Three Days Later.  Tracy
By Byrne
Archived at Pastorale, Bellum Viri


He stayed for three days. Three fucking days and two nights, and it hadn't been that bad, really.

Damon went to work and Dove fell asleep on the couch, watching some movie they'd found. The reception on the TV was utter crap, but the VCR worked fine, so they always had tapes of something kicking around. Occasionally a good movie found its way into their hands, mixed in with the porn and horror movies, and Dove had been nice and comfy, lost in some old western.

He liked the boots.

So, he'd fallen asleep, and when Damon got home from work in the morning they'd had breakfast and gone to bed, where Dove had fucked Damon into damn near unconsciousness before they'd fallen asleep. It was supper time when they woke up, so they ate again, and showered, and messed around until Damon went back to work.

Dove'd planned to go out himself, but as Damon left he'd shoved a sheaf of papers into Dove's hands.

"What the fuck is this?" Dove asked, holding the papers like they were snakes.

"You got bored with Harry Potter, yeah? Try reading this shit. And out loud, it's easier to get the words right if you hear them."

"Fuck off," Dove said mildly, tossing them onto the table. "Where'd you get it, anyway?"

Damon grinned. "One of the accountants left his browser open when he went home last night. I was dumping garbage pails and took a look. Printed out some nice stories for you."

Dove raised an eyebrow and Damon grinned again, then walked out the door, off to work.

Dove tried ignoring the papers, but he was nothing if not curious. He got a beer and the first three sheets, then flopped on the couch, grudgingly reading the words out loud, one at a time. He wasn't really paying attention to the content much, just trying to get the feel of the letters again, forcing them to blend together into something recognizable.

But the words weren't hard at all, and within a couple of paragraphs he was reading faster, the words starting to flow. Maybe there was something to this practice shit after all. He went back to the beginning and read it again, listening to the content this time, relaxing a little as he realized he'd likely be able to read most of the three pages without frustration settling in.

That feeling fled half way down the first page, but it wasn't the words that threatened to frustrate him. Or rather, not the letters. The words themselves, though-the story-that just might.

Damon printed him porn. Filthy, naughty, nasty porn. Dove stopped reading out loud at the end of the first page, started reading a little slower, to make sure of the words. Sometimes he'd skip back to make sure of what was happening, but he never stopped. Not until the end of the third page and then it was only to get the rest.

He'd done all that shit, and watched most of it, but he hadn't read it; had no idea the words could make him hard, make him so fucking horny he jerked off twice in an hour and a half.

By the time he fell asleep he'd made it half way through the pile, and when Damon came home he found him on the couch, still naked, with a dream induced hard on.

Dove didn't even wait until Damon was naked before he started reading out loud to him. They got through less than two pages before Dove was all over Damon, fucking him hard and deep.

So he stayed another day.

The third night, though, he was ready to get out, blow off some steam and look at something other then the walls, the paper and his own cock. He dressed and was almost to the door before he thought better of just leaving. He went back to the kitchen and hunted around, eventually coming up with a pencil and a take out menu.

"I'll be back soon. D."

It was the closest he'd ever come to conceding that Damon should know he'd be back. That he thought about what Damon would think.

Vaguely unsettled, but not willing to simply leave, he headed out, making his way back to his place. He stopped to talk to a few people here and there, standing on Jimmy's corner and scaring tricks away until Jimmy got pissed and told him to take a hike. He laughed and walked another block, then spotted Spider and bummed a smoke.

"Been to the club lately?" Spider asked.

"Nope. Been about a week. Why?"

"You should stop in." Spider grinned, showing two broken teeth. "New player hanging out, causing a stir."

Dove couldn't have cared less, so he just kept walking until he got to his building and in, up the stairs to his door. Which was standing open.

"Ah, fuck," he hissed. Dove nudged the door open with his boot, hand going into his pocket for his knife. Light spilled out, so he opened the door wide and stared.

Chev was sitting on the middle of his mattress, looking at him mildly. "Hey, Dove."

Dove stepped into his room and looked around. "What the fuck?" he said. "Where's all my shit? What are you doing in here?"

Chev shrugged. "You ain't been around. We figured you moved on, your room was up for grabs."

Dove stared at him. "The fucking door was locked. What did you do, kick the door in? You know the rules-we damage the place, we lose it. You dumb shit." He was still looking around, looking for his things.

"Nah, just popped the lock. No stress."

