CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE Sufferin' Sex-Slave Sickos
MIKE - Me-n-Eddie drive up to the parkin' lot of the Bears Den. I had to chuckle at the outside of it, I mean, holy cripe, it looked like the outside of a cave, for Pete's sake.
"Say, how's about it, kiddo, ya ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
We both get outta the car and get in line. There's a bouncer behind a velvet rope, checkin' ID and turnin' people away, only lettin' in certain follks. That doesn't seem fair.
"Don't know how we're gonna get past this one, Boss-Man, he looks pretty tough."
"Hah! Poor sap doesn't know what tough is - he's never met me before."
EDDIE - We get to the top of the line and the bouncer wants to see some ID. "Membership cards, please."
MIKE - I fake 'im out. I start feelin' my pockets, pretendin' to look for the card. I cringe mockingly. "Aw, damn, I musta left it in my other wallet. How 'bout you, kiddo, ya got yours?" Eddie does the same thing, takin' my lead.
"Sorry 'bout that, guy. We left our cards at home, so how's about you bein' a real good guy and....."
"NO CHANCE! No one gets in without showin' ID."
Then what looks like the boss comes out, and sees the two of us and says to this jerk-faced jerk-off, "let the guys in, these are gumshoes, they're famous 'round here, they're always in the paper."
"Well, how come I never read about these guys?"
I couldn't resist chimin' in, "you look more like the type that craps on newspapers instead of readin' 'em. Now, be a good little boy and do like yer daddy, there, says, ka-peesh?"
"Ka-WHAT?"
I roll my eyes, snicker and just shake my head, "boy I can pick you rocket scientists a mile off."
We walk in and the manager grabs a phone and says to the person on the other end, "Hey, we got a couple-a celebs here, Mike Batz, Eddie Robinson - can ya take them to the V.I.P. room, please." He turns to us and says someone's on the way up to get us. Another one of the bouncers comes to escort us to the V I P room. Boy, talk about a scenic route. Nothin' but a bunch-a bulgin', baldin' hairy guys, all growlin' at us. I was thinkin', "Aw, Judas Priest, gimme a break" Our so-called escort tells us that growlin' is a way of sayin' "hi" around here. "You never know, you might get lucky."
Eddie clutches my arm and says, "no need - we already did. We're just lookin' for someone."
"Aren't we all, kid!"
So we get to the V I P room. Holy Red Foley, look at this place. Enough leather and steel to open a bike shop. They're into all kindsa weird stuff here, spankin', suckin', rim-jobs, there was even a couple of guys blowin' each other and rollin' on the floor like some kinda wheel. Hoo-boy this was gettin' weird. For a sec, I didn't even care why we were here, we just wanted to get the hell out. Up comes somebody with a little spray bottle.
"Good evening, boys, welcome to the Bears Den V I P Room. Would you like to sample our newest fragrance?"
"Your newest what?"
"It's a new scent, soon to hit the market. One squirt and it's enough to drive your man batty."
"uh, sure, okay, anything's worth tryin' once."
HUGE MISTAKE - A GRANDE MUY BIGGO MISTAKE! Me-n-Eddie get spritzed and freeze up. We can't move our arms, they're glued to our sides, our knees are bucklin', we feel like we weigh a thousand pounds. We're losin' it big time. Eddie starts to panic.
"C-can't....MOVE. Can't.....STAND UP!"
EDDIE - BAM! We're DOWN! We're paralyzed but we're in a lotta pain, too. Holy orthopedics, it felt like ev'ry bone in our bodies were smashed with a sledgehammer.
"What the....heck's...goin' ON?", I cried out.
Mike couldn't breathe, his teeth were gritted to the point of bein' gnashed, his jaw was clenched.
"We were doused with a kinda...poison...paralyzin'...per-fume"
"Holy Estee...LAUDER!"
"No, no, no, you're wrong, it's by Brut Faberge. Or should I say BRUTAL Faberge!"
"Ya call this a...V-v-v-V I P ROOM!"
"Why yes, it is! Everyone in here is a VIP - Very Immediate Prisoner, that is. I realize you're too paralyzed to actually ask what's to become of you, so I'll just volunteer the information. You see, you will be stripped of these so-called clothes of yours and wrapped up in enough steel and leather to open a bike shop. We'd better hurry and get you all locked up - the paralysis doesn't last forever, you know."
MIKE - The creeps drag me-n-Eddie to separate areas. My hands are shackeled with leather cuffs with a chain goin' across. I get strapped into this leather vest with some kinda harness in the back which is hooked onto that kind of invisible wire they use on tv to make someone fly. Lucky enough, the drug wears off and I'm able to talk again, so I start screamin', lemme tell you.
