Stephanie Vaughan

Excerpt: "Off World 2"

D'abu lifted his gaze over the rim of his mug to the man writhing
onstage, another man's clenched fist inserted wrist-deep in his ass,
and stifled a yawn.

It was latex night at Durty Nelly's, so everyone performing in any of
the club's various rooms was dressed accordingly. Some flesh-toned
and so paper thin the performers appeared nude. Almost. Others
were thicker, colored in shades improbably and eye-catchingly
bright.

"Hey, baby. Buy a boy a drink?"

Ignoring the rush of heat in his groin, D'abu turned toward the voice
behind the bar. "Alex." They both knew the drill. Nothing changed
but the date on the calendar and the theme of the night's show.
"Go hustle the tourists and leave the working stiffs alone, would
you? And while you're at it, tell your boss he needs to freshen up
the show. That's the third fisting I've seen this week."

The bartender tossed him a cheeky grin, unaffected by the brusque
tone of voice. "Not everyone's the connoisseur you are, Sandy. The
tourists like it just fine."

Alex gazed pointedly around the room at the rapt faces of the
crowd, to a man their gazes riveted on the latex-clad figures on the
stage, before throwing a wink and a smile in D'abu's direction and
moving off down the bar. Letting his own gaze dip briefly to the
perfect view of a very fine backside, D'abu turned back to his mug
and drained it.

He scrubbed one hand over his face and sighed. Alex was right. The
tourists did like the show just fine. Just like D'abu had … the first
eighty or so times he'd seen it. In his Marine days, back on Earth -
half a lifetime ago it seemed now - he'd had fantasies. Exotic, erotic
fantasies, or so he'd thought.

As things turned out, though, his kinkiest, most forbidden fantasy
would be lucky to make it as the evening's first warm-up act at
Durty Nelly's.

D'abu tried his best to focus on the goings-on onstage and block
out the picture in his mind's eye. But, as he was finding with
increasing frequency, his body easily overruled his head. Rolling his
head, as though to ease a stiff neck, D'abu let his gaze slide
sideways and pick up the tall, slim figure in black behind the bar.

Like every other night, Alex was dressed entirely in black. Where the
other bartenders and entertainment attendants dressed
provocatively, some wearing so little two handkerchiefs could have
served as cover-ups, Alex was clothed from neck to foot.
High-necked shirts with long, billowing sleeves covered his upper
body, while loose pants that reached the floor, bunching up around
nondescript shoes, hid his long, elegant legs.

Nothing could disguise the grace of that walk, though; loose-limbed
and fluid, like a dancer.

While D'abu gave cursory attention to the action onstage - fisting
man having climaxed and was now being lowered, chaise and all,
through the floor as stage hands began moving in a new set of
props - the bulk of his mental energy was focused on appearing not
to watch the goings-on behind the bar.

As D'abu not-watched, Alex leaned an elbow on the bar to talk to a
customer, his cute little ass sticking out and causing problems for
the other servers. Flirting and laughing non-stop, Alex worked the
mark. Right on cue, never even realizing he was being worked, the
customer ordered another Bomb Pop - the glowing blue drink that
would have kept Nelly's in business even without the sector's
hottest sex shows.

Card swiped.

Five credits for the house.

Alex smiled and, ever so reluctantly, moved on.

© Stephanie Vaughan, Torquere Press, 2007

All Rights Reserved

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