Night-life Loving: Part 1-Into the Pariah’s Palace (Patreon)

Topics and CW: Alcohol usage, anonymous sex, attempted blackmail, attempted drugging, BDSM, body worship, blood, chastity, curious male lead, degradation, drug usage, dystopia, extreme aftercare, leather, light exhibitionism, light homophobic slurs usage, Masturbation Mentions of assault, MLM orgies, oral sex, rimming, sensitive emotional topics, substance abuse, Violence

New Mexico, 28XX. Towards the abandoned sewage tunnels of Old Santa Fe.

A black motorcycle fused from multiple bikes speeds through a blue desert. The landscape caught in cooled grays as if frozen before dawn, despite it being 6 in the afternoon. Windless as chill sleet coats every corner of a Mesa’s flat terrain once vibrant in warm hues, now echos in the silence of cold muted tones. The large bike’s silicone plating of different black shades protect its patchwork frame, its thick wheels drive along the chilled desert with no sound. Its rider mimics his bike: his muscular build hidden by dark leather from a jacket fused from many others into one by visible silver stitches. As if they cut the driver by the arms, waist, and chest.

His helmet cracked on both sides of his head, where a new visor has been added. The modded face protector glowed waves of pixels on it’s smooth face, highlighting a unique interface the rider had access to. Hidden by a special cloth affixed to the color of the leather jacket, the helmet was protected in crisp dark wrapping much darker than the rest of the attire. The head-guard stylized like a cross between a cloak-hood or head-wrap; its fabric hiding much of the light coming from strange technology.

The only life he notices from his ride along the flat desert are that of Saguaro cacti, their tones muted from the cold scenery. Red dust flowing behind the tires of the black motorcycle as they stir the blued ground from unsettled frost. His trail of clay quickly ending as the dark bike suddenly flees from an expanse of chilled grays into stone as it disappears into an aged concrete wall.

That blued landscape fading into a large tunnel the driver is all too familiar with, his bike vanishing into a large concrete foundation that once bled into a water treatment plant nearby. His vision fading for a second before the added visor flickers to life; the screen-like interface growing from the edges as the night vision turns on before their illumination fades away from across the full helmet. Navigating through the fossilized sewer system of the old world, the driver’s focused eyes are the only thing to process his current surroundings as his bike silently drives along the dark tunnels.

Around different parts of the sewer system his motorcycle navigates, the rider’s stagnant gaze finds itself stuck on countless old world paintings. Graffiti from the past that has now become ancient wall art sheltered from the rising cold of the new age from the enclosed tunnels. Shitty, to decent, to beautiful pieces were spray painted across different strokes of the sewer system. The rider using the natural progression of the artwork’s style to navigate the concrete maze along rivers of dried-sludge to home. Using the art as his guide, the progress of its styling a clear sign that it was all from one group coming back overtime to paint its walls.

‘After all this time, I still think these pieces were done by the same group of children, no doubt. Their sanctuary for years. Unaware their world was ending before they became adults...before the final picture’, the rider thought to himself. The voice in his mind expressing deep sadness the further he drove his motorcycle to his hideout. Graffiti thinning in quantity the closer he reached his destination, as instead they were replaced with better quality pieces that likely took more time to complete. The distance between painting getting wider-and-wider.

Until he reached the spot he needed.

The last art piece within the sewer greeted him at the corner of a tunnel that supposedly led to a dead end. Its darkness beyond the ‘broke’ sewer line an illusion of space and light, making it seem like the architecture makes it dip into a deep void. As the rider swerved to the side of the broken tunnel where the proper way down was, he caught a good glance at the last graffiti those kids drew when they likely got stuck during Winter 0.

A Mural. Contrasting hard against the canvas. Hosted on the grimy, grayish-green color of the wall it was painted on centuries prior. Bright greens and blues greeted the rider from the darkness like when he first encountered it. As a few sketched children rested on a painted tree, their backs turned to face a bright sky. What the rider assumes as ‘the sun’ painted at the corner of these 5 kids in the opposite direction, its rays of light colored like the sharp petals of an ancient flower that no longer exist. These yellow-orange petals shining down on them like layered beams of light across the blue sky. As an oppressive red is painted beneath them. Countless hands of different, crimson shades break the land beneath the verdant meadow of the mural, until the bottom where the pigments is no longer using a tone of spray paint. The now dark-reddish brown for the last pair of hands are signed with a message captured in the same shade.

