If It Fornicates (A Market Garden Tale)

by Aleksandr Voinov

  Red Tie exhaled, studied him, and then glanced around the room—not to evade, just to check on witnesses. “How much are we talking?”

  “Five hundred for a couple hours.”

  “And you . . .” The man cleared his throat. “Deliver on that?”

  “Ask anybody. If you want pain, hell, if you want to get fucked until you scream, that’s my profile.” Nick pushed away from the table, knowing his barbs and hooks were embedded in the guy’s bones and nervous system. Humiliation he could deliver. Pain, absolutely. “Best Dom you’ll find in here. And I play rough.”

  Red Tie nodded. “Okay. How much is the whole night?”

  All night? Thank God he’d rested well. He got the sense he’d need it. “Twelve hundred.”

  Red Tie nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Twelve hundred for a night, and he hadn’t even batted an eye. Nick could make a killing off this guy if he played his cards right.

  He waved a hand towards the bar. “They do a discreet background check first. It’s quick, and then I’m all yours.”

  Red Tie glanced at the bar, at Nick again, and then nodded a third time and headed for the bar.

  As his evening’s paycheque took care of the necessary paperwork, Nick finished his watery Coke. Something in his gut tightened as he shifted his attention from finding a client to doing what needed to be done so he could get paid.

  Then I’m all yours.

  How many times had he said that to johns? He’d never given much thought to the choice of words, needing only to convey the message that his client had rented him for the evening and would get his money’s worth. Not that Nick was literally all his.

  The thought made him uncomfortable, but he brushed it away. Just part of adapting to the idea of prostituting when he had a boyfriend. Spencer didn’t have a problem with it. He’d said he didn’t, and he’d looked Nick in the eye when he’d said it and hadn’t given him any reason to think he was lying. This had been part of the deal from the beginning, and Spencer had gone into their relationship knowing that when they weren’t in the bedroom together, Nick’s body was for rent. For other men to rent.

  Nick’s mouth dried as he watched the john filling out the short form at the bar. If this didn’t bother Spencer, why the hell did it bother Nick all of a sudden?

  Stop obsessing over it.

  He shook his head and looked into his empty glass. Idle time meant an idle mind that insisted on overanalysing his situation. Once he and the john were past the point of paperwork, he’d have enough to concentrate on, and he wouldn’t have time to think about anyone or anything outside the hotel room or flat or wherever they ended up. Likely a hotel room. Guys like Red Tie didn’t cough up over a grand for a back alley blowjob or a quick fuck in a backseat. Though guys like him tended to own very large cars, and often employed chauffeurs. If the back of the car was big enough . . .

  He looked up as Red Tie returned, and the toothy grin said the background check had gone swimmingly. They usually did. Though when they didn’t, Nick sure thanked every deity imaginable that they were performed at all.

  “Well,” Red Tie said. “That’s all taken care of. How about you and me get out of here and we see if you’re really worth twelve hundred quid?”

  Nick stepped around the small table. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

  Red Tie did have a huge car with a driver. As Nick climbed in, he checked out the spacious backseat, mentally calculating just how much could be accomplished here. A fair amount, by the looks of it; they could have easily fit two more people back here and still had leg and elbow room.

  Red Tie gave the driver a quick, terse “Home, please,” and then rolled up the opaque privacy screen. Tinted windows blocked out the rest of the world, especially since it was after dark, and the two of them were alone in the car, facing each other on opposite bench seats.

  “How long is the drive?” Nick asked.

  Red Tie shrugged. “Thirty minutes, give or take?”

  “Seems like enough time.”

  The john’s eyes widened. “Enough . . . enough time for what?”

  “Take off your trousers.”

  The man’s eyes got even wider. “What?”

  Nick tilted his head slightly. “I believe I was clear.” Now let’s see if you really are the eagerly submissive type.

  Red Tie glanced at the partition. He swallowed.

  And then he unbuckled his belt.

