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I don’t know how I got into this situation, but I have absolutely no complaints.
Well, I sort of know. The guy I’d been hooking up with wanted us to go to this sex club, and even though I was kind of weirded out by it, I agreed. And then we ended it on awkward terms, and I already had signed all the paperwork, and I was curious, and it was that time of night when I was horny and too tired to resist the temptation.
Everything was going fine. I was nervous, sure, but I made it here, and even though everything around me made me feel a bit embarrassed, a bit wrong, it was the good kind of wrong.
I wandered around, and then I ended up in one of the larger open areas, and then…
Well, at first, I didn’t think I was seeing what I was seeing. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Or some horny, long-ignored part of my brain was inventing things. I couldn’t look away until I’d figured it out; until he turned his head to the side and I saw his profile, crooked nose and all, and my breath nearly stopped.
Baz Pitch was on the stage at a sex club.
Baz Pitch was on the stage, wearing a collar around his neck, with a fucking leash attached to it. He was on his hands and knees, gripping the pole in the center. His knuckles were blanched white, and I swear I could see every tendon clenching in his violinist’s hands.
On the other end of the leash was a (fit—like really fucking fit) man. His arms pulled the leash taut, forcing Baz’s back into a steep arch.
The low lights reflected off the smear of lube on his cock, and I watched, transfixed, as he slammed into Baz’s arse. His pace was unyielding, his thrusts forceful. Baz’s face twisted into an expression of rapture as soft whines of pain and pleasure escaped from his body.
All the blood in my head rushed to my cock so fast I nearly fainted.
So yeah. I know how I got into this situation, but it’s still pretty surreal.
I’m seated backwards in a chair, my hands cuffed behind my back, fully dressed but with my swollen cock hanging out of my trousers.
And Baz is kneeling on the bed, sucking the other man’s cock. Lamb was how he’d introduced himself—he hadn’t said if he was Baz’s boyfriend or not.
It’s torture, watching him with Baz. With every drag of his cock against Baz’s lips, I feel a phantom twinge in my own.
I wonder if I could come just from this.
Baz is still wearing his collar. The leash is wrapped around Lamb’s hand, but it’s slack right now. Does Baz wear it at home? Does he wear it under his clothes? I imagine running my fingers along the leather. Hooking them under it, and choking him.
I moan, and Lamb turns to look at me. He pulls his cock out of Baz’s mouth, and Baz follows it, whining in protest.
Lamb doesn’t yield. (I would. I’d never be able to deny Baz if he wanted my cock in his mouth. I wouldn’t care if I came a hundred times, if I were so soft and sensitive that it was all pain and no pleasure. I’d give him whatever he wanted.)
Lamb kneels down on the bed next to Baz and whispers in his ear. I can’t hear what he says, but it must be good. Baz drags his nails down his own chest and squeezes the base of his cock in response, as if it’s hard not to come from the words alone.
I’d let Baz come whenever he wanted. I wouldn’t have the strength to deny him. But that’s why I’m here, just watching, while Lamb gets to fuck him.
Lamb lies down on the bed, resting his arms lazily behind his head. Baz scrambles onto him, and it’s the least graceful I’ve ever seen him do. He settles himself across Lamb’s thighs, his back facing Lamb, his front facing me. And yet he doesn’t spare me a single glance. His eyes slide past me as if I’m invisible.
I grind my teeth. If I could, I’d make Baz pay attention to me. (I’d beg for it. I’d make a spectacle of myself, and I wouldn’t care who sees.)
Baz grabs the base of Lamb’s cock and maneuvers himself against it, until the head is pressed flush against his hole. “Lube?” he asks, but Lamb puts his hands on Baz’s hips and holds him in place.
“You’re wet enough already,” Lamb says.
Baz bites his lip. He looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. I never imagined that he could be so docile. He’d never obey me like he does Lamb, I think; he’d slick me up so much that I wouldn’t feel a thing, and then he’d use me like a sex toy.
Without a word of protest, he eases himself onto Lamb’s cock. He rocks back and forth to coax it inside of himself.
“Good boy,” Lamb says once Baz is fully seated. He tugs on the leash. Baz raises himself up on his haunches, and they both moan in tandem as he fucks himself back down.
If he tries to go faster, or if he grinds himself down too deeply, Lamb yanks the leash. Baz capitulates and nods vigorously, as if apologising for his disobedience.
This Baz is so different from the one I knew before—my stuck-up roommate from uni. Back then, he was always in control. He never let anyone get the upper hand, especially me.
