whom were so absorbed in filling out their own glittery tubes to give full attention to the floor show.

I felt my tool pushing against the fabric of my trousers, and I reached down to stroke myself, only to find that I'd been so absorbed in the atmosphere around me that I hadn't notice there already was a hand there. I turned to see a nice, square-jawed face with bedroom eyes. But I only caught a glimpse of the man who had taken interest in me when the bartender said something gruff to him and he was gone. I was a little annoyed, because I hadn't asked the bartender to run interference for me.

And I was about to say something to him, when the lights went brighter on the stage and the heart-stopping golden blond who had invited me here appeared. He was decked out in leather, but it was all of a glittery gold color, from the chain criss-crossing his chest, to the boots, and arm bands, and a riding crop with a billy club-like handle—but no other body attire except for the glittery gold condom trying its best to cover his eight inches of horse-hung meat.

He walked the four corners of the stage briefly, flicking bottoms here and there with his riding crop and inserting hands into this and that undulating position, and then he came in front of the revolving transparent X apparatus and spread his arms wide, muscles rippling in the strobe lights, and all action on the stage stopped in mid fuck.

"Do we have a volunteer this evening, gentlemen?" he asked the now-filled house in a booming voice.

The strobe lights revolved wildly around the theater and then all merged—on me.

Before I had time to react in any way, I was being bustled down to the stage by my babysitting bartender and a few of the other club satyrs and was finding that the transparent X apparatus had cuffs on it that, when I was trussed up, stretched my arms and legs out wide and securely in place.

I had become a focal point for the floor show. For the next half hour or more, as the satyrs returned to pole fucking the nymphs and the well-used glittery condoms from the audience and the corners of the stage continued to build up on the floor of the stage, the blond god teased and tormented me. He prodded and pinched and kissed and tongued me endlessly and to distraction, as I revolved around the arena, cuffed to that transparent X. He flicked me with his riding crop and applied love slaps to my butt and hips and thighs and chest. He twisted and pulled at my nipples and balls until I screamed my awareness of the sensual cruelty in him. And then he fucked me with the greased butt end of his riding crop, stretching and preparing me for his even longer and thicker gold-glittered tool. All the time I was revolving, giving the club patrons a look at the glorious torment from all angles, writhing and bucking with and against the butt end of the riding crop, testing the rock-solid holding strength of the X apparatus.

The tiers running up from where I was being displayed were a teaming mass of undulating bodies and young, naked men descending to the stage and tossing their offerings of spent glittery gold condoms at my feet and then grabbing a replacement off the handing wires and remerging with