Unbound, Unmasked Ch. 01

Author's Note: This is the first chapter to a story I have been working on. I've got about fifteen thousand words going, with about five and a half chapters done. The goal is to publish, but wanted to post the first chapter up to prove I'm not dead.

All Characters are Eighteen Years of Age or older.

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I liked what I saw when I looked in the mirror.

My body looked good, the sheen of oils making it glisten in the light of the dressing room. Muscles bulging in all the right places, a few flexes of my arms. Just the right amount of body hair, a soft dusting of fine gold that would be nearly indistinguishable in the light of the stage. My hair looked just fine, the dark blonde head of hair cropped short, with just a little bit of a mess of it. I'd do me, I thought to myself.

First, I should say that it's nothing narcissistic about thinking that. I don't doubt that for some, looking at yourself naked in the mirror, flexing and posing, would constitute as narcissistic, but not to me. It's important to look good and be comfortable with yourself. So often I will stand in front of the mirror, looking over every inch of myself for any sign of imperfection. In my line of work, I'm sure a lot of people are the same way. Looking for imperfections when there could be no imperfections, where the customers paid for nothing short of perfection made flesh and blood.

I work out. A lot. It's necessity in what I do. Lifting. Running. Swimming. Whatever I can do to keep my body in shape and muscles toned. These customers weren't coming for the flabby or overweight, nor for the men of an older vintage. They were paying for the sight that would grace and embrace their fantasies for nights to come.

They were paying to come see me naked. On stage. Doing my thing.

A knock upon my dressing room door filled the otherwise silent atmosphere. "You're up next, Jordy." Mac said through the door. In the distance, if I listened hard, I could just faintly hear the applause of the audience in the main room. Almost time.

I've been doing this sort of thing for going on three years, about three times a week, and it still made me nervous deep down inside. Sure, I might look calm. A face of stone. I've had fellow stage performers comment and compliment me on how calm I've seemed just before a performance. If they only knew... My hand still shakes a little before a performance, and it's not uncommon to feel that sickening tug in my guts.

"You can do this." I tell myself, closing my eyes to take some deep, calming breaths. "Almost done with this. Almost ready to put it all behind you."

I try to focus on the show. Something I've done a million times before. It's a little comforting, knowing the routine in mind, knowing what I'm doing, and about to do. Little room for screw ups.

A deep chug of the water bottle on the dressing room table. I reach for the plain black masquerade mask that sits nearby, slipping it on over my head. It didn't offer a whole lot in the way of anonymity, covering just around the eyes and bridge of my nose, but something was better than nothing.

One last look in the mirror. My hands hook into the waistband of my black briefs, shoving them down to the floor, before taking a few spurts of lubricant to my hardened member. It's showtime, folks.

I stepped out of my dressing room, taking the left down the hall towards the stage. My heart is racing, thumping hard in my chest. I should be used to it. I can't remember how many performances I've done (a scary thought), can't count how many times I've made the same familiar march to the curtains of the stage, but each time feels like the first time in it's own way.

Soon I'm standing up behind the curtains of the stage. Eyes closed, breathing deeply. I roll my neck and shoulders, loosening myself up. This is where I change, where I transform. The normal Jordan Williams is left behind, replaced by my masked, onstage persona. Right there, between the curtains, is where I find that last semblance of peace before the show, where I'm neither myself, or the performer. Where I'm nothing and everything.

So when I felt a hand upon my arm, I couldn't help but to feel annoyed with the last bit of peace being shattered.

"Change of plans, Boss." the squat Mac said. "Bachelorette party. Viv's orders."

Of course. "Fuck." I muttered. "What the fuck am I supposed to do? I thought we were doing a Wet and Wild show tonight."

"I tried to tell her you'd be upset, but she wouldn't have it any other way."

My boss is a pain in the fucking ass. "Alright." I said, trying to take a calming breath. "Alright. All of the paperwork is signed?"

"You know it." Mac said. "Signed and fully aware."

That's good, I thought to myself. "What do we have ready to use?"

