Midvale Chapter 6: Beware the Flames
MIDVALE (6)
Chapter 6 – "Beware the Flames of Hell"– by Travis Jennings
(travisjennings2@pacbell.net)
© 2019 Travis Jennings
(MM, Auth, Reluc)
This is a work of fiction created for the entertainment of interested adults. Please read no further if you are underage or are offended by explicit sexual stories. Any resemblance to anyone is strictly coincidental.
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Synopsis: Sadistic grad student introduces a virgin freshman to the leather scene – with serious consequences.
(Note: Includes scenes of BDSM and non-consensual sex)
Located across town from the university, the Flames of Hell was one of Midvale's more notorious leather establishments. Located in a large, converted warehouse, it was licensed as a "private club" – a technicality that allowed it to host a variety of scandalous activities that would be verboten in a regular public bar.
Three "performance stages" were set up around the perimeter of the club, risers on which it was not unusual to see all sorts of "depraved" sexual behavior on display, everything from fistings to gangbangs to old fashioned lashings in a reconstructed pillory.
The membership list included both college people and townies. Pete Cavanaugh, a 29-year old graduate student – had been a member for three years, having joined when he returned from active duty in the marines and decided to study for his doctorate degree at Midvale U.
Pete considered himself a Master in every sense of the word, and while he could occasionally enjoy an evening of "everyday vanilla sex," he much preferred leather sex, the more violent the better. He especially enjoyed it with a partner who put up a struggle. Nothing excited him more than breaking in a new-to-the-scene virgin.
When he was in the marines, he pursued a young enlistee from Kentucky who resisted all of Pete's attentions, insisting that he had a fiancŽe back home and was not gay. Then came the weekend when both were on leave: Pete got the lad drunk and fucked his brains out. At first, the kid squealed his head off, but before the weekend was over, he was purring like a kitten – at which point Pete dropped him like yesterday's news. The kid spent weeks trying to get Pete back into the sack, and when all his efforts failed, he deliberately started breaking regulations – just so he'd be put in the brig for the night and be fucked by the other inmates. Finally, a sympathetic sergeant took him under his wing and – with a wink and a nod – turned him into the unofficial barracks whore.
By the time Pete had mustered out of the Marines he had left a long string of broken hearts and stretched-out assholes, almost all of which he looked back on with nothing but a sneer and contempt.
A couple of weeks ago, two 22-year old Midvale townies snuck into The Flames of Hell, just to see if the rumors were true about what went on there. Dressed in blue jeans and plaid shirts, they stuck out like beacons and were quickly caught, stripped naked, shackled and taught the facts of life. Pete and one of his buddies insisted on doing the honors.
After hanging the guys upside down and whipping their asses – with more than a few flicks also snapping their nuts! – they told the guys they could leave if they would suck each other off. When they refused, they were told to fuck each other. Again, they balked, and were put over a horse and paddled hard, then fucked even harder. Toward the end the evening, they were blindfolded, hands tied behind their backs, and driven to dangerous part of town, where they were dumped off, naked.
Memories of that wonderful night had kept Pete hard many nights thereafter – but now it was time to find a new conquest.
Enter an18-year-old freshman whom Pete spotted decorating the window in the University Bookstore. Thin as a rail, with ash brown hair, a not very well toned body – but a nice round ass – the lad – according to his name badge – was Jesse Drayton.
Well, Jesse Drayton, thought Pete, smirking to himself, how would you like to ride on my big pussymaker?
Pete returned to the bookstore a few hours later, having called in a few favors from a friend in the Administration Building, from whom he had acquired a complete rundown on Jesse's class schedule, his work schedule, his residence hall address, etc.
The bookstore, one might note, had evolved over the years from selling books to offering everything from books to DVDs to University-decorated sweat clothes, over-the-counter drugs and a wide variety of snacks.
When Pete arrived, Jesse was working one of the three cash registers, ringing up a return and purchase, which took longer than necessary because of the bossy woman customer. Turning his eye away from the nasty lady, he spotted Pete, who had positioned himself next in line. Dressed in black jeans and tight short-sleeved black shirt that left no doubt about the muscled and hairy chest beneath, Pete also had a black leather strap fastened tightly around his left wrist.
As the bossy woman tottered off, Pete stepped up to the register. The men's eyes met – and Jesse was momentarily frozen, like a deer in the headlights. Finally Pete spoke, "Bad day?"