“WHAT THEY TOOK FROM ME”, written at the bottom of the mural in shaky, small calligraphy. The edges of the letter’s strokes frail, and thinning from what likely was a tiny hand.

Despite the colors muted from his night vision, Rob always felt awful seeing that mural as he curved his bike sharply down a pitch black gravel ramp. Always finding details about the centuries old portrait that made him want to cry if he could, thinking on the final moments of the painter’s life. Their reminder always made fresh in his mind, but never setting comfortably until he made it to his base. The mural acting as the last stop before he sanctuary, as his motorcycle navigated around the wall that hosed the painting. Turning sharply to the right behind the mural to reveal what truly hide alongside the fake ‘void’ of this ‘broken tunnel’. His bike immediately vibrating from the uneven path he spiked downward as the path suddenly turned upward into an abandoned intersection that did not get finished.

Cloaked in the darkness of this forgotten corner, metal doors automatically opened to the ping of his visor. Allowing his motorcycle entry, as he slowed down inside the dim sphere of concrete Rob called home. The warm environment a spot he modified from when he 1st discovered these ruins,...and what remained of the kids who called it their home as well.

Rolling out of speed, he stopped his bike a few feet away from the doors that closed behind him. Parking it on a wall nearby where he placed an impromptu workshop. Taking off his helmet, the stoic face of a dark skinned man pensively stared deeper into his lair. His long, black hair collecting sweat from the sudden warmth as traces of it dripped past the wide scar crossing his cheeks from his nose. His confined locks flowing down to his forehead and neck.

In contrasted to the sharp focus on his face, Rob’s mind spiraled into depression as he sat on his bike in his sanctuary. The mural to his lair lingered on his mind more than usual. Its message haunting him worse as of late after just returning from his last mission. Mostly a waste of time: marred only by a new transceiver, a few new scars, but no luck on what he needed. No solid information on his largest endeavor, just another lead that could end into nothing.

Inside his head, betraying the frozen expression on his face, Rob was frustrated in his depression. His mind was heavy from the dead end of his last lead on his biggest mission yet. The little image that personified his emotional state was practically groaning in a seething frustration he was not able to verbalize or express. His increasing despair unable to flee as he quickly tried to get ready for his next departure as he parked his bike.

Leaving behind his helmet atop the bike’s seat, Rob began taking off his jacket to drape over his motorcycle as his lair’s heating finally got to him. It’s insulated warm making him even more worn out all over his body from the perils he faced on his wild-goose chase. Similar to his face, his dark tan began showing signs of sweat over its stocky frame. His biceps almost strangled by the tightness of his dark undershirt, as his muscles finally worked the jacket over his head to rest on his helmet.

Assuring his gear would not tip over, Rob set out near one of the corners of his den where he tracked his leads. Wanting to strip down in the isolation of his lair, he reached where he had stashed a change of clothes before his initial departure. One of the round ends of the intersection that would have bled into a new tunnel, now repurposed as Rob’s center for information. Reworked old-age computers fused to one multi-screen set up, their PC wires organized by color. To the left, was his research center: a few bookshelves of text he managed to gain over the years in front of a wooden desk. Books in various states of age either bought illegally, or scavenged from ruins of the old world. Only a few of these text are for entertainment, much of their knowledge alludes to information needed to survive on one’s own, weapon maintenance, and the operation of abandonware.

The chair beside Rob’s research area rested his change of clothes, the same type of black shirt paired with jeans that aren’t too ratty. Their fabric aged with time, rather than use; save for the brand-new socks and boxers Rob needed to not feel uncomfortable. Lingering longer for a moment on one particular book of entertainment sat awkwardly about some notes. As Rob glared momentarily at an old world catalog of….erotic features he needed to study for his current endeavor. Pornographic, but information in nature: the contents it displays with both men and women made the stern figure twinge in an embarrassed arousal from his own loneliness. Considering he bookmarked a certain passage before departing outside the city on his current mission. His pant’s tightened up at the thoughts in the book, and his rising libido from his stress. Rob sighed deeply as he continued undressing by the desk that displayed the lewd acts he….wanted to see in real life with a special someone.

