Backseat Devil

Tag: Fetish

Chapter 8 – Master Lolita

This is the rack, I built it all by hand.  It’s made so you have to crank three times as much as it pulls apart and that clicking sound is more for audio effect, so don’t grease the mechanism… it’s suppose to be that loud.  I haven’t finished it so for now only use it with the person facing up.  Until I add more bracing, don’t use it for sexual situations… it cannot hold two people.  And try to keep the one person under three-hundred pounds.

This is the Saint Andrew’s cross.  It is very stable, you can hang a person off of each beam and it still won’t move.  You notice I used the same hooks that I have at the rack, so once you get a slave into the restraints you can move them from station to station without a problem.  With this, you can face the slave however you see fit although back toward you builds greater anticipation faster in a shorter amount of time.

The whipping post is just as it sounds.  I don’t have any restraint hooks on it, but there are these attached to the wall here… and here.  I will go through the whips in a second.

The stockade is on a raised platform and lower so the slave has to hunch over, but their ass is still at a good striking height.  There is no lock on it, but it doesn’t matter, the top is heavy and if the slave has restraints on their wrists they cannot pull them out.

The spider web isn’t tied down.  It’s more for feel… nylon rope against the skin type thing, very sensual.

Different is the chain link fence.  It looks weak and typical, which is the point.  But it’s tied a lot stronger than it looks.  It’s away from the wall so you can tie the slave on that side there, and hoist from the bottom.  The pully and wrench are tested for six-hundred pounds, so don’t worry.  

Over here we have whips and butt plugs.  Let’s start with the pewter and work our way across.  Please be mindful not to disrupt the order…

James tries to not look like a cat caught on the highway.  This is a lot of information for him to take in and rapid-fire format is not necessarily the best way for memory to harbor anchors.  James tried to use visual memorization to keep track, and the slave in his mind was already crushed under the weight of leather and pewter before making it half-way through the room.

Cattail whips are all in the wrist.  Don’t do a simple thrust… pop your wrist at the end…

This was not the day he had planned.

James, wake up, dear.  I don’t want you to be late for your meeting.

Yes, mom.  I’m awake.  What’s for breakfast?

What would  you like?

French toast, eggs… scrambled.  A little cheese on top.

You got in very late last night.

I know, I’m sorry.  I just had a lot to do.

I’m taking these to the laundry.  And why do they smell like smoke?  Are you smoking?

James was now fully awake and sitting up calmly.

Don’t worry about the clothes.  I will take them with some other things.  I have to separate.

You?  Doing your own laundry?  It’s good to hear you’re being responsible.

And I’m sorry about the smoke smell.  Everyone at work smokes in the break room, it just comes with the job.  

Who needs computer help in the middle of the night?

It’s Houston, mom.  People get off work at all hours, you know.

Well I don’t like it.  And you better get everyone at work to quit smoking.

I will try.

Well hurry up, mister.  Breakfast will be ready in 30.

Thanks, mom.

As soon as the door is closed and he hears commotion in the kitchen he retrieves his jeans from the floor.  The contents of the pockets replays the early morning hours:   Two baggies of white presumably cocaine, $200.00 in cash, two matchbooks with phone numbers written on them, and what seems to be a corner of a cigarette pack with a third phone number. One of the numbers was the cute raver kid he fucked in the parking lot of Rich’s, but he had no clue which one.  I have got to stop going out with those crazy girls after work.

He heads into the bathroom and starts the shower.  Throwing the phone numbers and bags of coke in the toilet.  I feel someday this is going to be a painful memory.  

After breakfast he drives into the office and prepares for a design meeting for next Kingdom Hall to be ‘quick-built’ in Caldwell, Texas.  He had spent the previous day making the necessary changes to the package the elders in Caldwell had chosen and personalized the information to make it site-specific.  Several sets of 11×17 prints had been made but yet to be bound.  Preliminary financial ledgers will be coming with the committee members when they arrive.

James is starting the binding process when Brother Sherwood enters.

Here you go, James.  And we have made a small change to the restroom area.  It’s not much.  Is it possible to get that reprinted before the meeting or no?

Consider it done.

Brother Sherwood was a tall, older brother with a soft ‘gentle-giant’ quality about him set against the kind bright eyes of a steady demeanor.  He may seem ‘soft’ in ways but somehow powerful enough to be a pleasant grounding force in any room he entered.  For such, there wasn’t much James wouldn’t do for him, so a small drafting change and replacing two sheets in a dozen sets in under an hour seems as inconvenient as low mumbling background noise.

