Thump. Thump. Thump. The pulsating music from the speakers made the room quiver, each bass note sending a tangible vibration through the club. All around, bodies moved rhythmically, swaying and gyrating in sync with the beat. Some dancers kept their distance from their dancing partners, while others might as well have been fucking on the dance floor. He fell into the latter category. The twink he was dancing with had his legs wrapped around his waist, their sweaty torsos pressed together. He’d long since shoved the T-shirt he wore to the club into his back pocket. Absently, he pulled his hand away for a second to make sure it was still there. As if sensing he was getting distracted, the twink thrust his pelvis against his fully erect cock. The only thing keeping him from entering the twink was the barely existing clothing between them.

Neon beams in shades of cobalt and fuchsia cut through the haze, illuminating the twink’s face in brief, vivid flashes. What was his name again? Connor? Justin? Matthew? Fuck! Does it matter? The air was thick with a cocktail of aromas—the overpowering smell of sweat mixed with sexual desperation, the sweetness of spilled cocktails and traces of every variety of expensive cologne. If he inhaled deep enough, he could smell the bleach aroma of guys who hadn’t waited to take their trysts to the back room.

What time is it? he wondered. He hadn’t bothered to wear his watch. The last time he’d worn a watch to the club, the watch hadn’t been on his wrist by the end of the night. He’d never know whether it had slipped off his wrist naturally or had been nabbed by a thief.

The twink leaned forward and traced his earlobe with his tongue. “I want you in me,” the twink whispered in his ear.

“You think you can handle me?” He gave a quick thrust with his cock into the twink’s ass to remind him how large he was.

“I think I’ll manage,” he said with a grin, unwrapping his legs and dropping to the floor. God, he really is short. The twink grabbed him by the belt and dragged him through the dance floor toward the back of the club, where a small labyrinth of darkened rooms existed, illuminated by black lights, ensuring minor visibility of the sexual tableau. Men of all colors, shapes and sizes were in various stages of undress and compromising positions.

He recognized a Senator’s aide strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross being whipped. He almost wanted to stand in line and get his own chance at lashing the aide. That particular aide had recently single-handedly blocked legislation to increase funding for low-performing schools with marginalized student populations. He wished he had his cell phone on him so he could snap a couple of pictures and send them to the Senator. He wondered if the family-values-toting conservative Senator had any idea what his aide got up to when he was off the clock.

A pull on his belt reminded him he wasn’t there to fuck over the Senator’s aide. He was there to fuck the twink. The small guy pulled him past the sling, where a guy lay splayed for the world to see, his legs spread wide. From the looks of the glowing goo coming out of his ass, he’d already been ridden a few times. He looked at the man’s face and realized he’d fucked him in the past himself. Good thing I’m on PrEP.

The twink pulled him over to a wall that wasn’t completely occupied with men fucking. The twink pulled his pants down to his knees then turned around, bracing his forearms to the wall. “Do you have lube?” he asked, looking over his shoulders.

“Yeah, I picked up a few when I walked in.” The club had giant jars of one-use lubes and condoms sitting on a table near the main bar. They knew their clientele.

He slipped his belt off and pulled his pants and boxers just below his ass, freeing his nine-inch cock as it slapped against the muscles of his stomach. He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the lube packets. It had a twist top, so he twisted it off and dropped the plastic container on the floor, figuring someone else could clean it up later. He didn’t envy whoever had to clean up this place. They deserve hazard pay.

He spread all the contents of the lube packet on his dick, ensuring it would be nice and wet when he entered the twink. He slipped a single, lubed finger into the twink’s ass without warning the little guy. The gasp was chased by a releasing sensation around his knuckle as the twink relaxed.

“Warn a guy next time,” the twink said as he pulsed his sphincter.

“Fine… Here’s your warning.” He slipped the finger out as he bent deep at the knees, pointed his dick toward the hole and shoved. He reached around and clamped his hand over the twink’s mouth before an audible yelp escaped at the sudden penetration.

He released his hand. “You fucking bastard,” the twink grunted.

He pulled out again and shoved again. “Want me to stop?”

The twink went limp against him as he muttered, “No,” as he pushed back against his dick, clenching and unclenching his hole.

That’s all the consent he needed, so he went full steam ahead and provided the twink the fuck of his life. The twink was like putty in his hands. He reached around and stroked the twink’s erect cock in time with his own rhythm. He heard a noise from his left, so he glanced over and saw a small crowd had gathered to watch him rail the twink. Admittedly, the sight of someone his height fucking a guy short enough to fit in his shirt pocket must have looked like a Great Dane fucking a Chihuahua.

