Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Wednesday Briefs: No Way Out #19

Sorry I've been a bit MIA, been swamped with edits and such like stuff. But I always have time for the weekly flash fiction, never fear! And Happy Wednesday to one and all!

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*

No Way Out #19

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 na├»ve 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****

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie


  1. So poignant. Wonderfully written. Glad Shy has something to keep him sane.

  2. I finally got up to date :) Shy has something to keep him sane...but for how long? Eventually Randy will notice something, perhaps an expression on his face, or a prolonged silence... will Wyatt be able to save him against an enemy that seems to know it all? :-( I feel helpless for both of them.

  3. I'm so caught up in this. (Both current, and now just emotionally invested.) I really like this. :) Can't wait for more.