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When Your Work Colleagues Invite You To Out.
The Night Club.
Is Life Is Ever What You Expect It To Be.
It was a warm sunny Thursday morning in June in Glasgow. My alarm woke me for another day at the office, but I quickly realized that, starting tonight, it was a Civil Service double Bank Holiday this weekend. As I was embedded in a Government Office, I would have a long four-day weekend to enjoy myself. Nothing planned, I would just make it up as I went along.
My apartment was a leased, serviced business apartment, just off Sauchiehall Street and paid for by my employer. I had rented out my own apartment in Portsmouth which was near the large Naval base with HMS Victory’s masts towering above it. The apartment had just one problem in that it was overlooked by a glass fronted office block. If the bedroom blinds were not closed and mine never were, you had to be very discreet.
My office, where I shared a work pod with Rood Bloomfield, was just off the Broomielaw, overlooking the river Clyde and about a fifteen-minute walk from my apartment. Rood was originally from Amsterdam and we were both independent Project Forensic Analysists. Although we worked for different employers along with a Forensic Analysist team for this assignment, we had the same ultimate paymaster, whose demands were very impatient and unremitting. The remainder of the team worked in various other Government offices.
We had now worked together for over two months and had built up a good working rapport. It was said that we were now almost clairvoyant with each other as we did our forensic analysis of what had happened. We were separate from the regular staff in the office, who would sell their souls to get something on us for leverage. They were very wary of what we were doing and only saw us as scalp hunters, particularly as we were not allowed to tell them anything about our findings, only question them and examine what they had done or not done. I think they saw us as a Friday the 13th team and possibly they were correct, but it was too soon to say.
At lunch time in the café area Rood asked me what I had planned for the holiday weekend. When I told him that I had no plans and that I was going to make it up as I went along, his suggestion was that, for tonight, I tag along with him and his partner to make up a foursome at a private nightclub, where he was a member. I was reticent, being wary of blind dates, as I’d had a couple of bad experiences, including one when her husband turned up. But Rood assured me nothing like that would happen as they are stag and were dumped a few days ago, better offer by someone with serious money.
The arrangement was that I would meet Rood at the top end of Michael Street, not far from the Night Club and we would first both go for an Italian meal together. His partner would meet us in the Club later, as they were working an extended shift in the large Queen Elizabeth hospital and wouldn’t finish until after eight. We had eaten at that restaurant before at one of our regular Friday lunches out and it had been excellent. We had also taken our Senior Investigation Officer, our line boss, there on one of his biweekly visits. This had been to appease him as he was having a bit of a strop about information that was being withheld from us. Rood and I met as planned and shared a bottle of wine and I had my usual Fruit di Mar. The Night Club was just down the street and round the corner in the adjacent Michael lane.
After our meal, half a bottle of wine and a few beers each, we headed down the narrow spooky lane. I must admit that, although it wasn’t yet dark, I was wary about walking down that lane. We arrived at the entrance which was on the ground floor of a multi-story car park with an uninviting plain double wooden door with a sign on it saying Groundhog Private Members Club and a logo that I couldn’t make out. Rood tapped in a code on the keypad and showed his Club pass to an electronic eye in the wall. The door opened automatically and we were met by one of the Club’s security staff who directed us down a flight of stairs leading into a very plush reception area. Rood asked me to wait for him in the guests’ waiting area as he checked us both in.
I was idly browsing some of the club entertainer’s photographs, when one of the security staff came over to me. I recognized him immediately as we were both members of the same gym. He had helped me out one morning, when I got into a predicament with the weights doing bench presses. I had slept late that morning hurried to the gym in Queen Street without any breakfast, then beasted into my training program to catch up before the gym started to fill up. On the bench press my arms were starting to fatigue out big time and I was unable to put the barbell back up on the stand. My arms were starting to shake under the load and I thought I was going to drop the weight on my chest. As if by magic, a very muscular arm appeared from nowhere and lifted the barbell single handed onto the stand.
