Squidboy: Part Two

Part Two

My brother, in spite of his own interests to see me lose the bet, had again made some of the arrangements for me. This was necessary, for without his help, I might never have found the Yellow Tiger Club. This was owing to the fact that it never stayed in one place for longer than a night. The exclusive gentleman's club was not, strictly speaking, entirely legal, and its mobility allowed the institution to avoid the attention of the police.

I arrived at the location, a few minutes before the hour my brother had given me, and looked about for any sign of the infamous bordello. James had suggested that I would know it when I saw it, but it seemed he was mistaken. There were only a few buildings on the square—namely a bookstore, a tea house, a tailor, and a butcher. None of these seemed to fit the description—however vague—my brother had given me.

Again, my tentacles remained concealed within the confines of my long coat. Impatiently, they wriggled and squirmed, trying to poke their way out through my sleeves and the bottom of my coat. Was it possible my brother had given me the wrong location?

As I stood there, wondering again what I'd gotten myself into, I heard the strangest noise. It was a low and ominous sound, like the drone of a machine, ululating in tone, and coming closer. As it neared, I quickly came to the realisation that the sound was coming from above. The source of the noise emerged through the clouds: an airship. I knew at once that it was the Yellow Tiger Club. No wonder it was able to change its location every night. Its difficulty to find only added to its allure and mystique.

As it descended, I took in the grace of the ship. It was a dirigible, a long blimp lined with enormous propellers that whirred noisily, moving the ship forward. I stepped back to make way for its landing, keeping to the shadows to keep my tentacles hidden. Whoever the ship's pilot was, he had distilled his trade into an art form. The ship touched the ground with barely a bounce, and the deck hands made quick work of tethering it down, scaling the rigging like acrobats and making short work of the task.

When they were finished, a door was opened at the side of the airship, and a ramp was pulled down, presumably to admit customers. I checked my pocket watch—right on the hour my brother had given me.
I hurried over to the doorway, keeping my coat pulled tight to keep my extra appendages from wriggling free. A man stood at the door in a butler's uniform, dark-skinned and quite handsome. He was tall, well-muscled, and broad-shouldered. I had understood that the Tiger Club's staff were unusual, for lack of a better word, but he seemed normal, as far as I could tell. Perhaps the abnormalities were only a requisite of the call boys and not the butlers, or perhaps—
"I can read minds," he said, giving me a start. "Some of our abnormalities are not physical."

"I see," I answered, embarrassed and unsettled to learn that he'd been reading my thoughts. I would need to remember not to think of anything dirty, like what he must look like beneath his butler's uniform. I could tell that he was fit even with the uniform; I could picture his muscular body, chiseled abs, and imagined he was well endowed.

Then I noticed him grinning.

"Shit," I swore. "You really can read minds, can't you?"

He nodded. "This way, please."

I followed the butler into the dirigible, down halls trimmed with gilt, red Persian carpets on the floor, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He offered to take my coat, and I shook my head, preferring to keep my secret for now, not that I could keep it from him for long. Soon enough, we arrived in a large stateroom.

There, the call boys—for there was no question that these man were the brothel's courtesans—alternately lay upon the divans or stood at the bar, their arms around the shoulders of their clients. Some of them were engaged in sexual acts, not even bothering with the privacy of a bedroom. I felt myself getting hard as I watched a man being patted down by the giant my brother had mentioned. He truly was a giant, well over eight feet tall; he wasn't exactly attractive, but there was something deeply intriguing about seeing a man of his size manhandling his much smaller customer. The man groaned as the giant handled his manhood, which seemed tiny in the giant's mitt.
Next to him was the dwarf, who was likewise engaged in an unspeakable act with his client. My tentacles twitched excitedly as I watched the little man bending the man over and slamming his enormous member into his backside.