by Kerri Ann
Quirking a brow at his schoolgirl giddiness, I find his attitude is light. Almost comically insane. Huffing out a sigh, I resign myself to the idea that he’s following me into Dangereux. “He’s with me. Thanks, Charlie.”
Charlie’s shocked and challenging look makes me think twice about what I’d said. Which it should. I come here alone, I have for years, and as I’m waiting for Charlie to break out of his trance, he finally pulls the door open for the club.
“Your funeral, his heart attack. Have fun, gentlemen,” Charlie says, grinning.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, standing to the side.
Stepping up the stairs with a lightness, Chris stops beside me. Training his sights, his eyes lock on mine. “If you’re up for it, Tyler,” he purrs before turning to hold the door. “After you.”
Releasing the door, he enters haughtily. I’m not sure how bad I’ll make my friend pay for this. Brunch won’t even cover it. Troy will pay dearly.
Damn, this was a bad idea.
Chris
The club is not what I expected, but it more than exceeds my needs. Stepping in behind Tyler, my eyes wander to his backside unbidden. As he moves, the flex, shift, and adjustment is perfection. Tearing my eyes away to watch where I’m walking, I step through a dark hallway lit by flashing LEDs along the floor. It’s bright enough for me to see where I’m going, but dark enough to cause an excitement within me for what the darkness holds. The thumping base makes the lights shudder and dance, sending a thrill down my spine.
Checking over his shoulder, Tyler makes sure I’m following before stopping short of a heavy door. “There is one, and only one, written rule here. You have to adhere, Chris.”
“And that would be?”
Stepping in close, with a serious expression, Tyler leans in to speak. “No one is forced. Everything must be of yours or their free will.” His words register, but the feel of his breath on my neck sends a chill this time up my spine, causing my brain to freeze up.
Leaning into his ear, speaking low, I feel utterly brazen. I’m not really sure if it’s from too much drink or a need to see his body tightly against mine, but I ask, “Does that include you?”
Stiffening, Tyler does nothing at first. I wait patiently, waiting to see what reaction I’ll gain. “Especially me,” he states, moving towards the entrance. “Over there, sign in.”
Pointing to a hostess’ desk, where it indicates the cover charge, I fork over the extortionist cost and fill in a non-disclosure agreement. They take discreet to a whole new level. First time I’ve done that.
After signing over the lease on my Maserati—at least that’s how it felt—I push through the heavy door that Tyler went through just moments ago.
Flashing lights, rumbling music reverberating off the walls—which are the usual culprits of any club—bombards my senses. But this is different. My mind has a hard time processing it all. I see a sea of undulating flesh. The music rolls to the beat of the inhabitants, not the other way around. There’s more flesh than clothing.
“Oh, I think I’ll like this place,” I mumble to myself as my eyes dart around.
Crossing the floor towards the bar rail, looking out over the men and women that tear into one another, I’m overloaded. My cock grows of its own will as my imagination comes alive.
Tyler speaks in my ear, surprising me. “Remember the rules and you’ll be fine, Chris.” He turns and retreats into the foray.
There’s so much to see, I don’t know where to look or not to look. I see a woman with her legs wrapped around the head of a man devouring her. She’s obviously looks more than satisfied with his performance. On a bench to the side there’s a man lying down, his face buried deep in the crotch of another man, sucking hard. This occurs as his own cock is cared for in the same manner. Another situation, I find a man with his arms restrained in shackles at his sides over a tantric chaise, where a woman with a strap-on rides him from behind.
I’m trying out that chair at some point if given the chance.
There are bodies tied, whipped, strapped, hung, fucked, licked and caressed in every inch of the club. My mind is searing the memories into my brain for later. My cock is like a kid lined up for ice cream on a sweltering day, dancing from foot to foot, anticipating the first touch of the sweet cool treat to my tongue. This is totally the right and wrong place for me to be.
Breaking me from my stupor, a petite platinum-haired woman, wearing a blue pencil skirt and white, free-flowing camisole asks me, “Could I get you a drink?”
