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Subject: {ASSM} BFE  Chapter 5 (MF, FF, exhib, voy, strip-club)
Date: Sun, 30 Dec 2001 14:10:04 -0500
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<1st attachment, "BFE-05.doc" begin>

BFE - Chapter 5 (MF, FF, exhib, voy, strip-club)

This story is intended solely for the entertainment of adults. 
Anyone wishing to correspond may e-mail me at <a
href="mailto:paragon38@lycos.com">paragon38@lycos.com</a>  or <a
href="mailto:paragon74@hotmail.com">paragon74@hotmail.com</a> . 
I would welcome any comments or reviews.






5



"Can you work a bachelorette party Saturday night with Carl and
Megan?" Dominique asked the minute I stepped into her basement
"war room."

The others from the agency were already there for our weekly
staff meeting, and I nodded to every smile, wink and wave.  As
always, three bottles of merlot, a wheel of Brie and a plate of
crackers sat in the middle of the coffee table.  Since I was the
last to arrive, I didn't get one of the comfortable leather
Barcaloungers that formed a semi-circle around the perimeter of
the room.  I opened one of the folding chairs stacked against the
side of the stairwell, placed it between Dawn aka Corinne and
Lisa aka Belize, and sat down.

"Sorry about the short notice, Ray," Dominique apologized.  "But
she just called a bit ago, and I really do need to confirm with
her tonight."  While I thought about my answer for a moment, I
watched her pour some merlot into an empty glass and then hand it
to me.  "Carl and Megan are in, and now we're just waiting on
you."

By this time, Dominique knew how I was about punctuality. 
Tardiness just doesn't ruffle my feathers; it causes me to molt.
I could feel her eyes studying the sweat on my brow and the
tremble of my lip.  If I was sitting any closer to her, she
probably could have heard the anxious, rabbit punching of my
heart.  "Sorry .." I glanced down at my Bulova and noted that I
was a full twenty-three minutes late.  "I had problems getting my
son going," I offered weakly.

I'd been running late waiting on Danny to get home from the
library.  I guess I could have trusted him to bike over to Janine
and Hal's after he finished studying, but the one previous time
I'd done that he'd come home instead with one of his friends,
Steven.  When Steven's parents found out that the boys were in my
home for three hours unsupervised, I got an earful the next day.

Call me paranoid, but I still get freaked when people start
asking questions like: "Where were you?  What were you doing?  Do
you have a second job?"  I have answers to all these queries of
course, but I've still found that the less I have to fabricate
the better.  The last thing I need is for some observant person
to catch me contradicting myself.  That's why the conversation
with Steven's parents had unnerved me so much.

As far as everyone is concerned - and that includes Danny,
Janine, Hal and the people at Kennington - I left my previous
second job the X-Zone a few months back to take a position as a
courier.  In their minds, I'm driving all over kingdom come
picking up delivery receipts for Coca Cola bottling or
transporting medical samples to some of the local bio-labs.

I researched this cover story before committing to it, deciding
that it gave me the best rationale for working odd hours and
constantly monitoring my pager and cell phone.  The only problem
I've found is that my cover story is almost too good.  Take the
situation with Steven and his parents.

Originally, Steven's father called to complain about the lack of
supervision at my house.  When he asked where I was and I
responded with my pat lie, he suddenly softened and began telling
me how he'd been looking for a second job with good pay and
flexible hours.  Right then, I knew I needed to end the
conversation immediately, but he just wouldn't let me go.

"What's the name of the company?" he asked.  "Do they have
openings?  Can I have their phone number?"

I actually ended our conversation by jiggling the wires on my
telephone and creating a haze of static that eventually resulted
in a dead line.  He called right back, and I unplugged the phone.
 In fact, I kept the phone unplugged for days after that,
dreading his call.  Danny mentioned a few times that Steven's
father wanted to talk to me, but I just ignored the requests
until they finally just stopped.

