Mr. One Fifty-Eight Ch. 02

WARNING: You will probably enjoy this story much more if you have already read the series Chris Donaldson, as well as Chapter 1 of Mr. One Fifty-Eight. The characters' back stories are revealed there. All characters depicted in this story are over 18.

*****

Chris laid a ten dollar bill on the counter, trying to keep his hand steady. The portly, bald man behind the glass looked at him suspiciously.

"ID?"

Chris pulled out a fake driver's license from the special compartment in his wallet. It was the one useful thing that had come out of his aborted pledge period at the fraternity – Jeff Woodard, one of the brothers, had made sure all of the pledges had a fake ID. It had come in handy a few times this summer as Chris had gotten more adventurous. He had only eight more months to go until his 21^st birthday, but that felt like a geologic age.

The doorman at the entrance to the club squinted at the ID, compared the photograph of the blond boy to the handsome, toned figure in front of him, and grunted.

"150 lbs., eh? Sure that's not 145?"

Chris stared at him calmly. The doorman gave him a friendly smile.

"Beard looks good on you, kid." The man put the ten in the cash drawer. "Ever been here before?"

Chris shook his head.

"Alright. Here's your clothes hanger. After you go through the turnstile, make a right. Put everything on the hanger, and keep one of the tags in your shoe. Then give the hanger back to me. Keep your shoes on, obviously, and your socks if you want 'em. You can wear underwear or not, your choice. Most guys don't, it's easier to not to have to keep track of it. There's seven rooms, and the bathroom is off the first big room, around to your right. It's got everything you need – mouthwash, soap, lots of paper towels. All the rooms have tables with condoms and lube. It's BYOB, and you didn't bring any, but you can ask some of the other guys if you can share. Got it?"

"Got it." Trembling with nerves and excitement, Chris took a deep breath and went through the turnstile.

His first sex club. Fuck, he'd come a long way since June. He'd found out about this place six weeks ago, and had been too scared to try it out until tonight. This place was apparently a favorite of the BDSM crowd, and he'd come early to get the lowest price. He already got a discount for being under 25, but it was even cheaper if you were that young and entered before 9 p.m. The guy he'd been chatting with online said it would be slow at first, but that he'd be there by 9:30; he was 22, and his screen name was BoyPunisher. They'd been chatting for most of the summer – BoyPunisher had told him about the club. He'd been pressuring Chris to come for a few weeks now; he had promised he'd show Chris around and that they'd both have a blast.

Chris was alone in the first room where he was supposed to disrobe – that made it a little easier. He wondered if he was the only guy here. He decided to go whole hog and skip the underwear. Those had been BoyPunisher's instructions anyway. He handed the hanger with all of his clothes except his sneakers and athletic socks to the doorman, and tried to figure out the best place for his phone. The doorman gave him an appraising look.

"Nice chest hair." He stretched out his hand.

Chris looked at him, puzzled.

"No phones in the club."

"You're kidding! But I'm supposed to meet someone . . . how will I find him?"

The doorman shrugged. Chris texted BoyPunisher quickly.

"I'm here."

The doorman gestured impatiently, and Chris put the phone in his shorts pocket before he could get a text in response. Shit.

"Don't worry, kiddo, he'll find you. Won't be anyone else your age here." Chris' face fell. What had he gotten himself into? The doorman smiled. "I'm kidding. All ages at this place. You'll be fine, you've seen each other's face pics, right? It always works out. Or you'll find someone better."

Chris tried not to look worried. He turned to the right. He'd look at all the rooms quickly, get a feel for the place. Then find somewhere to wait.

"Hang on." The doorman pulled out a sharpie. "Gotta give you your mark first."

"What?!"

"You're here on Dom/sub night. Everyone gets an initial marked on their skin. It's hot. And practical." The doorman smiled again. "Let me guess, you'll take an 's'."

Chris was tongue-tied.

"Nothing to be ashamed of. Or are you a Dom?"

Chris reddened slightly. "No, I'm a sub."

"Then why aren't you calling me Sir?" The doorman scowled. "Just kidding. Turn around."

"What?!"

The doorman sighed patiently. "If you're a Dom, you get a 'D' on your chest. If you're a sub, you get an 's' on your ass. Turn around."

