Dirty Dining (NSFW)

Copyright 2013-14 EM Lynley. Please do not share or repost without author’s permission.

Dirty Dining

 from Dreamspinner Press

Jeremy’s a grad student who’s always short of money. When his fellowship gets canceled he’s tempted to take a job at a men’s dining club as a serving boy. The uniforms are skimpy and he’s expected to remove an item of clothing after each course.  He can handle that, but he soon discovers there’s more on the menu here than fine cuisine. How far will he go to pay his tuition, and will money get in the way when he realizes he’s interested in more from one of his gentlemen?

Chapter One

You ever do any modeling?” The guy came up to Jeremy Linden in the gym locker room while Jeremy was drying off after his shower. Jeremy had noticed him checking out a few other men in the weight room and even at the pool while Jeremy was taking a breather from laps.

“I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re offering.” Jeremy had heard these kinds of offers before. Friends had taken the bait, and it never ended well. No way he’d fall for the scam. It was never just “modeling.”

“You could make some easy dough.”

“I don’t need easy dough.” Jeremy opened his locker, but he didn’t want to take the towel off in front of this guy.

“Sure you do. I’ve seen your car. Someone smashed into the side of it and you haven’t fixed it yet.”

“Too busy,” Jeremy lied. Truth was he used the insurance money for bills, but he’d never admit as much to this guy.

“Don’t you want to know what the job is?”

“No.” Jeremy didn’t have time to waste. He grabbed his boxers from the locker, turned away from the guy, and bent down to step into them.

“That’s all you’d have to do. Just take off your clothes and let people look at you.”

“I don’t strip. No thanks. Emphasis on the ‘no.’”

“Three hundred bucks for about two hours’ work, just to take off your clothes. Not stripping. You just remove one piece at a time. Five hundred if you let someone else take your clothes off for you. No other touching or funny business, unless you want. And that would pay extra.”

“Get out of here before I call the front desk.”

The guy held up his hands and backed out of Jeremy’s personal space. “Sure thing. Sorry.” He slid a hand into his jacket, and Jeremy braced for him to pull out some kind of weapon. All he had was a business card. “I’ll leave this, and if you change your mind, call me. The job’s on Friday night.” He put the card on the bench and left.

Jeremy finished dressing quickly before the guy came back or followed someone else in from the gym. He was slinging his backpack over his shoulder when he glanced down at the card. More out of curiosity than anything else, he picked it up.

Thomas Jerrold

The Dinner Club

415-555-1087

He flipped it over, but the back was blank. Just a simple white card with raised black printing. For some reason the simplicity intrigued Jeremy more than anything the guy had said to him, so instead of tossing it, he jammed it into his pocket and headed out. He tossed the pack into the passenger side of his car, then walked around to look at the damage: the whole right side of the car was scraped and dented from someone opening their door as he drove by. He sure would like to get the damage repaired. He could already see a tiny telltale spot of oxidation, and even though the brutal Northern California rainy season was at least a month or so away, the exposed metal under the scraped paint would certainly begin to rust before he could afford to fix it.

Maybe he could get more hours at the tutoring center. He’d ask about it tonight when he went to work.

But the center didn’t have any more students for him. They had plenty of kids who needed math or writing tutors, but he only did biology and chemistry. He met with his one scheduled pupil, then went home to the apartment he shared with Doug, another grad student at Cal.

Jeremy was starting the fifth year of a Ph.D. in molecular biology, with a specialization in immunology. While other students in his department had a free ride thanks to government and NIH grants, Jeremy’s cutting edge research had won him a coveted fellowship from PharmaTek, a Silicon Valley biotech start-up working on an HIV vaccine. Jeremy’s work on VLP—virus-like particles—was potentially revolutionary and would help to bring their product to the testing phase and then to market more quickly than other approaches.

He was proud to be part of such an important project. While the funding covered his fees and a generous research budget, his personal stipend barely covered the basics in the expensive Bay Area. There wasn’t a spare dollar for the unexpected, like a car accident.