Needless to say, since that incident I've become absolutely
obsessed with making sure that Danny is being watched at all
times and his friends' parents have no further reasons to contact
me.  Covering this base even supercedes my compulsiveness in the
area of punctuality.  So far, I've managed to juggle Danny's
childcare concerns with my protean schedule fairy well.  But,
with as many curveballs as my line of work throws, maintaining an
equilibrium between my home and professional lives was growing
more difficult every day.

"So what about Saturday?" Dominique asked again while I sipped my
wine.

"I already have a Saturday," I recalled.  "Maurice .."

"That's at 7:00PM," Dominique consulted The Book as she spoke. 
"Even if he takes his normal two hours, you'll be out of there by
9:00PM.  They won't need you at the party until 11ish."

"You know I only like doing one appointment a night."  I hated
being put in situations like this.  I knew exactly what Dominique
had done here, the same thing she'd been doing ever since I
signed on with her.  She'd already committed my services without
consulting with me.  In Dominique's mind, The Business is money
and NO ONE turns down money in The Business.  We'd been at odds
over this issue from the day I started working for her, and she
still refused to get it.

"C'mon, Ray, it'll be fun .." Megan, aka Mistress Red Raven
cajoled, her eyes already lit with a smattering of the grape.

"The maid of honor read the review of the Slave Auction we did
last month for that 40th birthday party," Dominique explained
further.  "The one posted on our site .. with the pics.  And
that's what she wants for her friend's bachelorette party.  You
and Carl with Megan acting as Mistress of Ceremonies."

"Come on, man," Carl, aka Dante, chimed in.  "A roomful of
ladies'll surely beats sucking some old queen's dick.  These are
the kind of jobs you should be killing for."

"Yeah, instead of sucking some old fart, he'll be sucking you,"
Megan laughed.  "SUCK IT, YOU PINK WORM!" she barked, suddenly
shifting into Red Raven mode.  "SUCK THAT BIG BLACK DICK!"  She
turned to Cassie, aka Marjorie the `soccer mom slut.'  "Those
ladies love to watch that shit.  You should see `em .."

"Ray ..?" Dominique cut Megan off, turning the conversation back
to me.

"How long?" I asked.

"They're looking at 11 to 12:30," Dominique consulted The Book
again.  "She says some of the women may want some extras after
that, but that'll be up to you all."  She looked up.  "It's a
nice piece of change for an hour and a half -- $3,000.  That'll
be $800 a piece for each of you, plus anything you line up
afterwards."  With Dominique's additional 20 cut off any `extras'
we arranged, it was no wonder she continued stressing their
viability.

"I did a bachelorette party two weeks ago, man," Carl jumped in.
"Left there with another $1500 on top of my fee.  Cleared over 2
grand that night for maybe four hours total.  And, y'know, some
of that pussy wasn't half-bad either.  Like I said, it sure beats
sucking dick"

Dominique had me right where she wanted.  She always did.  It had
been this way from the first time she met.

For every objection and obstacle thrown in her path, Dominique
always had a ready answer or a suitable detour.  That's why she
was the boss, and that's how she managed to successfully sustain
a multi-million dollar a year escort service and adult website
empire.  She knew what people wanted and how to give it to them,
and she NEVER took "no" for an answer.




The moment I saw her - jet-black wig, rose-petal lips, porcelain
complexion, fiery blue eyes - I knew she was monumental, the kind
of person that stays ingrained in your consciousness even after
just one, solitary, casual encounter.  I looked up from behind
the cash counter at the X-Zone when the doorway's entry chime
sounded.  The eleven o'clock hour had already passed, and The
Stretch was beginning to heat up with its nocturnal nightlife.

In my short tenure at the X-Zone, I've seen my fair share of
striking females - from streetwalkers to dancers to call girls. 
Jet-Black Wig struck me immediately as a different breed, though.
 As she stalked into the store, the black sable draped over her
body shimmered with her every movement, adding to her feline
mystique.