Chris turned around.

"What if I had kept my underwear?"

"Subs don't get to keep their underwear."

Chris jumped as the pen made contact with his skin. He felt the cool black ink drying quickly.

"All set, boy. Have fun."

"Thank you. Sir."

Chris set off again, moving slowly. This first room was a long rectangle. There were doors at both ends, and another in the middle of the wall to his right – he saw that it was the bathroom. There were benches and mirrors around the rectangle, like a locker room, and two TVs, each playing a different porn video. There was a raised wooden chair in one corner that looked like a big throne. As Chris eyed it, he saw a ledge for the person in the chair to put his feet on, and stools in front of the ledge. For foot worship? Or boot shining? Either one, probably. He couldn't help but picture Justin, his hot former roommate, in the chair. Chris had loved worshipping the jock's feet, and they had always been nice and stinky. Chris used to save Justin's socks to sniff while his roommate was out.

Chris smiled wistfully. That had been an amazing year, living with a guy who had fed Chris his fat, uncut dick and sat on his face almost daily. It sucked that they weren't really in touch any more, but Chris had resigned himself to the fact that Justin had only grown more distant as the summer progressed. The first part of vacation had been ok, with Justin sending regular texts, but those had fizzled out after about two weeks apart. Chris pegged the change for the worse to an email he had sent, voicing his desire for Justin. The Dom's response had been a perfunctory: "Good boy". After that, Justin had replied to Chris' texts only three or four times. That had been the end of June. It was now late August.

And that's what had prompted Chris to go back online and look for other Doms, really; he had toyed with the idea of trying to rekindle a relationship with Mark, the very handsome and suave marketing executive in his late twenties who had taken his anal cherry, and with whom he had had a fun and flirtatious lunch in June . . . they had texted regularly since then, but hadn't met again in person. The thing was, every time Chris was with Mark, he felt like he had to make a commitment. And the only person he could imagine doing that with was Justin. So if his shaved-headed, brown-eyed, dreamy hunk wasn't available any more . . . maybe he should just move on from the previous year altogether.

Chris had seen all there was to see in the first room; he decided to explore some more. Both passages leading to the other playrooms seemed even darker than the poorly-lit space he was in. Chris walked over to the right-hand door, and into the hallway. The walls were black painted brick – the whole place felt like a dungeon. Very hot, Chris thought.

After about ten steps, he found himself in another dimly lit room, smaller than the first. In front of him was a St. Andrew's cross, with padded restraints hanging on chains from various strategic locations. A stair on the left led up to a large balcony, or overlook. Another room, really. Chris glimpsed a second St. Andrew's cross up there, this one with an open cabinet next to it. A very tan dark-haired man in a leather jock was arranging what looked like whips, floggers, crops and paddles. And rope. In profile, he looked handsome, probably in his late fifties, with muscular arms and a small gut. He didn't see Chris, who looked hornily at all the disciplinary implements. Corporal punishment was his favorite thing, although that awareness had begun to dawn on him only in the last year.

It wasn't even Justin who had turned him on to it, really; there had been some smacking in the dorm room early on, sure, but it was actually their RA, Mason, who had first really spanked Chris. He had used a razor strop, too. It had been hell, and frankly, unjust, but Chris had gone back for more.

He shook his head as he ogled the large selection of paddles. He had been so dumb to go back to Mason. It had resulted in an invitation to join Mason and Justin's fraternity, but the invitation had turned out to be a setup. There had been a whole lot of paddling at the frat, though, and that had been a plus – including one very memorable evening when he had taken 158 swats from Justin in front of everyone. Chris smiled. That had been an incredible night.

None of the paddles in the sex club was a real frat paddle, Chris was surprised to see. But was that a prison strap? Hot! Even wider and nastier than the razor strop Mason had used. There were canes, too, lots of them . . . in what looked like an umbrella stand. Were they soaking in water? Chris had read about that.

Not wanting to think about his tall, athletic, but evil former RA any more, Chris decided to check out that level later. He moved through the room through the door opposite; in this last room there were two slings suspended from the ceiling. A small table with packets of lube and condoms stood between them. There was another screen with porn on it as well.