Well, he could just ignore the car. As he stared at it before going inside his apartment building, he thought he could see the rust spot growing before his eyes. Maybe he should just sell the damn thing and use his bike to get around. He’d long passed the point where he could ask his family for money. At twenty-seven he was supposed to be self-sufficient. He could try to get a loan from the university, or… he dug his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the little white business card.

Three hundred bucks just to take his clothes off? A couple of hours of being naked didn’t really seem so bad. He was in good shape. He cycled and swam. He’d even done a triathlon before his research ate into his training time. Nothing wrong in just checking out this Dinner Club. He was staring at the card when Doug, his roommate, came through the front door with a pizza.

“Leftovers, want some?”

Doug worked at one of the best pizza places in town, and even their leftovers were better than fresh pizza from almost anywhere else.

“Sure.” For the next thirty minutes, Jeremy forgot about Thomas from the Dinner Club and concentrated on double-crust pizza with chicken, tangy tomato sauce, and marinated artichoke hearts. And they shared a few beers. By then Jeremy had already started working on his reading for class the following day and didn’t have time to google the Dinner Club. He’d research it tomorrow.

Chapter TWO

“Everyone, this is Jeremy.” Thomas introduced him to the other guys who would be working as serving boys at the Dinner Club that night, including one Jeremy recognized from the gym.

“Hi, Jeremy,” they said in chorus.

One slim blond guy with long bangs came up and gave him a not-very-subtle once-over and, before Jeremy could stop him, pulled his shirt out of his jeans far enough to get a good look at Jeremy’s abs. “Very nice.”

“Just chill, Kit.” Another guy shook his head and tugged Kit away. “You’ll scare him off before dinner even starts.”

Jeremy wasn’t thrilled with the grabby hands and hoped his client—whoever it might be—wouldn’t take liberties the way his fellow serving boys did.

“Let me give you tonight’s assignments.” Thomas spoke up to get their attention over the ensuing chatter. Jeremy was glad since he noticed some of it was speculation about him.

“Please let me have Mr. Gray.” Kit sashayed up to Thomas and tried to pull the clipboard out of his hand. The same law-abiding guy pulled him back.

“Sorry, Kit. You’ve got Mr. Yellow.”

“Oh, not so bad. I didn’t know he was coming tonight.” Kit grinned. “Or at least he will be,” he added in a singsong that had the others laughing.

“We’ve one new client, Mr. Green.”

“Let me have him!” It was another guy.

“Sorry, Rand, I think you’re a bit too much for him. I can’t have any of you scaring him off either. I think Jeremy will serve Mr. Green.” Thomas nodded at Jeremy. “He seems a little shy, so maybe you two will be a good match.”

“Okay.” Jeremy wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted or given an easy task. So far no one here seemed shy. But he needed to learn the ropes and figure out precisely what was expected of him as a serving boy.

Thomas gave out the rest of the assignments. Each client had a color-coded name, reminding Jeremy of the Tarantino film Reservoir Dogs. He hoped like hell tonight wouldn’t end up the same way, with everyone dead or wishing they were.

Once Thomas left, one of the guys came up to Jeremy. “I’m Rand. Been here the longest, so I’ll walk you through your duties. And if you’re not sure what to do, just ask me.”

“Okay.”

“First here’s your costume.” Rand handed Jeremy a box. “Open it up.”

Jeremy opened up the flaps and pulled out the flimsy pieces. Some thin filmy fabric, gold cord and not much else. “This is a costume?”

“Yeah. Every dinner has a theme. We’re Greek slave boys tonight. Tonight’s dinner has six courses, and there are six items in each costume. You take one off after you serve each course.”

Jeremy swallowed. Well, Thomas had told him he’d be taking his clothes off. He hadn’t realized quite how this would work, but it seemed easy enough. “That’s it?”

“You let your gentleman choose which piece you remove.”

“Then I take it off, right?”

“Yeah. Or if you let the gentleman do it, you get paid more.”

“Just taking clothes off? No one’s going to put their hands on me or request a lap dance or expect me to suck them off?”

Kit giggled in the background. “Only if you want to, pecan pie. And you may want to.”

Rand shook his head. “You only do what you want. If your guy asks for something, you can say no. You aren’t allowed to offer anything, or we can get in trouble for soliciting sex. There’s a menu—coded of course—and the gentlemen can ‘order’ something extra. You just let yours know which menu items are available.”

