Nocturnes (5 page)

“Uh…” Rex pulls out his cell. “On my phone. Want me to shoot us gettin’ busy?”

“In your dreams, Casanova.” I grab his hand and lead him away from one fray toward the exponentially more frightening pit of vipers waiting for me in Hell.

“Where are we going, angel?” He grins, and I cover a flinch as we trudge through the club toward the closet. His lip rings glint under the low light, and a twinge of attraction pings my gut. The disheveled bad boy is starting to grow on me. Just a little. Kind of like a benign tumor.

“I gotta go to work. You’re gonna be my assistant.” I guide him behind the bar. It’s easy to avoid being spotted. Most of the crowd is too busy yelling, “Fight, fight, fight!” to notice a stripper and a customer sneaking through the underbelly of Nocturnes.

“Wait a minute. What kind of assistant? You need help getting those clothes off?” He reaches for the strap at my shoulder, and I backhand his fingers away.

I grab him by the ears and drag his face close to mine. This guy’s my only chance. I pray he’s too drunk to remember everything he’ll be privy to in the next hour. And that if he does remember, he’ll keep his damn mouth shut. “I could get fired for what I’m about to do. Or worse. I need your help. Are you able to operate a video camera? No smart-ass comments. Just yes or no.”

The grin dissolves from his face, and he gets serious. “Yeah. I can do that. But what—”

“No questions. Just follow me and play along.” I pause. “And is there any chance you can at least
act
like you’re sober?”

He straightens and runs a hand through his hair. His blue eyes are glazed over. “I’m totally sober.”

I shake my head. God, I am so fucked.

“Come on.” I open the closet door, drag Rex behind me, and lead him into Hell.

Side A: “Stairway to Heaven”

The gods smile on me after all. I’m not sure what I did to deserve the luck that just fell into my lap, but I’m praising Jesus, Allah, and the
Kama Sutra
. What a fucking night this has been.

Lola guides me down an unlit staircase toward a bright room. At the base of the steps, she gasps, and hurriedly wrestles a silver wedding ring from her finger. My heart drops faster than the mercury in an unexpected nor’easter. She’s fucking
married
?

“Hold this for me?” Her anxious eyes plead.

I swallow hard. “Who’s the lucky guy?” I think I’m gonna be sick.

She shakes her head. “I’m not married. Just don’t lose it, okay? It’s…special.”

My pulse returns to normal, and I breathe a little easier. But still…if not married, then what? Fuck, I’m too drunk to worry about it now. And really, would her being in a relationship with someone else stop me from trying to get into her pants, anyway? Never has before. Shrugging off my conscience, I slip the ring in my ass pocket, and she leads me into the room behind her.

I shield my eyes from the obnoxious onslaught of candescence as I step onto the plush white carpet, and then jump when the décor moves. A bunch of naked dudes line each wall, jerking off. Medieval torture devices hang everywhere. And three more naked guys kissing and sucking each other off on the bed. “Uh, what the—”

Her grip on my hand tightens, and I put a lid on my mouth. Holy fucking shit. What have I stumbled into? I glare at Lola, but her face isn’t giving up any answers. She’s all secrets, that woman.

The tinkling of piano keys tiptoes through hidden speakers near the ceiling. Chopin maybe? Whatever it is, it’s nothing like the heavy bass backbeats from upstairs.

Lola lets go of me and approaches the bed, head lowered. Submissive. Just the way I like my conquests. For the first time in days, my cock stirs from its drunken slumber. I’m not sure whether to be aroused, intrigued, or scared shitless.

“How may I serve, Sir?” Lola studies the floor, but her spirit bucks the confines of her body, triggering waves of disruption that roll off her skin.

I tense and look around. What
is
this place?

The balding guy lifts his head from the giraffe-necked one’s nuts. “Who’s this?” He gestures to me.

“His name is Rex. He’s our cameraman. If it pleases you, we can begin.”

I open my mouth to protest her mispronunciation of my name and then think the better of it. Chief Needs-a-Toupee disengages from the tangle of Gerry Giraffe and Arnold Argyle. He wipes his hands and face on a stray white towel. Then he grabs his phone, opens the video app, and passes it to me without comment.

