Inside the elevator, Tyler pressed the button for the top floor and sucked harder at the mint in his mouth. He moved to the corner and stared into the camera as instructed, and when the doors closed and the elevator began to move, he let his gaze drop and leaned against the glossy back wall. When he caught himself snapping an imaginary band on his wrist, he quickly pushed his hands into his pockets. His heart pounded with anticipation but he kept his face blank. He’d learned early on in life the advantage in hiding the way he felt. It kept him safer and was often less painful.
The doors slid open onto the penthouse apartment’s private vestibule and Tyler stepped out. On his left was a large bronze sculpture of naked men tangled like a ball of snakes. On a plinth to his right sat a piece of kinetic art, a delicately balanced structure of curling metal designed to turn on a breath. The urge to huff, puff and blow it over flared in his chest every time he saw it, but the minor detail of another camera tracking him provided enough of a deterrent. He hadn’t been instructed to look into this camera so he didn’t. He hated the fucking things. He lived in dread of that section of his past catching up with him, and now he’d added this into the mix, it seemed inevitable that at some point down the line he’d have a lot of explaining to do.
After the elevator doors whispered closed, double doors opened ahead to reveal Mex, a sharply dressed East-European in his mid-thirties, not as tall as Tyler but with twice his muscle and even more attitude.
Mex scowled. “You’re late, you little shit. You should have been here thirty minutes ago.”
Tyler offered no apology. Some selfish wanker had thrown themselves under a train and the whole of the Circle line had shut down.
“Take your clothes off and join the others. And get a fucking move on.”
Tyler grabbed the guy’s crotch and squeezed hard. Mex sucked in a breath.
“Next time, ask me nicely.” Tyler let him go.
Mex lifted his fist. “You fucking—”
Tyler shifted his gaze from Mex to Prescott. Where Mex was dark and stocky, and no amount of smart gear would make him more than the thug he was, Prescott had sophistication written all over him with his short silver hair, crisp white shirt and sharply creased grey trousers. But danger came in many guises and Tyler knew which man posed the greatest threat.
“I began to think you weren’t coming,” Prescott said in his cultured, old-fashioned BBC voice. “I would have been very disappointed.”
And pissed off. The warning was unmistakable.
“Sorry,” Tyler muttered. “Problem on the Tube.”
Mex let his hand drop but not his glare. Tyler swallowed the remains of the mint and headed to the room where he’d leave his clothes, along with his inhibitions, regrets, guilt and whatever other baggage he could manage to offload for a few hours, though he’d be picking plenty up.
The room was empty except for neat and not so neat piles of belongings. Tyler chose an empty space by the window and tossed his jacket onto the carpet. As he unfastened his shirt, he looked out into the night sky. The glittering towers of Canary Wharf surrounded the building he was in. He guessed many of the paying guests here tonight could see their offices through the windows. Bankers, lawyers, highflying executives but there’d be no window cleaners, baristas or plumbers.
Tyler toed off his shoes and bent to remove his socks. He shucked off jeans and boxers together, let his shirt fall from his shoulders and kicked everything into an untidy heap. His cock was already semi-hard, hanging thick and long over his tightening balls.
I’m a slut.
Do I care?
Not enough to walk out.
Instead, he walked toward the music. Soft blues emanated from a split level room filled with expensive furniture; brown leather couches, plush rugs, more original pieces of art and seven naked guys, most of whom were drinking beer or wine. They were all young, in their early twenties, with toned bodies and sculptured abs. No saggy bellies or small dicks allowed. A couple of them had cocks that were big enough to make him gulp. Had made him gulp.
He recognized four of the guys. One waved him over, but Tyler made for the end of the elevated section in front of floor-to-ceiling glass. He planted his backside on the wide window ledge and leaned against the wall, one leg outstretched against the glass, the other knee bent.
He’d love to live in a place like this, but it was so far out of his reach it might as well have been a distant star. He was twenty-one years old and had already amassed twenty-five thousand pounds worth of debt. A few months ago it had been a lot more than that. The bad news was that at the end of this academic year, he’d owe around thirty-eight thousand, unless he took steps to make sure that didn’t happen. Which was why he was here. He glanced at the others, laughing and fooling around, and then stared out of the window. They were doing this for the same reason as him—money.
