As you'll recall from last week's episode of No Way Out, Shy and Randy are at the BDSM club, Sweet Majesty, and Shy has had a narrow escape when Randy's attention turns to an acquaintance. The action continues in this week's installment. Just to remind you, I'll be pulling No Way Out soon and finishing it so I can sub it. The last public chapter will be October 16th, which is when I'll be at GRL, in Atlanta. I'll remind everyone and those who want to follow it privately can let me know. Don't forget to see what the rest of the Briefers are up to. Their links follow my tale. Enjoy!
No Way Out #21
“Hello yourself, Randy. Didn’t expect to find you here tonight.”
“I could say the same for you, Ken.” Randy’s voice was clearly laced with pride. Shy knew without being told that this was the man he’d beaten to win his new account, the reason for today’s celebration. Shy kept his eyes cast down. It wouldn’t do to seem to be listening, even though he was standing right there. “Glad to see you can bounce back from disappointment so well.”
“Disappointment?” The confusion in Ken’s voice was apparent. Shy instinctively knew that Randy was about to tell the other man the sad bad news, and was taking great delight in doing so.
“At losing such a prestigious account. But cheer up, there’ll be others. Maybe I’ll be nice and let you have the next one.”
Shy darted a quick glance up, then back to his feet. He’d seen enough. Ken’s face was purpling. Shy watched the feet of both men as Ken took a step toward Randy, who never moved.
“Let me?” The querulous voice was rising in pitch and volume, drawing the attention of others. Shy almost shifted his weight, uncomfortably, but thought better of it. “Just who do you think you are, Grant? God’s gift to marketing?”
“Well, if the shoe fits,” Randy modestly replied.
Shy braced himself for a punch that never came, knowing that if this Ken managed to knock Randy from his feet, Shy would go down too, connected as they were. A silky voice, instead, inserted itself, and a quick peek ascertained that it belonged to Mel. He held one gloved hand to his lips, as if shushing two rowdy children.
“Gentlemen, there will be no fighting. No exception. Mr. Demaris’ rules will be followed at all times, is that understood?”
“Of course, of course.” Randy’s voice never faltered, never lost its air of equanimity. His words were echoed a moment later by a more disgruntled Ken.
A snap of the fingers, and another server appeared on command, bearing liquid refreshment. Shy heard the glasses clink as they were taken in hand.
“Ken, I do apologize for my thoughtless words. Tonight is not a night for quarreling, but for celebration. Is there some way in which we can bury the hatchet between us?”
Did no one else hear the insincerity that laced Randy’s words? Probably not. No one knew him as well as Shy did. Although Shy wasn’t sure how well he knew Randy Grant himself.
“They say that to the victor belongs the spoils, don’t they? Maybe in this case, the victor should share the spoils?”
Shy pondered this question, waiting for Randy’s next scathing remark. It didn’t come.
“What did you have in mind, my dear Ken?”
Startled, Shy glanced up again. Mel and the server had gone, leaving them to face one another down, having given them their only warnings. Shy had seen other men removed for such offenses; violence was not tolerated at Sweet Majesty. At least not that kind. Only the sort inflicted by designated instruments of... delight.
“You have quite the asset there, Randy, old boy...”
Shy felt Randy’s flinch through the leash. He hated to have anyone refer to his age; he was very sensitive about it, despite the fact that there were men here that were easily forty years his senior.
Suddenly he understood Ken’s allusion, and his cheeks flamed as he quickly stared at his feet, desperately controlled his breathing, his long-time training standing him in good stead.
What was Ken asking for? And would Randy allow it, whatever it was? Not that Shy had any choice in the matter. He’d do what he was told to do, no more, no less.
“I do.” Shy couldn’t decipher Randy’s tone, couldn’t tell his mood from those two words alone.
“Maybe you could... share your good fortune with those of us who are... less fortunate?”
Surely he wasn’t suggesting... Shy knew without looking that Randy would never go for that. He had a cardinal rule, and it was never to be broken. No one, but no one, other than himself, was to touch Shylor’s ass. Shy had long ago rid himself of the idea that the compulsion was romantic; it was actually very selfish and very self-serving on Randy’s part.
Randy would not go where someone else had been. And Randy was scared to death of AIDS.
But if Randy blatantly rejected Ken’s suggestion, would the already volatile Ken fly off the handle and get them all bounced out of the club? Perhaps for good?
And would that be such a bad thing?
“Pick a room,” Randy said silkily. The next thing Shy knew, Randy jerked the leash, so he knew that meant he should walk behind him, eyes on the ground; he prayed that they were not going into one of the private rooms. He feared that if they did, then all would be lost, all bets would be off, and things would get decidedly ugly. Uglier than usual.
Randy flicked the leash again and Shy stopped, taking in his surroundings. To his great relief, it was one of the public rooms, already populated by about six to eight men, and four subs. They glanced up as Randy cleared his throat for attention.
“Gentlemen,” he began. “Good evening.”
Greetings were returned, acknowledgements made. A few seemed interested, some curious, but no one ignored the man who oozed charm and schmooze with every breath. Shy noticed Ken, at Randy’s side, seemed equally as captivated as the others.
“I would like,” Randy continued, “to share my good fortune with you this evening. Today I made a very profitable business deal with a very special client.”
Shy glanced at Ken, who never spoke.
“Therefore, I am giving you all a gift.” Curious glances, more interest now.
Randy indicated Shy with a wave of one well-manicured hand. “Each and every one of you in this room shall receive a blow job from those pretty lips.”
to be continued
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