I sat up and thanked my life saver. güvenilir bahis That, at least, is how I saw him at the time. He introduced himself as Martyn Courtland, part time gym trainer, competition weightlifter and night club bouncer. Seeing him, with his thighs, upper body and arm muscles looking ready to burst out of his tight-fitting Lycra shorts and top, I was very impressed. As I thanked him for his help, he kicked into trainer mode, enquiring why I had fatigued out. I explained my morning rush and missing breakfast. He told me to follow him as we headed to the gym relaxation area, or the sin bin as it was often called. He explained that skipping carbohydrates and not taking fluids before a gym workout was not a good idea, then gave me a can of energy drink which produced an almost instant kick. Since then, whenever we met in the gym, we chatted about life in general and sometimes shared a coffee.
Martyn interrupted my browsing, saying to me that he didn’t realize that I was a member of this Club. I explained that I wasn’t and this was my first time here, making up a foursome on a sort of blind date, as a guest of Rood Bloomfield. He welcomed me and hoped that he would see me later when doing his rounds. Before Martyn moved away, Rood returned, handing me a visitor pass with my photograph on it, saying that he had emailed in my works security pass photograph. It was a terrible photograph and I said that I would need to get it replaced by something better. We then headed into the venue area and Martyn went back to his club security duties.
When we walked over to the table, overlooking the entertainment stage, that Rood had booked earlier, two guys were sitting there. Rood first introduced me to Eric De Jong, his partner. I hadn’t known that Rood was gay, despite the fact that we had worked together for a few months and he had stayed over at my apartment a few nights when we were both the worse for wear as the result of an after work drinking session. He then introduced me to the other guy, Scott Marshall, a man of about my height, with jet black hair, very well spoken and confident, but a little effeminate looking. He was then introduced to me as my blind date for the night and I was lost for words as we shook hands.
Rood broke the silence, saying that he and Eric needed to discuss something with the Club Manager and asked Scott to entertain me, explaining that they would be away for an hour or so, then walked away. Scott broke the ice by suggesting that I hadn’t known that this was a gay club. When I confirmed that, he jokingly invited me to sit down before I fell down. A waiter arrived with two cocktails of the week for us, courtesy of Rood or Eric. I never found out what was in them but they had a very pleasant instantaneous calming kick to them.
I explained that Rood had invited me to make up a foursome and had joked that it was to be a blind date, because you had been let down, which Scott at once confirmed. His friend, like him, was a private banker. He had been invited by one of his very wealthy clients, whom he had known off and on, so to speak, for a couple of years, to move in with him in his bungalow in the Seychelles. He said yes, so you won me for the night, which I hope you don’t mind. Of course, I said no but explained that I was just caught out. So, we both smiled and clinked glasses together. It was amusing, because Rood must have thought I was also gay, but even although I wasn’t, I got a bit of a kick out of it.
As we sat there chatting, my competition weightlifter and muscle man friend Martyn came over with another man, who he introduced to us as Tim Courtenay, the club photographer. Martyn had overheard that I didn’t like my current pass photograph. Tim gave it a look and said that he was in agreement, almost instantly producing a camera with a long lens. He quickly snapped a few photos, not giving me time to pose. His opinion was that you got a better photo if you didn’t pose. More natural that way.
Scott informed me that all Club guests receive complimentary photographs to commemorate their first visit to the Club. As he unbuttoned my shirt almost to the waist, as his was, Scott explained that he thought that I should have the relaxed gay look. In this way we posed while not posing, Tim took several photographs of us, with drinks in our hands, toasting each other and arms round each other. Scott referred to them as his blackmail photographs. Martyn thought that was funny and suggested that, later that evening, I could pose with him down on the stage. He explained that he was in the finals of an Iron Man competition. What could I do but agree. As both departed to their respective duties, Scott asked me, with a smile, whether I realized that he would only be wearing tight, almost there speedos and bulging out muscles. I gave him a look that told him, another fine mess you got me into.
