This is an original work and completely fictitious and a product of my imagination. All similarities to past, current or future persons are pure accidental. This story is protected by all international copyright laws without prejudice
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I am Kyle Macintosh and this is my story. I was seven years old when I lost my dad and my sister in a motor vehicle accident. My mom and I survived but it left me with a scar from just below my right eye to my chin, barely missing my mouth, and another horizontal one on my left cheek. What has this got to do with the story you ask? The incident had a few life changing effects on me. I never smile, I was called Chucky, scarface and other slurs too many times. Children can be cruel. I learned how to fight, learning Aikido, Capoeira and Wing Chun on purpose for the same reason. And the best of it all, it set me up for life. My personal pay-out was invested for me, and when I became of age I invested it even wiser. A business management degree was a given, and while I was studying for it I was also doing subtle market research. I am not interested in starting a new corporation, but I found a business that will sustain me without too much effort for the rest of my life. There are too things that will always sell: sex and liquor. No I did not open a brothel, I opened a club. And that is when the fun started.
Standing 5' 10' in my socks I am not too short nor too tall, but as I am stocky of build and reasonably buff I look larger and taller than what I really am. At the age of 27, I am comfortably off, living in my own house and my club has been open for three years now with the possibility of opening more clubs in other cities. What makes Club Neon different from all others? I am glad you asked. I have the bar, necessary lights, strobes, massive speakers, hi-flyer DJ's and all the other goodies. What is different is that the club itself is a shell that was built inside an old warehouse, so it is big, and the walls and furniture are black. Yes everything is black. And you receive some paints and markers when you pay the door charge that you may use on the walls and furniture as much as you like, even yourself or your partner. Because the paint and markers have a few distinguishing characteristics: it is non-toxic, glows under ultra-violet light (several of which are dispersed throughout the club turning it into either a wonderland or a fluorescent mess), washes out of clothes and is completely environmentally friendly. Compliments of a college buddy of mine who specializes in chemical engineering, raking in a good profit for him too. Several high level artists visit the club from time to time and decorate the walls in the VIP section. I have some nice photographs framed and hanging on my office wall of the art created there. In the general areas things can get messy. But it is easy to clean with a pressure washer, I designed the club that way. And there are hidden drains that takes away all the water and fans that kick in to dry the place very quickly afterwards, all in all a concept that ensures a steady stream of customers and income.
Another unique feature are the swizzle sticks. With every drink you get a unique swizzle stick that a company makes for me exclusively. If you suspect a rape drug was put in your drink, use the stick. In thirty second or so it will show you if it was. You then take the stick and drink to the nearest bouncer who will contact the CCTV operators, cameras cover the whole of the club discreetly but completely except the alcove, and the person who placed it in your drink will be identified and the necessary steps taken. As most of my bouncers are off duty cops, with the blessing of the city and the sheriff's office, this doesn't work out well for the guilty party. This was brought on by the club's opening night where one of the female patrons were slipped a date rape drug but had a bad reaction to it, collapsed and needed to be taken to hospital in an ambulance. My lawyers settled that one out of court, I am not even aware of all the detail, but it was the inspiration for the swizzle sticks.
I know you didn't miss the reference to the alcove, where the cameras do not cover. That is my spot. It is an alcove which absorbs sound and the fluorescent paint, so that the noise level is way lower than in the rest of the club and it stays black. My black hair, swarthy features and black clothing, I only wear black, helps me to blend into the wall and most people don't even know I am there. I have a protruding small bench that juts out of the wall that I can sit on as the night drags on. I also have a clear view of the dance floor and general population. Entrance is blocked with a rope that will sting your hand if you don't know where to touch it, and regulars steer newcomers away from it. The door to the stairs that leads to my office is also there, you cannot have both doors open at the same time, craftily hidden in the wall.
