General Matthew's Fun Night Out

Flickering flames along the wall cast long shadows which melted into the darkness in the dimly lit club. On a high platform at the front, a band played a lively tune, the lead singer crooning a song of lust and love. The words were lost in the heavy rhythm, the beat of drums echoing within the thick stone walls.

The tune reverberated on the dance floor, where slim women crammed into the tight space, sensuously rocking their skimpily clad bodies. The echo of loud music bounced off the walls that rose up to a high domed ceiling, keeping the club naturally cool despite the throng of people. The air was heavy with the intoxicating smell of inebriation, sex and spilt alcohol.

Tonight, the young women who had the misfortune of growing up in this third-rate village put on their most revealing clothes and highest shoes. They carefully painted their faces, spritzed on their sweetest perfumes, and prepared their most alluring smiles.

The club was on high security, bouncers in nondescript dark clothes patrolling about, watching with eagle eyes from the shadows for any disturbances that may besmirch the prestige of this venue to its foreign visitors tonight.

This was the poshest place for night time entertainment in the remote border village of Dalor. Disturbances at the border had forced the king to send his elite fighting forces here. The light magic users, otherwise known as sons of the light, were men born with the ability to wield light magic. It was a trait only passed down through the old families of Anderra, not immigrants or descendants of Anderra's many conquered lands. Most of these sons of light were really sons of wealthy, titled noble families. Those serving in the army would be young, in the prime of life, and restless. They would come here for their night time entertainment.

For any girl born in this sleepy town, it was a rare chance to meet a virile young man with wealth and breeding. The line at the entrance snaked a few blocks past the club, irritated young women staring daggers at each other as they waited impatiently. There was a fair number of men in the line, normal party goers who wanted to get in on the excitement this evening. The que was only the first obstacle, though. Anyone who wanted to gain entry had to first impress the two intimidating door bitches. These were two women, almost in their forties, who wore tight sequined dresses which showcased their hourglass figures, the mature skin on their faces patted down with a thick layer of foundation, powder and cruel condescension. They openly assessed each patron from head to toe, letting only the most attractive enter.

Matthews wore a loose white t-shirt that hid his tight, chiseled abs, pairing this with a pair of dark, nondescript pants. He tipped down the cap on his head, looking down as he quickly walked past the snaking queue. Attractive young women would occasionally look his way, admiring his broad shoulders and muscled frame, his body the epitome of male masculinity, built after years and years of arduous military training.

He was not looking for a woman tonight. What he wanted, needed, was some strong alcohol that would burn his throat and dull his mind. In this backward town, there was no other establishment that imported the particular high quality brands that he favored.

When he arrived at the front of the queue, the door bitches looked up at him and narrowed their eyes. The people at the front stared, wondering who it was that dared to cut the queue, speculating in their minds but unsure until they saw proof.

Matthews looked up, tipping his cap upward slightly so that he could look directly into the eyes of the two women guarding the entrance. He called upon his light magic, his olive irises flashing white as he winked at women. In a moment they were back to their original green color.

The women had seen. Their lofty, high handed attitudes switched immediately to shy deference. They bent their bodies in a respectful bow, before quickly stepping forward to flank him on both sides, proudly escorting the son of light down the corridor. The people in the queue behind murmured.

"Thank you, beautiful ladies." Matthews whispered under his breath, unable to hold back his glib tongue despite his dark mood.

"We are honored by your presence." The blonde woman next to him nodded, her voice husky as she bent low to lift the barricade.

"As I am yours." Matthews leaned forward to peck the woman on the cheek, winking at the other door bitch as he did so. He left them both flush faced as he walked pass to enter the club.

Matthews did a quick scan of the room. Undulating young bodies crammed the area. The beat of the loud music caused the ground to vibrate, the heavy rhythm pumping in tune with his heart.

He loved this. His body felt restless with the desire to move with the tempo, his feet itching to glide along the dance floor. But his head was tired, aching, crying out for that one mistress who would never let him down.

And then something caught his eye. Instant recognition caused his heart to leap. Who would have thought that fate would bring this precious thing to him in such a place?

