They strode in together, side by side. Jim gawked up at the huge cathedral dome in wonder. Spock took him by the elbow and maneuvered him past the row of admiring glances, through the entryway and toward the dance floor. From behind, the shirtless bouncer watched them with a knowing smile. First-timers were all alike.
The stars twinkling from the dome above seemed so real that Jim assumed they must be holographic projections. Spock leaned down to his ear and assured him they were not, but the rest of his explanation was lost in the thud of the retrotech mix and the blare of the speakers. The dance beat reverberated from all sides and even the floor seemed to throb to its pulse.
Everywhere Jim looked, people gyrated to the music. Most were men. Many were not. Often it was unclear. Clothing varied from tight and sexy, to outrageous, to precious little at all. People preened and posed for partners, sometimes present, others still hypothetical. Men felt each other up and out. Couples, trios and all manner of beings moved together on the dance floor in a great, erotic swell. Multicolored lights flicked around their bodies revealing just tantalizing bits and snatches of the acts. But up on the balcony above the dance floor, men could clearly be seen having sex.
It was the Second Saint. In 2188 the dance club had opened in the same location that the original Saint had closed two hundred years before. It now had the distinction of being the oldest adult club on the North American continent and one of the most stylish as well. Neither Jim nor Spock had ever there been before, but from the billing, it sounded perfect. Even a pair of famous Starfleet officers could disappear into anonymity among the black light, mirrors and strobes. And seeing it now, Jim was in no way disappointed.
It was a harder to tell with the Vulcan. As usual, Spock's face was a mask. But the swell in his jeans was a trifle more revealing.
The Enterprise was in for hull repairs at the Luna port shipyards. Since the command crew would not be needed, Jim and Spock had seized the opportunity for extended planetside leave together. And the timing had been almost too perfect. For the first time in eleven years, Jim had been able to give in to his mother's wishes and once again spend Christmas with her in the old Iowa farmhouse. For a day or two the peace and relaxation of home had been a balm to his psyche, too much put upon by the responsibilities of 427 dependent lives. And the memories of the 28 former Enterprise crewmen he had commanded who would not be home for Christmas--or ever again.
But somewhat to Spock's surprise, Jim had balked at disclosing to his mother the full extent of their newfound relationship. His mother was set in her ways about premarital sex, Jim had said, and he didn't want to spoil this special Christmas for her in any way. When the time came for their kal-i-farr Jim said he would tell her then--along with the rest of the galaxy--but for now they would keep their secret.
So Jim slept in his childhood room and Spock slept in Sam's and they behaved in all ways like respectable officers and closest friends
But after almost a week, the act was growing old. The strain was telling on Jim at least. Even his mother seemed to pick up on the tension. Tonight, when she had set the card table for another round of three-player pinochle, Jim had announced that he and Spock would be going out. Instead of being disappointed, she had seemed quite pleased. Well, she had been living alone for several years now. Perhaps she had grown used to the quiet of her own company. In any event, the men had jumped at the chance and wasted no time in hitting a transportation station--destination: New York City, The Second Saint.
On the six-story screen behind the antigrav performance stage, an orgy of Klingon warriors proceeded in all of its violent glory. The victim on camera was being handled by his captors with a heavy chain-link collar. He roared like a Targ as the dildo entered him from behind, but the knife at his throat limited his options for resistance.
One warrior stroked himself, apparently intent on climaxing over the victim. The camera closed in on his dick. It was bronze and beautiful, shiny and ribbed all the way up the shaft. Feeling the precum threatening his clothing, Jim tuned away from the view.
Up on the floating stage a Deltan couple caressed sensuously as if there were no one else in the room. They both wore dhoti, the front fabric raised impressively by their erections. They touched each other underneath the tiny garments. Paradoxically, or maybe it was just his week-long dry spell, this never-ending teasing struck Jim as being even sexier than the very act he craved. Jim slipped his hand around Spock's waist and dipped his fingers under the band of Spock's jeans. He stroked the Vulcan's hip and gloried in the unbidden response that echoed through the low-level psionic link of their skin contact.
Out on the main dance floor, it was a wall to wall crush of bodies: mostly male, all in heat. They were all here for one thing; this was only the foreplay. Jim glanced at Spock and dug his hand deeper into Spock's jeans. They hadn't come here to dance. Without a word, they moved in unison and pushed their way through the boiling mass and up the stairs to the uninhibited abandon of the balcony above.
The Vulcan picked a private room, citing matters of decorum. A little disappointed, Jim humored him in this. But when he stepped inside and saw the old metal jail cell cage, his disappointment vanished in a heartbeat. The only other items in the room, beside the vidscreen, were a large futon and a wall toiletry dispenser.
"Spock." With the single word and gesture, Jim made his intentions clear.
Spock entered the cell and closed the metal gate. He pulled his cock loose from his jeans and pressed his pelvis hard against the unyielding bars of the old-fashioned metal cage. His penis sprang free and ready, erect between the bars. He wrapped his hands firmly around the cold steel above the level of his shoulders and leaned forward and waited, already panting heavily in anticipation.
Jim made an appreciative sound and pursed his lips; Spock's dick jumped in response. Jim winked and turned his attention back to the outer door.
He started to engage the outer door lock but, on an impulse, he thought the better of it. He closed the door. It sealed with a click, but left the "welcome" notice out and the catch unlocked. Always a bit the exhibitionist, tonight, with the pent-up energy and the ideas this club inspired, Jim was ripe to put on quite a show. His crotch grew tight at the idea, and he rubbed himself through his jeans, but the taste of friction only made the waiting worse.
