The Black Box Gentlemen's Club

The pretty girl smiled at Payton.

She must have been at least ten years younger than him, as all the interns were still in college. She had the sweetest face: softly rounded cheeks and a splash of freckles on her nose. Her skin was like cream. She had very straight, fine hair, a shade right between blonde and brown. He heard her name was Grace.

Grace lowered her head and blushed every time she saw him. "Hi Payton."

Her shyness made him feel bold, but he dared not linger. He had no desire to violate HR. Besides, why would a girl so young and pretty want someone like him? He even felt a little protective towards her. She should be with a boy her own age, and one of those nicer boys, who were career-driven and could take care of her one day.

Payton went back to his work desk, wiggled his mouse, and swished his chair a few times as he waited for the screen to load. For a brief moment, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her just under the ear, and slide his kisses lower and lower down her neck. He imagined her giving a little surprised sigh. Her spreading her legs for him. His coarse hand would rest gently on her smooth inner thigh, kneading it softly as his hand traveled higher...higher...

He heard footsteps near his office. His top developer was in the doorway.

"Payton?" the developer asked. "I was thinking that for the MNR project, we keep the data in two separate tables. One table will contain all the special transactions, and I will make a separate table for transactions keys linked to Universe. How does that sound?"

It took Payton a second to recover and digest the words. "So we can reuse the table with the Universe-linked keys next month, on the K2 project."

"Right."

Payton scooted his chair forward in his desk to pretend he was concentrating. Party to hide the bulge that had developed in his pants. "Good. I like that kind of thinking."

The developer left, and Payton clicked through his emails absent-mindedly. He wondered what the rest of his developers would think, if they knew their boss was going to rub one out to the intern girl tonight. Even the younger version of Payton himself would have been ashamed. Back when he was in college, he refused to go to The Black Box because of how it would reflect on him socially.

The Black Box was some sort of a gentleman's club, just a third of a mile away from the university. It was said to have a room with a one-sided mirror, you paid $50 to see bizarre, degrading sex acts happen up close. Payton had never been to The Black Box himself, but he had heard it was far better than porn. These women were real local women, up close. Rich, married men often went The Black Box because watching wasn't cheating.

Suddenly, Payton had a desire to go to The Black Box himself. He had avoided the place for years, wasn't it time he had a little bit of fun?

At 5 o'clock, Grace the intern hurried past his office towards the elevators.

"Have somewhere you need to be?" he called out cheerfully.

Her sweet, innocent face reappeared behind the doorway. "Yeah."

"Where are you headed?" Although Payton knew a girl her age was probably headed to some party. Or maybe a date with some clueless boy.

"I..." she seemed hesitant. "I signed up for this gig."

"A gig? You a musician?"

She tucked some of her hair behind her ear, "Something like that. I have to go."

Payton knew she was being elusive on purpose, so he didn't say more.

He spent the next hour and a half finishing his work. Afterwards, he checked his phone. Six-forty. He would arrive at The Black Box around 7. He put on a jacket and exited the office.

The Black Box was indeed a large black box of a building. The windows were blackened and so was the door. A line of about fifteen guests stood outside, mostly men, some accompanied by wives of girlfriends. Three were in their early twenties, the oldest in sixties, but the rest were about Payton's age. All the men showed subtle signs of financial comfort: fit bodies that came with gym memberships and healthy diets, high-end clothing, business professional haircuts.

Payton walked up to the window marked Tickets. "One ticket for seven o' clock, please."

"Eighty-five dollars."

For that price he could have hired a prostitute. He paid anyway, reminding himself that he always wanted to know what the fuss was about. Four minutes later, the front door opened and guests from previous show came pouring out. Some of them looked overwhelmed, like they had seen something they weren't used to seeing. Others, perhaps frequent guests, seemed desensitized.

An attractive young woman in a black, figure-hugging dress ushered the next group in.

"No photographs of the performers please," she reminded.

