The Virgin Auction
Ever since Tayson saved Jase from the streets, he's made it clear that Jase's virginity will be the first part of repaying that kindness. Now after months of training he's finally ready to give up his cherry and become initiated as a new manwhore. Yet Jase is torn between his duty and his passion when he goes to meet his client. How will he handle the Virgin Auction? (Length: 7517 words)
~~~~~
The air is humid, thick with the smell of sweat and cool mist from the fog machines. My fingertips graze a Corinthian pillar as I circle the crowd, savoring the wubs as they flow through me. Different kinds, too: there are ones that hammer you down, that crash through your body in waves. There's the bass that thumps through your chest like a second heartbeat against your own. Then there's the pulse that you tap your foot to, feeling it reverberate through the floor to the rhythm of your steps.
My hand runs along the wooden banister as I climb the broad, curving staircase. The newcomers edge away, still fully clothed and too shy to mingle. That's always a sad thing to see: a guy drops forty bucks at the entrance and just ends up being a wallflower the whole night. Several of the regulars glance at me as I pass, and the darkness hides their blushes. They know who I am and what I do, and a few ache to sample my infamous touch. They've certainly heard the rumors. Most of them are skeptical as to their accuracy.
Those guys are too smart for their own good: crazy as it sounds, it's all true.
A few women are in the crowd too, basking in the glow of sweaty male bodies and safe in the knowledge that they won't be accosted. We used to have a problem with straight guys sneaking in to get their sleaze on. I took care of that, though. Whenever I saw one of them putting the moves on a woman, I'd cup a cheek, shake my cute ass, and desperate as the boys are they realize I'm pretty enough to be a girl.
I'd lead them into the stairwell. In ten sweaty, guilt-ridden minutes they'd spend their lust on me, and the awkwardness of having just fucked a gay whore sends them running. A few try to get away without paying, but that's what bouncers are for.
Only one of them ever came back as a return client. I always chalk it up as a victory whenever I turn a straight dude.
At the second level I gaze down over the dance floor, watching as half-naked bodies are lit up in the pattern of lights: purple stars and pink hearts, blue crescents and red spirals. A guy with a shock of pink hair stands next to the DJ, pouring tinted oils onto a film. They mix and swirl as they flow, and the projector casts the storm of colors over the crowd. The mass of bodies writhing to the music lights up with the psychedelic flood.
Welcome to Club Scarlet.
1112304646
~~~~~
The air is humid, thick with the smell of sweat and cool mist from the fog machines. My fingertips graze a Corinthian pillar as I circle the crowd, savoring the wubs as they flow through me. Different kinds, too: there are ones that hammer you down, that crash through your body in waves. There's the bass that thumps through your chest like a second heartbeat against your own. Then there's the pulse that you tap your foot to, feeling it reverberate through the floor to the rhythm of your steps.
My hand runs along the wooden banister as I climb the broad, curving staircase. The newcomers edge away, still fully clothed and too shy to mingle. That's always a sad thing to see: a guy drops forty bucks at the entrance and just ends up being a wallflower the whole night. Several of the regulars glance at me as I pass, and the darkness hides their blushes. They know who I am and what I do, and a few ache to sample my infamous touch. They've certainly heard the rumors. Most of them are skeptical as to their accuracy.
Those guys are too smart for their own good: crazy as it sounds, it's all true.
A few women are in the crowd too, basking in the glow of sweaty male bodies and safe in the knowledge that they won't be accosted. We used to have a problem with straight guys sneaking in to get their sleaze on. I took care of that, though. Whenever I saw one of them putting the moves on a woman, I'd cup a cheek, shake my cute ass, and desperate as the boys are they realize I'm pretty enough to be a girl.
I'd lead them into the stairwell. In ten sweaty, guilt-ridden minutes they'd spend their lust on me, and the awkwardness of having just fucked a gay whore sends them running. A few try to get away without paying, but that's what bouncers are for.
Only one of them ever came back as a return client. I always chalk it up as a victory whenever I turn a straight dude.
At the second level I gaze down over the dance floor, watching as half-naked bodies are lit up in the pattern of lights: purple stars and pink hearts, blue crescents and red spirals. A guy with a shock of pink hair stands next to the DJ, pouring tinted oils onto a film. They mix and swirl as they flow, and the projector casts the storm of colors over the crowd. The mass of bodies writhing to the music lights up with the psychedelic flood.
Welcome to Club Scarlet.
