Lucky devil

by beastofmarbas   

Amidst a global pandemic and after a summer of unrest, a guy cruising at a sex club encounters a mysterious figure and finds himself ensorcelled into a secret society.

It took me two months of living in the neighborhood to get that "The Labyrinth" was a sex club. It sat on the corner, all gray paint, blacked out windows, single unmarked metal door, inconspicuous. I got my dry cleaning three doors down from it, picked up wings from the shop across the street, even got my prescriptions from the drugstore across the intersection for weeks without noticing it.

When I was waiting in line for my order of lemon-pepper boneless and I saw a shirtless guy in a leather harness, jeans, and biker boots exit with a bag of merchandise, then I got it. I went home, ate my boneless wings and got stir-crazy in my studio apartment. I walked back and went inside, curious to get the lay of the land.

The first floor was a stocked sex store, all dildos, toys, movies, etc. I was most impressed that it skewed toward gay men, rather than straight guys, but, then it was smack in the middle of Boystown. The merchandise even had a heavier than usual fetish presence, lots of neoprene, black leather, harnesses and pup hoods. There was a beefy guy with a dark fade at a counter who looked to have a leather workshop behind him to do custom pieces. I honestly wasn't much into BDSM, but I made a note of it. Sometimes a simple band around my bicep could get another guy excited and I'm all for that.

What I really wanted was upstairs: the arcade. I paid my money at the counter to a mohawked otter-boy in a full crimson rubber cat suit and headed up the stairs. The upper floor was typical video booths where straight and gay guys would jack it to porn videos and sometimes trade stares, gropes, or blowjobs through the gloryholes provided. This was my usual playground for easy stress release. The first time I went, I didn't really cruise anyone, I was just trying to explore the place.

I found a second set of stairs back down to street level that opened into a perpetually dark maze of hallways, alcoves, and rooms with padded benches. There were red lights placed here and there to break up the solid darkness, but there were plenty of areas where you could duck into and get anonymous action. I had to stand in a alcove for a minute to let my eyes adjust to the dimness.

At the other end of the maze was another staircase down. Intrigued, I headed down to find a better lit, more traditional bathhouse setup, with small rentable rooms, a couple of themed play spaces -- a dungeon, a medical room -- and a steam room and wet area with showers. I tried to calculate how much of this space could fit under the building given it's street-level footprint, and it seemed bigger. But then, I had very few cues in the dark to really judge. Anyhow, this floor was clearly clothing optional, given the number of guys in towels that gave me the stink eye as I wandered around fully clothed.

Because I lived so close, I wasn't much for the bathhouse scene. I usually walked there, so the idea of paying money for a small room where I could shed my clothing seemed like a wasted expense. I could just take guys back to my studio. I kept it in mind though, because honestly a nice steam could be refreshing on those chill-ass days of Autumn or after the snow started to fall.

I've lived in this neighborhood for years and so, I've gone to The Labyrinth countless times. I heard rumors that there was a fourth floor where all kinds of depraved sex went down, but never once saw an entrance or a staircase that went there. I chalked it up to an urban legend.

Sometimes, I like to think of myself as a normal guy with a normal sexual libido. Other times, I know I'm fooling myself and I'm basically a slut who'll fuck nearly anyone. I tend to go back and forth between extremes of this, but whenever I get horned, I tend to hit The Labyrinth to let it out.

Tonight, I was doing exactly that. The Summer had been a nightmare of national politics, social unrest, riots and protests over police brutality and white supremacy and a pandemic that had isolated everyone in their small homes for months. I think emotional tension ran on the wind and no one was immune. I did some of the protests, I even got caught in a riot, but it was on the outer edges and, living in the community, I made it home quickly and safely. Everyone I knew was overwrought and we all needed relief.

Beyond this, the pandemic had isolated us in our homes and, while I , as a Sr. Network Engineer, was lucky enough to be able to work remotely, spending most of my time in a studio apartment eventually wore me down. I needed company and a change of scenery.