Tyler swallowed. He could have taken the easy way out and not gone to university, found a job flipping burgers or baggage handling at Heathrow, but he wanted more than that. And if this was what he had to do to achieve his goals, then so be it. It wasn’t like it was any real hardship, not compared to the film work where he’d had to spend hours not coming. Like most boys, he’d spent his teenage years wanking off night and morning, but unlike most he’d had his first full on sexual encounter when he was twelve—not the birthday present he’d expected. A shiver rippled down his spine.
“Want a drink?”
He looked up into the smiling face of one of the guys he didn’t know who held out a bottle of beer.
“You’re Tyler, right?”
“How old are you?” he asked.
“How old are you?” Tyler retorted.
Not Tyler’s problem but Jeremy didn’t look anywhere near old enough. Still, none of them looked their age. Prescott chose them for that reason. Tyler wasn’t comfortable knowing the men who paid only wanted barely legal asses, but he needed the money too much to walk away.
“I’m twenty-four,” Jeremy said.
Tyler raised his eyebrows. Three years older than me? Really? Jeremy’s gaze shifted to one side. Lying. But then weren’t they all in some way or another?
“What about you?” He perched on the window ledge and sipped the beer.
“Old enough,” Tyler muttered.
“What do you do?” Jeremy asked.
Tyler sighed. Didn’t he get that he didn’t want to talk? “I suck cocks, lick arses and get my cock sucked and my arse licked. I get fucked, sometimes I do the fucking but not often. I shower, put my clothes on and go home. You want more detail than that?”
Jeremy’s eyes widened. “I meant what do you do for a living?”
“I know what you meant. Go away.”
Jeremy frowned and his blond hair flopped in front of his eyes. “You do this for a living?”
“I’m a bloody student,” Tyler blurted. “Go the fuck away.”
He let out a groan of disbelief. “Music. Now will you fuck off?” He immediately regretted even saying that much.
“Cool. What do you play?”
“Jesus! Are you—?”
Tyler spotted Prescott heading in their direction, something feathery in his arms, and he pressed his lips together.
Jeremy jumped to his feet, a smile on his face. “Hi Prescott.”
“You two look very…hot together.” Prescott shifted his gaze from one to the other. Except he wasn’t looking at their faces. Jeremy’s cock stretched toward his navel, the uncut head dark red with blood. Tyler’s was making the same journey. Treacherous bastard.
“You two can do the floorshow. Tyler, I want you on your knees in front of Jeremy. Suck him off. Wear these. You can start now. The guests are on their way up. And Jeremy? Afterwards, you’re mine for the night.”
“Cool.” Jeremy flashed Prescott a brilliant smile.
Prescott held out a pair of black feathered wings to Tyler and white ones to Jeremy. Tyler rolled to his feet and took them. He slotted his hands through circles of silky elastic material and pulled the wings over his shoulders. They hung down his back as far as his knees. The feathers tickled his backside and his cock twitched. For fuck’s sake!
“Goodness me, you two really do look hot,” Prescott said, the bulge in his trousers proof he wasn’t lying. “I’d keep you both tonight, but that would make me very unpopular, particularly with Gerald.” He winked at Tyler.
Tyler managed not to shudder, but his skin broke out in goose bumps. He didn’t like Gerald. The guy had more than a few screws loose.
Prescott helped Jeremy pull his straps tight and then trailed his fingers down the centre of a hairless chest between softly rounded pecs. Jeremy’s intake of breath was audible.
“Do try not to break his wings, Tyler,” Prescott said. “I’m looking forward to doing that later.”
By the time Tyler reached the circular white rug in the middle of the couches, he was fully hard. He didn’t want to like the wings, but he did. A bad angel? Prescott had that right. Tyler didn’t want to like the idea of sucking Jeremy off in a room full of strangers, but he sort of did. Jeremy wasn’t his type, too young and innocent and too fucking happy, but Tyler didn’t much care. In any case, did he have a type? Didn’t he fuck any willing guy with a pulse if they paid him enough? Wasn’t that the point?
“What do I have to do?” Jeremy whispered.
Tyler almost laughed. “Just stand there and enjoy it.”