About half an hour later the Club Manager Alan Graham came over to welcome me to the Club, with another round of complimentary cocktails of the night for us, with all the usual niceties being exchanged. He had türkçe bahis the personality you would expect of a Club Manager and I think, given time, he could talk you into anything. He started by asking me if I would help him out. He explained that the Club usually held its Iron Man and Dames and Sluts competitions on Thursday nights, with first time guests invited to be on the panel of judges and added that tonight is Finals Night. As a way of showing our appreciation we give complimentary six months club membership and a personal photographic session with our in-house, very discreet, photographer. I had been well and truly set up, so what could I say but that I would love to.
We then finished our cocktails, which were strong and invigorating and my head was beginning to spin. Scott gave me a grand tour of the club which had originally started life as the bottom two basement floors of a multistory carpark and an adjoining, recently rediscovered Victorian underground station. It was complete with a large horseshoe stage, several discreet adjoining function suites and rooms, all superbly fitted out with very plush décor, including an optional, Towels Only, spa facility in the old railway station with adjoining quiet and dark rooms. This was where we came across Rood and Eric wearing only, shall we say short, white towel wraps, with the Club logo on them. I still didn’t know what the logo actually was.
Rood came over, explaining that Eric was on duty tonight as a medic and he was helping out. Both had trained as combat medics during their Dutch National Service. Eric had, after university, re-trained in Leiden as a Trauma Medic, which he still is, while Rood became an analysist like me. He said they would finish their duties in time for the show and were looking forward to my stint as a panel judge, something they both thought was very funny.
Scott took me down to the backstage area where we met Jac Dofoe the very French, Club Entertainment’s Manager. He explained that, of the ten volunteer judges, five would judge the Iron Man and five the Dames and Sluts competitions. Each group of five would sit on opposing podiums on each wing of the horseshoe stage. It was then he asked me if I would be the prize Presentation Judge for the Iron Man competition. Again, what could I say?
He then explained that I would be given an iPad which would have a check list of features against which we should score competitors on a one to ten basis. Points would be automatically added up and all competitors placed in order. The two Presentation Judges would then present prizes in the form of a bag of coins. Each group winner would receive the largest bag, the bags getting smaller the lower the finisher. These bags were later to be exchanged for cash. As Presentation Judges we would wear special stage outfits for the cameras and the Entertainment Manager Jac would host the night so we wouldn’t have to speak on stage.
Scott and I went downstairs together for me to get changed. The outfits they gave me comprised a lightweight, almost see through, snow white, one piece shirt and trousers with the biggest flares I had ever seen. As I began to get changed, Jac came down, telling us that there had been a problem. The judge for the Dames and Sluts Presentation had taken stage fright and none of the other judges wanted to be a Presentation Judge. He asked if either Scott or I would present both prizes. With revenge in mind, I assured Jac that Scott would love to help. Done deal, that’s what friends are for, I thought. Scott was very relaxed about it all and, with Jac, disappeared to an adjacent changing room.
I went into my changing room, accompanied by a dresser, come makeup artist, who would help me get ready. I was handed a flat black Jock Strap and harness, which concerned me quite a lot, as I was worried about the ultra-light weight of the outfit material being see through and showing in particular the Jock Strap. There was also a matching harness to wear and a whip. Before I could say anything, the dresser said that the jock strap would enhance the cut of the outfit. Having never held a jock strap before, let alone wear one, I thought I should just see how it would go.
To be honest I was a bit unsure how you wear one, but the dresser quickly helped me and I have no doubt that he really enjoyed gently, but firmly maneuvering the leg elastic and waist band. I certainly did. It was a weird feeling wearing a jock strap for the first time. As you stood up, sat down or walked you could feel the elastic pull at your buns, producing a bit of a thrill and an arousal twitch, which, as it was tightly contained within a pouch, added to it all.
Before I pulled on the one-piece outfit, my dresser applied makeup powder to my exposed skin, arms, face and chest, something to do with the light reflection. Being made up was another first for me. Then he sprayed my exposed skin with a silver sparkle, again for the lighting, the outfit fitted me like a glove, but the shirt opened right down to an ultra-low hip belt. Looking in the mirror, I must admit I looked really güvenilir bahis siteleri good in it. At least I thought so and the jock strap lifted and separated my butt adding to its cut, as well as feel as you walked; elastic on Lycra. It was then that Scott came in. I was speechless as he was dressed in a matching snow-white flared one-piece mini dress, complete with club logos and cleavage spilling out the top along with a bare midriff and very high heels. He looked absolutely fantastic in it. If I hadn’t known better I would, I am sure, be trying to pull him.
