Friday, July 17, 2009

Straight Up by Missy Lyons

“First night, honey?” The Las Vegas nightclub had over three hundred strippers, but even with all the unfamiliar faces, newbies were never difficult to spot. Sarah, known as Spice to her customers, took on her role as a house mom quite seriously. Ensuring these new girls felt comfortable in their new jobs, she wanted to help them advance their career as far as they wanted to.

“Yeah.” This one wasn’t much different. She was pretty enough to be a night girl where the real money was made. The not so pretty girls always worked day shift. Johnny the operations manager, made the girls apply by taking off their shirt and showing him their goods. He was pretty strict, not allowing anyone with stretch marks, or saggy boobs on nights. Occasionally, he allowed an exception for the girls that bribed him with a blowjob or something better. This girl didn’t have to do any bribing.

She was Asian, and her body was slim. One might even think of it as ethereal. Fairylike. Her chest was perky, if small. She couldn’t be much larger than an A cup. She had a tasteful red cotton lingerie set of hipster underwear and matching bra on, like something you could buy straight out of a JC Penney’s catalog. Cute in a girl next door kind of way. Nothing like the more revealing outfits of the more seasoned girls. Most of the girls bought their outfits from places that catered to them. Hustler and Frederick’s of Hollywood had some great outfits.

Even this girl’s shoes were a tell tale sign that she was an inexperienced stripper. They were asked to wear heels as part of their uniform. Her heels were normal, barely an inch, and something you would wear on the street. Not the bulky platform heels that most the girls wore. Shoes were the one thing worn all night long, so it was the clothing item the girls splurged on. You needed comfort and sexy all in one cute little package.

“How did you know?”

Sarah waved off the girl’s concern with a flick of the wrist. “Honey, it’s my job to know all the girls. Name’s Sarah, or Spice if we’re on the floor. I’m the house mom and I take care of all the girls. If you have problems at home and you need to talk, you come to me. If you need to know something, or you need jewelry, special outfits, shoes, or dance lessons, I can help you. I also can help you make some money on the side if you are ever interested posing for a few pictures. So what’s your name, sweetheart?”


“Have you picked a stage name yet?”

“No, why would I do that?”

“You can use your real name, I guess, but most the girls pick a pseudonym. They want to keep their private life to themselves, and this makes it harder for the stalkers. If you’re lucky enough to get one of those wackos as your customer.”

A young white woman in her early twenties, who had been applying her makeup quietly listening to the conversation in the changing room suddenly interrupted. “They say you really made it when you get your first stalker.”

Ming looked slightly stunned, her eyes wide. She obviously had not thought of the downsides to this job.

Broadly Bound Anthology

From "Broadening Our Horizons" by Beth Wylde

The day I’d been waiting for, for so long, had finally arrived. It was official. I owned a nightclub. Not just any old club—something truly special. Broad Horizons was the first nightclub of its kind. We not only catered to the BDSM lifestyle, we were a specialty GLBTQ BDSM entertainment facility.

The downtown warehouse I’d purchased at auction last year was huge and in a perfect location for what I had in mind. Nearly all the other buildings on the block were vacant or had been recently demolished, which left plenty of parking spaces to be found in nearby lots and alongside the curb. It also ensured that the loud music and other illicit activities we’d be engaging in wouldn’t disturb anyone. We were pleasantly isolated from the rest of the city, yet still in a convenient location.

It took my entire savings account to cover the down payment on the building and I still had to struggle to find a bank willing to back the venture. The monthly payments eventually drained me so much that I couldn’t afford keep my home and pay for the business at the same time.

Maryanne, my girlfriend, partner, and part-time submissive, took it upon herself to sell our small home and move us into the warehouse. The third floor loft was too small to be of much use for the club, but it made a decent-sized apartment and even left us some space for a personal playroom. Something we hadn’t had room for at our previous residence.

Construction crews were expensive so we did what we could ourselves. The actual structure of the building was fine. The interior needed major renovating. We faced a daunting prospect that took every penny we had and twelve long, exhausting months of constant struggle. In the end though, it all worked out. The building passed inspection and everything was up to code. We were ready for business. If things really took off the way I expected them to, I had several large investment firms interested in opening up a franchise operation. The agreement came complete with a lifetime contract that gave Maryanne and me total control of the original club and twenty percent of the profits of any of the new night spots. The deal was more than I could have hoped for, but also left a lot riding on one single evening.

