Chapter 1Content: MF MFF FF M+F group oral anal Mdom
Hunks and Dolls squatted just outside the city limits of a Midwestern college town. It was a 'gentlemen's club' -- which translates generally as 'strip bar.' Most of the month, it catered to males from 21 to 90 who weren't getting any female entertainment at home. It was a clean place -- there was no prostitution in the back, although if you wanted to spend money for a 'champagne room' you could expect to be jerked off while exploring every square inch of the dancer you were with. MAYBE once in a while one of the girls got carried away, but it was against the rules -- and any girl caught actually hooking was let go (or perhaps hired elsewhere, as there WERE a couple of underground cathouses in the town.) Once a week, however, the big main room catered to the ladies, hosting male strippers for 'Ladies Night.' Every other week, 'Ladies Night' was pretty much a female version of the normal thing -- no limitations on the female customers and the male dancers handled things as female ones did -- no actual sex. However, on the OTHER evenings dedicated to the ladies, the 'Unrestricted Ladies Nights' the parties were decidedly different...
For one thing, for Unrestricted Ladies Night the club converted to a private one; the evening was conducted as a private party for a club -- a club the women had to be a member of called 'Discerning Damsels.' To get in, a woman had to fill out an application and sign a release acknowledging the fact that they were aware that they might actually witness sex acts. The disclaimer actually said 'participate in sex acts' in the fine print, but few girls read that far; besides, they knew the score -- it was part of the draw, after all... There were other, unlisted restrictions -- basically, old married ladies couldn't get in to the main room. The club didn't want married girls -- or even girls with steady boyfriends -- attending the main party, as they were considered to be too likely to develop a conscience over things that happened during the parties and put a damper on things or force some kind of investigation. Actually, the club opened a side room to the married and/or over-thirty females where the male strippers put in an occasional appearance -- but they tended to be flagged from their efforts in the main room. The older matrons got thrown an occasional bone -- and the fight over said morsels by this often more desperate crowd could be tooth and nail and quite entertaining -- but the main room had most of the action.
The main room catered to college girls who filled out their applications and disclaimers and paid twenty-five dollars to gain entrance, where heavy-beat music mixes played constantly and drink flowed freely and inexpensively and a trip to the Ladies Room might score them some pot or maybe a tab of Ecstasy. Six buffed male strippers with serious, working erections worked the stage and the floor; at least four of them were in the main room at all times, and one was generally doing his thing on the long stage that dominated the center of the room. And this was where the word 'Unrestricted' came in; generally, especially after nine p.m., a stripper didn't leave the stage until he had ejaculated in the mouth or pussy of some member of the audience! Everybody in the room was encouraged to push the limits, deliberately; a roving cameraman videoed the girls dancing and kissing and fondling each other and the dancers -- or engaging in sex acts -- and the video appeared on four big-screen TVs along the walls, adding to the flow of excitement and lowering the barriers. Drunken girls watching other drunken girls bare their breasts or fondle huge male cocks tended to look upon the idea of doing such things themselves with a lot less concern...
The whole situation was carefully designed to encourage excess, for a number of reasons. The clientele was selected for their age and inexperience and their receptivity and they were encouraged at every turn to do something bawdy. Grade A girls tended not to attend these parties -- they HAD boyfriends or they had other interests -- and probably experience, too. The parties tended to collect Grade B or C -- or even Grade D girls -- which tended to ramp things up as the lower grades in particular possessed a certain amount of desperate fascination for the exposed male members. They also tended to let it all hang out once properly lubricated and aroused...
