around. Kevin evaded any relationship with them.

  So, that day Kevin had delivered some cash. Though Ginger was so quiet about telling Will, Paul, with his junkie sixth sense, was suddenly awake and ready. With a load of charm and a change of trousers, he sauntered into the kitchen, hugged and kissed his mom, gave Will a big brotherly soft sock in the chin, and sat down in front of his orange juice and slightly buttered toast.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he said. “I gather dear ol’ dad came by with some dough. How about I go pick us up some provisions?”

  Will saw this all too often before. He rolled his eyes and looked at his mom firmly.

  “Ginger, we really need food, bathroom stuff, and napkins or paper towels.” Will made his practical case, urging her with his stern tone to be strong and not hand over any money to Paul.

  Ginger gave in. She had no real backbone anymore. “Oh, that’s so nice of you to help with shopping, Paul,” she said.

  Paul, having barely eaten his toast, was up and rummaging around in the Cabbage Patch Kids canister where Ginger usually stuffed dollar bills. He snatched the whole wad, which looked to be quite a few 20s.

  “Dude, we really need stuff,” Will said. “I should go to the store.”

  But Paul was out the metal security door, trotting down the sidewalk before it slammed shut.

  “Be right back,” his singsong voice rang out.

  Chapter 4

  Eye Opener

  Paul came back at eight-thirty in the evening, dopey eyed. He wasn’t empty handed; he had a couple of stacks of napkins with logos that read Arby’s and 7-11. He placed them on the kitchen table and headed to his closet to crash.

  “Paul! Where’s the groceries?” Will hollered down the hall. “What happened to the money?”

  “Hey, man. I had to take care of some business,” was all Paul said before shutting the door to his depressing room.

  Will knew it was no use to get anyone to see reason. They all stayed silent. It was a doomed cycle.

  Ginger had her products ready for customers, not in the Cabbage Patch Kids jar, which was see-through, but in an old, peeling Royal Dansk circular tin container that once held special-occasion butter cookies when Will’s grandma was alive. Ginger kept the proceeds there, too. She used to use a Batman cookie jar—Will really liked it, but Paul stole it to sell. That was one time Ginger got tough with him.

  “Never! Ever! Do not touch that business!” hollered Ginger. “If you ever accidentally took the stash or the dealer’s money, we’d be in big trouble!”

  So far, Paul followed just two house rules: don’t fuck with the drug sale container, and don’t fuck with Will’s comic book collection.

  Someone was coming up the walkway outside, and Ginger let him in. He gave her the bills and remained standing. She went to her butter cookie tin on the kitchen counter to put money in and took out a label-free prescription bottle. Back in the front room, she handed him the pill container a little clandestinely. He nodded and exited.

  Will watched all this despondently from the dinner table when his phone sounded. Yuri was calling, so Will went to his room to talk, hoping to get cheered up.

  “Pal, you are a genius!” Yuri said. “Dingdong was solid! I’ll avoid this legal shit, and keep my brand. Hey, and you’re a genius in more ways than one—Kendra wants to reunite with you. It’s a stupid question, but can I give her your number?”

  “Sure,” Will said. “Do you want to hang out? It’s depressing here tonight.”

  “I’m having a late bite with my attorney, but I think Kendra was going to call you in a few,” Yuri said. “Maybe that’ll help to shoo your blues away.”

  “Okay, maybe. See you later.”

  Will doubted anything fun would happen. He figured he’d stay hidden, read a little, listen to some tunes. He went for a classic, choosing Kraftwerk’s Trans-Europe Express. Thinking of the intense discipline of the German group’s creative output, he realized he was going to have to deal with his art school situation: classes would be starting in a few months.

  “I’ll start taking care of it Monday.” He spoke out loud on that Saturday night in late winter.

  He closed his eyes and relaxed. The cellphone toned within a minute, and it was Kendra.

  “Hey, stud,” was her greeting.

