I’d just finished working an upscale bachelor party when it happened...
Don’t get me wrong, I really get off on doing bachelor parties. I guess it’s the realization that he’s getting married in the morning, and I get to have him first. They’d rented a private room at one of the more upscale gentlemen’s clubs in the city, one equipped with all the comforts of home, loud music and a brightly lit stage with a stripper pole.
The night started as expected, I danced for half a dozen songs, gradually losing all my clothing until I was wearing nothing but my stripper heels. By the time the music ended, and I’d slipped down off the stage and onto the groom’s lap, I estimated I’d made at least eighteen hundred in tips. The club pays five hundred for doing a bachelor party, and while it’s taxable, the tips aren’t. Of course, the real payday comes after the stage performance ends, thirty-two men, one hundred per blow job, and just me. Slipping down off his lap, the groom got his first, and yes, I deep throated him.
Over the next three hours, I gave everyone at the bachelor party, at least one blow job and the best man three. It then came the evening’s Grand Finale, taking the groom’s hand, I led him back into one of the club’s private lap dance rooms for his happy ending. It’s sad, how many men have such vivid sexual desires, and yet, their future wife’s kinkiest, never going to happen sex, is doing it in missionary position, outside the bedroom, with the lights on.
Tonight’s groom’s future sex life sounded just as depressing. He wanted me to go down on him until he was rock hard, then bending me over the edge of the lap dance room’s pool table, fuck me in the ass. I had the feeling, that even if his fiancée provided oral sex, she’d never allow him to cum in her mouth, let alone swallow.
Counting his money and wishing to make his night, I just smiled as I seductively walked over to my bag lying on the pool table and withdrew a pair of handcuffs, “I want you to dominate me. To force me down onto my knees, to drench your cock with my saliva, then use it to ravage my ass, merely for your pleasure alone.”
Let’s just say, after locking my wrists behind my back, he did dominate my ass, multiple times, including one last time, shortly after sunrise, but I digress, so back to what happened early this morning when I was leaving the club.
It had been a long bachelor party night and while I was about 10 grand richer, I was also thoroughly exhausted. I never noticed him coming up behind me in the parking lot. Suddenly, his arm was around my waist, pinning my arms helplessly to my sides, as he effortlessly lifted my feet from the ground. His other hand already covering my face, pressing a damp rag over my mouth and nose, I recognized the smell of chloroform, but before I could react, the darkness claimed me.
I awoke here in this basement, sitting on the cold concrete floor with my wrist’s chained to the wall. Shaking off the lingering effects of the chloroform, I managed to stand, relieving most of the restraint's uncomfortable pressure on my shoulders.
I could feel my chloroform headache beginning to reside, when several men wearing face concealing masks entered the basement and silently started setting up video cameras. I tried asking them why they’d abducted me, but since I already had this oversized ball gag filling my mouth, they ignored my muted pleas, and after they finished setting up the cameras, they simply left.
A few minutes later another masked man, carrying a black satchel, walked down the stairs into the basement, the look in his eyes, death, sending a cold chill of terror racing along my spine. Setting his satchel on a nearby wooden crate, he turned to me, “It’s a shame that it has to be you Billie, I’ve seen you dance, but we need to send a message to your boss Danny Boy. He needs to know there will be dire consequences for his decision to foolishly stop making his protection payments on his six Vegas area strip clubs.”
Pausing to open his satchel, he removed the bomb, switching on the electric detonator, “As I recall, your performances at the strip club usually last about ten minutes, don’t they? So, I think a ten-minute detonation delay should be fitting.”
As I helplessly watched in horror, Vince initiated the bomb’s countdown timer, “I’m sorry Billie, but this is goodbye.”
Leaving the abandoned house, Vince climbed into his waiting SUV and drove away, secure in the knowledge that the camera video feeds were being safely recorded by the laptop hidden in the trunk of a car parked on the next block. His sadistic boss Tony was eagerly looking forward to watching Billie’s obscenely gruesome demise, before sending a copy to Danny Boy as a warning...