'Encouraged' is the operative word, though; there was NO coercion in the big room. The dancers encouraged audience participation, bringing girls onto the stage to be kissed and licked and fondled and to get their fill of returning the favor to the dancers. Things started slowly and ramped up; early participants got a kiss or a feel, while later ones might get a pretend fuck, then as more and more of the dancer was exposed, things would get more and more torrid. A dancer who was nude and invited a girl onto the stage usually started with kissing and mutual caresses, but would move on to attempting to remove clothing or feel the girl up -- but the moment she refused any advance, the dancer would back off, give her a goodbye kiss, and hand her off the stage. There were plenty of fish in the sea; he would move on to the next volunteer -- who knew what would be asked of her and was usually willing to supply it. Many a girl who instinctively put a stop to a dancer's advances found herself on the sidelines wishing she hadn't been an idiot while her replacement rubbed herself over the dancer's buff body.
The first dancer of the evening might find the crowd too uptight to get down to actually blowing or fucking him, but by nine-thirty, the girls were up to crossing the line. Once things got hot on the stage, the 'off-duty' dancers, who were circulating through the crowd half-dressed, could also ramp things up. Between ten-thirty and midnight, just about all of them were in a pussy or a mouth or at least mauling and fondling a girl all the time and dependent upon Viagra to maintain themselves. Things got wilder and wilder until the official closing time at two a.m.
This brings us to the other activities -- starting with a second group of 'club members.' These were also males in the same age group as the girls -- males who paid two hundred fifty dollars a pop to pretend to be waiters, dressed in T-shirts with a Chippendale collar and fake set of pecs and washboard abs on them. These 'waiters' circulated on the floor, limited to five at any one time, taking advantage of an odd phenomenon first noticed in male customers during normal operating hours -- that other women present -- wait staff and the VERY occasional female customer -- got a LOT more attention than the dancers. The idea seemed to be that they weren't 'professionals,' but -- especially in the case of the female customers -- were open to sex, one way or another. There weren't enough dancers to go around, so aroused females turned to the 'wait staff' to help cover the bases, instinctively aware of the fact that they would be receptive. The 'waiters' had the same rules as the dancers -- no meant no -- but in a room filled with overexcited young women this wasn't a serious issue. When an individual got his fill and could perform no more, the next guy on the list put on a T-shirt and headed out into the crowd. These 'members' referred to Hunks and Dolls as 'The Hump Club.'
Naturally, this activity was a closely-guarded secret -- NOBODY was going to admit to what was going on to ANY girl, given the fact that the gravy train would undoubtedly pull out of the station soon afterward. Fraternity pledges got filled in when they made the grade and became brothers -- it was a 'perk' of membership. Other groups were selectively recruited as necessary, including unaffiliated jocks, certain teaching assistants and assistant professors and others who the management had some contact with and control of or confidence in. The local police cooperated fully in return for their share. Age was a criterion; you had to be under thirty and not TOO ugly to make the main room. Older guys could play the game in the side room with the older matrons -- and given the usual condition of the dancers during a rotation to the matron's room, they were badly needed there. Sex in the older crowd happened in the 'champagne rooms' as opposed to right there on the dance floor in the main room; couples were never alone in order for management to prove a lack of coercion -- and were always videoed. To avoid the appearance of running a house of prostitution, this group of 'members' had actual employment applications on file, which made them employees covered under the disclaimers the girls signed.
Girls who got too drunk or stoned to stay vertical were taken to the back rooms and tended to by a couple of the staff -- and if they recovered more or less by closing time, they were put back out into the pool. AFTER closing time was another matter; the hangover cure offered before closing was mixed with a little Ecstasy and a date-rape drug -- just enough to keep them pliable -- then the dancers came in and kissed and fondled them while one or two or five or six OTHER guys fucked them silly at a hundred bucks a pop. The camera team got THAT on video, too -- shots of clear cooperation by the girl in a gang-bang that would keep everyone involved out of trouble. Usually, the girl's face was the only one clearly on display, and shots would carefully show her in more lucid moments, but being boned furiously. The girl was usually a total blank in the morning -- and if she seemed disposed to start a ruckus, she got to see the video. Given the fact that the police were in the bag, a girl really didn't have much to say...