  Though he was unaccustomed to such a racy address, Will’s groin started to stiffen. Kendra was quite breathtaking, and here she was making saucy overtures for an encore sex date, not mincing words.

  “Listen, I want to get down with you again. Are you into it?”

  “Definitely,” he responded gratefully.

  “But my crowd is having an event tonight. It’s a sex club, and I want to drop by. Do you want to go with me? They have private play areas.”

  In this young man’s journey into sexual mores, one thing Will was not interested in was public sex, so the availability of a private room made the evening less intimidating.

  “If you come to my place, I’ll pay for a cab to the hot spot,” Kendra said. “Okay?”

  “Sure, sounds exciting.” Will’s mood did truly brighten.

  * * * *

  The cab took them to an industrial zone, desolate except for the red-lighted door to Memorabilia.

  “We’re both too young to know, but the name commemorates the original, pre-Nine Inch Nails version of the song by Soft Cell,” Kendra explained. “The club founders are oldsters.”

  “I dig Soft Cell. Yuri does too,” Will said enthusiastically. “Has Yuri been here?”

  Kendra nodded as she flashed an ornate membership card—heavy black plastic trimmed in gold. They were waved in, but in the black-lit foyer, they checked Will’s ID.

  “You have to wear a bracelet since you’re not twenty-one,” the big, shirtless bouncer informed him over sexy electronic music. He had a shaved head, pierced nipples, and spoke in a gentle voice. “I’m sorry, but you cannot be served liquor.”

  “No problem,” Will said, holding his wrist still for the taped bracelet.

  As Kendra and he moved toward the grand hall, a couple approached them. One female was handcuffed in front, and her companion held a tether to the cuffs. The bound woman wore only a black merry widow—which showcased her pale body—and some super high heels. She balanced beautifully, but one push and she’d be sprawled on the floor. Her mate was in a bra and panties that nicely adorned her golden-brown skin, with some thigh-high lace-up boots, topped off with a military cap. They had matching tattoos of Marc Almond’s face on the inside of their forearms.

  “Kendra!” yelled the lady with the hat flirtatiously, kissing her straight on the lips. “You look tasty.”

  “Arigato,” Kendra said demurely. “Helene Jimenez and Ivy Vine, this is my new-found friend Will. He’s quite a find.”

  As Ivy stayed in her role as captive, holding her arms helplessly in front of her shaved pussy, Helene warmly shook Will’s hand first. She he
ld it longer than a normal introduction would require, turning his arm gently to admire the musculature and veins. Still gripping his hand, she turned to Ivy.

  “Ivy, please curtsy for our newcomer.”

  Amazingly, Ivy gracefully kicked out one stilettoed foot and carried it behind the other. She pliéd smoothly and steadily, like a ballet dancer, her bare slit spreading to reveal a puffy clit. The stunt was clearly well-rehearsed, perhaps for greeting club patrons. She straightened her legs slowly, sealing her labia snugly once more when she returned to standing.

  “Can I have the vacuum tonight, my Helene?” Ivy asked.

  “You bet, my love,” she replied, pinching one of Ivy’s nipples. Ivy winked at Will.

  “Enjoy yourselves, kiddos,” Helene said, dropping Will’s hand in order to sweep her arm in a welcome toward the belly of the club like a proud ringmaster.

  Will felt Kendra slip her arm inside his elbow, dainty as a southern belle, but with a devilish glint to her almond-shaped eyes. They sauntered into the bustling party space, a room filled with a terrific mix of men and women. Some men were dressed like Will, understated in rugged jeans and simple T-shirts. Others strutted about in various states of leather—pants with Jim Morrison-style flowing shirts, biker regalia, chaps with ass and cock cutting through the hot atmosphere. Lots of boots, probably steel-toed. But not all the men were dishing out the tough.