It was mid-October and the weather had finally snapped into chilly, which invigorated me and my libido. Even so, hookups were slim pickings these days because of all that was going on. Knowing human nature, I knew I wasn't the only one who had gotten the snap in their groin along with the cooler weather, so I hit The Labyrinth, paid my dues, and was cruising the video booths, on the search for the guy.

With the pandemic, I knew this was risky. I was a cautious guy most of the time, but the months of little to no action had worn on me to the point I was willing to take the risk. I paid attention to the social distance, I wore the masks everywhere I went, I watched my diet, stayed healthy, and had done home workouts until the gyms were willing to reopen with strict guidelines. So, as I was taking the stairs up to the arcade, I slid my mask off my face and into my back pocket. It felt both liberating and stupid at the same time, but my groin throbbed and I just acknowledged the risk.

Up in the video booths, mask use was mixed anyhow. I was here to have direct contact with a male body, so wearing the mask as I ambled around seemed a pointless protection. I did my usual slow circuit of the floor to see who also wandered, to see how many of the booths were occupied, and to see if anyone either snagged my attention or if I snagged theirs. In the past, I would've stayed here for hours getting as much action as possible, but today, because of the risk, I decided to choose just one guy for an encounter to minimize exposure. It thankfully wasn't long before I saw my first target.

I first noticed him when I turned the corner just as he was sliding out of one of the video booths. He came out, clicked thick white marker shut, and wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. This booth opened beneath one of the irregularly placed red lights that lit the maze, and I caught a crimson glint off his wrist, which I thought was odd. He glanced quickly at me, then walked down the hall. What captured the moment in my attention was the conspiratorial expression he had, his eyes darting around looking for trouble, his thin lips pressed into a smirk. He looked like he'd just gotten away with something.

I watched as he walked the hall, checking doors as he passed them. He opened the first one that was unlocked and ducked inside. Curious, I walked up to the booth he had just left and entered. I scanned the cramped space, my eyes adjusting from the near darkness to the light of the TV playing porn. I saw movement through the oblong glory holes in both walls. The guys next door were checking me out; I checked them out, too. I sat down on the bench and scanned the booth.

Near the door jamb, I saw it: a small symbol of angular lines, circles, and points about an inch in diameter in white paint. I realized that the marker the guy had was a paint pen and, given how fresh this symbol was; it had to have just been drawn. I stood up and took a closer look at the symbol. It was an odd thing.

Of course, I wasn't a student of symbols or anything. But, I'd grown up watching enough sci-fi and fantasy movies, playing enough video games, and seeing enough logos that the very fact it wasn't recognizable was odd. I pulled up my phone and took a photo of it, tapping out the commands for a reverse image search, but there was nothing conclusive on the first page. It didn't seem like traditional graffiti and didn't seem to be in an alphabet that my phone could find. Weird.

I reached up on impulse and ran my thumb over the paint. I shivered briefly as my pad moved across it, as if my nervous system had gotten a jolt from it. I let out a deep sigh and felt blood rush to my groin unexpectedly. What was this? I touched it again, willing myself to hold my thumb there, and my breath caught in my throat and my Kegel muscle fired off involuntarily, making me buck forward a bit.

Someone opened the door to the booth I was in, another guy cruising the maze just as I was. He immediately saw me and ducked away down the hall. I shuddered a second, my body processing whatever energy had moved through it, and I stepped out into the hall. Further down, mostly in shadow was the guy. I knew it was him from his silhouette -- could tell his lanky build and how his shoulder length hair fell. He was staring down the hall at me. I couldn't see any of his features to read his mood, but both of us froze, half in and half out of a booth.

He broke the stare first. He turned and proceeded the way he'd been going, turning a corner. He moved through a pool of white light and I saw again glints of metal at each of his wrists. He clicked the paint pen closed again, after making a mark on a piece of paper he held. I saw his face, saw the scruff black beard and his straight black hair, corralled around his skull by a gray wool beanie. He wore black jeans, shiny black lace-up boots, and a long-sleeve red flannel shirt with the cuffs open, rolled to his forearm. He had on a black leather vest over that. As he moved through the light, he glanced in my direction, but I figured I was totally in shadow for him because his eye just skittered over me without purchase.

