Darius 12
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12
The night of the party at The Bankomat had come. Lukas had been busy preparing over the past days. Of course, Felix was far too curious not to go. He threw on a simple shirt and jeans, as casual as possible. It was only close to the venue that he put on the metal collar reading "Associate of Master Darius". The Bankomat was an unassuming building on the edge of town, but the pulsing bass and faint laughter that emanated from within suggested a clandestine playground of hedonism. The bouncer inspected the metal collar, smiled, said to a companion: "no fee from this one", and let him in.
It was not too big a place, but Felix saw a sea of writhing bodies and strobe lights. The music was a relentless throb that seemed to resonate through his very core. It took only minutes before he felt a hand on his shoulder, and there was Darius, grinning like a shark. "You made it!" Darius shouted over the din, pulling him into a bear hug that was more possessive than friendly. Darius was dressed in a shiny black mesh shirt with gold embroidery and a fur collar. The daring shirt subtly revealed his toned physique, complemented by slim-fit black trousers with a gold lining and silver-gold sneakers. A statement gold chain, a matching gold watch, and more jewellery added to his commanding presence. He was the center of attention. A servant brought Felix a drink. Felix noticed that servants wore a tracksuit just like he knew it from Lukas.
The party was a sensory assault. Men danced shirtless, their skin glistening with sweat and glitter. The air was thick with the scent of cologne and lust. Darius led him through the crowd, and as they moved, the atmosphere grew denser, the whispers more seductive. They reached a back room, where the music was quieter, the lights dimmer, and the activities more... intimate.
Lukas, his roommate, sat in the corner, naked and bound to a chair, his eyes glazed over with a mix of fear and arousal. His wrists were adorned with leather cuffs, his body a canvas for the figures that hovered around him. It was clear that he was the evening's entertainment in this room, a sex slave to be used and enjoyed by the partygoers. Felix felt a twinge of something in his stomach - pity, perhaps, or maybe a darker curiosity? - but he quickly shoved it down, focusing instead on the task at hand: surviving the night without losing himself in the chaos.
But the longer he stayed, the more he found himself drawn to the scenes unfolding around him. He saw men kissing passionately, others engaged in acts more primal and raw. The energy was intoxicating, and despite his initial reservations, he felt a strange sense of belonging.
A hand brushed against his thigh, and he looked down to find a slender man with piercing eyes staring up at him. "Dance with me?" the man asked, and before he could protest, he was being led to the dance floor. The music enveloped him, the rhythm pounding in his chest like a second heartbeat. He felt the man's body press against his, and the heat between them grew.
Felix's mind raced as the night unfolded. He tried to resist the temptations, but the allure of the taboo was too strong. His body moved almost on its own accord, and he found himself losing track of time and inhibitions. Each touch, each whispered word, each shared glance, each kiss, peeled back another layer of his heterosexual self-control.
The tension grew, the kisses grew deeper, and soon, their hands were exploring territories that would have seemed unthinkable to Felix just hours ago. He was acutely aware of every touch, every breath, every heartbeat that echoed through their entwined forms. And as the night grew darker, so too did the corners of his mind, the shadows of doubt receding before the onslaught of his newfound desires.
Felix's eyes kept darting back to Lukas, who was now being passed around the room like a prize, his cries of pleasure or pain indistinguishable from the cacophony of the party. He felt torn, a part of him wanted to save his roommate from this depraved spectacle, but another part of him was fascinated, his curiosity piqued by the raw, unfiltered passion that seemed to fuel the evening.
Suddenly, the lights in the room flashed, and the music reached a crescendo. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, revealing Darius standing on a makeshift throne, a scepter in one hand and a riding crop in the other. The room erupted into cheers and applause, it was clear that Darius was not just a participant at "The Bankomat," he was the master of ceremonies, the king of this sexual circus.
Felix's jaw dropped as he watched in awe. The man he had been dancing and kissing broke away and whispered, "What a master, isn't he?" The admiration in his voice was palpable, and it dawned on Felix that he was not just a guest here, but a spectator in a world where Darius was revered.
Darius's eyes found him in the crowd, and a knowing smile spread across his face. He raised the riding crop, signalling the start of a new act. Two figures emerged from the shadows, each leading a young man on a leash. The young men on the leashes were blindfolded, naked. The crowd grew ravenous, their appetites sharpened by the show of power and submission.
In what looked like a ritual to Felix, suddenly a neon sign lit up saying "PAY DAY", and two underlings of Darius went around collecting envelopes, money, jewellery from the crowd. Felix was completely stunned how people emptied their wallets. His dancing mate asked him:
"Don't you want to give?"