“I’m not really your type, love.”
“Well, you’re not mine either, Mr. Rock,” she says loudly over the music.
Slightly confused by the response, I ask, “Then why offer me a drink with an expectation of more if you’re not looking for it?”
My garish answer doesn’t faze her. On the contrary, she seems alight after I turn her down. Raising her hand, signaling a scantily dressed woman over, she asks again, “What would you like to drink, Governor?”
“Martini, please,” I respond.
Tapping her finger against her lips, she gives me a wicked grin. “How about a cosmo? Probably the best you’ll taste in New York.”
Slightly surprised, I try my best to hide it. “Thank you.”
Telling the other woman my order, and I assume her own, the waitress leaves shortly after.
“So, Governor. How does an upstanding pinnacle of society end up here at Dangereux?”
“It was recommended to me. Is there a problem with that?” I ask, watching as she scans the crowd. I wouldn’t say she’s looking at any one act or person directly, more that she’s a manager or boss watching to make sure things are going as they should.
“No problem. I just wonder why a married, very public person such as yourself would come to a sex club where there’s a high chance of your proclivities coming to light?”
Ignoring her quip, I smile and ask, “Does everyone here know everyone? I mean, are these only couples and lovers?”
Leaving the original line alone, she answers my avoided question. “No. Most are single that come here.” The little lady then turns, giving the display floor—as it can’t be called a dance floor—her back, and me her full attention. “If you don’t mind me asking, who did you come with?”
“Tyler Marshall.”
She smirks. I see trouble brewing in her look as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Really?”
“Why? Does that surprise you?”
“Tyler only comes alone.”
“Well, it wasn’t an invite if that’s what you’re thinking. His friend, Troy—”
“That makes more sense,” she interrupts, laughing loudly. “Of course it was Troy. That sneaky, conniving…” She pauses as the waitress reappears with our drinks. “Let me guess, both of his dimples were deep?”
Narrowing my gaze, I take the drink and sip the sweet liquid, staying quiet. I have a feeling that I don’t need to answer her question; it was more rhetorical, so I leave be. Peering around the room, I take in the antics again. I’m enjoying this more than I’ll let on. There’s every taboo known. Each are enacted with the exception of livestock.
As my eyes seek Tyler out, I find myself entranced. He’s leaning back against a couch, alone. No one approaches him, and he doesn’t call anyone out to join him. He sits there looking almost bored as he watches a threesome of beautiful black men on the couch to his left. How can he seem so disinterested? One darling is riding another man, holding his dreads like a set of reins. An obviously well-endowed God tops off the three-tiered cake.
Tapping me on the shoulder, the woman pulls me from my concentrated stare. “Chris. Do you mind if I call you Chris?”
Without looking away, I state deadpan, “You’ve assumed my drink of choice, bought said drink, and you’ve yet to give me your name. I doubt I could stop you from calling me Dorothy at this rate.”
Wiggling her brows, she says, “True. So, Chris, I feel that I should give you an honest appraisa
l of your chances with Tyler. Ain’t happenin’.”
I’ve yet to take my eyes away from his form as she talks to me. “Thanks for the honest appraisal. At least you’re not sugar coating it.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I like you. Personally, you’re one of my favorite governors. I don’t think I’ll have to prosecute you.” I finally look at her and laugh at her audacity. “That’s a plus in my book, you see. I’m very protective of my friends. And Tyler, though he needs a good man in his life, won’t take the time on a cheater. His heart can’t take it again.”
I give the tiny woman my full attention and state seriously, “I’m not a cheater.”
“In my book, having a beard counts as cheating. The public persona of a ring takes you off the table with Tyler. When you’re single, come back and try again.” With a gentle tap on my shoulder, she starts to leave. “It was nice to meet you, Chris. Have a nice night here.”
