1
Garrett
Two years ago
Steppingin front of my view was a tall bald guy wearing a black leather jacket. Annoyed, I pushed myself away from the tree trunk that I had been leaning against and took a few steps to my left toward the next closest tree. Leaning my back against it, I tilted my head so I could continue watching the consensual gang bang taking place. The grunts were getting louder between the participants, and the steam from their bodies rose above them into the dark, chilly night.
The people out here tonight were members of an underground fetish and kink group known as The Hidden House. The people were decent people who had a thing for dark, fucked-up shit. Everything that was done was one hundred percent consensual, and everyone signed an acknowledgment upon arrival that they understood everything that would happen that night was, in fact, agreed upon and planned.
This type of play wasn’t permitted in most of the kink clubs in Los Angeles. The stuff done out here was taking power play to the extreme. I understood why the clubs in the city simply didn’t want to get involved with it. It was too much of a liability. But it didn’t stop me from needing it and wanting it.
Like a handful of the people out here, I belonged to a kink and fetish club in the Los Angeles area too. Club Oxygen was one of the classiest clubs around. But most of the time, I needed to witness things morally wrong and trashy to get my rocks off. It was on a very rare night that I could witness something in Oxygen as visceral as what The Hidden House provided me.
I had no clue why watching these morally wrong, taboo, and many times violent things pushed all of my buttons and made me rock hard. Considering all of the violence I’d seen in the military, I used to wonder and question why I loved this type of kink. But I’d learned a long time ago to not waste time on questions where the answer made no difference anyhow.
I never touched; I only watched. Touching would complicate things with work, and I loved my job. Even when I was in the military, I knew I wanted to be a special agent for the FBI. I wasn’t going to fuck that up. It wasn’t like work approved of this behavior of mine, or that they even knew about it. I was certain that if they knew, I would be removed as a special agent. But if I touched, I could get personally invested in someone, and I didn’t fucking need that. Touching led to distraction, and distraction led to fucking up at work.
I allowed myself to rub the length of my hard shaft over my jeans as the woman took a large cock up the ass. My cock was so hard as I watched the blonde woman get face fucked while she rode a cock and had just taken the other cock up her ass. Her hair was a mess, and her body was covered in cum and piss. And for whatever reason, this was hot as fuck to me.
Many of the bystanders were already stroking their cocks; however, the group wasn’t only made up of males. There were plenty of women who’d come to these events, waiting to get off. Before the event started, each person had to commit that they would either watch or participate. There was no in between. No one chastised anyone for their decision.
No one cared.
No one really looked at one another.
No one spoke much.
People like me came to watch the stuff that was nearly impossible to catch in a local club. The only reason I was able to look myself in the mirror the next day was because when I signed the waiver, I saw the names of the individuals who would provide aftercare to those involved in the event. And it was always more than one person.
The events moved around often, and only the members of the group received a text notification as to where the next location would be. This prevented anyone from coming out here to heckle us or try to start some shit.
I unzipped my jeans and pulled my aching cock out. My eyes were glued on the woman while I stroked myself urgently. When I was ready to blow my load, I turned my body and came on the tree trunk. I always came as quietly as possible at these events. I didn’t want to draw attention, plus the one time I did make some noise, a brute of a guy turned and asked if I needed any help. So again, drawing attention was not my thing.
After I came, I tucked my cock into my jeans, zipped up, and quietly headed to the guy who collected the consent forms and member identification cards. He saw me approach and nodded upward at me.
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight, Neil?” he asked me in a tone that was barely above a whisper.
Voices could carry in the woods, and everyone tried to be cognizant of that so as to not disturb others. I nodded to confirm that I had enjoyed myself.
“Here’s your member card back. Have a great night, Neil. Look for the text for the next location in about a week or so.”
I took my membership card that had a fake name that I’d used to obtain the membership, along with a fake driver’s license.
I wasn’t worried about The Hidden House ever finding out who I really was. I was more concerned about the FBI finding out about my less than commendable hobbies. I made the uphill trek to my SUV and was able to see my breath in the cold air. I was about halfway to my Jeep when I felt the vibration of my cell phone in my pocket.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumbled while pulling the phone out. I rolled my eyes when I saw that my boss, Charlie, had sent a text. “Well, at least this time you let me get my rocks off before you started badgering me.”
I kept my phone out and held it in my hand. When I got in the Jeep, I tossed it on the passenger seat and reached for my bottle of water. Even though it was fucking cold out, I was thirsty from trekking up the steep incline at a fast pace. Once I had the car on and had caught my breath, I picked the phone up and stared at the message request for me to come into the office tomorrow morning for a new assignment.
Tomorrow.
I was happy there hadn’t been an urgent request for me to call in now or anything like that. Typically, I took the day off that followed events with The Hidden House because I tended to get very wrapped up in them. Jacking off furiously while at the events was just the start of the mental pull for me. It gave me a high that I couldn’t get anywhere else, and it usually lasted well into the next day and evening. Watching consensual, violent, and dangerous sex consumed me. I needed a day of separation from my dirty addiction and the job that required me to be straight-laced, solidly in control, and of sound mind.
One of the ways I was able to return to the solid and sound mindset that the FBI demanded was to go to Club Oxygen the day after The Hidden House events. I did this to test my self-control. Often, I would roam the corridors of the club, watching anything and everything. The idea was for me not to be pulled in the direction of touching or engaging in a session with myself and a young woman. If I could control myself enough not to touch, then my sound mind was returning. If I felt particularly wound up, I would talk to another Top and arrange for me to watch a heavy-handed session with him and a young lady. Then I could actually be in the room with them and test my close-range restraint.
I could be close enough to them and touch them if I stretched out my hand.
I could feel their winded breath on my skin.