"No stress? It's my fucking room! Where's my-"

Chev waived his hand. "You got a lease, asshole? You weren't around. And the only stuff in here was the mattress, three t-shirts, and pile of magazines. And some fucking kids book."

Dove blinked and did a fast inventory of his gear. He'd been keeping his toys-the whip, the crop, the other shit-at Damon's for ages, since they'd started fucking on a regular basis. Just more secure there. His leather pants and other pair of boots were there, too, and some more clothes.

Dove had never really had much, but still it was a little stunning to realize how little was really his. Even more stunning to realize that apparently he'd been living with Damon for a while now without knowing it.

Suddenly he really needed a drink.

He fished his key out of his pocket and dropped it on the floor, then turned and left.

Less than half an hour later he wandered into the Razor's Edge, and then right back out again as the jerk behind the bar spotted him and pointed to the door. Once upon a time he could get away with a beer and a game of pool in there, but lately they'd really tightened up on underage drinking. Or maybe they were just trying to keep the street kids out; Dove didn't care. All that mattered was that he'd been tossed before he got a beer and the twins in the back booth weren't doing anything exciting this time.

With a curse he decided to try up town, but a voice called his name as he hit the end of the block and he turned to see Rex waving him back.

"Can't get in, man," Dove called to him.

"Not that. C'mere!"

Dove sighed and started walking back, cursing out whoever'd made Rex's ID. Rex was only nineteen, but his ID said twenty-one and it was a good one. Had to be, Rex looked about thirteen if he tried-made a killing with the perv trade.

"What?" he said when he was close enough not to bellow. "Just need a drink, Rex."

Rex nodded. "C'mon then. We'll go to the club."

Dove shook his head. "No way. I don't want to play, just want to drink, and when I walk in there it's like a zoo. Don't want the hassle."

Rex bit his lip. "That's why you should go, Dove," he said seriously. "New top making big noise there. Got a good arm."

Dove rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Fine. Let's go. Maybe people will shut the fuck up about it."

Rex grinned and took off, little ass wiggling. Dove sighed again. Kid had far too much energy. Maybe he had some of it to sell. He tucked the idea away as an option if the club was a total bust.

When they got there, Rex disappeared almost immediately, working his way through the crowd and the music to his personal court in the back corner. Boy like him could make a fortune sucking cocks while guys got off on the show.

Dove took his time. He waved off the master, said he wasn't there to play, and wandered. It was only just past two, still early, and the club was only starting to come alive. There was the usual mix of people, pretty typical of Not A Nice Place. It wasn't a gay club, really, just had a reputation for anything goes and being a safety zone if you liked to get whipped and fucked. It also wasn't really strictly a show club, and wasn't solely a venue for making your own scene if you didn't happen to have a dungeon at home.

It was eclectic, really. People could come with their own toys, their own master or slave, and pay to use the stage. Or they could come with their partner and use the club's toys. Or they could come solo, find their match in the crowd and take it from there.

The club only actually employed six people to work the scenes, aside from the whipping master. Those six were paid a wage, plus tips from the clients, and everyone seemed happy with that. Then there were the freelances, people like Dove.

Dove had started as just one of the crowd, but people started asking to be put on his list, so the master had taken him aside one day and made him an offer. He let them make the list for him if he was interested in playing, they took care of the toys, the clean up and provided the lube and condoms. He got tested for everything regularly and took sixty percent of what they charged for him.

No brainer to Dove's way of thinking. He'd make more solo, but not for long. People liked to know he was testing, that the club would take him on and make his list. Plus they charged a fuck of a lot for his arm, after they'd seen him play a few times.

The only thing Dove didn't do was women. He'd flog a man until he came, until he bled, until he begged for mercy and came within a breath of his safe word. But there was no power on Earth that would let Dove flog a woman.

There were several women in the bar that night, he noticed as he made his way to the bar. Not unusual, really. There were often female slaves, their Master's showing them off and playing with them on the main stage. Didn't bother Dove any, just not his thing. Once in a while there'd be a Dominatrix in as well, her boy toy on a leash or something. Again, didn't bother Dove, but it did make him roll his eyes a little.

The club actually employed a Dominatrix; Lacey worked four nights a week and was in constant demand. It was amazing how many guys wanted to be topped hard by a blue haired scary chick. Almost as many as wanted to be flogged by a guy, apparently. Lacey made her money and grinned, and when the lights came up and the club emptied she'd kick back and sing John Lennon songs as they drank a last beer.