Perched on one of the top shelves of the bar that was just straight ahead. Bottled in baccarate fine crystal, the precious, limited edition golden liquid had spent 62 years fermenting in an oak barrel before only 12 bottles had been produced globally. And one had somehow come to this god-forsaken place.

Matthews walked quickly to the large bar area, reaching his arm between two men who were squeezing at the front of the bar as he pushed his body through. He felt a leap of joy for the first time in days. The bartender was a young, scrawny punk with dyed green hair, a piercing on his nose, and numerous studs on his ears. He juggled a bottle of wine before pouring it into a glass for a patron.

As the bartender looked up, Matthews caught his eye and nodded his head toward the top shelf. "I'll have The Dalmore 62 please."

The punk almost spilt the drink that he was pouring, despite his previous demonstrated dexterity.

"Sir, that bottle is a collector's item. We only keep it here for display purposes. I can't just open it to pour out a glass. Its..." His mousey voice trailed off, beseeching the big man to understand.

Matthews smiled, his eyes staring straight into the bartender's as he skillfully flooding his magic into his body, his pupils once again flashing white for the millisecond it took for the bartender to recognize him for what he represented.

"Even if you're erm," the bartender looked uneasily around, sensing that Matthews did not want his identity exposed, before saying, "even if you serve our nation, you'll have to buy the entire bottle. We do not sell this by the glass. I mean no disrespect, but I have some other whiskies that are also of good quality, sir, that I could give to you."

Matthews smirked good-naturedly. Yes, there were many fish in the sea. But they did not taste the same. For this rare beauty, he was willing to go the extra mile.

Reaching into his pocket, he took out a thin metal card. He passed it to the bartender as he said, "charge it to my boss. I'm good for the credit."

The bartender took the card, thinking that even if this man was a son of the light, he wouldn't make enough money to buy this particular bottle of alcohol. It cost more than a house for some people around here.

That was, until he read what was inscribed on the card.

General Matthews, deputy commander of the Royal Anderran Armed Forces

Below, there was a holograph of the Anderran royal family's insignia.

Whatever is charged to the user will be backed by the full faith of the Anderran treasury

The bartender struggled to keep his hand from trembling.

This was not just a noble. This was the General. Or rather, interim acting commander. It was national news that prince Damien, the previous commander, had just been court martialed and sent back to the capital under armed guard, on orders from the King himself.

Which meant that General Matthews was now the man who held authority over the entire Anderran army. He was the leader of hundreds of thousands of men who had taken over massive territories, including the powerful sons of light, the exact patrons this club was trying so hard to woo.

And the card he held was a blank check that had been given to him by the King. The man would definitely be good for the bottle of alcohol. In fact, he had enough credit to buy the club and perhaps the entire town too, since he had the nation's treasury behind him.

The bartender immediately turned to take the precious bottle from the top of the shelf, bringing his most expensive crystal glasses out.

He simultaneously took out a device with a flat screen and used it to scan in the card details. This was the latest technology, run on electricity, a new kind of power source. Traditionally, all technology was powered by stores of rare, limited magic power. But Anderra had conquered a technologically advanced country, taken their knowledge of how to generate and harness electricity, and was now creating power sources and devices that relied on this instead of magic. Nonetheless, few places outside the capital had adopted the technology yet, and this club was considered a pioneer in its payment methods.

The bartender brought up the payment page and was apologetic as he passed it to the commander. He needed him to sign off on the expense before opening the tab.

Matthews obliged, using his finger on the touch screen to put his initials down.

"How would you like your whisky, Sir?"

"Neat." Matthews replied, staring lovingly at the bottle before saying, "just give me the entire bottle. I'll pour it myself." Somehow, an available seat appeared right in front of Matthews at the crowded bar. The nearby patrons had heard, and wanted this important man to make himself comfortable. Matthews pretended that he hadn't noticed their whispered murmurs or surreptitious eye gestures.

He remained focused. Sitting down, pouring the whisky into the glass, bringing it close to his face.

He smelt a hint of fruit.