The special pink and black engraved invitations and flyers went out months prior to every GLBTQ and BDSM friendly business in town along with several prominent people in the community. My fantasy was becoming a reality, but now that opening day had arrived things weren’t going exactly the way I’d planned. Not even close.

Maryanne and I spent the entire night checking and rechecking the club, trying to be sure everything was finished in time for the grand opening at eight. Things looked okay until sometime around sunrise. That’s when my dreams began falling apart at the seams.

I was going through the surplus inventory when I realized that the monogrammed matchbooks and cocktail napkins I’d ordered had never arrived. I placed a quick, frantic call to the company only to get the ‘they must have gotten lost in the mail’ speech. After that, things continued on a rapid downward spiral. The alcohol delivery arrived two hours late and completely wrong. I recounted my order and found out they’d shorted me two cases of champagne and at least ten bottles of vodka.

Where I was going to find that much liquor in such a short period of time was anyone’s guess. Add that to the fact the entertainment I’d booked for the evening still hadn’t shown up, my bouncers and wait staff were AWOL and my girlfriend, and co-owner, had disappeared, and it could easily be understood why I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I was mentally and physically exhausted, and it was beginning to look like all my hard work had been for nothing. The only positive thing so far was the fact that the movers had arrived, albeit late.

'What kind of cruel cosmic bullshit is this? We have less than twelve hours before we officially open for business. This place looks like a fucking tornado came through. With no survivors.’ I clapped my hands together twice to try and get the attention of the five men and two women the moving company had sent over to deliver the last of the furniture. When that didn’t work I put two fingers in my mouth and whistled as long and loud as I could. The shrill, ear piercing sound got me the desired result immediately. Seven bodies halted in the middle of whatever task they were attempting to perform and turned to face me with matching expressions of shock on their faces. The Domme in me couldn’t help but smile as I assumed control of the entire room and everyone in it. Being in charge is always a heady feeling no matter what I’m doing at the time.

‘We have got a lot to do and very little time to do it.’ I turned to face them. ‘I need all the round, black pedestal tables and their matching chairs set up over to my left, in front of the stage. The tables need to be arranged so that everyone is able to view the stage no matter where they are sitting in the room.’ I paused to figure out what else was missing as they quickly followed my orders. ‘Now, who has the gold runners?’

The movers gave me matching looks of confusion. ‘Gold, brocade runners.’ I held my hands in the air two feet apart. ‘They are about this long,’ I moved my hands closer together, ‘and about this wide. They belong on the black tables.’

The girl standing closest to me suddenly shouted and dashed behind the bar, emerging with a big box filled with long golden bolts of fabric. She pulled one out and waved it gleefully in the air. ‘I’ve got them, I’ve got them!’

I shook my head at her enthusiasm and made a mental note to send her home before the club opened for the evening. If she got that excited over a table cloth, she’d have a heart attack at some of the activities sure to take place once we opened for real. I glanced down at the clipboard in my hands and moved to the next item on my list.

’Okay, who has the exam table that I ordered for the medical fetish room?’

* * * *

Hours later, we’d done as much as we could in the short time available. I needed to get ready to greet the guests and I couldn’t very well do that in an old pair of jeans and a dirty t-shirt. I left the movers to see themselves out and dashed upstairs to get ready, hoping I’d run into my girlfriend along the way.

After a quick shower I threw on my black leather pants, black muscle shirt with a tight black sports bra underneath and a thick soled pair of shitkickers, trying to push my worries to the back of my mind and focus on the positive. My hair was a quick fix with a comb and a little gel to spike it slightly. I didn’t bother with make-up. My skin is fine the way it is and adding gook on top of my boi-ish complexion just makes me look strange. My figure is too muscular to try and make my face all feminine. It’s like my head doesn’t match my body if I try to get all frilly. Besides, Maryanne is plenty girly enough for the both of us. I’m Butch and Domme and proud of it.

With all the difficulties I’d encountered so far, I was having a real hard time being optimistic. I was still fretting as I tromped down the stairs to the lower level entrance. I had invited a lot of high profile guests to tonight’s opening and the thought that I wasn’t ready was inexcusable. I’d had more than enough time to prepare. The fact that I’d waited until the last minute had me in a foul mood, with no one to blame but myself.

