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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) 2012 by The Technician ( [email protected]. )

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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I had been to a party and it was a little after 1:30 in the morning when I got back to my place. There was a folded piece of white paper stuck into the door just above the latch. I grabbed it as I entered and carried it with me into the kitchen where I sat down to read it. It was from Pete, an old friend of mine and it read:

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W, you have to help me. I am in real trouble and I don’t know where to turn. I am in way over my head. I should just walk away, but I can’t. She has the perfect ass – I mean the perfect ass – and you know how much of an ass man I am.

It all started on Halloween when I drove down to the waterfront at the end of Adams Street. I was just going down to look at the lights on the river – OK, you know me better than that, I was going to play dirty old man and use my new night vision goggles to watch the college kids fuck in their cars at the back of the parking lot next to the levee. I was a little disappointed that there weren’t any cars parked under the trees, but I spied a new strip club that I hadn’t seen there before – the il Diabla.

You know that I have a weakness for strip clubs. I don’t really care about the titty shows or the “spread ’em and show pink” line ups. Hell, even the standard on-stage sex shows don’t do that much for me, but when they start swinging those ass globes around, I am in heaven. And pasties and a thong doesn’t hide the ass meat, so even with “genital restrictions” to keep your liquor license, when they bend over, I have the show I want. Anyway, since there was no action back by the levee, I thought I would check out the show.

It was pretty much the standard strip club. Some skinny college-aged girls trying to make a few bucks, some plump “escorts” who were starting to loose their looks, and a couple of long-time strippers with the pasted on plastic smiles. I was ready to give it two stars out of five on my peter meter when just before closing il Diabla herself leapt onto the stage.

I’ve never seen anything like it before. She was already naked – OK, she must have had mico- mini pasties and a red G-string, but that had to have been painted on because you couldn’t see anything holding it in place. Maybe it was one of those that actually stuck insider her like a cork. I didn’t care. All I cared about was that there was nothing that blocked the view of her luscious ass.

Her entire body was painted – or dyed – red and she was wet and slick and shiny under the lights. She swung around those poles like she was Tarzan swinging from tree to tree. She was all over that stage. And I swear that she was looking right at me all the time that she was dancing. She even came over directly in front of me and faced away from me and slid her hands all the way down her legs until she was holding her ankles and smiling at me upside down from between her legs.

Then she winked at me. No, not with the eyes on her face, with her back-door eye. She clenched her muscles or something and her puckered little back hole closed just like an eye winking at me. She laughed as I dropped my drink onto the table. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I was rock hard like I haven’t been in a long time.

While she was dancing, the other girls, and a few who hadn’t been dancing earlier, started walking among the tables and sitting down with guys who were alone or in pairs. I knew the routine. They would offer you private dances or after-hours special shows, which is just code words for some paid pussy action. Shit, if I’m going to buy it, I can get better for less elsewhere, and I don’t have to buy them a tremendously overpriced bottle of “champaign.”

I heard the chair next to mine move and saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned, ready to tell whichever two-bit hooker they had sicced on me that I wasn’t that desperate, and found myself looking straight into the eyes of a man. It was the club manager, or at least he was the one who seemed to have been giving the orders to the girls and the rest of the staff.

“I have a note from Diabla,” he said quietly and pressed a piece of paper in my hands.

When I opened it, it read, “What would you do for a chance to fuck me in the ass? Would you be willing to fuck me on stage in front of a crowd? If so, come to the second door on the building next door at 2:00 am for the special after hours show.”

I looked back up on stage. Diabla was now rubbing her ass against one of the poles that was directly in front of me. The red globes of her ass slid up and down on either side of the golden bronze of the pole as she moved. She leaned down and to one side as she continued her movement against the pole and again looked me directly in the eyes. Then she slid down so that she was on all fours with the pole still firmly wedged between her ass cheeks and rubbed her ass up and down against the pole like it was fucking her. I heard her cry out, “Oh, oh, oh, ooooooh, Pete, you feel so good in my ass!”

That got my attention. I looked around, but no one else seemed to hear what she was saying.

“Pete…. Pete…. I need you in my ass!”

They had to have heard that! Maybe everyone else was just too busy with the girls at their own tables to hear or notice, but I noticed.

Needless to say, when the club closed, I walked out into the parking lot, but didn’t go back to my car. Instead, I walked along the front of the building toward a separate building that was right alongside the club. From the highway they may even look like one building, but they were separated by several inches. I chuckled to myself. Separate building means that the entertainment and the hours are not controlled by the liquor license. I had seen this setup before. This could be very interesting.

