Kevin stood at the bar in the club, still wearing the clothes he’d left prison in. He hadn’t expected to be out and about so soon. He’d anticipated having to bide his time and thought that maybe, maybe life had decided to give him a lucky break. Let him get all his anger out by confronting Tommy Fucking Steel and enabling him to move on. What he’d be moving on to he didn’t know, but he had a long time — providing he didn’t go too far — to find out.
George had disappeared through a door at the back after waving to a burly, brown-haired guy standing in the far corner who reminded Kevin of Jean Claude Van Damme in his early days — as much out of date as Kevin himself. The man’s suit, all two-tone purple with that sheen so loved in the ‘80s, looked good on him — he pulled it off despite it being what some might consider hideous. Kevin suspected the guy was the owner or at least the manager — he had that air about him, one of don’t-fuck-with-me malice that had the hair rising on the back of Kevin’s neck. He’d have to watch out for him later after he’d seen Tommy.
Kevin nursed a lager, bought with some of the money the prison had given him when he’d been let out. Not much, but enough to get by until he signed on or found a job. Providing he did so within a couple of weeks. He wouldn’t be able to handle anything stronger than lager. He’d nearly ordered a whisky before he remembered he hadn’t taken a drink in so long it might go straight to his damn head. The cool liquid tasted so good, all coppery with an acidic bite, and he mused on how he’d gone without for so long, how he hadn’t hankered after a pint or two over the years.
I had other things to hanker for.
After about ten minutes of Kevin surreptitiously gazing around at several men knocking back drinks as they would in any other bar on the planet, George breezed out of the door again, coming to stand beside Kevin as though the get-up he was in wasn’t anything to write home about. Kevin had never been the type to go for leather or rubber, but here George was, standing with his hip cocked, wearing nothing but a PVC cock pouch with braces, a pair of knee-high biker boots, and a leather choker.
“You like?” George asked, doing a pirouette.
Kevin didn’t but decided not to say. If that was the kind of thing that got George off that was his business.
“I see you don’t.” George reached out for Kevin’s glass, prised it out of his hand, and took a large gulp. “Just borrowing a little bit, before, you know... He can be a bit scary, can Tommy.”
“I’ll bet he can,” Kevin murmured.
“What was that?” George gulped some more.
“Nothing.”
“You can watch, if you like,” George said. “I don’t mind if it helps you get hold of Tommy quicker. There’s this little room off the one I normally use. There’s this picture on the wall, looks like one of those old-fashioned mirrors that pubs used to have years ago. You know the kind? With saloon-type wording on them? It’s two-way, if you catch my drift.”
Kevin dragged his lager back, took a long pull on it. Grimaced at the fizzy burn. “Yeah, I’ll watch until you’re done, but I want you to keep that Tommy fucker in the room after, understand?”
“Yeah.” George leaned on the bar, easing closer to Kevin. “So what do you need to speak to him about? You never did say.”
“Nothing much. Once I walk in the room you can fuck off out of it. Better that you do.”
“I don’t know about that.” George frowned. “Mr. Benson there might not like it.” He nodded at the man in the two-tone.
Kevin glanced at him then back at George. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, all right?”
George nodded, the light of excitement in his eyes. “All right. But I’m only doing this so I can stay in your gaff, okay? I don’t enjoy people perving or anything.”
“Couldn’t give a fuck if you do. What you enjoy is your concern.” Kevin pressed one hand to his temple. A headache was starting. Stress building. “What time is he due?”
George glanced at the clock behind the bar, a digital effort that splashed the time in neon green. “About ten minutes. You might want to get yourself into position, so to speak.” He grinned.
“Is everything with you an innuendo?” Kevin said, smiling despite trying not to. “You’re absolutely something else, you are.”
“So I’ve been told on more than one occasion.”
They lapsed into silence for a while until Kevin had drained his glass and George looked at the clock again.
“You’d best get yourself into that room,” George said. “I’ll show you where it is. Then I need to get myself into position.”