Ditching his dirty shirt on a clear space besides the furniture, Rob swiftly took off all his clothes to leave behind for the new outfit. Undressing his usual tactical pants and boots; Rob’s underwear fleeing past his knees to reveal a scars on his hairy body. Now naked in the warm confiding of his lair; he turned his muscular body set out to get ready for a much needed shower. The cinnamon colored skin toned much of his impressive physique as a fighter once his clothes was off, his training in combat on full display as he stomped towards the desk. He wasn’t bulky in any sense, but the tight musculature was cushioned by a delicate chub helped make him appear denser from his broad stature. A sparse coating of fine black hair grown wild over his limbs and crotch. Unlike the unkempt head of hair, Rob’s groin was shorter, helping to highlight the thick chub between his legs as it swung longer from the warm atmosphere of his lair as he moved.

Glancing once last time at the salacious text besides his clean attire, before walking with new clothes in hand to clean himself up. Heading to his shower area opposite of his study, Rob caught a glimpse of a structure he made on the right side of his information hub.

His board for leads on his biggest project: a conspiracy list detailed with info on what was needed to find out who ran the energy systems of Santa Nueva. The Mega city that he spent many years trying to undermine, to uproot the strangle hold the FCU had on its people in one shape or form. Santa Nueva’s heart was out of reach to Rob, unless he learned how the capital of the FCU was powered, and who kept it operating.

“tssst. damn, gonna have to update that after the shower. that old ranger station only lead nowhere on who runs that damn plant. i just hope that informant knows what they were talking about for who I need to find. i would rather almost get frozen over in the desert nearby than ride to my next destination”, Rob said in a monotone drag. His mind filled with a pained annoyance as he tried to bury some of his depressing thoughts in the state of the world, the version of himself whining hard with his eyes closed in anguish.

His soft cock waving to the sides as his stride make it to the shower, 4 thick inches of chub that wagged freely in the warm air. His walk into his washing area caused his usual stoic posing to sag into a hunched despair. Rob’s impressive features almost deflated in his stride into the square he called his walk-in standing shower, closing the curtain that obscured just his body. His head exposed above where the plastic shielded his nude form as he turned on the water, a precaution to always watch his surroundings even as he bathed.

Alone with his thoughts, he let his mind consume him as he prepped for one of the most damming missions yet. Letting the warm water of the shower head steam over him, Rob was quick to thoroughly clean his body. Lathering his form in sods like he could wipe away his many worries, as he coated every inch of his cinnamon skin so no scent lingered. Washing his muscular frame with non-scented soap, he let himself linger from ideas he always got overwhelmed by after seeing the mural. The expression in his mind of shame.

‘Just like the rest of the world, the American Dream died hundreds of years ago when the last dawn set. Even as I navigate, scavenge, and tour through the old world’s refuse: I find signs that those caught in the initial frost were the lucky ones. Their relics and trash tell us of the freedoms they took for granted, the resources still present in a world that their kin were killing. How many could escape and start new lives without fear of what was beyond their territories. Of clean water running out not just from hoarding, but by limited drinking supply. Taste no longer present within our world because it went extinct. Or the lack of children that remember the sun’s presence in our world from its shadowed rays. I’m glad I found this spot, but the more the FCU lingers in those dead dreams, the more those kid’s final moments haunt me. How many like them will I have to bury beneath the frost till the world is right again? Or will I be abandoned to rot in a forgotten sewer as the world ends again. Too late to help anyone?’.

By the time Rob realized he had overstayed in his shower, was when he felt the now cooling water over his dark hair. His locks obscuring his eyes as he looked down to the drain, a muscular hand holding onto the wall to keep balance as he lost himself in thought.