Payton entered the hallway. It was a narrow hall. The right wall was all black, with nothing but dim yellow LEDs along the handrail so that the guests could see where they were going. The left wall, on the other hand, had a one-sided mirror. Through it, Payton saw a brightly-lit room of all white. No one was in it yet. In the middle of the white room was a white chair that faced the audience. It reminded Payton of the chairs at the dentist's office. Beside it were all sorts of metal instruments. Metal clasps, tubular objects, metallic dildos of various sizes. There was a white door leading to the white room, where the performer would enter from. Even though Payton hadn't even met the performer yet, his imagination already turned him stiff.

Black tables and stools lined the outer hallway, so Payton took a seat. He squinted at the drink menu. Everything was overpriced, even a single glass of Corona cost $12. But he had a feeling he wanted something to drink, so he ordered one anyway. The lights in the white room suddenly went out.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a woman's voice announced over the speaker, "the seven o' clock viewing is about to start. Please silence your phones. For the safety and anonymity of our performers, the Black Box would like to remind you that recording and photography is strictly prohibited, and anyone caught recording or taking pictures will have their devices confiscated and receive a lifetime ban. Thank you for the patience, the show is about to begin."

Though Payton sat calmly, sipping on an iced Corona, he could feel his heart beating faster from anticipation.

Light slowly returned to the white room. The white door opened, and two young men in white t-shirts and black pants were guiding a naked young woman. She looked like she was trying to cover herself in vain.

Is that Grace? Payton thought in alarm.

The young woman seemed about college-aged, with softly round cheeks and freckles along her nose. Her fine straight hair was between blonde and brown. She had a small, birdlike frame, with small white breasts and rounded peach nipples. Her hips were a little narrow, but her legs slim and toned. The hair between her legs was unshaven, a light brown color.

It couldn't be, Payton thought to himself. Grace was quiet and innocent, and this girl...no, this girl seemed innocent too. It looked like the men were half-dragging her into the room. But perhaps it was part of the act.

Payton looked left and right, at the other guests. Some of them were clearly enjoying what they saw, others just stared intently ahead.

The two men sat the girl down to the chair. They raised her hands above her head, tying her wrists to metal clasps at the top of the chair. They tied her knees to metal clasps at the chair's base. Then they exited the room through the white door, closing it behind them.

The chair rose by itself, taking the naked girl two feet in the air. The arms raised above her head looked like they were trembling. The girl's small white breasts raised and lowered with each breath she took. She sat with her knees firmly together.

Payton flagged down the waitress passing by. "Excuse me, this show is consensual, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," said the waitress.

"Then why does that girl look so scared?"

The waitress glanced into the white room. "Sometimes the performers are a bit nervous if it is their first time. But if it gets too overwhelming for them, they can stop whenever they want."

"How much do performers get paid?"

"The club itself pays three hundred per show, but clients often tip heavily for their favorites. Some of the girls make as much as fourteen hundred a show."

"Fourteen hundred dollars in just an hour? For no physical contact with clients?"

"That's what I get, I'm up Thursday nights if you are interested."

Payton turned back to the girl in the white room. Was that why Grace was there? Because she badly needed the money? In the white room, the ankle clasps began to stretch to the side, prying the girl's tightly closed knees apart. "Oh yeah!" one of the guests shouted.

Her knees spread further and further apart, exposing first her soft inner thighs, more brown bush, and eventually the shiny pink flesh. Payton was partly concerned for the girl, but at the same time he couldn't look away. He hadn't been this stiff since he himself was in college. No wonder The Black Box charged such high prices.

Grace was breathing heavily. Even her legs shook. Payton stared at her shiny pink clitoris. He felt the urge to brush his lips against it, and to bury his tongue deep in her vagina. He wondered what she tasted like, and how her brown bush would tickle against the sides of his mouth. Tzzzz. Four large television monitors lowered from the ceiling. They showed a close-up of her shiny pink folds, so that the viewers could see every detail.

A slim metal rod, like an antenna, rose from the side of the chair. It stopped at her hood and began gently, slowly, stroking itself up and down one side, vibrating as it did so.

One of the men quickly darted into a restroom on the side of the hall. Payton knew the man was rubbing one out. Payton continued to watch, not wanting to miss anything.

