Erotica Harem

David’s caveat: I promise to always be polite and respectful while giving honest reviews. Dealing w/ me is akin to shopping at the store: take what you want and leave the rest.
Please don’t ‘read between the lines’ with my comments. I say what I think free of insinuations.

Keep writing and always have fun!


Title: Descent

Chapter: 1

Author: Alex Morgan

Plot: Todd goes to a leather bar for the 1st time. Crowded, noisy and it turns out a slave auction to benefit charity is planned. On the spur of the moment Todd signs up. Luckily he is near a guy, Carlos or boi carlos, who fills him in on stuff.

Style & Voice: 1st person via Todd. Consistant.

Referencing: Good local scene in unknown era, city, state or country.

Scene/Setting: Leather bar and street, car, outside. I read this twice, um, for editing purposes, and I think it could use a little more description of the bar.

Characterization: Good.

Grammar: Good w/ some comments in the text.

Just My Personal Opinion: 2,067 words. (NOTE: I count words as an idiosyncrasy.)
Ok, I’m new to this scene but I think I’ll like learning.



Chapter 1:

I felt like a peeping Tom as I wiped the condensation off the inside of the windshield for the umpteenth time. If he’s alone, why so much condensation unless it’s a small, compact car, and why not open windows? If the humidity is high outside, that would contribute to the inside of the windows. Maybe a reference to the weather, season. I sat back in the seat and slumped down to hide behind the steering wheel as if the shadowy figures entering the Stockade, a leather bar, could see me across the dark parking lot. I had long since decided against starting the car to keep the defroster going, afraid that the motor sound would give away my hiding place.

As nervous and apprehensive as I was, I could not take my eyes off the parade of gorgeous man in front of me, all clad in various stages of dress and undress with denim, leather and chains. I’ve been to a leather bar or two, uh, in the line of duty, and there were a lot of ugly guys, too. And what ‘parade’? Were they going in, coming out (no pun intended) or both?

They all walked with such self-confidence and exuded a sexuality that was rough, raw and unrestrained. I could almost smell the testosterone all the way back here inside my steel and glass bubble of solitude. I had never been to a leather bar before, preferring to frequent the dance clubs, drag queen shows and S&M bars, which meant Stand & Model. I always enjoyed going out for drinks but these places always left me feeling unsatisfied and out of my element even though I had many friends there. the last part starting w/ ‘even though’ seems a bit banal. Suggestion: ‘despite the comfort and fun of my friends.’

Where those bars were brightly lit and on well-traveled streets, the Stockade was off the beaten track. Its entry was in the back of a small strip mall. The single street lamp illuminated the blank featureless door, but little else in the area.

So why was I so worried about being seen?

Maybe I was more worried about NOT being seen.

Gathering up what little nerve I could muster, I got out of my car and walked toward the entrance. I stepped into the circle of weak light cast by the overhead lamp. I heard the thumping of loud music inside. Even from this distance, I smelled the biting odor of cigarette smoke. I approached with caution, I personally think this is fine but my spell check says to add ‘and’ after the comma. I’m also afraid Max might call it a comma splice. then asked myself why.

Was I going to turn and run? I chuckled at my silliness and took several more steps toward the door. Been there; done that.

Just then two muscular men wearing police uniforms made entirely of leather walked out of the shadows, their eyes hidden by the brims of their hats. I froze mid-step as if I’d been caught with my pants down around my ankles. LOL. That hap to me once. (Being caught w/ my pants down.)

They must’ve misunderstood my gaping stare, because they both flashed bright smiles and nodded at me. With such a friendly greeting my apprehension melted Did it really melt away or just lessen to the point that he could function. away and I followed them inside without hesitation.

I was totally unprepared for the attack on my senses. I stepped into total darkness, pierced by rotating beams of colored lights. The music was deafening. Did his brain throb right away? The overpowering smell of cigarette smoke and sweat assaulted my nostrils. When my eyes adjusted to the interior, I was amazed at the crush of humanity crammed into such a small space. I pushed my way through the crowd, electrified by having to press up against muscled bodies, hairy bodies and almost nude bodies. I felt like a kid in a candy store and couldn’t help gawking. Everyone shouted their his or her, not ‘their’ conversations to be heard over the music, adding to the ear-splitting din.

