[FIC] FEEL ME 16/?

[makingamochrie.livejournal.com]

Morning.  This moves the plot ahead to the mansmut!  BUT...doesn't have any mansmut directly involving any of our characters.  That's next chapter.  This one is a warmup.  Enjoy.  Or not.

TITLE:  Feel Me
PART:  16/?
PAIRING:  Colin/Ryan and friends!
RATING:  NC-17 for mansmut, BDSM (graphic), and it's here, folks
DISCLAIMER:  FICTION!  Don't own, Don't sue, alone again, naturally
SUMMARY:  Whips and leather, whips and leather it's Nevada!

That night, exhausted from too little sleep, too much sun, and too many of Drew’s inconvenient interruptions, I retired early and alone.  I couldn’t endure another round of casino hopping, and by this time, I’d seen more bare breasts than a lactation nurse, so it was no hardship to return to the luxurious—and blessedly silent—confines of my hotel room and fall into a much-needed slumber.

 

When I woke up the next day, I was also alone, but by the warmth of the sheets next to me, I knew that Ryan had joined me in the night.  That thought pleased me, and as I moved slightly to lay in the residual heat left behind by his body, I smiled up at the ceiling, not thinking of much of anything at all.

 

I’d planned to spend the day alone, knowing that Ryan had some last minute show preparations with Drew, and the others would be just fine without me.  I didn’t let myself dwell on the upcoming evening’s events too much or I’d break out into a sweat, and then likely collapse from dehydration at the…er…climax of the experience.

 

Instead, I showered, ordered up some room service, and picked up the book I’d dropped when Greg had first arrived.  That, and several dozen laps in the little-used pool in the hotel’s gym helped pass the time, and before I knew it, the sun was low in the sky, and it was time to get ready for the night.

 

After taking yet another shower, I donned an outfit outwardly very much like that which I usually wore when on stage with Brad—all black, though the jeans and t-shirt were a bit tighter.  I also donned a short sleeved overshirt that zipped in the front, rather like a dentist’s jacket, only in black.  The fear of dentistry seems almost instinctual—probably why dentists as a profession are near the top of the suicide list—and Ryan was no different.  It was all part of my plan, you see.

 

Then I slid on a pair of black motorcycle boots with a squared-off toe and a heel that would bring me close to Brad’s height, if not quite Ryan’s.  There was a thick silver chain around the cuff of the left boot, and it jingled pleasantly when I walked.  I took a final look in the mirror and nodded.  I was no Brad Pitt, but hey!, it could have been worse, I suppose.

 

A soft knock sounded at the door, and when I checked through the peephole, I was surprised, and a bit pleased, to see Ryan standing there, hands behind his back, swaying slightly from foot to foot, betraying just a hint of nervousness.  I’ll freely admit to spending the day with half an ear peeled for the phone, waiting for it to ring and for Ryan to give me an excuse about why he had to cancel tonight’s plans.  That he hadn’t was a very definite step in the right direction.

 

I let him wait a moment, then opened the door slowly, feeling his gaze rake over me as if it had weight.  His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed.  “You…look….”

 

“Monochromatic?”

 

That got a tiny laugh from him, as it often did when I used polysyllabic words.  “I was gonna say a little intimidating.”

 

I nodded.  “That works.”

 

“It sure does.” 

 

He looked good himself, in a form fitting, ribbed black T and faded jeans that hugged him in all the right places.  On his feet were his favorite pair of scuffed white sneakers.  All in all, he looked positively edible.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“I…think so.”

 

Reaching out, I took his hand in mine.  His palms weren’t sweaty, but then again, they rarely were.  I could, however, feel his pulse thrumming right along, a touch faster than normal.  His throat bobbed again as he swallowed convulsively.  “You can stop this at any time, you know.”

 

After a long moment, he nodded.  “I know.  And that’s why I’m going through with it.  I trust you, Col, and…well…I’m kind of looking forward to it.”

 

I smiled.  “I am, too.  Shall we?”

 

As arranged, we met Greg and Jeff in the lobby.  Brad, apparently, was running slightly late.  “Look,” I said to Ryan, “it’s the leather twins.”

 

Greg looked dashing in black jeans, a blindingly white shirt, red leather tie, and a tailored black leather blazer.  A Daddy cap, much like the one he’d worn on the Village People skit, dangled from one finger.  I’d always thought he looked good in that cap.  Not many people could get away with wearing one.  He most definitely could.

