Lighthouse in the Desert

I called Sarge's attention to the fun and games and he pulled me into his lap. We hadn't had an opportunity to fuck for a week. Sarge pawed me as we watched Tyler and Dustin fuck and I knew that Sarge and I would be taking a break this afternoon to do the same.

As we watched, the position changed to an even more challenging one, where Tyler lifted Dustin's body up over his and Dustin placed his right foot on Tyler's bent right knee and suspended his other bent leg in the air as Tyler raised and lowered him on the cock. This transitioned to Dustin on his back on the bed, with his legs jackknifed over his shoulders, and Tyler standing over him and fucking down into his channel.

"He's really putting Dustin through his paces," Sarge said.

"Yes, yes, he is," I answered, the "putting him through his paces" starting me to give thought to Travis Tyler's visit here. The two men seemed to be going through a series of challenging positions, as if Dustin was purposely showing the man what he could do. But I had other things to think about at the moment. Sarge had unzipped me and released my cock and was stroking me off as I sat in his lap. "Speaking of being put through the paces . . ." I said.

"Yes, I want to take you upstairs," Sarge said. "I can't manage those paces, but . . ."

"But we'll think of some good positions. I'll do the work," I said. Watching the two on the monitor cycling through taxing positions had gotten my juices and my own thoughts of what Sarge and I could do going.

"But before we go upstairs."

"Sarge. Oh, god, Sarge," I called out as he lifted my buttocks, set my hole on his cock head, and pulled me down on his shift. I sprawled forward on the desk, no longer looking at the monitor, and, using the leverage of my feet on the floor, rose and fell on Sarge's cock, as he slapped me on the buttocks and stayed hard for me to an ejaculation.

Later we did go upstairs, we did take a break from setting up for Friday club night, and I did manage to go through some pretty sexy paces with Sarge.

* * * *

We had a system with the club that was working well. We were open for clubbing and gambling 9:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Thursday was more for regulars who wanted to gamble and maybe couldn't wait until Friday for sex. There was no entertainment that night. On Friday and Saturday nights I danced the pole for three twenty-minute spots, starting off slow and working to a flash finish, and maybe, if the crowd was large and enthusiastic, Dustin did a couple of turns as well. I had trained for it in Las Vegas right after returning home from Afghanistan and Dustin had been a dancer in New York. Dustin, Chris, and Carlos waited tables, flirted with the patrons, and went off with them when the necessary chips were presented. Most of the chips, sold by Sarge, who glowered over the club area, were for an hour. Dustin's chips were red, Chris's blue, Carlos's white, and mine gold. There were black chips for Jacob, but they were only for fifteen minutes, as he was for blow jobs and quickies only. A silver ship was for all night with whoever accepted it.

Ian functioned as the bouncer, spending most of his time in the gym, as that was open during club hours too. The Hispanic kitchen workers worked the bar and food service. They weren't formally available for servicing, but we looked the other way if they wanted to earn some money that way and got their regular duties covered—in other words, if they kept it mainly to hours outside the club hours. As long as they kept their motel units clean and didn't scream down the place, we left them to it. Some patrons out here on the desert preferred Hispanics, and we were happy to scratch their itches. If the Hispanic worker used our rooms, we got a percentage of his take.

That Friday night we served a pretty full dinner crowd in the restaurant. Travis Tyler was there. After dinner I noticed that Chris Drew wasn't around to do cleanup. I went into the office and turned on the monitors for unit 1, and, sure enough, Tyler was fucking Chris. I billed for it in the notebook. Chris would report it—they all were honest that way—but I wanted to make sure it was recorded. Tyler was adding up quite a bill already. He also had magnificent stamina, I had to admit. The camera picked up two spent condoms on the floor next to the bed.

I could hear them through the microphones in the room, but I couldn't see them on the bed. The camera directed at the bathroom door, with was left open, caught them, though. Tyler had Chris bent over the toilet and was fucking him. Then he put Chris into a bully position, lifting him up off the ground, draping Chris's body in front of him, and putting the young man in a full Nelsen. Chris had his legs wrapped back around the man's calves, and Tyler was fucking up into him in powerful thrusts. Chris looked and sounded like he was getting more out of Tyler than he got out of most johns. From there Tyler walked Chris into the shower and I couldn't see anything anymore. I could hear Chris getting it good, though. As long as his screams were including the word "Yes," and "Fuck me," he was good for ravishment.

So, that was all three rent-boys on our roster in one day. Everyone but me. It was almost like he was auditioning us.

Travis Tyler didn't leave me out, though. I did my last set on the pole at 1:00 a.m. Tyler had been in the club, sitting and watching and drinking, since 11:30, so he'd caught the set I'd done before the last one. Chris came back, not fully recovered, after midnight. He was walking bowlegged, but he had a silly grin on his face. He almost immediately was taken away by another john. I felt sorry that he had another one so soon after Tyler, but business was business.

