Page 4 of Broken Halos
By the time we arrived at Queen City Divas, the club was packed with energetic fans who loved the carefree atmosphere and exciting entertainment the queens delivered with every show. Andy’s relationship with one of those queens guaranteed us a reserved table front and center of the stage. Many people grumbled when we arrived, but none dared to sit in our seats unless they wanted to be called out and embarrassed during a performance.
Mistress Vixen was on the stage giving her best Etta James performance and the words to “At Last” resonated within me because I knew I’d met someone truly special the night I looked into Archie White’s eyes. Then the man in question stepped onto the stage after the song was over to excite the crowd for the next queen. He looked sexier than he had a right to in his skinny jeans and white lacy shirt giving me, and everyone else, a tantalizing view of his cut abdomen and perky, dark pink nipples. The lacy shirt stopped a tantalizing few inches above the top of his jeans, and I was dying to see if his ivory skin was as soft as it looked. Archie’s green eyes looked even lighter beneath the spotlight, his black lashes even longer. His mouth looked shiny and plump from whatever lip gloss he wore. Was it flavored? I wanted so badly to find out. I ached to climb the stage and slide my hands into his immaculately styled hair to see if those black strands were as silky as they looked. The only thing hotter than an August summer day in the Queen City was Archie White, leaving my throat dry and feeling parched. I was desperate to quench my thirst, and only he would do.
“I need a volunteer for the next performance. Any takers?”
I would’ve liked to blame the devil for my next action, but it was a pure act of desperation. I wanted, no needed, Archie to look at me and really see me, so I stood up and yelled, “I’m your huckleberry.” At least those vivid green eyes locked on mine.
IN ALL THE DRAG JOINTSin all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine.Why couldn’t Oliver Knight, make that Pastor Ollie, take a hint and realize I wasn’t interested in him?Liar!Okay, why couldn’t he understand I wasn’t interested in him any longer? My interest was a fleeting thing, lasting a mere thirty minutes before someone from hiscongregationstopped by his table to say hello. Only I would get a raging boner looking into the eyes of a man who devoted his life to religion, a religion which had no room for me and my kind.Hiskind too. It was shocking how quickly my hard-on deflated when God or religion was brought up in a conversation.
Ollie knew it too; I could see the dawn of recognition in his eyes. Of course, me jerking my hand off his thigh like it had been bitten was a pretty big hint. If that hadn’t given me away, my expedient departure from the table or my refusal to return his phone calls or text messages in the following days should’ve done the trick. If nothing else, I learned not to give my fucking phone number out so damn fast to strangers, because the messages he’d sent still haunted me a month later.
Come on, Archie. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.
I don’t know why you’re pretending not to be attracted to me. Or is rubbing your hand up and down a man’s thigh your usual way of saying hello.
I dreamed about you last night…
A wise sinner would delete the shit off his phone and forget the man who sent them. Not this dumbass. I used the images they stirred to masturbate twice a day. Ollie was the first and last thing on my mind every fucking day for a month. I wanted to hate him for it, but his earnest, dark eyes wouldn’t permit it, especially the worshipful way he looked at me like I was the altar he wished to kneel before.
Damn it! I just had another image to add to my growing collection. Me sucking him off beneath the table, Ollie biting my neck as he fucks me aggressively from behind, him waking up hard and wanting and reaching for his cock to ease the ache. Now, I’m kneeling before him and sucking his cock…how? Under his robes? Did he wear robes? Did I think the robes were sexy? Was he naked under there? What if he wore the black pants and black shirt with the white collar? Oh, that was for sure sexy. He’d leave the collar on while I gave him head. I’d see it, but it would be out of focus because I wouldn’t be able to look away from his demanding eyes.
Fuck!My skinny jeans were two sizes too skinny and were already threatening to cut off the circulation to my boy parts. How long had I stared gaping at him after his dorky but adorable attempt to volunteer? I could almost expect a Boy Scout salute or even a Katniss Everdeen tribute salute, but Val Kilmer quotes from Tombstone? It seemed Pastor Ollie was an endless source of surprise for me.
“Well then,” I said sassily. “Come on up here, Huckleberry.” Ollie’s mouth fell open like he hadn’t expected me to agree to his offer, or maybe he was still shocked he’d made it to begin with. “Don’t be shy now. Mistress Gracie Lou Fullbush won’t hurt you. Well, maybe a little, but some people are into a little pain. Does it get you off?”Oh, fuck! What was I doing?