“What if I don’t want to do any ‘menu items’?”

“No worries. That’s why Thomas put you with a new guy. The new guys don’t often feel comfortable enough for anything besides the basic dinner service: just serving, sitting with them, cutting their steak, whatever. Some want you to sit on their lap. It’s up to you. Thomas can usually tell what guys are going to want. They all have interviews to join, and he can figure out a lot based on what kind of questions they ask. Mr. Green is a guest of a member, but he’s been advised of the rules.”

“Okay.” Jeremy wondered what Kit and Rand did on a normal night. He didn’t think he’d want to do anything to his “gentleman.” He could get through this one night and then see if he could stomach another dinner.

“Don’t forget to tell him about nightcaps.”

“Right,” Rand continued. “That’s spending the night with the guy. There’s a basic fee for the hotel room upstairs. You get half. And then whatever you decide to do in the room is entirely up to you. Even if you just hold hands. You negotiate activities directly with the gentleman.”

“It’s optional?”

“Yes. My God, you are a nervous Nelly, aren’t you? What do you think is going to happen? The guy’s going to tie you down and rape you in the dining room, then carry you upstairs for round two?”

“Ooh, I hope so!” Kit trilled.

“Knock it off,” another of them said and shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s really easy, and it can be fun if you’re in the right mood. I’m Barry.” The guy held his hand out to Jeremy and they shook.

“Thanks, Barry.”

“Better get dressed.” Rand tapped the box and then headed over to a chair at a mirror across the room.

Jeremy put the box down on the spot in front of his assigned mirror and pulled out the costume. It wasn’t much. He’d probably catch cold in it. But he could use three hundred bucks. It wouldn’t cover the car repairs, but if he did this four or five times, he’d have enough.

He took his street clothes off, acutely aware of the stares of the other guys in the room, and reminded himself the job was letting other guys look at him. He slipped on the sleeveless tunic, a sheer piece of fabric that left his arms completely free. Then he put on the bottom garment, which was nothing more than two thin pieces of white fabric attached to a gold mesh belt. The back panel barely covered his ass while the front left his dick and balls swinging free.

He glanced in the mirror and moved around, realizing with every step or slight brush of air, just about everything was visible. The front barely reached past the end of his cock. He glanced around and realized the other guys were wearing equally revealing costumes, all of a similar theme. They were in slightly different cuts and colors, but all had gold or silver braid and mesh.

The rest of his costume consisted of gladiator sandals, thin leather soles with thick gold braids that wound their way up his ankles and calves, and gold wristbands. He hardly considered wristbands and shoes as items of clothing and realized the goal was to get the serving boys naked as quickly as possible.

“Forgot your headpiece.” Rand came by and settle a ring of gold leaves on his hair. “Do you want some shine or color?”

“Makeup?” Jeremy glanced around to see the other boys with makeup brushes and eyeliner pencils. One guy was painting another guy’s nipples with something glittery.

“It’s optional, but you can decorate yourself a little. It’s mostly food-grade stuff they use for cake decorating. Edible.” He grinned.

“Makes your nipples nice and sweet.” Barry laughed and handed a brush and pot of pink glittery powder to Jeremy.

“Just in case you let someone lick them.” Rand grinned, and Jeremy moved the edge of his tunic so Rand could paint pink sugar on his nipples. The brush tickled and he squirmed at the strange sensation. He watched the others getting ready and realized a couple of them had tubes of lube and butt plugs or dildos.

Kit bent over, and another guy moved close, lubed up a few fingers, and slid one inside of Kit. What the hell? Jeremy stared. Several of the guys were lubing themselves or others up, sliding fingers and toys inside, stretching each other out.

“Wait a minute. Rand? I thought this was serving dinner, not fucking.”

“Their gentlemen like more than dinner service. Some clients want to play with you or feel your ass is ready, even if they don’t intend to fuck you. Marketing.” Rand nodded. “I’ve seen guys slip their hand up someone’s skirt, feel that slippery hole, and go for everything on the menu.” He laughed. “It’s optional. But I don’t recommend you slick up unless you’re interested in more than the basic service.”