My mood brightened considerably when I found Maryanne standing by the entrance. Just the sight of her reassured me that things were going to be okay. At least until I noticed she wasn’t dressed in her costume and she had a big suitcase sitting on the floor next to her. My stomach shot up into my chest and I fought not to choke as I prepared myself for something I thought would never happen. Maryanne was walking out on me.

Time was of the essence, and since I’ve never been the type to beat around the bush, I pointed to her luggage and asked the question burning in my gut. ‘Going somewhere?’

She nodded solemnly. ‘I just can’t take it anymore. You spend all your time talking and working on this damn club. I hardly ever see you at all unless I’m down here helping you out. I feel more like the hired help than your girlfriend. I need someone who is willing to take their time and show me the attention I deserve. I’m leaving.’

I tried to stifle the urge to scream. ‘Now? Tonight? After all the effort we’ve put into this place over the past year?’

‘Yes. I can’t stick around another minute. This club is all you think about. I can’t remember the last time you took control and made love to me. I’m lonely.’

My eyes widened in shock at her accusation. ‘What? Have you gone nuts? Just last night I tied you up in our playroom and fucked you senseless! Did you forget about that? Or what about Monday night when I handcuffed you to the bed and ate you until you had so many orgasms you passed out? Do you hit your head recently or something?’
Maryanne looked confused. ‘I have no clue what you’re talking about. We haven’t had sex in months. Whatever it is that you think you did I can assure you it wasn’t with me!’

I stomped my foot down hard in anger, the harsh sound echoing through the currently empty building. ‘I know damn well it was with you. I still have your nail marks in my back to prove it.’ I raised my shirt and turned around to show her the wounds that were still fresh on my skin. ‘Are you still having trouble remembering? I think this is proof that I didn’t imagine our encounter.’

I heard the soft swish of her sneakers as she moved closer to inspect the damage. One hand lightly traced down my spine and I shivered as I realized it might be the last time she ever touched me voluntarily. I pulled down my top and spun around to check her reaction. The extreme hatred emanating from her was the last thing I expected.

‘You two-timing bitch.’ She followed up her comment with a slap across my face that left my right cheek stinging and my pride in shreds.

I grabbed my cheek and glared at her hard. I should have walked away but I was too mad to even contemplate leaving. Her outburst was the icing on the cake. My temper had reached its boiling point and I was just looking to take out my frustration. I was the Dominant, Maryanne was the submissive. I wasn’t about to tolerate such behavior, especially since she was about to leave me for good. ‘What the fuck was that for?’ I grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her lightly. ‘You’ve gone fucking insane.’ The clock on the wall chimed in to announce it was time to officially open the doors.

‘Son of a bitch,’ I cursed out loud and let go of my soon to be ex-girlfriend as I moved to unlock the front door. ‘You’ve picked a really bad time to fall off your rocker.’ I took a deep breath, composing myself as much as possible under the circumstances, and threw open the door to let in the evening’s guests. Instead of the huge crowd I expected to find swarming at the entrance, I was greeted with nothing but a chill gust of wind and an empty sidewalk. It was the last straw. I opened my mouth and let out a blood curdling scream of defeat, picturing myself homeless and living in a cardboard box in a dirty alley somewhere while slowly starving to death.

‘Dani!’ Maryanne screamed my name and I turned back around to see what the hell had set her off.

‘What do you need now? Haven’t you caused me enough grief this evening?’ I pointed out into the empty night. ‘It’s all ruined. I can’t own a club with no guests. Broad Horizons is finished before it even began.’ I was left talking to empty air.

Maryanne was gone. In fact the entire club I’d just been standing in had disappeared. I blinked and nothing changed. I’d finally gone over the edge. Just as I hung my head in defeat, someone grabbed me from behind.

Simon Says Ahh by Jaxx Steele

“Let me relieve some of your stress, Simon.” Benji released Simon’s lips and trailed his hot kisses all over Simon’s face and neck.

Simon’s head fell back against the couch. “Yes, Benji,” Simon hissed. “And hurry, I’m about to bust.”

Benji chuckled. “Don’t worry, my sexy Simon, when you bust it will be in my mouth and I will swallow every drop of it.”

A shudder shot up Simon’s body at Benji’s words. Anticipation made his cock even harder. Memories of Benji’s awesome blowjobs swept across his consciousness: every lick, every touch, every moan. Simon felt Benji’s hands moving on him, opening his pants. He reached down to help, but Benji slapped his hand away.

“I’m doing this.”

“Well, hurry up and do it,” Simon growled.

