Club Zombie 1-4

by Z. Allora

  With all the overwhelming sensations attacking his body, Alex was incapable of speech. But he needed to “take care of it,” so he took the device. He repeated the process on Uli. The machine’s mouth slurped Uli in making him gasp.

  Uli’s expression was downright gleeful. “Incredible! Alex! Oh God! Too good! Kiss me!”

  Unable to resist that request, Alex pressed his mouth to Ulrich’s.

  Uli returned the kiss with a passion that swept them both away.

  Alex’s heart drank in everything Uli provided. Their closeness and the thought of this intimacy shared with Uli was enough to force him to find release.

  Breaking the seal of their lips, Uli howled as the machine swallowed his donation, and Alex followed him. He convulsed waves of pleasure as the sweet explosion of his first true release rushed through his body. A kaleidoscope of colors spun out of control and he grabbed for the only stable thing in his world—Uli.

  He woke. His body felt amazing, relaxed and refreshed. Why hadn’t he ever done this before? “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “You okay?” Uli sounded nervous.

  Alex felt the big, stupid grin he wore. “Great.”

  Uli sighed in relief. “I think you passed out or something.”

  “Is it always like that?”

  Chuckling, Uli shrugged. “Not always. Depends on how long since your last one.”

  “Oh.” The intensity overwhelmed him, and though inexperienced, he imagined sharing this with Uli made it more so. Alex groaned.

  “Looks like you’re ready to go again.”

  Both of them peered at Alex’s growing erection. His arousal appeared eager for another round.

  “Hm.” A glance at Uli told Alex he was ready as well. “We shouldn’t?”

  Should they?

  “Why not? I need more too. Besides, this is wicked hot.” Ulrich’s eagerness made Alex rethink his hasty refusal.

  Actually there was no reason in the world for Alex not to indulge, and this time he needed to focus on Uli better. “Okay. You ready?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Give me the dials. I’ll take care of you.” Alex grabbed the oil and poured some over Uli.

  “Yes please.” Uli whimpered and stared at Alex with total trust.

  Alex melted. He wanted to do this, but he hesitated. Dare he touch Uli? It was his responsibility and duty as mate. He smoothed the slick down Uli’s jutting erection. It was hard and hot and Ulrich….

  The tip glistened and leaked. Uli grabbed one of the elongated tubes. Alex held out his hand, and without a word exchanged, Uli gave him the controller and the chamber.

  Alex turned on the machine and heard the familiar, hissing pop that made him throb in anticipation. He held the cylinder close to Uli, but not close enough for the suction to draw him inside. The distance teased the air around Ulrich without providing the possibility of climax.

  “Please, Alex.” Uli tried to thrust into the machine, but Alex thwarted every effort. He allowed Uli only as much as he wanted to give.

  “Beg me again.” Being in charge gave him a bump of dominance, and he wanted the acknowledgment from Ulrich.

  Uli inhaled sharply. “Please, Alex. Please put the machine on me.”

  The excitement of power raced up Alex’s spine. “Why?”

  Uli trembled. “Oh, Alex. I want you to make me come.”

  Yes. That’s right. Uli trusted him. Alex longed to hear more of Uli’s soft begging. “More,” he demanded.

  “I need you to take care of me and milk me.” A soft whine accompanied Uli’s words.

  Alex rewarded him. The machine descended under Alex’s jurisdiction, pulled Ulrich’s cock into its depths, and sucked.

  “Come with me!” Uli turned pleading eyes on him, but Alex wasn’t ready yet.

  Instead he watched the machine drive Uli to the edge. Each time, right before orgasm, Alex lowered the intensity on Ulrich’s tube. A disappointed groan followed the decreased suction, reinforcing Alex’s sense of power.

  “Please, Alex!”

  Only when Ulrich surrendered to Alex’s will did he oil his erection and insert it into the tube. Years of denial allowed him to focus on Ulrich’s pleasure while delaying his own orgasm.

  Alex turned the dials slowly, controlling Uli’s experience. Neither of them would last much longer. He finally granted Uli the powerful sucking he needed. His own body was already poised to orgasm. “I’m going to make you orgasm. Do you want that?”