I watch her walk off, her tiny retreating frame disappearing into the foray of undulating bodies, as if her wholesome look isn’t out of place. “Thanks for the drink,” I call out, raising the almost empty cocktail glass to the vacant air. I know what she said about Tyler and I is true. He’s out of my league. Perfect, smart, knows what he wants and what he doesn’t, and I’m confined in a lifeless situation. But I have a hard time peeling my concentration away from him. It’s not just about his overall look, even though he’s beautiful, but he has morals. Plus, even as they fuck beside his drink, he isn’t fawning over every naked body in the place. That tells me more about him than anything.
Finishing the dribbles of my drink, I lick the edge, wishing the glass was deeper. I search out the nearest, least busy bar.
Buzzing with a sea of requests, the bartenders fly back and forth with ease between awaiting patrons. Stepping up to the group, waiting behind a few giggling women, I watch as they rate the men around them like thumbing through dating sites. Swiping left and right, looking at the men in the area, comparing them based on height, style, and expected sexual prowess. They crack jokes as they fawn and swoon over the candidates. The men aren’t oblivious to this rating system, and as they buy the women drinks in hopes of further showmanship on the display floor, they rate the women in the same manner.
“Kind of appalling, isn’t it?” The man beside me states. He’s shorter than me, which is normal. His hair is neat, his attire too, and his face looks polished, as if he’s added makeup to cover teenage blemishes.
“I guess it can be. But just because they do it aloud doesn’t mean it’s any different than what we do internally.” Hitting the bar, the woman behind it asks what I’d like. I order another cosmo. Handing her the empty glass, I watch as she walks off to fill it, leaving the well-dressed man and I to chat. I extend my hand out and introduce myself. “Chris.”
Returning the handshake, he replies, “Marcus.”
“Come here often, Marcus?”
“No. Only when I’m in town. I’m here on business.”
“Me too.” As the bartender brings the drink, I pay her and leave Marcus to his own devices. I want to source out where Tyler is again. I’ve watched all day, I might as well keep up the stalker addiction.
To the left of the bar there’s an upper level—a viewing area if you will. Walking up, I find plush, velvet red arm chairs with very few taken up. Picking one, I take a seat and immediately begin my search for Tyler. Sitting right where I’d seen him last, he’s no longer alone. Straddled across his lap, talking to him, is the very same platinum beauty who spoke to me earlier. They’re not intimate, but it’s obvious that they’re close to one another. As they chat, a noticeably large, dangerous looking fellow steps up.
Popping out of Tyler’s lap, squealing with delight, she rushes into his arms, immediately attempting to strip his clothing off. Not where I saw this going, but it’s entertaining nonetheless. I could definitely see Carli causing mayhem and destruction if given free rein in a place like this. Princess Crown would have them bowing at her feet, no doubt. Best I don’t tell her about it.
As I watch their inevitable striptease, I don’t notice my previous companion’s arrival.
“Quite the place, huh? I’m always amazed at how much those two let strangers see of their lives.” Swallowing back a mouthful of his Corona, he leans on the railing before taking a seat beside me.
“Who are they?” I ask, seeing he’s so anxious to give out info.
“The guy is Rush, MMA champ and owner of the club. The woman is his wife, Julia. She’s a big-time prosecutor. Stories about her are legend.”
“Why a legend?”
“Well, she took down the New Jersey Governor and his son for a list of shit, and in the process, she gained the eye of the fighter. Or that’s the story. Now married, the two of them strip down quite frequently, normally ending up on stage.”
No fucking way? Really?
Watching the interaction, trying not to seem obvious about it, I keep an eye on them while still eying Tyler. The big guy, Rush, doesn’t give in at first. Actually, it’s more like he’s resisting her wiles. But slowly, Julia’s antics grab his attention. Now I’m not one to deny a tie down, but as they walk over to a cross on the stage, I’m disinterested quickly. I’m not into guys and girls getting it on at all. I’ll check out his physique, becoming aroused by his acrobatics, but I end it when he’s pleasuring her.
As Tyler rises off the couch and starts for the door, I say to Marcus, “Excuse me.” I keep my eyes on Tyler. “I’ve had enough for tonight. It was nice meeting you.”
