Before you go any further: this is another episode in my Twighlight Zone series, a collection of stories which are connected (loosely) to a store by the same name. Each story is somewhat of a standalone; while characters from one episode may appear in other episodes, don't expect storyline continuation from one episode to the next. If you really like characters, let me know and I may develop them in a further story.
This is the second of the Twighlight Zone stories. Re-reading this work, years after I originally released it, has led me to realize that I was in a really dark place at the time. Well, even darker than normal. Black, even. Even after a major rewrite and a lot of storyline correction, the darkness still shows. This episode of the series has lots of femdom action, a lot of revenge fantasy, a smattering of sex, and really nasty things happening to cliché characters. I make no apologies, but I do warn you: if this isn't your type of erotica, don't read any further.
The Twighlight Zone, Chapter 2: The Twighlight Cafe, by Seurat
It was another boring Wednesday night party, and Hank Prah stood behind the fraternity bar and idly fingered the small glass vial in his pants' pocket. The substance inside could sate his itch, albeit temporarily. It was easy when he was the bartender; when he saw a prospective 'companion' approaching, he would simply gauge how drunk she was, add a little extra to a cup, then make a show of pouring her a fresh beer in a fresh cup. He would make her do something before she could have the beer: tell him her name, who she was with, anything, just to get her chatting. A girl engaged in conversation was less likely to head out onto the dance floor again, and Hank knew better than to push more beer on her. After all, why get her drunk when his little additive would have the same effect? When she wasn't expecting it, he would pull her aside and get her a little worked up, then move her to a more comfortable spot. Usually by then, the drug had started to take effect, and he was guaranteed a sure thing.
It wasn't the most most honorable way to get laid, that's for sure, but these girls were here looking for a good time, and he was there to provide it. Sometimes he just helped things along a little.
One of his fraternity brothers, Joe, had been pestering him all night about cutting out on the house festivities a little early.
"C'mon, Hank." Joe protested, "It's a once in a lifetime chance, and as seniors we ain't gonna be around much longer. We're talking the Twighlight Cafe, where they give blowjobs with every drink. Besides, this party's a bust."
Hank looked around the fraternity dance floor and nodded in agreement. There hadn't been any good prospects at all. Rory and her 'gang of four' were being hit on pretty heavily, but he'd already sampled the delights of all five (one more than once), and they wouldn't ever let him get close again. And it looked like they were about to leave, which would sorely deplete the number of attractive girls in attendance. Pickings were slim.
As if on cue, Rory spotted him behind the bar, and said something to her friends. They turned and looked at Hank, but kept dancing. All five simultaneously pointed at hank and then, in sinque, held the thumb and forefingers two inches apart. The intent of the gesture was obvious to everybody that saw it, and there were more than a few guffaws. Rory flipped him the bird, and the girls all went back to dancing. He returned the gesture a moment too late.
Yup
, Hank thought,
pickings were very slim.
"The Cafe? Like you could get us in. What's the deal? I thought it was special invite only, or so I'm told."
Joe hesitated. "Jerry. He has some connections."
"Jerry Cass? What is it, fag night? I thought you'd given up on your old roomie when you joined the house."
"You know he ain't queer. Besides, he said tonight is 'models night'. All them babes from The Twighlight Zone are going to be there. It's one of the few nights that outsiders can get in, and even so you need an invite. He says it's payback for me saving him from alcohol poisoning freshmen year."
Hank remembered that night. He, Joe, Jerry and the other pledges at the time had been given a task that included drinking a bit of alcohol. Jerry had ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. He hadn't ratted out the fraternity, but it had cost him his pledge status. The school had prohibited him from joining any social organization. Hank had never really liked the lightweight, but if he could get them into the Cafe', he would put up with him for the night.
They'd all seen the dog-eared catalog from the 'Zone', but strict policies at the store and the club had prevented anybody from the house from ever getting another copy. It was like the one from Frederick's of Hollywood, only a lot thicker and kinkier. More expensive items inside, too. The Twighlight Zone carried everything for anybody; latex to lace to leather, jewelry to bondage gear. And every piece was modeled in the catalog by insanely sexy women, with three or four views of every item. Nobody knew how the brotherhood had come by the copy they had; it was a fraternity treasure, scanned and photo-shopped dozens if not hundreds of times, but the original was priceless. They'd never been able to get another one. Hank started getting a hard-on just thinking about it.
What made it more exciting than anything else, Hank knew, was that it was just down the street. Literally blocks away from the university, the most erotic den of inequity could be driven by daily. And that meant that all those women,
those women
, from the catalog were also just as close. It made that catalog the repository of every kinky fantasy anybody in the house had, all supported by the fact that the possibility of the fantasy becoming reality was with arm's reach. Hank snapped back to the subject at hand, Jerry O'Neil.