Rob finished his shower through his pit of reminiscing on these thoughts. Their ideas haunting him as he cleaned up his cinnamon colored skin. His dark black hair washed from any sediment gained from his long travel back to the city. He needed to look the most ‘normal’ a man like him can disguise as into Santa Nueva, especially the part he was going. Stopping the shower, Rob quickly dried his muscular form to get freshened up for his next objective: infiltrating a “club” for a lead engineer on Santa Nueva’s power plant.

“if this source is a trap or deadend, i will dangle the guy who told me this from the dome”, Rob said, his stale tone ruining the joke he said to try and lighten his own mood. His nerves tested by the usual dose of depression and despair of his life as a vigilante, something prevented him from changing by the desk he had abandoned his dirty clothes behind. The lewd catalog calling to him at the desk from the last time it was read on the excuse of ‘studying’, when he managed to buy it off a scavenger. His cock bouncing in a need he would normally ignore before a big mission like this one, until he decided he needed a win right now. Dropping his new clothes on top of other notes on this wooden desk, Rob awkwardly sat on the chair matching this furniture as he got comfortable.

“no distractions. including from you, where i go next people will attempt to manipulate me with my primal urges. i need to keep them at bay, just to be safe”, Rob tried rationalizing in the loneliness of his base. The inner image in his mind looked side-to-side in a shy, aroused embarrassment. He rarely had time to take care ‘of himself’, the thoughts of being with someone else in a romantic or sexual matter seemed distant to him due to how dangerous his life had become. His urges for more than a union of bodies….catching up to him as the stress mounted in moments like this.

Placing his thick legs up on the desk for more leverage over his crotch, Rob’s hairy limbs got comfortable in his position. One hand removing the bookmark of the lewd text as the fingers kept the page placement, as Rob rose the book close to his face to stare at the scene he masturbated to before leaving for the frozen desert of New Mexico. His right hand moving to the thick cock growing in his strong palm as the impressive 4 inch chub snaked through the fingers wrapping it. The bright red head of the cut shaft peeking through where the palm grasped it, as Rob began thrusting his hip between his tight hand as the wrist pumped up-and-down, down and up. Drooling on his cock for good measure from his position as he studied the pages that made him feel so desperate like those many weeks prior.

His hand’s well lubed, the chair began shaking from the steady motion of his self loving. The wet sloshes of his masturbating making Rob let loose more, using his athleticism to hold his position on the chair as comfortably as he could. Shaking some of the books on the desk as he increased the pace of his thrust alongside the acceleration of his cock pumping, the full 7 inches of his cock gliding up-and-down, Down-and-Up, UP-AND-DOWN with intense care. The only signs of pleasure from Rob’s frozen face was his long hair shaking out droplets from the shower, his deep grunting, and his effort to keep focus on the images he pushed into his face from the book.

The text in front of him displayed 2 sets of people in the same position. Naked. Interlocking in a unique form where their faces mingled with each other’s crotches, in worship of their respective genitals. The image on the right Rob envied; as a Man of a similar build as him went face 1st into the ass of a woman as he legs dangled somewhat up to behind his head as her mouth worshiped his long cock. Having to use one hand to hold onto the man’s thigh for support as her body pointed to the ground as he lover in the image licked from her pussy….to her asshole. A position Rob has wanted to try, but has not for some time since he never had anyone to reciprocate it with, ever. Even when he had a ‘partner’.

Increasing his grunting, he viewed the last image as he climaxed. It was a couple in the same position, save for both of them being men. One smaller, the other tall like him. The man he envied in this role had spit out the smaller cock forced closer to his mouth as he went for the juicy, plump, soft ass the image portrayed. Lingering on his denial for so long, Rob grunted loudly at both images to his face. Closing the book with the hand holding it as he climaxed over his sturdy chest. The thick, creamy cum barely leaving his pecs as they failed to drip further from their heavy texture. One. Two. Four. Six. Eight rope of climax coating the dark skin and scar of Rob as he was left….okay for now. A primal satisfaction barely maintained after weeks of not masturbating at all, his testosterone spiking throughout from the life or death situations he was placed in for his goals.

Placing his legs back on the ground, Rob went through the desk as he placed the lewd book somewhere safe. Grabbing the napkins he had stashed there for his research, as he cleaned himself of the sticky fluid wasted on his body. Wishing someone could enjoy them as he did, his chub unable to fully shrink despite how sensitive his cock felt after cumming due to thoughts of what he might encounter later. Snapping to full focus, Rob got off his desk chair and set out to get dressed for his most, awkward mission yet.

