Gangland Surprise

"What's this about, Tony?" She asked. Her hands trembled as he walked towards her.

"I wanted to offer my congratulations on your marriage." He gestured at her. "You look lovely. Doesn't she look wonderful?" He gestured to the two suited men standing by the door.

"Amazing, boss."

"We're just catching up on old times, me and you."

"I come with a husband now. This is Stuart and ..."

"Oh, I've made alternative arrangements for him ..."

"Oh no, Tony," Louise cried.

The gangster cleared his throat and gestured to a small dining table. "I want to catch up with you tonight. I've arranged for your husband to enjoy the delights of my club. We'll have a drink together later. I promise I have no nefarious intentions."

"Your promises are worth less than the Government's!" She snapped.

"Louise, that hurts me," he said. "But not unexpected." His large paw patted my shoulder, and he took my hand, shaking it. "You've hit the jackpot, Stuart. But tonight, your wife and me have some business to discuss. So enjoy yourself at my club, have a meal, have a drink and a private dance. And we'll chat later."

"Tony ..." Louise called.

"I insist," he said, interrupting her. The sharp words spoken demanded an end to the discussion, and I glanced at my wife, still glaring menacingly at our host.

"Go!" she conceded.

"If you'll be OK."

"Yeah. I'll be fine." I hesitated, and she sighed, still angrily staring at her uncompromising ex.

Tony's hired help grabbed me by the arm, pulling me out through the doorway, as Louise spoke. "You have big commitment issues if you need to kidnap your ex-lover when she marries."

The door closed, and I felt frogmarched into the bright neon lights of Tony's seedy establishment. They gave me a small table near the front, and a menu. I ordered a chicken wrap and chips, with a draught beer.

I'd never been to a lap-dancing club before; Louise had always been coy about her life before she met me, and I watched the beautiful girls, dressed in flimsy, sheer lingerie or garish underwear, and tried to imagine my wife looking like that.

The clothes didn't stay on for long; a rowdy stag do in the corner paid for a luscious blonde with sparkling pink underwear to dance for the groom, and she ground her booty into his lap as she pressed her bosom into his face.

I looked around the club; the menacing black bouncers blended into the shadows, and the bar did a good trade in alcohol. In the back, a couple of women watched the shows on tenterhooks, but the rest of the four dozen attendees were male. Stag parties, friends on a night out, and business travellers had come to Dreamz to sate their horniness.

It felt artificial and clinical, and I sat drinking my beer, wondering about Louise. I pondered sending her a message on her phone, but whatever reply I received, or didn't receive, would not allay my concerns.

"Stuart," a familiar male voice cried, and the man sat beside me. Dressed in a suit, Emile held a glass of clear liquid as his eyes surveyed the dancers. "Chantelle, Innocence, Destiny, Aurora and Daisy," he said, pointing at each of the women on the stage and working the crowd. "Which one do you want a dance from? Aurora looks a bit like Louise."

She did. "I'm good," I said, sipping my beer.

"She's fucking sexy. They say she gives a great blowjob."

"And she's not my wife."

Emile clicked his fingers, and a barman came to our table. "Same again for our guest. Vodka Lemonade for me." He pouted. "You're the first guy who comes to this club and refuses Tony's hospitality."

"I have had some food, a drink, and I'm admiring his girls. I've refused nothing."

"He wants you to have a private dance."

"I am not cheating on my wife."

"She cheats on you."

"She doesn't. We enjoy wife-sharing. Not husband-sharing."

He sniggered. "She shared you with me."

"That's different," I snapped. "Exploring my bisexuality is part of our play." I thanked the barman as he put two drinks in front of us. Emile's hands rubbed against my thigh under the table.

"You're tense, man! Loosen up!" He chuckled and clicked his fingers again. "Aurora in Room 2," he said, gesturing for me to follow him. I didn't want to create a scene, and he led us through a metal chain-mail curtain, guarded by a pair of black bouncers, into a dark corridor and opened a magenta door into a small scarlet room.

A double red leather sofa at the end of a rectangular space, barely four metres by two. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors filled the opposite end of the room as I sat down, putting my beer on the ledge to my right.

"I can't do anything," I said.

"Just enjoy it. She won't fuck you. This is a respectable club. If our dancers screwed all our visitors, I'd be in trouble."

"You've already been in trouble," I replied. The mixed-race guy laughed as he sat next to me.

"I was nineteen. I was on a night out with my boys after Pride. We went into an East London pub with some BNP arseholes in it, and they wanted a fight 'cause I've got a rainbow band 'round my wrist. They threw a few punches, called us some names, 'cause they thought we're a bunch of pansies. We put five of 'em in hospital. The pool cue was fucking handy."