"Got a stockade ready to go. St. Andrews should be ready in a few. Got the boys cleaning that and the Bench down." Mac said. "Just say the word, and you'll get it brought out."

It wasn't much to work with. None of it was. But it was better than nothing. "Alright." I said. "Stockade. I can work with that."

"...And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, last, but certainly not least... The man you've all been waiting for..." The voice of the announcer said in the main room. "The God of Desire himself, Adonis!"

The curtain before him parted, the stage of dark wood illuminated by the lights above. I held my head high, taking confident steps as I emerged through the curtains out onto the stage. The applause went unacknowledged. More than a few wolf-whistles came, a scream or two from a few of the regulars. I made my way to the middle of the stage, my hands planted upon my hips, muscles bulging and glistening from the oil in the lights above. My cock, the thick, heavy organ which brought a great many to the small little theater, gleaming in the glory of the lights shining down upon him.

I let them applause and voice their approval. It'd be unprofessional to encourage it. They weren't there to see some narcissistic man bask in their adulation. Instead, I stood there in silence, waiting with my hands upon my hips like a parental figure, waiting for the silence my aura demanded.

I didn't have to wait long, as soon the hushed silence fell upon the dark figures beyond the heated lights of the stage above. It was then that I spoke, my voice darker, heavier and more authoritative. "I've been made aware that we have a special occasion taking place here this evening." I said, my voice carrying over the silent audience in the modest room.

A slight outburst of excitement, of surprise and amusement came from a table not far from the stage. My eyes eyes turned towards it, the powerful and intimidating presence looming. "Come up to the stage. You don't want me to have to come and get you."

The lights made it difficult to see much beyond a few feet of the stage. I don't know how many times I've complained about it. But I could hear the sounds of movement, a fury of urging and the hint of an embarrassed voice. Soon the dark haired woman came into the light, climbing the short steps to come on stage, next to the man she and her friends had come to see.

She was nervous, a tad timid as she came up onto the stage, taking my steadying hand offered to her before being led front and center for the entirety of the room to see. "Stay." I commanded, my voice just loud enough to carry to the audience. Hands clasped in front of her, with a wide, beaming smile, cheeks full and red, it was easy to see a part of her wanted to let out a nervous laugh. She was trembling slightly, a nervous ball of anxiety beneath the smile of embarrassed anticipation. A lot of the women who were brought onto the stage were like that initially.

Slowly and methodically I began to circle around her. Round and round, my lips were silent, eyes looking over every visible inch of her as if I was inspecting a piece of meat. "What's your name, precious?" I asked.

"B-Blair!" She answered. Her voice was hesitant, but there could be no mistaking the eagerness that lay in her voice. The excitement that generally came with those who bought tickets and signed the small stack of paperwork.

I came to a stop behind her, my body close to hers. The thick rod of flesh that brought a great many to the show, the near eleven inches of masculinity, pressed against the curve of her back, a light tease as my hand reached up to brush her long dark hair to the side. I leaned forward, with the appearance of testing a delicious scent upon her neck, of taking in the delicious sight of her soft, pale flesh up close.

"If things get too intense, you remember the safe words mentioned at the start of the shows tonight, yes?" I whispered softly, gently, for her ears only.

The beginning of each show, before the performances began, came with the crash course on the house rules and guidelines. Paperwork was to be signed by each member of the audience, a waiver of liability, a statement of being disease free, and so on. Introduction and explanation of Safe Words. More often than not, there was a pro in the audience, a mark that was being paid to act like an audience member, paid to be brought on stage and be part of the show. On rare occasions, such as that evening, an actual audience member was brought up on the stage, brought into the show...

...Unfortunately for the performer like me.

A soft nod of understanding, of acknowledgment came. A good start, I thought to myself.

My hands found her sides, slowly bringing them down along her body before resting upon her hips. "It's a special night for you." I said, my voice once again loud enough to carry across the silent audience. "Your last night as a free woman..."

She tensed, her body going stiff, as my hands began to slide their way down her abdomen, resting against her pubis through the material of the red dress she wore. My hand had a commanding presence, that of strength and control, not a hint of hesitation or nervousness at all as I spread her thighs to cup her sex in the palm of my hand.

