Tim Smith knows that “The Shameless” is the most decadent nightclub in the city, very elegant, very chic and very, very kinky. He has never been inside the cabaret, but he’s stood outside at a distance, discreetly watching the clientele. They arrive in limos and Rolls and exotic sports cars. They are dressed in dazzling and erotic fetish attire.
He has been rightfully intimidated by the entire scene, yet incredibly aroused by it for ages. The female portion of the crowd fuels his masturbation nightly. His obsession is driving him crazy. He’s just got to do something about it. Something!
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Tim quivers all over with stirring excitement and numbing fear as he approaches the portal into “The Shameless.” It’s eleven o’clock on a Thursday. He’s never been this close before, and it’s taken him several months to talk himself into actually entering. Yet even now he hesitates, moans, and begins to turn away.
“Hey, newbie,” a gravely voice calls out. Tim hesitates and then pivots around to see a huge, burly bouncer sizing him up. The guy points at him, “Come here.” As if pulled by the scruff of his neck, Tim shuffles over. Now, he is really scared. What if this guy has spotted him as the cowardly voyeur? What if he’s going to be in deep trouble?
“You wanna take in the action?” the guy says encouragingly with a sly smile.
“Ya, yes, sir.”
”What are ya, male, female, or…umm?” he inquires.
“Male,” Tim squeaks.
“Yah, me, too. I’m Bob,” the brut says kindlier, “Straight, gay, bi, or…umm?”
“Ahh, str, straight.”
“Ya sure?” he grins mischievously, then asks, “Dom, sub, switch, or…umm?” However, before Tim can respond, he adds, “You’re soo sub, buddie, I just know. Watch out for the mean babes and the futas. They’ll be all over you.”
Tim is stunned at the bold frankness of Bob. He also tingles down below at the possibility of a futanari being here tonight. That would be a dream come true.
“I, uhh, yah…”
“Two grand cover, little man,” the bouncer announces matter-of-factly. Even though Tim knows the extravagant amount for a solo male just to enter, he swallows hard handing Bob his credit card.
“What are you interested in?” big Bob inquires, running the card.
“Just curious,” Tim lies.
“Nooo, you want something, BDSM, CBT, or…umm?”
“I don’t know,” Tim lies again.
“Oh, sure ya do, sport,” the giant guy leans forward, “Tell me in private. I can probably help you out.”
Tim wants so much for this evening to be worth his three-month savings, “I, ahh, maybe a, a futanari lady.”
A huge smile crosses Bob’s face, “Ohh, futas are real kinks.” He hands Tim his card back and whispers, “Good luck, stud,” and turns to the next customer as the prison-door-like entry swings open.
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Inside, Tim is as out of place as he’s ever felt. The dimly lit interior blurs his shivering as he walks delicately among the revelers. They are dancing, and writhing, and grinding everywhere. The color is black (as he already knows) and in leather, latex, silk, angora, chain metal. Studs and chains, and spikes abound. Harnesses, and collars, and leashes adorn many a semi-clothed form. People strut like arrogant royalty. People crawl like downtrodden peasants. The strobe lighting plays off the multiple platforms where brazen scenes of debauchery are occurring. The huge video screens blaze with the more intimate spectacles in lush alcoves. Tim tells himself, ‘This young guy is way beyond overwhelmed.”
Eventually, Tim makes it to a bar and leans against the metal surface to regain his breath and his balance. Gazing upward into the overhead mirror he sees himself, a small, insignificant guest. A nobody that nobody really sees.
“What?” the bartender snarls, not bothering to look up. Snapped out of his despair, Tim opens his mouth to request a beer.
“Little one will have ice water,” a deep, sultry drawl comes from behind him. He struggles but simply can’t bring himself to pivot to the voice.
“He–” A hand slithers around his waist. “–will buy Me…ummm, an Up All Night.”
Intoxicating perfume hangs in the air, a body, a plush female body, presses against his back. Fragrant hair slides over his neck and lips brush his earlobe.
“Bring our drinks to Alcove One, I’ll be waiting,” is whispered enticingly, and races directly into his brain.
Tim gasps for air. He’s astonished by the aloof stranger, who darts a tongue into his ear as an arm is removed from around him and then she leans away. He feels a hand run a course across his ass, then gives it a pinch. This motivates him to turn as She begins strutting away. The vision he gazes upon is truly breathtaking. She is a towering amazon with unending, statuesque legs and a luxurious mane of flowing platinum that cascades to her upper thighs. Her gait is that of a tantalizing runway model, exaggerated for maximize sexual arousal. He can’t see Her figure in total, but Her hips are black leather-clad and wildly undulating while Her sparkling violet sequin-covered arms swing languidly. She oozes sex.