"But that's self defence."

He hummed. "We went beyond that. We left two in a coma. I got my boys to scarper and wouldn't give the pigs their names, but we knew how to take care of ourselves. I went to prison 'cause I'm gay and beat up some far-right wankers." He paused. "Which is why I run the girls. I ain't tempted by a bit of fluff. All the guys I hire for the club are gay. It makes life easier." He squeezed my leg.

Aurora appeared a little nervous entering the room. Only five foot six inches in height, with long, straight brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes, she closed the door behind her.

She looked sexy; tight black side-tie G-String and a flimsy bra. She stood in front of the mirrored wall. I could see every part of her as she danced, bending over and shaking her butt as the dance music played.

Emile's hand rested on my thigh as we watched her act. She unclipped her top, letting her garment fall to the floor, and stepped towards me, kneeling either side of my legs and pressed her large bosom into my face.

A fruity scent. Pure lust in her eyes as she ground her soft, warm breasts into me. "You like that?" She asked, running her hands over my shoulders and torso. I realised a little late what she had done, when her fingers rubbed against my bare skin.

With my shirt unbuttoned, she squeezed my nipples as she jiggled her tits over my lips and face.

My cock responded; her hands rolled over my shoulder, removing my clothing as she pushed her hands down my body, leaving me topless.

She chuckled as she backed away from the leather settee, twerking her butt as her hands touched the floor, before advancing towards me again. My eyes focused on her breasts as she jumped onto the sofa, pulling my hands above my head. The first click never registered; the second click, as she cuffed my wrists, made my heart race. "Now you're nice and safe. Let's get rid of these."

She flung her G-String against the mirror, exhibiting her hairless, flawless cunt. Aurora stood on the settee and pressed her slit against my nose, dancing as I inhaled her intoxicating aroma.

She smelt of sin, and she ground her cunt against my face for a minute until she jumped onto the floor and unbuttoned my trousers. I protested, but she giggled as she lowered them to my ankles, and easily removed them with my shoes.

A wet spot in the middle of the erect bulge of my blue boxer shorts made her giggle. "Did I do that?" She asked in mock-surprise.

"Yes!" She smiled at Emile, picked up her skimpy clothing, and waved goodbye to me. "Oi," I squealed. "I'm still cuffed."

"We know," my host whispered. He rose from his seated position and pulled at my arms, helping me to my feet before knocking me to my knees. "Now, while you're down there," he hissed, unbuttoning his trousers and waving his dark, thick cock in my face. "I know you want it."

I did. I hesitated, but instinctively opened my mouth, ready to taste him once more. I caught sight of myself in the mirrored wall, drooling with anticipation at sucking another cock.

Emile thrust his prick towards my lips. "Suck it," he demanded. His hips moved forward fiercely, driving his length deeper into my mouth. I gagged, tasting the sweetness of his pre-cum as my tongue swirled against his shaft.

I couldn't control him; his hands grabbed my hair, pressing his dick to the back of my throat. He became more forceful and aggressive, quickening his pace as I sucked on his length, drawing him towards orgasm.

With a grunt and a hoarse cry, his cock twitched and pulsed, as ripples of climatic joy swept through his body, filling my mouth with his warm, salty cum. I swallowed, tears in my eyes from the rough face-fucking. "There's more," he told me, knocking on the door. He reached into his suit pocket and took a blindfold that he slipped over my eyes, slapping my cheek as I tried to remove it with my restrained hands.

I bobbed my mouth as I felt a new prick rest against my lips, sucking it gently until it reached its full erection. Emile sat on the sofa behind me, subtly pressing my head and my body on to the musky tasting dick.

Helpless, I could not stop them. Restrained by the handcuffs excited my sexuality. When I got a load of cum, another cock replaced it. "They're all gay," Emile promised. "It keeps the girls safe here. But bisexual bottoms get fucked one way or another!" The fourth guy came over my face, pulling out and spraying his warm load over my cheeks and skin until it dripped down my chest.

And still they kept coming.

One man after another, each taking their turn to use my mouth and my face. The blindfold stayed on, and Emile sat behind me, occasionally whispering humiliating things in my ear.

The men varied in size, shape, taste, and smell. Each cock was a unique bouquet of senses, as they slipped their pricks between my lips. Some liked it rough, thrusting aggressively with their hands fisting in my hair as they challenged my gag reflex. Others were gentle, allowing me to bob my mouth over their cocks, drawing their orgasm from them.

Time had no meaning. I lost count of the amount of men that used me. My erection never wavered as they came, numbing my mouth through their constant attention. A phone buzzed and Emile stopped the never-ending queue of Tony's employees for me to service.