I located the bar and headed for it, but made slow progress since everyone else wanted a drink at the same time, it seemed. After about fifteen minutes, I made it. I had more than my fill of eye candy Really? In only 15 minutes, had his fill. Not me. but few cast even furtive glances in my direction. Maybe I was overdressed in my T-shirt, since most guys were bare-chested. Bare chested except for heather harnesses, nipple rings, etc.?

I shouted my order to a hunky bartender.

Yummy! I thought, If it’s in italics, do u need ‘I thought? watching his retreating back and tight shorts. While I waited, I noticed a small stage on a back wall. A mike stand stood off to one side.

“Live music?” I asked the bartender when he returned with my beer. Bottle or glass?

“Nah. Slave auction.”

“A what?”

“The local leather/BDSM club is hosting a slave auction tonight for charity,” he said. “There’s still time to sign up. You can bid on a slave or put yourself up for auction and have someone bid on you.”

“What happens then? Do I have to go with the highest bidder?”

The bartender nodded. “You’re his slave so you gotta do whatever he wants.” He turned to wait on another customer.

I had heard of such a concept but never thought it would be a reality. Also seems a bit banal. Suggestion: “I had dismissed any stories I’d heard about slave auctions.’

But what a reality!

I looked around the bar. The sheer numbers of beefcake gathered in one place staggered my imagination. Picture me getting bid on by one of these studs. In any bar, gay, str8, canine, etc., also lots of ugly people. I get the impression everyone there is a hunk.

That settled it. I pushed my way through the crush of bodies to the stage, where the bartender pointed. Suggestion: maybe he drank his beer to calm himself as he struggled to the stage.

“Hi, I’d like to sign up for the slave auction,” I said, grinning like a school boy. One word.

The two muscle bears looked at me for a split second before smiling back down at me.

Why the hesitation? I wondered and my enthusiasm wavered.

“Do you want to bid on a slave or be auctioned as one?” One of them asked in a polite tone.

“I want to be a slave,” I responded with more bravado than I felt. I paid the ten dollar entry fee and they thanked me with those beaming smiles. Really only $10? I’d think more for charity?

“You know you’ll have to remove your shirt at the very least,” the second one said as I turned away. That grabbed my attention and I whipped back Need a period.

“What?”

Both of them laughed at my reaction, making my face heat up. LOL. Suggestion: Their laughter seemed to drown out all the other noise and music.

“You’re new to the scene, aren’t you?” the first one asked. I could only nod, embarrassed that it was so obvious.

Their laughter died down, seemingly to take pity on one so uninformed.

“Slaves have to show as much skin as legally allowed. Do you have underwear on underneath so you can take off your jeans?”

Strut around in only my $12.99 a pair Calvin Klein boxer briefs? Were they serious? I didn’t do that except in my own apartment and certainly not in front of hundreds of guys. I wasn’t even sure about taking my shirt off.

There was still about thirty minutes before the auction began so I took the time to walk around, scoping out the hot bodies and try to gather my courage. Suggestion: Their laughter seemed to drown out all the other noise and music. I’d try to score another beer. Suggestion: Their laughter seemed to drown out all the other noise and music.

Then I saw him.

A single leather harness crossed his chest and his torso was covered with elaborate, colorful tattoos. Suggestion: Their laughter seemed to drown out all the other noise and music. But I assume too little light to see what they were? He was talking to two other men with as much skin ink as he had. Behind him stood three guys dressed only in leather jock straps. I had difficulty telling them apart since their shaved heads made them look almost identical. They remained with their hands clasped behind their backs. They did not speak to anyone else or each other, although some of the bar patrons tried to talk to them.

I must’ve been staring because I jumped when someone spoke or shouted rather in my ear.

“That’s Master Mike.”

I looked to find a guy about my age wearing only a black thong and combat boots.

“He’s really into the BDSM scene. If you want to be the best slave you can be, he’s the one to train you. Are you a slave?” he asked.

“I guess so.”

“I’m boi carlos.” Intentionally in lower case? Or should it be Boi Carlos? The following sentence seems rough. He stuck out his hand which I shook.

“Todd,” I introduced myself. “I’m not a boy yet but maybe I’ll be his tonight.”

Carlos gave me a sympathetic smile that said ‘In your dreams’. “Well, good luck then.” He walked away. Oh, naïve boy. LOL.