“Ms Mandarra,” the bartender identifies the beauty as She melts into the crowd. Tim turns back, feeling his face flush with lust. The guy already has a tall, chilled cocktail glass on the bar surface and is drawing water. He nods his head at the drink, “Her usual,” and he plunks a bowl next to it, “Your H20, lucky guy.”
Tim stares, only hearing a male voice murmuring, “She is The Queen here. Do not leave Her waiting.” Mr. Barkeep nudges the order towards him and adds, “First opening around the corner, Her security will let you pass.” With those comments, the busy guy walks away along the bar, and to a couple of bare-chested dudes.
Tim realizes he’s on his own now. That thought scares him shitless, but Ms. Mandarra, in seconds, has turned him to jelly. Scooping up the drinks, he proceeds to his fate.
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The Queen stands at the back of the darkened space, admiring Herself in one of the mirrored walls as She applies a coat of gloss to Her pillowy lips. Tim can see Her now in reflection, and it’s a scintillating sight. First of all, She is drop-dead gorgeous, a perfect face with smoky makeup and framed by waves of blondeness. An hourglass figure of dramatic curves starts with Her tits, absolutely enormous globes sheathed in shimmering skin-fit latex with a deep, dark cavern between them. A tiny wasp-thin waist gives way to those flaring hips. Yet, as Tim tries to take in all of this, his eyes focus like lasers on the pronounced bulge stretching the elastic leather on the inside surface of Her right thigh. It’s a fantasy-fulfilling moment for him.
She gestures to a table and calls out, “There.” Tim staggers, desperate for Her drink not to spill. Placing it, and his humiliating bowl of water, down on the polished stone, he hears Her speak again, “Bob notified Me that there was a cute newbie I might want to check out.” The distinctive click-clack of stilettos heels echoes in the posh space. Tim lets out a soft moaning sound as he ogles Ms. Mandarra’s approach.
“Sit,” She demands, and he immediately sinks onto a plush silver sofa. The stunning beauty poses defiantly in front of Tim, hands settling on smooth, sensuous hips, bodacious breasts still bouncing buoyantly. “Well, what do I have here?” She asks, her piercing azure eyes seeming to systematically rip his garments from his shivering form. In silence, She surveys Tim from head to toe and then back up to concentrate on his lower torso. “Hard already, babe?” is Her teasing inquiry.
He is overwhelmed with the deepest craving he’s ever felt. He swallows, but no words come forth. He squirms under Her brazen inspection, moving his hands gingerly over his raging hard-on that She has so easily seen.
“No coverup, boy.” She snarls. Immediately Tim jerks his hands to his sides and then sits on them to hide their trembling. He gazes upward and stops at Her shiny crotch. Her legs are so statuesque, her waist is so thin, but the exquisite, erotic vision is, of course, Her magnificent cock. Up this close, it’s even bigger than he’d thought before. ‘Maybe it’s grown’, he tells himself. Then he freaks at the thought of it getting any larger. Now, he’s gasping for air.
“I don’t cover My treasure, do I?”
Tim can only shake his head in agreement.
“Ohh, I do hope the cat hasn’t gotten your tongue. I might want it.” That outrageous comment is followed by Ms. Mandarra slithering onto the sofa right next to Her quite obviously frightened prey. The palm of Her hand comes to rest on Tim’s fully engorged member.
“I like,” She states quietly. Then her other arm extends, and Her hands grips his wrist. Effortlessly She places his hand at the base of Her monster bulge. “You like, don’t you?”
Tim merely whines pathetically to which She gives a soft chuckle, “I simply adore firsties.”
She suddenly and gracefully stands, pivots, gives the cowering guy a provocative glance before descending onto him. Her right leg swings over his lap and Her gold boot plops onto the back of his hand. She wiggles and scoots slightly forward and their swollen, throbbing members press together.
“Ahhhnn,” Tim sighs so loud it melts into a sob, then a shaking cry. Her arms fall on his chest, and hands drape over his slumping shoulders. He’s so enraptured he can’t open his eyes, but senses Her full, moist lips on his. The kiss is brief, but magical to Tim.
“I’m your futa wet dream, boy,” She breathes into his open mouth, adding the line he’s never heard, “Your place or mine?”
He’s incapable of thoughts, let alone speech, feeling Her body gliding in lewd sexual caresses.
“I definitely love cock to cock contact…touching…stroking, ummm. Even through material, mine swells with the sensation. I feel yours doing the same, baby-boi.”
“Ho, hotel,” he blurts unexpectedly causing Her to grin wickedly.
“I don’t do hotel rooms, but…” Her voice pauses and begins again in the most seductive of purrs, “…My penthouse has champagne, and a padded riding bench that’s just your size.”
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Just after midnight, Ms. Mandarra guides her new boytoy out of “the Shameless” and into his glorious futa future.