I took a breath and let the ambient dance music into my head for a second. He was attractive and suddenly, I wanted to touch him. It's what I had come here to do -- touch a guy -- so why not him? He intrigued me, definitely not just because he was young and attractive, but because he seemed to be on a mission. I wanted to test a theory, so I hurried to the booth he'd just left before someone else grabbed it. I entered, closed and locked the door. I scanned around the door jamb and there was the same symbol where he'd just painted it with the pen.

I blew on it to make sure it was dry; I didn't want to erase his work. Then I put my thumb on it and felt the same surge run through me, a delicious tingling energy that came down my arm and dropped into my crotch, making me buck forward again. What was this?? I'd taken a couple of puffs from my weed vape before I came here and had a pleasant buzz, but it couldn't be strong enough to make me hallucinate. So, how could a drawn symbol have this effect? I took my finger off it, left the booth, and headed around the corner where the guy had gone.

I caught him at the end of another hallway. Like other cruisers in the maze, he'd taken up a spot on the wall. We all did this when the booths were full or we wanted to display ourselves for passersby. I saw a muscle daddy in chinos and a tight, collared polo shirt walked passed him without a glance in his direction; the daddy kept his attention on his phone. He looked like the foreman of a construction site in his business casual drag taking a turn on the wild side during a lunch break, despite that it was about 11:00 p.m. I saw a black guy in socks, slides, knee-length basket ball shorts and a dirty t-shirt shuffle by in the opposite direction. He gave my guy a once over, but proceeded down the hallway, twisting the knobs on the doors he passed to see if they were locked.

My guy stood next to a concrete pillar and never took his intense eyes off of me. I met them. I cruised him with a slight smile and a nod. I wondered if he could even see me that through the puddles of shadow and with the distractions of the daddy and the guy in basketball shorts. My guy reached down with two fingers and tapped the concrete pillar. His fingers landed squarely into the same painted symbol he'd, no doubt, placed there himself. He thumped the symbol and held his fingers on it. A pulse rushed down the hallway and went through my body, causing me to gasp and shiver. There was no sound or light to it, but it flowed as long as my guy held his fingers there. I shuddered and felt myself going hard in my jockstap, felt my nipples getting hard under my sleeveless shirt. Fuck, what was this? He let his fingers up and the pulse stopped. I surveyed the others; no one else seemed to notice the effect.

He had been testing me. He wanted to see if I'd notice the pulse.

I'm a 42 year old, reasonably dominant guy so I realized the connection had been made. He'd seen me, I'd seen him. I took this pulse, whatever it was, as an invitation. I strode up to him mustering my bravado. I took a space against the wall next to him and we both pretended not to care we were there; typical cruising behavior. Muscle daddy sauntered passed again, his attention snagged onto the texting app of his phone.

I was taller than him, but at 6'2" I was usually taller than most folk. I accentuated it by pulling my shoulders back and stretching my back a little because most guys were into taller men. I flexed the arm closest to him to show off what gains I had left from years at the gym. I had broad shoulders, thick biceps, and a moderately good chest for someone my age, but I had to admit I was an aging shadow of myself from twenty years ago. The pull of good food and Friday night beers had softened me a lot. Even so, I hoped that my overall size helped me cruise the dark otter.

"Hey," I said to him, "I'm Jeffrey." I glanced over at him. He pretended to examine the piece of paper in his hand. I saw it was actually a diagram of the video booth floor of the maze, with boxes for each booth and a dot in each. He was seeding these symbols in every booth.

As he manipulated the paper, I saw a broad stainless steel cuff around his wrist. It had to be a couple of inches wide and didn't have a seam I could detect, but on the inside there was a brass square. I realized that this was a manacle, a piece of fetish jewelry built in a way that the brass padlock that kept it secured on him was recessed for aesthetics. I immediate checked out his other wrist and yes, there was one there also.

I did have a libido stronger than most. I'd long ago accepted there was no point in denying it, so I leaned into it. I fucked a lot of guys, always trying to build connection and friendship with them when I did. So, cruising places like this, going to the bars like I did, running across a submissive or a slave had happened before. It didn't throw me. These cuffs were beautiful and expensive. It meant he was owned and cared for by a Master with some means.