But mostly, a lot of alcohol. Entering directly through his nostrils, promising him a whole new world of mindless intoxication.

He took the first sip, feeling the cool liquid burn his throat. Smooth. Dry.

Delicious.

He swirled the precious liquid in his mouth for a moment, then downed a man's annual salary worth of top-grade whisky.

Let King Graethe pay for it. His employer. A real, tedious piece of work.

He poured a second glass, swirling the liquid as he stared at its rich mahogany color appreciatively. Holding it up to the light, he observed the reddish orange hues. Taking a deep whiff, he smelt the rich aroma again. This time, the smell of alcohol cleared, and he could recognize the undertones more clearly.

Rum, raisins and sin.

His head buzzed as he downed his second glass. Lovely. In this too crowded place, it was just him and his mistress. He focused on each taste, every flavor, purging all other vexations from his mind space.

He was nursing his fifth glass before a large hard squeezed his shoulder, disrupting his reverie.

Matthews turned to look into the bright blue eyes of another son of light.

"Matthews!" The man called loudly, his voice too close to Matthew's ear. The sudden volume was jarring, bouncing about Matthews head, buzzing him in an unpleasant way.

"Don't drink by yourself man. I know you're depressed but we loved the guy too."

The man's blue eyes glared at the skinny patron sitting next to Matthews, who quickly moved away, emptying the seat. Smiling widely, the interloper sidled his heavy, muscular body next to the commander, enthusiastically crowding his superior's personal space.

Matthews frowned. He didn't want to talk about how they had all been sent here to court martial prince Damien.

Nonetheless, there was a certain feeling of brotherhood when seeing someone familiar in a far-flung place. It was almost obligatory to band together.

Matthews looked up and saw the bartender watching them from the corners of his eyes. He raised his hand and pointed to his glass. The bartender got the hint and reached for an empty glass, walking over.

All around them, other tall, muscled men were observing the bar from a respectful distance. Joshua was either brave or had no self-awareness at all. It was just not acceptable to go right up to the army commander. This could go both ways. Matthews had a reputation for being a high-profile party animal. Prior to his promotion to army general, his antics often found their place on the front page news. Unfortunately, after recent events, he appeared to be in quite a mood.

Joshua took the whisky off the table, studying the imprint of the platinum stag's head on the heavy crystal bottle.

"Da-yammm, this looks expensive."

"Any of the other men with you?" Matthews asked, looking into Joshua's clueless blue eyes, squinting as he tried to remember the young man's name.

Matthews' memory failed him.

Only prince Damien remembered everyone's names.

Matthews felt irritated again as he thought of his commander. His previous commander.

That fucker should remain commander, instead of cavorting with some foreign demoness from an enemy state and getting his ass court martialed.

"Army men? Or one of us?" Joshua asked.

"One of us." Matthews replied quickly, referring to the sons of light.

The military was a hierarchical place, but since almost all the sons of light came from noble families, they were less formal with each other. They had familial and business connections even outside of the military sphere. Coming from the same cloistered, elevated social circle, there was usually less than two or three degrees of separation between each of them. Pedigreed boys growing up on privilege and drink.

Just the crowd to get drunk together with.

"Yeah, want me to call them over?" Joshua asked.

Matthews nodded, looking at the bartender as he took the empty glass. He poured the last of the whisky into the glass, passing it to Joshua as he simultaneously made his next order to the attentive bartender, "bring me shots of your best poison."

Joshua stood up, waving his hands in the air, catching the eyes of his colleagues who were milling about around them and calling them over.

They had been waiting, hoping anxiously for the invitation, yet afraid that Matthews might want to be left alone. Now that Joshua gave the all clear, they swarmed over.

Despite his mood tonight, it was clear that Matthews was still ready for a good party.

And, as current acting commander, he had the authority to expense everything.

Joshua took the glass, had a whiff of the chocolate orange liquid, closed his eyes and leaned back as he commented in a scholarly fashion befitting of his upper class upbringing, "bit of marzipan, followed by hints of licorice, balsamic towards the end..." he groaned, "shit, Matthews, how much does this stuff cost?"