Of course, there wasn't a man on that campus that hadn't tried to get in there at least twice. But for some reason, the store had a policy that stated that nobody under the age of twenty-one was permitted in, and if you tried to gain entry once and were denied, there was a good chance you were going to be banned until you were thirty.
"Could have surprised me. He always came off as gay to me. How's he going to get us in, anyway?"
"I don't know, but he made the offer to me this afternoon. I thought it would make for a nice 'end of year' blast."
"Get the guys, we'll all go."
"Nope. Said he could get in only four guests. I figured me, you, Fitz, and maybe Larry."
"Sounds good. You drive. Be good to get away from the fraternity scene for a while, get me some fresh meat."
"He said dress nice. Suits."
"Suits? I ain't changing to go to some fag bar."
"At least sports jackets and ties, then. Can't get in without them."
"Fine," Hank said in an offhand manner.
* * * * * * * * * *
The parking lot in front of the Twighlight Zone shop was only partially filled, but Joe led his fraternity brothers around the side to another lot, next to a warehouse that abutted the shop building. This one was far from empty.
Jerry was waiting in the parking lot when the boys pulled in. BMWs, Porches, Ferraris, and a multitude of other expensive cars filled the lot. Hank sneered, "the cover better not be too much. I only got about fifty on me." The other boys laughed; they all knew he carried a lot more than that.
They spotted Jerry next to his Chevy at the back of the lot. When they got close, Jerry skipped the pleasant 'hellos'. He turned to Joe. "What's with the jackets and jeans? I thought I told you to dress nice. You know, suits?" Jerry's eyes shot daggers at Joe, both for the group's attire and for the presence of Hank. No time to argue now, though. Joe averted his eyes, knowing Hank would be the one to reply. The alpha dog of the pack always took command.
"What's the matter, pansy, should we have dressed all queer-like, like you? If jackets and ties ain't enough for these people, then screw 'em. I bet this whole place is just a scam, anyways." Hank's group laughed, though Joe held back. Jerry was dressed in a black silk suit with matching tie. Around his right wrist was a thick white bracelet.
"Forget you, Hank. You don't like the rules, nobody's gonna cry when you leave. I'm doing this for Joe, not for you. And it's not a scam."
Hank's entourage ignored the comment and, sensing fresh meat, joined in on baiting Jerry.
"Yeah, what's with the funeral director suit, somebody die? What are you, some type of artsy-fartsy goth?" Larry quipped. "There better be some hot fuckin' babes in here, Jair-ee, and not just a bunch of fat chicks with too much makeup."
Jerry stared at them a moment, as if contemplating a comeback, but let it slide. He felt his debt to Joe was too much, and he could put up it the other three for a night if need be. "If you're coming, then lets go."
He led the way to a non-descript steel door in the back of the large warehouse. To the side was a buzzer, and after Jerry pressed it, a window in the door slid open. Jerry raised his right arm, exposing the bracelet. "And four guests." he said, though the boys could see nobody behind the window.
The door creaked open, revealing a long hallway lit intermittently by overhead lights. Jerry walked in, turned and waited. After a second, Hank led the others in. "This better not be a scam, Cass, or I'll bash your fucking head in." Jerry started walking down the hall.
As they headed down the dim corridor, the entrance door slammed shut. "Just like in them movies, eh Hank?" Larry chanted. Jerry was really getting tired of his fawning.
Fucking toadie.
The faint sounds of music could be heard from down the hall, a heavy bass vibrating the floor. They turned a corner, and were almost deafened by dance music.
"Man, oh man. Look at these fuckin' babes. Looks like the 'little Larry' is gonna be makin' a lot of honeys happy tonight." Larry bragged.
Fitz murmured, "I always wondered what heaven was like." He pulled out his cel phone to take some pictures, but Jerry pushed it away.
"Private function. If you try to take pictures without permission, they'll get pissed, and you'll end up outside on your ass."
Hank had to regain control. "Yeah, so what. I betcha if Cass here can get laid here half these bitches are either whores or guys in drag."
Regardless of what they said, the four boys were impressed. This was no college party. Before them was an open flight of stairs leading down to a huge round dance floor, complete with lasers, strobes, and diamond balls. The ceiling, 50 feet over the dance floor, was made of huge plates of stainless steel that reflected the lights back down. To the left of the entrance was a long bar, and beyond that were cocktail tables on a balcony so the floor could be watched. To the other side were booths for more private meetings. Another bar connected the cocktail area to the booths, completing the outer ring. In all, it was a massive dungeon-like party room. Spaced sporadically around the edges were cages hanging from the ceiling and dancers, male and female, writhed inside to the incessant music.
It wasn't architecture that overwhelmed them though, even as impressive as it was. It was the people that filled it. All told there was at least a few hundred people in there, the likes of which the young men had only dreamed about. Leather and latex outfits were standard among the females, and there seemed to be a preference for the color red. It was a living version of the catalog they had all drooled over. Fetish dreams brought to life.