Feeling forward, I reached over and tapped the cuff on his wrist. "I don't want to intrude," I told him, "if you're taken and can't play, I'll leave you alone."

He had an abrupt shift in demeanor. He turned to me, stood stock still, arms down, feet together. "I'm bound to serve the needs of dominant men," he said, his voice rich and smooth, "I consent." While he said this, his face had a blank, controlled expression, as if these sentences were coming from someone else. When he finished, he softened, looked mildly embarrassed, and drifted to place his back on the wall again. He looked down at his vintage army boots, sighed, and studied his diagram. "I'm Felix," he offered.

"Lucky," I said. It was the meaning of his name and I saw him chuckle slightly when I said it. "Lucky for me," I said, "Lucky for you, too, I guess." I tried to process what he had said. To me, it meant he'd been sent here by his Master to service others. The submissives I'd run into in the past usually played at it, afternoons or weeks at a time doing what they were told for the thrill of being controlled. They had felt like boys exploring the BDSM scene and giving themselves an excuse to be slutty. I'd also run into at least one guy who exuded submission and seemed genuinely fulfilled by doing exactly and only what he was told to do, no matter what it was. That guy had been a true slave.

While I was a horny goat that liked to fuck and would certainly unleash on a willing guy, I wasn't much of a BDSM dominant because I didn't really enjoy inflicting pain or deeply humiliating a guy. Sure, I liked to be the guy on top and I could power-fuck with the best of them, but anything beyond that felt like inflicting damage to me.

So here Felix just offered himself to me with a rote script that he'd, no doubt, been drilled to recite when asked. He felt like he was on the spectrum somewhere between the playful pups who would smile as someone slapped the ass they presented willingly and the type of slave who needed to kiss your boot as a greeting. He felt like he had a core of willfulness beyond what the slaves had and a deep seriousness to him beyond what the pups had.

When he'd turned, I'd seen something else. Underneath his red flannel shirt, he had a black t-shirt with something printed on the chest I couldn't make out. But, under the collar of the t-shirt was a wide silver band, a collar. Most slaves and pups went for the stainless steel chain and luggage padlock you could get from hardware stores to make their slave collars. Felix had a collar that had been crafted to match the flow of his anatomy. It wasn't around the tube of his neck, but it circled the base, laying flat and curving around traps and behind his neck. It centered around the same recessed brass square lock that floated in the pit between his collar bones. This wasn't a collar so much as a small mantle. I knew that, if he bowed forward, it wouldn't hang because it fit so snugly.

Felix was truly owned. Someone had gone to lengths to provide him with real jewelry to mark his slavery. Glancing back at his cuffs and his collar, I realized that these might be real silver, not stainless steel. If that were true, then Felix was wearing thousands of dollars of fetish jewelry. No one gave that to a slave who was in it for a week; Felix was a lifer.

And that meant this his consent was genuine. "So, you'll do anything I ask?"

"Yes," Felix said immediately. He seemed to get a touch nervous.

"What are your limits?" I asked him.

"You won't hit them," Felix said, looking me in the eye.

"I won't?" I asked, "Or you don't have them?"

Felix blinked at me and looked at the diagram again, "It's just unlikely," he told me.

I thought about it. A thousand pornographic images raced through my brain, each one degrading to his ego. I had the sudden desire to test his limit, put him in his place so to speak, to continue our cruise encounter. I knew it was rude, but then, I wondered if it just seemed rude. If he was a slave, then ordering him around fulfilled his needs. But, I also felt a groove here; I found myself genuinely attracted to Felix, liking his energy and wondering again about his task and these symbols he was inking everywhere. I wanted him to find me attractive, not just some bearish-goon who ordered him around at the suck booths.