  Uli groaned. “Yes. Make me!”

  Alex rotated the dial to fluctuate the stimulation. When Uli babbled and lost coherence, Alex cranked the knob and let nature take its course.

  “Alex!” Uli cried out as he fed the machine.

  When Uli’s body stopped writhing, Alex shut down the tube.

  Dreamy eyes opened to stare at Alex. Uli’s voice dropped to a purr. “So good. Alex.”

  He had done that. Alex had satisfied the man he loved. Turning the knobs to increase suction, Alex was on the edge.

  Uli cuddled into him with a blissful murmur.

  Alex shot everything he had left into the machine and let the device milk him dry.

  Sighing, he turned off the machine to find Uli curled up next to him. The angelic expression suggested he’d fallen asleep. Alex’s heart nearly burst with emotion as he watched over Uli. He’d never felt so right in his own skin.

  8

  Cut Bait

  Cutter allowed himself to sink into the shrink’s plush chair. He ran his hands over the suede, making designs of lighter lines before pushing the fabric forward to turn them back to navy. The therapist’s décor coordinated with the chair in shades of soothing blue, even the Ikea desk in the corner and its matching bookcases. Though few books adorned the shelves, the good doctor displayed incense burners of every shape and size. Cutter wasn’t able to place the scent of the lingering smell, but it wasn’t overpowering.

  “So, Cutler, tell me… how are you doing?” When he remained silent, Dr. Cohen pressed, “You’ve been here for six weeks….”

  Taking slow, deep breaths, Cutter resolved to play the game and get the hell out of here. He didn’t want to hold Storm back from college or live off Storm’s family’s money. They needed to get to California where he’d find a job. With that thought, a stab of loss pierced through him over leaving Uli and Alex.

  Staying near Storm had been the only concrete plan in his world, but now there was Uli to think about… and, well… Alex. That was insane. He’d only just met—

  The doctor cleared his throat.

  Shit. Cutter needed to speak. “I think we identified why I cut.” He barely restrained the eye roll. He never learned to deal with his life which pretty much had sucked. His mother died of cancer. His fucked-up father was inattentive at best and abusive when he noticed him. Eventually a well-intentioned guidance counselor called Child Protective Services, which swept him into the foster care system.

  And in that system, he had remained. His father didn’t care enough to get him back.

  “Cutler, have you talked to Ethan?”

  “You mean Storm. Yeah. He visits every night.” Despite himself, he smiled.

  Storm hated his given name, and in the beginning of tenth grade, when he refused to answer to Ethan, Storm had been born. Cool, smart, hot, and completely out of Cutter’s league. Storm had given him a nickname too. He found a derivation of Cutler, making it sound cooler—Cutter.

  Though who was he kidding? It didn’t matter. Cut was still the same kid everyone pitied.

  The doctor gave him a pointed stare and scratched something on the yellow pad perched on his lap.

  Cutter didn’t want to rehash his tragic little teenage heartbreak. It was too cliché for words: gay boy in love with his straight best friend gets rejected. Though in his case, there was nothing straight about Storm, not even his long dark hair. Still, he wasn’t surprised Storm didn’t want him. Cutter wasn’t smart, fancy, or good enough to be Ethan’s boyf
riend, let alone Storm’s.

  “Would you like to persist in avoidance, or can we actually accomplish something this session?”

  “Sure, Doc. Don’t get your tighty-whities in a bunch.” He’d heard Storm use the wisecrack more than once, getting him suspended from school on two occasions. Storm always said when a defense appeared impossible, strike with humor.

  “Have you talked to Ethan—Storm to gain closure?”

  Cutter’s sigh and crossed arms made the therapist write more on the notepad. He toyed with the leather strap on his brown satchel. Storm had given him the messenger bag two years ago, and he always kept it with him.

  “It’s closed.” Damn. Cutter uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, trying to show how open he was to the stupid process. He could play psychological ring-around-the-crazy better than anyone. He’d had more than enough practice.

  Whether he was unguarded or not really wasn’t important. Getting the hell out of here became the goal. Prisoners needed to pay lip-service and be engaged in activities to win release.