Following behind her, a non-descript older man slouched inside a
black leather jacket, his eyes hidden beneath a pair of Aviator
sunglasses.  In a matter of seconds, every eye on the sales floor
focused on the couple - the gay couple checking out cock rings,
the three scattered "browsers" who were working up the nerve to
venture back into the pens, the big bald biker-type who worked as
a "driver" for one of the dancers next door.  Out of nowhere,
Murray sidled up next to me and elbowed me playfully in theribs.

"Don't stare too long, Raymond," he whispered.  "Your dick's
liable to snap up and punch a hole through the counter."

"She's all right," I tried to sound nonchalant.  "If you like
that type."

"Honey, I'm queer as a three-dollar bill, and I like that type,"
Murray quipped.  "A lady like that is EVERYBODY'S type, n'est-ce
pas ..?"

He was right, and for the next ten minutes or so, as she circled
the sales floor browsing through videos, every eye studied her
every movement.  She seemed to know this, too, and her every
gesture seemed calculated - the toss of her head, the crystalline
peel of her laughter as she read aloud some of the descriptions
on the box covers.

"This can't be true," she sounded half-amused and half-aghast,
waving one of the boxes at her male companion.  He shrugged his
shoulders and grinned.  "Have you seen this?"  Suddenly she was
slinking across the sales floor towards the front counter.  In
her hand, she waved the video box in question - `Pump House
Girls.'  "Does she really fit the nozzle from a firehouse inside
her pussy?"

A second later, she was standing before me, presenting the video
box for my inspection and immersed in a cloud of vanilla.  Trying
not to evince anything but the most casual disinterest, I
examined the picture on the box cover closely.  "It appears that
way .." I offered.

"Let's see," she stated more as a matter of fact than a request.
She handed me the box and pointed to the bank of video monitors.
"There's no way any woman can fit a fire hose up her pussy," the
informed her male companion as he meandered over to the counter.
"At least not one that size."

Murray watched me in utter amusement as I found the tape that
matched the box cover and popped it into an open VCR.  Adjusting
the channel for a moment, I called up the feed on the main
television screen behind the counter.

"Fast forward through this bullshit," Jet-Black Wig told me.  "If
she does manage to cram that up inside her, I'll buy that tape,
okay ..?"

The video now sped past us along the screen like a pornographic
Keystone Cops film in living Technicolor.  Perhaps the only thing
more ludicrous than watching porn videos is viewing them on fast
forward.  The cartoonish aspect transforms the performers' antics
from amusing to downright disheartening.

We watched in silence for almost five minutes before Jet-Black
Wig spoke again.  "Here .. go back to play.  They're in the
firehouse now."

I did as she said, and slowed the fast-forward so that the frames
now progressed at regular speed.  We watched in silence again as
the team of firemen surrounded the buxom, blonde female recruit.
"I can take it," the blonde recruit insisted.  "I'm as tough as
any man."

A spate of horrid dialogue then followed for the next minute or
so before one of the firemen produced the hose in question.  It
looked like the real, regulation-sized deal.  The buxom blonde
recruit reclined on long break table, and several of the firemen
began greasing up her privates while others rubbed the silvery,
metallic nozzle against her splayed labia.

"No way .." Jet-Black Wig hissed under breath as the hose began
to disappear inside the buxom blonde recruit.  "Look at her
face," Jet-Black Wig told her companion.  "I hope they paid her A
LOT of money to do that."  When the nozzle was fully worked
inside the porno actress's pussy, Jet-Black Wig let loose a
drastic sigh and slipped two $20 bills across the counter to me.
"A bet's a bet," she smiled.  "Keep the money.  I've seen it now.
 I don't need the tape."

Then, as quickly as she walked into my life, she exited stage
left - but not before blowing a kiss to everyone in the store.

"She was totally checking you out?" Murray informed me the second
the couple was safely outside and beyond earshot.

"She was NOT checking me out," I tried to dismiss him, but it was
hard.  I, too, had noticed her eyes surveying me like I was an
item of the store's merchandise.  No one else on the premises had
even registered an acknowledgment from her.