Jim crossed back over to Spock and licked his lips at the tempting sight. He knelt in front of the swollen organ. It jerked and twitched in response as he admired it, aching, touching it only with his eyes. Jim exhaled a full breath around it, and it emitted the first puff of pre-release just for him. Spock's breathing grew ragged as he watched, eyes glued to Jim's mouth, surrounding his head yet deliberately not touching him anywhere at all.
Spock pleaded for Jim to lick the residue off, but Jim just shook his head and smiled. Jim exhaled hot and moist and bent his neck, enveloping the member, his mouth less than a centimeter away from the cock. Spock pressed himself violently against the bars and pleaded for the satisfaction of mouth on skin.
It was not to come. Jim only ordered him to undress.
The boots came off first, then the jeans and shorts. When he'd finished unbuttoning his crisp, white shirt, Jim stopped him once again. He said he'd changed his mind. Just leave it open, he said.
Jim reached through the bars and under the shirt. He brushed casually over the sensitive hairs, then he narrowed in on his target. With only two fingers he caressed a nipple, rolling it back and forth. All at once, Jim pinched it until it must have hurt. Spock gasped and shifted his body for easier access through the bars. He reached up and began working his other nipple in the same manner, massaging and pinching alternately, letting his wrist tease the little hairs nearby.
The sight of Spock unhinged always sent a flush of pride and love, but also raw, undiluted power through the core of Jim's being. Right now the last feeling dominated. Jim opened his own fly and began to beat himself slowly. Spock groaned in frustration at the contact lost. Jim ordered Spock to do as he did.
Spock stepped back, but Jim barked a 'no'. Hoarsely, Jim instructed him to do it through the bars. Jim's penis oozed again at just the mental image. Jim grabbed the base of his dick and counted to ten. He summoned all his willpower. In a surprisingly normal voice he repeated his last command. Then slowly, so slowly, Jim began to stroke himself again.
Spock returned to the jail cell grate. He leaned his body into the cold steel bars. His shirt panels fell apart and one turgid nipple poked around the edge. His chest heaved with the effort at control as he slipped his penis though one slot in the bars and a hand through another and wrapped his wrist back around to stroke himself as ordered.
Hot with the awareness of Jim watching his every move, Spock closed his eyes and rocked his hips. With precision, he began to use his own fingers in the manner that always brought him the most pleasure, but slower--much slower. He moved slower to maintain this state until his captain gave him permission to go. He must maintain control.
He groaned in abject relief as he finally felt the warm, wet, muscles of Jim's mouth close over his dick. He dropped his hand and leaned even harder into the cage, going limp in every place save one.
With a whoosh, the outer door slid open. Spock's eyelids flew open to their limit. A young Martian couple flushed orange in the doorway and mumbled something about their mistake. They hastily left again.
Spock choked something out about the door and struggled halfheartedly to back away. Jim only reached a hand through the bars and grabbed Spock's thigh to hold him near. His physical strength was not sufficient, but something else obviously was for Spock's feet didn't move but his chin began to tremble in place.
Jim sucked harder and pumped his own shaft ever faster. His dick leaked a great dribble of pre-cum over his fingers and he dispersed it along his length. He reached up with his left hand, took Spock's balls in his palm and rolled them lovingly in his fingers. He was rewarded by a puff of alien sperm in his mouth and the incoherent garble of words that would never make it past Spock's tongue now.
"Human, alien, they all want blow jobs," read the novelty T-shirt. It was so true. Jim had learned quickly what pleasured Spock the most. He worked Spock's head at the back of his throat, tickled the locking gland at the base of the penis with the tip of his tongue and worked the scrotum with his hand. Spock cried out, more in pain than in pleasure, and reached through the bars for the meld points, but Jim pulled away and Spock collapsed against the hard steel in frustration.
A cough came from behind them.
Jim spun around. An Andorian male lounged on the futon watching them intently. One hand was down his short shorts and his antennae twitched non-stop.
Jim smiled and pulled off his sweat-soaked shirt. The Andorian pulled his dark blue penis over the top of his shorts and stroked it rhythmically...up and down, up and down.
Jim stepped out of his pants and shorts and stood naked, palming his swollen dick with expertise. Together they watched each other and moved in a syncopated duet. Jim's breathing grew coarse and his dick leaked all the more.
"Jim!" With naked urgency in his voice, Spock called Jim back to his need.
The Andorian made a polite gesture, deferring to the lovers. He reclined further on the futon and fondled himself, prepared to enjoy the show.
Naked, Jim moved like a god. His skin glistened with sweat as he approached the cage.
Spock shivered in raw need. His dick burgeoned brown with blood and he undulated helplessly against the cage. Enough was enough.
The wall dispensers held condoms, sperm inactivator, and lube. Taking a dose of the lube, Jim greased his palm then transferred it playfully to Spock. Spock gasped at the touch and his swollen member sprayed another small jet of dry sperm. Jim backed up to the bars and raised his ass in the air. Spock said something about mechanical advantage and logical positions to which Jim made a rude response and inched back a little farther.
With a breath, Spock steadied his dick and rammed it home.
The bars posed an interesting complication, but they soon found their rhythm just the same. Jim had just announced that he was going to come when the door whooshed open once again. A statuesque humanoid in a black vinyl catsuit strutted in. Jim grabbed his dick and rocked his hips and prepared to give the performance of his lifetime. But something about those stiletto heels poised in front of his nose looked strangely familiar.
Oh no! He glanced up into the face.