Capital Bush 3: The Earl Grey Group

A weird things happens when you succumb to your baser instincts. Your baser drives. Your need to be pleasured by the touch of another person's flesh. A person much more attractive than you can ever hope to be. If you do it once, and then once again, the urge to succumb to your baser instincts comes more often and your submission to these baser drives is much easier. Such is the case with me. I've been to the strip club known as Capital Bush. The first time was good, the second time was better, now I wanted a third.

For the uninitiated, Capital Bush is a strip club, but nit the normal kind of strip club you see around here. This strip club offers services that you can't get in any other strip club, specifically things that are expressly forbidden in other establishments. The employees who offer these services to their clientele are among the most influential movers and shakers in the area. These people make sure that they get things done.

This time the urge to succumb to my baser instincts hit me at a different time in the day that it had before. As I made my way out to Capital Bush, gone were the dark streets and rain soaked vagrants. Now Capital Bush was bathed in daylight. This had the effect of making the usually hidden Capital Bush much more easier to see. It could be said that if you were around Capital Bush and did not know what was going on in there, you would be either blind or incredibly unobservant.

When I pulled into the parking lot of Capital Bush I noticed a difference in the kinds of cars that I saw. Gone were the Chevy Impalas and Oldsmobile Cutlass Supremes, replaced with BMWs, GMC Tahoes, and Chevy Suburbans. Not the kind of Suburbans you see drug dealers drive, but the kind you see in high class neighborhoods and parked out in front of exclusive country clubs. The sight of these cars stuck me oddly, but didn't think much of it as I approached the entrance of Capital Bush.

Once I got in I noticed that the usual golden beaming receptionist was not present, but present was a considerable security presence in the entrance of the club. This security presence consisted of several large men with large guns on their sides, all taking orders from a squirrelly looking white guy who looked like he would stand no match against anyone in a fight, much less the armed gentlemen. The security guards saw me and stopped me before I could venture any further into the club beyond just inside the door. One of the guards asked me, "Who are you?"

I responded, "Why do you ask."

Then the squirrelly looking white guy took over. "Gentlemen, let me handle this. Hello sir, my name is John Dougall. I am the new manager here at Capital Bush. Have you been to this establishment before?

I replied, "Yes, I have. Is there some sort of a problem."

"Have you been to our establishment since new ownership took over."

"I don't think so. The last time I was here was in January."

"Ah, that explains it. You see the new ownership took over in late January."

"Who is the new management?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but the new management goes under the name of the Earl Grey Group." That response struck me more oddly than the sight of the expensive new cars. The next question introduced me to the changes brought by new management. "Are you a member of this establishment?"

"No, I was unaware I needed one."

"Well, we can take care of that right now. First we'll need a photocopy of your driver's license, and your membership fee. We do take check, but we also take-"

"Wait, membership fee?"

Dougall smiled broadly at me and said, "Yes, we will require a membership fee in order to process your membership."

"How much is it?"

"The membership fee?"

"Yes."

"Fifty thousand dollars."

I was shocked by this. If I was drinking something I would have performed a spit take. "Fifty thousand dollars?"

"Yes, that is the membership fee."

"That's more than I make in a year. Hell, that's more than most people make in a year."

The expression of Dougall's face changed when I said this. "First of all, do not swear in our establishment. Second of all, most of the members of this establishment see our membership fee as a small price to pay for the services we render here."

"A small price to pay? Your membership must be loaded."

"Yes, they are. The basic philosophy of the Earl Grey Group, although we would never state so publicly, is that those who are blessed enough to be wealthy are the only ones who matter in our society. As such, we want to tailor our services to their needs. As far as those who are not blessed enough to be able to obtain membership to our club, we do not feel the need to care for those people."

I got visibly upset at this point. "What about the loyal customers this club has untill this point? What about the needs of the good, hard working everyman who just wants to have some absurdly attractive woman fulfill his needs and possible his desires?"

"Sir, I have made myself abundantly clear. If you are unable to understand the desires of the Earl Grey Group on their terms, I will just have to have you removed." Dougall then motioned for the security guards to remove me from the premises of Capital Bush, which they did in a way that was rough, but not rough in a way that would fulfill that particular fetish I have.

While I was picking myself up, I saw another guy sitting by the door of Capital Bush. I had never seen this man before, but seeing as I didn't look around at the other patrons while I was in Capital Bush, it's entirely possible that I've been in the same room as him. This guy was sitting against the wall of the strip club, reading one of the free newspapers that are available along side the taco venders and vagrant hookers downtown. I walked up to this guy and said, "Hey."

The guy looked at me and said, "Hello."

"Did they kick you the fuck out of CB too?"

"Yes, I guess I'm unworthy of their membership. Perhaps I will be one day, but untill then, I can only hope."

