Good Old Boy’s Club [Part 1] by . glitter bomb .

A gay adult sex story: Good Old Boy’s Club [Part 1] by . glitter bomb . ,

Hi y’all! GB here. This is my first story on the site, I hope you guys like it. Leave a comment, I’d love to hear some feedback from you guys. This story has sort of a slow build, but there’ll be plenty of hot sex coming up in later chapters as well! There’s a bit at the end of this one to keep you guys interested and give a sample of what’s to come. 🙂 Hope you enjoy!
[1] “Ooh, looks like we’ve got a whale.”

Candi, one of the more popular strippers at The Dollhouse, surreptitiously peeked out from behind the curtain. The whale in question was sitting alone at the bar, his back to the nearest stage, drinking what looked like his third top-shelf whiskey. Even from this distance, the cut of his tailored suit and the brand on his loafers screamed ‘expensive’.

“Don’t scare him off,” Oliver said firmly, hanging up his coat. “At least don’t go biting his ear like that last guy.”

Candi threw a glare over her shoulder. At roughly five feet tall with thick honey-wheat curls, she was a hundred pounds of Southern Comfort with big doe eyes; but her cherubic looks didn’t fool Olly, who had seen her punch a guy’s lights out for getting too handsy. Candi pouted at her reflection and shook her long hair over her full breasts.

“You’re late,” she said, by way of greeting. “Alison’s been coverin’ for you for the last half hour.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, they’ll snap right off,” Olly said mildly, pulling off his tee shirt and donning the skintight white tank top with the club’s logo emblazoned on the chest. This, combined with skinny dark jeans, constituted his uniform.

The music suddenly quieted, which was Candi’s cue—she scowled prettily at the bartender and smacked him on the shoulder none too gently. “You mind your manners,” she snapped, and pasted on a pretty dimpled smile as the music blared once more. She flounced out to the raucous cheers and applause, and took a second to blow a kiss towards one of her admirers.

Olly shook his head as he used the rear hallway in order to reach the main bar without being accosted by any of the drunken idiots who came to watch the girls perform. Working in a strip club was probably every young man’s dream, but after watching the girls get into catfights over breast implants, waxing strips, and breaking far too many heels, nails, and hearts, the magic had long worn off. Not to mention the music got incredibly loud after a long shift.

He slid behind the bar and touched Alison on the shoulder, who promptly gave him a dirty look.

“You’re late, bitch,” she seethed in his ear.

“Your nipple tassel is coming off,” he replied pleasantly, and she ground her teeth, slamming out of the bar towards the changing rooms. He settled into his groove, serving up two vodka shots for a pair of businessmen who were obviously completely plastered already.

At the far end of the bar, he quietly observed Candi’s whale. Adonis, the podgy and fabulously gay owner of the club, was talking to him and flashing that much too white, thousand-watt lightbulb smile, obviously yukking it up. Olly shook his head and resumed pouring drinks, trying to erase the mental image of Adonis’s recent obsession, neon socks. That didn’t last long, however, and in a few seconds he could smell Adonis’s cringing amount of cologne wafting near him.

“Oliver!” Adonis cried, springing across the bar and practically dragging him over towards the whale. “This is—“

The name was garbled out by the sudden roar of approval from the crowd, and Olly glanced up briefly to see that Candi had tossed her sequined bra out into the crowd.

“—and I want you to take good care of him, understand?” Adonis said, patting Olly on the shoulder, pinky extended.

“You bet,” Olly agreed, and met the whale’s eyes.

It was only then that he noticed the wealthy man was almost ridiculously good looking.

Oh, not in a typical way. He was tall, broad, with a lowered brow and a three-day rasp of a beard; but power exuded from him, casual, predatory confidence in just the way he sat. His hair was dark brown but appeared to be graying at the temples, and in this light his eyes looked blacker than sin. Olly’s blue eyes noted the expensive gold watch peeking out from beneath his blazer, and the square gold cufflinks which could not have been cheap. If Candi had been there, she would have drooled. Olly felt an odd, almost fearful exhilaration run up his spine.

As Adonis floated away on a cloud of his spicy cologne, Olly stood there for a second, feeling rather awkward. The businessman raised an eyebrow.

“Your boss is quite a character,” he said gruffly, his voice a deep timbre and lightly accented with a British burr. “The way he acts, you’d think nobody important ever sets foot in this place.”

“Typically they don’t,” Olly couldn’t help but answer, and automatically refilled the martini glass of a giggling college girl. “Every now and then we get some people here on business, but not for long.”

“Oh? What a shame. This place seems almost…” he paused, sipped his whiskey, and looked for the right words. “…Charming.”