The flip side was that there were three or four girls every year that seemed to make a point of hanging out in the back rooms. These girls, well, didn't require coercion; once they'd deliberately delivered themselves to the back room a couple of times, they were taken aside and their wants and needs were discussed and dealt with. Generally, after these discussions, they tended to merely hang out until closing time in a more or less sober condition and retired to the back room for sex under their own power. These girls -- and some of the more loose party animals in the front room, who could be counted upon to heat things up by sucking a dick or fucking a dancer -- were given perks such as free admission and subsidized bar tabs; the back-room girls, in particular, saved management time and effort and trouble and drugs -- and provided a better fuck to the male customers, anyway, since they weren't drugged. One or two moved on to the local sex industry -- others just liked gang-bangs...
For various reasons, the older matrons were completely segregated from this process, too. In the first place, they were less likely to drink until they crashed -- and in the second, they were less likely to be pliant. The odd crash ended up in a champagne room and was left alone, sexually, although someone would keep an eye on her to ensure she didn't die of alcohol poisoning. Generally, these were few and far between, as the bartenders in the side room tended to cut off the obviously inebriated.
All in all, the concept worked; it was lucrative for the club and it provided sexual outlets for local males and females. Girls that went to Unrestricted Ladies Night knew in general that they were going to be bathed in sex and that was what they were there for -- so complaints were few and far between, even from girls who spent the night in the back room. The whole thing was so popular that the club moved it from the original Thursday or Sunday night to Saturday -- it was a bigger draw than the normal business.
This particular Saturday night was to be the culmination of Bart Delacroix's plans for his future. It was his third visit in three months -- and while he had sampled the charms of several girls on previous visits, the primary purpose of the exercise had been research aimed at a long-term solution to his particular situation. Bart (that's Hobart, not Bartholomew -- you can readily understand that he already had one strike against him in dealing with women) intended to cut to the chase and collect a semi-permanent receptacle for his seminal overflow at the very least -- and to do that, he needed a particular type of woman...
The selection was nothing if not varietal. Perfect physical specimens were in limited supply -- but then, that's the case in the general population if you consider runway models 'perfect.' There was actually thinner available, if your tastes ran to that -- basically, the actively anorexic -- but the general run of the group crowding the room was somewhat plush, varying from visually appealing curves to, well, seriously heavy, in places. Breast sizes were all over the map -- and many times not in conformance with the rest of the body involved. The same went for hips and asses. Bart swept the room again with his eyes, but he had more or less settled on a target. "So, are you gonna DO something?" his partner, Ed Monroe, asked, "or are you just gonna stand there and look?"
"Go on," Bart chuckled. "I know what I'm doing. See that one over there?"
"Over there" was a bit vague, so Ed asked for and got clarification until he had zeroed in on the target. "The bride of Frankenstein? What the fuck? What is she, six foot seven? Of all the bitches in this room..." Ed shook his head.
"Oh, come on, Ed! She's six feet even, max. Besides, are you telling me that you wouldn't let her suck your cock?" Bart chided.
"Well, sure..." Ed's master plan for the evening was the 'Four Fs' -- Find 'em, Feel 'em, Fuck 'em and Forget 'em -- and he'd spent the last two hours hopping from foot to foot waiting to unleash himself on the unsuspecting female population. "But there are other fish in the sea..."
"Yes, there certainly are..." Bart agreed blandly. He knew that -- in fact, he was counting on it. Hobart Delacroix came from a well-to-do Midwestern family and had had a good life thus far, with one exception -- he had never, EVER been allowed to come out on top in a relationship with a female. It was an itch that he had wanted to scratch since his earliest memory -- and tonight, he planned to scratch it.