He locked eyes with a blond guy standing a few feet away, who was stroking his cock, and he smiled. He never would have considered himself an exhibitionist, but over the past couple of years, he enjoyed having others watch as he fucked some stranger in public. Half the time, those strangers watching became his next prey.

“I’m gonna…” the twink got out of his mouth before his cock spasmed under his hand as the twink coated the wall in sticky cum.

It only took a couple more seconds before he released his load inside the twink. His cock pulsed repeatedly as he felt his cum shoot inside the twink. When he finished his last spasm, he pulled out a wet wipe from his pocket and cleaned himself before handing the used wet wipe to the twink.

“Thanks. Looks like you’ve got a fan club,” he said, reaching out and twisting the twink’s head to see the group of men still hovering nearby. “Personally, I’d let the guy with the white hair in you next. I can attest, he’s a good time.” He was already buckling his belt when the twink turned to stare at him. The twink was already erect again.

“Can I get your number?” the twink asked.

“I don’t give it out to strangers.” He gently patted the guy on the head. “But look for me.” With that, he turned and headed to the exit. Leaving the back labyrinth and entering the main dance floor, he pulled his T-shirt from his back pocket, glad it was still there. He slipped it on over his head as he made his way to the club’s front door. Before exiting, he stopped by the doorman to pick up his coat and cell phone.

“Leaving so soon?” the coat checker asked. “That’s a record, even for you.”

“I’m a hot guy in my twenties with an enormous dick. Bottoms throw themselves at me,” he replied, reaching into his front pocket and pulling out his wallet. He slipped out the green ticket and handed it to the coat checker.

With the ticket in hand, the coat checker turned around and shuffled into the back of the room before returning with a light blue bomber jacket.

“You’re gonna freeze out there in this thing,” the coat checker said, handing him the jacket.

He reached into the jacket and pulled out his cell phone before slipping it into his back pocket. “Trust me. It could be a blizzard out there right now, and I don’t think I would freeze,” he said with a wink before he slipped into his jacket and pushed open the metal bar holding the door closed, slipping into the cold DC night air.

The sweat chilled quickly against his skin, and his temperature dropped fast. He headed down the alley from the club’s entrance onto New Hampshire Avenue, where he took a left and headed toward Dupont Circle. His three-thousand dollar-per-month apartment was just off the Circle. On the other side of the street, he watched a couple of Argentinian Guards milling around their embassy’s entrance. He’d fucked one of their guards a year ago. That was one of the nice things about living so close to Embassy Row, a constant rotating pool of international ass—and the occasional dick.

“Hey, hold up!” a voice yelled from behind him. Assuming it was intended for someone else, he ignored it. “Blayne Dickenson?”

He spun around and took in the man in the blue suit, jogging his way.

“Who’s asking?”

“I thought I recognized you leaving the club.”

Blayne looked at the man in his suit. Wearing that buttoned-up outfit wouldn’t have gotten him past the bouncer. The suit was decently fitted, but Blayne could tell in the dim light of the streetlights that it was off the rack.

“And you are?” Blayne asked, taking a suggestive step in the guy’s direction.

The man reached out, put his hand on Blayne’s chest and pushed him gently away. “Someone who isn’t looking to have sex with you, not that I didn’t enjoy the show.” The man whipped out a cell phone, swiped at the screen and turned it toward Blayne as a video of him fucking the twink played.

Blayne growled and reached for the phone, but the man danced backward, keeping himself and the phone out of Blayne’s reach. “I just want to talk.”

Blayne clenched his fists at his sides and said through gritted teeth, “And why shouldn’t I beat the crap out of you now and take your phone?”

“Cool down, big guy,” the man said, putting the phone back in his coat pocket. “Like I said, I only want to talk. You talk to me, and I destroy the video.”

“Why should I believe you? You’ve already broken the law and illegally filmed me having sex.”

“I never said I filmed you—”

“Oh, so you had someone else do your dirty work—”

“No, I called in a big favor to get this video. And they weren’t filming you.” The guy looked at Blayne quizzically. “You have no idea who you were fucking, do you?”

Blayne shrugged. “Should I? He was a random twink who came on to me. Said he’d heard about my big dick and wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

“You were just filmed fucking Drew Ellis.” The man stared at Blayne, clearly expecting Blayne to know who he was talking about, so Blayne shrugged. “The Speaker of the House’s twenty-one-year-old son.”

