All participants are over 18. This story contains scenes of non-consensual sex.
*****
"Oh, yeah, baby, now I'm gonna come in that pretty mouth of yours!"
It didn't matter if the muscles in his jaw were cramping from exhaustion or his knees hurt. Travis knew his duty was to continue pleasuring the cock even as it erupted in his mouth. The first viscous wad of semen blasted into his throat while Travis's tongue tickled the glans of the man's penis. The cock pulsed again and a load of cum sprayed the back of his mouth. Another twitch was followed by another whitewash. The man's hips thrust in and out against Travis's mouth, fucking his face with enthusiasm. The rhythm shook Travis's chains and made them jingle together loudly, reminding the young man how he came to be chained to a urinal in a dark and forbidding mansion outside of his home town...
Everyone knew the stories. The Clubhouse was not just any mansion estate, so the local legend went; it was the very seat of a depraved secret group of demon worshippers. It was a cult. It was run by the mob. It was a commune. It was HQ for a secret government agency. It was the site of a great treasure hoard. It was one of the seven gateways to Hell.
Travis had heard the rumours ever since he was a boy and he always listened with fascination when the Clubhouse was mentioned in casual conversation by the adults around him. As a teen, he joined in with his friends on the perennial dare to run up to the house in the dark of night and look into the main floor and basement windows in the hope of seeing a strange ritual or a human sacrifice before being chased away by security officers. Travis's friends tired of the game and forgot about the Clubhouse.
Travis did not.
He was convinced there was some sort of foundation beneath the local urban legends. Some of these were more probable than others. He suspected that there likely were riches on hand; the place reeked of wealth. But he couldn't begin to guess which other parts of the legends were true and which were just stories. He became determined to find out.
He planned for a long time and didn't talk to anyone about the Clubhouse, so nobody would think of him when someone asked if they knew anyone interested in the place. He had no criminal record and he didn't want to be a suspect in its burglary. For no less was his plan than to force entry into the place, to lay his hands on as much cash or movable wealth as he possibly could and make his way out again, and in the process solve the mystery of the Clubhouse once and for all.
It was an ambitious plan but he was determined to execute it alone. He had seen on television over and over again that criminals were captured because they trusted the wrong people. There was never any knowing who were the right people. It was safer to do this on his own.
The first part of his plan was simple.
Just as in those old teenage dares, he approached the house in darkness. The front and back of the house were lit at night with flood-lights, but there were holes in the security they provided. On one side of the house, the yard was hidden in shadow right up to a small basement window. Travis only knew it was there because he reconnoitred the area in daylight a few weeks before and carefully analyzed the photographs he had taken. He had only to make it across the lawn and reach the small window without being noticed by Security.
And the place had a significant security contingent. Travis had not seen men patrolling the grounds often, but there were usually guards posted at the main entrances. Tonight the parking lot was full and guests were arriving. Travis considered this an added bonus as the guests kept Security occupied.
There were cameras trained on all sides of the house, but he was willing to bet that his attire would conceal him from view. He gambled that they couldn't detect him in the dark in his black pants, black shoes and a black hoodie.
He easily pressed the window open. He was relieved that it was not necessary to break it. Just the same, he was surprised at the security oversight; the window hadn't even been locked. If Security was this shoddy, he had every reason to feel confident. Travis stuck his head through the window. It opened into an unfinished part of the house. It was dark and appeared unoccupied. He reached through and dropped his bag inside. Then he pushed his way in through the window feet first. It was a tight fit, barely manageable. It was a bit of a drop from the window to the floor, but he landed like a cat. It was a quiet entry.
Once inside, Travis noticed an old ladder leaning against a wall in the basement. It would be perfect to help him up and out of the window when he needed to leave. Travis set it up in front of the window so it would be ready when he needed it.
Gauging his surroundings with his flashlight, Travis saw little of interest in this part of the basement. There was a door. Travis put his ear against it and heard music and muffled, distant voices that neither drew closer nor receded. Deeming it worth the risk, Travis softly opened the door a crack and looked through. There was one other door in a lit hallway that led to a set of stairs. There was no one out there.
Travis crept out into the hallway and once more set his ear against a door. It was a thick steel door and double-padlocked. It was quiet on the other side. He might try to break the locks later and search the room. The distant voices must be up the stairs.
As he approached the steps, he realized the voices were raised in song, a kind of rhythmic choral chant. It was not church music; rather, it reminded him of horror movie music. Maybe these people were demon worshippers after all. A shiver went down Travis's spine.
Sneaking up the stairs was simple enough; he had feared the stairs would creak, but they were solid and silent. At the top, a door was slightly ajar. Travis peered through the crack.
What he saw astonished him.
There was a fabulously appointed room with a magnificent high ceiling and chandeliers. There were paintings hung on the walls and busts and sculptures were placed between ornate furnishings.
Surrounding those furnishings were men and women in long, expansive and mysterious hooded robes of crimson, gold, white or black. And in the middle of the room were a couple of dozen men and women in various states of undress performing every kind of sex act imaginable upon each other.
Travis's eyes widened as he watched a beautiful woman riding on the dick of one of the robed men, her nipples being pinched and twisted by another woman. Then his eyes moved to a man performing oral sex on a young woman while she sucked the cock of another hooded man. Beside this trio were two men fucking. Every combination of sexual congress was taking place before Travis's eyes and he was fascinated.
And aroused. He was a young man after all.
The distraction was his undoing. The door opened wide in front of him and a red-robed figure looked down at him.
"Intruder!" the hooded man shouted.
Travis tore down the stairs and ran for the window. The hooded man, encumbered by his robes, could not give chase at Travis's speed. The young man climbed the ladder, and inserted himself in the open window and promptly got stuck half-way through.
As he wriggled and squirmed, hands landed on his legs and restrained him from making any further progress. The hooded man who had been chasing him had been joined by others. Three pairs of strong hands immobilized his legs. After a moment, Travis could feel another pair of hands as well and they appeared to be feeling up. Travis groaned in horror when that middle hand rubbed his crotch and then reached up and undid his button and fly.