 

Jeff, on the other hand, was wearing a tight, black, sleeveless mesh top and even tighter leather slacks, leaving virtually nothing about him to the imagination.  Like me, he wore motorcycle boots, but without the janglies.  He looked like every gay boy’s fantasy, and was attracting more than his fair share of attention from the passers by. 

 

“Who are you?” Greg snapped back, grinning as he took my outfit, such as it was, in.  “Satan’s dentist?”

 

I gave him an evil smile.  “I hope you remembered to pack the drill and that pick thing.”

 

Beside me, Ryan shuddered.

 

“Brad has ‘em.”

 

“Speaking of which, where is he?”

 

“He be here,” came the low voice right behind me.  Coming abreast of us, I saw he was clad in rather standard fare: jeans, a simple striped button down, and sneakers.  “Wow.  I feel a little underdressed.”  Then he looked at Jeff.  “Or, in your case, overdressed.”

 

“That won’t last long,” Greg snickered, then ducked away from a pretend punch to the arm.  “Shall we, gentlemen?”

 

“We could take my car,” Ryan offered.

 

“Let’s take mine,” Greg countered.  “It’s a rental, and it’s big enough to fit you three skyscrapers in the back with room to spare.”

 

“Let’s get going, then,” I replied, and we all headed to the special lot where they let the celebrities park.

 

The club was somewhat outside the city proper, but none of us minded, enjoying the cool of the air conditioner and the comfortable silence that can only descend among friends who have known one another as long as we have.  Even Ryan seemed to have relaxed a little, for which I was grateful.  It was good to have him a little nervous, but too much of it would ruin the scene.

 

And then, we were there.  The entrance was a plain, unannounced door, just one among many in a rather upscale strip-mall, looking more like the employee entrance to one of the stores than anything else, really.

 

Our knock was answered quickly, and when Greg and I stepped forward to show our laminated membership cards, we were ushered through with a minimum amount of fuss.  Our guests were required to sign waivers, which each did without complaint, and then we were led down a short, dark hallway, through another door, and into a relatively small anteroom that wasn’t quite half filled.  It was still early, and a weekday besides, though in Las Vegas, neither of those seem to have the same meaning as they would in most other places in the world. 

 

The light was dim, and soothing music issued from the tastefully hidden speakers.  There was a curved mahogany bar, polished to a brilliant shine, lining one wall of the small space.  Water, sport drinks and various juices were the only things served.  The only alcohol served in this particular club came at the other end of the establishment, to be consumed only by those who had finished their business there, or who had no business to conduct in the first place.  Alcohol and rough sex never mix.

 

We all grabbed bottled waters, and Brad took a deep swig of his.  Of us all, he was easily the most nervous, though he didn’t show it easily.  You can’t in improv, or the audience will eat you alive.  It carries over into our personal lives as well.  Well, for the most part, anyway.

 

Taking Ryan’s hand back into my own, I led the group to the far door, where a man clad in leather briefs, heavy rings hanging from both nipples, and a thick collar stood.  He checked our membership cards once again, then, nodding, opened the door and let us through.

 

The steady, throbbing beat of house techno assaulted our ears immediately, and I resisted clamping my hands over them, knowing I’d get used to it in time. 

 

This room was much, much larger, most of it covered by a wooden dance floor waxed to high gloss.  Three of the four walls were covered, top to bottom, with large monitors which, like pieces to a puzzle, each displayed a part of a picture that could be seen as a whole by taking them all in at once.  Male on male porn was being shown on each of the walls in living color, though none of us had to look even that far to get an eyeful, as couples, triples, and all sorts of interesting combinations were doing everything but openly copulating on the dance floor.  The scent of male musk and sweat was heavy in the air, but despite how that must seem, it wasn’t at all unpleasant. 

 

Ryan shifted beside me, and even in the dim lighting, I could tell he was beginning to enjoy what he was seeing.  Greg and Jeff had immediately joined the dancers, rubbing up against one another as if they intended to start a fire which, between them, they most probably were.  Greg had donned his cap and a pair of sunglasses which made him look intimidating, and sexy as hell.

 

Brad, while still giving off a bit of an uncomfortable vibe, was nonetheless watching the dancers, and the porn, with what appeared to be avid interest, hands stuffed tight in his pockets.  Despite that, I could tell that there was more of his body interested in the goings on than just his eyes, trying to hide it though he was.

