The Darker Side of Trey Grey by Tara Spears

her hand. Crisis averted for now, but the night was still young, and thankfully the drinks were free.
    “Freddie Fangor,” he said, extending his hand to me.
    “Trey.” I took it, hoping for a shot of excitement or at least the quiver of lust when we touched. But there was nothing except a warm hand against my cool one.
    He, on the other hand, seemed caught in a lascivious web as his face warmed, eyes darkened, and he actually grabbed his lower lip between his teeth.
    “Trey? No last name?” he asked in a gruff tone.    
    I had close to three shots of Stoli in me, and I was beginning to feel the effects. It was probably all alcohol induced fancy, but I still wanted to play with him. And I never wanted to fuck for fun. I was reasonably sure more alcohol would kill off the dejected feeling slithering down my chest so I could do just that without remorse.
    “For now, no,” I replied then added. “I think I’m going to mingle. Molly.” I bent down, brushing my lips along her cheek.
    “Have fun, Trey ,” she said, raising her glass along with her eyebrows. I clinked my glass to hers as I gave her a glare of warning over the fact she now had my name. The corner of her mouth lifted mischievously, but her green eyes told me she understood.
    I dipped my chin at Freddie then sauntered off into the crowd. If he was truly interested he would find me. Hopefully more inebriated and better prepared. If not, well, who needed him. The thought had me sighing completely out of character. I may not need him, but I kinda wanted him. Okay, I definitely wanted him if only to satisfy my youthful fantasies.
    Not fifty feet from the bar, I was caught up by a rainbow-haired pixie of a girl literally panting for me. She was resplendent in a glittered lime collar and short lead. Her gauzy cornflower-blue handkerchief dress floated around her. It goes without saying she was respectful to a fault. The girl was subtly indicating she wanted to dance, her eyes darting towards the dance floor below, then to her sandaled feet, as her body swayed.
    Leaning in, I told her, “A pixie belongs in a cage, not on a collar.”
    She almost convulsed into an orgasm right there. What the fuck, she was cute. I downed the rest of my drink, and set the glass on the closest table.
    “Come.” I took her lead, and led her to the dance floor.
    The next hours blurred into a gluttonous assortment of bodies tugging me one way or another on the dance floor. I shunned the doms that showed interest with a firm glare, and stuck with the more respectful subservients. A few starry-eyed souls brought me drinks and I threw them back aggressively. I never doubted I would be popular, yet this was going beyond, way beyond, into infatuated adoration, and I couldn’t deny I felt a bit dizzy with the power I had over these rich players.
    With a sudden jolt everything was too warm and uncomfortable. I found myself with my tongue shoved into the pixie girl’s throat, a boy massaging my back, and an emo chick rubbing up and down my leg. Jesus, how much shit did I have to drink?
    Disentangling the bodies, I held up my hands and departed in search of someplace quiet. Obviously too drunk to think straight, and unmistakably too drunk to drive, I needed to wind down before I could climb behind kitten’s wheel.
    The world wasn’t tilting yet, but if I walked too fast I couldn’t walk straight. It was an effort to pull myself up the marble steps, and I gave up after two flights. I stumbled down the corridor until I found an unoccupied puffy red chair tucked behind a Grecian style black marble pillar. Sinking in, I laid my head back and took several deep breaths to clear my head.  
    I had to admit I was having a good time. This was college boy fun with a wet splash of my world, and it was a comfortable combination. I would need to think about the redhead’s proposition more thoroughly, when my mind was running on all cylinders again. I giggled. Right now it needed a valve job.
    I