Prologue
And I don't have the right
To ask where you go at night
But the waves hit my head
To think someone's in your bed
Miike Snow
Monday -
Erwin Smith stood like a blond god by the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. From this height and this late at night the whole town was just blurry blobs of color floating in the darkness. He was drinking a tall, cool flute of champagne and loving every sip. It was a very good brand. Erwin appreciated very good things.
He shifted his hips, the silky fabric of his panties rubbing his cock, and tried to get in the mood. He had to concentrate. His tall, broad frame was completely naked except for black silk underpants, a black lace garter that rode low on his hips, and long, silky, black stockings with the seams up the back. It didn't bother Erwin. He'd been asked to dress in worse. She had requested it. It was a kink of hers. No problem. He felt that the black stockings accentuated his stupidly long legs, anyway. He hated shaving though.
Get in the mood, Smith.
His client, at 59 wasn't the most nubile or attractive partner but that wasn't his problem. His job—and he was paid well for it—was to please. And please he would.
He shifted from foot to foot. His feet, encased in size 13 black stilettos, were beginning to ache. Time to be horizontal.
He downed the rest of the glass of champagne. "Carol, darling? Did you fall in? I'm dying out here!" He injected a little note of petulance at the last statement.
Glancing at the bed to make sure it was perfect, Erwin palmed his thick cock encouragingly. A giggle sounded from inside the bathroom.
"Coming, precious!"
His client fairly erupted from the bathroom, grey curls bobbing excitedly on her head, eager grin across her face. She was completely naked as well except for a thin, silken dressing gown that flapped open at the front. Her small breasts flopped like half-empty purses against her thin chest.
Erwin turned on his signature 100-watt smile and drew close in a sensuous glide.
Just another day.
Just another job.
Chapter 1
Wednesday -
Erwin stood in front of his full-length mirror and adjusted his brown pinstriped Armani suit. He'd just come from working out in his very expensive gym (the cost of which made him grimace, plus he hated working out.) He'd taken a long, luxurious shower and finally gotten dressed.
He had also eaten a pint of Super Chunk Chocolate Fudge ice cream and then made himself throw it back up. He carefully didn't think about that.
He was going slowly he realized; he'd had his tie in his hand for five minutes. He had to put it on eventually. He hesitated and looked at himself in the mirror.
At 6'2" with broad shoulders, a trim waist, and white-blonde hair crisply swept to one side, he could easily have passed for a CEO or a banker or a lawyer.
He mulled that over, staring at his reflection.
He hated his job. Hated what he did. Hated who he was.
He crumpled the silk of his tie in one fist and then threw it away from himself in frustration.
It wasn't the sex. The sex was—generally—fine and he wasn't a bit ashamed of that aspect of his life. There was nothing wrong with sex or getting paid for sex. It could be a commodity like any other.
It was the way he was seen. As an object, as a toy to be played with as wanted. He hated that.
Erwin was smart and witty and knowledgeable on many subjects yet when he spoke at parties or bars or restaurants on the arm of a wealthy client he was looked at with a sort of amused pity as if there was no way he could have anything remotely interesting to contribute to the conversation.
He could have been a CEO or a lawyer if he'd had the inclination. Instead, he hadn't been worried about it. He had been the heir apparent to the empire his maternal grandfather had built and when his father died when he was twelve, he'd gone to live with his formidable grandmother.
From the time he was 16 or so Erwin was sure of his sexuality and cognizant of the looks he got when he moved around a room in his grandmother's house during one of her lavish parties. Erwin was pretty and he knew it. By the time he was 19, he had begun making a bit of extra cash eating out a frustrated trophy wife, or fucking a family man.
Then, at 26, Erwin learned that his grandmother was bankrupt and broke. Her lavish lifestyle had burned through all of the assets she'd been left. The money was gone.
Erwin turned to the only means of making money he knew how.
Erwin carefully smoothed one eyebrow, marshaling the hairs into place. He wouldn't think about any of that now. He'd think about it later. He had a job to do right now. He pursed his lips and pulled a wrinkle out of his coat. He looked magnificent. Would people approve? Like what they saw?
He chose another tie and put it on, checking himself one last time in front of the mirror then sat on the edge of his crisply made bed to put on his shoes.
He looked at his watch. Time to go.
Erwin made good money at what he did but he spent the majority of it on looks. He had to keep up appearances after all. He got paid to look good and part of looking good was expensive haircuts, pedicures, and manicures, costly clothes, and a high-end gym membership. It also included a reasonably fancy apartment. No one wanted to pick up a paid-for date at some run-down building.
His client was picking him up tonight. A married man and high up in politics, he picked Erwin up in a rental car and then they went to a motel. Not a hotel. A seedy motel. For someone with so much money, he was a cheapskate. So long as he paid Erwin his fee, Erwin didn't care.
If you asked Erwin he would confess that though he lived within his means he was just within. All of the trappings of his job were expensive and being an escort, even a high-end one, was difficult. First of all, most clients wanted a female escort. The number of wealthy women or men who were willing to be seen with a paid date who was male were much, much fewer than the throngs desiring a woman. Also, Erwin was older than average. At 34 he was quickly reaching the limit of his ability to find clients. Most wanted nubile young men; hungry, buff, stupid, and eager to please. Only a select few preferred Erwin's style and sophistication that came from experience. Most just wanted to show off a partner then have a quick fuck.
Not that Erwin wasn't up to the fucking part. He was well known as a person well versed in the art of seduction and sex but the appeal of a hot-blooded younger man prevailed.
Because of this mindset Erwin spent almost every cent he had on his own upkeep and had to take almost every job he was offered. Blowjobs under a millionaire CEOs desk or fucking the wife of another man while he watched. It was all the same to Erwin.
Just another day.
Just another job.
Friday-
Erwin unlocked the door to his apartment and slipped in, closing it behind himself with a sigh. For a moment he leaned against the closed door, his head on his forearm, grimacing.
Finally, he pushed off the door and walked gingerly to his bedroom. Tonight had been his last client of the week and he was glad. Very glad. He purposely took several days off after this one client.
He peeled his clothes off slowly and carefully, taking time to check his suit and hang it up. Then he shuffled to the bathroom.
This was always one of the hardest parts after being with this particular type of client; the shower.
Erwin winced as he stepped under the lukewarm spray, turning slowly to bare his abused backside to the water. When he finally did and had gotten used to it a bit he could relax.
He knew what it looked like, he'd already inspected himself in front of the big, full-length mirror in his bedroom. A ragged flurry of roughly horizontal red stripes ran from the small of his back over his ass and down his thighs to the backs of his knees. Some were deep red stripes, some swollen welts, others were narrow open wounds and crusted over with dried blood
Erwin frowned and leaned against the tile wall as he had against the front door. He had warned his client about leaving open wounds. If any of these were to scar his fair skin, it would be a huge turn-off for other clients. He was damned lucky that the blood had only gotten on his undershirt and underpants and not his expensive suit.
He straightened and reached for the soap.
Just another day.
Just another job.