The things that made Bart exceptional weren't visible on the surface -- he wasn't particularly handsome. He dressed well and generally looked rich and sounded rich -- but there were a lot of frauds out there, and generally you had to pass the first 'beautiful people' scan before anyone looked for signs of wealth anyway. But Bart was a leader; you wouldn't know it unless you managed to press him into taking responsibility for something, but if you managed it, he got results. He was a thinker, a schemer, a planner -- and that part of him was in full operation at this point. While Ed had hopped from foot to foot, Bart had scanned the roving cameraman's samples of the crowd in the large-screen TV in the 'Ready Room' where 'waiters' awaited their release, looking for that perfect specimen...
'That perfect specimen' or, as Ed styled her, 'the Bride of Frankenstein' was Bridgette Paulson. Bridgette was five feet eleven plus -- about an inch shorter than Bart -- and undoubtedly outweighed him, but not by a tremendous amount -- she was just big-boned, in general. Dark brown hair cut boyishly short with a spritz of magenta along the right side adorned her head. The face was pretty decent, actually, with a pert nose and pouty lips. Her limbs were large but well-formed, including nice hands and feet -- the nails of which matched her spritz and her lipstick.
Her dress -- as was the case with many in the room -- was a bit over the top. Her top was nice, if revealing -- a cotton variant on the tube top with elastic above and below and a nice loose, puffy bodice over her oddly smallish fat cones; what was revealed wasn't cleavage though, as her breasts were small (by comparison with her general size -- they were still in the B-cup range, minimum) and widely set, but rather her midriff. Below this expanse was a short jean skirt which rode low under just a bit too much belly to be aesthetic; Bridgette had a bit (just a bit -- we're not dealing in irony here) more than a womanly rounding there. That bulge's effect on the skirt led to just a hint of plumber's crack in the back...
This would have been a starting point, but it wasn't the depths of Bart's analysis. One telltale was her fingers -- the nails, while colored properly, were a bit chipped and very short -- chewed -- and every finger -- including the thumbs -- had a ring on it. Bridgette chewed her nails and was self-conscious regarding her hands; no doubt she was unhappy with other parts of her self-image, too. Behavior was another big thing; Bridgette was there with Shannon Wilson, a portly brunette almost a foot shorter than she was who sported a similar patch of magenta hair color in her shoulder-length hair. The pair of them were bouncing around and grinding against one another and kissing and Bridgette was occasionally hefting Shannon's heavy breasts, BUT both of them were taking any offered opportunity to interact with a dancer, to include hiking onto the stage. Bart had watched Bridgette through three dancers -- and she'd presented herself to each of them and made it clear that she was a party animal -- but, frankly, there was better to be had in arm's reach and she'd gotten only a minimum of attention from any of them, despite being somewhat frantically supportive.
Bart wanted a woman desperate enough and horny enough that she would knuckle under to him -- not just for one night, but for the foreseeable future. Bridgette looked like the number one candidate. Shannon was actually on the top ten list, but she was down around number seven; in the first place, she wasn't as appetizing, and in the second, if Bart bounced off Bridgette -- which was entirely possible -- he would probably blow his chances with Shannon. Of course, at this point, they weren't Bridgette and Shannon -- they were 'the big girl' and 'the fat girl'...
"I'm gone!" Ed announced. Bart saluted him, grinning, as he dove into the crowd, then he stood there for a moment, gathering his resources. This would be a first -- an airing of a side of his personality that he seldom let slip the leash. It was the same thing that made him successful in other pursuits, but it was a new focus -- and although he'd been waiting some time for this, it was still the first time... Gathering his confidence, he strode forward and started worming his way through the crowd.