I went inside. If the club itself were a dive, this was a submarine. It was dark and filthy with a small round stage in the center that had old wooden tables and chairs surrounding it. The only light in the place was on the stage. A few feet back into the darkness and anything could – and probably would be happening.

The bouncer / money taker at the door waved me in with “She’s waiting for you. Go through that door on the left.”

Staring into the darkness, I could just barely see the outline of door created by light from a room beyond. I went through the door. Diabla wasn’t there, but Mike, the club manager was. “Strip,” he said brusquely, and then added, “just put your clothes on the table and stand against the rig.”

There was a large circular platform behind him. On the platform was a sturdy-looking upright beam with an equally study cross beam on the top. It was a just a little taller than I was. There were leather wrist cuffs attached to the upper beam. I went and stood against the beam.

“Facing out, Dumbo. Or are you planning on screwing that post?”

I turned around and Mike lifted my hands above my head and secured them with the cuffs. He then started rubbing me down with oil – all over. It felt like baby oil, but there must have been something else in it because it smelled more like a perfume, sort of like lilacs, and it was slicker than any baby oil that I have ever used.

Mike was rubbing me all over my body, and I mean ALL over. As his hands passed between my ass cheeks, I was starting to feel like this was a really bad idea. But Mike was all business and as soon as he had me oiled up, he got off the platform and started pushing it into the darkness. Evidently there was another, larger door somewhere because soon I was out front in the darkness just behind the stage. I could see everything that was happening on stage, but I couldn’t be seen.

Mike walked onto the stage and started introducing the girls. There was a rinky-tink piano played by a grizzled old black man who looked like he had been playing in whore house parlors most of his life. He was belting out some of the really old bump-and-grind music and the girls were taking it off to the hoots and cat calls from the darkness. Unlike the show in the club, however, they didn’t stop at the G and paste. They kept going until they were totally naked, and followed that up with some real heavy lean back on your hands and thrust it at the crowd stuff that was supposed to get the men all turned on. That doesn’t do all that much for me because, like I said, for me they are facing the wrong way. After they finished their set, they would pick up their outfits, throw them off stage somewhere, and go walking out naked into the darkness to the men at the tables.

After a while, a set of twins came on stage and undressed each other as they danced. Then they lay down on the stage and began pouring baby oil all over each other’s bodies and rubbing each other down. It looked like they were really getting into it and both were starting to pant and moan when Mike interrupted with a curt, “Save it for the paying customers, ladies,” and both scampered off into the darkness. Their moans resumed a few moments later, so they must have found ready and willing paying partners at the tables.

That’s when Mike introduced Diabla. “Gentlemen, I know what you have come here to see. There is only one Diabla and there is no other show in town or in the world like hers.”

I could feel the platform beneath me starting to move and soon I was standing in the center of the light, held in place by the beams to which my hands were secured.

I didn’t recognize the tune the piano was plinking out, but Diabla came dancing into the lights bouncing and swaying in time to its rhythm. She was even more fabulous up close. This close I could tell that her skin must have been dyed red because everything was red, even her eyelids and the inside of her ears. She danced around me sliding against me in time to the music. From the smell, I could tell that she was oiled up with the same oil that was covering me.

She slid and slithered against me, rubbing my ever hardening prick with her ass. She was grinding herself into me like some vertical lap dance, catching my prick with her ass cheeks and squeezing it as she moved up or down or pulling it forward as she leaned away from me. It was almost too much to endure. I don’t know why I hadn’t shot off already. Maybe there was something in the oil that was slowing me down. By the time the second song finished, I was almost out of my head and bucking and thrashing trying to get inside of her. I would almost drive little Pete home, but she would dance away at the just last moment.

Finally the music changed to something slow and she rubbed against me very slowly, and then leaned over, and in one swift move impaled herself on my prick. Now she was sliding me in and out of her as she swayed with the music. She was starting to clench my prick with her winking asshole each time she moved slightly away from me. I was nearly going insane with the sensations. Then she, and the music, started to speed up. She had her hands on the floor now and was thrusting back against me in beat with the music. She started to sing, or to wail, in tune with the music, faster and faster and faster until suddenly she slammed herself against me with one hard, final thrust and screamed out in passion and lust. As she slammed against me the lights went out, both literally and figuratively.

I saw the lights go out on the stage, and I must have passed out. When I came to, I was home. I must have been out for at least 16 hours because it was after supper and once again dark outside. I didn’t know what I was going to tell them at work when I went in the next day. I am supposed to call in if I am going to miss work.

I should have just gone back to bed and slept it off – whatever it was, but I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Whenever I closed my eyes, even just for a second, I could see that red ass and that winking asshole swaying before my eyes. I had to go back and see if it had been real or just a dream or hallucination caused by some bad booze.

