The Beachfront Bar

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Sometimes it takes a little push to help someone become what they always wished they had the guts to be. In this Gay fantasy, Tracey gets that push.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2018 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Tracey stopped just in front of the entrance to the bar. His hand was almost touching the door. His mouth was dry. His legs were trembling slightly. This was the closest he had ever come to actually entering The Beachfront Bar. A few months ago he first drove through the parking lot. That time he hadn't even slowed down. It was only on his sixth time that he had actually stopped- just for a moment. It was a long, slow path from the parking lot to the door of The Beachfront. Shutting off the engine... getting out of the car... walking up the walk toward the bar... each new step had taken weeks, but tonight he finally stood at the entrance.

The Beachfront Bar was an openly gay bar. A large billboard across the front of the bar advertized a "Drag Queen Review" in huge letters. In smaller letters it announced that Thursday night was "Amateur Drag Queen Singer Night," Friday night was "Amateur Drag Queen Imposter Night," And Saturday was "Amateur Drag Queen Stripper Night."

Tracey knew that if he ever got up the nerve to enter any of those contests he could easily win. He had won many times before in the safety of his bedroom, singing into a pretend microphone while strutting across the floor in his high heels and garter belt. His voice was excellent, but very high pitched for a man. His body was trim, almost petite. And his ability to mimic the voice and actions of Marilyn Monroe or Lily Saint Cere were astounding. Yes, he could win- if he were to enter the contest- if he were to ever actually go inside the bar.

He started to turn around when a gentle voice spoke from behind him, "The closest door is always the most difficult to open, isn't it?"

Tracey turned and found himself looking into a rugged, handsome face framed with short, but curly blond hair. The blue eyes burned deep into his own. "Once you open that door and go inside, everyone will know your secret, won't they?" the gentle voice continued. "Once you go inside, everyone will know that you are gay."

The man's voice changed. It remained gentle, but somehow became more soothing. "That's a hard thing to do alone" he said. "Why don't we walk through the door together. Then we can sit and talk."

A strong hand took his and suddenly they were inside, together, sitting at a booth in the corner of the dimly lit bar. An amateur contestant was stripping on stage. She- he- looked radiant in the spotlight and Tracey could imagine himself going through the routine. Several heavily muscled young men in tight gold short shorts worked behind the bar while two or three more effeminate young men in high heels, black mesh stockings and corsets acted as "waitresses." One of the waitresses- her name tag said Marti- came over to the table. The voice returned, "My name is Jeff. Let me buy you a drink and we can talk."

As they sipped at their drinks, Jeff asked Tracey about his struggle to enter the bar and what it all meant to him. Tracey poured out his story. Time flew by and suddenly one of the barmen shouted loudly, "Last call. We close in fifteen minutes."

Could it actually be almost two am?

Jeff held Tracey's hand. "Why don't we get one more round and then walk out on the beach. Come with me and I promise you a weekend you will never forget."

After all the time and strength and courage it had taken to come through the front door, it took but a moment and seemed so natural to walk out the back door onto the private beach with Jeff. They had walked only a few hundred yards into the darkness when Jeff pulled Tracey towards him and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Tracey had never felt anything like this before. Then Jeff's hands moved beneath his shirt. Soft yet firm fingers rolled his nipples and pinched and pulled. All Tracey could do was moan with the combination of pleasure and pain. Soon he was standing naked in Jeff's arms, trembling, ready to do whatever Jeff asked or demanded.

And then they appeared out of the darkness.

Loud voices called out suddenly from the dim shadows. "Well, what do we have here?" one voice mockingly asked. Another voice answered, "Looks like a couple of queers getting ready to fuck." Strong arms tore Tracey from Jeff's gentle grasp. He had not heard them drive up, but they must have driving up the beach because there was a Jeep sitting idling almost beside them.

There were four of them. They threw Jeff into the back of the Jeep and turned to Tracey. "So you were ready to ride a cock tonight, eh?" one of them said. "We'll give you something to ride," another added with a laugh.

Two of the men grabbed Tracey by the arms and dragged him backwards toward the Jeep. A third reached down toward something at the back of the Jeep and Tracey heard a slight pop. The man then stood before Tracey holding what he recognized as a trailer hitch ball cover. He reached inside the plastic cap and then held up his fingers covered with a thick film of a white grease. "All nicely cleaned and freshly lubricated, just like you're going to be," the man said with a sneer.

With that he reached between Tracey's legs and smeared the grease into his crack, pressing a gob of it firmly into the small indentation of Tracey's puckered asshole. To Tracey's surprise his cock sprang back into an erection as soon as the stranger's fingers touched his virgin hole.

"He likes it!" exclaimed the man. "Let's see if he enjoys the ride."