Kevin frowned. He’d never been to one of these places, didn’t know what the hell went on in them other than what played out in his imagination. Robin hadn’t been into kink, and it hadn’t really bothered Kevin either. It was good to try new things, but the kind of shit that probably went on here? He wasn’t sure.
He followed George through the doorway, conscious of Mr Benson watching them pass, and wondered why the man didn’t want to know why Kevin was going with George.
As though reading Kevin’s mind, George called back, “This is my new protector, all right?” then pushed open a door to their left and walked into a room.
Kevin tailed him and stopped short. Stared at the equipment inside.
What the fuck?
He’d heard about this kind of thing, but seeing it was another matter. Steel bars, long metal chains. A slender leather bed with a shiny contraption over it where, Kevin assumed, people could be cuffed or tied. Whipped. A rack on the wall, designed to look medieval, complete with an iron mask hanging beside it. Of all things a tall black filing cabinet, the kind with doors, stood in the corner. What the fuck it held was anyone’s guess. Toys? More outfits like the one George had on? Soft-glowing red lights were dotted around the walls, creating a mysterious feel, keeping everything in dusky pink shadow. It was alien, and Kevin was out of his comfort zone.
“Don’t stand there staring!” George said. “He’ll be here any minute.”
George ushered Kevin through a doorway to his right and shut him in. Kevin stretched his hands out to feel the walls and found himself in a room no bigger than a closet. It was dark — no lights on the walls here, red or otherwise — but a dim shade of rose shone through a rectangle beside the door. He stepped over to it and peered through. Yeah, it was a two-way mirror, all right.
He gulped, took a deep breath, and asked himself how he felt about watching some young fella he’d only just met going at it with Tommy Steel. Then he reminded himself he wasn’t here to see the show but to wait it out until they’d finished. He didn’t have to watch, not properly, just keep an eye out until the festivities were over and go out there and confront the man he’d hated for too many years to count.
George strolled around the other room, putting his new mask on so it sat on his forehead, ready to be slipped down once play began. The pat-pat-pat of his footsteps filtered through, and Kevin lifted both hands to feel the wall either side of the mirror. There was no telltale metal grid as he’d expected, nor any holes, so he surmised there must be hidden speakers somewhere or the wall was paper thin.
The main door to George’s room opened and a man stepped inside. Kevin couldn’t make him out so he squinted, straightening his spine with a little anticipation and a whole lot of anger. The door swung closed by itself, and the man walked further into the room. But he was still wasn’t quite clear enough for Kevin to make a positive identification. Kevin recalled Tommy as being broader, taller, unless he’d diminished with age and become the decrepit, shrunken little shit Kevin wished him to be.
“No Tommy?” George asked.
Fuck. Fuck it!
“Nah,” the man said. “He apparently hasn’t shown up yet. So I got to come in early.”
“Right. You want me to wear this mask or shall I take it off, Mick?”
“The mask is good,” Mick said.
George lowered it, the eyeholes making him look a little sinister, then walked into the outer shadows, becoming just a stain in the darkness. A bright overhead light snapped on above George and Mick, and its glare shone through the glass. Kevin blinked — the onslaught hurt his eyes, reminiscent of that torch in the alley — and he had to remind himself he was safe here. Or as safe as he was going to get with Tommy arriving a bit later. The man was dangerous — stood to reason with him killing Robin — but who knew whether he’d upped his game, become more violent over time? Would Kevin’s anger be enough to see him through, or would Tommy’s brute force overtake that? Would Kevin end up with his gut cocooning a blade, blood pouring out of him, the upward jerk of the knife a certainty that he might not survive, the tip of it puncturing his heart, just like it had with Robin?
He calmed himself down with several deep breaths and eyed George and Mick. They knew one another, had fucked before if Kevin was any judge of body language. The way they drew together in the centre of the room, all roving hands and lips told him that. They embraced, chests and cocks fused, heads tilted as they kissed, tongues visible. Wet and searching.