He bent and brushed his lips over Jeremy’s shoulder, then lifted his arm and kissed his way down to his fingers. One lick of Jeremy’s palm and the guy whimpered. Oh Christ, they’re going to eat you alive. At that moment, if he’d been able to do anything to get Jeremy out of there, he’d have done it, but no amount of warning would persuade him to leave and if Prescott found out, he’d be the one shoved through the door.
Tyler was aware of clothed men coming into the room, the chink of glasses, the sound of chattering. They took seats on the couches, and those like him and Jeremy settled between the newcomers, or nestled at their feet, or sat on their dicks, but Tyler paid them no attention. He skimmed his fingers down the middle of Jeremy’s chest, his thumb brushing over his navel a couple of times until he reached the thick wreath of blond curls below. He was surprised Prescott hadn’t told him to shave. All the others had, including him, though when he thought about it, not shaving marked Jeremy as new meat and would encourage guys to come back next week when they discovered Prescott had reserved him tonight.
Jeremy kept his hands at his sides, his fingers clenched, breathing heavily. Oh shit. Tyler didn’t want to feel protective, he didn’t want to feel anything, but he did.
“Relax,” Tyler whispered. “This is fun, remember? Have you never done this before?”
“No,” Jeremy whispered back.
Tyler meant had he never had a blowjob in front of strangers before, but he had a sneaky suspicion this might be the guy’s first blowjob—period. Fuck.
“Tyler,” Prescott snapped.
Yeah, right, get on with it.
He twisted his fingers in Jeremy’s wiry pubic hair and tugged. Jeremy let out a little gasp at the pain.
“Oh God,” he moaned.
“He’s not going to help you now,” Tyler said. “You’re going to fall, just like me.”
He stared into Jeremy’s eyes, wrapped his hand around the base of the guy’s cock and stroked upward, gently squeezing the swollen crest before he slid his hand down. Pre-come trickled onto his fingers and Tyler lifted his hand to his mouth, pulled Jeremy’s head to his and they licked it up together, their tongues tangling. Jeremy groaned and slid his hands over Tyler’s hips.
As they kissed, Tyler fisted Jeremy’s cock, making sure the avid audience could see exactly what he was doing.
Within moments, Jeremy jerked away. “Oh shit, too much. Please.”
You have to last longer than that.
Tyler tightened his hold at the base and pressed down using enough weight to dampen Jeremy’s urge to come. Prescott didn’t like dicks that spurted the second they were touched. Maybe he should make Jeremy come fast and then Prescott would let him go. Yeah, right. Knowing the prick, he likely had some guest who loved those who prematurely ejaculated.
He dropped to his knees, careful to let the wings splay out behind him. As he maintained his firm hold on Jeremy’s dick, he sucked on his balls one after the other, lapping at the soft skin wrinkling under his tongue, laving in long, slow strokes while Jeremy trembled and panted, his knees shaking against Tyler’s shoulders, his fingers threaded in Tyler’s hair.
“Oh fuck, fuck.” Jeremy’s breathing came in staccato gasps.
Tyler pulled on the sensitive ball sac until Jeremy wailed. He could have made him last longer, used some tricks on him, slowly milked his come until he pleaded for release but Prescott coughed twice and Tyler accepted the instruction. Get on with it.
Wrapping his lips around the silky crown, he rubbed the top with the flat of his tongue, round and round, over and over. He teased and sucked and nipped, his mouth watering as the salty taste of pre-come burst like space dust on his tongue. Jeremy shook like a leaf about to fall from the tree.
“Fuck his mouth, Jeremy,” Prescott said. “Shove your cock into his throat. Make him take all of it.”
Jeremy tightened his hold on Tyler’s head, pressed his fingers into his skull and bucked his hips to drive into him. His eyes were glazed with lust. Jeremy wasn’t too big for him to take his whole cock, and Tyler slid his hands to Jeremy’s backside and let him dictate the pace.
“Fuck, fuck,” Jeremy panted. “Oh God, God.”
Tyler needed to breathe but Jeremy was close, his dick hitting the back of his mouth, pre-come and saliva dribbling down his chin. Jeremy’s cock swelled, jerked and a spurt of come jetted straight down his throat. Tyler was surprised when Jeremy pulled out before he’d finished coming. He sucked in a breath as a shot of gloopy fluid hit his lips, then his cheek. He knelt there, panting, come sliding down his face and Jeremy stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open. Then he smiled, the excitement and wonder genuine, and Tyler felt a tug that he’d not felt in a long while.