An hour or so later, Jet-Black Wig had been relegated to the back
corner of mind.  The store was beginning to hop now, and I'd
already had two quickies in the pens while Murray rang sales up
front.  As I was leaving the pens the second time, I felt a hand
on my shoulder.

"Yo, professor," Nate, the doorman for the juice bar, startled me
from my zombie-like, post-encounter daze.

Suddenly I was terrified that he'd just been back in the pens,
that he'd seen me in one of the booths, that he now knew my
secret, too.  "What ..?" I barely choked out.  Icy needles surged
through my veins and my throat constricted.

"I got a customer back in the juice bar that wants to chat with
you," Nate didn't even seem to notice my discomfit.  "She gave me
this," he waved a $50 in my eye, "and told me to tell you it's
yours if you come back and talk to her for a minute."

"Who is it?"  I knew who it was already.  Somehow I knew.

"Fine looking white woman in a black fur," Nate answered.  "Looks
like that bitch from that movie, the one with the short black
hair.  You know ..?"

"I'm working here," I informed him.  "I can't just go back in the
juice bar and leave the sales floor."

"I know this type of bitch, professor," Nate smiled.  "Kind of
bitch who don't take `no' for no answer.  You hear me ..?"  He
pressed the $50 in my open palm.  "Tell the fag-boy you're taking
a break.  You do get one of those, you know ..?"

I stood there and watched him vanish into the back.  Even more in
a daze now, I wandered back up to the front of the store.  Murray
was playing with the laser pen we used to scan bar codes.  He'd
peeled off a bunch of barcodes from video boxes and affixed them
in a target pattern against the counter glass.  Now he was
testing the range of the light pen, seeing how far back he could
stand and still maneuver the red beam to register a scan.

"Nate needs me back in the juice bar for a few minutes," I told
Murray.

"Are you giving me the com?" Murray asked.  Whenever I left the
store for an extended period of time, Murray always insisted that
I officially `give him the com.'  By now, I'd learned to just
play along.

"You have the com, Mr. Schleister," I informed him in my best
Patrick Stewart as Captain Picard impression.

"Do it like Shatner now," Murray insisted.

"Mr. Schleister, you have the com," I managed my best Captain
James T. Kirk under the circumstances.

"Aye, Captain," Murray saluted, then went back to his laser
pen-barcode skeet shoot.

My legs stiff and trembling, I made my way into the back of the
store, through the break room and out into the X-Zone's juice
bar.  The swirl of strobe lights and the thud of the sound system
reverberated off the wooden beams and rafters like a distorted
thunderstorm.  The X-Zone's juice bar had once been a warehouse,
and very little of the d**e9**cor had changed after the
conversion.

It took me a moment to regain my bearings as I sifted my way
through the milling throng of sullen, horny men trying to look
they weren't ashamed of being there.  Nate caught my eye a few
seconds later from his perch at the front door.  He nodded up
towards the mezzanine level and pointed, cocking his index finger
and thumb like a gun.

When I looked up, I saw her, Jet-Black Wig, and her companion,
Aviator Sunglasses.   They were sitting down at a back table, and
only their heads were visible above the solid wooden partitions
that acted as a wall between the upper and lower levels.  I could
feel her eyes watching me as I approached the stairs.

Phil, the bouncer stationed at the bottom step, eyed me curiously
as I glided past him.  In all the time I'd been working at the
X-Zone, I'd never stepped foot in the juice bar during a shift. 
To the dancers, bartenders and bouncers, I was from a different
dimension, and I could sense them all watching me with mild,
vaguely suspicious interest.

Stepping up onto the mezzanine level, my eyes had to adjust to
yet another change in lighting.  The strobe effect disappeared,
replaced by the hazy purplish glow of intense black lighting. 
The mezzanine was littered with couches, love seats and boxlike
coffee tables.  The more my eyes grew accustomed to the violet
dimness, the more I began to see as I made my way across the
floor.