“So? He’s legal.”

“That’s not the point,” the man said. “If the video got out, it would be a pretty large political scandal for the Speaker and probably ruin Drew’s life.”

“And I’m supposed to care…?”

“It would drag you back into the press, which I guess is not something you’re looking for.”

Blayne looked down at the man and asked, “What do you want?”

“Just to talk. Give me an hour. I’ll tell you everything.”

“And you are?”

“Todd Rice,” the man said, extending his hand. “I write for The Capital Pride Times.”

The Capital Pride Times was a small independent newspaper focused on gay issues in the district. They had copies in almost every LGBTQIA+ bar, store and restaurant, so it was hard to miss.

“No. God, fuck no!” Blayne said. “You said it yourself. I don’t want to have anything to do with the press.” He narrowed his eyes and added, “So, you can go fuck yourself.”

Blayne turned around and walked away.

“What about the video? I’ll post it online!”

“And I’ll sue your ass,” Blayne called behind him. “Put that thing you call a newspaper out of business while I’m at it.”

“What about Drew Ellis? Don’t you give a shit what will happen to him if the video goes public?”

“Not especially,” Blayne called out in an almost sing-songy voice. “He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.” Blayne spun on the sidewalk and stared back at the reporter. He paused briefly and added, “Well, maybe not that big. I’ve played with dolls larger than him. He may be a pocket-gay, but he sure knew how to take it like a man.”

“Wow, you have turned into a fucking asshole. I’d heard the rumors around Dupont Circle.” Silence hung between them before the reporter asked, “I wonder what Ethan would say about that?”

Before Blayne knew what he was doing, he took a few quick strides, lifted the guy off the ground and held him even with his eyes. The guy kicked at Blayne, pure terror washing across his face.

“I’m going to say this once and only once,” he said, bringing the man inches from his face. Blayne was close enough to smell the breath mint the reporter had been clearly sucking on. “Never say that man’s name to me again.” Blayne put the reporter down and walked away.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” the man called after him.

“Nope. And I don’t give a fuck.” Blayne kept walking.

“I liked you better before you met him. I totally had a crush on you. God, you’re the guy who made me realize I liked men.”

Blayne stopped again before slowly turning to stare back at the reporter. “Who are you?” Blayne asked, his face scrunched up in confusion.

“You like your coffee black with a dab of milk. Nothing fancy.”

Blayne’s eyes grew wide with sudden realization. “The Dream Bean?” Blayne drew out the question as he finally put it together.

“You also taught me freshman composition. God, I fantasized about you. You were so fucking hot. I may have snapped a couple of pictures of you with my cell phone during class then jerked off to them in my dorm room.”

“Wow. You’re not the young kid I had in class anymore.” Blayne paused a beat then added, “Well, you’ve seen me in action. Hope you enjoyed the show.” The anger seethed beneath his words. “Now, run along home and jerk off to your heart’s content. But if that video ever comes out, I will end you. I couldn’t care less about freedom of the press. I will sue you until you return to whatever tiny farm town in Texas you crawled out of.”

Todd barked out a laugh. “Listen to yourself. You sound like someone from a mob movie. I almost expected you to say ‘capiche?’ at the end of that sentence.” Todd stared up at Blayne, his posture relaxed. “I don’t plan on doing anything with the video. The person who shot the video wasn’t there for you but saw you fucking Drew Ellis, so he thought it would be a good idea to follow the story. I had him send me the file and delete it off his cell. No one else knows about it. I’m not here to ruin you or Drew Ellis.”

“Then why was your camera guy there?”

“To get an incriminating video of one of those homophobic Southern Senators who likes to pass anti-gay legislation by day while getting fisted in public at night.”

“That’s still sleazy. I mean, there’s a reason people aren’t allowed cell phones in there.”

“It’s the hypocrisy of it. That’s also why my camera guy shouldn’t have shot video of you and Drew. Drew is openly gay, and his mom is a huge gay rights advocate.” Todd slipped the phone into the back pocket of his pants.

“Listen to you, all grown up,” Blayne said, the anger slipping from his voice. “And I remember you, Todd. I didn’t recognize you, but I remember you.” Blayne let out a sigh as he smiled. “And, I noticed you,” Blayne said, letting his eyes graze down Todd’s body. Blayne stepped into Todd’s space and leaned in, asking, “How’d you end up in DC?”