Tyler sat and watched me. He watched me moving around the club even when I wasn't on stage. I'd stripped down all the way on stage before the lights went out, so he'd seen what I had to offer the world, if only at a glance. The four of us rent-boys didn't wear much as we floated around the club, but it was more than I was wearing on stage at the end of my sets. We had sort of a cowboy motif off stage—fringed deer-hide briefs and the hint of a vest, pinto-pony-hide chaps, and cowboy boots.

When the lights came back on at the end of my 1:00 set and I'd pulled my briefs back on, Tyler was standing there, a terse little smile on his face, holding four gold poker chips in his hand. That represented $1,200 in services—four hours. I looked up to the back of the club, and Sarge was standing there, looking down at the stage. Our eyes met, and he just shrugged. What could we do? Business was business. I'd drawn his attention in the afternoon to Tyler humping Dustin like a pro, but I hadn't spoken to Sarge about having questions about the man. I hadn't told Sarge that Tyler had also fucked the other two rent-boys and that he knew my name when he arrived.

"I would have bought a silver one, but the big dude up there wouldn't sell me one for you," he said, giving me an intense look. That would have set him back two grand. Silver chips had almost never been brought into play here. This wasn't Vegas.

"That's good to hear," I said.

"It's important for me to know whether you'd go with me. Your boys have told me we were on camera earlier today. Would you have taken me all night?"

"Yes," I said without hesitancy. "But I have responsibilities at the club. I can't take off that long. Sorry."

"Good to know," he said, as I accepted the four gold chips.

What was this guy up to? What if it was the cops, I wondered. Had Sarge paid up where it counted? Was there something federal we hadn't considered? Would it be worse if I didn't honor the chips than if I did? And did I really want Tyler on top of me? I'd watched him totally fuck the other three guys. Could I deny that I wanted some of that from him myself? How would he fuck me? Could I take four hours of it?

Shit. What was I thinking? I would be happy to take him all night.

He fucked me for almost continuously for three hours, as it turned out. Nothing too fancy, just a total taking in zinging versions of conventional positions that permitted full access and depth. And I loved it.

I had a better working environment than the other three rent-boys. They were using motel rooms that were well-appointed—fixed up nicer than their personal rooms on the reverse side of the motel wing. I had a larger room, circular except for the oblong area set off for a fancy bathroom. A staircase wound around the back of the serving area of the circular bar in the base of the lighthouse and set off in the corner of the club room. My "entertainment" room was in the next level up in the lighthouse. There were two other levels above my room and below the revolving red light at the top. We used those for storage of our more expensive stuff and our more sensitive business records—like the second set of books that told the more honest story of our bottom-line profit. My room was set up as an Oriental harem room, complete with Oriental carpets everywhere, rich brocades and silks, lots of pillows, and a circular bed in the center. The ceiling and large areas on the walls at the sides of the bed were expanses of mirrors.

I don't know what Tyler did with the other three in foreplay as I had caught them all well into the action, but he nearly wiped me out before he ever put his dick inside me. He gave me a lot of intimate attention and demanded I give it to him as well. We didn't use up all of the four-chip time in all, but we came close. His work under my balls with his tongue and lips alone brought me off the first time.

When he got down to the fucking, he took me in a doggie to start with—but an advanced form of it, using what we called the bulldog—with my rump raised high and him riding me almost standing over me and taking me in long, strong thrusts with his hands gripping and squeezing my waist. In this position, he got power behind his thrust. He did a missionary, but not just a straightforward position. He did me, face to face, while holding my right leg rising up his torso and then in what we call an afternoon delight, with him standing beside the bed, and me supporting myself on palms pressed under me into the mattress, and my body hovering off the bed and being swung back and forth by the strength of his thrusts inside me.

I think in all he overstayed his four chips but at the point the official time had expired, I was asleep, in his arms, lulled to sleep by my low moans and the languid movement deep inside me of his cock.

I manage to push myself back into the world to find him stretched out beside me, his head propped up on by his bent elbow, looking into my eyes, and making little circular motions around one of my nipples with the tip of his index finger.

"If you're not done, I could spend the night," he whispered.

"I'm beyond done," I managed to croak.

"Then my work here is done."

"Sorry," I said. "You weren't the first of the day. I'm wiped out."

He laughed. "Maybe sometime I can have you alone for a day."

"I'm not sure I could survive that."

He laughed again. "It's something to think about." And then he was a good boy. He rolled off the bed, cleaned himself off with a washrag in the adjacent bathroom—not closing the door so I could watch him move that gorgeous body of his—and then dressed and left.

This was my cue to get up, take a shower, and go back downstairs to close the place up. But I couldn't move a muscle. I never made it back into Sarge's bed that night, and the atmosphere from his direction was a bit frosty toward me the next day. He found work he had to do that didn't permit me to have a discussion with him. When I tried, he just said, "Business is business. You do what you have to do. But if he stayed the whole night—"

"He didn't. He paid you for four hours and that's what he got from me."

That mollified Sarge at least on the surface. But I didn't think he was fully able to accept that what Tyler and I were doing was fully covered by what I had to do in this business. To be honest, I don't think I could claim it was either.

I had been royally FUCKED by Travis Tyler.

* * * *

"You know you could be making more money with this? You're really good."