Almost every customer up on the mezzanine had his penis out of
his pants and clearly exposed.  Some of the dancers were stroking
the cocks, some were sucking on them, and others were actually
impaled on them `lap-dance' style.  The sights, sounds and smells
of the fucking prompted my own arousal.  By the time I reached
Jet-Black Wig's seat, my 10-inch cock was pressing against the
cotton confines of my Dockers.

"I don't know your name," Jet-Black Wig cooed above the thrash of
the dance music that sweltered below us.

"Raymond," I answered, pointing to my omnipresent white name
badge that glowed lavender in the black light.

"Sit down," she motioned to a chair occupied by a black dancer
who was busily jacking off Aviator Sunglasses.  "Here," Jet-Black
Wig whispered to the black dancer, sliding a $100 bill into her
garter and rubbing her round, brown bottom.  "On the floor,"
Jet-Black Wig instructed the black dancer.  "Let him sit here."

The black dancer nodded, looked up at me, winked, then slid down
onto the floor at Aviator Sunglasses feet.  A second later, she
poised her head below his waist and began licking the man's
stubby, erect dick while he ran his hands through her hair.

Jet-Black Wig patted the now empty seat, and I sat down.  At her
feet, squirming around on the floor, a pretty chunky blonde
dancer named Summer lapped at Jet-Black Wig's bare, bald pussy. 
Squinting through the darkness for a better view, I suddenly
noticed that Summer's wrists were handcuffed behind her back. 
Jet-Black Wig's left hand gripped tightly in Summer's teased
blond hair and guided the dancer's mouth over her shaved mound
with a casual determination.  "That's it," she cooed to the blond
when her tongue found a particularly pleasing nerve ending. 
"Right there, baby .. ahh .."

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, unable to take my eyes off
the public-sex show now enveloping me.

"Take it out, hon," Jet-Black Wig nodded matter-of-factly towards
my erection, which was quite visible even in the muted black
lighting.  "After all, that's why I'm here.  So we may as well
get the formalities over with .."

Startled, I remained perfectly still.

"You are the guy with the ten-inch dick, aren't you ..?" she eyed
my crotch curiously.  "I mean you certainly match the
description."

"I don't know what you're talking about .." I stammered.

Her reply was a raucous peel of laughter that sliced through the
heavy bass thud that permeated through every molecule of the
juice bar.  "Listen, I don't fuck around, okay ..?  If you want
to keep turning $100 tricks back in those peep booths, then go
right ahead.  I came here thinking we could work out a business
opportunity that would benefit us BOTH."

Suddenly done with me, Jet-Black Wig reached down, slipped one of
Summer's breasts out of her bikini top and teased the blonde's
bare nipple.  As the dancer moaned, Jet-Black Wig ground her wet
pussy into Summer's mouth.  I could see the glare of spit and sex
juices shining on the dancer's cheeks and chin.  Jet-Black Wig
closed her eyes now, and rode Summer's ravenous mouth to a tense,
shuddering climax.

Half a minute later, Jet-Black Wig was finished with Summer and
let go of her blond hair.  The dancer slumped over and started
wiggling on the floor.  Suddenly I remembered her wrists were
still handcuffed behind her.  Jet-Black Wig ignored the blonde's
plight, however, and turned back towards me.  "You're still here
..?" she half-asked, her own fingers now playing absently between
her toned, milk-white thighs.

"Who are you?" I croaked.  "How do you .. know me?"

"I'm not sure I do `know' you," she replied, casually lighting a
slim cigarette.  "And I won't be sure until I see it."  She
pointed the lit cigarette down towards my crotch and whistled a
lazy, blue smoke ring from her sneering lips.

I don't know how long we sat there in silence, stalemated, our
eyes locked like two children competing in a staring contest. 
She continued puffing the cigarette and blowing some rings. 
Summer continued struggling on the floor.  The black dancer
continued sucking Aviator Sunglasses's sturdy cock.  I continued
feeling my hard cock throb inside my Dockers, my mind replaying
her words: `If you want to keep turning $100 tricks back in those
peep booths, then go right ahead ..'

