The entry was like any trendy restaurant or club - the line was long and the people waiting were dressed for a night of dancing, fun, and music. Sharon pushed us past the main line, though, giving us all a wink as she spoke over the laughing, already dancing crowd, "That's for the general admittance to the floor. We've got private table reservations!"
A nearby group of people in line shot us dirty looks and I wondered briefly how rare the seat reservations were. Sharon hustled us to the door guard - he was too big to be merely a bouncer - and quickly handed over the embossed card with the reservation number on it. The man took the card and examined it briefly before swiping it through a machine. The green light flashed and he nodded and opened the door for us, escorting us into the wall of music.
Inside, we were in a clearly in a special entrance room, on the safe side of a one-way mirror we could see the line of people already swaying in place to the beat as they handed over ID and waited for the final admittance to the floor. We were handing ID over as well, but the checker was comparing IDs to a list as he rattled off a series of rules about what was allowed and what wasn't allowed at the private table we would have access to. Within moments, we were settled into a booth with our food and drink orders whisked away by a waiter. The food wasn't why we were here, though Sharon promised the cooks were fantastic. Nor was it the music that most of the people we had passed were dancing to on the floor below us.
It was for the men walking towards the table. Sharon frequented here, and she had decided to treat us -- recently divorced, nearly married (and happy not to be), and happily dating and doting -- to her favorite place to relax.
There were two men, both tall and muscular, both more than enough eye candy to get a lady's attention. One was blindfolded. White, but just sun-kissed enough to glow a little even in the questionable light of the club. His light brown hair was not quite military short, and what features were not hidden by the padded and secured leather blindfold were handsome and strong. He was dressed only very sparingly -- dancer's shoes secured at his ankles to protect his feet and a low slung loincloth of a dark blue in some material that clung to his half aroused penis, framing it teasingly more than it covered him. The long line of his body was interrupted only by that barest of ropes across his hips that held the cloth in place. He had not an inch of hair on his body, the faint shine on his skin giving hint to waxing.
"I am Nisroc. This is Mark." The second man had a voice made for sex, the sort that made you wet just listening to, the sort that made you hard and ready to make scream and moan. He was something darker caramel, with dark hair and eyes that didn't quite catch enough light in the club to have a color past dark. He was shirtless, but unlike Mark, wore tight pants that laced at the crotch. He had a gold ring through one nipple and carried in one hand a box which he set down as he came even with our table. Nisroc cast knowing glances at us all, then with light touches encouraged Mark to stand in front of the table, guiding the blindfolded man in place. He let us look at the first man, then slid his hands along Mark's back, urging him silently to turn for us. The first man complied, turning into Nisroc's hands with a swaying step. They never stopped touching, Nisroc clearly in charge as he stroked his hands over Mark's skin and body. When Mark had turned fully towards Nisroc, his back to us, Nisroc stopped him long enough to slide his hands down and grip Mark's ass, kneading long fingers into Mark's flesh, fingers sliding teasingly beneath the cloth. Mark hitched slightly, leaning into Nisroc and pushing his hips back just enough to prove the loincloth no barrier to our eyes knowing that at least one finger pressed into him.
It seemed to amuse Nisroc and he teased at Mark's ass a few minutes longer before releasing him. Mark didn't move fast enough and the sharp sound of flesh on flesh sounded as Nisroc spanked him once hard. Mark didn't make a noise, just jerked straight, breath coming a bit sharp. Nisroc smiled slightly, his eyes on the blindfolded man in front of him as with more touches he encouraged Mark to complete his turn. The little loincloth proved just long enough to drape over the end of Mark's cock, only just barely keeping him from peeking indecency. Nisroc's hands ghosted up Mark's abs, tracing the lines of muscles until he paused to pinch both nipples. Mark twitched, lips parting just enough for a breath, and then Nisroc hauled Mark's arms back, throwing Mark's chest in straining relief.
Nisroc held him there, giving us a preview of what Mark would look like bound. Mark didn't object, he lifted his chin slightly, letting his head drape back as he took a deeper breath. Nisroc gave us a sly look and raised one eyebrow at us.
Sharon pouted at Nisroc, "No piercings? What are we supposed to play with?"