When I got to the club, it was just like I remembered it. Mike was taking the money at the door and some scrawny chick was dancing on the stage. I bought the two drink minimum and a plump waitress in an outfit that was supposed to look somewhat like a “French maid” plopped them on the table in front of me. I nursed them along and fended off the half-naked whores who thought I looked lonely until I finally heard Mike say, “Gentlemen, I know what you have come here to see. There is only one Diabla and there is no other show in town or in the world like hers.”

She leapt onto the stage with all the sensuality and fury that she had the previous night. With the red dye, it was really hard to tell if she was truly naked or had red pasties and whatever the cover was over her pubic area. Just like the night before, she seemed to be looking directly at me. Just like the night before she showed me everything and winked at me with her tiny red rosebud. Just like the night before I was hard enough to tear through my jeans. And just like the night before, Mike was suddenly there next to me with a note.

This time, when I opened the note, it read, “What would you do for a chance to fuck me in the ass? Would you be willing to let someone spank your ass on stage while you pound mine? If so, come to the second door on the building next door at 2:00 am for the special after hours show.”

I should have gotten up and run out of there. I really should have. But I didn’t. I waited for the club to close and walked over the building next door and through the almost hidden door to the back stage. Mike was again back there and again he told me to strip. I did and walked over to the platform. The platform was the same, but the restraint beams were different. Instead of a tall T there was just a single beam on the floor of the platform near the outer edge.

I stood there while he oiled me up and then he said, “Kneel on the platform, ankles in the stocks.” I did as he indicated and he locked my ankles in place. He then put leather cuffs on my wrists and connected them to thin cables that seemed to go into the floor on the other side of the platform. He did something on the edge of the platform and the cables tightened slightly so that my arms were pulled forward and lifted slightly from my sides. Then he rolled the platform out into the darkness behind the stage.

The show was identical to the previous night, even to Mike telling the twins to save it for the paying customers. And then it was show time. I was rolled out into the light and Diabla began her dance. It was the same music, but the dance was different because I was now lower on the stage. She spent a lot more time on all fours rubbing and squeezing. Finally she snuggled up against me and held still with my prick centered just between her ass cheeks, little Pete was nestled right up against her winking eye. She moved her ass in little circles tantalizing the tip of my penis and driving me higher and higher and higher.

Suddenly the cables snapped tight – very tight, and my arms were pulled harshly forward and my body was pulled tightly over hers. She gasped in pain and passion as I slammed fully into her. I tried to pull back so that I could begin to thrust into her, but she moved with me so that I was frustrated by the lack of movement.

Then it hit. Mike was standing behind us with a large, thick, black leather paddle. He was swinging it for all he was worth into my ass. It hurt like hell, but at the same time it drove me into Diabla for a few seconds as I compressed her ass cheeks against my front. Again she clamped down on me with that winking asshole as I moved back out, but no sooner had we returned to our normal position than Mike slammed into my ass again with the paddle driving me back deep inside Diabla.

I am not into pain, or at least I didn’t think I was, but I was beyond caring about the difference between pain and pleasure. I was close to climax and so was she. The music changed once again and Mike kept up with the increased tempo driving both of us higher and higher until Diabla screamed out her wailing shriek of absolute passion just as I came deep within her, and the lights went out.

Sixteen hours later I again woke up at home. My ass was sore. My head hurt. I had probably lost my job, but I didn’t care. All I could think of was that slick red ass rubbing against me. I drove back down to the club.

Mike at the door…, two drink minimum…, slutty waitress dropping the drinks of the table…, it was all the same, but I didn’t care. If all that was the same, then Diabla would be the same and I would once again get to see her luscious, fabulous ass shining and glistening and winking at me, and get to fuck that ass in the after-hours show.

This time, the note read, “What would you do for a chance to fuck me in the ass? Would you be willing to let someone fuck you in the ass on stage while you fuck me? If so, come to the second door on the building next door at 2:00 am for the special after hours show.”

I went. I shouldn’t have – I know I shouldn’t have, but I went. The platform setup was the same as the night before. The dance was the same, except this time Mike was not swinging a paddle. Mike was oiled up and naked behind me when Diabla pressed herself against me and lined me up with her winking ass. I felt him lean over me like I was leaning over Diabla, and when the cables went tight and pulled me into her, he followed and with a powerful thrust drove himself inside of me.

It hurt. God, it hurt, but at the same time, it was the most pleasure I had ever felt in my life. Diabla was milking my prick with her winking asshole and her powerful dancers muscles. Mike was forcing me deeper inside of her as he forced himself deeper inside of me. I just let myself go and allowed Mike to ram me into Diabla as he rammed himself into me and pull me back from Diabla as he pulled back from me.