"Maybe more than you," Matthews replied, smirking. Joshua looked stunned for a brief second before joining his commander in his smirk, downing the glass.

"Graethe's paying. So, what the hell." Matthews took the empty glasses and refilled both of them, pouring out the last of the expensive whisky as the throng of army men crowded around.

The bartender put a tray of shot glasses down.

"Keep 'em coming." Matthews instructed as he distributed the shot glasses to the gathering men. Other patrons moved out of the way as the big-sized men congregated together. Some of them came with a woman slung around their arms, others came with small groups of women they had been chatting up that night, and a few came alone, either having just arrived at the club or wanting to be celibate for a lover back home.

Matthews downed the small shot glass in his hand. The men cheered and before he knew it, another round of shot glasses were being passed around.

On the third or forth round, Matthews turned around and found himself staring straight into a pair of sky blue eyes belonging to an attractive, sexy woman. She looked to be in her early twenties and was looking directly at him, almost eye-to-eye.

Few women were close to his height, and this one surely had exceptionally long legs.

His eyes roved down her body instinctively. Long, blonde hair, large chest that tapered into a slim waist, and legs that went for miles. She wore a tight, form hugging dress, its low neckline showcasing the deep valley between her ample bosom.

Hot.

His dick stirred as he passed her a shot glass, looking into her eyes, hoping to get her attention. She took the bait and smiled confidently at him as she introduced herself with a wide grin, "thanks for the drinks. Matthews, right? I'm Valerie but you can call me Val."

~~~

Val's eyes roved over the man in front of her. She had come here with a group of girl friends. It was as good a night as any to come out for some fun, and besides, tonight they heard that the sons of light would be here. The club was not pulling any stops to impress these rich boys, and the entertainment lineup was fantastic.

Entering the club had been expensive. Even though she and her friends were attractive, especially by the standards here in Dalor, tonight the club was charging a cover for everyone, man or woman. The crowd had been insane, but it was well worth it.

They had not had to buy a single drink since coming in. A tall, blond man had immediately started chatting up her friend, and after some time, they had followed him here to this gathering of good-looking people, where a man in front called Matthews was liberally pouring out free drinks for everyone in the group.

As her friends started pairing off, she had come to the front. It was only polite to say thank you to the generous man treating them to all this alcohol. And to get first dibs on what he was passing out.

She was glad that she had come here.

He was gorgeous, a few inches over 6 feet, with broad shoulders and a chiseled face. He looked like he was hiding a strong, muscular body under that loose shirt. His deep green eyes, dark hair and day-old stubble made him look so worldly, unlike the other losers in her town.

The other men were treating him deferentially, like he was their leader.

He must be filthy rich, she thought. A city boy and the catch of a lifetime.

She caught him giving her the once over, and smiled inwardly at herself, pushing her chest out and sucking in her tummy as she stood tall. Some man didn't like tall girls like herself. They found them intimidating.

And some man loved them. This man was clearly a fan.

He took her hand gently, bringing it to his lips as he grinned at her, drawling in a husky voice "its my privilege, Val. I don't always get to treat beautiful women to drinks in my line of work. And please, you may call me Matt."

He was so slick! Val felt her heart skip a beat, noticing the stares of her girl pals from around them.

He should put his slick tongue in her pussy.

Whoever this handsome man was, he was important. Made of money. And attracted to her.

Fucking perfect. She needed him. This was her knight in shining armor, the culmination of all her girl hood dreams.

Finally. She had always known that she was too beautiful for all the dead beats in this small town.

A tiny voice at the edge of her consciousness warned her that he was too glib, a bona fide player.

She looked at her reflection on the glass at the bar, and her ego quashed that niggling voice.

She was beautiful, and he would fall. Hard. Like every other man whom she had toyed with.

"Are you enjoying yourself tonight, Val?" He asked, his deep voice smooth as butter.

She had a large chest, but noticed that his eyes remained on her face even as she leaned in, her deep cleavage on full display. He was either very decent, or just very, very well practiced.