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„I like paying for it“, George said, trailing a finger down young Beau’s chest. “I like how it makes me feel I own and control you. I want you to say no, and then to change your mind because I just offer you a fuck-ton of money that suddenly makes you say ‘I want you to do that to me, please’.”
The youth swallowed, his pale cheeks blushing beautifully. Behind them, the electronic music boomed through the grimy loo door. A drunk patron staggered in, and the beat swelled momentarily.
“Pardon”, he burped. George and Beau ignored him.
“Doesn’t sound very consensual!”
George shrugged his frighteningly big shoulders. “Depends. I’m not going to ignore a ‘no’.”
“But you’ll be putting me under duress.”
George’s mouth seemed pretty ordinary when closed, but when he grinned, he turned into a downright Cheshire cat.
“Is that a no to a thousand pounds?”
Beau’s eyes widened. “For how long?”
“For the night.”
Beau bit his lower lip. The patron stumbled out again, and two new ones stumbled in.
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“Only as far as you’ll allow.”
“Permanently?”
“Will you allow that?”
“No!”
“I won’t do that, then.”
“Even if I did, allow it, I mean, it’s still illegal. You’d go to jail.”
George gifted him a rumbling laugh. “Kid, do you really think a man that can spend enough money on a twink to turn him into a real prostitute goes to jail? I have lawyers who’ll make you believe your parents were African American immigrants.”
“I’m Irish.”
George ran his meaty fingers with their perfectly manicured nails through Beau’s shock of unruly, red hair, chuckling.
“I know that. You’re from County Claire. And you’re not actually seventeen, you’re twenty-one, and you’re not an innocent maiden, you’ve fucked for money before.”
“I’m seventeen, and I haven’t!”
George smiled.
“Three-thousand”, he said.
Beau’s smooth forehead wrinkled.
“We use protection.”
“I do not use condoms, boy. But I have a full medical record of health, as per yesterday. You may peruse it at your own leisure.”
“What if it’s fake?”
“It isn’t fake.”
“I never bareback!”
“Another lie. But alright, 3500.”
“5000! For one night. And you take me to dinner first.”
“At the fanciest restaurant you can find.” George deadpanned. He gestured towards the pocket of Beau’s too tight jeans. “Go ahead, do some research. I’ll even buy you an outfit for it.”
Beau’s slim hand fingered out his phone, his eyes lighting up with the screen.
“I want an Armani suit.”
“You can have an Armani suit”, George conceded. “But for an Armani suit I will fuck you in the changing room and plug you up till we’re ready to play after dinner.”
“Gross!”
“That’s not a ‘no’.”
“And shoes, and a watch.”
“My conditions remain the same.”
“Alright, then. I wanna go to the Sketch.”
George looked at his Omega Speedmaster and smiled.
“Do you like French Cuisine? Otherwise I’d suggest The Core.”
“Sketch”, Beau said with very clear pronunciation, elongating the ‘ch’.
George shrugged. “Be my guest.”
Beau had expected to be sore after the shopping, but George prepped him so well and fucked him so languidly that he came untouched and only realised he’d been plugged when he sat down in the Taxi. He stared at George slack-mouthed.
The older man adjusted Beau’s tie and smirked.
Beau shifted in the seat.
“Uncomfortable?”
“No.”
The Sketch was lovely, really. There were so many rooms, and so many colours - it looked like a fairytale. George had asked Beau where he wanted to be seated, and Beau had just waves his hand at him. “You decide”. In truth, he had been completely overwhelmed.
They ended up in the Glade, where the ceiling, the floor, the bar and even the chairs were crafted like an impressionist painting of a forest.
The waiters were eerily attentive, yet completely ignored their private conversations, which, between cute tiny appetisers and an extravagant type of soup consisted of highly explicit and very inappropriate dialogue.
“I want to use a drill to make holes in the floor of the hotel room and then use the same machine to device bondage the shit out of you. I want to use my pliers on your nipples and balls and-“
“You can’t drill holes in hotel floors,” Beau interrupted.
George roared with laughter. “ That’s what you’re objecting to? Let that be my problem.”
Beau looked around, ears hot, face hot.
“Keep it down,” he hissed. He looked around, but everyone was minding their own business.
“6000”, he said.
George nodded solemnly. “So your ankles are bolted to the floor and your elbows are too, and your wrists, and there’s a bar with a rack holding up your hips, and your cute head is connected to that via rope.”
“Sounds painful.”
“It’ll not be painful. It’ll be immovable. ”
“You’re a perv.”
“Rich bastard.”
“Whatever.”
Their water brought the main course. That shortly interrupted their conversation.
Beau cut into the steak. It was the most tender meat he had ever tasted.
“As I’ve been saying, I want to use my pliers on your nipples and balls”, George said after the waiter had cleared the table.
“Ouch! No!”
“A thousand pounds extra.”
“My balls are worth more than that!”
“How much are your balls worth?”
Two hours later, unable to move an inch, with a dildo up his ass, a cock down his throat, and a starter cable attached to his nips (thankfully without the battery), Beau was questioning his life choices. Then again, the dildo was actually a vibrator, and his prostate was being stimulated. And George was actually pretty small-sized and comfortable to blow, and he was also clean.
Beau swallowed around the thrashing cock.
And his life choices now included a car. So what if George later wanted to shove an aluminium lever up his arse, or use a tiny screwdriver as a sound? His life choices would then probably include a semi-detached house, and that was not at all bad at twenty-one.