“Uh, maybe next time.” At this rate, there wouldn’t be a next time.

“Sure. Just have some fun with it. The guys really just want to be pampered and turned on.”

Jeremy couldn’t help staring. These guys seemed excited about the idea of their colorful gentleman fucking them. And Jeremy found watching them get ready was enough to get his cock a little bit hard. He glanced down and realized his little skirtlike thing lifted up, making his slight arousal completely obvious.

“Looks like someone might be on the menu after all.” Barry winked and turned so he could slide a slim dildo into the guy at the mirror on his other side. “Let me know if you want some prep.”

“No. Not tonight.” Jeremy kept watching, wondering whether he’d ever want some stranger to fuck him. Of course he would. He’d gone home—or not home—with guys he’d hooked up with at clubs. You didn’t need dinner and a movie if the attraction was mutual. Mr. Green might be exactly his type. But fooling around for money? That changed everything, didn’t it?

A dinner gong sounded, and the other boys—as they liked to call themselves—put the finishing touches on their costumes and makeup and lined up to parade out in front of tonight’s gentlemen. Each boy had a colored snap-on armband that would match a ribbon on one gentleman’s lapel. Butterflies fluttered in his gut and soon turned to huge bats flapping their wings when the door opened and he heard the men’s voices, their laughter as the boys walked into the dining room.

Rand had told Jeremy to go last, so he could see how the other boys greeted their gentlemen, and he stood in the doorway observing. Boys’ bodies blocked his view at first, and he was halfway into the room, glimpsing heavyset men with gray temples and jowls, before he spotted the bright green ribbon on his client’s lapel.

Oh dear. Oh fucking fuck, he thought and moved around the perimeter of the room, feeling the breeze under his loincloth as his cock and balls swung free with each step. He felt the sheer fabric flutter around his dick and tried not to be self-conscious as he exposed himself to everyone in the room.

Mr. Green was fucking gorgeous.

Brice Martin hadn’t known quite what to expect when he’d been invited by a colleague to the Dinner Club. He’d heard of the place—mentioned in hushed tones by his wealthier gay friends— and he’d checked the website. But outside of a few vague descriptions and tame photos, it wasn’t clear precisely what went on during the dinner parties. The overly generic name only added to the mystique.

He’d been at Christie, Parker and Lane for six months before anyone but an old friend of his realized he was gay, and then within a week he’d been invited to dinner here by one of the junior partners. He hoped it was a good sign, but he didn’t know quite how to act. He’d watch Watkins and take cues from him, but the idea of paying for sex of any sort wasn’t on his wish list.

They’d come here straight from work, still wearing the suits and ties they’d put on for a meeting with someone from the Securities and Exchange Commission. They’d taken a cab from the office to the posh Pacific Heights Victorian and sipped expertly mixed drinks while they waited for dinner.

Brice didn’t know how to interact with the other diners. They were here for what promised to be a pretty licentious evening, but he didn’t go in for either exhibitionism or voyeurism. Was he supposed to chat with these guys? He had enough to worry about with what Watkins would do or expect. Best to remain quiet and see if anyone spoke to him.

Finally, they were ushered into the dining room. In the center stood a long, wide table. It was made of sturdy wood with a dark green runner and six place settings, three to a side. The dishes, glassware, and silver were of top quality, as elegant as any San Francisco restaurant he’d eaten at. Before each place setting was a wide padded bench rather than a chair, with plenty of room between each bench.

“Sit where you like, gentlemen.” The man at the door greeted them and waved them toward the table.

Watkins took a seat at one end and pointed to the opposite bench. “Sit there. Best view.”

Brice complied, then wished he’d seated himself next to Watkins. With this configuration they could see each other. He didn’t want Watkins observing him, nor did he want to watch Watkins with his own serving boy.

Boy. The word jarred every time Watkins said it. “Of course, they’re all legal. But they’re called boys.”

Brice sipped his dirty martini—extra dirty, just to dilute the booze. He’d been nursing the same one since they’d arrived. He didn’t drink much and definitely wanted to stay in control tonight. Watkins was on his second neat Scotch.