Olly knew he was supposed to uphold the good image of the club, and not badmouth it in anyway, but he couldn’t resist adding, “I think that’s the first time anyone’s described a stripclub as charming.”

“You don’t think so?” the businessman asked, that intense gaze now seeming slightly less bored and more intrigued.

“The music is loud,” Olly said with a shrug.

Oh, those eyes were definitely showing intrigue now. “You’d think a young man like yourself would be delighted to work in a place…like this.” He gestured towards the stage, where one of the strippers was licking the pole she was grinding on.

“I don’t swing that way,” Olly said, and turned away with what felt like a coy smile. His heart thumped—was he…was he flirting with this guy? True, that was part of his job, and it wouldn’t be the first time he flirted with a guy at a strip club. He would even daresay he enjoyed it more when it was a guy, not a girl, but genuinely gay men didn’t often visit The Dollhouse, so it was typically mock-serious. Not to mention he seldom flirted with older patrons who slightly terrified him. Olly felt the man’s gaze on his back, and hoped he wasn’t blushing. When Olly was afraid or turned on, he blushed like a girl. It was one of his least favorite attributes.

When he felt his face had sufficiently calmed down, he turned back to the older gentleman, who seemed to be chuckling into his drink. “No wonder Adonis hired you.”

Olly raised an eyebrow. Adonis didn’t hire him because of the team he played for—his boss preferred bears, anyway. He still thought he was a twink even though he was pushing forty. Adonis hired him because bartenders needed to be young, fit, attractive males and the waitresses needed to be slender, scantily dressed women. The Dollhouse, like any good club, was a play putting on a performance. They needed a role to be filled, and Oliver didn’t mind being an actor for a little while.

“Can I get you anything else?” Olly asked, not quite sure how to respond to such a statement.

The man finished his whiskey. “No. Thank you.”

When Olly turned around again, there was a crisp hundred dollar bill sitting beneath the empty whisky tumbler.

[2]

Two nights later, Oliver was barely awake and trying to serve drinks like nothing was wrong. Working nights typically didn’t bother him, but he had spent the majority of last afternoon studying for a midterm and was barely able to stand; not to mention his house was very noisy during the day. He ran a hand through his hair and hung up his jacket again.

Sasha, a sweet, large breasted girl not overburdened with intelligence, came running up to him. “Olly! You have to come quick, Adonis is throwing a fit that you’re late again. There’s a bunch of big-shots here, and they want you to serve—you have to come quick!”

Olly blinked. “What?”

“Never mind, just come on!”

He was promptly dragged through the back dressing room. In the act of pulling off his hoodie and unfolding his see-through white tank top, Adonis came bursting into the room.

“Oh! Oliver, Oliver, honey, where were you?” Adonis squeaked, his creased eyes squinching. “I’ve been texting you for ages! Jack Woodford is back and he’s requested you as a server!”

“Wait, who’s back?” Olly asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Adonis snapped his fingers in Oliver’s face. “Wake up! Jack Woodford? He was at the club a few nights ago? Or does everyone tip you triple figures?”

Oh. Oh. Oliver was suddenly awake, his hair standing on end. The intimidating presence of the man hadn’t left him, and in the past few days Olly hadn’t been able to get him out of his mind. Even when he drifted off to sleep at night, he could still feel that powerful gaze watching him from behind. It was unsettling, to say the least.

“I’m on it,” Olly said under his breath, and ran a hand through his untidy hair.

Leaving the concerned Sascha and the bordering-on-heart-attack Adonis behind, Olly hurried through the club towards the private lounge. He typically avoided the place unless specifically instructed to serve at a bachelor party or something; the soundproofed room and the soft velvet unsettled him.

However, unlike most of the wild bachelor parties which had taken place in The Dollhouse’s backroom, this one was rather quiet and sedate. As soon as he opened the door he could smell the cigar smoke, and it appeared as though the stripped poles installed in each of the four corners weren’t in use. Rather, the five men sitting in the room had decided to make use of the large billiard table to play a game of pool.

Oliver kept his head down and headed straight for the wet bar in the very back, hoping to avoid any awkward eye contact with Jack Woodford. So that was his name. Jack.

“Bourbon, neat,” an overweight blonde man said without looking up.

“Right away, sir,” Oliver said in the most charming voice he could manage.

“Oliver, get him a drink and then come join us,” a familiar voice said, and the back of Oliver’s neck prickled. He set up behind the bar and tried not to look up, but Jack’s presence was like a magnet; sure enough, those dark blue eyes were observing him quietly.