"I order you to kiss me like I'm the boyfriend you've loved for years," I told him. He seemed startled, but he folded the diagram into his pocket alongside the pen, turned toward me, and sidled up to my body. I felt his hands on my neck, then his fingers moving through the black wedge of my full beard to find my jaw, that he maneuvered closer to his own face. I felt his breath on my lips and I looked into his green eyes, a hunger there that seemed real. He closed them as our mouths made contact. I felt the tip of our tongues slide against one another as he kissed me, chewing lightly on my thick bottom lip. He exhaled, parted just enough, then whispered the word "forever" into my mouth.

Felix stepped back to his place on the wall, looking sheepish. I shuddered at my place on the wall, my cock straining in my jockstrap. I reached down and squeezed it, adjusting it to a more comfortable angle. I didn't want this to be a one-time encounter. I knew the rules of cruising: take what's offered, give what you can, then let it go. Meeting someone you groove with for a moment is much easier than finding a boyfriend; this wasn't dating and there should be NO illusions otherwise. But fuck, if Felix didn't just insert himself into my life with that kiss. A hundred images of him and I together, in bed, intimate, living our lives together, unfolded in my brain even as blood pumped into my dick.

I fished out my phone, unlocked it, opened a new contact page, and handed it to him. "I order you to put your contact information -- phone number, address -- into my phone. Tell the truth and put all of it," I told him. He took the phone and started typing away. I could tell that this -- like the kiss -- was unexpected. I bet by now he was usually sniffing the jock of someone who cruised him. He handed back my phone and I checked, he filled out everything.

"Felix Faust?" I chucked, "Lucky devil!" I mean, this was the name of a comic book villain, which itself was the bastardization of some old play from the time of Shakespeare. I knew it wasn't his birth name, but in this age, when gay folk came out, they sometimes still had traumatic rejections by their birth families. Taking a new name, assuming a new, authentic identity often liberated them from whatever PTSD they might carry because of that loss. I'd know a least one person who'd transitioned and at least one drag queen who had buried their so-called "dead names." I could see how a BDSM slave might also take a new name to match the role he assumed.

I leaned over to him. "I order you to tell me the truth: do you find me attractive?" I asked him.

His eyes bounced up to my face and he tried to read me, but somehow came away confused. I wondered if I were difficult to read. I could tell this wasn't a question he normally got asked. "You're different," he told me, "You noticed the symbols and felt them. You're more sensitive than you think you are and more authentic than almost anyone in this building right now. So, yes, I find that attractive."

It was my turn to look a little stunned. I had wanted his assessment of my body and face, but he'd given me a lot more than I was prepared to hear.

We stood there in silence, letting the electronica from the speakers overhead fill the space. I think we were both trying to figure out what to do with this spark between us, something I didn't think either of us expected. I wondered if his cock was half-hard like mine.

"Follow me," I told him and I took a couple of steps down the hall. I looked back. He hadn't moved. Had I misjudged? He seemed to expect something else from me. "I order you to follow me," I told him and he broke from the wall and fell into step behind me.

I took us around the corner and to the stairs that lead down to the dark maze. I wanted to touch his body with a modicum of privacy that the booths, with their gloryholes, didn't offer. I kept looking back and Felix dutifully followed. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a pool of light. If the video booth hallways had sparse lighting then this floor was practically blacked out. There were a couple of very dim light sources, just enough to navigate, but plenty of pools of darkness.

I took Felix's hand to keep track of him; it was warm and soft and it accepted my hand readily enough. I took him deep into an alcove. I couldn't see them, but I knew there were padded benches on either side. With my hand outstretched, I very slowly walked to the far wall. I did this so as not to walk directly into someone else I couldn't see; we were alone. I guess it was either still early, or a quiet night.

At the far wall, I turned and pressed Felix against it. I put my palm on his jaw and dug into his scruff beard. I kissed him, holding his head to mine. I got aggressive, chewing on his lower lip until he sighed. He stiffened and broke contact.

"Please, sir," he said, "I have one more to do..." He clicked on a pen light and clicked open his paint pen, waggling it at the wall.

I was a little annoyed because I really liked kissing him, but I nodded, "Sure, Felix."