Benji looked up from his kisses. “I could go slower, Simon.”

Simon’s hands went up in protest and his body stiffened at the prospect. “No! No, I’m sorry. Please continue.”

Simon held his breath during the few torturous seconds before Benji’s hands returned to his pants and eased his pain. Benji leaned back for a better position and his hands dove to yank at his button. The faster Benji’s hands moved, the faster Simon’s chest rose and fell. Finally, Simon’s cock sprang free of its confines long, thick, and hard. Resting against his stomach, it begged to be touched.

“Oh, Simon, it’s been way to long,” Benji said lowering his body.

Simon licked his lips and tried to speak, but no words came. All he could manage was a nod.

Benji chuckled. “Don’t worry, baby, I won’t make you wait any longer.”

Benji licked the underside length of Simon’s steel rod and Simon let out a stuttered moan. Benji’s wet hot mouth singed the taut skin, sending exquisite pleasure straight to his head. Benji continued treating Simon’s cock like a lollipop. Simon moaned at every pass of Benji’s tongue against his nuts. With each teasing lick, Simon moved closer to the edge and his moans grew louder.

“Mmm, I always did like your moans, Simon. I bring up the memory often when I jack off.”

“Benji, stop licking me and suck my dick!”

His need made his words harsher than he intended, he would have to apologize for that when they were done, but he wanted to feel his cock inside his mouth now.

If Benji was offended, he showed no signs of it. As Simon demanded, Benji took the length of Simon’s cock into his mouth with a moan. Sucking vigorously, Benji played with his nuts at the same time. Simon’s groans filled the room. Benji gripped the base of Simon’s erection. Sliding his hand over Simon’s sensitive head, Benji lowered his own head down to lick at his drawn up balls. Back and forth, Benji’s hand moved as his teasing tongue flicked at Simon’s nuts.

Simon’s breathing was harsh and raspy as he spoke. “Ahh! Benji, oh God, yes!”
The leg that Simon rested on the floor for balance rose in the air stiffly. His stomach muscles tightened as his words became incoherent. Benji quickly moved up, taking Simon’s length back into his mouth. His lips gripped Simon’s cock head and sucked again and he erupted in Benji’s mouth with volcanic force.

Simon’s fingers laced through Benji’s hair, squeezing tight, holding his head in place. Benji continued sucking on Simon’s erupting tip until he was empty and exhausted. With a final kiss on his shrinking member, Benji moved back up Simon’s body and rested on his chest.

“Feel better, baby?”

“Oh, God, yes. Thank you so much,” Simon replied still breathing hard.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Play it Again, Sam by Jenna Byrnes

Rick Blaine strolled into the fog, Captain Louis Renault by his side. Sam Merit sank into his theatre seat, watching the ending credits of Casablanca scroll across the screen. He stroked his half-erect cock through his jeans. He’d never been a big Ingrid Bergman fan, but Humphrey Bogart—now he was something else. Sam fantasized that the great actor might secretly have been gay, like Rock Hudson and other big names from the era. The scintillating daydream made him smile, and he rubbed his erection one last time.

The final credits rolled, and the lights came up in the theatre. Reaching for his empty popcorn bucket, Sam stood and adjusted his jeans, willing the erection away. Not that there was anyone in the large auditorium who’d notice. He’d come to the same theatre every day for a week, and there had never been more than five people in attendance. Sam didn’t know how the place stayed open.

Clutching the cardboard container, he made his way to the back of the room, where the daytime employee stood by the open door. His was the one consistent face Sam counted on. Each day once the theatre emptied, the burly, dark-haired man walked down one aisle and up the next, straightening seats and picking up trash. He appeared to be Sam’s height but stockier, more beefy. Muscular. From what Sam had observed before and after the movie each day, he had a friendly demeanor—and a damned handsome face.

They’d never spoken, but Sam suddenly felt the urge. He dropped his trash into the big receptacle by the door. “My contribution.”

“Trying to put me out of work?” The employee raised his eyebrows, a grin playing on his lips.

Nice eyes. Sam gazed into deep brown irises and decided they were just a shade darker than the man’s shaggy, brown hair. Soulful eyes crinkled around the edges when he smiled. The tiny lines added to his charm.

Sam glanced at the small black nametag pinned to a red theatre vest. Marc. He smiled. “Sorry. I can go back and leave it in the seat if you prefer.”