James takes apart the binding strips of the sets he started and slides in his knee chair to the drafting station to make the changes.  The brothers are beginning to arrive, he hears.

Print.  Print.

Copy.

Double check.

He removes the old sheets from each set just as Amber walks into the door.  This looks a mess.

Great!  I need an assistant.  

You don’t have to be manic.  They will wait on  you.

I know, I just don’t want them waiting on me.

The two finished the packages and delivered to the conference with minutes to spare, meaning he had to go for the extra dramatic flair of delivering each set to each elder personally while greeting them.  Brother Sherwood always noticed the extra effort.  It was something James was honestly very appreciative of.

Thank you, James.  I don’t know what we’d do without you.

He smiles and bows a slight you’re welcome/no problem in the brother’s direction before exiting the conference room and subjecting Amber to the torturous OCD-laden operation of cleaning up the office they (he) had just jumbled.

Four hours and a change in wardrobe later he enters Feathers with Billy in tow after the two had dinner together outside on the lawn at Rice University.  Ozzy and Sterling are sitting behind the desk and the boys are buzzed in.

Ozzy approaches the duo in the hallway.

We have a problem.

You’re hair looks fine, James blurts out.

Hush you.  Master Don has an appointment for this evening and he can’t make it due to an emergency at work.  Real work.

I’m still not understanding the “we” part of the problem.  

Just have Don cancel.

He is the master after all.

“Master Don commands you to reschedule…”

“… Or you’ll get a beating.”

“… Or you… won’t… get a beating.”

I’m not sure how that works.

I’m not either.

Ollie waits until the two are finished.  I’m going to slap both of you. 

It is explained that this was a once-a-month event for the client while he is in town.  Master Don is not a full time Master, but rather a manager at a large retail store up 290.  Master will be coming by in 30 minutes to explain to someone how the dungeon operates and (Master’s main concern) how it all gets cleaned.

I’ll do it!  Brittney appears from break room and kisses James on the mouth.  Sorry, just had a sandwich.

Tastes so much better than before.  (To Billy) The other day she ate out a girl… to orgasm… and then kissed me on the mouth.

Billy is nervous around Brittney as a norm, but this information has him motionless as he stares at her eyes for the first time since they met.

You mean you…

I’m bisexual, yes.

Billy is almost frozen with joy, and says quietly, I would love to eat out a woman with you, someday.

I’m certain that can be arranged.  (Back to the conversation) So what are we doing with the dungeon guy?  I love spankin’ a little ass.

Ozzy is not longer paying attention.  He is stuck on what James said and is now green in color, obvious even in a low-lighting and pink walls.  His expression is stuck in mid-gag with eyes fixed off into unknown space.

You need to go get some water, I will fill her in.

As everyone files into the reception area they notice Sterling’s reaction to the conversation wasn’t much better than Ozzy’s.

Do you need some water as well?

(Half-laugh) I’ll be fine, just don’t look at me.  

It is explained to Brittney what the situation was with the dungeon rental and how the combination of her lack of penis and over compensating (albeit lovely) breasts would prevent her from adding solution to this particular problem.  Billy doesn’t want to confuse his sexuality any more than what he’s already toiling with.  Ozzy doesn’t even like passing the room and insists the door remains closed so as to avoid visual offense while entering the break room.

Sterling finally broke his silence.  Look, I haven’t done shit like that since Carter left office.  James, you should do it.  You’re the one wanting to learn about all this.  

What better way than from the master himself?

Plus I think you’ll look cute in leather.

No.

Broaden your horizons!

You will make twice as much in tips.

And it’s only for 30 minutes.

Oh my god. THIS is the peer pressure they always talked about in school.  How am I getting this after I graduate?

Encouraged by his giggling everyone begins to chime in at the same time, Do it James/You know you want to/All the cool kids are doing it/The first step is always the hardest.

Look, Ozzy finally said with finality, it’s your decision… but I think you will find it a lot more educational then sexual because that is just the way your mind works.

And, Brittney had to add, you’re not going to be part of the gang unless you beat some old man ass.

Both, are strong arguments.

Master Don enters with dark hair and a dark mustache, initially unassuming but upon standing still garners a rather inelastic energy without being overbearing or obvious.

So who’s our guy?