He turned and started drawing on the wall under the light from a pen light he pulled out of his vest. He draw quickly and accurately. He draw the symbol he'd been drawing everywhere, but kept on after that, with a line of characters from some strange alphabet forming a horizontal line away from symbol. He doubled back and drew out a vertical line away from the symbol in the same characters. Here and there, he added words that crossed the vertical and horizontal lines, almost like he were filling in some occult crossword puzzle.

"What is this anyway?" I asked him.

"Aklo," he told me without explaining. I wondered if he thought I'd know what that word meant. Right now, I didn't care, I just wanted to touch him again.

I guess I was just horned up by our interaction, the possibility of knowing him further, and the desire to kiss him again, so I told him, "I order you to give me an orgasm unlike any I have had before."

Felix clicked the pen shut and turned off the pen light as he sank to his knees. It was finally pitch black and Felix's hand gripped my junk through my jeans. I felt him undo the buckle of my belt, the button above the fly and then slide the zipper down slowly. I widened my stance and let him work. His hand reached into the fly and cupped the bulge of my jock pouch, gripping my hardening cock.

I grabbed the flaps of my jeans and pulled them apart, then down onto my hips, letting my pouch free. I felt his face nuzzle it and heard him inhale my scent. Aw yeah...my brain was going into overdrive and I felt the tremors inside me of my precum starting to build. I felt Felix's fingers fumble around the pouch edge and pull it away freeing me to slap the side of his face. My cock wasn't huge, but it had a respectable length and a thick girth. My balls though, were heavy ovals in a long, slack sack. He palmed them both and rolled them around while I felt his lips on the tip of my cock, slowly peeling back my foreskin as he sucked me into his mouth.

I sighed as Felix's lips and tongue went to work on me. He went slow until I was fully hard, one hand on the base of my shaft holding back my foreskin, the other wrapped around my sack, pushing my nuts to the bottom. I tried to stay still and just enjoy it, but my legs started to tremble as he expertly filled me with pleasure.

I heard a click and then I felt a feather light touch of the paint pen on my sack. I had ample skin there for him to draw on. He touched whatever he had just drawn and my body went rigid with erotic pleasure. I felt someone licking my nipples, rimming my hole, massaging my prostate, kissing both sides of my neck and deep-throating my cock all at the same time. It was a surge of pure sexual pleasure manifesting in every erogenous zone at once. I rose up on my toes and gasped, trying to form a warning to Felix that I was about to unload. I felt the liquid marshaling at the base of my cock so fast that I barely had time to register a warning was needed, but even then it was choked out in my throat from my own moans as my cock erupted.

I had a lot of sex, and have had a lot of different kinds of orgasms, from the mundane shooting of a morning wank, to the raucous shooting of sport sex in a group, to the gentle build up and release when fucking your lover. But, this? It was as if all of my sexual energy were pulled out of my body through my cock in a few seconds. I stood there, panting, hands on my knees.

I felt Felix stand up and I heaved myself upright. His pen light clicked, showing his cum-covered grin. He wiped his mouth with his thumb and, in a deliberate flourish, smeared it on the diagram he'd made on the wall. I gave him a quizzical look, not sure what this was supposed to signify.

Felix licked his lips and leaned into me, getting his mouth close my ear. "When it gets too much, shoot your load onto this wall," he said. Startled, I backed up a step and was about to say something when he said, "Fiat Tenenbris!"

Everything went black. There was no light coming from even the sparsely placed fixtures and the beam from Felix's pen light vanished. Beyond that, a coldness seemed to explode out from where Felix had been standing, enough that I recoiled several steps, tripping onto the padded bench as I tried to close my pants.

It took minutes for the light from the overhead fixtures to reappear, but by then, Felix had left. I got my clothing straight and headed back up the stairs to the video booth level. I cruised around looking for where'd he might've gone, but unless he was holed up in one of the booths, he'd left.

The longer I was there, the stranger I felt. I had just shot a massive load with Felix, but I already felt the sexual energy rebuilding in my groin. Even so, I knew the rules of cruising...the moment had passed; Felix had left. I decided that I'd had enough for tonight, so I headed down the front stairs to the sales floor, then out onto the street into the October chill.

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