This week's prompts were: "Get on your bike and ride!" or "Try peddling your papers somewhere else" or "the ties that bind" or have your character find out that someone they know is pregnant or "ship of fools" or use broken condom or use voyeurism or exhibitionism or use a flogger or paddle or have a character wear a pair of gloves and then explain why or have a character with a banana fetish or use: motorcycle, wings, tilt
Last week, we with Wyatt and Lukas, as Lukas explained a little bit about BDSM. This week, we move on to Shy and Randy and the club. Nuff said. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers, whose links follow my tale. And guess what? We have another FLASH VIRGIN! *pulls out the bells and whistles*
Shy shivered, although the night was far from cold.
Cloyingly humid even after the sun had gone down, a thick heat that made
breathing difficult. Still, Shy shivered, clutching his coat tighter about him
as he climbed into Randy’s sedan.
The first time Randy had taken Shy to Sweet Majesty, Shy had
been deep in the throes of what he thought was love. Excited to be going out,
and proud to be seen with Randy. He’d been too young and too naïve to know
enough to be scared of what might happen. This was before he’d learned that
love did not exist, not for guys like him. Now he knew better, and he numbed
himself to everything around him.
At least that’s what he told himself, in order to get
through another night at the club.
The cock ring was painful, but it was endurable. The plug
was uncomfortable, but he’d live. What Shy hated most was leaving the house in
a long black coat, wearing nothing underneath. He felt entirely exposed,
although he realized no one knew his shame. Randy dressed to the nines for each
occasion; he’d undress once they arrived. Shy didn’t have the same luxury.
At least Randy waited until they were inside the club to add
his final touch, in the form of a black studded collar, attached to a long
black leather leash.
The club sat in isolated splendor on top of a large hill.
Apparently the owner possessed a lot of acreage; there were no near neighbors.
Probably just as well. Cut down on complaints to the police department.
Although from what Shy had observed, some of the club’s clientele belonged to
the legal profession and would probably quash any trouble, should it arise.
Large fluted columns supported the two story building. Shy
had heard Randy refer to it as being antebellum, once belonging to a man who
owned slaves. Fitting. It still held slaves, just a different kind.
An impenetrable perimeter of trees ringed the grounds
nearest the house, making unwanted observation impossible. Sometimes, in the
right weather, scenes were played outside. There was an intricately maintained
maze that saw its share of action. And small secluded cabins for the use of
privileged guests.
Apparently, Randy did not rate as one of these, for to his
knowledge, Randy had never stayed in one of them. He was sure Randy would have
bragged about the experience, if he’d had it.
Randy had not gone back to work after his celebratory fuck,
but neither had he spent the time idly. He’d stayed in his home office,
conducting business—at least that was Shy’s assumption—freeing Shy to attend to
his daily chores in peace. He’d even taken his dinner there, saving Shy the
trouble of shielding his thoughts from him across the dinner table.
Shy barely ate, his appetite having deserted him. After
Randy finished his meal, Shy attended him in the shower and then laid out his
clothes for him: a pearl grey pinstripe suit, white button-down shirt with
silver threads running through it, a grey-green textured tie.
They were met at the door by the most discreet of men. His
name was Mel; he was the butler, the valet, the soul of discretion, and so much
more. Garbed in black tails, he was tall and thin and balding, and wore his own
innate arrogance, which was reflected in his manner in which he distinguished
between his treatment of the guests and that of their companions. When Randy
removed Shy’s sheltering coat, Mel took it and wished Randy a good evening,
leaving them to wander through the house as they would.
Shy stood perfectly still as Randy attached the collar and
leash. Randy was in unusually high spirits, his face flush with excitement. Shy
couldn’t help but notice the very visible outline of Randy’s cock in his
tightly cut trousers. He wondered if Randy planned to use that tonight. Perhaps
it would serve to keep himself from the limelight, which he hated.
Whenever Randy chose to bring Shy here, they seemed to draw
a small crowd of admirers. Most of them were relegated to the category of
do-not-touch-the-merchandise. But there were a favored few who were allowed
small favors, beneath Randy’s watchful eye. They fondled Shy’s cock and pinched
his nipples and congratulated Randy on having such a fine specimen, as if Shy
were a horse they were interested in purchasing for breeding purposes. In this
case, though, Shy played the part of the dam, and not the sire. It was a
twisted comparison at best.
First came the obligatory parade through the various rooms
of the club. The public ones, that was. The private ones were not to be
troubled by anyone, and remained closed to view. But there was more than enough
activity in the rooms that were accessible to make up for that. It seemed that
most of Sweet Majesty’s members were very willing to been seen, as well as to
see.
Shy hated the eyes that devoured him whole; hungry eyes and
lewd lips that licked and promised and laughed and leered. They didn’t see him,
they saw his body... and they wanted him. Some were familiar faces, regulars
who spent too much of their lives in this club. Others were simply there for
business purposes. They all seemed to be connected, in one way or another.
Shylor didn’t care and he didn’t bother to memorize their names or their
occupations. It was their faces he wished to forget. The touch of their hands
on his cock. Tonight, his painfully hard cock.
He’d had no relief, unlike Randy.
But he had no choice in the matter. He was forced to endure.
So he absented himself, hid as deeply inside as he could go, ignoring them all,
as he usually did.
Tonight, though, there was a difference, something that made
this almost palatable.
Tonight, visions of Wyatt danced in his head, and kept him
sane.
to be continued
Now, go have fun with the rest of the Briefers!
Shelly
Shultz ***FLASH VIRGIN****