We all headed down to the wings of the stage, where the Dames and Sluts panel were all dressed in short skirts or micro shorts. Wearing make-up, they really looked good. I felt like the guy looking into the sweet shop window. We all lined up and walked onto the stage. Blinded by the strobe lights, all we could see of the audience was their outlines in the spill of the lights. The combination of the music, strobe lights and suggestive cat calls was all quite exhilarating. The panel judges sat down and, one at a time, on came the Iron Man contenders, one at a time. We scored them as they did their muscle flexing routine. Naturally, my gym buddy Martyn got a good winning score from me. The Dames and Sluts then did their beauty pageant thing with some very suggestive erotic moves, and the enjoyment in the audience was shown by the level of table banging and vocal encouragement from them.
Using their stage names and in reverse order, Jac then announced the winners. I was now alongside him on stage as I handed out the bags of coins to the Iron Man winners. As they received their bags of coins, the contenders then posed individually and were photographed with me, strobe lights on, each in turn taking the opportunity of discreetly groping me between my now protruding buns. Scott had been correct, in that their snow-white speedos were the almost there type and their bulging muscles were overflowing out of them. Scott then did his Presentation Judge, handing out the prizes to the Dames and Sluts contenders. To the noisy enjoyment of both the audience and Scott, each contestant kissed and hugged him erotically.
It was then that I noticed two things. As the white lights strobed on and off Scott and the prize recipient, his bulges and artificial bump underwear was shining through as his outfit became transparent, as were those of the winners as they received their prize. Both looked naked intermittently as the lights strobed on them there on the stage. In that moment, I realized that my outfit must have produced the same effect. Hence the insistence by Jac and the dresser on my black jock strap and harness. I then noticed that, in the shadows, were two professional film camera operators. I later found out that their work was streaming live directly onto the club’s own web channel. Meaning that my exhibition had been not only for the pleasure of the audience, but globally over the Web.
By the time I left the stage I was emotionally drained by what I had just done. Meeting up with Scott on the way back to the dressing rooms, I told him what had just happened, his response to which was to suggest that we enjoy another drink. So, still in our stage outfits, we headed back to our table, where Rood and Eric were waiting for us. They congratulated us on our stage performance and bought us another restorative cocktail, after which I was semi oblivious to the world and what had happened.
Half an hour later, our friendly photographer Tim came over to our table, saying that he would like to do some promotional shots of us down in his studio. Rood and Eric left us to it as they had something arranged in the Spa Bar area. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask for details. In the studio Tim took various shots of us, sitting at mock tables, a bar, then together on a love couch. He then suggested we move to the sauna and do some shots there and produced a couple of towel wraps, sporting the club logo, for us to wear. We changed into them in our dressing room. They were seven eighths wraps which meant one thigh, possibly another part of your anatomy, would be fully exposed. It was then I found out what an exposed left or right thigh and leg meant.
Into the mock sauna, which had special lights to give the illusion of heat, we went. On the wooden benches, we sat there together, with our wraps strategically and erotically positioned as Tim photographed us. After he had finished the promotional shots, Tim asked if we’d like any personal, discreet photographs taken together. Quickly, Scott said yes then swiftly undid both my wrap and his. We posed together, nothing full-on, just holding and pressing on each other. It was then that the night’s activities caught up with us and we both became visually aroused as Tim clicked away with his camera. He then had us pose together erotically and sexually. Then we overdid it, lying on my back with my knees up, Scott gently touched and stroked me between my buttocks and it was a sublime moment as I felt him slowly slide inside me. It was a wonderful feeling and, as I lay there letting him do as he felt, he went the full way and continued, Tim clicking away and in video mode. It didn’t take long before the inevitable happened and I lay there, exhausted and breathing deeply as it drained away.
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