  Nick sat back against the seat, leather creaking as he crossed one knee over the other and folded his arms across his mostly bare chest. He silently watched the wealthy man undoing his trousers and contorting as he pushed them down; no matter how big the vehicle, it was impossible to remove clothing with any semblance of grace.

  Red Tie paused with his trousers around mid-thigh. “I . . . my shoes, they—”

  “They can stay.” Nick waved a hand. “Everything’s off far enough anyway.”

  “Far enough for . . .?”

  Nick smirked. “Before I get started, I like to see what I have to work with.” He nodded towards the john’s lower body. “Underwear too. Show me everything.”

  Red Tie went red-faced. He started to say something, but then he hooked his thumbs in his waistband and clumsily shimmied out of the white briefs.

  “Jerk yourself off.”

  “What?” Red Tie furrowed his brow. “Aren’t I paying you for—”

  “You’ll get what you paid for. In fact, that’s what you’re getting now. So—” Another nod towards Red Tie’s now naked crotch. “—jerk yourself off.”

  Red Tie swallowed hard. Then he sat back and closed his hand around his hardening dick. It was fairly good-sized. Not the most impressive thing Nick had ever seen, but he could work with it. And if Red Tie was getting that hard that quick, then it was a safe bet that for as flustered and nervous as he was, he was obviously enjoying this.

  As the john started pumping his own dick with his fist, Nick added, “Oh, but you can’t come until we turn onto your street.”

  “What?” The john stared at him. “But, but that’s thirty minutes!”

  “I know.” Nick grinned. “Make it count.”

  For a moment, it looked like Red Tie would protest further, but he then sat back and continued to stroke himself, leisurely, pacing himself for what he assumed would be thirty minutes. Never mind that the Dom got to change the rules when necessary. Or when he damned well felt like it.

  Nick watched the man’s face more than his hand, and the john was looking back at him with something like frustration and defiance, like it was some kind of dare. This one should be interesting—he had issues, had likely not been trained properly, just hiring people to humiliate him, people he owned for the night. Question was, did he have more than that in him, or was that all he would ever experience?

  The john was getting more into it, more aroused, and he broke the eye contact, head falling forward. Nick kept his position of apparent disinterest, although the guy definitely wasn’t hard to look at. In between some of the overfed (usually senior) bankers, it was nice getting one of the sharp ones who pursued a gym routine with the same fervour as a deal.

  “How long have you been into this?”

  “All my life,” the john responded, jaw taut as he wrestled for control.

  “Fantasise about getting punished? Raped? Beaten?”

  “Yeah.” The man’s lips twitched. “Doesn’t really fit with my job . . .” Likely a high achiever who’d pushed and pushed and somehow made it rather than get beaten down by a stronger man, which was what they truly wanted but never got. Just how many men out there compensated to the point that they buried their true selves was anybody’s guess, but the few who did eventually act on it provided Nick with a decent living.

  Nick uncrossed his legs, then re-crossed them, and slouched, deliberately looking as unenthusiastic as possible. Examining his fingernails, running his thumbnail over the edge of the middle one, he said, “I didn’t tell
you to stop.”

  Red Tie jumped. Then his hand, which he probably hadn’t even realised had stopped, started moving again. “This . . . this what you do, then? Charge a man a thousand quid so you can . . . sit back and watch him wank?”

  Nick arched an eyebrow, and started to speak, but then the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he thought of the way Spencer always responded to that look. The immediately downturned eyes, the tension in his neck and shoulders if he thought he’d misstepped, and yet at the same time, a release of breath. Like the reminder of who was in control let him relax.

  Red Tie’s brow furrowed. Maybe from Nick’s extended silence, maybe from the way he was jerking his cock, but Nick wasn’t taking any chances; he was in charge here, he was in control, and damned if he was handing back any of that control until the evening was over.

  He looked at his nails again. “You’re paying me to be in charge. If you question me every step of the way, then . . .” He looked the man in the eye, and when Red Tie dropped his gaze, added, “That’s what I thought.” He paused. “We still have a good twenty minutes. I wouldn’t yank it quite that hard unless you want to be on the verge of losing it the entire time.”

