1. The Choice


    Date: 10/17/2017, Categories: Cuckold, Author: MaxwellSpanx2015, Rating: 9, Source: LushStories

    But I dread to think where all this is going to lead too.” I noticed the soiled tissue on the coffee table. I could have sworn that I placed mine in my pocket. I shoved my hand in the pocket and, sure enough, felt my tear filled tissue. “Toby?” “What?” “You’ve been wanking.” “No I haven’t.” “Yes you have.” I picked up the soiled tissue and threw it at him. “Indian cuckold videos again?” Toby slumped his shoulders while he hung his head. “Guilty as charged your honour.” “You disgust me.” “The girls remind me of you, my Indian Princess.” “I’m British Asian.” I stood from the couch. “And never going to sleep with another man... No matter how much porn you watch.” Toby’s Story I had just left the apartment for work. The fresh air of the winter cleared my head and allowed me to think straight. With Deena sacked, it was just my income supporting us. And because I smashed up my boss’s car on the way to the car wash, I had ten grand to find... in six weeks. Let’s just say I had a lot to think about. I manage a bar in a strip club. I have always told Deena that I work in a casino bar, which was true, but there is a strip joint upstairs, and for the past six months I have been working the upstairs bar. The whole building is run by an Albanian businessman called Mickael Asharvin, I stress the word businessman. Mickael is one ruthless fucker. He once paid for my silence after I accidentally walked in on him rearranging an employee’s face after he had caught him pinching from the cash ...
    register. That’s why I know he wasn’t lying when he told me he would kneecap me, if I fail to find his ten grand. I thought I would have left this job long ago, it was supposed to just get me through uni. But graduated a year ago, and yet I’m still no closer to fulfilling my dream as a journalist. After working at the club for five years I’m now on first name terms with Mickael, and regarded as one of the more senior members of staff. Still barely paid more than the minimum wage, mind. Doing a weekday shift drags. The club is dead until ten. So for the first two or three hours it’s just me and the girls, all of which hardly speak a word of English. Still good to look at though. I spotted Mickael pacing towards the bar. He didn’t look too impressed. So I made myself busy by wiping the black marble surface. “Evening, Boss.” “I’ve seen more life in a morgue.” Mickael spoke with a thick Eastern European accent, and I always had to concentrate when he spoke. “Toby. You have face like smacked arse. No wonder no one stays. What is wrong with you?” “Nothing.” “Tell me.” “Money problems.” “You English are lazy, back in Tirana, I pay barman less than half. He work twice as hard, and smiled all the time. I pay you more, yet you have face like mother-in-law’s backside.” “Deena lost her job.” Mickael snorted a laugh and waved his finger in my face. “You very clever man, Toby. Trying to make me feel sorry for you. You think me a fool, huh? I asked you take my car to be cleaned, not to be ...
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