Kevin’s cock stirred. About to berate himself for getting turned on, he stopped short. It was a natural reaction, he knew that, but it seemed like he was betraying Robin. Part of him was still attached to him, as though they were still an item, even though he knew that wasn’t the case. He should have accepted it all by now, should have moved on years ago, but it wasn’t every day you met the love of your life then lost them, was it? The kind of relationship where everything was just so insanely right that you waited for something to go wrong. And it had.
Kevin shook his head, trying to toss the memories out into the elements, much like he’d tried to do with George at the cottage earlier. Getting rid of the young man hadn’t worked, but if he just pushed himself that little bit harder, he could watch these two going at it without feeling guilty. Couldn’t he?
It’s like watching porn, that’s all.
Yeah, he’d keep telling himself that.
His breaths shortened and his chest went tight along with the denim over his cock. He placed his hands either side of the mirror so he didn’t touch himself then leaned forward, his pulse thudding in his throat and his balls aching.
Mick and George sprang apart, as though via silent communication.
Mick walked over to the bed. He stripped off his t-shirt, flinging it to the floor. Kevin eyed his muscled chest, the smattering of dark hairs there and the way they travelled down in a narrow line to his navel. Mick removed his jeans and revealed that the hair joined a denser pelt at the top of his cock — a cock that was stout rather than long and stood erect, the tip lilac-hued, looking almost strained, like the man hadn’t had release in a while. Mick climbed onto the bed on his hands and knees and, fascinated, Kevin wondered whether George would take his ass with his dick or if Mick had come here for something else instead.
George stepped to the foot of the bed, holding a crop now, something Kevin had missed while transfixed by Mick’s body. The crop appeared hard and unforgiving, the tapered part without any give, any ability to bend. Kevin winced. What the hell did it feel like to have that crashing against your ass? It’d hurt, he knew that all right, but there must be some form of pleasure to be gained from it, otherwise why do it? He braced himself for George to draw his arm back and bring the crop sweeping through the air until it connected with Mick’s ass, more than a little intrigued as to what Mick’s reaction would be. Instead, George reached down the side of the bed and pulled out a small drawer, taking a bottle of lube in hand. He put the crop down and opened the lube, spurting a generous glob in his palm, before tossing the bottle back into the drawer. He picked up the crop, slathering lube all over the handle, a ridged affair much like a truncheon.
What the hell?
Mick widened his legs, jutted his ass out, and glanced over his shoulder. “Give it to me fucking hard.”
George moved to the side of the bed, parting Mick’s ass cheeks with finger and thumb. Kevin stared at the man’s puckered hole, the way it spasmed as though aware of his scrutiny, his own face growing hot at the sight. George positioned the tip of the crop handle to it then pushed in. Mick’s ass gobbled up the intrusion, and the man himself let out a joyful shout.
“That’s it,” Mick said. “Shove it right up there.”
George eased it inside some more, sliding his hand away from spreading that ass to lay it on the small of Mick’s back. “You want pain, eh? You want me to drive it in and out of your ass until you scream, is that it?”
“Yeah.” Mick panted. “Fuck, yeah. Do it.” He glanced to his left at a mirror on the wall Kevin hadn’t noticed before. “Fuck it so I can watch. Let me see how hard you jam it in. Come on, fuck my ass.”
George pulled the handle almost out then rammed it back inside, repeating the motion with sure, deliberate strokes. Mick bowed his back, pushed his ass out to meet each violent thrust, and keened. Kevin, although shocked, couldn’t stop staring. He pressed his cock to the wall, leaning hard in an attempt to deflate his dick, but if anything the contact and pressure made him harder. He eased back, throbbing, bollocks taut, asshole pulsing. His heart hammered with an uneven cadence, and his lungs grew tight as he struggled to breathe. Sucking in a long, deep breath, he blew it out again through pursed lips, the exhalation as juddery as Mick’s pelvis.