“Welcome to the Dinner Club. I’m Thomas, and I’ll be your host tonight.” Brice recognized the man who had given him a quick, but incisive chat before he was admitted. “Please ask me if you need anything you’re not getting.” He gave a crooked leer of a grin and some of the other men laughed. “We have a few new faces at the table tonight, so I’d like to cover the ground rules before the boys come out.”

The men glanced around the table at each other, and Brice hoped no one spotted he was the newbie. He was uncomfortable enough. There was a palpable tension in the room, the others looking out of the corner of their eyes at each other, as if this was some sort of competition. Thomas opened an ornate carved chest and pulled out a shoebox-sized container. He stood behind Watkins. “Good to have you back, Mr. Orange,” Thomas stated before he pinned a bright orange ribbon to Watkins’ lapel. “Nice to meet your friend, too.”

Thomas came around the table to Brice. “You’ll be Green tonight. Enjoy yourself,” he added as he pinned the ribbon to Brice’s lapel and squeezed his shoulder collegially.

He moved to each man, selecting a ribbon from the box and pinning one on each guest. As he made his way around the table, he continued his explanation.

“Your serving boy will be wearing a ribbon matching your lapel ribbon. You will be served only by your boy. Rule number one is you will refrain from touching him in what we call the bikini zone, unless you have his permission. That means you ask. Not all boys on are on the menu for touching tonight.”

A low murmur of disapproval emanated from the table, but Brice couldn’t tell who had made the sound.

“Rule number two is you will refrain from touching anyone else’s boy at all, unless invited by the boy and his gentleman.”

“Rule number three, no sex in the dining room. And by sex, I mean fucking. No fucking the boys in the dining room. Save that for nightcaps in your rooms if it happens at all.”

Brice sucked in a breath. That was good. He hoped he wasn’t going to be expected to do anything in public with this boy assigned to him.

“So, what can we do to the boys in here?” A man with a Texan drawl asked.

“If it’s on their menu, hands and mouths on the boys only. Gentlemen, keep your dicks in your pants in the dining room. If you can’t wait till dinner’s over, leave the dining room.” He glanced around and seemed to be gauging the men’s moods. “But boy-on-boy, anything goes. With permission from both parties. No means no. No exceptions. My assistants will enforce that, and they’re here to protect the boys. Be respectful of them. We can all have fun without anyone getting hurt.” At Thomas’s final remark, two heavily muscled men in tight black T-shirts and black pants straining over tree-trunk thighs entered the room. They looked like a cross between ninjas and bouncers. One moved to each end of the table and took up a post against the wall.

Thomas looked at the men again. “Now, who’s ready for dinner?”

A loud chorus of whoops and affirmative noises erupted.

Brice glanced at Watkins, who was grinning back at him, nodding, with an odd glint in his eye.

“This, my friend, is going to be fun.”

“Can’t wait.” Brice took a gulp of martini and nearly choked, then turned his attention toward the door.

He felt more than heard or saw a commotion in the hallway, and then Thomas nodded and a gong sounded. The door opened, and the first boy came through, wearing a very short gold-edged toga and a bright blue ribbon tied around one upper arm. Not mine, Brice thought. The boy was blond, smooth, and very good-looking in that go-go boy twink way he saw too much of at some of the local clubs.

The other men let out oohs and aahs and a few disappointed groans as they spotted attractive boys wearing someone else’s color. Each boy made one round of the table before settling next to his gentleman on the wide bench seats. All were model good-looking, and none wore much. What little they had on emphasized smooth, lithe bodies, focusing attention on nipples painted with glitter, visible through the transparent shirts and tiny tunics that left little to the imagination about the size and shape of their cocks.

Despite his initial distaste for the general setup, Brice couldn’t help feeling a little animal thrill at the sight of all these gorgeous bodies on display, even knowing as the night progressed, they’d be reduced to sexual objects, if they weren’t already. So far four boys had entered the room, and Brice still hadn’t seen his.

Then a boy with an orange ribbon flounced into the room, and just behind him Brice glimpsed a flash of bright green. As the orange boy moved out of his line of sight, he saw the one assigned to him for the night: he wore a sheer sleeveless tunic and a tiny gold-edged loincloth, fluttering with each step, enticing Brice to glance under it.