"WHERE THE HELL ARE YA GOIN' WITH MY BOY! EDDIE! EDDIE! ED-DIEEEEEEE!" I get a cat-o-nine-tails right across the chest, my nipples feel like they got a whale of a paper-cut, I almost shriek in agony. Aw, here comes the worst part. They stick a ball in my mouth, like a gag, with a strap goin' around my head. Just 'cuz I'm muzzled don't mean I don't keep screamin'.
"As for your boy, he may not be yours for very long. I won't spoil the surprise just yet, but I can't wait to see the look on your face when you see what we've done to him."
I keep screamin' more muffled. Our adversary yawns and says, "string this one up, boys, he's annoying me." I go flyin' - almost up to the ceilin'. Holy mother of crap, I'm just danglin' here, wearin' nothin' but a leather vest. They got wires comin' outta my hand-cuffs, too. I keep kickin' my feet, but there's not much that can do when you're hoisted 50 feet in the air. Suddenly, all the lights go down, then there's a pink spotlight on what looks like a stage. It's an emcee, "gentlemen, and gentlemen, boys and men, bears and admirers of all ages, welcome to the imprisonment, torment and imminent demise of the Dashing Defective himself!" There's another spotlight on me, this too. The crowd starts jeerin', booin', even throwin' stuff at me. Aw, Jesus Murphy, what the hell is this ABOUT?!?!?
"In this corner, a throwback to the 60's, when boots were made for walking, the Dashing Defective's Bore Friday will demonstrate CAGE DANCING!"
My eyes popped open wide with fright, rage, and other things, Eddie got the pink spotlight, too, him too, wearin' nothin' but a leather vest.
"He doesn't look like he wants to dance for us. I think it's because it's a little cold up there. To give him a little more rhythm, I suggest the floor of his cage should be heated - TO, let's say, 200 degrees! What do you think, AUDIENCE?!?!?!?"
Oh my God, they're gonna burn him alive! The crowd goes insane. My boy starts screamin' and hoppin' like there's no tomorrow. He tries to hang on to the cage bars to keep his feet from touchin' the floor, but he keeps slippin' off and fallin' down, hoppin', screamin' for his life.
"A little slippery for you, Bore Friday? They were greased with Palmolive. You know you're soaking in it! JUST LOOK AT HIM DANCE, BOYS! Bouncing those balls that only a dashing defective could love!"
The crowd laughs hysterically. I continue strugglin' and screamin'. It looks like the heat is turned off, Eddie's not hoppin' as much as he was.
"All RIGHT - That concludes the entertainment part of our program." The audience starts groanin'. "All right, all right, don't get into a state, it ONLY gets better from here. Did you like his performance?"
The crowd goes nuts again.
"Would one of you like to see him perform in a more PRIVATE SETTING?!?!?"
More cheerin' and yellin'. What the hell are they gonna do with 'im NOW!
"Dashing Defective, you have been volunteered to ASSIST in the next event. All of these fine gentlemen were given a raffle ticket at the door and YOU are going to draw the WINNING NUMBER! The BEAR-er of the winning number will have his way with your little Bore Friday and Eduardo will either satisfy our lucky winner, or DIE TRYING!"
Me-n-Eddie are both screamin' at the top of our lungs, which is drowned out by this obnoxious loud disco music we both hate so much, even more so now. Some son-of-a-bitch with a bucket comes up to me and tries to make me draw a ticket. Eddie's screamin' what looks like "NO!" and I'm strugglin' to move my hand as far away from this bastard as I can. I try to keep my hands balled up in fists, but it's no use, my fingers are pried open, the ticket is shoved in, then the son-of-a-bitch takes it out of my hand and reads the number. A sumo wrestler type walks up and gets in the cage with my boy, grinnin' and growlin' ev'ry step of the way. The audience keeps screamin', cheerin', evem laughin'. He takes his pants off, punches Eddie in the gut, which sends him stooped over, then he sticks his cock inside of him. I still can't hear much, but I can see Eddie's face contorted in the worst agony as he's bein' rocked back and forth, sometimes hittin' his head against the bars. He's poundin' the floor with his fists, cryin', beggin'. Ev'ry vein in his neck and face bulges out. I'm still screamin', too, while Bucket Boy starts beatin' the tar outta me, punchin' my gut, my face, just about ev'rything.
HOLY REAR ENTRY!
THIS IS UN BEAR-ABLE TO SAY THE LEASH - I MEAN, LEAST!
WILL EDDIE GET THE POPPING OF HIS YOUNG LIFE? POSSIBLY THE LAST ONE?
WILL MIKE BREAK LOOSE TO RESCUE ROBINSON FROM THESE RASCALLY ROGUES?
WILL YOU READ THE NEXT INSTALLMENT? BECAUSE THAT'S THE ONLY WAY YOU'LL EVER FIND OUT!