  “Then why do you think you haven’t had any other relationships?” The doctor flipped through his pad. “There was one guy you said you liked.”

  Hopefully, this little disappearing trick didn’t cause Uli to lose interest.

  Thumbing through his yellow pad, the doctor paused and skimmed down on page with his finger. “Yes, right. Uli. Am I pronouncing his name properly?”

  “Yes.” The thought of Uli made blood rush into Cutter’s cock. “Ulrich or Uli. He says Ulrich’s an old-fashioned name, but I think it’s unique. I met him a few months ago.”

  In an annoyingly neutral voice, the doctor asked, “And how do you feel about that?”

  “Fine. He’s a nice guy.” Why did Alex’s image pop into Cutter’s mind too whenever he thought of Uli? Why was he drawn to Alex and Uli while still in love with Storm? No doctor would fix the cuckoo in Cutter’s head.

  Dr. Cohen checked his notes before peering over his glasses at Cutter. “But the relationship hasn’t turned physical.”

  Cutter laughed. “Geez, give a man a chance.” He pushed the image of four bodies entwined and tangled in pleasure out of his head.

  The damned doctor honed in on the question Cutter asked himself. “You don’t think you’re holding out hope that Ethan will change his mind?”

  Yes. “No, of course not. Being shot down once was enough.” Every day that Storm didn’t throw him on a flat surface and have him reinforced the rejection.

  Flipping to the first page, the doctor tapped the notes with his finger. The noise made Cutter wish the guy got with the twenty-first century and used an iPad. The therapist removed his glasses and shot him a penetrating stare.

  “You and Ethan were together physically only once. Do you think anything about that experience has stopped you from moving on?”

  Not wanting to bullshit an answer the therapist wouldn’t accept anyway, Cutter reached below the surface. “He was my first. I was his. Storm’s my first love.”

  “Still?”

  Fuck yes. Cutter shrugged. “Well, I’m not in love with anyone else.”

  Or, at least, he wasn’t going to attach labels to what he felt for Uli. Besides, if he loved Uli, he wouldn’t find Alex so freaking alluring. However, everyone at the club wanted Alex, so maybe his confused attraction was normal.

  Cutter pushed aside the emotions, and as if on cue, the urge to slice into himself rose to the forefront of his mind. He traced the healed ridge of an exceptionally deep scar.

  “Are you feeling an urge to cut?” The therapist’s gaze followed the almost sensual drag of nails over the mark.

  No sense in denying it. “A little.”

  Cutter peeked at the doctor through his bangs, hoping not to see disgust there. He didn’t.

  “What are the things you can do other than cut?”

  Fuck him! Or fuck in general… specifically three—fuck!

  Why wasn’t punching the know-it-all therapist one of the activities? He poured himself a glass of water, which happened to be third on his magic list. “I’m already talking to someone.”

  The therapist smiled with the amount of patience one used when dealing with a naughty toddler. It wasn’t the kid’s fault and strangling it wouldn’t help anyone. Cutter wasn’t sure if the man understood he was being a smart-ass or if he approved of Cutter reciting the list.

  “Keep in mind self-abuse is a habit. You can break the pattern and create a more positive ritual for yourself.”

  Cutter’s mind teased him with the next-to-perfect release slicing gave him. The cut allowed the hurt and anger to escape. He was left with a satisfaction almost as sweet as orgasm. If he hadn’t landed in the hospital from a cut going septic a couple of years ago, he wouldn’t have even considered giving up that kind of relief, regardless of how fucked-up cutting seemed to the rest of the world.

  “By not giving in to the need to hurt yourself and doing something else, you take away cutting’s power. There are many other things in this world you can do to ease your pain.”

  Yeah, right. “Exactly why I’m here, Doc. Trying to find a way to deal with all the shit that’s gone down, making me the freak I am.”

  “I don’t have many rules—”

  “I get it. I’m forbidden to talk negatively about myself because I need to change my inner dialogue.” Granted, his self-esteem was nonexistent, but he wasn’t reckless.

  “If you can’t love yourself….”

