T oday was Curt’s birthday, and I took a balloon bouquet to the nursing home. I wanted so badly to brighten Curt’s world, and I wished we could have really celebrated with champagne and strippers. I would have settled for bringing him cake and ice cream if he wasn’t being fed through a feeding tube. The options were limited when the person you wanted to cheer up was technically brain dead.
Having recendy discovered that talking to Curt helped me resolve a lot of my issues, I pulled a chair up to his bed. Even though he couldn’t offer his opinion or give feedback, just having his ear was comforting. I’d been telling him about Fonia for quite a while. I told him how pretty and how special she was. How badly I wished I had a way to contact her.
“That chick, Fonia, still has my nose wide open,” I said, shaking my head at the absurdity of the situation. “I know it sounds crazy, man, but deep in my heart, I believe that we are supposed to be together. I’m not going to search for her.. .you know what I mean? If it’s meant to be. I’m
sure we’ll find each other,” I said, speaking more to myself than to Curt.
I didn’t stay with Curt as long as I usually did. I had to get some rest before making the drive out to the boon- docks for the freak event that I had agreed to bartend.
Oro\^
The estate where the event was being held was huge. Again, I had to tend bar with a bare chest that glistened from oil. This time, I was oiled up by a voluptuous beauty named Trina. Trina had big boobs, a ridiculously tiny waist, and a super big ass that was so disproportionate to her waistline, it had to have been plumped up with injections.
While she slathered oil down my arm, I took the liberty to cop a feel. Her ass was soft and actually felt normal.
“It’s real.” Trina smiled proudly.
I didn’t say anything; my dick shot out, speaking for me.
“I can take care of that if you’d like,” she said, eyeballing my engorged phallus.
I had told myself that I would do my job and turn down any sexual favors. But.. .with that big ol’ swollen ass right in my face, I felt weak. As far as my vow of celibacy, I’d already fallen off the wagon, so why not go all out?
“Yeah, you can take care of it,” I said, feeling a little ashamed of the weakness of the flesh problem I’d been battling.
“Madam said that I could offer you a hand job or you can cum on my ass,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “What would you like?”
I tried to match Trina’s nonchalance, but my voice came out raspy and lustful when I said, “Uh, I’ll cum on your ass.”
She slathered up her gigantic mounds as well as the crack of her ass, and then setded on the sofa, lying on her stomach with her chin resting on the top of her hands.
Not wanting to get oil on my pants, I had to strip out of them before climbing on top of that mountainous ass and sliding up and down the crack. I’m not going to front, my dick kept slipping inside the crack, trying to work its way into her butt hole, but figuring that was a restricted area, I kept guiding it back to the permissible areas. That ass was nice and soft and cushiony. It only took about seven or eight strokes for me to bust. I held my dick and spray-painted her brown ass with white dollops.
Trina cleaned herself off with wipes and then cleaned off my dick, giving it a kiss when she finished.
Releasing cum made me feel a litde lighter—physically. But on a spiritual level, I definitely felt that I’d corrupted my soul, again! As soon as I got the money I needed for an apartment, I planned to stay away from bartending in this hedonistic environment. In fact, once I actually started working in the legal profession, I was going to turn my Hfe around and stop allowing my penis to dictate my actions.
The bar was stocked with expensive brands of liquor and aside from Madam Midnight, there seemed to be an entirely new crowd of people. This time, some of the dominants came to the bar, walking their subs on leashes. The dominants were fully clothed in evening attire while the subs were barely covered.
Everyone was in good spirits. Dominants seemed to be treating their subs with decency, and from my vantage point behind the bar, there was nothing happening that caused me to raise a brow. I surmised that the beat-freak that had attended the last party hadn’t been invited back.
When it was time to take a half-hour break, Trina escorted me from the bar to another wing of the large estate where I could relax and enjoy refreshments. It was quite a hike to the other wing of the house. En route, we took numerous turns that led to winding corridors. It was like going through a maze.
I took notice of the architecture and the decor. The estate was old; there was a great deal of history inside the walls. The place reminded me of a castle with its elaborate suits of armor that was displayed and the ancient weaponry that adorned the walls.
“There’s even more cool stuff downstairs,” Trina said. “Old guns from.. .like.. .the Civil War era, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
I nodded, not wanting to admit to how very much I was into ancient weaponry. Seeing old guns, cannons, swords, and shields gave me a rush. Viewing the collection
of armor and weaponry at the Philadelphia Museum of Art during my grade school years had piqued an interest in ancient weaponry.