He promptly dressed himself in the new boxers and socks; his soft cock resting comfortable in turquoise fabric as he fitted skintight black socks to his thighs. It’s bulge visible from the weight within the sleeve of the undergarment, bouncing a little as he jumped into his jeans. Putting on his shirt next, Rob was practically dressed in a civilian version of his usual attire: a dark top with durable pants that made him look nondescript. Though he felt self-conscious about only having the same type of clean black top in his wardrobe, and that his jeans were definitely out of style for the time.

No longer naked in his lair, Rob went back to his computer set up to pick up a very important piece of tech. Grabbing a metallic brace made up of different metals and small bolts. The accessory intersected by warm milky white glass that hummed in anticipation of the user’s intent. The long bands of silicone alloy taking up 2 centimeters of length, but most of the width of the rest of Rob’s left arm. Fishing for an old pair, small locking earbuds; Rob connected the Aux into the corresponding port he modified into this piece of modern tech.

Once connected fully, he used his free hand to side wipe the warm white ‘screen’. His finger’s gliding across the surface of the bracelet caused a glass plate to materialized out air, floating above his wrist. Following his movements, Rob moved around his area gathering things on his desks before using the small book-like screen hovering above the bracelet.

Making sure he had a spare magazine for the firearm in his jacket, as well as his taser; Rob finally used some of the apps on his holo-phone. Hooking up the GPS provided by the scouting system, his connections in the Hidden Network would give his visor some visuals on hidden details to navigate the main city away from as much people as possible. Using sewers ancient and new, among illicit fronts and connected business within FCU territory.

Seeing the 1st few sites needed to travel to his destination, Rob let his device connect to his visor. The encrypted device syncing fast to his modded helmet with the next steps needed to travel, breadcrumbs with coordinates to the club he dreaded going to. Thankfully for Rob, he had memorized the city’s layouts at this point, especially the points of interest the HN has been using as checkpoints for subtle travel.

Rob placed his extra gear in the pockets of his jacket before putting it on, wrapping the leather swiftly to depart as soon as possible. His side pockets saved for close quarters combat, patting those pouches to ensure he had boxing tape left from the last time he fist fought someone. Connecting the ‘buds to his ears after holding onto them for so long, he switched to a different pirateware. Using his dominant hand to press an app called the Hub; a loose stream of happenings going around those under the FCU’s eye.

Encrypted, anonymously collected; this data centered self localized to what was more pressing for the time and area of the HN associate that would need to be informed. Rob had started to always keep it on during drives into the city after a specific incident. After he hearing the live progression on his holo-phone about protest going on at St.Anthony’s Square about 1 year ago. While on a job as the broadcast updated it into the slaughter that it became.

Youths upset at the government they knew their entire lives. Desperate for their voices to change their system from the FCU’s cruelty. Only to die for nothing at some random city square. Information on their massacre scrubbed on government approved interwebs as their grieving families were forced to mourn in silence at best. The same system Rob undermined, sweeping that slaughter under the rug. Just like the government FCU was designed after that reminded Rob of the importance of what he did.

At the moment, the hub was quiet. The countless media feedback Rob listened in on was nothing like that day, or anything to worry over.

Zipping up his jacket to protect his earbuds, Rob placed the holo-phone on standby as he let The Hub play updates in his ears. Placing his helmet on as he drove to a club he dreaded. Because unlike the youths gunned down on St.Anthony’s Square, or those that dead in this sewer; the people he’ll have to deal with at this “club” would be ones that he has no sympathy for. And if need be, Rob would feel less sorry if he needed to bury some of them.

Rob wore his helmet in full once his earbuds felt secure, saddling back on his vehicle now that all his gear was worn. Flipping his augmented visor down to his eyes, Rob felt confident in twisting his bike the other direction physically before turning it on. Starting the silent ignition of his motorcycle, he set out to his 1st breadcrumb location as he drove from his lair. Accelerating his bike past the opening metal doors into the darkness of his sewer.