Two hands roughly pulled me to my feet, marching me from the room. I couldn't see where I was going, but felt the change of flooring on my bare toes. Cold tile, then carpet. They dumped me in a chair and ripped the blindfold from my eyes. I blinked, blinded by the bright light, and saw Tony sitting opposite me in his office. "Where's Louise?" I asked the bi-racial, shaven-headed man.

He sipped from his amber liquid in the tumbler, staring at me. "She's fine. You're quite the slut."

"Is my wife OK? Where is she?" I demanded, agitated. I felt the firm hand of a bouncer on my shoulder pressing me into the seat.

"I asked Louise many times over dinner and she says you look after her." He paused, and I nodded.

"I try. Where is she?"

"She's fine. She told me that you've never once hit her or mistreated her. And that's good. I like that." He rubbed his chin as he cocked his head and stared at me. I saw his suited bodyguards in the corners of the room, and guessed there were more behind me. "Lou's unique. A fucking slut, and can suck a basketball down a hosepipe. A cunt so delicious that it should be on MasterChef, but she's damn special. Which brings me joy that she's with someone who she says she loves. Do you love her?"

I nodded. "Of course. She's ... incredible."

He smiled a little. "She is. So, if you ever lay a finger on her, break her heart or upset her in any way, we'll come back here for a chat." He paused and reached into his waistband, putting a revolver on the table in front of him. My chest pounded as I stared at the hefty weapon and then at him. "I won't take kindly to someone upsetting Louise, you hear me?"

I nodded, still staring at the gun between us. I'd never been so close to a revolver. "Yes," I muttered, squirming in my seat.

"You promise?"

"Of course, I'd never hurt her."

"Good. In your wallet, you will find a pass for a lifetime membership at my club. Once a month, Lou and me are having a meal. Like tonight. You can go watch the girls strip and enjoy the private room with my son. We'll watch you on the CCTV as we talk, like tonight." A smile crept across his face as I realised what my wife had seen. "She always loved seeing guys getting it on. I never understood it, but it never failed to get her in the mood to take my prick." He paused. "Like tonight. God, I missed stretching her tight little cunt." I flinched at his boasting, and he laughed at my discomfort. "You took a lot more cocks tonight than she did. Look at the state of you!"

"Your dancer handcuffed me."

"And you fucking loved it," he snapped. "But when me and Lou have our monthly chat, she better tell me how wonderful a husband you are. How you worship the ground she walks on, and you kiss her butt. You do whatever she wants, however perverted that is. Anything she desires, you give her, or I will not be happy. You understand?"

He spoke with menace in his voice. "Yes," I muttered.

"Good," he sighed. He clicked his finger and a pair of hands roughly pulled me to my feet. The hired thug removed the handcuffs around my wrist as Tony re-pocketed his weapon. "Now, go back to your wife and come join me in the VIP area." He chuckled. "Oh, and shower before you come."

My mind whirred as the bodyguard pulled at my arm, walking me from the small, poorly lit room, past a couple of dancers who averted their eyes, to a private dressing space. I recognised my clothes on a table. Louise, in just her black and green lingerie, sat in a wide-backed chair, and stood the moment she saw me. "Stu, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," I soothed, as the door shut, hugging her tightly. "I need to clean myself. I'm covered in ..."

"So am I now," she muttered. "I didn't realise Tony still remembered me enough to want to fuck up my life."

"It's fine. It's an adventure. We'll get through it."

"Do you still ..."

"Of course I do," I cried. "How can you suggest otherwise?"

She sighed. "That question you once asked me. You had three. I'd had about three thousand." She kissed me through the dried cum on my cheek as I processed her reply. "I've lost count, but around three thousand different men have fucked me."

"If you get your way, I'll be not far off that number soon. We better shower. Tony wants to meet us in the VIP area."

"For drinks and the 'no hard feelings' conversation," she said. "I'd rather go home with you." She paused, grinning. "Actually ..."

"You want to watch me suck his dick?" I replied. "I've sucked enough cock tonight. My throat is sore and ..."

"No," she squealed. "I want him to suck yours."

"I don't think he will, and you shouldn't ask! He's got a gun."

"Oh, he owns several. Or he used to have. And he will wrap his lips around your dick for me if I ask him. It's the only way I'll forgive him for tonight." She whispered in my ear. "He owes me, and I want you to blast your cum past his fucking tonsils. You doing that is just what will make me happy. And he is very keen on you doing whatever I ask."

I couldn't help but smile at the infectious enthusiasm of the girl I loved.

And I'd never had a blowjob from a gun-toting gangster before.