Nothing about that had been pretence which meant Jeremy was fucked in more ways than one.
As Jeremy reached for him, a naked Prescott hauled him away and Tyler was left kneeling in the middle of the rug, aware he was being eyed by a pack of slavering wolves. He didn’t look anyone in the face. The last thing he wanted to do was allow one of these men to think he was actually interested in him. That was the whole point of doing this, letting himself be used in this way. It was just fucking, nothing else. They were paying for his body but not his mind. Tyler didn’t need to get anything out of it other than a brief feeling of sexual pleasure and a wad of cash in his wallet.
He grunted as someone pushed him hard in the middle of the back so he fell to all fours. A glance over his shoulder told him it was Gerald, a banker in his forties who was too rough. The jerk always told him how much money he’d made that week, about his enormous cock—it wasn’t that big—how important he was and how insignificant Tyler was. He liked to go into great detail about exactly what he wanted to do to him.
Gerald was hard, cruel and crude. He had leathery reptilian skin from too much time playing golf in Spain where he had an enormous villa and a huge pool and three servants, and Tyler hated the way the guy wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed as he fucked him. Forget the crap about intensifying the orgasm, Gerald was a sadist. The only reason Tyler felt safe was because he was in a room with people watching and Gerald did like an audience. Tyler groaned as Gerald yanked his arse cheeks apart and spat against his hole.
“I’m on fucking fire,” Gerald said with a growl. “I almost came watching you get your arrogant mouth fucked. Not going to choke on that cock, but you might on mine.”
The man was delusional, but Tyler made sure the laugh bubbling inside him didn’t escape.
“I like the wings. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you look so fucking sexy. I can’t make up my mind whether to stuff your mouth first or your arse.”
He reached round to pinch Tyler’s nipples, play that Tyler didn’t mind, but with Gerald it felt as if he were trying to rip the things off. His gasp of pain made Gerald laugh. “I’ll have your arse first. You’re a fucking whore for cock, aren’t you? Tell me you want my cock stuffed in your arse.”
Fuck off and die. Tyler didn’t see why he had to talk as well.
Gerald pressed his mouth against the crease of his backside, a hot tongue licked across his hole and he shuddered. When another guy pushed his dick against his lips, Tyler opened his mouth automatically. This was all he was, a fucking machine, a fucking machine. Fingers replaced the lips on his asshole, then a sheathed and lubed cock replaced the fingers and Wanker Banker Gerald shoved inside him so hard Tyler almost choked on the cock forced into his mouth.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, another settled around his neck and he heard one of his wings snap. Black feathers fluttered past his face. The pair drove into him at the same time, crushing him between them, and he felt a brief smattering of pleasure, a warm tingling sensation in his gut, but it faded fast because guilt and shame were stronger. He wasn’t sure it was even pleasure he felt, more his body’s involuntary reaction to sexual stimulation. After all, he could wank himself off no matter what mood he was in.
I hate this. I hate myself for doing this.
Stop fucking thinking.
Neither man lasted long which was a relief.
Others took over. Which wasn’t.
Tyler set his mind in neutral and put a halt to everything but breathing. He didn’t care what they did so long as they used a condom. Well, he did care but he was being well paid not to, and if he told himself often enough that he didn’t give a shit what they did, then he wouldn’t.
Yeah, right. Like that’s working.
When they left him lying broken on the floor, his body bruised and aching, his arse sore, his wings in tatters, for the first time that evening, when no one was watching, he allowed himself a moment of self-pity. Maybe this was all he deserved, to be used and discarded like the piece of trash he was. He’d never be loved. He didn’t deserve that either.
They weren’t permitted to wash or leave before those who’d paid to use them had gone. As usual, Gerald tried to persuade Tyler to leave with him, and as usual Tyler refused, which never went down well. He referred the sour-faced banker to Prescott and hoped Prescott continued to say no. Tyler lay on the window ledge, his wings crumpled beneath him, his eyes closed, his neck aching from Gerald’s grip, his exhausted cock limp.
“You asleep?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes.” Tyler didn’t open his eyes.
“Want to go and get breakfast?”
“I could cook. I’ve got bacon and eggs.”