Felix said he had nothing with him, but at that point, the underling came to them, tapped the metal collar Felix was wearing and smiled. It seemed to indicate he was exempt.
The two young men on leashes were led to a velvet-draped area, where they put on a fantastic sexual show with all kinds of toys and practices used. It was breathtaking. Felix noticed that many of the men, both those participating and those watching, bore the indelible marks of Darius's influence. Some were tattooed with intricate designs that incorporated Darius's name or initials, while others sported tracksuits with the words "Slave of Darius" emblazoned across the back in bold, unmistakable letters. It was as if the very air was suffused with Darius's brand, a silent declaration of their allegiance and submission to his will. It seemed that there were also people not belonging to the Club, but they were definitely paying a lot, Felix thought.
This was a brotherhood that transcended the boundaries of conventional relationships, a tribe that found kinship in their shared experiences and desires. The tattoos and attire served as a visual language, a secret code that spoke of loyalty and submission, of the intense and unyielding bond they shared with their leader.
After a while, some servant collected Felix to join the inner circle in a backroom. He felt a strange mix of revulsion and fascination as he watched the next act unfold. Lukas, his roommate, was led to the center of the room, his body trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. The few people let in roared with anticipation, their eyes feasting on Lukas's exposed flesh. Lukas was about to get his tattoo. The tattoo artist, a burly man with a wild beard and a studded apron, approached with a needle glinting in the strobe lights.
The buzz of the tattoo gun filled the air as the artist began to etch Darius's initials into Lukas's skin. Lukas's body jerked with each prick of the needle; his muscles taut with tension. The design grew more intricate, swirling around Lukas's torso like a brand, a permanent declaration of his servitude.
Darius eyed Felix and went to him. The Master leaned in, his breath hot against his ear. "You like what you see?" he murmured, the question more of a statement than a query. The bass of the music thumped through them, a heartbeat that seemed to synchronize with their breathing.
Felix felt a hand on his chest, Darius's thumb tracing the outline of his heart. "You're a natural," Darius said, his voice low and seductive. "I knew you'd fit in perfectly." The touch sent a jolt of electricity through him, and he realized that he wasn't just watching the show anymore--he was part of it. He was left vulnerable to Darius's advances.
"But I'm not--" he began to protest, his voice barely audible over the pounding bass. Darius chuckled, cutting him off. "You don't have to be," he whispered, his breath hot and sweet with the scent of liquor. "Here, we're all just... curious."
The hand on his chest grew bolder, and Felix felt the heat of Darius's palm seep through the fabric of his shirt. He swallowed hard, his heart racing as he tried to form the words to explain that this wasn't who he was, that he wasn't like them. But the more he looked around, the more he questioned the truth of his own assertion. The men here were not monsters; they were just like him, seeking pleasure in the company of others. Was it really so wrong to explore his own boundaries?
"I don't do drugs," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the music. Darius's smile grew, a knowing glint in his eye. "No one said you had to," he replied, his voice a seductive purr. "Just loosen up a bit."
Felix took a step back, his eyes searching the room for an escape. "And what about the... other things? The sex? The serving?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly. Darius chuckled, his hand dropping to his side. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to," he said. "But if you want to truly be part of this, you'll have to pay your respects."
Felix felt the weight of the room pressing down on him, the air thick with the scent of sex and power. He looked back at Lukas, who was now being adorned with chains and leather straps, a silent participant in this twisted ritual. The tattoo was almost complete, a testament to Darius's ownership. "I don't want to be like him," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
Darius leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and challenge. Felix took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of leather and sweat. He felt the beat of the music in his chest, the throb of desire in his veins. "I don't want to be owned," he said firmly, his voice stronger than he felt. "I'm not here to pay tribute or to lose myself in this... this madness."
Darius's smile never wavered. "But isn't that what we all crave?" he whispered, his breath hot against Felix's ear. "To be consumed by something greater than ourselves?" He stepped back, giving Felix space, his gaze never leaving the beautiful Felix-face. "Don't stand on the sidelines forever."
With that, he took Felix's hand and led him through another door, the music fading slightly. The room beyond was smaller, dimmer, and the air was thick with a different kind of tension. Darius turned to face him; his eyes gleaming with a gentle excitement.
The room was bedecked with velvet and satin, the lighting soft and warm. In the center was a large four-poster bed, the sheets a decadent shade of red that seemed to pulse with the music that still vibrated through the walls. Darius's touch grew more insistent as he guided Felix to the edge of the bed, his hands moving with the confidence of a master craftsman.