  One fellow in chaps was in a modern-looking stockade, his burly top half held captive, although there was no lock keeping the clamp around his neck and arms. His lower end was propped up on a rail and prone, chaps revealing his swollen balls and fairly stiff penis. A big-breasted hottie with a bleached-blond Mohawk was right behind him, adjusting the belt of a decently-sized flesh-colored dildo. Next to the stockade was an accessory table, and from it the blond lady chose a big bottle of lube.

  By this time, Kendra and Will were within earshot of this unique coupling. “That’s Madame Ruin,” Kendra revealed, “and one of her partners, Meat.” The woman made a big show of squirting the lube out, making loud squelch noises with the malleable tube.

  “Hear that, piece of meat?” she bellowed to her submissive friend. “Oh yeah, you know what I’m doing.”

  Madame Ruin slathered the gel all over the plastic dick, stroking it powerfully and strutting around the setup so her partner could see the glistening phallus. Silently she returned to his backside and made the lube gush out onto Meat’s butt crack.

  “Feel that, piece of meat?” she barked. He responded with a pathetic cry of joy. She spread his tight ass cheeks and rubbed it in his anus.

  The lube dripped to his balls. The strict lady cupped them firmly, then spread the lotion to his hard penis. She stroked it roughly a few times, straightening it out so it pointed to the floor. As she did this with one hand, she added more lubricant on his butt with the other, deftly discarding the bottle on the worktable before sticking two fingers into Meat’s nether hole.

  “Aaaahh…aaaaah!” the restrained man uttered.

  The fierce blond rotated her fingers, poking them deeper, meanwhile continuing to fiddle and tease his engorged genitals. The look on the man’s face was of ecstasy, so Will thought her next move was a little unfair: without a word, without any address to her “piece of meat,” the vixen extracted her fingers and shoved the rubber prick all the way into his asshole.

  Meat yelled unintelligibly, but the lady ignored him, also neglecting his rock-solid dick and tightening nuts. Madame Ruin fucked away at his hole, all business, using her piece of meat. The dude’s hollering subsided and he made soft breathy sounds of bliss, sighing every so often as if her merciless pistoning were as pleasurable as a soft tongue caressing his dick.

  “What’s in it for her?” Will asked Kendra. Kinky Kendra was enjoying the show immensely.

  “Step over behind her,” Kendra directed, pulling Will with her crooked arm. Once in view of Madame Ruin’s pumping pelvis and fine jiggling ass Kendra said, “The dildo has an egg-shaped extension that’s stuffed inside her pussy, which stimulates her on every thrust.”

  They both ducked down a bit to see the blond’s elaborate strap-on. Will could see the rubber dick splitting her twat lips, the whole area dripping wet.

  “I’ve got one of those,” Kendra bragged. “It’s amazing.”

  Suddenly Madame Ruin called out an order.

  “SLUT!” she said. “Get over here.”

  A barefoot, curvy, totally nude young girl scampered over, looking more excited than afraid. Her red hair was in pigtails, and she retained a strip of bright red pubes.

  “Suck his cock,” instructed the thrusting dominatrix.

  Like a dog going under the dinner table to collect any spare scraps, the redhead, so clearly horny and ready for any action, scrambled beneath them, immediately nibbling and licking at his throbbing penis. She did her job, not once interrupting the dildo’s rhythm while she greedily devoured the incapacitated Meat’s vulnerable penis and played with his nuts likes a stress ball. This caused the submissive man to grunt.

  “Make him come,” ordered Madame Ruin.

  The redhead enthusiastically sucked his dick, her fingers massaging his perineum as she tongued his erect shame. The plastic shaft never stopped invading his ass, the blond ramming the whole length in and out steadily. Meat blurted out some garbled words and his seed erupted into and around the ginger girl’s slurping mouth. She kept licking him clean, lapping at any salty spot her taste buds sensed. Meat, his penis spent and sensitive, made sounds of slight discomfort in reaction to her mouth sucking in his more flaccid manhood. She did not dare stop though, since she was taking her orders from the female top, and Madame Ruin was still fucking his ass.

