Page 40 of Gay Sex Club Collection

Or maybe it didn’t even break the top twenty.

My perceptions had changed over my time here. When I’d first started, everything was weird.

Now, not so much.

But this one . . .

Some people’s fantasies were out there.

To say the very least.

But they paid decent coin to have their fantasies played out, and all I had to do was oversee that it stayed within the outline, agreed on by all parties, and that everything was safe and consensual.

This participant would be completely bound and gagged for the duration, so I needed to ensure his safety at all times and that everything they did to him was on his list of requests.

The room was set up like a medical lab, of sorts. A bit industrial, a bit sci-fi. A padded bench sat in the middle of the room and an examination table with various equipment was laid out. There was also a fucking machine—a heavy-duty metal box with a long protruding arm equipped with a dildo of choice at the end. The device had a hammer motion, imitating thrusting, and was often used in prostate torture because it was relentless.

Next to that was a milking machine.

Whoever had signed up for this knew what they were in for.

A man walked in. Well, kind of. A man underneath a mask. An alien mask to be exact. Something straight out of a Battlestar Galactica cosplay convention, with a large cranium and beady eyes, and a row of spikes that ran from his eyebrows up over his head and down the back of his neck under his lab coat. He resembled a lizard almost.

A scientist alien lizard.

Not the weirdest thing I’d seen.

But then the doors opened and a huge beast came in, leading a normal man who was blindfolded, barefoot, and wearing what appeared to be pajamas.

The beast was over six and a half feet tall, three feet wide, built like a pro football player. He was purple and resembled the offspring of a warthog and an orc, wearing a long trench coat.

These masks weren’t ever going to win an Oscar for special effects, makeup, or prosthetics, but they were effective enough. Especially when the lights dimmed.

“What are you doing with me?” the man asked, his voice strained. “Where have you taken me?”

Lizardman removed the human’s blindfold, and the man screamed when he saw the lizardman and struggled against his restraints. He was convincing. I’d seen less convincing acting in episodes of The Twilight Zone.

Then when the orc came into his view, the human struggled even harder, screamed even louder. And I could see why. The orc’s trench coat was gone and he was sporting a huge strap-on alien dildo. Purple and black, with ridges, and at least ten inches long.

Jesus.

The lizardman traced a long fingernail down the man’s cheek, and when he spoke, his voice was mechanical and robotic. “You bring me a human. Good, good,” he said. “Get him ready.”

The orc snuffled in assent and forced the human over to the padded workbench. He protested and tried to fight, but the orc was far too strong.

He forced the human face down onto the padded bench, shackled his hands to the metal rings, then ripped his T-shirt from his body, revealing a pale, muscular torso. Then the orc pulled the pajama pants down. The man struggled and fought, but the orc quickly had the human’s ankles cuffed and locked. Bent at the knee, hobbled with padded thigh cuffs, he couldn’t move. The man was lying face down with his cock and balls hanging off the end of the bench, his ass exposed, completely unable to move. He was a fly in a trap.

The lizardman inspected him, checking his restraints, and without breaking character, he said, “Are you comfortable, human?”

That was his cue, his script, to double-check he was okay.

The human gave a nod, which was for me as much as it was a signal for the scene to continue.

“Good.”

“What do you want from me?” the human asked, acting frantic now. “What are you doing to me?”

“You are human,” Lizardman replied. “You have something we need.”

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