His horned motorcycle helmet glowing up the second the visor made contact with the absence of light. Rob’s vision returned to him as fast as his maneuvering of the fake dip into nothing, and into the opposite tunnel parallel to the last mural. Speeding silently in the ancient debris of a dead age; Rob drove alongside a river of frozen refuse, the height of the fossilized waste almost reaching the concrete walkway.

Expediently, Rob navigated his sewer system to the 1st breadcrumb that would guide him to the “club”. A northeastern warehouse long since abandoned that his tunnels connected to, as the building bordered the location he needed to go. Diving up, left, and right of unchanging tunnels away from his graffiti system; Rob recalled everything he could about the “club” along the way through his maze of sewer tunnels. Remembering as much as possible to keep his mind off the patrol intercoms his pirateware was feeding to his earbuds.

The Pariah’s Palace. A large villa with a connecting subterranean wine cellar that was supposedly a very popular night club ignored by the city’s tight regulations. An illicit den of lawless indulgence somehow located in the north of Santa Nueva. A part of the city reserved for the most important cogs of the FCU, save for the one who ran it all. Some of the stories of the young scum, genuine outcast, or blackmailers that go there every night always made Rob’s skin crawl. Outside of the socialization; a property like that one with no eyes of the FCU on it, spelled trouble. Rob hoped he can escape unseen if things turned sideways.

The pariah in question is a mystery as well. For the most part: Rob heard whispers of an eccentric little weirdo that loves pink. A Credit-Millionaire gained overtime, but his service to the FCU is not even public knowledge, even to a lot of sources Rob learned from elite contacts. And for Rob, he was the only source left for intel on the power of Santa Nueva. Which was made worst by the fact this man was named ‘The pariah’ for a reason, as he was hated by all his neighbors and kept secret by the FCU. Outside of the perverts, Rob’s concerns over His Palace grew more from what he did not know about the place’s owner.

His worries fading into a steeled concentration. A blade he used to quiet his worries on what could happen within the club. If the lead led nowhere. Or it led deep into rabbit-hole of conspiracy he was not equipped to handle in civilian clothes.

‘I Will get the information needed, anyway I could acquire it….Hopefully with nothing tooo drastic to acquire it, though’, Rob tried hyping himself in his mind as he reached the tunnel entrance he needed. His mind racing to scandalous tactics he would consider to gain his information, hoping it did not need to get too serious to use any of them.

Rob’s anxieties from his information on the Pariah’s Palace fleeing as fast as the darkness of his surroundings as his silent motorcycle drove from underground sewer into the “light of a proper sunset”.

Illuminating above him and encompassing the entire city, was the Dome. Taller than most skyscrapers in newer parts of Santa Nueva; the see-through silicone alloy that isolated the city from the 3rd Ice Age was held together by a grid of interlocking diamond buildings that wove symmetrically against each other for miles.

The grid above Santa Nueva looked like a web trapping water: the black gem-like structures maintaining the Dome almost half a mile a part as their bottoms provided a steady stream of “afternoon” radiation beneath them. Trolleys driving in zigzags across the thin metallic framing from diamond to diamond, their windows tinted to prevent blindness. At the heart of the Dome was the Silicone Spire: where the capital building rested. Where the president of the FCU operated everything from his personal office and dwelling. His governmental residence eternally watching from the heart of the city. A see-through vortex of clear material framed in a silvery metal, where the FCU overlooked their city in a slender Panopticon that reached the top of the Dome, and likely well underground if the rumors were true.

Even as Rob drove further out of the exposed warehouse, the more the center of Santa Nueva loomed over him. Thoughts of those who live 24/7 above the city not to operate the safety of the people, but in their efforts to stomp on their necks; flooded Rob’s mind each time he saw it. As he drove to his next stop, a fake caffeine shop, Rob knew afterwards he would have to take the rest of his trek on foot through alleyways too tight for his bike.

Making his way to the hollowed caffeine shop, Rob had to leave his helmet, jacket, and bike in the small space fitted for Irregulars like him. Locking up the building with a code from his bracelet, Rob made sure to take his weapons and spare goods from the jacket he had to leave behind. Holstering his modified gun and taser to the sides of his hips behinds his pants where his spare holsters rested. Thankful his jeans were baggy around his thighs, unlike the tightness he felt around his hips from his thin shirt.