"Just relax," Darius murmured, his voice soothing and reassuring. "I promise you'll enjoy it." He began to take off Felix's shirt, his eyes never leaving his. The act was so intimate, so tender, that it seemed almost at odds with the raucous debauchery they had just left behind. Yet, there was a power in it, a silent declaration of intent that had Felix's heart racing.
The fur and satin and mesh of Darius's outfit scraped against his bare chest as Darius worked, his strong hands skimming over his skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Felix's body responded in ways it never had before, his breathing shallow and his skin prickling with anticipation. He felt the bed at the back of his legs and knew that the moment of no return was approaching.
"Darius, I don't know if I can--" he began, but his words were cut off by a soft, insistent kiss. Darius's hands slid down to the waistband of his jeans, deftly unbuttoning and unzipping them. Darius had a servant who had been standing in the dark so far who now helped him out of his clothes in no time at all. He placed Felix at the edge of the bed.
Felix felt a strange mix of trepidation and excitement as Darius knelt before him, his eyes never leaving his. Darius worked off his shoes and socks, his touch almost reverential. "Let go," Darius murmured, his voice a gentle coax. "Just for tonight, let go of your fears."
The mattress was soft beneath him as he lay back, the red satin sheets cool against his bare skin. Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as their bodies began to move in a dance as old as time. Darius's hands roamed over him, exploring every inch of his body with a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating. Felix felt himself responding, his hands tangling in Darius's hair, pulling him closer.
As Darius kissed a path down his chest, his tongue tracing the line of his abs, Felix could feel his resolve slipping away like sand through an hourglass. He'd never been with a man before, had never even considered it, but here, in this den of iniquity, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
Darius's mouth closed around his erection, the heat and wetness of it sending shockwaves through his body. His hips bucked upward instinctively, and he heard himself moan. The sound was swallowed by the music from the other room, but it echoed in his own ears, a testament to his unbridled pleasure. He'd never felt anything like this before, and it scared him--but it also thrilled him beyond measure.
Darius's skilled tongue worked him over, teasing and taunting, building the tension until it was almost unbearable. Felix's thoughts became a jumble of sensations: the roughness of the night, the slickness of Darius's skin against his own, the sweet agony of the pleasure that washed over him in waves.
And then, just as he felt himself on the precipice of release, Darius pulled away, his eyes dark with a hunger that was more than just physical. He nodded to the tracksuit-clad minion, who promptly moved to comply with his silent command.
Felix watched, his chest heaving, as Lukas was brought into the room. His roommate's body was a canvas of red and purple bruises, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and something else--something that looked eerily like longing. The sight was almost too much to bear, but Darius's hand was on his, guiding it to the riding crop that lay on the bedside table.
"You want to be part of this," Darius whispered, his breath hot against Felix's ear. "You want to feel the power, the rush." His voice was a siren's song, beckoning him into the deep.
Felix stared at the riding crop in his hand, the leather handle feeling both foreign and somehow right in his grip. He looked at Lukas, who was now kneeling on the floor, his wrists bound above his head, his eyes pleading and yet... hungry. The air was thick with anticipation, with the scent of submission and desire.
Darius's hand guided his, raising the crop. "Do it," he urged, his voice a seductive growl. "Show him who's in charge." And with that, the crop swung through the air, the sound of leather meeting flesh echoing through the room. Lukas's cry was muffled by the gag in his mouth, that Felix had seen so many nights before. But the arch of Lukas' back and the way his body tensed spoke volumes.
Felix felt a strange mix of horror and exhilaration as he brought the crop down again, the thwack echoing in his ears. Darius's hand on his was firm, steady, guiding him in the art of domination. Each stroke was met with a gasp or a moan from Lukas, the line between pain and pleasure blurring before his eyes. He could feel the power of it, the heady rush of control over another human being's body.
He looked into Darius's eyes, searching for something--anything--that would make him stop, but all he saw was pure lust. Darius leaned in, his breath hot and minty as he whispered, "Again." And so, he did, each stroke harder, more deliberate than the last.
Felix felt a coil of desire tighten in his stomach with every hit, his own body responding in ways he never thought possible. The room grew hazy, the edges of his vision blurring as the rush of power and the heat of arousal consumed him. His strokes grew wilder, more erratic, until he could no longer hold back the climax that was building within him.
With a guttural cry, he came, the release so intense it was almost painful. His body convulsed as the world around him shattered into a million shards of light. The crop fell from his trembling hand, clattering to the floor, forgotten in the wake of his orgasm.
Darius's smile was wide and predatory as he looked down at him, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "Welcome to the Club,'" he murmured, his voice a dark whisper that seemed to echo in the recesses of his soul. "You're one of us now."