"Uh, yeah. And long."
Pete smiled a strange knowing smile. "Some things are better when they're long – don't you think?"
Jesse gulped and started to ring up Pete's purchase – a box of extra large condoms!
"I just hate these things, don't you?" asked Pete. "They cramp my style," he added, grabbing his own crotch. "Even the large ones are too small – you know what I mean?" he smiled leeringly.
"Uh," Josh's slightly open mouth just quivered.
The stunned boy had two or three rubber bands around one wrist. Pete reached over, pulled on them slightly, and let them snap back against the lad's skin. "You should get a proper bracelet."
"Like yours?" asked Jesse, trying to lighten the mood. But Pete continued to stare at the lad very intently.
"Mine doubles as a cock ring!"
The kid's eyes bugged out and again he just quivered -- so stunned he momentarily had nothing to say. Finally, he spoke. "Uh, that'll be $9.50, please."
Pete pulled a $10 bill from a pocket, and handed it to the lad. Turning, and starting to walk away, he added, "See you again – soon!"
"Uh, your change, sir!"
"Keep it!" And Pete was out the door.
Only then did Jesse look down at the counter and notice that Pete had left a "calling card," black on both sides – but with a phone number engraved in raised black numerals on one side. One had to turn the card to the light to read the numbers.
A couple of days later, Pete returned to the store. This time he found Jesse in the book stacks, shelving new inventory. He approached the lad – standing nearly on top of him – but did not speak. Jesse did not notice the man until he himself dropped a book, reached down to pick it up and spotted Pete's black leather boots positioned immediately behind his own sneakers. He quickly turned around and gasped.
"Um," he said, lips quivering.
"You didn't call!"
"I, uh, lost the card."
"No you didn't."
Just then one of the female store managers walked by carrying more new merchandise.
Jesse raised his voice so as to be heard by the passing woman. "May I help you, sir?"
She smiled at his efficiency, turned the corner and was gone.
"I'm trying to decide."
"Decide, sir?"
Pete leaned in and whispered, "Trying to decide whether to take you home, or fuck you right here."
The kid was wrecked! His face went ashen, his lips quivered and his asshole clenched. He quickly scampered into the nearby stockroom. When he ever-so- tentatively stepped back out, Pete had gone.
Jesse had to admit he was intrigued and a bit flattered by this handsome man's attention. At the ripe old age of 18, Jesse's sex life so far had amounted to two awkward "playing around" sessions with a couple of his high school buddies – and hours upon hours of secret masturbation once he discovered the adult porn sites on his laptop computer. He wanked his peter so much one weekend it was sore for days after.
But actual sex with another partner? Jesse wouldn't know how to broach the subject! Which was why this strange man's sudden attention seemed so appealing. Both of Pete's visits to the bookstore had scared the bejeesus out of poor Jesse – but left him with the most rampant hard-ons of his young life.
Friday morning was Jesse's chosen time to workout at the gym, using both aerobic exercise machines and free weights. He was in the middle of a workout on the bench press when Pete approached him again.
"Someone spotting for you?" asked Pete, stepping into position to do it himself.
"Went for a quick drink of water. Oh!" replied Jesse, startled both by Pete's sudden appearance, and by the fact that lying flat on his back on the bench staring up at the bar, Jesse was able to see the massive uncut cock hanging loose in Pete's shorts. The big shillelagh was pointed straight down at Jesse's shocked face. Pete smirked at the kid's reaction.
"Meet me tomorrow night – 10 PM – in the Flames of Hell," he virtually demanded.
"Huh?"
"Bring this," added Pete as tossed a "Guest Card" onto the boy's chest and walked away.
Where the hell is The Flames of Hell? wondered a confused – but definitely aroused – Jesse, as his spotter returned from the water fountain to begin their workout session.
For the rest of the day – and most of Saturday – Jesse fought with himself about going to this weirdly named place to meet a man he'd never really met. First he had to find it. He checked the Midvale phone book, but nothing was listed. Information had no listing either. On a whim, he stopped by the university library where he found one of the local gay rags, and there it was – Flames of Hell Club, members only. A man dressed head to toe in black leather was featured in the ad. An address – way over on the other side of town – was listed; no phone number.
I'm not going to some leather club!
Wonder what it's like.
No, I'm not going!
Nothing else to do. I can't take another meaningless Saturday night!
Hmmm – what should I wear?
