Assumption of Risk (fiction)

[rdodger]

Assumption of Risk

by Rajah Dodger {rdodger@hotmail.com} (c) 2017

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License (by-nc-sa). In jurisdictions where the Creative Commons license is not recognized, United States copyright and Berne Convention provisions apply; all rights reserved to Rajah Dodger except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights are explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.

Chuck considered himself an experienced guy. Since getting a good job, he'd enjoyed lap dances and an occasional furtive hand job at various topless bars, couch dances (self-service, look but don't touch) and table massages at grimy strip center storefronts. He wasn't ignorant of the other services available in town, but he lacked the desire to go looking on the street, much less invite a stranger into his house. Besides, there was something about hitting a $100 price point that let his brain override his gonads.

While searching through the strip club ads, he noticed a new ad in the tabloid he read on his lunch hour.

"Enjoy our new Domination Dungeon with Mistress Peril, first week only $50". He had some spare twenties in his wallet from the monthly poker game, and the price didn't sound outrageous for a specialized service. He checked the address -- good, it was far enough from his usual haunts that it was unlikely anyone would recognize his car.

Experience aside, he still got a nervous flutter in his stomach when he walked through the door, waiting in the small welcoming area for the attendant to come out and give him a once-over. The woman was blonde and bored, chewing gum as she pulled out a clipboard and rattled off a practiced speech with no perceptible pause for breath.

"You been here before? Okay then, thirty dollars for a half hour, sixty for a full hour, no funny business, we got Esperanza tonight, she's a redhead from Chile, and we got Victoria who's a knockout blonde, chill for a few minutes and I'll bring them out."

Chuck finally got a word in edgewise before the blonde vanished through the side door. "What about Mistress Peril?"

"Mistress... Oh, you mean Penny. Hold on."

The blonde returned to her desk and pressed a button, and a short olive-skinned brunette came out and stood with arms folded over her chest, giving him a long, appraising look that unsettled him. It was usually Chuck's privilege as the customer to pick and choose from the 'dancers' on staff. He got the distinct impression that whatever this girl was looking for, she didn't think he had much of it. Finally, she nodded to the blonde with a curt "Okay" and returned to the back.

The receptionist now pulled out a different clipboard and handed it to Chuck, reciting a different speech with the same lack of inflection or pause as before. "Fifty for the half hour special, show me your driver’s license, and please sign here that you have no physical, mental, or medical issues that could cause a danger to you or anyone else absolving us of any legal liability and thank you."

Chuck skimmed the legal disclaimers, most of which he'd seen often enough to recite himself, and signed the clipboard. He opened his wallet and handed over two twenties, a ten, and his license. The blonde checked his license against the clipboard, stashed the money underneath her counter and handed his license back as she pressed a buzzer. Within seconds, a door on his right opened.

"Okay, go through there, take a shower, don't put any clothes on afterward, just go through the back hall to the dungeon room and wait."

That was certainly different. Chuck had never been to a modeling studio or massage parlor where they wanted him to shower before the action. Perhaps that was part of the dungeon routine, he thought. It could just as easily mean that this girl Penny had a cleanliness fetish. No, he reminded himself, she called herself Mistress Peril.

The door opened to a narrow hallway, with a closed door on the left and an open door on the right. The open door showed a clean bathroom and shower facility with a wicker basket labeled "clothing". On the vanity were washcloths, bath towels, a loofah, and a number of different types of body washes and shampoos, as well as a brand-new toothbrush, toothpaste and dental floss. Chuck shook his head. There was nothing remotely normal about any of this. He stripped down, adjusted the shower to a temperature he liked, and got in with a washcloth and one of the body washes. He definitely wanted nothing to do with a loofah that other people had used.

He showered, scrubbing all the usual places, and washed his hair quickly since he figured this was coming out of his paid time. After a quick brush of his teeth, he dried off thoroughly and placed all of his clothes and things into the wicker basket. He then opened the door to check the hall and walked out naked to the end where the door bore the legend "Peril Awaits".

Chuck grunted. This looked more and more like a waste of his lunch break. As he opened the door, he stepped into a large, poorly lit room, sparsely furnished and quite chilly bringing goosebumps to his bare skin. The ceiling appeared to be plain acoustical tiles, and some kind of Eastern European music was playing through hidden speakers, strange harmonies led by an accordion. There was a wooden stool in the middle of the room, with a coffee table next to it. Bare feet slapping on the cold concrete floor, he put his basket on the coffee table then settled onto the uncomfortable stool.

The dungeon, or whatever it was supposed to be, was a gloomy place. In the dim light, the walls appeared almost blood-red. There were metal cabinets all along one wall, ending with a washbasin in that corner of the room. Occupying the center of the floor area was a long heavy wooden beam, with handcuffs attached at either end.

Curiosity got the better of Chuck and he got up to look more closely at the handcuffs. They appeared to be police-grade - he had reason to know the difference - and there were reddish-brown patches of what looked like rust on the metal. He sat back on the stool, scratching at his thigh.

Just then, the door opened and Penny appeared. At the reception desk Chuck had thought she was a Latina, but close up her face had more of an Asian cast to it. She wore only black glossy thigh-high boots and a narrow leather panty. Over that were a pair of dainty breasts with brown rubbery erasers for nipples. She was shorter than Chuck had first thought – probably under five feet tall if you discounted for the boot heels. She carried a short crop, a single tail whip and an attitude.

Mistress Peril glared at Chuck and viciously cracked the whip not three inches above his left ear! When he picked himself up from the floor, she was squatting over his chest screaming into his face.