I sat down next to the guy and said, "What's your name?"

"Ian, but most people call me Lemming."

"Lemming, what are you reading there?"

"Oh, this is the Salt Lake City Weekly. I'm going to vote for their annual Best Of Utah awards."

I was interested in this. "Interesting. Who are you going to vote for?"

Lemming was a little offended by this. "Buddy, that is an intensely personal question."

"Sorry."

"But, if you must know, I was thinking of voting for Capital Bush for best strip club."

I was offended buy this. "Why? They just threw you the fuck out of the club. Their stance is that anyone who isn't as rich as they are isn't worthy of even entering their establishment. Why would you vote for them?"

"I voted for them last year."

"Why would you vote for them again?"

"What alternative is there? I mean, if you are sexually motivated person, and you can't get satisfaction on your own, the only place to go is Capital Bush."

"But they won't let you in."

"I know. I know they won't let me in, but what alternative do I have?"

Lemming's words offended me, but somehow rant true. Sure Capital Bush has become an exclusive club for the rich and "worthy", but what other alternative did we have. There was none, if only because Capital Bush had made sure that they were the only option.

I got up and started making my way back over to my car. Before starting my car, I took out my GPS and started searching around. It had been a while since I had searched for alternatives to Capital Bush and I wanted to see if some other places to satisfy my baser urges had popped up. Some had, but not any that were anywhere close to me. The alternatives to Capital Bush that most appealed to me were The Hollywood Undressed, Liberal Storm, and Apple Bottoms. I don't want to have to travel the great distance it takes to partake of the pleasures of these establishments, but I may not have a choice if I want to ever achieve a level of satisfaction that I can derive happiness from.

Capital Bush 2: The Appointment

The first experience I had at Capital Bush was good. Really good. So good that for several days afterward, I felt a craving. The craving was small at first, but the more I focused on it, the more the craving started to wash over me. I needed to indulge my craving. I needed to succumb to my baser urges. I needed to, once again, experience Capital Bush.

It was raining on the night I piloted myself to the place where I would indulge my urges, making the neighborhood where Capital Bush is situated that much colder and that much darker. I didn't spend much time making my way from my car to the club's front door, not that I'd dawdle in a neighborhood like this under the best of circumstances. Upon entering the club, I encountered the same cashier I had before. This time she recognized me, as there is no mistaking my hair.

"Welcome back, sir. Five dollars for the cover please."

I paid my fare and made my way into the main part of the club like I had before. Nothing much had changed. Same syrupy Pepsi as before, some dancers as before, the only real difference was the DJ was incorporating songs from the new Kylie Minogue CD.

Then Gary hit the stage, and, once again, I was mesmerized. The dance Gary performed was similar to the one he did the first time I saw him, except this time he incorporated some rippling on the stage that accentuated every curve on his body. I don't want to say that I fell in love with Gary that night, that I had fallen in love with a stripper, who's very job is to draw me in and use my desire to derive money from me. I just don't know how else to describe how I felt as Gary motored himself around that stage.

I was so transfixed on the performance Gary was putting on, that I didn't notice that the manager of Capital Bush was standing right beside me.

"Excuse me?"

At that point Gary was on his back, kicking his legs in the air, with his arms splayed on the stage.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Gary was arching his back with his head and hips firmly anchored to the stage.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

Gary had sat straight up, back to the audience, with his legs split across from each other, and was now beginning to fiddle with what remained of his top.

"Sir!"

The manager put his hand on my shoulder, grabbing my attention with a jolt.

"Excuse me, sir, could you come with me?"

A deep sense of dread replaced the craving that had before washed over me. I thought that I had done something wrong, something illicit, or, at least, something more illicit than what I was already doing. I followed the manager back to his office, all the time watching the bouncers who, I was sure, were about to rough me up.

The manager of Capital Bush has a small office, filled with a desk, a couple of chairs, and framed pictures of all his current employees. He offered me a seat and a drink, the same syrupy Pepsi I got at the bar, which I took hesitantly. The manager noticed my hesitance.

"Relax, you're not in trouble."

Somehow that phrase always makes me feel like I'm in trouble.

"I know that you were in my club recently, my receptionist recognized you because of your hair."

At that moment I made a mental note to get a haircut.

"I'm also aware that you bought a dance from Gary, and during that dance, Gary promised you certain benefits. Am I right?"

Dread was still running through my body as I contemplated answering this question. Should I tell the truth, and be confronted for acting on cravings driven by my baser urges? Should I lie, and face the possibility that the manager knew the truth? Or, should I just sit there, and let the manager continue to hold the advantage? I chose the truth, for no other reason than it seemed like the least bad option.

"Yes, Gary did offer me benefits."

"And you're here to receive those benefits?"

"Yes."

"Perfect."