Giving one last glance from the HN front where he stashed his valuables; Rob looked at his holo-phone one last time as he memorized where he needed to go in order make it to the Pariah’s Palace. To talk to the Pariah himself in his den of scum and villainy.

“alright, me, you got this. let’s just hope i can get something worth while out of this lead”, Rob said to himself. His frozen face betraying the deep worry he felt in his mind, the image of him inside his head cringing at the thoughts of what he will see. Knowing he will feel very awkward from what is inside the palace.

…...

Around 15 minutes after navigating the preserved and abandoned parts of Old Sante Fe, Rob finally made it to the outskirts of the Palace. Standing before him was a 3-story tall Villa, made of clay and old material kept up in the centuries since its construction. Well fences by wrought iron fences and thick pillars of carved red clay. Surrounded by unkempt garden of sand and cacti: the villa had a block shape to it alluding to likely a central courtyard in it’s large premises. Architecture foreign to the modern standards of the FCU, but allowed to stay alive to show the persistence of the American Dream, despite existing prior to the US’s control of the region. Out of the 3 floors, the 1st floor had tinted windows along its clay walls as the upper levels were shielded by bright pink drapes.

Rob knew the basement did not require such protection, meaning what he experienced next would be a lot. Wishing he could walk into the front door, Rob sadly knew that entrance was not used in sometime. While the owner was immune to most FCU jurisdiction: those seen coming from it won’t be so lucky. Thankfully for the Pariah, the government that rules over Santa Nueva did not register the long wine cellar Rob was in front of.

The entrance of the creepy, red building mooned over the tan man in out of fashion attire. Rob feeling naked without extra protection over his skin color, as he entered the unprotected wine cellar many yards away from the front door of the palace.

Immediately after closing the old, thick, wooden door behind him; was Rob then barraged by sensations. Many scents and sounds he did not want to remember. Incense barely hid smells of sex and illegal narcotics in the air as Rob was face-to-face with a long corridor. Metal burners for the floral scents dangled in rows above each doorway he saw, each lit to try and dull the rampant aromas. The red clay tunnel stretched long to around 5 different arched enclaves in the walls per each side of the structure, all illuminated in a dark blue lighting. Each arch carved to host 2 adjacent spaces besides one another: 20 rooms in total that did not have doors added to them. As that kind of reconstruction would bring too much attention. And Rob doubted the rich kids here knew how to work a power-drill.

Instead, they either had curtains or no covering to showcase the many beds and table set ups moved into them. Rob heard what happened here in detail before seeing anything, Meekly, he started walking to the staircase to the 1st floor, keeping his head high to display the unfazed confidence his frozen expression afforded him. The thrums of an old fashion synthesizer the only thing familiar to him as its synthetic piano notes reverberated from the ceiling. Much of the noise up stairs unable to save Rob from what the basement displayed due to their thick material.

To his left was the only occupied space on this 1st stretch of parallel rooms. Rob heard everything before he had the misfortune of making eye contact with the only man at eye level with him. No curtain shielded the sight of the threesome left wide for anyone leaving and entering the palace to see. A man around Rob’s ages threw slurs towards 2 different men at the floor. His light skin tone made darker from the blue lighting, extenuating his skinny frame. Contrasting his form were the men besides him: their defined builds shaded from the deep color over them. Clear signs that their bulky frames likely meant they were either day laborers, or some type of enforcement officers. Whatever day job they needed with those muscles clearly did not matter in the moment as they were used by the thin, scrawny man they worshiped.

His pants were down to his knees where these separate men were kneeling in front and behind him. The curls of his flossy hair hid a cruel, lustful gaze as he passively made contact with Rob’s stagnant eyes, the man’s attention focused on the slurping beneath his beltline.