The Virgin Auction
Ever since Tayson saved Jase from the streets, he's made it clear that Jase's virginity will be the first part of repaying that kindness. Now after months of training he's finally ready to give up his cherry and become initiated as a new manwhore. Yet Jase is torn between his duty and his passion when he goes to meet his client. How will he handle the Virgin Auction? (Length: 7517 words)
~~~~~
The air is humid, thick with the smell of sweat and cool mist from the fog machines. My fingertips graze a Corinthian pillar as I circle the crowd, savoring the wubs as they flow through me. Different kinds, too: there are ones that hammer you down, that crash through your body in waves. There's the bass that thumps through your chest like a second heartbeat against your own. Then there's the pulse that you tap your foot to, feeling it reverberate through the floor to the rhythm of your steps.
My hand runs along the wooden banister as I climb the broad, curving staircase. The newcomers edge away, still fully clothed and too shy to mingle. That's always a sad thing to see: a guy drops forty bucks at the entrance and just ends up being a wallflower the whole night. Several of the regulars glance at me as I pass, and the darkness hides their blushes. They know who I am and what I do, and a few ache to sample my infamous touch. They've certainly heard the rumors. Most of them are skeptical as to their accuracy.
Those guys are too smart for their own good: crazy as it sounds, it's all true.
A few women are in the crowd too, basking in the glow of sweaty male bodies and safe in the knowledge that they won't be accosted. We used to have a problem with straight guys sneaking in to get their sleaze on. I took care of that, though. Whenever I saw one of them putting the moves on a woman, I'd cup a cheek, shake my cute ass, and desperate as the boys are they realize I'm pretty enough to be a girl.
I'd lead them into the stairwell. In ten sweaty, guilt-ridden minutes they'd spend their lust on me, and the awkwardness of having just fucked a gay whore sends them running. A few try to get away without paying, but that's what bouncers are for.
Only one of them ever came back as a return client. I always chalk it up as a victory whenever I turn a straight dude.
At the second level I gaze down over the dance floor, watching as half-naked bodies are lit up in the pattern of lights: purple stars and pink hearts, blue crescents and red spirals. A guy with a shock of pink hair stands next to the DJ, pouring tinted oils onto a film. They mix and swirl as they flow, and the projector casts the storm of colors over the crowd. The mass of bodies writhing to the music lights up with the psychedelic flood.
Welcome to Club Scarlet.
~~~~~
The air is humid, thick with the smell of sweat and cool mist from the fog machines. My fingertips graze a Corinthian pillar as I circle the crowd, savoring the wubs as they flow through me. Different kinds, too: there are ones that hammer you down, that crash through your body in waves. There's the bass that thumps through your chest like a second heartbeat against your own. Then there's the pulse that you tap your foot to, feeling it reverberate through the floor to the rhythm of your steps.
My hand runs along the wooden banister as I climb the broad, curving staircase. The newcomers edge away, still fully clothed and too shy to mingle. That's always a sad thing to see: a guy drops forty bucks at the entrance and just ends up being a wallflower the whole night. Several of the regulars glance at me as I pass, and the darkness hides their blushes. They know who I am and what I do, and a few ache to sample my infamous touch. They've certainly heard the rumors. Most of them are skeptical as to their accuracy.
Those guys are too smart for their own good: crazy as it sounds, it's all true.
A few women are in the crowd too, basking in the glow of sweaty male bodies and safe in the knowledge that they won't be accosted. We used to have a problem with straight guys sneaking in to get their sleaze on. I took care of that, though. Whenever I saw one of them putting the moves on a woman, I'd cup a cheek, shake my cute ass, and desperate as the boys are they realize I'm pretty enough to be a girl.
I'd lead them into the stairwell. In ten sweaty, guilt-ridden minutes they'd spend their lust on me, and the awkwardness of having just fucked a gay whore sends them running. A few try to get away without paying, but that's what bouncers are for.
Only one of them ever came back as a return client. I always chalk it up as a victory whenever I turn a straight dude.
At the second level I gaze down over the dance floor, watching as half-naked bodies are lit up in the pattern of lights: purple stars and pink hearts, blue crescents and red spirals. A guy with a shock of pink hair stands next to the DJ, pouring tinted oils onto a film. They mix and swirl as they flow, and the projector casts the storm of colors over the crowd. The mass of bodies writhing to the music lights up with the psychedelic flood.
Welcome to Club Scarlet.
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The Virgin Auction
The Virgin Auction
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940015012002 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Abbey Kypner |
| Publication date: | 07/29/2012 |
| Series: | The Scene , #5 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 67 KB |
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