The manager started digging around in his desk. I was sure he was finding something to beat me with. The manager produced a glossy folder, which, in a pinch, makes a decent blunt object. The manager gave this folder to me.

"Take a look at our menu. We can't accommodate you tonight, because of how busy we are, but I believe we can squeeze you in sometime this week."

I opened up the folder the manager had given me, and it was in fact a menu. A menu for sexual services. The concept of a menu for sexual services makes me laugh to this day. The manager was searching in his digital planner, looking to accommodate me, as I perused the menu, looking for the thing to accommodate my craving. There was one line in the menu that caught my eye every time I passed by it. This was something that intrigued me, not just it's existence but also it's availability.

"Sir, is there anything on our menu that interests you?"

I glanced down at the menu, making sure that my interest was there and that I worded it correctly.

"This here, Submissions and Domination, what does that mean?"

The manager smiled broadly.

"It's your basic S&M roleplay fantasy. Two people, or more if you're interested, play the roles of master and servant. We provide you with latex and leatherware, or other clothing options if you choose, as well as a wide selection of instruments, from whips and chains, to handcuffs and shackles, to ballgags and buttplugs."

I looked at the manager quizzically.

"Is it safe?"

"Yes. We thoroughly clean all of our items with a bleach solution after ever use."

"That's not what I meant."

A knowing look came over the manager's face.

"Oh. Yes, all of our sexual services are perfectly safe. In the case of the Submission and Domination experiences, our entertainers are specifically trained to avoid welts, bruises, and bleeding."

I was still a bit hesitant about going through with the benefit the manager was offering me. As I was contemplating whether or not to do this, I started looking around the manager's office. It didn't take me long for my eyes to fall on one of the framed pictures on the wall, specifically the picture of Gary.

"Okay, I'm in."

"Great. How's Tuesday work for you?"

"Sounds great."

"Good. Now, is there any of our entertainers in particular you'd prefer to deliver your sexual services?"

I stopped for a moment, as to not appear to eager, before I just blurted out-

"Gary."

With that the appointment was set, and the waiting began. The process of waiting, which, without fail, feels like it takes an infinitely longer period of time than it actually does. The three days between when I left Capital Bush and when I entered it again felt like an eternity.

Finally the time came for my appointment at Capital Bush. I piloted my way to the same cold and dark neighborhood as before, which somehow seemed lighter to me. Perhaps it was the fact that it was no longer raining. Perhaps it was because it was earlier in the day. Perhaps it was because I knew I was, at long last, about to indulge my craving. I think it was the latter.

The cashier recognized me upon entering the club.

"Mr. River, the manager is ready to receive you in his office."

The cashier let me into the club without having to pay a cover. I was shocked. I went back to the manager's office where he greeted me warmly.

"Mr. River, so good to see you. I was beginning to be concerned. A lot of people who make first-time appointments for sexual services chicken out. It's good to see you're no chicken."

"Well, I do make a massive cock."

The manager laughed mightily at that abundantly easy joke.

"Come, we'll get you changed into your outfit."

The manager lead me into a small changing room with several outfits in it. These outfits, ranging in size from towel to tent, were made of rubber, latex spandex, leather, and other materials that cling close to the body and can be dyed black. I looked at the outfits with an odd look on my face. I asked the manager.

"Is this all you have?"

"Yes, that is the attire that is commonly worn for S&M roleplay fantasy."

"Do you have anything else?"

"No. You do have the option to not change and wear what you are now while sexual services are performed."

I then looked over the manager's shoulder and caught a glimpse of my chosen performer, Gary. Gar had already changed into his attire for our appointment. He was clad in knee high leather boots, glossy latex pants, skin tight leather half shirt, and a metal studded dog collar. If I hadn't fallen for his yet, the sight of Gary in his black skin light outfit surely did.

I looked at the outfit I happened to be holding at the time, black latex pants, black t-shirt, and black leather gimp mask, and I said to the manager,

"No, this will do."

I quickly stripped off the clothes I was wearing and slid into my chosen outfit, except for the gimp mask. Not that I didn't want to wear the mask, my hair just didn't fit in it. The manager had offered to help me put the mask on, an offer that concerned me. It wasn't that the manager was helpful, it was that I didn't know the manager was still there, watching me undress.

By the time I was done changing, Gary had appeared in the doorway to the changing room.

"Are you ready, big boy?"

I looked Gary head to toe and tried to suppress an audible gasp. I could not suppress my erection.

"Y- yes, I am."

Gary smiled devilishly.

"Follow me."

Gary lead me from the small changing room to the same room where I had received a lap dance from Gary previously, only this time the decor had changed. Buckled straps hung from the walls, a saddle sat on a stand in the corner, and what looked like a spider's web made of chains sat ominously in the middle of the room. I looked at the implements that lay before me and was sincerely intimidated by them. Gary was not. Gary was the one who took the initiative, as was to be expected, after all, he was the one being paid to be there.