It was a strange dance of three partners with Mike leading and keeping time. I could feel myself reaching that point of no return and I could hear Diabla beginning to wail and whine when suddenly Mike pushed himself into me in one final thrust with such force that Diabla collapsed beneath me. I fell forward onto her and he fell forward onto me and we lay on the platform with me sandwiched between the red of her body and the black of his, just as the lights went out.

Sixteen hours later I awoke at home again. What in the hell was going on? How could this be happening? I should call the police, or maybe a doctor, but what would I tell them? Who would believe this? I didn’t know what to do. The one thing that I knew that I should NOT do was to go back to the club, but that’s what I did.

Everything was the same – exactly the same, except this time the note read, “What would you do for a chance to fuck me in the ass? Would you be willing to give me your soul? If so, come to the second door on the building next door at 2:00 am for the special after hours show.”

That’s when I got up and left. I went out to my car and should have gone tearing ass away from that place with the tires screaming and my foot to the floor. That’s what I should have done, but instead I am sitting here writing this note to you, W, so that someone will know what happened to me if I am never seen again. I should go home. I should go to the hospital. I should go to the police. I should go anywhere but to that after-hours show, but after I drop this note off at your house, I am going back to Diabla.

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That’s where Pete’s note ended. I didn’t know what he had gotten himself into, but this didn’t sound good at all. I headed down to the end of Adams street where he had said the club was located. His car was sitting in the parking lot along with a couple of police cars and a fire truck.

I pulled up next to Pete’s car and walked out by the river where the firemen were spraying down something sitting on the gravel near the river. I walked up the officer who seemed to be in charge and said, “That’s my friend, Pete’s car. He left me a note saying he might be in trouble. Is everything OK?”

“Not if that’s your friend, Pete,” replied the officer, as he pointed to what I could now recognize as a very, very badly burned body. It wasn’t much more than ashes and a few bones.

“They say it happens every twenty years,” he continued, “but I really didn’t believe it. I should have had an officer stationed here, but I thought the video surveillance would be enough. I checked the recording. It shows everything. He got out of his car, went over there and took off all his clothes. He just stood there for a long time looking at something that only he could see, then he walked over to where he is now and started…. he started….” The officer was obviously struggling for words to describe what he had seen. Finally he just blurted out, “He started fucking the air. Damnedest thing you ever saw. I could swear something was pulling on his prick, but there was nothing there. Whatever it was, he was really into it, but just as he shot his load, he put his head back and screamed and burst into flames. It was like one of those military magnesium flares. It flared out the camera it was so bright. And then he was gone. It was all over in a just few seconds. There’s nothing left but a little bone and ash. I have no idea how in the hell I am going to write this up.”

I had a lot of questions, but I asked the most obvious one first, “Every twenty years since when?”

The officer smiled. It was more of a grimace than a smile. He shook his head in that way that someone does when they know you aren’t going to believe what they are telling you and began to explain, “Back during prohibition – the roaring 20’s – there was this strip club speakeasy that operated in a couple of the warehouses along the river front. It was evidently a pretty wild place. I guess if you are already breaking federal laws about alcohol, what difference does a little nudity and on-stage sex make? Anyway, one Halloween night they evidently got some new act from somewhere. They called her ‘il Diabla.’

They must have thought that meant “She Devil.” Anyway she was all painted red and oiled up with something and was banging guys on stage when something went wrong and they both burst into flames. According to the report, just as they reached, “that magic moment,” she screamed and he screamed and ‘boom.’ It was probably one of the stage lights blowing out and showering them with sparks or something. They must have been using some kind of really flammable oil because they and everything around them burned to ashes in just minutes and both warehouses burned to the ground. Luckily, everybody else got out.”

He then pointed to the ground where the firemen were still aiming a light misting spray. “In the ’40’s one Halloween night, they found a crispy critter right there where your friend is laying. Same thing in ’60’s, the ’80’s, and so forth…, every twenty years – always on Halloween. My predecessor left a file in the desk with a note to make sure I check out this area at Halloween this year. Wish to hell I could figure out what is really going on here.”

“I think I can shed some light on this, officer.”

“What have you got?”

“I have to show you,” I replied and he and I went back to my place. We walked into the kitchen together. I turned on the light and pointed to the kitchen table where I had left Pete’s note. There was nothing there but a thin, square, pile of ashes.

“What in the hell does this mean,” barked the officer.

I shook my head and answered, “I guess it means that you better leave a note telling them to station an officer down there on Halloween in twenty years.” He looked at me with his eyes wide as I added, “but I don’t think it is going to do them any good.”

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END OF STORY
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