All heads pointed in the direction of the glass slowly turn toward James.

That would be me.  

Good.  Let’s get started.  As he is buzzed in he fishes out a small leather mask from his pocket.  Here, you’re definitely going to need this.

Why?

Because you look like you’re fucking twelve.

James P. Perez © 2013

Chapter 6 – Tickle Me Pink

He had circled the block three times and is sitting in the parking lot of a dark pink building with his hands seemingly glued to the steering wheel.  There was a weeks worth of phone calls, downloaded videos, online stories, and medical chart diagrams laying out the inner workings of the lower gastrointestinal system of the male anatomy.  He had incidental sex a few times in the past year, usually from the Galleria in totally innocent situations.

No wonder the obscene phone caller came from the Galleria.  These people are wanting sex all the time.

After each incident James would run home and analyze everything like a football play book.  He would go minute by minute in furious scrutiny trying to understand the physical aspects as well as the mentality of those using intentional online “looking for now” rushness or the incidental mid-shopping “I wouldn’t mind some of the sex this afternoon, let me just purchase these jeans, grab a latte and… are we going to your place or mine?”

Who has a life so leisure that they can just haphazardly reassign an hour of the day for spontaneous sex and coffee?

He does, apparently while trying to mind his own business shopping for clothes.  But for what he is trying to achieve, he’d rather be a little more scheduled than random.  Being a perfect child meant his life is compartmentalized into equitable groupings so as to accommodate everyone’s expectations adequately, and then to exceed them with minimal effort.  He is much more comfortable with the idea of working at a place where anything of a sexual-type nature is in a rhadamanthine setting in the reserved rooms of a fetish facility recently converted from a dentist office.

The old large intricately carved wood panel door with a horizontal spiral handle is less of an issue since the front of the establishment faced Westheimer Road, meaning someone is going to see me, move your fucking ass inside.  Entering the Tickle Me Pink box of a waiting room meant sanctuary… a sanctuary with an overstuffed love seat, a wood occasional chair, fake banana tree, a pepper of small tables salted with magazines, a hidden camera bubble, and a receptionist sliding glass window with a ledge.  Behind the window sat Ozzy.

Hello.  Welcome to Feathers.  How can I help you?

(Cast of Characters.)

Ozzy: A 26-year-old six-foot tall slightly goth thin-frame obviously out guy with medium length brown hair sometimes combed close to the head and sometimes slightly awry, but always with a bleached streak of bangs running across his face and behind his ear.   He is a costume designer wearing various hand-constructed clothes and unique alterations to store bought apparel accompanied with deconstructed accessories.  His smile is as captivating as his poise.  Even the way he eats his sandwich is in distinct grace.   He has opinions about everything from Madonna’s recently famous Gaultier cone corset to the suits and hair in the Nine Inch Nails “Closer” video James is currently obsessed with.

The eloquence of his current persona is somewhat of an achievement.  As a young child his mother had killed his father with an ax for cheating on her.  She was still a free woman by reason of insanity as she made a pitcher of iced tea before calling the police on herself.  In high school he and his best friend ditched the band trip they were suppose to go on and instead took a bus to New Orleans.  After enduring a hideous stench in the room for two days and countless complaints to the hotel staff, it was discovered there was a dead body under the bed.  He didn’t see the body, but he did notice her red patent leather high heels that were nice, but entirely too cliche for the situation.  The police were called and news cameras followed.  They left New Orleans thinking their parents had seen the story on television.  They had not.

William: (Called “Billy” most often) A 24-year-old six-foot-two thick but muscular straight frat boy from Rice university with dark wavy hair dangerously close to the “mullet” direction.  His big brown eyes sparkle with amusement and bewilderment as everything in life excites him.  He is going to school for theater and often brings his books to work.  He is currently trying to produce and direct a one-act version of Blood Wedding.  Although his ‘jock’ appearance and presentation would suggest he is of limited depth, reality states he is insightful of the world around him and is captivated by the symbolism and metaphor used in this particular play.

Though he is straight, he understands the idea of mechanics in sexual situations and is usually mystified by the gay culture as culture.  He enjoys a boyish eagerness to experiment without crossing the boundaries of being “too gay.”  He is hardworking and paying his own way through college.  His loyalty and determination are matched by his compassionate sense of unyielding ethics.  For such, he often engages in moralistic right/wrong discussions when it comes to the gay men, culture, the community, and etiquette.