As Gary walked past me, he ran his hand across my back, which caused a tingle to travel down my spine and to my already engorged and sensitive penis.

"So, is there anything you want me to call you during our session today?"

I searched my brain and came up with a name.

"George."

"George. That's an alluring name."

Gary was lying but, with what he was wearing at the time, I didn't care.

"So, George, will you be the dominatrix or will I?"

"You will."

Gary walked over to the platform where the instruments of domination lay, picked up one of the many whips, then walked back over to me, rotating his hips in an especially alluring manner as he did so. When he got to me, Gary took his finger, ran it from top to bottom along my jawline, and said,

"I'd like to help you, but I want you to ask me first. I like to hear you beg."

I couldn't help but contain my smile after this comment.

"Please, Gary, please be my dominatrix."

Gary didn't say a word in response. He just grabbed me by the collar of my black t-shirt and lead me over to where the buckled straps were hanging off the ceiling. Gary buckled my hands tight, but not so tight as to cut off circulation, then walked around behind me and blew lightly in my ear.

"Is that tight enough for you, George?"

"Yes."

Gary then lightly kicked the back of my knees, leaving me with the sensation of dangling from the ceiling. The slight pain I felt in my wrist and shoulders served to enhance this sensation. Then Gary started working me over with the whip, lightly at first on my chest, harder on my back, all the while asking me to beg for more. My gleeful replies resonated off the walls of this tiny, little dungeon along with the cracks of the whip against my body.

Unexpectedly, Gary motored his fine ass over to where he had gotten his instrument, and put the whip back in it's place. Gary walked over to me and released me from my straps, leaving me on the floor, on my knees, my face starting to drip with sweat. I was about to stand up when I saw Gary's leather boots start to make their way toward me. I looked up and saw the still mesmerizing Gary holding the saddle I had seen earlier and a riding crop.

"George, you've paid me to ride you before, Shall I go it again?"

Gary was referring to the lapdance I had gotten from him, an activity that had filled my fantasies for years beforehand. The concept of putting on a saddle and being ridden in that context had never even crossed my mind. I was unsure at first, then I looked at Gary's face. I looked at his devilish grin and wanton eyes. How could I say no?

"Giddy up."

I got down on all fours and allowed Gary to saddle me up. I'd like to say that Gary was light as a feather but that would be false. The strain put on my back, knees, and hands was something I could bear but not enjoyably. Then Gary leaned forward, his chest grazing the back of my hand, and showed me the riding crop he was about to use on me.

Without a word, Gary struck me on my high haunches, signifying that it was time for me to move. I'd like to say that I started galloping around the little torture room, but that would be false. My light trot turned to a slow trot, to a trundle, to just barely movement. Gary grabbed a tuft of my hair, pulled back, and said,

"I haven't hear you beg for me in a couple of minutes. Should I break out the whips?"

On the brink of sheer exhaustion I said all that I could say.

"Yes."

Then I collapsed on the floor. Now I know why the concept of being ridden like a horse had never entered my fantasies. Gary sensed that I did not enjoy our last activity. He took the saddle off me, turned me over to my back, then looked at me with a look of true compassion.

"You liked it better when you were hanging by your wrists, being whipped by me, didn't you?"

I nodded my head. Gary looked over at the spider's web made of chains.

"Shall we try that?"

I nodded my head.

Gary helped me to my feet, took me over to his chosen implement, and strapped me into position. He didn't strap me in as tightly as he did with the buckled straps, and that's a good thing. There was a large mirror situated across the room from the implement I was being strapped into. I saw Gary's face as he was doing his preparatory work. I think he was enjoying this as much as I was. Gary moved his instrument platform so that it was right in my line of sight. On this platform were whips of various kinds, much more than I could identify, as well as the riding crop and several nipple clamps. Gary went over each of these instruments, looking for my approval. All the whips looked fun, so I approved those, as well as the nipple clamps, which were utilized upon approval. I had Gary throw the riding crop away on principal alone.

Before he started to work me over again, Gary walked behind me, running his hand across my back like before, then started saying sweet nothings in my ear.

"I see you're asking me with your mouth, but now, I want to see you ask me with your eyes."

I looked at Gary again in the mirror. I looked at his luxurious legs, his strong yet slender arms, his lips, devilish and inviting, and his eyes, all afire with desire. God damn he looked good.

"I want you, Gary. Please, please give me what I've been craving for so long."

With that, Gary went back to work, and work was good. Near the end of our session, Gary said to me, in a tone both devilish and alluring,

"I like to see the desire in your eyes. It excites me so. Beg for me. BEG!"


THE END