  With amazing dignity, the blond gave one last shove to the hilt, holding it for quite a while as her magnificent body shuddered in climax. With little emotion, she pulled out of his rectum—“Oh, thank you, Madame!” the guy said—stepped away, not even admiring the gape she left, and nonchalantly unbuckled her strap.

  “Stop,” she told the redhead. “Gnaw on this instead.”

  As if it were a dog bone, Madame Ruin threw the used dildo down at the redhead. She immediately lapped up the vaginal secretions on the egg end, happily remaining on the floor while she rolled around with it stuck in her mouth like a pacifier, occasionally mouthing the end that had been in the man’s ass.

  Meat quietly opened the top half of the stockade, straightened up his body and carefully closed the empty restraint apparatus. He walked away a little stiffly, disappearing in a crowd of kink-party revelers.

  “So hot,” said Kendra, giving Will a little tweak on the elbow.

  “Quite a spectacle,” he replied.

  Will was open-minded and appreciated being exposed to such interesting rites. And although he would have liked to canoodle with either one of the striking females involved in the sex display, he imagined himself as the one calling the shots.

  Chapter 5

  More Eye Openers

  Kendra then gave him a tour.

  “There are so many fun things to do here,” she said. She walked demurely with Will, as if she were a debutante being courted by a gentleman. “For instance, if we detour into this big room, we find gloryhole action. There’s a big space over yonder where someone who’s really hungry for dick sits inside a cubicle, and the four walls around it have a bunch of holes for insertion. Then there’s a couple of smaller setups that accommodate a more intimate experience of one unknown cock, one unknown mouth.”

  The more compact gloryhole structures reminded Will of confessionals, which made him feel uneasy. His grandmother was a devout Catholic, and he did not like thinking of his grandmother in connection to a gloryhole.

  Kendra led him to another room. It was black-lit, and to enter it they were required to attach a bendable glow stick onto their bodies. Will could see a few glowing wrists groping frenetically at some dark mass of bodies; a few folks made illuminated cock rings or hooked their glow stick throu
gh nipple hoop piercings. A sweaty energy emitted from this grope center. Although Kendra longingly watched some of the action, Will stayed put. He let her get her eyeful as his arm remained linked to hers, but he did not budge toward that orgy.

  There was a region of the club space to the side of the large main room, where rows of racks of varying heights were lined up against the walls. Bodies in various states of dress were fastened to most of them. Some racks were in an X-shape, others were like door jams with hooks on the outside, holding paddles and other toys.

  “Are those whips?” inquired Will just before he heard a sharp crack. A hand flicking a blood-red bullwhip caught his eye. Will observed a big, pale set of anonymous butt cheeks receive a snap from the uncoiled object. The flesh flinched and wobbled hypnotically, though the biting blow appeared to draw blood, which jolted Will out of his dazed stare. He expanded his vision, noticing that the restrained female was wearing a cloth sack over her head.

  Will noticed other people—men and women—clamped, locked, or roped onto the different racks. They were disciplined with paddles or riding crops, and Will became aware of the cacophony of slaps filling the space. There were a few attendees waiting in line for some of this action. One Bettie Page-type submissive apparently had her fill, calling out Uncle! as she squirmed inside her limb restraints. Her ebony-skinned female partner’s whole hand—gloved to the elbow—was inside her. G-spot liquid spilled out from her pussy as the dominatrix yanked out her fist. She wiped the wetness onto the bound female’s tits and stomach, dried her glove with a towel hanging nearby, and made a half-hearted effort to slacken the knots at the limp captive’s wrists. With one spiky stiletto, the domina tugged loose the sinew around her partner’s red and raw ankles. The released girl curled up on the floor, groveling at her top’s sexy high heels and long legs. Those legs kicked her aside while the fierce lady fetched a container of disinfectant wipes and threw it at her. The groveling one commenced to clean up the area and equipment they used. She gathered the trash and vacated the spot for those waiting their turn—which happened to be a threesome.