Brazen Read Free Page A

think, glancing to where his dick weighs heavily against the
cotton of his shorts.
    “Touch yourself ,” I say to him coldly.
    His lips part
a fraction but he doesn’t speak. He nods instead and runs a lazy hand down his
belly, settling it over his cock. He’s in no hurry.
    To my left,
my star pupil’s strokes match the ones I’m using to torture the man in my lap.
He adjusts, kneeling to face me so both their exposed cocks are pointed at my
belly. The two obedient men exchange a look and then they each reach a hand out
to cup the back of the other’s head and they kiss.
This is a bonus I happily pay extra for. They kiss deeply, faces angled, eyes
closed. I take one of the tattooed man’s hands and wrap it around the other’s
cock.
    The
troublesome man to my right is unscandalized and
infuriatingly controlled. His two colleagues are unraveling rapidly, but he’s
fondling himself with a look of such obnoxious placidity that I want to slap
him. Perhaps I will in a little while.
    “You may
moan,” I inform the other two, and they waste no time in following my order.
Both are glistening now, and I rub the fluid up and down the length of the
tattooed man’s long shaft. Hidden from view, my own body is priming too,
putting his to shame. As I play with him I think of the trouble-man again.
Again, I imagine him coming up from behind, those hands on my hips. Again, no regard for the rules and the order of things in my little
kingdom. That voice, loud and rough, cutting through
the peace, barking orders of his own. His cock,
cutting straight into my core.
    In reality
he’s still sitting beside me, still stroking his hidden erection with a slow
hand. He’s not watching the other two—his eyes are on me. I can feel them. When
I sneak a glance to confirm this, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip,
looking hungry.
    The two
obedient men lose the coordination needed to continue kissing each other. I
admire their flushed faces, lidded eyes. I guide my star pupil’s hand and let
it take over for my own on the man in my lap. I watch them jerk each other
until they’re panting and hoarse. The man in my lap comes first, his cream
spurting over the other’s knuckles and wrist. His colleague follows suit
seconds later, and their dicks touch as he releases with a deep moan.
    Politely,
they each stand and gather their garments and exit the room with all the
dignity possible in such a situation. In their wake, the air is practically
quivering with the heat and smell of sex. I will tip them very generously.
    I’m alone now
with the trouble-man. I turn to face him, and he snatches the breath from my
lungs with those piercing eyes. I try to ignore them. I focus on his
hair—brown, glowing gold around the edges in the candlelight. A model’s cheekbones. I wonder absently if that’s his day
job. Then I think of my complementary day job, and of laying him across my bed
and photographing his strong, young body, naked and aroused. Gritty,
high-contrast black and white, so I won’t have to remember how blue his eyes
are.
    “Should I
keep going?” he asks me, and I realize with some surprise that he’s English.
Not posh—somewhere northern and working-class. Manchester or Liverpool, I
guess.
    “Don’t
speak,” I tell him. “And yes.” I watch his hand, the tendons in his forearm.
He’s casual and cool, but I can tell from the dark patch on the gray cotton
that he’s ready. He reaches a hand out to my shoulder and I slap it away.
    “Don’t touch
me.”
    The
trouble-man smiles and he says, “My name is Sean.”
    “I don’t care
what your name is,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t touch me, and don’t talk
to me. And don’t make me tell you again.”
    “Let me taste
you,” he says, leaning closer and I stand.
    “Follow me,”
I say.
    I grab a
candle and march through the fourth floor and down a flight of stairs. I hear
the man whose name I’d prefer I didn’t now know behind me a few paces. I lead
him to my