tagToys & MasturbationNight of All Nights

Night of All Nights

bysr71plt©

It was done. She'd put her hands around to her back to unclasp her bra but then she'd stopped and come over and pulled her drapes shut. I know she didn't see me. I had my lights off and my window was just one of a whole bank of them in a high rise across a city street canyon from her high rise. She did this nearly every evening. First the uniform and then the underwear. And sometimes she closed the drapes and sometimes she didn't. It was sort of hit and miss.

I'd seen enough to arouse me, though. I looked over at my bed, the stick already there on the coverlet. The urge was almost overpowering to go over there, lay down on the bed, and just get on with it—like most any other night.

But this wasn't just any other night. And I'd held off for a month, savoring how it would be when it happened. This year it was going to happen. I promised myself.

I willed myself to dress and get out on the street. I took the clothes I was going to wear off the chair and draped them on the bed—right where I would be laying if I didn't have the willpower to fight the urge. Having them there would just so much more help to keep me from giving in.

And it just wouldn't be the same if I gave it. It wasn't what I wanted—what tonight of all nights should help me achieve.

I steeled my will and began to dress. I would look like a cat burglar—or just like many other clubbers out in the night, depending on what I wanted to be. Everything would be black, head to toe. And I'd even take a black face mask in case I needed it. And the bag. That too was black. I opened the bag and put the stick, which was black, from the bed in it. There, that was all I'd need.

I'd try the Starlight Lounge first. They were having a party there, according to the paper. And the paper was right. The place was aswirl with garishly dressed people, all pretending to be something they weren't. Well, I knew it was like to have to do that.

I walked around the fringe of the group until I came to a bar, where I managed to wedge myself in at one end. I watched the party for a while. I wasn't the least bit out of place in a cat burglar attire. Everyone was pretending. I knew this was a fast and loose place, someplace where I hoped I could find what I wanted. I looked around, scrutinizing all of the pretenders closely, but none of them was what I wanted.

"Looking for anything in particular?"

She was slim and blonde and not that bad looking in the dim light of the party room. All tarted out, she looked just like a French maid. She was carrying a tray.

"No thanks, I have a drink." I pointed to it.

"I'm not a waitress, silly," she said. "It's just that you look like you're looking for someone special."

"I am," I answered, honestly.

"I could be someone special," she whispered in a breathy voice, and as she did so, she took my hand and pulled it under her skimpy black skirt with the oval of a white apron in front.

I jerked my hand away and turned from her and fled the club.

I stumbled out onto the street. This wasn't working. I'd look in a couple of other clubs having parties on this night of all nights. But I'd work my way down toward the naval base. There were a couple of clubs there that I get what I wanted as a last resort even though it wouldn't be fully satisfying—it wouldn't be exactly what I wanted, what I'd been saving myself for a month to enjoy.

What I'd never had fully as yet, no matter how much I knew it would please me. Always a substitute of some sort.

I passed a park and saw them—two of them. In police uniforms. I got hopeful and I crossed the street and walked toward them.

"Park's closed, bud," one of them said, as I drew closer.

"Lost? Can we help you," asked the other.

"No, thanks, officers," I mumbled as I passed them, my head turned down. "Just out for the parties, you know."

"The worst kind of night," one said with exasperation as I was pulling away from them. "Can't tell the straight-up citizens from the crazies or thieves and rapists on a night like this."

I was trembling. I had thought . . . maybe. But I'd been wrong, disappointed. They weren't it. I wanted to turn and yell at them—to tell them that it was as hard for me on a night like this to gauge people for what they were as it was for them.

I passed the mouth of an alley as I got close to the seedy area near the docks that served those and the small naval base.

"Pst. Say, young man. Can I interest you?"

I turned and looked into the shadows of the alley. A woman was there—a gypsy or a bag lady, I couldn't tell which. All I could see was a cartoonishly made-up face with a gash of red across it, even red stain on the teeth where she'd missed in plastering on the lipstick. And sagging breasts. Breasts that were exposed as she held open a sweater.

"I call 'em Pride and Joy," she said, with a cackle. "Launched many a fun party, they have."

I shuddered. I couldn't look away, though. They were blue-veined and tubular. Nothing to be proud of or to give anyone joy, I thought.

"Ten for a BJ," she said. "Twenty dollars for all the way. Best fuck on the docks, sweetie."