Fuck, that man could take it up the ass. He jerked back every time the handle surged in, as though what he was being given wasn’t enough.
“More,” Mick said. “Fucking push it right up there.”
George obeyed, and Christ, the handle disappeared, part of the actual crop being sucked up too.
“Yeah, that’s it.” Mick licked his lips, gaze glued on the mirror. “You fuck my ass like that — more, more of...ah, yeah, that’s it. A bit more — I can take a bit more. Ram it.”
George pummelled Mick’s ass, wrenching the handle in and out, his knuckles bleached with the effort of him holding the crop with a lubed hand. He bent over and looked at Mick’s cock, something Kevin couldn’t see from this angle. Kevin found himself wanting to see it, to witness whether it bobbed of its own accord, straining for friction.
“You want that fucked too?” George asked.
“Yeah.” Mick nodded. “Yeah, fuck my cock.”
George reached beneath Mick and all Kevin could see was George’s elbow jerking up and down. He filled in the blanks, imagining that stout dick in George’s hand, how the foreskin retracted and the head bulged with every downward stroke. Imagined how soft it was, how it throbbed, the vein undulating. That last visual — man, he knew how an undulating piece felt up his ass, ticking against his rim. Setting him on the path to cumming loud and long, hips bucking, a stream of cum jetting out of him so hard his slit stretched.
Kevin would berate himself later, but God help him, he couldn’t stop himself from freeing his cock and taking it firmly, curling his fingers around it and squeezing. He couldn’t begin to envision what it felt like to have a crop handle up his ass, those hard strokes too harsh, too much, but he remembered the good times when Robin’s prick had been there and that was enough. He wanked, jolting his hand up and down without mercy, loving how rigid he was, how he was pent-up with emotion and need. He almost closed his eyes but stopped himself, feeling guilty for a brief few seconds that he wanted to watch George getting Mick off.
George’s elbow continued to jab the air in sync with the crop handle jabbing Mick’s ass. Kevin wondered if George was hard beneath that PVC. Did his cock strain at the fabric, longing to be freed and placed in a palm that would handle it so roughly, with such purpose, that George would cum with a fierce shudder and a strangled yelp? He must be getting some satisfaction — how could he not? Despite the scene not being anything remotely close to what Kevin was used to, it was undoubtedly erotic, sexy as fucking hell, inspiring feelings in Kevin he never would have expected.
I want that crop in my ass.
He surprised himself with the admission while pumping on, gripping his cock with more force. He panted, roving his free hand under his t-shirt to pluck at a nipple, pinching and tweaking until the bite of pain registered and sent a sharper spike of lust to his cock. He released a stuttered groan at the same time as Mick, who rocked his pelvis back and forth, his dick into George’s hand and his ass onto that merciless handle.
“Oh, yeah,” Mick breathed. “This is what it’s all about. Ass and cock, being fucked, used. Smack me. Hit me. Fucking hit me!”
Mick took over on his cock, jerking it with a super-fast rhythm as only a man hand-fucking himself could, as only a man wanking himself off knew how to — knowing what he liked and how he liked it. Kevin mimicked him, and Christ he’d cum any second if he didn’t slow down. But he couldn’t slow, couldn’t stop the mad wrench on his prick, the chase for release. George raised his free hand and brought it down on Mick’s buttock, the slap of sound as skin met skin a shocking jolt to Kevin. George smacked again, several times in quick succession, and Mick juddered.
“Fuck it up my ass. Go on. Hit me harder.”
George slapped on, minimal time between each strike, and Kevin couldn’t hold back any longer. His balls tightened for a second before releasing his cum. It sped up his cock, a lightning streak of pure bliss, and erupted, stretching his slit as he’d guessed it would. He heard it slap against the wall, and before he had enough time to fully register that, another speeding arc left him. He hollered, mindless of being overheard, and damn it, closed his eyes. He heard someone else shouting a stream of ohGodohGodohGod and with that as an accompaniment, he rode out the last tendrils of his orgasm.