So, that's what this is about, I thought. I'd been riding Travis Tyler's cock at the two-hour point on Saturday night in my Arabian Nights lighthouse tower room. He'd really put me through my paces. Tonight was mostly about floor exercises, with Tyler fucking me in every standing position I'd ever known about and plowing me against every wall and dresser surface he could find in the room. I'd gone with him in all of it—and enjoyed it—although at some point it's just more dick-in-hole action.

Some johns did dick-in-hole action a lot better than others did. Tyler did dick-in-hole a lot better than those who were good at it did.

He knew how to edge—both of us.

"I make it hand over fist here," I answered, referring to money earned. I was earning a lot from him just now. I rolled off him, sat on the side curve of the bed, and reached for a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. He'd come at last. I'd already fired off a few times—enough that my balls ached. He rolled the spent condom off his cock and sent it flying over the other side of the bed, to join others from earlier in the session on the expensive Oriental carpet on the floor over there. He'd been insistent with shoving his gold chips at me after my first set on the stage downstairs in the club, and the music was coming up from there through the air vents.

"I have to go do a show," I said. "I've missed the midnight one."

"Did you really miss it?" he asked. "You'd prefer doing that to me doing you?"

"Don't fish for compliments," I said. "You know you don't have to." And, in fact, I was in awe of his ability to fuck me in so many athletic positions over two hours after going through the three other rent-boys here during the previous day in addition to whatever he and Butch, the AAA tow truck operator, had done. Butch had shown up in a car in the afternoon and Tyler had gone off with him for more than two hours. That was more time than they needed to consult on what was wrong with Tyler's Porsche. If anything was wrong with it. It was probably time enough for Tyler to get a hefty discount on the Porsche repairs, though.

"Did your Porsche really break down here?" I asked.

"No. My Porsche is in great shape—always was."

"So, it's not happenstance you're here at all, is it?" I asked.

"Not at all. A new men's ranch club is opening up outside Reno. It's going to be a very big deal. Like the Mustang Ranch, but exclusively with male talent. It's called Stallion Station. I'm a recruiter. We need talent. You've got talent. I'm sure you can do better there. Think about it. The Cassidy kid will have my ride back to me at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. I let him make me think it needed some work. That's when I roll. I want you to roll with me."

"I've got another set to dance now," I said, standing and turning toward the bathroom and the fancy shower I had in there.

"But you'll think about it?"

"I'll think about it," I said. "I'm going to take a shower now."

"You want company?"

"If I say 'yes,' I'll be fucked again, won't I?" I said, turning my face to him and giving him a wry smile to let him know I wasn't ticked that he was trying to grab me away from the Lighthouse Club.

"Yep."

"Then yes."

And he was right. We went to the shower, he fucked me up against the tiled wall under the cascading water, and I didn't make it to my 1:00 dance set until 1:30. But I was clean—and well fucked. It was fine to arrive late. The men had waited for me with their tongues hanging out and probably appreciated the release of tension when they finally got their eye candy.

* * * *

Travis Tyler didn't leave until 9:30 the next morning. He kissed Butch when Butch showed up with the Porsche on Sundance and unloaded it in front of the restaurant. So, the question of whether he'd had Butch as well was answered. I think he'd had Jacob, our "in-training" rent-boy, too at some point, from viewing the way Jacob was mooning over Tyler as he was clearing out of his room.

I wasn't in the restaurant. I was upstairs at the bedroom window—our bedroom, Sarge's and mine. Sarge was still in bed, mellowing out from a morning fuck he no doubt had not expected, but certainly hadn't turned down.

Tyler didn't leave alone. He took Dustin with him. So, Tyler's stopover here in his recruitment trip for the Stallion Station ranch being put in place outside Reno wasn't in vain. Other than losing Dustin, I didn't think having another gay club and brothel that far away would hurt our Nevada business too much.

I'd tell Sarge about losing Dustin later, although Dustin might get to Reno and see that he was better off here than there. There he'd be just one in a large stable; here he was a star. If he came back and we hadn't replaced him by then, we'd take him back, no questions asked, of course. He was good and he fit in here. He wasn't a prima donna about anything. I'm sure Tyler wouldn't have taken him if he didn't agree.

I didn't know when or if I'd tell Sarge that I'd been offered a job. He'd probably have told me to go if it was a move up for me. Tyler had, in fact, offered me star billing. I didn't want to even think about whether it was a move up. When I thought about any such move, all I could think of was us back in that guard shack at Begram Airbase in Afghanistan, with the Taliban making mincemeat of the shack with incoming rounds and Sarge lying on top of me, trying to keep my body covered—trying to give me life in sacrificing his own. Just because I was a whore didn't mean that I wasn't a human being, capable of loyalty for sacrifice. Every time I saw Sarge limp across a floor, I was reminded what he already had done for me.

As I watched the Porsche raising dust behind it as it sped north up Highway 95 out of the Lighthouse Restaurant, Motel, Gym, and Club front parking lot, I let the curtains come together again and climbed back onto the bed—and on top of Sarge.