Jesse called for a car pickup, but had the driver leave him off a block away from the club – a decision he almost immediately regretted. Located in the heart of the warehouse district, the streets around The Flames were virtually deserted. The streetlights were few and far between, casting unusual shadows onto the dark and shuttered buildings. By day the area was bustling with activity. By night, it was spooky as hell.
The hair on the back of Jesse's neck stood up as he hurried down the street. Suddenly a smiling face peered out from an entranceway. A man wearing what looked to be a leather hat, vest and chaps – but no pants – was standing there jerking himself off. "Hey, kid – wanna fuck?" he asked, but Jesse looked away and scurried on. Finally, up ahead he spotted the door to the club, carefully guarded by a huge man in black jeans and boots. His huge hairy chest all but screamed, "Don't mess with me."
"Sorry kid. This is a private club," the man announced as Jesse approached.
"I – I was invited," Jesse responded, digging the Guest Pass out of his back pocket. He was wearing blue jeans, sneakers and white T-shirt.
"Sorry – whoever invited you should have told you how to dress. The jeans need to be black. Lose the shirt!"
The kid looked stunned.
"Here, let me," said the man as he quickly pulled Jesse's T-shirt up over his head, and hung it from the kid's belt, right side.
"Remember next time."
Jesse entered the club, which was almost as poorly lit as the street outside. Unlike the street, it was packed with sweaty men, most of them dressed in leather or, as the doorman had explained, black jeans and boots. Music blared from the speakers placed around the room.
Not sure of where to go or what to do next, he started to explore. The circular bar divided the room into two parts: the entrance "bar room" was where patrons met, chatted, drank and performed the usual social amenities.
The reverse side of the bar faced a much larger area in which all kinds of sexual activity seemed to be underway. Jesse was a little taken aback to see that many of the men who congregated back there wore little or no clothes. In one corner he found a couple of leather slings, in which young men were lying on their backs, their feet raised and shackled into stirrups, while their "masters" (known or total strangers) had their way with them. One young man was being fucked, the other fisted!
Jesse stood frozen for a moment while he watched the fister's fist and arm disappear up his victim's ass – after which the recipient screamed, "YES!" and shot a massive load onto his chest.
Other forms of sex were happening all around – guys down on their knees giving their partners blow-jobs; guys bending over the edge of what at one point must have been a pool table, getting reamed out by the massive cocks of whoever had moved in behind; guys getting their nipples and foreskins pinched in unforgiving clips.
In a far corner, Jesse saw what looked like a bathtub, an old fashioned one like his grandmother used to have. As he made his way closer, he saw that it was indeed such a tub, but the naked man inside was not bathing – he was being urinated on by two men standing at one end.
Jesse stood transfixed, watching one of the men – one with a huge thick penis – peeing "like a race horse." How many times in his 18 years of life had Jesse stood next to another guy in a restroom and pee'ed into a urinal, and never really saw what was happening? This was hypnotic – the fluid gushing out like water from a hose. Jesse could not turn away.
A few feet away from the tub, Jesse saw that a blindfolded man had been hung by his shoulders by heavy leather straps, his feet raised way above his head and similarly shackled to straps on the wall – leaving his ass wide open for public fucking – and a lineup of men were waiting their turn at his hole.
Suddenly two big arms descended over Jesse's shoulders from behind. "See anything you want to try?" asked Pete. "I knew you'd come!"
"Oh, hi," he said, greeting the man who had invited him, now dressed in black jeans, boots, a black leather vest but no shirt. Pete grabbed the young man's crotch, then barked, "Are you wearing underwear?"
The kid nodded "yes."
"Go to the john and take `em off, " Pete ordered. "Unless you want me to strip them off you right here?"
Jesse nodded "no," and Pete pointed him in the direction of the bathroom – which turned out to be totally disgusting. Smells of beer, urine, cum and all kinds of other foul orders permeated the place. There were no urinals, per se, but one long open trough, allowing no privacy. The door to the single stall had been long since torn off. The floors, the wash basins, the mirrors were all equally squalid.
Even so, the place was busy, as patrons rushed in, did their business, and left..
How was a person supposed to take off his shoes, pants and underwear without getting everything stained with the piss and beer puddled on the floor?
Just then a friendly waiter waltzed into the room carrying a drink tray. He set the tray on a sink, walked to the trough, whipped out his dick and started to whizz. He noticed Jesse standing there bewildered, and cracked a smile.