Beneath his t-shirt was a much bigger man inhaling his long cut shaft completely in the nude. A black leather mask obscuring everything but holes for his nostrils and his mouth; his whimpering muscular face silenced by his greedy deep-throating of the man he serviced. Very smooth and thick, he likely was a day-time laborer for construction by his height alone with that build. His endurance for use made apparent by the minutes he would go holding the long shaft down his throat without breathing. The day laborer was doing this without using his hands, instead pinching long rings pierced into his nipples. clearly instructed to not touch himself or use his palms to suck on the biggest cock Rob ever saw. Inches of the creamy white rod disappearing like it was the last drop of water and the man was dying of thirst. His place in the relationship of this room made apparent by the fancy sneaker stomping on his exposed cock, the vulnerable genitals crushed like worthless trash despite being close to Rob’s length.

The other sub, likely his friend; acting as a cushion for the scrawny man’s ass. From the edges of his face showed the same black leather of his friend. Obscuring more of his recognizable features, Rob found it harder to discern much of the other man as his body hid behind the scrawny master. Making his submissive form look less human and more toy-like. His frame was hairier than his friend, but much more fit, likely the enforcer in their duo that would be very much in trouble if his peers knew he was doing this kind of stuff for another man. His thick arms were shaking on the sides of his body, forcing himself in this kneeling position as he insatiably eat-out the soft cheeks of the man that held his leash.

Realizing only now that the man rimming out the scrawny guy was leashed and collared, Rob finally processed just how kinky this other sub was. Only his throbbing neck visible from the service he gave the clothed man as if he was made to be his personal seat cushion. Unable to breathe and just explore every inch of the ass he buried his masked face in as if it was a daily ritual. His cut cock looked locked in something Rob had never seen before, some kind of….plastic trap that locked around his balls and constricted his shaft into something smaller.

Rob realized he was staring too much, stuck body and mind at what he saw, this type of open lewdness between likely important people he might have seen before. The forms of the enforcer eating ass and the scrawny man who brushed hair away to give Rob some proper attention: Rob did not want to blow his cover from stupid voyeurism.

The scrawny man looked to Rob fully, his arrogant eyes practically laughing in a sadistic joy as he laid a satisfied glance on Rob. Rob began walking slowly, preparing to turned his motion into a full casual jog away from the threesome. Catching the skinny man get comfortable with his subs: using one hand to impale the cocksucker all the way down to unkempt pubes as he pushed his ass down on the other sub. His freehand outstretched to Rob as if signaling him like a good friend to join in the merriment.

“Hey, Bro!,Hold Up! These two Faggots are ready for yah, they’re practically begging for use when I’m done, cum back~!”, The scrawny man called out to Rob as he quickly jugged away before hearing anything further.

Rob’s face kept his normal expression like a statue. The only betrayal to his stoic body was his cold sweat, and throbbing erection he felt repulsed by. In his mind, the little image of how he felt was holding his hands over his eyes, sobbing and screaming at the club being worse than he thought. He was not even being one floor above, not even a feet away from the front door at this conclusion. Parts of him were disgusted by the sudden sexual act; homosexuality could get you in a lot of trouble so he only encountered a few instances in his life of openly queer people. He wasn’t opposed to it in the slightest, but being jumped by that trio startled him...by how good it looked. He did not know guys could be treated so cruelly like that for their own enjoyment, and make it look….intense?

He shook his head, trying to ignore the 7 inches of hard cock in his jeans, the last time anyone gave him release so long ago that the stimulus of the threesome riled him up further. Despite wanting to leave to the upper floor and not expose himself more to acts like that: Rob had to play it cool. Physically he was still looking to his sides to cover his full surroundings, as if uncaring. Mentally he was trying to prepare his tired mind from the debauchery in the tears of his true-self visualized in his head.

'GETAGRIP. iT, it Is just a Few Adults here trying to be freaky somewhere safe and comfortable. Just need to manage a little longer' Rob contemplated as he wiped cold sweat from his brow. Looking down the clay hallway and the many arcs left within the old wine cellar, breathing in to collect himself from what he would see further in. His shaky fist tightening along the sides of his hips, as Rob took one step forward. Taking another, than another, the sounds of the threesome behind him blocked out from practice as he continued his slowed walk down the hallway. The blue hues of the lights consuming his form as he braved the cellar of the Pariah's Palace.

Continued in Part 2 on Voting