With that the other two men pulled Tracey backwards off his feet and forced him down on the trailer hitch of the Jeep. The Jeep sat high off the sand and the shaft of the trailer hitch mount extended several inches out from the frame. With his back against the tailgate of the Jeep, Tracey's anus lined up with the hitch ball. Hands pushed down on his shoulders and the greased ball slid painfully into his ass. He tried to pull himself back up, but his arms were held back and slightly above his head. He felt the two men tying his hands to something on the edges of the Jeep.

"Luckily for you this is only a 1 1/8" ball," one of the men said. "Normally I have a 2" or 3" ball mounted there." He paused and said with a leer, "Now let's go for a ride." The Jeep moved slowly up the beach into the darkness. Looking back, Tracey could just see the tire tracks and the two grooves made by his heels as they dragged across the loose sand. After a short distance, they stopped.

Tracey looked around. They were now in a small cove hidden from the lights of town. The men jumped down from the Jeep and a hand reached out to stroke his erect and very stiff cock. "I guess he did enjoy the ride," the man said with a laugh.

"You must be a pain slut to be hard after that ride," a rough voice said. "Are you a cock-sucking pain slut, pretty boy?"

The man stood in front of him. Tracey could see the moonlight glinting off his golden short shorts. It was one of the bartenders from The Beachfront. The golden shorts were slowly lowered and a huge erect penis pointed directly at Tracey's mouth.

"Come on, Tracey. You know you want to suck on this. Show us what you can do."

Tracey wanted to shout out, "No, you are wrong!" but instead as the huge prick came close to his face he opened his mouth and hungrily reached forward to envelope the swollen cock. He bobbed his head and swirled his tongue just as he had done so many times in his fantasies as he masturbated in the safety of his bedroom. But this was real. He was tied, helpless in public and sucking a man's cock. The man suddenly groaned and hot cum gushed into Tracey's mouth. It tasted different than his own spunk. It was sweeter, but at the same time more salty. Another stiff cock replaced the first as soon as it had gone soft in his mouth. Then another and finally another as all four men raped his face.

"I think it is time we gave sissy boy a little pleasure," the leader of the group said. "Marti, come here," he shouted and one of the waitresses from The Beachfront stepped into Tracey's field of vision. Her mesh stocking were gone and she was naked from the waist down. Her small penis was flacid and totally devoid of hair. When she slid her small corsete top to the ground, her breasts looked very real.

As she stood naked in front of him, Tracy thought,

"So that's the effect of female hormones on a man's equipment."

Marti knelt in front of Tracey and took his penis into her mouth. One of the bartenders knelt in the sand behind her.

"Now remember," he said, "if he goes soft before all four of us have finished, you will be beaten within an inch of your life."

With that, he plunged into Marti's ass and began pumping, driving her mouth violently over Tracey's cock. Tracey erupted almost immediately, but Marti's tongue soon got him hard again, and as the third man fucked Marti's ass, Tracey again reached orgasm.

Tracey could feel himself becoming soft, but Marti's expert tongue flicked and licked and swirled and soon Tracey was again hard and stiff. The fourth and final man grunted as he spurted in Marti's ass.

"You did good, Marti," he said. "Now finish him so the boss can talk to him."

Tracey had never been able to reach climax a third time in the same night, but tonight he did.

"I told you it would be a weekend you would never forget," a soft voice said.

Tracey looked slightly to the side to see Jeff watching everything from a folding beach chair. "I own The Beachfront Bar," he said with a smile. "These men work for me."

He used his drink to gesture toward the others. "Marti and the other girls also work for me, and I am offering you the job of your dreams- or should I say, the job of your fantasies."

Looking at the four naked bartenders, Jeff said strongly, "Release him. This is going to be his decision."

The ropes were untied and strong arms pulled Tracey to his feet. The pain of the trailer hitch coming out of his ass was somehow much more intense that when it had been forced in. After a few moments circulation returned to his legs and the men released him so that he could stand before Jeff. Tracey could see that Jeff was naked from the waist down.

"Traci," Jeff said firmly, "if you want to be one of my waitresses you will need to act like one. You saw what Marti did for you. All you have to do is do that for me."

Traci hesitated. Part of him wanted to run away down the beach but part of him yearned to be like Marti, walking among the tables of The Beachfront Bar in mesh stockings and high heels, hearing the lewd comments of the people and, perhaps, feeling their hands on his ass and legs. He took a deep breath. His decision was made. Slowly she sank to her knees in the sand.

As she engulfed Jeff's massive member she could feel one of the bartenders positioning himself behind her. As stretched as she was from the trailer hitch, there was very little resistance as the bartender's prick slid into her ass. It was definitely going to be a weekend to remember. This was the weekend in which Tracey, the closet queen began her new life as Traci, the newest waitress at The Beachfront Bar.

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END OF STORY

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