"Who said that you could just sit down and make yourself comfortable? Get up so I can inspect you properly!"

While Chuck got awkwardly back up on his feet, she marched around him, heels snapping harshly on the concrete. He balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to dodge, his eyes wary of the whip and the crop that whirred through the air too closely for comfort.

"What the FUCK are you? An accountant? A stockbroker? A lawyer?"

Chuck started to respond, but she cut him off, her eyes drilling intensely into his. "Don't bother answering that question. I don't give a damn. You don't have a name in here, you're just fifty bucks at the front desk. You will call me Mistress."

She sneered, looking his physique up and down. "I know why you're here. I know what you all come here looking for. Behave and you'll get it. Don't behave and you'll really get it."

Mistress Peril - whose name was sounding more and more appropriate - turned away, the side of her boot bumping against Chuck's cock and setting it swinging. Over her shoulder, she continued, "Go over to the beam and stretch your arms out."

While Chuck hurried to get into that awkward position, she washed and dried her hands. With little motion wasted, she strode around the beam and clicked each handcuff snugly around Chuck's wrists, then kicked his feet apart.

"Wide. Wider."

By the time Chuck had his feet settled to her satisfaction, he was hanging backward from the beam by his wrists and starting to worry that this woman took herself too seriously. Her hands moved over his skin, pressing here, squeezing there, scratching in other places. His cock didn't seem to have the same reservations that Chuck did, as it filled out and bobbed heavily.

Her voice ripped through the room. "WHAT THE FUCK?!? What is wrong with you guys? Didn't Margie at the front tell you to shower thoroughly?" Chuck protested, "But I *was* thorough!"

Heels clicked loudly behind him, then stopped, then started again as Mistress came around to face him. "If I say you weren't thorough, then you weren't thorough. You want to be sloppy, stay home. You want to take up MY time, you follow simple directions."

Her hand came up with a wad of white cotton, and she jerked Chuck's jaw down and jammed his own briefs past his lips before he could get another word out. He almost gagged, not from the taste of his briefs but from the loathsome dry texture of the cotton against his tongue.

Meanwhile, Mistress vanished and he heard the sound of water running. The next indignity was feeling her scrubbing his ass up down and sideways with a rough wet cloth, then smearing something oily into that vulnerable spot. He jerked his arms, but the handcuffs held him tight.

"You did sign the medical release, right?"

A cool strong hand gripped Chuck's balls and tugged his sac taut. Something was wrapped around it, then a heavy weight jerked downward bouncing and tugging at his scrotum. Chuck's stomach lurched, even as his cock pulsed and throbbed into a solid erection. Something scraped on the floor behind him, and the next thing he felt was her panty-covered crotch grinding up and down in the slippery crease of his ass.

Something firm was behind the leather, pressing against him.

He struggled frantically against the handcuffs, and made whatever noises he could through his briefs while Mistress humped against him making the weight under his balls bounce and jerk. His swollen cock ached to release.

"You wanted a happy end, right?" Her laughter behind him burned in his ears, and she backed away from Chuck.

He found himself pushing his ass back to meet her, but he could only move so far because of the handcuffs locking him in place. His head was foggy and confused as she strode around and jerked the saliva-soaked briefs out of his mouth.

"Well, this isn't one of those places. It's self-service. I assume you know how that works."

She unfastened the handcuffs while Chuck frantically swiped his tongue against the inside of his mouth to chase the taste away. "At least it looks like you've got plenty to work with now." She pointed at Chuck's cock, sticking out over the leather parachute and heavy weight stretching his balls.

"Don't mind me, I'll just watch."

Embarrassed, cowed, but desperately aroused, his swollen balls aching, Chuck wrapped a fist around his erection and started stroking. The bounce of the loaded parachute made his stomach nauseous, but it faded in importance as he grunted and jerked. His asscheeks flexed, and it didn't take much time before he was spewing cum down to the concrete floor, pumping until he sank to his knees unable to stay upright.

Mistress Peril came over and pushed him onto his back, then unfastened and removed the parachute and weights from his balls without ever touching his twitching dribbling cock. She hovered over his sweaty face, her eyes dark and deep, not revealing anything of her thoughts.

"Clean all of that stuff off the floor before you leave. Margie's not paid to scrub the messes you guys make." And with that, she turned and marched imperiously out of the room.

:: AFTERWARD ::

The petite brunette and the older blonde chatted in low voices at the reception desk, their eyes on the security camera display. A man walked from the storefront door across two rows of parked cars stopping at an upscale sedan. He wiped his forehead, then looked at his watch. The man's lips moved, wide and emphatic, but of course the security camera provided no sound.

"Forty minutes, Penny. That's shorting the time even for you. You're gonna catch it from Madame Yee."

"Yeah, yeah, sure Margie. Just watch."

The man slammed his fist onto the roof of his car, then turned to glare toward their front door. For a moment it looked as though he would come marching back. Instead, shaking his head, he opened the car door, got in and drove off.

"He'll be back - he'll wait a little over two weeks and then he'll come back. We'll be charging full price then. He'll even ask for something extra - he's got the money for it. Madame Yee will kiss my ass for what I bring in. Want to put up twenty saying I'm wrong?"

Margie shook her head. "No way, Penny. I owe too much from my other bets against you."

Penny laughed, her voice pure and deep and wholly satisfied with herself. "I could let you take it out in trade, you know. I do prefer older women." Still laughing, she vanished into the back of the building, leaving the receptionist with a disturbed look on her face.

/ END /