My right hand, the hand that was free, began to slide back up her body. Unafraid, unwavering, it brushed against her breasts, coming across her chest before finding her neck. There was no force, no tightened, choking grip upon her throat. As with her sex, it remained a strong presence, firm against her throat as her pulse raced.

"Don't stop." She whispered softly. I couldn't help but to allow a small, slight little smirk to come from that. Hearing it never got old, and only made my cock throb harder.

The hand upon the apex of her thighs was released, soon gathering up the soft material of the dress she wore to reveal the black lace of the underwear she wore. It did not take long before my hand once again found the familiar spot between her legs, the palm of his hand slowly caressing the warmth as his finger nestled between her nether lips through the lacy covering.

Slow, back and forth movements of my finger, ever so carefully working their way against her moist heat through the material of the underwear made the girl quiver softly in excitement beneath my hand. I could feel her pulse beating beneath my fingertips, raging with intensity. From the crowd came cheers of support, wolf whistles voicing their approval. Soft, shallow breaths came from the girl, working her up with each passing second. Feeling her grind against my, feeling the warmth of her body beneath the dress rubbing up against the rigid member pressed against her, was all the proof that I needed to know it was time to move on.

My hand was removed from between the woman's thighs. I extended my arm towards the curtains to the side of the stage. A simple beckoning call of my fingers brought forth the instruments for the evening. Stage Hands, dressed in all black, black pants, black t-shirts, and black ski-masks were quick to hustle. Two pushed out a stockade on wheels while another two brought out a rack of various toys and devices, all hung neatly and organized. They were quick to ensure things were in order, the breaks upon the stockade engaged, everything prepared for the show to truly begin.

I towed her along by the hand, leading her over to the large stockade of a polished dark wood. Swiftly I lifted the top open before my guest for the evening, the all too eager bachelorette, placed herself within it, bent over at a compromising ninety degrees, her hands and head restrained when I closed the top of the stockade, leaving her all alone to my desires.

"This poor girl is about to be attached with one man, for the rest of her life." I declared loudly to the crowd, my member fully erect, jutting out from my body. "I believe it's time this girl had an evening she'll never forget... An evening she'll be thinking about while getting fucked by her husband for a long, long time."

More sounds of approval came at my words as I turned my attentions to the rack of toys and devices. Eyes scanned over the various instruments, from a cat-o-nine-tails whip, to floggers of various sizes, from paddles of thick wood, to vibrators of different sizes and intensities. Something simple was in order. I had no idea what the hell the girl was into and alright with, and wasn't about to invite a lawsuit over that.

The riding crop it was.

I held the crop up, bringing it in the light before turning back to my guest. Gathering up the material of her dress, I pulled at it, hiking it up and over the curve of her bottom to fully expose it to my eyes, and those in the crowd.

The leather tongue of the crop was brought gently against her flesh, it's edge skimming over the soft curve in an almost mocking sense of care. A teasing motion that brought to my ears a few light sounds of amusement from beyond the lights. With a soft thwack the tongue of the crop was brought down upon her bottom, making the girl jump slightly from the unexpected swat.

It was a motion I repeated over and over again, bringing the tongue of the crop down upon her panty-covered bottom, intensifying the swat gently with each and every time I leveled it at her. Every time she jumped, unable to see it, unable to see when the strike would come. Once in awhile I would press it between her legs, rubbing the tip of it against her vagina through the thin material of her panties, taunting her throbbing clitoris with the attention it undoubtedly craved, before giving a forceful tap of the tongue against her sensitive region.

All the while I kept his ears open not for the sounds of the crowd, but for the words from my guest on the stage. I listened intently for the safe word, straining over the approving voices in the shadows of beyond the lights of the stage. The instant I would have heard the words, I would have stopped. The scene around us would have came to a complete standstill, and she freed from the stockade.