Okayyy…

The sounds of
fap-fap-faps
from the wanking statues along the walls mock what would otherwise be silence. For the first time in my life, I’m at a loss for words. Shit gets even crazier when Toupee snatches Lola’s wrist, shoves her back-first in between the two pervs on the mattress, and slides the white G-string aside to reveal the most lovely, completely hairless pink pussy my eyes have ever had the pleasure of—

“You getting this, dumb-ass?” Toupee rounds on me and leans to the side to show off Lola’s goods for the camera.

I startle and hit the record button on the phone as my salivary glands jet fountains of spit into my mouth. “Yeah, I got it.” Fuck, what the hell is going on here? Some kind of secret sex club? Where do I sign up?

“Zoom in.” The guy motions me over.

I reluctantly oblige. I’m all for fucking, but I like to be directly involved. This voyeur shit is for the birds.

Giraffe kisses Lola while Argyle slaps her newly exposed breasts over and over. Her flawless white skin reddens with angry blotches. Don’t get me wrong. I love a good spanking. But this asshole beating the shit out of my woman’s tits kind of sets me off. Or maybe I’m jealous because it’s not me hitting her.

One thing’s for sure. I don’t like not being able to see her face, which is buried somewhere under Giraffe’s sloppy mouth. I can’t tell if she’s okay with all of this.

Like Jinx was okay with you trying to have your way with her a week ago?

Goddamn, my conscience has a way of needling me at the most inopportune moments.
Fuck off,
I tell it.
Fuck off and die.

Too late. My hackles are already raised. And now I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth that ain’t puke related.

These guys treat Lola more like a blow-up doll than a person. Like a
whore
.

Or a groupie.

The tit smacking increases, and Lola grunts under Giraffe’s weight. Toupee spreads her labia wide and jams one finger, two fingers, three fingers inside her. He spits into the hole and probes some more. This scene looks more like a gynecologist exam performed by a soulless demon than an orgy.

A metallic flavor fouls my tongue. Blood. I’m guessing that would be from where I tore the skin off my lip with my teeth.

The camera rolls on.

Lola says nothing as the three men abuse her body. Toupee spits on his finger and wriggles it into her ass. My filming hand quakes with rage. Lola squirms, and a pain-filled squeal escapes her. I start to protest, but Toupee overrides my complaint with a single word: “Lube.”

One of the dudes against the wall comes forward. I expect him to hand Toupee a tube of insta-slick. Instead he kneels on the bed, pulls his pud with a couple of quick strokes, and unloads five squirts of cum onto Lola’s asshole.

Mouth agape, I stare. Speechless.

Toupee doesn’t miss a beat. He shoves his dong in and goes to town.

My jaw nearly collides with the floor, and I fumble to catch the phone that just jumped out of my grip of its own volition.

Erection raging to get out of the cage of my jeans, I watch the cock giving Lola’s ass what-for with sickened fascination. No condoms. No lube. Just another guy’s cum as a stand-in for the bottled stuff.

I’ve seen my share of insanity on the road. I’ve fucked hundreds of women. Hell, thousands, even. I’ve fucked men. I’ve sucked dicks, eaten pussy, tongued an asshole or two, engaged in pretty much every kind of sex you can imagine aside from being butt-burgled myself. But never in my life have I witnessed…that.

Giraffe moves off Lola and walks around to the foot of the bed to check out his buddy. I glance at Lola’s face, expecting tears or at the very least, shuttered lids holding back a hurt expression. What I get is almost as shocking as watching a stranger shooting cum all over her ass. Her lips part, her lashes flap loosely at half-mast, and she beckons to the camera as if inviting me to join her.

No, please tell me you’re not enjoying this shit.

I manage to clamp my mouth shut and force a swallow. Breaking out in a full-body sweat, I have to adjust the phone. My hand shakes so hard, I switch the device to the other, which is equally as shaky.

Deep breaths, Wrathbone. Pull your shit together and get the fuck out of here when it’s over. There’s no way they can go for long with Lola on the banquet table.

I’m about to blow a fucking piston and maybe sling a rod for shits and giggles, despite the raging case of persistent alcohol-induced erectile dysfunction I had before I walked into this freak show.

Toupee turns to Argyle while he bangs my woman. “She’s the perfect whore, isn’t she?”
Thrust, thrust, thrust…

Argyle pinches her nipple. Lola gasps and arches a couple inches off the bed. A smile smears her angelic expression into something darker. I zoom in on her face, white skin blending into the white linens, black hair fanned over the pillow. I don’t want to see what they’re doing to the rest of her. She should be
mine
.