 

Releasing Ryan’s hand, I walked up to stand behind Brad, pleased that we were now on a level.  “It’s ok,” I rumbled into his ear, pitching my voice so it would cut through the heavy bass beat, but not be audible to anyone else.  “In a place like this, nobody knows, nobody sees, and nobody cares.  And even if they do, it goes no further than these doors.”  I placed a hand square in the small of his back.  “Relax.  Tonight is tonight.  No one will say anything about it tomorrow.”

 

Turning, he looked at me like I was nuts.  “Yeah, like Greg won’t….”

 

“Greg won’t,” I assured him.  “He can be a smartass, sure, but he’s a damn good man.  He knows you’re here to support Ryan, and he respects that.  No matter what happens, this won’t be mentioned. Not by me. Not by Greg.  Not by anyone.  That’s why places like this exist.”  Reaching up, I gently grabbed his arms and turned him to fully face me, aligning our pelvises together.  He was already half hard, and I wasn’t far behind.  “Don’t think, Brad.  Just feel.  If only for tonight.  No expectations, alright?  No strings.  No jokes.”

 

“I….”  He blinked rapidly, then swallowed thickly.  “Can I…?”

 

 I knew I wasn’t particularly attractive to him, but I also knew I was safe for him.  With a nervous lick of his lips, he cocked his head, and I cocked mine, and our lips met, softly at first, then with more fervor.  I rubbed my growing erection against his until he gasped, then pulled away, smiling gently at him.  “See?  The world didn’t end.  You’re still you, and life goes on.”

 

“Pretty damn profound.”

 

I shrugged.  “What can I say?”  I smiled again.  “Better now?”

 

He nodded.

 

“Good.”  Releasing one arm, I kept hold of the other and led him to where Greg and Jeff were attempting osmosis.  I cleared my throat, and they gradually pulled away.  “Greg, Jeff, this is Brad, the newest member of Club Smut.  Would you please take him under your wings for me?  And be gentle with him.”

 

Both of their eyes lit up, particularly Jeff’s, which earned a small scowl from Greg, but soon Greg was enthusiastically accepting the newcomer into the ranks, and I had myself one less worry for the night.

 

Before I could turn back, two large hands anchored themselves over my hips and hot steel pressed into me from behind.  “Did you enjoy yourself?” Ryan’s voice rumbled in my ear.

 

“Not nearly as much as I’d enjoy this,” I replied, plucking one of the hands from my waist and cupping it over my package, grinding into it. Ryan moaned at my obvious response, and I smiled.  “Look,” I said, pointing to the stage which ran the entire length of the huge space.  The music had died down, and most of the people on the dance floor were turning in the same direction.  “Seems like some fun is about to start.”

 

Another song started up, instrumental, with a heavy bass beat and synths that played an undeniably sensual counterpoint.

 

The stage lights came on, highlighting a long wooden table and, at the far end, closest to backstage, a chair set up to look like a throne.  Sitting upon that throne was a skeletally thin young man with a shock of spiked white-blonde hair, tight leather pants, and a studded chest harness.  In each of his hands, he held a leash, and at the end of those leashes were naked, kneeling men, their wrists and ankles shackled.

 

The man lifted one languid arm, and another man, hairy and burly and dressed in leather briefs and a collar dragged out a struggling, completely naked third man with long, lank blonde hair, a bit in his mouth and his arms cuffed behind his back.  Walking to the audience end of the table, the hairy man pushed his captive so that his chest and head were pressed flat against the wooden table.  He struggled and moaned, but his strength was no match for his captor. Chains snaked out from the legs of the table, and the hairy man quickly spread-eagled his captive, hooking the chains to his ankle restraints, then stepping back, smirking at his handiwork.

 

The audience cheered.

 

Another languid flip of the arm caused the hairy man to unfurl a single-tail whip from his waist, which he shook out with a resounding whistle-crack.

 

“Do it!” someone in the audience shouted, and the command was echoed through the cavernous room. 

 

Smiling, the hairy man took a step back, raised the whip, and brought it down on the back of his captive.  The man screamed.  The audience roared.  The man on the throne laughed and yanked one of his collared slaves in between his legs, placing his slave’s head on his thigh, his nose pressed against the bulge growing there.

 

Another crack, another scream, another cheer.  

 

Then a third.  And a fourth.  And a fifth. 