  Red Tie’s lips tightened, and he slowed his hand.

  “I mean,” Nick went on, narrowing his eyes and not suppressing his amusement even the tiniest bit, “it’s your call. Sometimes it’s fun to ride that edge, you know?” He shifted enough to make sure his leather trousers squeaked. “Being hard as hell, wanting to come so bad it hurts.”

  The john bit his lip.

  Nick arched his eyebrow. “But the clock won’t let you, will it?”

  A soft groan, and the man’s free hand shook a little as he reached up to bat away a single bead of sweat.

  “I asked you a question.”

  Red Tie gulped. “I . . .” His cheeks flushed even darker. “What was the . . . question?”

  Nick released a long, emphatically disapproving breath. “You mean you’re not paying attention?”

  Spencer always pays attention.

  The thought startled Nick. Jerked him from his slouched position into a more upright one. The john eyed him, and Nick recovered quickly, sharpening his voice to match his tone: “If you’re not going to pay attention, there will be consequences.”

  The john pressed his lips together. “My apologies,” he said eventually.

  There was no more impersonal way to say I’m sorry, Nick thought. He nodded, prompting.

  “What was the question, please?”

  “Do you think you’ll be allowed to come? I’d weigh that carefully. Your driver will most definitely know if I’ve made you come in the backseat like a teenager with no control.”

  The john swallowed, grip tightening on his dick again. “What happens if I do come? If it’s an accident?”

  Sly bastard. Trying to game the system, and they were only fifteen minutes in.

  “You do not want to find out,” Nick said.

  The john’s eyes flashed—the guy had a rebellious streak the width of the Atlantic, but the good thing was, his tells were easy to read. When he lost control, when he tried to regain it, when he was frustrated; Nick could see right through him. By the time they got down to business in a secure place, Nick would know exactly how to handle him. Twelve hundred said he’d deliver exactly what the man wanted, with his compliance or not. Going a whole night had been a good call. This type should not be rushed.

  “You don’t have a regular Dom?”

  The man scoffed.

  “Answer.”

  “No. No, I don’t.”

  “Why not? Can’t be the cash. A regular could cut you a deal.”

  Red Tie’s hand tightened again, and he gritted his teeth. “I told you it . . . doesn’t fit . . .” He closed his eyes, hand slowing down, but he was getting so turned on now that Nick would have bet money on the john’s focus shifting from humiliation to the pure need to get off. Maybe already contemplating why he hadn’t hired a fifty-quid hooker for a blowjob.

  “How does this fit?”

  “It just does.” The man’s breath was laboured now. “Shit.”

  “So you make do with vanilla sex while trying to fit in sex with a hired hand? That’s pretty sad.”

  “It’s the only fucking thing that works.” The man shifted on his seat, eyes tightly closed. “I can’t believe . . .”

  “How much this turns you on.”

  “Yes.” The john shook his head, made no eye contact. “No whips, just . . . just my mind.”

  “Tell you a secret. Even with the whip, it’s mostly the mind.” Nick paused. “Slow down.”

  “Please.”

  “Patience.”

  The man’s tight lips moved just enough to form what Nick assumed to be “motherfucker.”

  “Would you like to tell your driver to circle the block a few dozen times?” Nick asked. “I’m not the one with my hand around my dick. I can do this all night.”

  Another mouthed profanity, this one almost brought to life by a low groan from the back of Red Tie’s throat. His rhythm faltered. Nick kind of wished at this point he’d had the man roll up his sleeves; nothing quite like watching those muscles and tendons twitching and trembling from a combination of exertion and frustration.

  “How much farther?” Nick asked.

  The john blinked a few times, then looked out the tinted windows, brow furrowed as if he could barely focus. “We’re . . . ten minutes. Max.” Followed by a whispered, “Thank God.”

  “Think you can hold out that long?” Nick taunted. “You look like you’re right on the edge. God, you’re about ready to blow, aren’t you?”