"Who are you?" I finally broke the deadlock.

"Dominique," she answered, sucking down the last of her
cigarette.  She leaned over and pressed the dwindling butt into a
large glass ashtray sitting on the boxlike table.  "I'm a ..
business agent," she cackled.  

"What are you doing here?" I asked.  "How do you know who I am?"

"Periodically, I scout for new talent," she explained, arching
her eyebrow slightly.  "Some people tipped me off that I might
find a guy working here .. a guy with a ten-inch dick.  If that's
you, then this might just be the luckiest day of your life."

"I don't understand .."

"And you won't until I see the merchandise," she answered with a
wry smile before lighting another cigarette.

"You got a ten-inch dick?" the black dancer looked up from
Aviator Sunglasses's cock, spit and pre-cum sloshing in her mouth
as she spoke.  "Fuck that.  I'm gonna have to see this shit!" 
While she stared at me wide-eyed, Aviator Sunglasses steered her
thick lips back over his rigid cock.

"The clock's ticking."  Dominique nodded towards the stairway
that led back down to the main floor.  "What's it going to be?"

"Just show her, man," Aviator Sunglasses spoke for the first
time.  "She's not going to leave until she gets what she came
for."

"Is it money?" she queried.  "Here .." she withdrew another $50
from her cleavage, folded it into a spike, reached over and slid
into the breast pocket of my sports shirt.  "That makes a hundred
.." she observed, obviously referring to the $50 nate had given
me earlier.  "That is your going rate for a show, isn't it ..?"

"Damn white boy don't have no ten-inch dick," the black dancer
jeered before she returned dutifully to Aviator Sunglasses's
short, thick cock.

Dominique arched her eyebrow at me again, practically challenging
me to prove the black dancer wrong.  Feeling the rolled up $50
pressed against my chest, I suddenly knew what I had to do.  I
didn't know who this woman was or what her motives might be, but
something told me she represented a crossroads in my life. 
Somehow I knew that what I did in the next countless seconds
would determine the direction of my life for the next countless
years.

I stood up and faced Dominique.  Just as I began to turn around
and head back towards the stairwell, I watched her reach out and
take my hand.  I wanted to resist, but I couldn't.  Breathlessly,
I felt her place my fingers on the tab of my zipper.  Then she
patted my knuckles and withdrew her feathery, forceful grip.

To the rhythm of her hypnotic nod, I slowly unzipped my fly,
popped open the buttons at my waist, and shrugged the Dockers
down my hips.  My hard cock jutted out like a bas-relief along
the upper right leg of my white boxer-briefs.  I could see
Dominique, the black dancer and Aviator Sunglasses all silently
estimating the length and girth of my erect, imprisoned penis.

The juice bar's cool air tickled the exposed hair on my lower
stomach.  I hesitated another moment, but I knew it was too late
to turn back now.  A second later, I reached inside my shorts and
withdrew my hard cock, stroking it to full erection as three sets
of eyes widened in wonder.

"There it is, babe," Aviator Sunglasses commented to Dominique
before he whistled under his breath.

"You'll need to lose the gut," she recovered quickly from her
awe.  "But we can work with that."

"Damn!" the black dancer cursed as Aviator Sunglasses suddenly
erupted into her open, sputtering mouth.  Unable to control his
spurting, the black dancer's face was soon coated in the man's
thick sperm.

"You can put them back on," Dominique told me, rising from her
seat.  "We're through here."  She adjusted her dress,
straightened her sable, and crooked a finger at Aviator
Sunglasses.  He responded by rising as well and inserting his
still-foaming dick into the pair of speedos tucked below his
balls.  In one fluid motion, Dominique then bent over, unlocked
Summer's handcuffs, and tossed each of the dancers a $100.  A
second later, she was sweeping past me with Aviator Sunglasses in
tow.  "There's information written on the bill in your pocket,"
she called back to me before she descended the stairs.  "We'll
see you later."

Then she was gone, only she wasn't gone.  She had moved into my
life to stay.


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