"It ain't much, Sugar, but it's all we got!" he said, finishing his piss. "Here, let me help," he offered, and reached out to hold Jesse's pants as the kid slipped out of his underwear.
"Wow! Look at that ass!" cried one of the other patrons. "Sweet!" Someone else reached out and gave the ass cheeks a pinch, causing the kid to jump and almost lose his balance.
"Don't mind them," said the waiter. "Nothing but animals!"
"And you love it, Ricky!" screamed one of the others.
"You got it babe," replied the waiter, as Jesse slipped back into his pants and sneakers.
"Your first time, Sugar?" asked the waiter, as he grabbed Jesse's underwear, wrapped it up inside the kid's T-shirt, and re-hung it on the kid's belt.
"The name's Ricky, by the way."
"Jesse," the kid smiles back.
"Well, Jesse, have a great night! And with that adorable face and sweet ass of yours, I'm guessing you probably will!"
Jesse tried to follow, but Ricky was quickly swallowed up by the crowd. Jesse worked his way back to where he had left Pete, but at first did not see him. Then a strange hand suddenly slipped its way into the back of his pants, and a firm finger massaged his asshole. The kid jerked, but Pete merely pronounced, "That's better!"
Pete then unbuttoned the front of Jesse's jeans and pulled the back of the jeans away from the boy's ass. He removed two items resembling miniscule tubes of toothpaste from the pocket of his own leather vest. One of the tubes was black, the other white. "These are the Flames of Hell! This one," explained Pete, holding up the tiny black one, "has some cream that will feel like hellfire when I apply it up your ass. I thought I'd use it as a goodnight kiss after I've fucked your ass raw and left your pucker all swollen and sore. I can hardly wait!" Jesse's eyes bugged out in fright.
"This one," indicating the white tube, "isn't as much fun, but it will warm you up and get your ass all tingly inside – get you in the mood for when I do decide to fuck you!"
Pete then emptied the tiny white tube onto one of his middle fingers and slipped it down inside the back of Jesse's pants and into his asshole.
"It'll make your hole purr and throb all night!" Pete promised gleefully. Much to Jesse's surprise and chagrin, the cream and the finger was already stirring his cock to life. He hoped his hard-on was not too noticeable.
Oh, God, what did I get myself into? he thought as everyone's attention was suddenly drawn to a little exhibition that was being staged on one of the elevated platforms.
Two hot naked guys were on their knees, the guy in back prying open his partner's ass cheeks. Without missing a beat, the man stuck out his tongue and started to give the other guy a rather animated rim job.
"YESSS!" the recipient moaned. "DEEPER! DEEPER!!" The man in back pushed the luscious ass cheeks wider and continued his assault.
"YESSS! OH GOD!!! EAT MY ASS!!" the other man screamed. "YES!!! MORE!!! MORE!!!"
But as suddenly as it had started, the rim job stopped, as the man in back reached off to one side and grabbed the largest dildo that Jesse had ever seen. The man quickly lubed the tube with grease from a small tub, and started to feed that thing into the waiting ass.
The other man looked over his shoulder, saw what he was getting and screamed, "YES! SHOVE IT HOME!!! SHOVE IT HOME!!!"
And the man did just that – at least to the halfway mark. At which point, he knelt down behind his partner, facing the opposite direction, and ran the other end of the huge dildo up his own ass. The men's stiff rods slapped up and down against their flat stomachs.
"NOW, LET'S FUCK!" the man screamed, as two more naked men joined them on the stage and fed their own huge cocks into the kneeling men's mouths, and everyone started to push-in and pull-out in perfect unison!
"Oh, man," confessed Jesse. "That makes me so horny!" Pete, standing behind him, reached around and squeezed the young man's crotch, then slipped his hand down the front of the lad's pants to grab the hard pecker itself.
"Hmmm," said Pete. "Can't wait to get this home! And I've gotta teach you to suck like that – I've got a real big one for you to swallow!"
Jesse gulped, but before he could react further he noticed that yet a second "performance" had started on yet another platform, this time an older gentleman, wearing nothing but some leather straps around his muscular chest, shackled an equally naked young man over a leather-covered exercise horse, and started to flick a leather strap onto the young man's ass.
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" the kid screamed. "OOOOOOOWWWWWW!"