RJ:  A very straight five-foot-eight 33-year-old impeccably well defined man with dark brown hair, deep grey/green eyes that beams glimpses that something naughty is going on in his mind all the time.  He is ruggedly beautiful in almost a model fashion and scruff that makes him look as if he just walked in from a orgy with all the Playboy playmates for that year every time he enters the room.  He is furry, but trimmed perfectly… not too smooth, just enough to give off a very down to earth sexual charisma.  He is quite intelligent and well-spoken making him an engaging person to talk to regardless of the subject.  This natural quality helps in his line of work as an escort for women, and a non-sexual escort for men.

His girlfriend works at the Gold Room which is the long-established ‘mother club’ of Feathers and she suggested this particular job to him.  He is not attracted to other guys at all, but has no problem with them in sexual situations since he and his girlfriend were swingers and male-to-male contact is something of a regularity, but not boner-inspiring.  He is a good hearted being and lacks spurious intent both to himself, and those around him.  To complete the picture, he rides a Harley motorcycle that he takes as much care with as he does his body and his woman, and often enters work with a leather jacket over a tight button up shirt.

Sterling:  A six-foot-two-inch 42-year-old skinny greying mustached out-and-proud gay man, and the largest penis in the building.  At first glance he seems like the typical smoking homo-left-over-from-the-80s, possibly a background extra for Marlboro Country one would find drinking his grievances away in the corner of a gay dive bar in the middle of the day.  As a human being, he is the antithesis of the first perception although he had been known to slip into the stereotype on occasion.

He is beyond kind and gracious, he is knowledgeable with humility.  He has lost many friends while others were barely in grade school watching the first waves of AIDS on television.  He gains charitable delight in his volunteering and helps the community in various aspects.  His sharp, keen sense of perception combined with his observation skills makes him fun to be around whether in private talking about the news, or people watching at a sandwich shop.  There was not a part of the gay community he does not have an intimate understanding of, and a warm appreciation for.

Derrick:  A five-foot-nine-inch well-built muscular broad-shouldered and freshly out 19-year-old with reddish-brown hair in a buzz-cut that is about the same length as his chin-strap beard.  He has limited experience with men and still likes women thus putting him in the ‘transitional bisexual’ phase many questioning teens go through.  He is quiet, soft, gentle, and with his deep set brown eyes tries to absorb everything faster than he is able to digest it.  He carries a lot of worry and secrets with his walk, presumably with his family.  The result is that he is a man of few words who always seems to be pouting in a relatively cute manner.

He doesn’t drink or do drugs.  He works out, eats well, and always protects himself, even so much as bringing his own bottled water from home.  There seems to be a troubled past that was beaten out of him and his reclaiming some foundation after such exhaustion makes his steps and movements purposeful and assured.  Though he is still working with matters of morality and justice, matters of heart and romance are kept under lock and key.

Brittany:  (is not her real name) Is a transplant from the Gold Room and stands somewhere between five-foot-ten and six-foot-two, depending on the heels she was sporting.  She has a massive head of blonde curly hair and the largest natural breasts most people will ever encounter in their lifetime.  In high school she was a large girl, and everyone made fun of her.  She usually kept a jovial attitude about the situation never showing how much it cut her.  By the time she was 24 years old, she had lost a considerable amount of weight and flaunting a rock-hard, albeit still curvaceous body.  The one place where she didn’t lose any weight… her tits.

As a person on the outside, she is a confident, hot, blonde bisexual bombshell who purchased her own town home, drove a new Mustang convertible, filled her life with fun and adventure from fine dining to evenings at the theater.  She is insistent on being honest on her income tax.  On the inside she was pure effervescence on a sub-atomic level.  She is observant of the world around here, and is eager to help strangers should they need assistance.  In high school she was listless and passive.  Once she started a work out regimen,  the neurotic scheduling became part of every aspect of her life, including how she was saving to pay for college.  She doesn’t drink or do drugs.  She finds the good in everyone and a silver lining is always to be seen no matter what situation is thrown at her.

Feathers is a fantasy and fetish establishment that caters to gay men.  We have a variety of themed rooms you can choose from, you pick your model, and you have a good time.

So… is there sex involved?

We are not a brothel or in the business of selling sex.  We just provide the fantasy or fetish, and any particulars you would like can be discussed between you and  your model.

Are you hiring?

James P. Perez © 2013