Chris started to get half hard, aroused by the possibilities that might await him tonight. He knew he didn't want to get gang-banged in a sling, and had gone over a fairly long list of limits with BoyPunisher, including no fucking, but he had told the Dom he'd be up for watching anything at all. BoyPunisher had told him that was fine.

Chris had only been fucked by two people. The first one was Mark, of course. And the other was Justin, who had plowed him many times in the last few weeks they had lived together.

Chris sighed, excited and stimulated by the environment, but annoyed that this place was dredging up so much shit from the past. He wondered if BoyPunisher were here yet, and wished he could check the time, but without his phone . . . ugh, that was even more annoying.

He decided to pass through the main hall again, look for anyone who might be BoyPunisher, and then explore the other half of the club if no one was there. He walked slowly back through the room with the cross, and into the large rectangular space. In his absence, someone had turned on a fog machine – the floor was now mostly invisible. He made his way to the bathroom. He didn't have to pee yet, but thought it best to orient himself for later. There were a few urinals and stalls, and as promised, a big table with rolls of paper towels, hand sanitizer, mouthwash, and paper cups. A handsome guy in his thirties with beautiful smooth pecs was just turning away from the urinals; he smiled at Chris in the mirror as he washed his hands. He had an 's' drawn on his chiseled left butt cheek. Chris smiled back and walked out.

He strolled over toward the door to other wing of the club. The fog machine must be over here somewhere; the mist came up to Chris' chest. It was hot feeling a little bit more anonymous. And always a plus when people couldn't see his small penis. Feeling more confident, he walked through the door on the left side of the main room. There was no hallway on this side, just another dim room with more slings in it. There were hooks on the walls with restraints and discipline implements hanging from them. Not as many as by the crosses, but Chris was blown away by how well stocked the club was. No hairbrush, though, he thought with some relief. The other man who had walloped Chris was a beefy security guard who had used his hand and that dreaded domestic corrective device.

Chris had been amazed at how much it hurt . . . and the bruises had lasted several days. There was no question he had deserved it, though. In a funny way, the guard was also responsible for Chris' presence at this den of vice. Mr. Fitzsimmons worked security on a construction site a few blocks from Chris' house, and Chris had run into the man four times total – three since his spanking. The first time after his punishment, Chris had been quite embarrassed to see the guard again; but Mr. Fitzsimmons had been very friendly, and had made no reference to the circumstances that had led to their last encounter. Chris had been taking a walk around the neighborhood on a Saturday afternoon – anything to get out of his dad's house, even in the summer heat. He had wandered over to the site, and had been very surprised to see Mr. Fitzsimmons making rounds on a weekend.

The security guard had invited him into his trailer office and out of the sun, and they had chatted for about half an hour. It had been nice, really. Chris had already been compelled to divulge a little of his background the first time he had met (and been spanked by) Mr. Fitzsimmons, so he had been comfortable sharing more. Mr. Fitzsimmons turned out to be a great listener. Without going into a lot of detail, Chris had told the older man about Justin – the basic contour of what they had done together, and how he felt about his old roommate. Mr. Fitzsimmons had not batted an eye at the obvious implication that Chris was a sub, but had just asked some easy questions about how the year had gone. And that had been that.

The second time they met after Chris' punishment, Chris had told the security guard more about Mark. The boy had also revealed that he had rushed Justin's fraternity. The third time they met, Chris filled in even more details. It had been so incredible to just open up like that, to a man who was clearly not shocked. Chris hadn't been asking for guidance so much as wanting someone to listen, and Mr. Fitzsimmons seemed to understand that. The security guard had asked some questions that led Chris to feel better about his constant horniness, and the fact that he was dipping his toes back into looking for men online. Mr. Fitzsimmons seemed to feel that Chris shouldn't limit himself to fretting about two relationships which were both so fraught.

At the same time, there was no question that Mr. Fitzsimmons was vigilant for signs of any risky or ill-advised behavior. Chris had been so desperate for a spanking at their last meeting that he had tried to steer the conversation in that direction – but the guard wouldn't bite. He only said, "I'm not going to punish you because you want me to, young man. Only for something you actually deserve, and which it's very important you not repeat. I'm glad you feel that you can be honest with me, Christopher."