"Drinks coming through!" announced Ricky as he made his way through the crowd carrying a tray of filled glasses. Spotting Jesse, he leaned close, winked, and whispered, "Say, Sugar, looks like you're doing okay."
As the whipping got more intense and the screaming louder, Jesse decided he needed a break. Turning to Pete, he asked, "Wanna beer?" Pete nodded in the affirmative, thinking Hmmm. Gonna have to train the little bitch to be thirsty when I say he's thirsty.
Following Ricky to the bar, Jesse asked, "How does that kid take that beating?"
Ricky smiled. "Oh, those two are regulars – come here all the time. They are lovers. Have had a longtime S/M relationship. The big guy knows exactly how much whip the little guy can take, and where the best place is for him to aim it."
"Even so," thought Jesse aloud, "that's gotta hurt!"
"Yeah, but it's what the little guy wants. Pain becomes pleasure. When he screams, it's kinda like when a person screams on a thrill ride at an amusement park. When it's over, it's like your whole body has been cleansed."
Just then the tall man with the whip snapped it across the little guy's asshole, he screamed and shot a huge load of gism all over the floor.
"See – they're both exhibitionists – I understand they go home from these sessions and fuck like rabbits," said Ricky, hoisting a tray of drinks and heading back out into the crowd.
Pete, meanwhile, had been chatting with an old buddy. "Who's that tasty piece of chicken you're with tonight?" asked the man.
"New kid. Just met him – has a tight little ass. Ought to be fun splitting him open!"
"Wanna pull a train on him later tonight? I can round up some guys?"
"No – not tonight! Gonna take him home and pop that cherry and ream him out good! He doesn't know it yet, but for a week or so my big cock is gonna be his new best friend. After that, who cares? I'll bring him back and the rest of you can have a go at him. Might be fun to see 20 or 30 strangers spit roasting him from either end."
Jesse made his way back to Pete, handed him a beer but before either could say a word shots rang out and someone yelled "GUN!" Two young guys were standing across the room emptying revolvers into the crowd. "FAGGOTS! Nothing but FAGGOTS!" they shouted. One shooter spotted Pete and started to fire in his and Jesse's direction. "NO!" shouted Ricky, who tried to push Jesse and Pete out of the line of fire, but caught two bullets himself instead. Pete was hit in his right shoulder, and all three landed on the floor.
Panic erupted everywhere. Multiple patrons tackled the two shooters and held them to the floor, as dozens of other club members went screaming out the door. Police and ambulance sirens could be heard wailing in the distance.
Everything had happened so quickly. At least a dozen patrons were down, some possibly hurt seriously. Once Jesse got his wits about him, he saw immediately that a bullet had grazed Pete's shoulder, and a trickle of blood was now running down the big man's bare chest. Jesse grabbed his own T-shirt from his belt and used it as a bandage, telling Pete to hold it tightly over the wound. It was then that Tom noticed Ricky wasn't stirring. Blood seemed to be all over the waiter's chest as he struggled to breathe.
-----
Dr. Paul Bromley and his new cuddle bunny, football star Cody James, were watching an evening of football on cable television when the doctor's beeper and cell-phone alarms went off.
A city-wide medical alert had been issued. There had been a shooting at a local nightspot, many injuries, potential casualties. The wounded were being taken to Midvale Community Hospital, just a few blocks south of campus.
"Sorry Cody, duty calls – sounds like this is a mess!"
"I'm coming with you – maybe they'll need an extra pair of hands."
By the time Paul and Cody arrived at the hospital, a fleet of ambulances had already crowded the emergency entrance, and medics were unloading the injured. One vehicle carried Pete and Ricky – plus Jesse, who had refused to be separated from the others.
The Emergency Room was chaos. Paul immediately donned a white lab coat and checked in with the head of the ER. Cody similarly announced his presence, then stood stoically in the corridor, helping one nurse when a piece of equipment fell to the floor, and another when a fast moving gurney nearly toppled over.
Pete's shoulder wounds were quickly tended to. His arm would be in a sling for a couple of days, but otherwise, his injury was not serious. Jesse was devastated by Ricky's condition – the waiter had taken two bullets in the chest, and Jesse could tell from the graveness of the doctors and nurses tending him that Ricky might not live.
A doctor and two nurses started to rush Ricky's gurney – complete with a portable EKG machine laying between the lad's legs – toward an elevator that would whisk him up to the Operating Room. As they waited for the elevator, Jesse reached out and grabbed Ricky's trembling hand.