“That’s what most people do.” Marc headed down the aisle. “Toss it on the floor or shove it into the seat next to them.” He reached the front of the theatre.

“I suppose so,” Sam said in a louder voice. “If that’s the case, I can tell you where to look today. A couple sat over there.” He pointed to the left side of the aisle. “A woman sat in the second row, and I sat in the middle. Of course, my area is clean.”

“It always is. I’ve watched you every day this week.”

He’s watched me? Sam thought he’d been unobtrusively watching Marc. In reality they’d been checking each other out, and neither one had caught on. The thought made his cock twitch again.

Marc moved through the second row, stopping to pick up a soda cup and candy wrapper. Holding them up, he shook his head sadly at Sam.

Sam feigned disappointment. “She seemed like a nice lady too. Cried at all the right spots.”

“Women are tricky.” He scoured the rest of the theatre, walking toward the entrance. “They’re the worst offenders. Sneaky. Candy wrappers tucked between the seats, that kind of thing. Most men are fooled by their wiles. Not me.” He dumped the trash into the big plastic can and wiped his hands. “So, you a big Ingrid Bergman fan? You’re catching quite a few showings of Casablanca.”

“I’m partial to Bogart. Never been one to succumb to the wiles of women either. Actually, I’m trying not to go out of my mind.” Sam glanced at the floor and back up. He hadn’t told anybody this, but decided to spit it out and see what happened. “I was, uh, laid off from my job this week. Total surprise. I’m still in shock.”

Marc frowned. “That sucks. Sorry to hear it.”

“Thanks. I’m working through the stages of grief, but so far I’m stuck on denial. Not ready to face looking for something new. It’s much easier to bury my head in the sand—or the movie screen. This is the closest theatre to my apartment that shows a matinee. I must admit, I’ll be glad when you change the film. Five days in a row of wartime conflict is a little depressing.”

“Hate to tell you this.” Marc shoved the trash container away from the door and stepped out of the auditorium. “Casablanca runs for a whole month. It’s got a couple weeks left.”

“Oh, my God!” Smacking his forehead jokingly, Sam followed him out. “I might have to upgrade my Cable TV service. Right now, I only have a few channels. If I went for a bigger package, I could watch movies at home.”

“Do you think this is the best time to add expenses?” Marc leaned against the small candy counter in the lobby. “With the layoff and all. Oh, shit. I shouldn’t have asked that.” His eyes clouded uncomfortably.

“You’re right, of course.”

“Unless you’re Howard Hughes or something? Hell, I don’t know what you can or can’t afford.” He slipped out of the vest with the theatre name printed on the pocket.

“It’s no problem. Of course, I’m not rich or losing my job wouldn’t matter so much. I know some people work for the thrill of it, but me—I work for the paycheck.”

“I hear ya. Though I do love it here. What’s better than getting paid to watch movies every day? Oh, and push a broom around occasionally. You know.”

Sam smiled. He didn’t want to appear too forward, but sometimes life required taking chances. He inhaled and asked quickly, “Are you off work? I planned to grab a sandwich at the coffee shop down the block. Care to join me?”

Marc gazed at Sam for a moment, seeming to think it over. He nodded. “That sounds good. I have two hours before I need to get back. A sandwich and a cup of coffee would hit the spot. Let me punch the time clock. Take me just a sec.”

“Great.” Sam shuffled his feet nervously. What am I thinking? He’d never been so forward before. Something about this guy appealed to him, and he certainly didn’t have any reason to hurry home.

Marc stepped into an office behind the counter and returned momentarily with a jacket. “What’s the weather like? Colder than hell earlier.”

“It’s nice out now. I think spring has sprung.”

He held the front door open for Sam and grinned. “You didn’t just say that. Sounds like something from my mother’s vocabulary.”

“Color me old fashioned.” Sam shrugged sheepishly. “So, if the nametag is to be believed, your name’s Marc? I’ve been thinking of you as that cute guy who works at the theatre.”

Strolling down the block, Marc gazed sideways at him. “You sure you’re not thinking of Oscar? I’m certain you’ve met him.”

Sam laughed. “The wrinkled, bald guy who looks about ninety? One day I wasn’t sure he was breathing until he reached out and took my money.”

“Oscar works at his own pace, that’s for sure. Anyway, yeah, my name’s Marcus, Marcus Phillips. People call me Marc.”

With a sidelong glance, Sam nodded. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Sam Merit.”

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