  “Fuck.” Red Tie squirmed, screwing his eyes shut and pumping his cock with rapid, irregular strokes.

  “Tell the driver to drive round the neighbourhood once.”

  Red Tie’s eyes flew open and his jaw dropped. “What?”

  Nick pointed at the privacy screen behind Red Tie.

  “But we’re . . .”

  “Hmm.” Nick stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “On second thought, I like to take in my surroundings. Really savour the details.” He narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I should have you tell him to go round the neighbourhood twice?”

  Red Tie gulped. He fumbled with his free hand for the button, then lowered the screen just half an inch. “Go round the neighbourhood once before we get to the house.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He quickly shut the privacy screen and glared at Nick. “Is that—”

  “Keep stroking.”

  The groan of frustration made Nick grin. Though deep down, he was almost tempted to groan himself. Once in a while, he liked a challenge. Sometimes, he liked submissives who needed to be forced to their knees, and those who warranted a little punishment here and there. But subs—especially johns—like that were exhausting. They just weren’t the same as the ones who, with nothing more than a look, melted to their knees. The ones who didn’t protest every second while an orgasm was delayed, but were instead profoundly and genuinely grateful when that moment of hard-earned release was granted.

  Subs like Red Tie weren’t Spencer.

  No one was like Spencer. And no amount of money could make Nick feel for someone what he felt for Spencer whenever they played.

  God, I need to feel that tonight. I need—

  Focus. Nick barely kept himself from swearing aloud, and he tried to concentrate on his unruly sub-for-the-night. He couldn’t be a Dom while he was distracted. And God, he really was distracted.

  “Stay . . . stay with me over the weekend?” he heard Spencer’s voice in the back of his mind. “I’d really like to spend more time with you. See . . . find out how it all works.”

  Against his better judgment, he glanced at the digital clock above the privacy screen. 10:30. Only twelve hours or so until that weekend began. Until—

  “Oh, God . . .” The john shuddered, biting his lip.

  “Don’t come yet.”
Nick forced an edge into his voice and forced Spencer’s voice out of his mind. “We’re not there yet, are we?”

  “N-no.”

  “Then you’d better not be there yet.” He sat up, leaning towards the john, resting his elbows on his knees. “And you’re not, are you?”

  “N-no. I’m not.”

  “Good.”

  Though he’d enjoy punishing him. Setting a guy like this up for failure was always fun. They hated that, because for many of them, to make the kind of money they did, they’d had to eliminate the word “failure” from their vocabulary. It was fun to put it back in and point a searchlight at it.

  He returned his attention to the man’s face, reading the war between needing to come and choosing to obey. To obey him. For a moment, Nick considered having Red Tie undress more so he could have a better look at his physique, but he quite liked the dishevelled look. The white shirt and the dangling red tie suited him. And those diamond-studded cufflinks and the expensive Swiss watch added to the image. Status symbols. Money and power and need, all on a man falling apart at the seams.

  The car pulled into a driveway and stopped in front of a large house surrounded by a manicured formal garden and a high spike-topped iron fence.

  The john kept going, eyes closed, probably far enough in his own head that he hadn’t noticed. Now, those were promising beginnings.

  “Stop.”

  The john gritted his teeth, but his eyes opened. “What?”

  “Zip up.”

  “I’m . . . so close.”

  “Unless you want to drive around the neighbourhood again.”

  “Fuck.” The john stopped, seemingly having to pry his fingers off his cock. He was unsteady and distracted as he got back into his trousers. Nick wondered why the driver hadn’t opened the door, but then, he might know the game, or at least have instructions.

  Trousers secured (and tenting), the john rapped the privacy screen once. Nick heard the driver’s side door open, followed by sharp footsteps on the pavement. A moment later, their door opened. Nick stepped out first, which lifted the driver’s eyebrow briefly before the man schooled his face again. Nick gave him an up-and-down glance. Short dark hair, athletic build, mid to late twenties, and a clear face that was halfway between attractive and bland.