This boy was no boy in reality. He wasn’t quite a smooth as the others, with a sprinkling of pale hair on his chest and the muscular upper body of someone who played sports regularly, not one who sculpted muscles in the gym. As he came around the table, Brice noticed the gold braid laced up around shapely calves and thick thighs, and he forced himself to move his gaze from the barely-there loincloth to the green boy’s face.

“Hi, I’m J—Remy. Call me Remy.”

“Hi, Remy, I’m—”

“Mr. Green,” Thomas said from behind. Apparently the boys weren’t supposed to know the gentlemen’s names.

“Hi, Mr. Green.” Remy sat down next to Brice, close but not so their thighs touched. He turned and smiled. He looked like he was in his twenties, with clear skin, smooth and just-shaven. He had silky hair the color of wheat and even, white teeth. He looked sober and healthy. Brice wasn’t sure what he’d imagined, but it wasn’t this farm-boy look. Was this better or worse?

Both, he decided. He certainly wouldn’t mind touching this guy, but the downside was how much he might want to by the end of the evening.

“Another drink, sir?” Remy motioned toward Brice’s martini glass.

“No thanks.”

“Do you want wine with dinner?” Thomas addressed Brice.

“Just a glass, not a bottle.”

“Come on, Green,” Watkins shouted from across the table, smirking as he emphasized the pseudonym. “Look, it’s on my expense account, so let’s have a bottle of something good.” Watkins leaned down, and before he could grab the wine list, his boy had handed it to him and opened it up. Watkins snaked his arm around the boy and they murmured, cheeks together, as he made his choice of wine. Thomas nodded.

“Boys, the first course is ready!” Thomas announced, and Remy hopped off the bench and lined up to leave the room. He moved gracefully but swiftly, as if he couldn’t wait to leave. Brice wondered if he should have done or said something differently.

A few moments later the boys paraded back in, each holding a plate, again circling the table and most of them doing their best to show off their physiques. Remy came around toward Brice and bowed low, then placed the plate—a salad—in front of him.

Around him Brice noticed the other men, including Watkins, were removing clothing items from their servers. Watkins had pulled his boy’s tunic off so the young man sat shirtless, dark nipples budding in the chilly room.

“What should I remove, Mr. Green?” Remy asked.

“Uh, your armband?”

“Do you w—”

Suddenly it seemed creepy to want to watch this guy peel off his clothes for Brice—even worse to do it for him.

“No, you do it.” Brice watched Remy’s face, saw his eyes flaring as he took in Brice’s choice. The armband had to come off at some point.

Remy couldn’t unsnap the green band on his own, and Brice had to help him. His fingertips brushed against the firm, smooth bicep muscles, and he felt the warmth of Remy’s skin. The jolt of sensation traveling from his fingers into his core surprised him. He took his time at the task and noticed Remy’s eyes flutter as he looked away. How did he manage to look so innocent and naïve?

Remy sat down next to Brice and poured him wine and another glass of water, clearly waiting for Brice to ask him to perform a task. The other men seemed to enjoy having their serving boys feed them or sit on their laps, the gentlemen stroking a thigh or pinching a nipple in between bites of salad. One man had removed his boy’s shorts and was stroking the boy’s firm cock while being fed. Brice wondered what would be left for later if the guy started off there.

Across from him, Watkins’ boy sat on his lap, with Watkins’ hand under the filmy cloth. It was hardly subtle, but somehow preferable to what the other guy was doing.

Jeremy wasn’t at all sure what to expect from Mr. Green. He was good-looking in a polished, Richard Gere way, a few strands of silver sprinkled at his temples. It looked good on him. He was somewhere in his thirties, no older, despite the gray strands. His eyes were the color of chestnuts and opened wide as Green looked at Jeremy.

At first, he glanced at Jeremy’s body, but then he seemed to make a special effort to focus on Jeremy’s eyes. Maybe he was embarrassed to ogle him, which made a nice change from the way some of the other gentlemen leered at him, clearly wanting to touch what they weren’t supposed to. Jeremy glanced at the two guards and felt marginally safer.