I kept a close eye on Master Mike while I wandered around the bar, checking out the other possibilities. The scent of leather permeated the other smells, stirring desires in me I never suspected I had. What was happening to me? This wasn’t my scene, was it? I felt more comfortable among the preppie, pretty boys at J.R.’s, not here in the midst of some of the most masculine specimens of the entire human race I’d ever seen. They were rugged, raw and handsome. My only exposure to bodies like these was in the pages of Muscle and Fitness magazine.

Which I bought only for the articles. Of course, goes without saying.

The time for the auction How about ‘auction time’ instead? arrived and a few not-very-bright spotlights illuminated the stage. The two muscle bears that I spoke to walked to the microphone, introduced themselves and the reason for the auction. All proceeds from tonight’s sales would benefit a local AIDS pantry that helped provide meals to persons with HIV. Just those w/ HIV or those w/ AIDS, too? A thunderous applause followed and joining in, I felt my chest swell with pride to be part of such a noble cause.

The slave auction began, so I moved closer to the stage to line up with the other guys waiting to be sold, right behind my new ‘friend’ Carlos. boi carlos rather. Ok, I see it is lower case. Is that significant? I’m not into leather, well, other than was required as a cop. GRIN.

One by one, slaves walked onto the stage and posed while the beefy studs in the audience call should it be ‘called’? out their bids. The reality of it filled me with anticipation and desires. One of those gorgeous men would actually pay money for me! I have to wonder/ask: Is he hiding a boner in his jeans?

I watched the slaves as they stood still while being bid for, hands behind backs and heads bowed. I couldn’t imagine standing on stage in less clothing than I slept in. Not that I was ashamed of my body. I worked out and thought my build was as good if not better than most of the guys up there. But the less the slave wore, the higher the bidding went.

The line got shorter as the auction progressed. I wasn’t sure how much alcohol played a role in the bidding, but it seemed that with each new slave on the auction block, they went for more money. The drunker they are, the more generous with their money. One slave walked into the spotlight holding what looked like a flogger. My extremely limited knowledge of this concept told me that wasn’t right. It also makes me wonder, did Todd only have 1 beer? I would have had several.

“I didn’t think salves were supposed to have floggers or whips, are they?” I asked Carlos.

Again, he gave me that patronizing smile. “That’s not a flogger. It’s a horse tail one word butt plug. He’s a pony boy.” OMG. That’s new for me.

I had no idea what that meant but the guys in the audience did. The bidding escalated to a dollar amount that only two masters were left battling it out. One was Master Mike.

I was amazed but I didn’t know what sort of slave he would be looking for. He won the bidding and the bar erupted in noisy applause. The next slave that walked onto the stage was one of the guys I saw with Master Mike earlier. I noticed that he wore leather mittens on his hands. As soon as he reached the spotlight, he dropped down on all fours. Carlos glanced over his shoulder at me and apparently recognized the confused expression on my face.

“He’s a pup slave,” he responded to my unasked question. “Those mittens are supposed to turn his hands into paws. Some of the masters like slaves to act like dogs. A lot of guys are into role-playing.” He seemed to realize that I was immersed in a situation without a clue. So now that we established he was more informed than I was, the patronizing grin turned into a slightly more understanding smile. The pup slave went for more money than the pony boy.

I watched as the other three men standing with Master Mike mounted the stage to be sold off. The bidding was almost as frenzied as the pup.
Carlos leaned back. “Master Mike’s slaves tend to go for a lot of money because everyone knows they’re well-trained.”

“Well-trained? Aren’t they just supposed to do whatever the master tells them?”

“Yeah, but it’s not as simple as that,” he said. “They do what-EVER the Master tells them without question.”

It still didn’t sound like much of a challenge but from the way Carlos put it, there was a lot that I didn’t know.

Soon it was Carlos’ turn and he mounted the stage to enthusiastic bidding. During his auction, I pulled off my shirt and tucked it into the back of my jeans. I felt fully confident in my looks and knew that I would bring in a pretty penny. In fact, I was so sure, I slipped off my jeans and down to my underwear.

The applause signaled that Carlos was someone’s boy or slave, and it was my turn. I stepped into the spotlight, smiling and anxious.
Ok, I’m hooked. I’ll keep reading. OMG, all this is new to me. I feel like Todd, naïve.