 

By this time, the ‘ruler’ had his hand fisted in his slave’s hair, pressing him over his leather clad erection as he took in the scene before him.

 

“Again,” he ordered, and the whipmaster took up the command, raining blows on the captive’s back, flanks and buttocks, a loud scream accompanying every one.

 

“Again!”

 

And so it was repeated until the man’s back was striped and bleeding in thin lines.

 

“Do you confess?”

 

The captive, unable to speak for the bit in his mouth, lifted his head and shook it defiantly.

 

“Pity.  Again, please.”

 

Five more lashes came down, each stronger than the last.

”Enough!” the leader cried out, pushing his attentive slave away and coming to his feet.  “Your last chance.  Do you confess?”

 

The captive didn’t have the strength to lift his head.

 

“Very well.  Prepare him.”

 

Smirking nastily, the whipmaster turned the whip and placed the handle, which was relatively thin, if long, against the captive’s entrance.

 

“Now.”

 

The captive’s entire body came up from the table as the whip handle filled him to the hilt.  The whipmaster laughed.  The audience roared, and continued roaring as the man simulated intercourse with the whip handle until the leader held up his hand.

 

“Is he sufficiently prepared?”

 

“He is, my Lord.”

 

“Very well.”  He looked down at his slaves.  “Attend me.”

 

The two men moved quickly, using their cuffed hands to unbutton the leather pants of the leader and pull them down, revealing a thick, studded, leather cock and ball sheath. 

 

Letting go the leashes, he strode slowly down to the whipped captive, a look of feigned compassion in his glittering eyes.  “I would have treated you well,” he said, running a gloved hand over the raised, bleeding marks on the captive’s back.  “Remove the whip.”

 

It was done so quickly, and the leader positioned himself behind his prize for the night.  “Say your prayers,” he murmured, grabbing onto the thick hank of hair and bending the man’s neck back at a nearly impossible angle before thrusting himself inside his captive’s body to the very hilt.

 

It was the scream of a man rent in two, and seemed to go on forever.

 

Behind me, Ryan was moaning loudly, his breath coming in short pants as he pumped his hips against me, searching for a friction he wouldn’t yet receive.

 

Taking my eyes briefly from the scene, I noticed Brad looking on with a mixture of interest and disgust.  Or at least what I took to be disgust.  When he felt my gaze on him, he turned his head, meeting my eyes in a plea.  I smiled and gestured him over.  He came quickly to my side.

 

“Sorry,” he murmured.  “This is just kinda freaking me out.”

 

“Do you need to leave?”  My offer was completely genuine. 

 

“No,” he answered after some hesitation.  “I’ll stay…if I can stand next to you.  Is that alright?”  He kept his eyes prudently to my face and went no lower.

 

I nodded. “That’s fine.  Whatever you need.”

 

“T-that’s consensual, right?” he asked.

 

I nodded.  “Everything here is.”

 

“But his screams….”

 

“All part of the act.  Think of it like us on stage, only with less clothes.”

 

“And a lot more pain,” he said, shuddering.

 

“Sometimes, pain can be a good thing.”

 

Ryan answered by pushing himself harder against me, clearly desperate.

 

“I don’t think it’s for me.”

 

I shrugged.  “It doesn’t have to be.  At a place like this, anything goes, as long as there’s consent and adults involved.”  Grabbing Ryan’s hand, I made him slow down.  I wanted a long, slow buildup and he was threatening to shatter that.  His grip loosened immediately and became lightly teasing, and I shuddered at the sensations.  He always seemed to know exactly what I wanted and when I wanted it.  I only hoped I could return the favor before the night was out.

 

It wasn’t long before both men had had their turn at the captive and had flipped him to his back to give him his reward for a job well done.

 

It was decent, as shows of this type went, not great, not terribly bad, just a warmup, really, and judged by the sounds the packed crowd was making, it had done its job well.  The men involved stood, bowed, and left the stage to healthy applause.

 

The strobes came back on and the house music started up once again, thrumming my eardrums.

 

I looked over at Greg and Jeff, who were looking back at me, expectant smiles on their faces.  Reaching behind me, I pulled Ryan’s head down so I could speak into his ear.  “Are you ready?”

 

“God, yes,” he gasped.

 

“Alright, then.  C’mon, Brad.  We have our own show to do.”

 

Swallowing hard, he finally nodded and followed where I led.

 

******

To be continued...