The salad course was awkward. Jeremy wasn’t sure if Green wanted to be fed. Jeremy reached for the fork in his hand, but Green jerked his hand away and fed himself. With nothing to do, Jeremy watched the other boys feeding their gentlemen, being fed by them, or sitting in laps and playing with the gentleman’s buttons or collars. And they were all chatting. Mr. Green kept stuffing salad in his mouth, leaving Jeremy no opportunity for discussion.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Jeremy asked, hoping Green didn’t hear the tremor in his voice.

“Uh, no.” Green didn’t look at him. He leaned forward and his leg pressed against Jeremy’s, firm and warm.

“I don’t bite, you know.”

“Unless I want you to?” Green actually smiled this time.

He had a beautiful smile. Even, white teeth like a model in a toothpaste ad. There was a tiny dimple in his right cheek, and his eyes crinkled up a little now he was actually smiling.

“Do you want me to bite you?” Jeremy tried to put a touch of sex in his voice as he asked. He sucked at flirting. He was more of a buy a guy a drink and leave, without much talking. But Mr. Green was a challenge Jeremy suddenly wanted to overcome.

“I suppose it depends where.” Green put the fork down and turned more toward Jeremy.

Jeremy licked his lips. “Hmmm. Maybe I’d start with your… earlobe?” He reached up and caressed Green’s ear before tugging the lobe. Jeremy seemed to have no control over his hand and just watched, as fascinated as Green.

“That’s a fine place, to start.” He turned a much warmer gaze on Jeremy, making Jeremy’s pulse race.

Now he really wanted to touch this man, to be touched by him. It would feel good. It would be fun.

“More salad, sir?” Jeremy picked up a piece of cucumber and brought it to Green’s mouth, letting his fingers brush Green’s lower lip. His skin tingled from the touch. He breathed in Green’s scent, and a wave of arousal washed over him. The tiny loincloth lifted a little, and Green noticed, glancing down. He seemed surprised; then a little smile told Jeremy he liked having that effect.

“Would you like some wine?” Green asked. He let his hand linger on Jeremy’s as he passed him the cup and Jeremy took a sip. Green’s hand stayed on his the entire time, burning into his skin. Jeremy’s breath quickened, and the loincloth fluttered.

Green’s fingers wrapped around Jeremy’s wrist, loosely at first and then more firmly. He licked his lips and felt himself getting hard enough for the damn loincloth to flap like a flag in a hurricane.

A gong announced the end of the course.

Jeremy stood, Green’s hand still on his wrist, as if he didn’t want to break their sudden powerful connection. Then Jeremy reached for the plate, and Green let go.

Back in the hall between the kitchen and the dining room, Kit and Rand came up to Jeremy.

“Looks like you’re having some fun.” Kit lifted the loincloth and examined Jeremy’s half-mast cock.

“I’m so glad,” Rand said. “I could see it was a little awkward at first. But by the end of the next course, you two should be more relaxed.”

They were. Even more after the third, where Jeremy was wearing just the gold leaf thing in his hair, the tunic, and loincloth. He sat pressed up against Mr. Green, and they fed pieces of some beef dish to each other. The banter continued as Jeremy found himself ever more turned on not only by polite but sexy Green but by the whole scene.

By now some of the boys wore only shoes. One had a shirt but no loincloth. Jeremy wore the most of the whole group. Green was still wearing his jacket. At least Jeremy had loosened his tie.

“Would you like me to help you with your jacket?” Jeremy asked in a low whisper against Green’s ear. He fought the urge to take that bite he’d mentioned during the salad.

“Help me?”

“Why don’t you take your jacket off?”

Green looked around as if seeking permission, and Jeremy found himself making the decision for him. He slid the jacket off Green—who pulled away at first when Jeremy took hold of it—and hung it up on the conveniently provided racks near the wall. It would have been fine, but when Jeremy stood up, his state of arousal was obvious to everyone in the room. He might as well not even be wearing the tiny squares of sheer fabric. His cock jutted out, balls bouncing slightly with each step, reminding him that everything was pretty much on full display already.

“Go on, Green, give the boy a hand,” one of the men shouted. A few others offered suggestions.