Todd blinked rapidly before stammering, “I finished my undergraduate at Pennington, then was accepted to Columbia for my MA in journalism. Took this job right out of graduate school.”

“Uh-huh,” Blayne said next to Todd’s ear. “Do you miss how big things were in Texas?” He pressed himself into Todd, wrapping an arm around his waist. Todd sucked in a breath as Blayne ground himself into him.

Blayne snaked his fingers into Todd’s waist, letting his nose graze along Todd’s jawline. Blayne ground himself into Todd once more, showing Todd he was ready to go again. Todd let out a whimper as Blayne grabbed Todd’s ass and slipped the phone out. Blayne whispered into Todd’s ear, “Maybe you’ll let me show you that fantasies can come true sometime.” Blayne pushed himself away from Todd and smiled down at him before turning and walking away. Blayne played with the phone. Thank God, the lock screen didn’t initiate. He searched for the video file and deleted it. He also found the work email and deleted the file there.

Blayne leaned against the wall and waited for Todd to realize he’d taken the phone. Sure enough, seconds later, he heard leather soles slapping against the sidewalk heading his way.

He spun around the corner and almost collided with Todd.

“You stole my phone,” Todd said, a spark of anger in his eyes.

“Deleted the files that shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” he said, handing Todd his phone. “I may be jaded. I may have lost my shit. But I won’t let someone blackmail me. No matter how nice I thought your ass was…er, is.”

Blayne turned to the crosswalk and hurried across the intersection.

“Will you be there tomorrow?” Todd yelled after him.

Blayne held a hand in a wave without turning his back and kept walking.

Climbing two floors, Blayne reached his tiny one-bedroom apartment in the hall’s middle. He despised it for the noise from neighbors on both sides. The relentless banging of a headboard against the wall above and the old woman below, who struck her ceiling with her broom handle if he didn’t tiptoe, only deepened his hatred. Blayne had a series of noise complaints filed against him by the old woman. From the details of her complaints, you’d think he was Irish stepdancing with a dozen elephants up here. Of course, how she heard anything was beyond him. You had to yell at her to be understood during a conversation.

Upon entering his apartment, Blayne set his wallet and keys on a small table near the door, hung his coat on a bracket behind it and slipped off his shoes. He moved to the kitchen, grabbed a water bottle from the fridge then walked into the living room to collapse on the couch. From there, he could see his alarm clock glowing in the bedroom across the room. His apartment was a stark white box with a few walls and had been his for two years, yet it showed little sign of habitation. The walls were bare, with no artwork or personal touches to signal Blayne’s presence. His furnishings were minimal, with just a couch, a wall-mounted TV and a couple of TV trays for dining or laptop work. Despite his intention to buy a desk, he never had. His bedroom was equally sparse. Blayne almost never brought guests back, primarily because his full-sized bed, customized for his height, wasn’t inviting for overnight stays. His clothes were either in a dresser or hanging in the closet. Beyond those few personal items, the apartment remained stark. Initially, Blayne’s minimalism stemmed from a recent breakup and the belief he wouldn’t stay long. Still, eventually, it became his way of life.

He pulled out his iPhone opened his favorite dating app, EndZone, and started aimlessly scrolling through the catalog of men all looking for a quick fuck. Scrolling through the endless sea of dick pics, asses and the occasional smiling face caused his dick to stir again. What am I in the mood for? Twenty-year-old twink or forty-year-old leather daddy? He didn’t consider himself a bottom, but he’d learned that sometimes it was fun to be blindfolded, tied up in a sling and used like a piece of meat.

Blayne was about to see what DistrictLeatherDad was up to when he noticed he had a voice mail at the bottom of the screen. He sent DistrictLeatherDad a quick message before opening the phone app to listen to the message.

“Dr. Dickenson, this is Sepi Amin, President Barnes’ Chief of Staff. I’m calling to remind you the town car will be there at ten a.m. for you…sharp. Please don’t keep the driver waiting.” There was a pause before she added, “And dress presentably this time.” And she hung up.

Blayne closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Fuck tomorrow! His phone buzzed with an incoming message on EndZone.

Come on over. I want to play with your ass. Gonna let me fist you this time?

Blayne typed back.

You wish. Be there in twenty. Make that thirty. Should probably shower after my earlier hook-up.

No need. I like the scent of a freshly fucked man.

Be there in ten.

Blayne took another swig of water and headed back into the cool night.