"No doubt," I muttered. But I quickly kept walking toward the docks. That wasn't it, not it at all.

My eyes zeroed in on Nathan's. I'd been in here a couple of time, thinking that this would satisfy me. And on a normal night, I might have settled for what I knew I could find here. But not on this night of all nights. There was an outside chance that I'd find what I wanted here, though. Dykes came here too—or so I heard. And tonight, there might even be one here that met my needs.

Nathan's was in a smoke-filled basement space that was even smaller and darker than the Starlight Lounge. That wasn't surprising. The people coming here generally were seeking even more anonymity than those who went to the Starlight Lounge.

It was crowded tonight, as I knew it would be. This night, like none other of the year, lent itself to the needs of the people coming to a bar like this.

Among the ebb and flow of the clientele on the dance floor and at the bar—and stealing, hand in hand, toward the door masked by a beaded curtain at the back of the room—were several in naval uniforms. That wasn't surprising. There was a naval facility just a couple of blocks away. Although, of course, naval uniforms were rarely to be seen in here on any night but tonight. It wasn't a uniform I was looking for.

As at the Starlight Lounge, I went to the bar, ordered a drink, and then turned and surveyed the crowd—hopefully, but not with a lot of hope. Surely there'd be one with the right uniform here tonight—on this night of all nights. And could it be asking too much that one would be what I was looking for?

Apparently so. I didn't see any, and I didn't want to spend all night looking. I had contingently plans, like I did every year. But there were time constraints on that.

"Hi, big boy. And I do mean big boy."

He was small and dark, and in a naval officer's uniform. And he had his hand on my crotch.

He'd come up close beside me and whispered it in my ear. "Wanna top me? You're just the stud I'm looking for."

"No." I almost screamed it as wrong as it was. It wasn't what I wanted at all. This just wasn't working. I brushed him away and headed straight for the door out to the street.

I made the cell call on my way back to my apartment. When I got there, I poured myself a slug of Scotch to call my nerves and take the edge off my disappointment. It had been like this every year. I just couldn't get it completely right. I thought about the woman in the apartment across the street canyon from mine, wondering if she was single, if she was lonely, if she might be willing—if she'd wear the uniform—her uniform; the uniform she worn for real, not pretend. Too many ifs. I poured myself another shot of Scotch.

I set the black bag down next to the bed and took the black stick out—and the tube of lubricant—and set them on the bed next to where I would lay. I stripped off my trousers and my briefs, but I left the black turtleneck sweater on. I put the black mask on my face and then pulled the black gloves on my hands.

Then I sat on the end of the bed and waited.

Later—later than I'd thought it would be—I heard the knock at the door. I got up and crossed to the door and answered it.

"Good evening, officer," I said.

"Sorry I'm late, hon, the policewoman said. It wasn't a firm booking, so I'm overbook. Hope you have it all ready. I've got a lot of territory still to cover tonight. Halloween's our busiest night of the year."

"On the bed," I said, as I moved to the bed and laid down.

"I remember. I was here last year too."

"The nightstick. I hope . . ."

"It's your money, hon. Whatever turns you on. This is your night of all nights. Ya want the handcuffs this year?"

"Yes, ma'am. Please."

She stood over me, greasing up the end of the nightstick. Then she leaned over me and grasped my cock—already engorged in anticipation of the experience that almost, almost, but not quite, was exactly what I wanted—and began to masturbate me. The other hand was grasping the nightstick and working my asshole with it, as I lifted my hips to her attentions and groaned in anticipation of the release.

The focus of my attention and sensation went to the woman's hand on my cock—and the blunt head of the nightstick at my hole. Not just a woman. A woman in uniform. A cop. A disciplinarian. Catching the cat burglar, interrogating him. Making him writhe. Punishing him. I moaned. Climbing higher and higher. Trying not to explode too soon. The rough, authoritative hand on my cock. Not my best choice. Having to take what she's giving, though. Faster and faster. Crying out as she squeezed the bulb hard. "Oh, shit yes." No control. Being driven, punished, beaten off. I screamed, "Oh, yes," as the nightstick breached the sphincter muscle and rubbed against the prostrate.

"Yes, ma'am! I've been bad. Punish me!" Almost heaven. Not quite, but almost.

If only she were a real policewoman—like the woman I watched undressing across the street at the end of her shift nearly every night.

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