We reached the lounge and Trina waved toward a table that was spread with an assortment of seafood and pasta dishes. “Help yourself. I’ll be back to get you in a half-hour,” Trina said and then sashayed away.
Good thing she planned to return; I’d probably get lost in the maze of corridors and never find my way back to the bar.
I ate a couple of shrimp and some lobster, but didn’t have much of an appetite. I was more interested in checking out the gun collection downstairs than stuffing my face.
The white stone stairs curved as I descended. Every few steps, I stopped and admired the ancient swords and spears that were encased and displayed along the walls. Hoping I’d be able to actually touch the gun collection, I hurried along and as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard muffled cries and the sound of slapping.
Knowing what was going on, I rushed toward the sound. I didn’t give a damn about consensual adults or any of that crap. I’d turned a blind eye the first time, but that wouldn’t happen again. It was dark in the lower level with only a few candles lighting the way. Following the sound of the muffled cries, I walked briskly.
Finally, I reached the closed door from where the sounds emanated. “Kiss it!” I heard that horribly cruel voice demand. Without a second thought, I pushed open
the door, grabbed the shadowy male figure that hovered over a poor, crying girl and tried my best to knock his head off with a punch fueled by outrage and fury.
He went down fike a sack of potatoes. Punk ass, mutha- fucka, I thought as I attempted to fift the naked girl from the bed. She groaned and muttered something I couldn’t make out. Through the hazy glow of candlelight, I realized she was tied to the bedposts, and I quickly began undoing the leather straps.
The beat-freak on the floor started to come to with a groan and I kicked him in the head, knocking him out again. I had no plan devised, but I had to get the girl away from the crazy sadist. While carrying her toward the door, I tripped on something and looking down at my feet, I reafized it was a dress. I picked it up and covered her with the dress and began to make my way back to the stairs.
How would Madam Midnight and her guests respond if they found out that I’d interfered with a punishment? Would I end up tussling with a pack of subs that wanted to return the girl to the torture chamber? Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to take her back upstairs.
Trying to figure out my next move, I stood in the dim hallway and looked down at her face. For a brief moment, I thought I was seeing things. It couldn’t be her. Scowling in confusion, I looked closer. “Oh, my God. Fonia?”
She opened her eyes and then squeezed them shut. “What are you doing here, Jag?” she whispered in a hoarse, tearful voice.
“Don’t worry about me; I have to get you out of here.”
“No, I can’t leave,” she said in protest. “Mr. Lord is going to be upset with me.”
Believing that she’d been traumatized and was unaware of what she was saying, I ignored her protests and fled down the hall, searching for an exit. At the end of the hall, there was a heavy wooden door; I pushed it open, and was deliriously happy to find myself outside. The cool night air breezed against my bare back and arms as I trotted along a path that I hoped would lead to a landmark that I recognized.
“Take me back,” she murmured, but I continued running, looking left and right for the gravelly area where my truck was parked.
“You don’t understand. He’s going to be furious; you have to take me back,” she insisted, struggling to get out of my arms. I couldn’t run while she was struggling, so I set her on her feet. The dress that covered her floated down to the ground. I picked it up and helped her get into it.
“How’d you get mixed up with those people?”
“I belong to Mr. Lord.”
I thought about Sharif’s description of the games the people played. How the submissives often tried to run away as part of the game. “Those people are only playing games, but the man who was beating you half to death was taking the game too far,”
“It’s not a game. He was punishing me because L..I ran away. He told me if I ever , run away again, I’m going
to wish I were dead.” She started crying and I reached for her hand and held it tight.
“Listen, you don’t belong to that sick muthafucka or anyone else. He’s got you brainwashed. Now, work with me, baby. Try to walk a little faster. I think I see the spot where I parked my truck.”
Stumbling and crying, Fonia ran along with me. It didn’t matter that I’d left my shirt behind the bar. And I could forget about getting paid for the hours I’d worked behind the bar. Sharif would never hook me up with another side job, but I really didn’t care. AU that mattered was getting Fonia out of harm’s way. It hurt me to my heart that such a sweet and innocent girl had somehow gotten involved with those S&M crazies.
We made it to my truck without being chased down by a mob wearing chains and loincloths and with dog leashes trailing behind them. I helped Fonia into the passenger’s seat and she’d been beaten so severely, she could barely sit down.
I had no idea where I was taking her, but I had to get her away from the psycho-sadist she referred to as Mr. Lord.