Setting my glass on the table, I rise to leave when he places his hand on mine. “I was hoping you’d stick around for a while. Could you keep me company?”
Well I did come here for a release, and he’s not sore on the eyes. I war with myself a little at wanting to chase Tyler, but as usual, my cock wins. I sit back down. “I guess I could have one more drink before heading back.”
Motioning for a waitress, he orders us drinks. Watching Tyler’s retreating form, I swear I see him turn around at the doorway to look at me before heading out.
Chris
With his hands tangled in my nape, bringing me closer, our tongues tangle. Attempting the lock on my hotel room door, I’m fumbling. Not long ago I watched as Galen wrestled his card. Here I am doing the same damn thing. Drunk, stripping down in the hall, Marcus’s hands explore my body while I fiddle with the door system.
We’d talked for a few hours, not really interested in the live stage show or the countless women who attempted to woo us. I was fairly certain that both of us had the same interests at heart. Now as I’m clicking the lock and watching as he falls backwards through the doorway, stumbling and tripping over his own shoes, I fumble with the do not disturb sign. Placing it on the handle, I click the bolt across the lock. I’m anticipatory. I know what’s coming, and it’ll be me. I’ve been rock hard for over an hour, envisioning what’s next.
Pulling me close again, Marcus drags his fingers across my nipples, tightening them to a point. “Chris.” He kisses me. “Top or bottom?” he asks as his stubble rubs against the grain of mine.
“Bottom, but I’ll switch.”
“So do I. Do you have condoms?”
“And restraints, if you don’t mind.” I wait a moment to see if he’s cool with it. I like them every so often, and I’ve learned that if I don’t ask, there’s a good chance we won’t work out for the night.
“That’s fine with me,” Marcus states, stripping off his shirt. Underneath is always the mystery of if they’re clean-shaven, furry, tattooed or scarred. Surprisingly, Marcus is both tattooed and shaved. Two of my favorites.
Yanking my shirt over my head, I toss it to the bed before grabbing supplies from my bag. I turn away from Marcus to close the blinds.
Bending down and pulling out the restraints, his arms come around me, grasping the fly of my slacks. “What surprises does this hold, I wonder?”
As the zipper is slowly ticked down, I freeze, both excit
ed and anticipating the contact. Reaching inside, his heated hand grasps my shaft. I nearly keel over from the iron grip he holds it in. “Do you like it a bit painful?” Releasing his hold, he slowly moves up and down in a gentle fashion. “Or soft and sweet?”
Releasing a pent-up breath, I breathe out, “Fuck.”
“Soft or hard? Which is it, Chris?” Marcus asks again. Doing the same evil grip and soft releasing strokes, he trails kisses down my back, towards my ass.
“Both. I like both.” I shudder.
As my pants fall to the floor in a heap, stepping slightly closer, I feel his above average erection resting against my back. I don’t turn to look, I can feel the length as it rests hotly against my skin. I’ll know it’s length soon enough.
Lifting the restraints and the condoms, I turn slightly to look over my shoulder. “Please. I’ve been on edge since before the club.”
Releasing his arms from around me, Marcus takes the restraints and sets the unopened condoms on the table. “Is here okay?”
Testing the strength of the hotel table, I wiggle it. “Yes.”
With a slightly drunk-muddled head, I show Marcus how to attach the straps and how to set them where they’re comfortable, all while I prepare myself mentally for the contact. Once I’m fully controlled by the straps, I await the contact of his thickness stretching out my ass.
“Is there anything else?”
“Meaning?” I question.
“Do you like to be stroked or left alone?”
Jesus! Thank you for asking. “Fucked and held as I’m closing in on my orgasm.”
“Understood.” Hearing the rip of the condom packet, and waiting as he seats his member, I’m wondering why he’s taking so long.
“Marcus?” I ask.
“Yep. Just a second.” Wandering over to the blinds, he pulls them open, leaving me exposed. I’m starting to worry.