It is approaching midnight and I am sitting on the bench in the alcove, nursing a 20 year old Irish whiskey, and enjoying the music and the colourful displays on the walls, furniture and people. My watchful eye picks up the sign of trouble just six feet into the dancefloor from me and a quick glance shows me the nearest bouncer is not close. Three young men, possibly college students but definitely drunk, are pawing at a lady and it is obvious in the way she pushes their hands away that their attention is not welcome. But she has only two hands and when one of them slips his hand into her blouse she slaps him hard. By this time I was already on the move and as he pulls his hand back to slap her in the face I grab his wrist. With the instinctive knowledge of trouble brewing, the crowd around us steps back. As he looks at me, his features distorts with a liquor induced rage. Without a word he swings at me. The blow was telegraphed and I grab his wrist, going underneath and the next moment his feet leave the ground to make a somersault to fall flat on his back, stunned and out of the fight. I swivel and his friend closest to me kicks out at me and I grab his ankle. With a simple twist and flip he also somersaults and land on top of his buddy. The third one is stupid enough to rush at me. I step aside and my right hand hit him palm open high on the chest as my left hand hits him just above his buttocks. The effect is comical as his legs are still going forward but his torso backwards and his body becomes horizontal in the air. A slight nudge causes him to fall on top of his friends that look like they are about to recover and all three sprawl on the ground, the fight out of them. Four of my bouncers arrive at that moment and I show them with the head to take them to the side exit. A female bouncer takes charge of the affected lady and I follow the three handcuffed idiots being escorted by the bouncers.
Outside the scene is predictable, the three drunks are from the local college, barely legal and with rich parents, names I recognise and people that will know of me. The local police stopped there with a vehicle big enough to load all three, accompanied by the sheriff. That seemed to sober up two of them a little, except the one who shoved his hand down the girl's blouse who is the loudest of them all. He insists that he wants me and the bouncers arrested for assault and battery, and swears that his father will sue us all of us into bankruptcy. Until the sheriff fixes him with a cold stare and starts talking.
"I know your father, and he is going to be really pissed at what went down here tonight as I will brief him personally. You can be lucky the young lady does not want lay charges, so the three of you will only spend the night in the drunk tank. Take them away."
That shut him up and the three of them climb into the vehicle suitably cowed, and with the way loudmouth's head was hanging he knew he was in trouble at home. The sheriff turns to me and smiles as he sticks out his hand for a handshake.
"Another successful problem nipped in the bud hey Kyle. I got the story of what happened. Like I told you before, I still think you should join the force."
As I am shaking his hand I deadpan with my raspy voice: "You forget Sheriff, Scarface was actually a gangster."
A shocked silence followed before the sheriff and the three bouncers still standing there burst out with laughter, knowing that I will not take offence and that I meant it as a joke.
I slip back in and end up back in the alcove, gratefully finishing my whiskey and enjoying the smooth burn of the liquid down my throat. It is so good that I contemplate getting a refill. But then I feel a hand on my zipper, pulling it down. Looking down I am bemused to see the girl I helped earlier crouched in front of me as she is opening my zipper and sticking her hand into the opening of my boxers fishing for my dick. Wondering how she came in through the rope I look up, only to see the female bouncer she was with earlier smiling over my shoulder at me, and giving me a nod as she herds customers away a bit from the rope to give us some privacy. I just shake my head and the next moment an exquisitely warm feeling envelops my dick. I can also feel it rapidly growing in the girl's mouth and I surrender to the inevitable, and run my fingers through her blonde tresses. At least her black clothes did not have any paint streaks at the back and I am relieved that her actions will not be too obvious. The head of my dick pops out of her mouth and she immediately starts circling it, focusing on the frenulum from time to time. The next moment she takes me into her mouth again and she doesn't stop until her nose is flush against my shaven crotch.
Through the pleasure I am impressed, the few women I have been with in the past had problems with my length and girth. Apparently having a 10 inch dick as thick as a Red Bull can is a little much. I am surprised when I look down again to see her put her black hoody up over her blond hair, and then I realise she is doing this so that she blends into the blackness of my alcove and a casual glance will not see what looks like a blond head floating in the air and bobbing on something. She starts bobbing on my dick with increased pace and I can feel the need to cum rising in me. Normally I can resist and last a lot longer, but the combination of the adrenaline come-down from the altercation and the exquisite tightness as she pushes me down her throat every so often, makes it impossible for me. I grab her by her shoulders and stop her. When she looks up I indicate that I am close to cumming and the next moment she renews her vigour and starts playing with my balls. As I am about to cum she pushes her nose against me again and starts swallowing motions with her throat. This pushes me over the edge and I cum almost straight into her stomach, nearly having a white-out from the pleasure! She sucks me clean and tucks my dick neatly back into place, pulling up my zipper with ease. As she stands up I am surprised when she hugs me, she is nearly as tall as I am, and when her mouth is next to my ear she says just loud enough that I can hear her: "Thank you." I am still bemused as she turns away and walks to the rope, where I am not surprised to see the female bouncer of earlier opening up for her while winking at me with a big grin. I shake my head in wonder as I contemplate what just happened, and decide maybe it is time to go home and get some sleep.