The metal rod stopped its up and down motion. It backed way for just a second, and inserted itself into her vagina. The girl flinched, making a quiet "uh" sound, head tilting back. Payton glanced at the monitor. The rod was expanding, creating a small ring. The ring had become covered in clear, wet slime. He could see inside her pink folds. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining himself buried inside of her. The chair began to recline, until the girl's face was no longer visible. Just a pair of legs forming an M. It rotated slowly, giving every man in there an inviting view. One minute Payton was looking at her inner thighs, the next her outer thighs, then a bare shoulder, and finally her bound wrists and golden hair. When she was at a profile view Payton could see that her eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her soft belly, too, rose and fell. She had stopped trembling.

The chair finished its rotation, her intimate parts once again in full view. The back of the chair raised again, so that the audience could once again see her face. The ring collapsed back into a rod, once again vibrating up and down by her clitoris. She closed her eyes. The door to the white room opened. The same two men who carried the girl in now carried two boxes. The first man pulled a long, thick gold ribbon out of a box. He wrapped it around the girl's eyes like a blindfold. The second man pulled out what looked like a long gold necklace with streaming crystal tassels. No, it was far too long to be a necklace, and he was clasping one end to her nipples. Now blindfolded, she seemed more relaxed. The men left and she was alone again.

A large, cylindrical emerged from underneath the chair. The rod was phallic shaped, and curved upwards. Payton glanced at the nearest monitor, watching the rod positioned itself towards her exposed vagina. It began to enter, pressing slowly into her skin. Her folds resisted for a moment, and then gave way as it entered. She emitted a loud gasp this time. Her head dropped backwards, torso stretched. She let out an involuntary slow moan. The rod pumped slowly at first, each subsequent movement emitting a gasp. Though her wrists were fastened tight, her fingers helplessly grasped at air for something to cling onto. Payton imagined it was him, and that her arms were behind his, grasping at his hair. The rod pumped faster and faster. Her gasps began to blend together, until it became one long moan. The crystal-and-gold jewelry hanging off her nipples slapped against her belly to the rhythm, beaming back against the bright light of the white room. Payton was about to come right then, without even being touched.

The machine suddenly stopped. The entire club was silent, except for the sound of clinking plates and breathing. The guests were breathing heavily. Payton himself was breathing heavily. The girl was gasping staggered breaths.

The chair began shifting again. The wrists clasps moved forward while the rest of the chair sank downwards into a trap door Payton had not known existed. The girl was pulled forward, hanging by her wrists, body curved forward, legs still sprawled wide apart. That platform turned her around so that now her back faced the audience. Her hips were slightly narrower than expected, buttocks also small, but her skin shined smooth and white against the brightness of the lights above. A portion of the chair, rectangular in size, rose up to meet and support her belly. Now it looked like she was bent over a table, her crystal-and-gold jewelry hanging straight down. She adjusted her hips with her limited mobility to a slightly more comfortable position. The slight adjustments gave the guests another quick glance at her vulva from the monitor. Some clear slime had escaped from her body, smeared across her labia.

From beneath, the phallic rod returned. It buried itself inside of her and began pumping away again. Her gold jewelry swept back and forth across the white floor. She let out another long, involuntary moan, and that was when the teasing antenna returned. It swept back and forth underneath her, at an angle Payton was now annoyed he couldn't see clearly. But soon it reappeared behind her. It sweeping down the valley between her buttocks, dancing for a moment on the outer rim of her anus before slowly dipping inside. She gave an intake of breath in surprise when it expanded once again, the phallic rod forcing her to move her pelvis back and forth while the ring held her in place. She let out a loud moan that ended in more of a shriek, immobile hands squeezed tightly into fists. Her bright skin shined even more than before, and Payton realized she was breaking into sweat. Her head drooped forward forward, the back of her hair dangling upside down, but still the rod kept thrusting and the gold-and-crystal kept swishing. It was only when she made no sound at all that the thrusting stopped. The extensions retreated and the braces released, dropping her naked, sweaty, heaving body onto the floor. The only sound that came from the white room was her staggered breaths.

The lights in the white room went off.