Jeremy’s face heated up, and Green wouldn’t look at him until the course was over.

At the fifth course, dessert, Green had to choose the tunic or the loincloth. He went for the top.

“Would you mind helping me?” Jeremy wanted Green’s hands on him in the worst way. In any way. He was beginning to wonder if the man was even gay. He had a nice bulge in his pants, but he hadn’t yet done anything overtly sexual.

Green’s hands skimmed up Jeremy’s sides as he pulled the shirt off. Jeremy arched his back as the tunic fluttered from his fingertips. Now Green stared at sparkly pink nipples and Jeremy’s sculpted torso. A few of the men applauded; they’d probably been waiting to get the last boy—Jeremy—out of his kit.

“Would you like me to sit on your lap, sir?”

Green just nodded, and Jeremy perched himself on one thigh. An arm circled his waist, and he pressed closer to Mr. Green. He could feel firm, warm flesh just the other side of the cotton button-down shirt.

Around them, the other men had their hands on boys’ cocks or asses, and half the gentlemen’s shirts were unbuttoned, boys playing with their nipples. Why didn’t Mr. Green want to play with him? Clearly there were very few rules and even fewer inhibitions here.

Throwing caution to the wind, Jeremy opened the top two buttons of Green’s shirt. The guy almost stood up and dropped him on the floor. Jeremy got to his feet, leaving his nipples at approximately eye level for Green, and his gaze lingered there.

“It’s cake decorating sugar,” Jeremy said. “One of the other guys did it for me. Too much?”

“They’re… pretty.”

The way Mr. Green’s lips formed a circle when he voiced the p got Jeremy’s loincloth fluttering. God, did Jeremy want that man’s hands and mouth all over him.

The moment of truth came during after-dinner drinks, course number six. All eyes were on them as Mr. Green moved to unfasten the thin gold cord on Jeremy’s loincloth. His fingers trembled against Jeremy’s flesh, heating Jeremy from head to toe.

“Kind of like Christmas,” Green said as he fumbled with the knot.

“Except you’ve already seen what’s inside.”

A shy, genuine smile flashed across Green’s face, lighting up his eyes, and he laughed.

“Is it what you wanted?” Why had he asked that? God, he was being such a slut tonight.

Green stared at Jeremy’s cock, then met his gaze. “It’s just about perfect.”

Just then, Rand grabbed Jeremy’s hand and pulled him a few steps from Green.

“Go on, give everyone a good look.” Then speaking to the others, he asked, “Isn’t that a nice view?”

So Jeremy stood there while fourteen people stared at his hard-on.

Well, Thomas had said the job was to take his clothes off and let people look at him. Six gentlemen, five boys, two guards, and Thomas, who hovered at the doorway to the inner hall.

Jeremy wouldn’t have described himself as particularly big, but he’d never gotten teased or laughed at in the locker room, and he had gotten plenty of compliments from previous lovers. But until today, he’d never gotten a round of applause.

He expected it to wither and embarrass him, but here, in this place, it only got him harder. Deep down, that reaction shamed him, but his body put his brain on hold.

He turned back to Green and straddled one leg, the way Kit had advised him. Now his cock pointed right up at Mr. Green’s face. They both looked down at it. Jeremy desperately wanted Green to take hold and not let go. So far several of the boys had already gotten hand jobs or blowjobs from their gentlemen.

But Jeremy had told Thomas he wasn’t interested in doing anything tonight. He couldn’t ask Green, because that would be solicitation. And though Green looked at Jeremy’s cock, glistening with drops of precome, with true longing, Jeremy knew he wouldn’t ask.

So, the seven-or-maybe-eight-inch gorilla stood between them. Jeremy pressed himself against Green’s firm abs, and Green pulled Jeremy closer with an arm around his waist.

It wasn’t enough for either of them, but they stayed like that, sharing a glass of cognac that served to speed up the sensations zinging around inside, while they listened to moans and heavy breathing around them.

Jeremy just had to break the silence.

“So, how about those Giants?”

Green laughed, and it sent shock waves up Jeremy’s cock and made his balls ache even more fiercely.

Then the gong sounded.

Dinner was over.

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