  “I know….” He was trying to center his thoughts on only positive things, but his inner voice sounded a lot like his father. Everything he’d ever done wrong ran through his head. It ranged from a bad grade on a test because he was stupid, to sounding like a jackass when he talked, to not being good at sports, and for being an overall disappointment. Thankfully, his father hadn’t figured out he was gay.

  “Do you love yourself?”

  “I’m working on it.” Did not wanting to off yourself anymore count as loving yourself? Hmmm, probably not. His mom had loved him unconditionally. She even knew he was gay and made him promise he would settle down with only a nice boy. She had liked Storm… and she’d have approved of Uli and Alex…? Love wasn’t an easy thing.

  More scratching of the pen filled the yellow pages. He almost didn’t care what the guy wrote. “So, if you wanted to get closure, what would you say to Ethan?”

  Fuck, he needed to spit out something. There actually were a couple of the techniques that worked for him. Cutter shut his eyes. He took, held, and released ten deep breaths as he visualized Storm. Oddly enough, he found comfort in the images of Uli and Alex standing on either side of his best friend. He banished the image but kept his eyes closed as loneliness slipped over him.

  “I would say… Storm, I love you. I always have and I always will, but I know you don’t want to be with me.” He didn’t blame Storm for not loving him romantically. No one would want to be tied to a freak like him. Oops, negative in his inner dialogue again. Note to self: shut the fuck up. Clearing his throat, he didn’t understand why saying what the therapist needed him to say hurt so much. “It’s okay you don’t love me back. You’re my best friend. We’ll always be friends.”

  “What just happened?”

  “Huh?” Opening his eyes, Cutter saw the therapist pointing to his arm. He had dug his fingernails into his skin.

  Just a bit more and he’d draw blood. The thought tempted him and heightened his desire for the relief. He longed for the pain that could answer his need and clear his head. A bloody slice would wash the mess in his head away, if only for a little while. He released his nails and traced the halfmoon indents in his arm. He tried not to be sorry he didn’t break skin.

  The therapist was nothing if not persistent. “What happened?”

  Isn’t that what the doctor was supposed to figure out? How the fuck should he know? “I guess I was feeling too much. I don’t like being overwhelmed.”

  The therapist nodded his approval.
“What are some other things that you can do when you’re submerged in too much emotion?”

  “Take a walk. Talk to a friend. Draw a picture. Read a book. Take a bath. Do something else.” Do something other than what everything in him said he needed to do to survive one more minute of his fucking life.

  The therapist crossed the room to his obsessively clean desk and opened his top desk drawer. He pulled out a handful of rubber bands. “Put one on your wrist, and when you’re overwhelmed, snap the band.” The therapist demonstrated. “Ow!” He rubbed the red line encircling the top of his wrist.

  What a wuss. Cutter resisted the urge to crack up as the therapist warned him to be careful with those. A rubber band didn’t quite compare to the stinging burn of alcohol poured into a fresh cut, but maybe it was something. He needed to hurt externally to allow the pain from the inside a place to manifest so everything would temporarily disappear.

  When the session ground to a halt, the therapist did his usual send-off speech. “I’ll see you on Thursday. If you have any problems or issues, you have the number. Call and speak to someone immediately.”

  “Sure, Doc. Catch you later.”

  Damn, he had time to kill. Visiting didn’t start for hours, so he read and attended a painting class. He loved to draw. Whether he used charcoal, paint, pencil, pen, or finger paints, the activity set him free of the chaos in his mind. His emotions flowed out of him without needing pain for a conduit.

  The art teacher said Cutter had potential, but the guy was probably trying to reinforce Cutter into expressing his emotions with something other than slicing himself.

  As usual, Storm was the first one through the door and pulled him into a tight hug.

  Why did he have to look übercool and sexy in his suit and tie? He’s just a friend. But Cutter’s stupid heart was convinced Storm might be the answer to every question he’d ever asked.

  He fought the desire to hold Storm’s hand as they strolled through a garden. It was October and only chrysanthemums, his mother’s favorite flower, were in bloom, but the bushes were still green. The crepe myrtles appeared to be abstract sculptures rimming the cobblestone path. Their twisting trunks would make a good subject for him to sketch tomorrow.