“I’m up for just about anything,” Ollie boldly stated then began making his way to the stage. How dare he look so delicious in his pressed, button-down shirt? The stark white fabric made his skin, hair, and eyes look darker. His jeans were tighter than I’d expect a pastor to wear. The dark fabric had a velvety sheen, and it clung so beautifully to his muscled thighs and lovingly cupped his crotch. I wanted to lovingly cup his—
“Here I am,” he said, standing before me. How had he arrived so fast? What magic did this man possess to ensnare and enslave my interest when I intellectually knew he was all wrong for me. “Reporting for duty.”
“A glutton for pain, are you?” I asked, dramatically quirking a brow.
“Apparently.” He stared me right in the eye, and I knew he was referring to the way I’d ignored him the past month. “A real pain slut,” he added.
My shocked gasp turned into a sputtering cough. Who was this collared man, and why did I suddenly want him to wear a different kind of collar? One attached to a chain holding him in place while a mysterious, masked man took a riding crop to his firm, round ass. I didn’t need to shout, “You there; take off that mask and reveal yourself,” because I knew who was hiding behind the mask and what he didn’t want anyone, especially the kneeling man, to see. Consuming want. Debilitating need. If I weren’t careful, I’d make a fool of myself and reveal the emotions he stirred inside me.
Ollie matched my raised brow with one of his while we silently stood there staring into each other’s eyes. I needed to find a dark-eyed stranger to fuck so I could work him out of my system. The smile slowly spreading across his face indicated he knew just how far he’d thrown me with his words and actions. I was never one to surrender the final word to anyone, not even a worthy adversary like Pastor Fuck-Me Eyes.
“You’re in for a real treat then,” I said innocently, but my wicked smile gave me away. “Everyone…” I said, turning away from Ollie to face the audience. My words died because there wasn’t a single soul moving in the crowd. They were raptly watching the exchange between us. Could they feel the electricity arcing between us? Could they see my white-knuckle grip on the microphone and the way my other hand was glued to my hip because I was seconds away from dropping the act, and the mic, and reaching for Ollie? “What the fuck are you all staring at?” I demanded in my best drag voice. Ollie flinched beside me. Was it because of my gruff voice or my crude language? “Who wants to see Mr. Goody Two-Shoes here learn a lesson or two in submitting?”
The crowd went wild, especially his group of friends sitting front and center. I looked back at Ollie to give him a chance to change his mind, but I saw he’d accepted the challenge. In fact, he appeared to relish it.
“Gentlemen,” I said, signaling the stagehands to bring out the plush spanking bench covered in purple velvet. It looked like something a kinky Victorian would’ve kept in their home. The fellas turned the bench sideways to give the audience the best view. They’d see every blow Gracie Lou landed on his ass while I’d be standing off to the side of the stage where I’d see every expression crossing his face. It would be torture, but I had to accept my punishment just as he would.
Ollie proudly walked to the bench then winked at me once he was in position. “Comfy,” he said, leaning his chest against the curve of the bench designed to support his upper body while his ass was up in the air.
“Glad you think so.” I strolled over to the bench and squatted down. Ollie lifted his head up and looked into my eyes while I pulled open the small drawers built at the bottom of the chair that discreetly hid the padded cuffs. “Do I have your permission?” I asked, rattling one of the cuffs. It wasn’t part of Gracie Lou’s instructions to me before the show, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. Was it my desire to touch him once more? Was I that big of a masochist? “Do I have your permission, Oliver?”
“You do,” he said, daring me to do it. “Will I need a safe word?”
“Do you want to have a safe word?”
“How about Archie?” he asked me. And, of course, I couldn’t stop my mind from imagining him calling out my name in ecstasy while riding my cock. Damn him. Damn my horny brain. Damn the fucking world.
“Fine. You shout my name as loud as you want, and I’ll come rescue you from Mistress Gracie Lou.” I set the microphone on the stage so I could use both hands to secure Ollie. I bit my lip to keep from crying out when my bare skin touched his. He electrified every molecule in my body, and I was certain the mic picked up the sound of precum dripping in my briefs.
“Perfect.”
“There’s my cue to exit the stage. You’ll want to hold onto your cocks during this performance, but I advise you to just hold onto your hats so we don’t get shut down for lewdness.”