"Hey, Sugar," whispered Ricky, "I'm so scared!"
"You're gonna be just fine," said Jesse nearly in tears.
Pete tapped Jesse on the shoulder and indicated he wanted to go. "Let's get out of here! I've called for a taxi. It'll be here soon."
"But what about him? I want to stay!" snapped Jesse. But before the elevator could take Ricky upstairs, his EKG machine started to beep. The patient had "flat-lined" – there was no heartbeat. Pulling the gurney back into the hallway, the attendants quickly tried to resuscitate the lad with electric shock paddles from a "crash cart" – but it was useless.
Jesse stood frozen to the floor as Ricky's body was slowly covered and wheeled away. He had never seen someone die before. "He got shot trying to save us," Jesse said to no one special.
A few feet away, Paul Bromley tried to comfort Pete, whom he assumed was also a friend of the deceased. "Sorry about the boy. Was he a close friend?"
But Pete only scoffed. "No, not a friend at all," he whispered. "Just one of the waiters from the club. Bar trash!"
Jesse overheard and lashed out with fire in his eyes, "Bar trash? He was MY FRIEND!"
"Oh, please!" scoffed Pete in disbelief, "You met him a coupl'a hours ago!"
"Go to hell!"
To Paul Jesse asked, "Where can I get a taxi? Oh, never mind – I'll walk!" And he turned and started down the long corridor toward the outside door.
Paul gave Cody a "high sign," and Cody nodded, and then called out to Jesse, "Hey, wait – I'm headed back to campus myself. Let's walk together!"
Paul knew the troubled boy would now be in good hands. Cody quickly caught up with Jesse, who was still bare from the waist up and splattered with dried blood. Noticing that even in the corridor the lad had started to shiver, the athlete slipped off his own team jacket and draped it over Jesse's shoulders; together they headed out into the night.
Only three people attended Ricky's funeral: the lad's aged grandmother; Troy, the bartender at the club; and Jesse, who gave a short impromptu eulogy.
The Midvale News the next day reported that the two suspects being held for the shootings had confessed. The young men claimed they had been tied up and abused at the same nightspot a few weeks earlier, and had returned that Saturday night seeking revenge. Neither could identify their original assailants, but a thorough police investigation was underway.
It was a week before Pete Cavanaugh returned to The Flames of Hell. He'd received a note from manager Marty Kuzak, announcing a special event – and Pete decided he'd been celibate long enough. Everyone, including the doorman, seemed delighted to see him. "So happy you are back!" the doorman exclaimed as he buzzed the man in.
Inside, the room was jumping with wild music – a huge crowd was chatting and clearly having a wonderful time. Guys over in one corner were actually dancing, something someone seldom witnessed at The Flames. Troy the bartender motioned Pete over. "How's the shoulder? Doesn't look any worse for wear."
"Still a little stiff, but otherwise almost like new. How have things been around here?"
"You can imagine. The first few nights after the shooting there were more police here than patrons. The few that did show up suddenly got religion and left early. We are just now getting our regular crowd back."
"What did the police want?"
"The usual – wanted to know what might have provoked the incident, that kind of thing. The kids that shot the place up apparently told the cops about you fucking with them a few weeks earlier – but the kids couldn't identify anyone. The cops asked us to help, but everyone played dumb, which exasperated the hell out of them – but as you know we ARE a private club. We keep our members' secrets, and try to deal with things ourselves."
"Look who's here!" announced Marty Kuzak, the club manager, who had been tipped-off to Pete's arrival by the doorman. "Glad you could come, Pete. Looks like it's going to be a big night! Hope you plan to stick around."
"Sure, you know me! What's the special event? Some fraternity kid getting initiated?"
"Yeah, something like that," smiled Marty. "Hey, Troy, let Pete try that new drink we've added. I know you are usually a beer and pretzels man, Pete, but this is worth checking out. It's called Troy's Blue Satin Special – a splash of Curacao gives it its color. Two or three Specials gives ya a beautiful buzz! I've got a couple of calls to make, but great to have you back. Hey, Troy, Pete's drinks are on the house!" Pete did not notice Marty's wink at the bartender. Both knew the drink would get Pete quickly intoxicated, relax his muscles but render his nerve endings ultra sensitive.
