M.S. Tarot brings us the fascinating tale of O and Paige Turner. This sexy read features first time gay sex and an MMF threesome — but also has a fascinating plot with thoroughly compelling characters! Read on for the excerpt and then click here to get your copy!
The nightclub was humming a fierce, primordial beat when I stalked into it. Creative thrift store chic was my signature tonight. Black leather pants, a white tuxedo coat from some long ago wedding, my shoes as polished as a parade-ground sergeant could wish. My hairless chest and flat stomach were hidden under a fishnet tank top of shocking neon blue.
And of course, I had bling.
Atop all of this, perched on my now ridiculously long hair, was my beret. Cocked at as jaunty an angle as I could manage, of course. The silver badge moving as I began to dance-walk. My stalk went from strutting fop to sensual slink as I stepped on the dance floor. Old friends saw me and tossed up a hand. I gave a smile and a nod, moving from blonde to brunette through the crowded room. A caress here, a heavier touch there, I was inviting jealousy to try and snake out at me as I moved. For fun, I would change it up and often turn my back to the girl and dance with the guy, to his shock and my amusement. Some of them nearly hurt themselves to get away from me. Some smiled and danced back, challenging my offer.
On and on, I wound my way through the tight press of bodies, feeling the energy of the dance being leached into me, empowering me. I was more alive than I had been … well, since the last time I was here. Or at another club just like this one. They were all my homes now.
The song changed and I changed with it. From seducer to alpha male dominator. I flowed with the tunes, different faces for each new rhythm. Then in the middle of one tune, I felt a familiar hand. Turning, I looked down into the eyes of a goth angel with the name of a singer.
“Adele, my dead-looking dear. Long time no kiss.”
The pale-faced child smiled her flirty smile at me and slid into my arms, her hands under my jacket, running up the small of my back. With Marilyn Manson singing (s)AINT in the background, we danced, more a sex grind than planned movements. I let her get her thrill, but even as I flirted and brushed her lips with mine, I knew that little Adele was not going to grace my bed. She was too young. Too innocent for all her teasing gothic charms. And, shockingly, I was in her friend-zone.
Suddenly, I was being dragged off the dance floor. When we got away from the thunderous music, she pulled my head down close to her mouth so I could hear.
“I need your help, O.”
“Corset in a twist, lovely?” My hand roamed over the stiff brocade fabric under her breast. “I’ll happily take you out of it.”
“Not that kind of help, you perv. There is a concert Saturday and mom won’t let me go. I asked my brother, Cody, but he said he can’t. Would you go with me? If I have a responsible adult chaperone, she’ll let me go.”
I let my hand brush her tight, teen ass. “You wound me on so many levels with that sentence, my dear. Responsible? Adult? Never been so insulted in my life. But, as it happens, I am going to see the Mother Monster myself. So if your mom is okay with me as a … gag … governing influence, I’ll happily take you with me.”
She gave a girly squeal so at odds with the black and white makeup she wore. An ecstatic goth, oh dear God save me. Then she was pulling on my hand again.
“O, I want you to meet someone. Kelly introduced her to me. She is so fucking cool!”
“Cooler than me? My nipples are hard. Maybe I’ll have to work on my chill,” I said.
“What? Have you fallen in love with her or something, Adele?” I teased her. She and I had talked long and hard about her more goth-than-goth friend Kelly and a stolen lesbian kiss. “I didn’t think you were into girls.”
“I’m not! Besides, Paige doesn’t swing to girls either. Leastways I don’t think she does,” she said.
There are moments in any nightclub when there are just a few seconds of dead air between songs. An echoing silence descends upon the gathering, a moment’s respite for buzzing eardrums. As luck would have it, I had spoken in just such a moment.
And in just the right place for the name to be heard.
In front of me was a tall woman with black as midnight hair, frosted silver in a Cruella streak above deep blue eyes, who instantly turned to look at me. She eyed me from head to toe, an appreciative smile gracing her hooker-red lips. The music came back up and she leaned forward to speak right by my ear in a way that gave me chills.
“That’s my name, sexy; wear it out as much as you want.” Paige’s hand was upon my stomach, a soft caress that almost tickled. “And if you buy me a few shots of Fireball, I’ll consider letting you wear out … other things.”
Adele was there under my arm, like magic. Appearing, in fact, as quickly as my hard-on had sprung up. “Paige, this is my friend I was telling you about. O, this is Paige Turner.”
She held out her hand to me, “You go by O? I’ve read your story many times. Maybe sometime we should meet at Roissy’s château for whips and wine?”
I grinned at the reference and was about to answer back, with as much flirty purr as I normally would, when her name hit me like a ton of bricks. And I swear to you, on a stack of Bibles a mile high, without that cutesy-pun name I would have never known she was a drag queen.
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