But never once did I hear her voice call for him to stop. Only soft cries of excitement, sounds of gentle laughter, and the occasional groan of pleasure and arousal did I hear from her. I took it as the sign to continue with each and every swat of the crop against her.

Before long, it was time to change the action. When her bottom was nice and red, the marks of the crop just visible with their redness against the soft paleness, I returned the crop to the rack, exchanging it for a condom that sat off to the side. With my teeth I rip open the foil, tossing it into the crowd as some souvenir before unrolling the sheath down around my thickened tool. I came up behind her, reaching for the waistband of her panties before ripping them apart with ease, tearing the lacy materials to shreds like a kid on Christmas morning, letting them fall down to the floor around her feet.

"When I'm done with you tonight, you'll never feel satisfied with another man again." I announced, my voice full of confidence, carrying over the excitement in the air.

A soft gasp came from her when I began to press himself into her warmth.

Cheers of excitement and approval came from the audience as I ever so carefully fed her inch after inch of my cock. Her tight, soaked canal stretched around me, stretching to accommodate my girth before embracing him snugly with every part of myself that was pressed within her body. Firm hands held on to her hips, my thumb carefully caressing back and forth as I took his time, again listening for the safe word that never came.

Shallow, gentle strokes of my hips came. Slowly I would pull myself back, just barely pulling myself out, only to press myself deeper within her, carving my way into the tight warmth she had to offer. A low groan escaped my lips as she breathed deeply, her moans rushing from between her lips freely. It was with care that I began to increase my pace, my hips becoming more fluid with every thrust into her. Soon what had begun as soft, gentle strokes, became harder, more forceful, driving deeper and deeper within her with an animalistic quality as she cried out in joy and pleasure. The moisture of her arousal was evident as it ran down her thighs, as it came down along the thick and heavy sack of my testicles.

More than once did I feel her orgasm around my cock. The tight muscles tightened even more as they gave spasms around his organ with every thrust I gave, her cries of ecstasy drowning out the calls from the crowd. The assault of my hips against hers were quickly becoming harder and harder with each thrust, the expression upon my face devoid of any pleasure or ecstasy.

Which wasn't much of an act in itself. For most people, sex was pleasure. In my personal life, it was pleasure. But on stage, it was work. Work which made the body feel pleasured, but not the mind. Hardly ever the mind.

I kept going for a few minutes, focused on my craft, focused on the show, and the young lady being empaled upon my dick, but soon it was too much for me to endure. I gave her one last deep thrust before pulling out of the hot, tight, vice-like grip of her vagina, a soft faint pop along with it. The thin condom was pulled off, tossed somewhere to the backstage area, before my hand pumped my seed out upon her.

Thick, hot spurts of semen shot off from my thickened rod, blasting the curve of her red bottom with my essence. Applause and sounds of approval came as I emptied load upon her, my deepening, ragged breath the only expression of pleasure. Finished, a rope of semen gently oozing from my engorged tip, I turned to the Audience, standing for a moment as the semen dripped from my cock before giving a bow, as the curtain fell to applause.

"Oh my God..." The woman said softly, her tone exhausted, voice trembling with lustful satisfaction.

A stage hand came forward with a towel that I soon took a hold of, coming up behind the girl to wipe her down and clean away my semen. "You did a great job." I remarked to the girl as the crew around them began to remove the rack of toys, another coming to unfasten the stockade.

"Me?" The girl said with a laugh as she slowly began to stand, her legs trembling, uneasy. "You were... Incredible."

A smirk came to my lips as I took the towel to myself, wiping away his semen and the nectar of her satisfaction. "Glad you enjoyed." I said. "Feel free to stop by again."

I left her in the hands of the stagehands that would lead her back to the main room before heading back to the exit of the stage.

"Great show, mate." Mac said, waiting for me at the door to the backstage.

"I fucking hate surprises, almost as much as I hate fucking customers." I remarked quietly, well out of ear reach of the young woman, still fuming. "I hate not knowing what to do, what I can do, all that other shit."

"I know, I know. But I thought you did good, and so did Vivian." Mac said. "She said she wanted to see you in her office when you got finished up."