Pete spent the next hour or so chatting with Troy, downing three or four of the Blue Satin Specials and milling around the bar, waiting for the main event of the evening. There were a lot of familiar faces he chatted with, many he had not seen in the bar for months. All seemed to be in a celebratory mood. Everyone seemed particularly thrilled to see him.
"Well as I live and breathe!" said Pete when a former Marine buddy, Bob "Slasher" Davis walked in the door. "Hey, Buddy! How ya been? It's been ages!"
"Fine – and getting better!" smiled Slasher, a former Marine medic who had served overseas with Pete in Iraq and elsewhere. Davis had "earned" his nickname with his fellow Marines because of his penchant for circumcising every uncircumcised penis he met – including those of his fellow Marines. In those cases, he always claimed it was for hygienic purposes benefiting the recipient, but everyone knew he had a foreskin fetish that needed constant stoking. The only Marine to escape his blade was Pete, who retained his skin only by assisting the Doc with his quest. On the battlefield, Doc went so far as to slash off a fallen enemy's entire package, grabbing the guy's cock and balls in one hand and slashing down with his super-sharp knife in the other. This practice eventually got him into trouble with the commanding officers, who had him sent home. He got to keep his commission – but had to leave his entire collection of severed genitalia behind. While he was never 100% sure who tipped off the brass about his fetishes, Slasher had it on fairly good authority that Pete had been the culprit.
"Hey, it's old home week," shouted Pete as another old acquaintance, Jack Thompson, walked in wearing, like Pete, leather pants and vest but no shirt. Pete and Jack shook hands, and Pete introduced Jack to Slasher. "Will you look at the size of this guy?" asked Pete to his Marine buddy. "Jack has the biggest fist and biggest forearm I have ever seen!" he grinned, praising the new arrival. "And would you believe he's into fisting? Ouch! I pity his poor victims!"
Jack only smiled. "Nothing I like more than starting with a nice tight asshole and stretching it wide – and stretching it deep! Gonna do that here tonight! Stick around!"
"I intend to," smiled Slasher. "I'm doing my thing here tonight, too! Got an old score to settle."
Pete missed the significance of that last comment, too busy reaching out instead to grab yet another old acquaintance whom he had not seen in months. "Fellas, this is Tex Jackson. Tex, meet Slasher Davis and Jack Thompson. " There were nods and handshakes all around.
"Tex, as you can see, is an artist with the bullwhip," explained Pete, drawing attention to the whip that Tex had attached to his huge leather belt. "You going to use that thing here tonight?"
"Yep, I think I'm on first – just as soon as they get our special guest stripped down and tied into place," replied Tex, nodding toward the performance area that had been set up. "Gonna whip his ass good – with special emphasis on his asshole with a nasty flick or two to his nuts! I love it when they holler – and, trust me, tonight's guest is gonna holler his head off!"
"You must be on second," said Slasher to Jack. "I'm obviously the finale!" Everyone laughed.
"Oh, man, I'm so horny just listening to the three of you! Can't wait!" said Pete.
"Looks like they are about to start," said Jack. "They've even got video cameras going! This should be good!"
The music came to a stop, the lights dimmed, and Marty Kuzak stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand. "Welcome everyone. So good to see you all again. Tonight is very special. As all of you know, we are a private club and, as such, never rely on the police to take care of our business. When a member needs to be reprimanded, we take care of it ourselves. Tonight, we have just such a case. We are not only going to even the score for a member's past indiscretions, but we are revoking his membership – so if any of you have ever wanted to fuck this loser, tonight's the night. We'll let you know when."
The announcement was greeted with huge applause.
"Our ceremonies are being conducted by bullwhip artist Tex Jackson – Tex, wave at the crowd! – by master fist-fucker, Jack Thompson – Jack, give a wave – and by "Slasher" Bob Davis, whose special knife is going to end our guest's love affair with his foreskin forever. Yes, our special guest is hung like a horse – huge dick, big juicy balls, and a heavy droopy foreskin. But after tonight, he'll be cut high and tight! Circumcised with no anesthetic!!!"
"He's lucky Slasher doesn't slice everything off!" screamed someone in the audience.
"Slasher, give a wave!" encouraged Kuzak.
More cheers and whistles filled the roomÉ
"Last but not least, let's have a huge round of applause for tonight's special guest – a man who thinks of many of us as `Bar Trash,' our own Pete Cavanaugh!"
As arms grabbed Pete from all angles and started to drag him to the stage, he screamed louder than he ever had ever screamed in his life.
"AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!