Toupee thwacks my arm, jostling the picture. “Focus on my cock, nimrod. Watch me fuck this beautiful asshole.” He resumes buggering with renewed vigor as if knowing the camera and I are watching gets him off even more.

Hell
no. Hell
fucking
no. I grit my teeth and shake my head. I’m out of here. I lower the phone.

The men otherwise occupied, Lola breaks character and silently pleads with me. A trace of warmth infuses those icy blue eyes, melting a hole through my resolve.

Goddamn it. She put herself on the chopping block and entrusted me with this seriously fucked-up secret. If I bail on her now out of selfishness or petty jealousy, I’ll never win back that trust. Damn, does this woman have any idea what she’s doing to me? This is fucking torture on so many levels.

Sighing, I meet her gaze once more.
Please
, she mouths. The word wields more power over my bitter heart than an adrenaline injection straight into the muscle.

When she puts it that way, I have no choice but to obey. Agonizing, I adjust the phone’s angle.

Toupee shoves his fingers into her pussy, wiggling them, priming her for squirting. I know this is what he’s going for because I’ve tried the maneuver myself. Only time I’ve ever seen it work was when my bandmate Shades did it to our singer Letty while he and I fucked her behind our tour bus. Long story.

Pump, pump, pump.
Toupee twists his digits inside her while his cock continues to plunder her other hole. Eyes closed, Lola moans as Argyle stabs her pretty red lips repeatedly with his dick. I wouldn’t want to look, either. Toupee waves Giraffe over, and long-neck dives face first into her pussy.

A fresh infusion of envy stokes the coals glowing in my gut. My cheeks heat as the blood beneath upgrades from simmering to boiling. Goddamn it. That’s
my
pussy.
My
ass.
My
Lola.

Resisting the sudden urge to stroke my cock, I slap both hands to the phone. I still can’t hold this fucker steady. The beads of sweat blossoming on my face collect and pool to form a rivulet of salt water that drips from my temple to my shoulder.

I’m videoing the woman of my dreams being used by three men, and my dick gets harder with each passing thrust. What the fuck is wrong with me?

What the fuck is wrong with
her
?

“I think a change in position is in order,” Toupee announces. The ensuing switch-a-roo ends with Argyle underneath an apparently dick-drunk Lola—acting or not, I can’t tell—his schlong embedded deep in her ass without a condom. Giraffe, the skinniest of the three, mounts her from the top as Toupee looks on, stroking himself. Lola’s volume kicks up. She pants, caterwauls, and gropes for Giraffe’s shoulders as he and Argyle double team her.

So, this is what it looks like when Toombs and I—

Toupee pulls me to the side where the view is better and checks out the frame. Seemingly satisfied, he says to his buddies, “Now, both of you take her ass. Together.”

I jerk uncontrollably and stare at him, the camera forgotten. Grinning from ear to ear, he maintains his attention on Lola’s soon-to-be chock-full ass. “More lube,” he calls over his shoulder.

Another dutiful statue steps forward, works his way into the dueling dicks competition, and busts his nut on them. Giraffe struggles to get inside. He pulls back. Toupee waves for another professional creamer. This one unleashes his dick milk directly onto Giraffe’s length.

Again with the loss for words. How are they able to do that shit on command? How much “lube” will this session require? There are twenty-eight of these boy toys, and the event organizers have gone through three in a matter of minutes. Fuck, how much more of this insanity will Lola take?

I search her face for answers. All I get is a lip lick with a knowing smile chaser. I can’t tell if it’s for me or the goddamn camera, but I’m
this
close to becoming Lube Dude Number Four, and I haven’t so much as brushed my cock. The fucker is panting inside my jeans, dying for air. Probably best to let him suffocate.

Pointing the phone God knows where, I stare at her face. Can’t take the rest of her anymore. Too fucking painful. And hot. While the two guys reposition and experiment with different poses, their voices blur and fade into the background.

Lola’s expression loosens as they do unspeakable things to her lower half. I can see the light leaving her eyes. She’s gone to another place, her mind disconnected from her body. Like mine needs to be. Separate. Apart. No longer concerned with what happens to it in the physical realm. The pain can be dealt with later.