Dove liked Lacey.

What Dove didn't like was the way the leather clad Amazon bitch across the bar was looking at him. Hungry eyes, a weird green that he could see even in the dim light, and short black hair.

"Who's that?" he asked Skunk when he came with another bottle.

"Wondered when you'd show," Skunk said. "That, my friend, is our newest top. Her name's Tracy, and she's getting a lot of action. She's got a--"

"Strong arm. I heard." Dove dismissed both Skunk and Tracy, turning around to face the crowd. Jesus, what a waste of time. No way was she any sort of threat to him-he did gay guys, bi guys, guys in the closet, guys who wanted a man to take them out of themselves. No one that wanted a girl, for fucks sake. If they wanted tits they went for Lacey.

He saw her come around the corner of the bar and waited. She was prowling, he could tell from her hips, her breasts, the way she scoped him. Stupid bitch was hunting him. Oh well, at least it was entertaining.

He ignored her, watching another guy go to the master for a fast conversation, the master shaking his head and pointing to Dove, saying no. Not on a list tonight. Sorry. Dove shrugged when the master glared at him. He didn't want to play. Didn't need it.

Then he thought about the fact that he didn't have a room anymore and frowned.

"Too pretty to look like that," she purred, sliding onto the stool next to him.

Dove looked at her finally. Usual dom leather, from pointy breasts to pointy heels. Skank whore in black leather so shiny she glowed. It suited.

"Why so unhappy?" she asked moving closer. "Need to take your mind off something?"

Now, that was just pathetic. What the hell did this bitch think she was doing? Word was out that she was all that, and here she was coming onto him like a ten dollar hooker. He raised an eyebrow at her, finally seeing the look in her eyes.

She was playing with him. She knew who he was, what he did, and she was playing games.

"Fuck off," he said mildly. "Go play somewhere else."

She bared her teeth at him, but didn't move. "Want to watch me, kiddo? See how the adults play?"

Dove laughed before he could stop himself. "Go for it, baby. Try not to fall off your shoes."

She smiled at him, eyes cold, assessing. "How old are you?" she asked suddenly.

Dove grinned. "Gonna bust me for drinking underage?"

"Nope. Just wondered how many guys would want you if they knew you weren't legal."

"Oh please. My list would fucking double with the pervs who want kiddie ass. Don't be a dumb cunt."

She smiled at him and stood up. "I think I'm due on stage. Don't go away, I have a message for you later." Then she was gone.

Dove shook his head and ordered another beer. She was scary looking and scary stupid. Bad combination. He pondered what she meant about a message and figured if someone really wanted him they could find him. Or at least another way to get to him.

The lights went up on the main stage and Dove watched as some trick was bound. Naked, he was bent over slightly, holding onto a bar for support, his legs spread by steel cuffs with a rod between them. Tracy stepped up on the stage, bull whip in hand, and the people in the audience shifted as one in the their seats.

Tracy had shed a layer of clothes, was now in a leather corset with black leather short shorts and black stockings. Her boots were over her knees, and the heels had to be four inches. She looked oddly butch and fem at the same time, her hair only a couple of inches long, her eyes heavy lidded and surrounded by black. Her mouth and nails were, of course, whore red.

Dove snorted in disgust. Poser.

The master announced the safe word and Tracy stepped back, then it began. It took Dove less than four strokes to sit up straighter, less than a dozen to know she was good. Damn good.

When the trick came it was with a scream and a black dildo up his ass, Tracy driving him and at least four people in the audience over the edge.

Dove had never been so far from hard before in his life.

Tracy walked straight to him as soon as she'd handed the whip over for cleaning. Skunk passed her a bottle of water without her asking and she stood right in front of Dove, taller, more assured.

"Macy says hi," she said. Then she turned and walked away.

Dove stared at her, his gut clenching. Nothing scared Dove, ever. Nothing could, there wasn't anything that anyone could do to him that was worse than what he'd been through.

But Macy scared him.

He left the club, was halfway to his place before he remembered he didn't have a place. The thought of going to Damon's was enough to make him start hunting for a warehouse. He couldn't just go there, expect Damon to take him in, tell him he'd lost his room, that some psycho with a strong arm was taking his job, that he needed he needed he needed.

So he walked and cursed and looked around for a party, tried to score, and when he wound up back at the club he was ready to play.