Was he doing this the whole time? Sneaking out at night to play out his submissive fantasies? (I know that he wasn’t—I’d have noticed if he left the room at night. I noticed everything about him).
But the thought is still intoxicating. I imagine him squirming at his desk when he was sure I wasn’t looking, trying to find a comfortable position for his sore arse. I imagine him playing football with marks from the riding crop criss-crossing across the back of his thighs, just high enough to be hidden by his shorts.
“Baz,” I whine, and he raises an eyebrow at me. Suddenly, despite the cock in his arse and the collar around his neck, he’s perfectly composed. He gives me that look of contemptuous superiority that I remember so well.
(It’s a huge fucking turn on.)
“Begging, Snow?” he spits. “Pathetic.”
“I know,” I whine, and I grind my cock against empty air. “Baz, you’re so hot.”
“Do you wish I were taking your cock instead?” he asks.
I blush and nod desperately.
“I don’t,” he says, with a smirk.
I don’t believe him for a second—the look he gives me is molten. All I want is to be free of these handcuffs and to shove my cock into him, right next to Lamb’s. See if he can still keep up that attitude while he’s being split in half.
Lamb is using the leash to guide Baz’s movements now. He doesn’t spare me a glance. He shows off. With every thrust, he throws his head back and gasps in pleasure, all while my jealous cock aches.
“You disgusting slag,” Lamb croons. “Your hole is so loose, I can barely feel it. Would you even be able to hold in my cum, or would it leak all over you?”
“Why—why don’t you find out,” Baz stutters, and now he’s begging. “Come in me, please.”
For the first time, Lamb rushes to obey. He grabs Baz’s hips and tips Baz forward, so that his head is dangling off of the bed. Lamb thrusts into him, fast and powerful.
He looks like bliss when he finally comes.
There are a few moments, when Baz turns around and Lamb unclips the leash, that Lamb strokes Baz’s hair. He wipes the tears and spit off of Baz’s face and whispers tenderly in his ear. They kiss, and it’s shockingly soft. I close my eyes, trying to ignore the pulsing of my cock.
And then Baz walks over to me.
“Get up,” he snaps, and I nearly knock over the chair in my eagerness. For a moment, he looks like he’s going to laugh, and not in a mean way, almost like he’s fond. But then he schools his features back into a sneer.
“Turn around,” he says, and I obey. He undoes the handcuffs, then jerks his head towards the folded blankets that have been set on the rug.
“On your knees, Snow.”
“Simon,” I whisper, and he smirks.
I do as he says. I kneel in front of him, and it feels so right, like this is where I was always meant to be.
He lines his cock up with my mouth, and I drop my jaw open, eager. He gives my mouth a few lazy thrusts, and then fists his hand into my hair.
He stares at me for a moment, as if he’s at a loss of what to do next. Or he’s unsure whether I want it.
But I know that he remembers the conversation the three of us had before we entered this back room. And I try to plead with my eyes. I’m not above actually begging, too, if he doesn’t get on with it.
I see his jaw clench as he makes his decision. He shoves me onto my back and kneels on the blankets, then shuffles up so that he’s sitting on my face.
He grinds down.
“Suck it out of me, Simon,” he says. I feel his hole clench and unclench, and then he drips a fat wad of cum against my lips.
I think I might actually die. I’ve thought I would maybe a dozen times so far tonight, but this time I might be serious. Baz is pulling apart his cheeks with his fingers, showing me his still-gaping hole. I dive in with my tongue, and then suck, and it’s a mess of lube and spit and come that I take into my mouth.
It’s fucking deranged is what it is.
I feel used. I feel disgusting. I feel like my only purpose in life is to be exactly what Baz wants, no matter how humiliating that is.
It’s thrilling. To be reduced to a mouth to lap up another man’s come. To clean him up after he’s forced me to watch him fuck someone else, when he knows I wish it were me.
Baz lets out little mmms of satisfaction. “This is what you deserve, isn’t it, Snow?” he says, gasping. “What you’re good for?”
He’s never been more right. I whine in agreement. My cock drips more pre-come, and I can feel the wet spot against my pants grow.
“Cleaning up what’s left,” he says, humping my face faster now. I move my hand down towards my cock, hoping for something, anything, but he grabs it before I can touch myself.
He slaps my bollocks, hard.
“Ahh!” I exclaim, my hips jerking up of their own accord. Baz rises off of my face and manoeuvres himself so that his arse is pressed against my cock now. He starts moving his hips in little circles, and I feel tears prick my eyes at the pressure and utter relief of finally being touched.