He took his time, getting into the swing of things, stopping to answer a request for a kiss or a fondle from one of the other overheated women in the crowd. It was after ten and things were loose; the dancer on stage (Bart could NOT understand why the guy had any draw -- he was an asshole on the face of it, bodybuilder or no) was naked and waving a towel before his genitals, inviting women to stick their heads under it and suck him -- and heads were disappearing under the towel regularly. The roving cameraman wasn't watching the stage at this point -- he was videoing one of the other dancers who was down on the floor with a redhead just chowing down on his cock like it was the most wonderful thing she'd ever stuck in her mouth. There was a girl behind the redhead tugging down the redhead's hot pants and dancing in to french the dancer, a pair of sizeable titties bouncing above her bra cups. Someone would be fucking soon -- not that it wasn't already occurring elsewhere on the floor. There were opportunities to become distracted -- four, to be exact -- but while he didn't make enemies, Bart didn't allow himself to be deflected from his purpose; he delivered a kiss, and a quick feel, allowed a rub of his erection, then smiled and moved on. If his targets of opportunity failed, he could always return to one of these. Bart checked the screens; the dancer on stage was whipping the towel out of the way to reveal the fact that the bottle blonde at his crotch really DID have her nose against his pubic bone (he was shaved, so there was no hair there). Throwing the towel over his shoulders, he shoved both hands down the neckline of the young woman's blouse and peeled her bra cups away from her breasts, grinning; the girl kept gobbling his cock.
Bridgette was standing on the other side of the stage, watching the dancer's ass cheeks flex as he drove his cock into the blonde's face. She was worked up, hot, frustrated -- and angry. If the guy would just give her a chance... Bridgette wasn't even thinking about the specific depths she might go to if the guy would only shove that cock of his in her face -- at that moment, there were probably no limits! But it wasn't happening -- again -- and her arousal was acquiring a fine patina of anger. THIS was why she and Shannon hung out together -- men ignored them! It was... demeaning. Actually, that didn't even come close -- her body was one giant well of frustration! She and Shannon had cried themselves to sleep in each other's arms on too many occasions... Bridgette was twenty-four, two years out of college and beyond her last decent pool of possible mates, since the working world had such a phobia for sexual harassment. Shannon was a sorority sister turned roommate turned kindred soul; nobody wanted her little fat body, either. It wasn't as if they'd been offered something and the price was too high; they hadn't gotten ANY offers at ANY price! Bridgette had gotten sex just enough times to know that she wanted a lot more of it -- and she'd gotten even less in the way of comfort and gentleness from a man and craved it even more...
Then a guy suddenly wandered in front of her -- a waiter, in one of those silly T-shirts with the fake muscles. He didn't seem to be anything special -- brown hair, wiry looking... He looked up and smiled and said "Hi!" Fortunately, she could read his lips, given the sound levels. Bridgette's anger boiled up. 'The second team has arrived -- isn't THAT nice?' she thought sarcastically. "Sorry -- I'm a lesbian! I'm with her!" she yelled back.
Bart recognized the malicious glint -- and where it came from -- and didn't let it faze him. This was the new, take no prisoners Bart in action; he needed to get this thing off on the right foot or it was a waste of time -- and to do that, he had to roll right over her. He beckoned her with a finger, leaning forward on her right; Bridgette leaned forward, expecting him to offer some pleasantry before moving on...
It didn't happen that way. Instead, Bart turned his head and placed his lips on Bridgette's neck!
Bridgette froze, her eyes bulging and her mouth hanging open while little icy tendrils swept across her entire body from the point of contact. Goosebumps appeared literally EVERYWHERE on her body and her areolas crinkled while her nipples got instantly painfully stiff!
Bart followed through, stepping in and taking her wrists, pulling them behind her. "You're a liar!" he whispered, "You're a big unhappy girl who hasn't been getting any male attention. You've settled for emotional support from your friend, but neither of you is a lesbian." He stepped back just a touch to look Bridgette in the eye.
She stared back at him, shocked. First, the guy had flooded her body with pleasure, and then he poked her soul with a sharp stick! Her eyes flooded with tears and she recoiled angrily.
Bart had her wrists, so she didn't get far until he released one -- at which point she spun so that her back was to him as if she was on a spring. But then, still holding her right wrist, he wrapped the arm around her and stepped in behind -- and put his left hand on the pooch of her belly above the jean skirt while his cock settled into the crack of her ass. Then his lips descended on the left side of her neck, unleashing another wash of incredible sensation.
