Carlos had heard about the new leather club for weeks–apparently it was full of bottoms desperate for masters to fuck them, which would be a nice change from the usual situation. It seemed like every bar these days was just full of wanna-be tops, and not nearly enough bottoms to go around. It would be nice to go to a place and have a bunch of desperate bitches begging for his meat. He got dressed up in his nicest leathers and headed to the bar, but the bouncer stopped him before he could enter.

“Top or bottom?” the man asked.

“Top.”

“Sorry, we’re all full up–gotta get here early man.”

Carlos could see past the man that the bar had plenty of room–and was definitely full of energy. Damn, there were plenty of boys there he’d love to fuck, but the club’s secret to it’s sexy ratio was obvious–they kept out most of the tops who came by.

“Well, what if I said bottom instead?” Carlos asked with a grin.

“Suit yourself,” the bouncer said, “If that’s what you want…” and stepped to the side, and stamped Carlos hand as he passed by.

As soon as Carlos was in, he scanned the room, looking for some hot master who might want to ream his hole–wait, what? He shook his head and looked down at the stamp on his hand–“Bottom” was all it said, and he realized he might have made a mistake. He turned to get out of there, but was stopped by the hunkiest muscle bear he’d ever seen, and he sighed as the man slipped the chain around his neck, and dragged him into the back room for a good long fuck.