He’s jerking himself off fiercely now, and I’m thrusting up against the cleft of his arse, which is still slick with come and spit and lube. It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt, better than any time I’ve had my dick sucked, or fucked someone, or been fucked. I feel used in the best and worst possible way.
“Close your eyes,” he says. He brings the hand that isn’t on his cock to my face and caresses my eyelids. I slide them shut and open my mouth.
And then I feel it, the hot splatter of come against my face.
“Fuckkkk,” I moan, and then my hands find Baz’s hips. I grip, and thrust. I imagine what it would be like to be inside Baz instead, how hot and wet he’d be.
The pressure in my groin mounts and mounts until it’s nearly painful, and I reach this peak of intoxicated pleasure—too much and not enough, where everything is just Baz. The taste of him on my lips, the feel of him against my cock, the weight of him anchoring me.
I convulse a few times, desperate for release. I hear Baz say, “Going to come all over your trousers, Snow? Filthy boy,” and then the rushing of my own blood in my ears is all I can sense. My orgasm crashes through me, and I sag back, feeling sticky and wet and sweaty and good.
I don’t know how much time passes, but my brain is fuzzy, and I feel like I’ve ascended into another dimension. I’ve never come so hard before. I’ve never…gotten exactly what I wanted, but was too ashamed to ask for before.
“Drink up, love,” I hear, and I flutter my eyes open—against the stickiness that wants to keep them shut—to find Baz leaning over me, still naked, holding a paper cup filled with water. I hear the door to the room open, and Lamb walks in, now dressed, with a handful of granola bars.
“Baz pointed out that you’d probably need more sustenance than water,” he explains, smiling in amusement.
“Before we clean you up,” Baz says, “There’s one more thing I want to do to you.”
“Anything,” I say, far too quickly, and he smirks.
*
I meant it. That I’d do anything Baz wanted. But I can’t believe he’s somehow figured out exactly what I want, when I didn’t even know it myself.
He buckled my belt again, but he didn’t close the fly, so my come-stained pants and the shape of my soft cock were still on display. He rubbed the spunk on my face into my hair, so my curls were dark and slick with it.
Then, he made me stand up.
And now I’m walking through the sex club, cheeks burning, eyes cast down. Baz and Lamb are walking ahead of me, shoulders straight and proud. Baz turns around to flash me a cheeky grin.
The logical part of my brain knows that we’re in a sex club, and that everyone is caught up in their own thing, or in watching what’s happening on the stages. But there’s another part of my brain saying, They’re all looking at you. They know this deep dark shameful thing about you, and they’re laughing at you. They think you’re pathetic.
My cock is swelling again. The tip of it slips out of my waistband.
We reach the stairs, and Lamb exchanges a meaningful look with Baz. Then, he tucks a come-soaked curl away from my forehead. “It was lovely to meet you, Simon,” he says, and leans in.
He kisses me, and doesn’t even flinch at how filthy I am, or at the bitter taste of his own spunk in my mouth. In fact, it’s so gentle that I think I could cry from it all. Like he’s seen the worst parts of me and still thinks I’m worthy of this.
He heads up the stairs, and Baz grabs my hand. “Is it alright if I clean you up?” he says. He’s smiling. Not sneering, not mocking…he almost looks shy. I giggle, then, at the fact that apparently this is more embarrassing for him than everything else we’ve done tonight.
“There are bathrooms here,” he adds, and then looks away, not meeting my eyes. “But it’s dark and I’m parked right outside. You could wear my coat and put the hood up and no one could see. And then…well, you could come back to my flat and take a shower.”
I raise both of my eyebrows, and this time I’m the one smirking. “Getting soft on me, Pitch?”
He rolls his eyes, but runs his hand through his hair, self-consciously.
“I want you to know,” he says, “that I’m not just offering this as a thank you. Or because you deserve aftercare. I mean, both are true. But, ah…”
He worries his bottom lip, and I can’t look away from it.
“It’s okay if you want this to be a one-off thing,” he continues. “Or a sex thing. I mean—”
“I don’t,” I say earnestly. A truth I’ve known for a long time, that I’ve tried to ignore for nearly as long. “You’re not dating Lamb?”
“We’re friends,” he says. I snort and he adds, “With benefits, obviously. But only for special occasions.”
I grin. “Okay.”
“Can I kiss you?” he asks. He looks at me, really meets my eyes, for the first time since we left the back room. I can’t make out exactly what he’s thinking. He looks scared, and overwhelmed. Maybe a little bit desperate.
“Yeah,” I say.
And he does.