Bridgette was whipsawed by the conflict; he'd brutalized her, embarrassed her, humiliated her, laid bare her soul -- but her body quivered to the chills his lips created as his tongue slid up her neck and behind her ear. She couldn't move -- not and risk losing contact with those lips! There was a hot, hard vertical bar pressed against her ass; he pressed it against her, undulating -- and she pressed back instinctively when it began to pull away. The hand holding her wrist pressed her against him while the other one rubbed the embarrassing bulge above her pudenda. He might as well have been holding her womb; her vagina contracted in response to the touch.
Shannon stood by, confused. She couldn't see what Bart was doing -- it was all off-side from her position. Were they dancing? Hadn't Bridgette dissed this guy? What did he say to her to get past that? 'My God -- he's rubbing her belly! I'd be SOOO embarrassed...'
For Bart, everything was under control. Bridgette was a layer against him, pressed close, having melted. He'd shocked her mind -- but her body was addicted and her distraction made her easy to manipulate. "Wouldn't you rather be doing this?" he whispered, his breath teasing her ear as they undulated together.
"Why are you teasing me?" Bridgette gasped. "What do you want?" And all the while, her body traitorously followed the mystery guy's every move, unwilling to be separated from his hot flesh as it pressed against her from behind and wrapped her core.
"You," Bart replied, his warm breath puffing softly across her ear. "I've been watching you. I know what you want -- what you need. I've already proved it, haven't I? How bad do you want those things? What will you do to get them? What would you do to have your knees pinned back to your shoulders while a cock probes your inner recesses -- not just tonight, but tomorrow night, and the night after...?"
Bridgett found it hard to breathe. Who on Earth said such things? Her heart fluttered in her chest. "I... don't understand! This is cruel!"
"It is not!" Bart snapped, "It is the fulfillment of your dreams! All you have to do is commit yourself to me." To take the sting out of his rebuke, he again attacked her neck.
"What must I do?" she gasped, only tenuously in control.
"Whatever I tell you to do," Bart replied. "There must never be a question which of us is in control -- you must obey my wishes in all things. In return, I will give you comfort and protection and pleasure and joy..." His tongue flicked her ear, "even love." This was a prepared speech, for the most part -- even Bart couldn't generate this kind of thing off the cuff. It was time to add a little something -- something that would tell both of them where she was -- whether she was capable of fulfilling her role. The hand caressing her belly slid down across the front of her abbreviated skirt, beneath the hem, then up the inside of her left thigh to the gusset of her panties. Bridgette sucked in a breath, her eyes huge at the sensations -- but was still unprepared when two fingers defeated the left leg of her panties and swept across her clitoris! The mere touch of his fingers on her button set off the explosion her tension had been storing inside her; she went rigid and her eyes rolled up as a climax burst upon her, seemingly from nowhere!
Shannon, who had circled around in front of her friend to try to get some idea what was happening, stood open-mouthed in shock! She was the number one authority on Bridgette's orgasmic response, and the response she witnessed -- Bridgette going rigid and her eyes rolling up, followed by an undulation and various twitches and jerks -- indicated a HUGE one! What the Hell had this guy done to her?
Bridgette came back to herself clutching Bart's arm for support; he was actually carrying part of her weight on his other hand, too -- the one now half-supporting her by her pubic mound. He'd been surprised by the strength of Bridgette's response -- and nearly bowled over when he had to take her weight. But it was a heartening confirmation that he was on the right track. Bridgett gazed at him through big eyes; he smiled, pretending he'd expected her reaction all along. She got her feet under her but didn't let go of his arm; he removed his hand from her crotch and reached up to push a curl back from her face. "How was that?" he asked blandly.
Bridgette licked her lips. "Tell me again what you want."
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