Tyler opened his eyes. Jeremy sat on the floor, legs outstretched, his wings just as broken as Tyler’s, smears of dried come on his legs and belly, fingerprint bruises on his hips, the light in his eyes a little dimmer, and Tyler’s heart clenched. Got to be cruel to be kind. How many times had that been hammered into him as a kid? It’s for your own good. Smack. You’ll thank me when you’re older. Thump. So why did he only remember the cruelty and not the kindness?
“Or toast,” Jeremy added.
It had been a long time since anyone cooked for him.
“Please,” Jeremy whispered.
Tyler opened a chink in his armour. “Bacon, eggs and toast.”
The guy’s face lit in a smile.
An envelope landed in Tyler’s groin and he flinched. A naked Prescott dropped another onto Jeremy’s legs.
“We’ll do the angel play again,” Prescott said. “It worked perfectly. Gerald’s just offered me double for the pair of you to be exclusively his next week.”
Oh shit. “He needs watching,” Tyler said. “He gets carried away. I’m going to have bruises on my neck. We’re not supposed to be marked anywhere that can be seen.”
Prescott shook his head. “He won’t go too far.”
Tyler glared. “Be a bit late to do anything if he does. He likes to strangle me and he’s fucking strong. You going to wait until he chokes me to death? You don’t want that sort of trouble.”
“Don’t worry. I have someone keeping an eye on him.”
Watching the whole thing on camera? Maybe recording. Great.
“I want you—” he pointed at Tyler, “—on Wednesday at nine. A thousand pounds. I’ll text the address. Don’t be late.”
A thousand? Fuck, what does he want me to do?
“Do you need me too?” Jeremy asked.
Prescott stroked Jeremy’s hair. “I’ll think about it.”
Tyler rolled to his feet, ripped open the envelope and counted his money in front of Prescott. He watched Jeremy slide his hands around the arsehole’s waist and hug him. The only thing that achieved was that Prescott stopped stroking his hair. Did Jeremy really expect affection? Is that what Jeremy wants from me? Not going to happen. The only way to survive this was to turn his heart to stone.
The apartment had five bathrooms. Tyler avoided the sumptuous one next to the main bedroom and went for the smallest. Last time he’d used the big one, Prescott joined him. He put his money on a shelf, wrenched off the remains of the wings, dumped them on the floor and stepped into the shower. The torrent of hot water made him feel better. He put his palms against the tiles and tipped his face to the flow.
When broad hands with strong fingers pressed into his hips, he knew it was Prescott and forced himself not to tense. His idiotic cock went hard as steel. Sometimes he worried about his lack of control. It was as if his brain and dick weren’t on the same wavelength.
“Your mouth on my cock.” Prescott bit down his shoulder and Tyler arched forward with a gasp.
Tyler turned and dropped to his knees. He knew exactly what the guy liked. Pressure on the slit, fast sucks at the head, followed by deep swallows until the shaft brushed the back of his throat. Prescott groaned and grunted above him, sweeping Tyler’s wet hair aside so he could see his eyes. Tyler knew better than to look at anything other than Prescott’s face.
But he was tired. He wanted this over and instead of making the guy wait, Tyler used the right amount of speed and pressure to make coming irresistible. Prescott let out a loud yell and then his cock jerked and spurted. Tyler swallowed. Another lesson he’d learned early on. He caught sight of Jeremy in the doorway and warned him with his eyes to get out of there. Relief when he left quickly disappeared as Prescott smacked Tyler’s head into the tiles. He yelped in pain.
“I come when I want to, not when you want me to.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t. “I got carried away.”
Prescott stepped out of the glass enclosure and grabbed a towel. Tyler slumped in the bottom of the shower, arched his back to let his mouth fill with water and then spat it out. When he emerged, Prescott had gone.
Jeremy was waiting already dressed in the room where they’d left their clothes. He opened his mouth and Tyler frowned, his back to the camera. “See you,” he said and hoped Jeremy took the hint.
“Yeah. See you.”
When he’d gone, Tyler dressed quickly. His was the last pile of clothes and he stuffed the envelope of cash into the pocket of his jeans.
As he exited the elevator on the ground floor, a group of cleaners stood waiting. In a short period of time the apartment would no doubt be back to its immaculate state, no trace of what had gone on remaining. Tyler wished it was as easy to wipe his mind, because no matter how many times he told himself he was okay with this, he was lying.