So Chris had not told Mr. Fitzsimmons about BoyPunisher or the sex club. He wasn't sure whether or not his new mentor would approve or disapprove, but didn't want to risk being enjoined from visiting the club before he could discover the place for himself.

Chris' reverie was broken by a sound from the next room. To his right was another door, and Chris walked through it. This room was lit by one bulb in a corner, and the faint glow of another dim television. It was darker than the others; the sound Chris had heard was the TV, which was turned up louder here than in the other rooms. He noticed the flooring had changed – he looked down. He was walking on gym mats now. Against the walls he could see what looked like low cushions or beanbags. Two guys were lounging on the cushions, fairly close to each other, both naked except for their shoes, and stroking their large dicks. Chris couldn't make out a lot of detail, but they both looked like bears – hairy, stocky, facial hair. He was too far away to see if they had a 'D' on their chests.

BoyPunisher had been stingy with the pictures, but Chris knew he wasn't one of these two. His online friend described himself as having a swimmer's build, and was smooth. He had sent two dick pics and a partial frontal nude that went up to his nipples. Chris had been obliged to send front and rear nudes, ass pics (both normal and spanked), and a dick shot, which had elicited the usual mockery. Chris was very excited by BoyPunisher's long but fairly thin cut cock. It was very different from the one he had been sucking for most of last year. He liked the lean, muscular look of BoyPunisher as well. He just wished he had seen a face picture. The Dom had asked Chris for one, and Chris had replied, "For trade?" BoyPunisher had agreed, but had not returned his.

Oh well. That happened sometimes. Chris would find out what the guy looked like tonight. Aside from not sending a face pic, BoyPunisher had seemed like a normal but kinky guy – patient with Chris' questions about public sex, and reassuring about Chris' limits. He had promised that Chris would have a safe word (red), and that there was no need to do anything he wasn't totally comfortable with. This visit was just an introduction, so that Chris could see what a kinky sex club was like. BoyPunisher had promised that he would take care of Chris, and that the sub would have an awesome time.

Chris walked across the gym mats to the far wall, and noticed one more door in the corner. It was lower than the other doors – you'd have to stoop to get into the next room. Chris peeked through – it was pitch black inside. His little penis shriveled back up with anxiety – what was back there?

Don't be silly, he thought, everything here is safe. It's just mysterious to make it hotter.

He had read about dark rooms in bars in the 70s – maybe this was one.

Figuring it was better to find out what it was before there were lots of guys there, he bent down and walked in. He paused to let his eyes adjust; after about five seconds, he could see a little. It was a small room, and something was glowing dimly on the opposite wall. There were no mats in this room, just a hard concrete floor.

Chris walked carefully over to the opposite wall, trying to figure out what was reflecting the light. He realized what it was a few steps into the room: a trough urinal made of dull metal that extended the entire length of the wall. Interesting. Chris noticed it was big enough to lie down in. Hmm. He took a few more steps toward it, his eyes straining to see if there was anyone else in this room. Didn't look like it. He followed the trough to the left to see what was in the dark corner away from the door, beyond the urinal. Suddenly, his foot met air instead of concrete. Panicking, he flailed with his arms, and managed to steady himself against the wall. He squinted into the void. Slowly, the outline of a small pit became clear. He was standing on the edge of it. It looked big enough to hold maybe two people, and it wasn't clear how deep it was. It smelled like sweat and piss. On the floor by his foot, he noticed a thick hose. He traced it back to the trough – it was connected to the closest drain, in which he dimly saw a stopper. Wow.

He turned around and walked back to the door, which was easily the brightest thing in the room now. He hurried back through the low opening, and blinked. There were two more guys in the mat room – one looked to be in his twenties, and wore a collar, attached to a long leash, and shoes. He was in decent, but not great shape. The man holding his leash was tall and heavyset, and probably in his 60s. Chris watched, intrigued, as the older man with a 'D' drawn on his hairy man-boob led the sub over to the two bears lounging by the wall. Chris couldn't hear what was said, but the collared boy immediately knelt down and began sucking one of the bear's cocks. Chris was fascinated.