Dirty Dining Read Free

perimeter of the room, feeling the breeze under his loincloth as his cock and balls swung free with each step. He felt the sheer fabric flutter around his dick and tried not to be self-conscious as he exposed himself to everyone in the room.
    Mr. Green was fucking gorgeous.
     
     
    B RICE M ARTIN hadn’t known quite what to expect when he’d been invited by a colleague to the Dinner Club. He’d heard of the place—mentioned in hushed tones by his wealthier gay friends—and he’d checked the website. But outside of a few vague descriptions and tame photos, it wasn’t clear precisely what went on during the dinner parties. The overly generic name only added to the mystique.
    He’d been at Christie, Parker, and Lane for six months before anyone but an old friend of his realized he was gay, and then within a week he’d been invited to dinner here by one of the junior partners. He hoped it was a good sign, but he didn’t know quite how to act. He’d watch Watkins and take cues from him, but the idea of paying for sex of any sort wasn’t on his wish list.
    They’d come here straight from work, still wearing the suits and ties they’d put on for a meeting with someone from the Securities and Exchange Commission. They’d taken a cab from the office to the posh Pacific Heights Victorian and sipped expertly mixed drinks while they waited for dinner.
    Brice didn’t know how to interact with the other diners. They were here for what promised to be a pretty licentious evening, but he didn’t go in for either exhibitionism or voyeurism. Was he supposed to chat with these guys? He had enough to worry about with what Watkins would do or expect. Best to remain quiet and see if anyone spoke to him.
    Finally, they were ushered into the dining room. In the center stood a long, wide table. It was made of sturdy wood with a dark green runner and six place settings, three to a side. The dishes, glassware, and silver were of top quality, as elegant as any San Francisco restaurant he’d eaten at. Before each place setting was a wide padded bench rather than a chair, with plenty of room between each bench.
    “Sit where you like, gentlemen.” The man at the door greeted them and waved them toward the table.
    Watkins took a seat at one end and pointed to the opposite bench. “Sit there. Best view.”
    Brice complied, then wished he’d seated himself next to Watkins. With this configuration they could see each other. He didn’t want Watkins observing him, nor did he want to watch Watkins with his own serving boy.
    Boy. The word jarred every time Watkins said it. “Of course, they’re all legal. But they’re called boys.”
    Brice sipped his dirty martini—extra dirty, just to dilute the booze. He’d been nursing the same one since they’d arrived. He didn’t drink much and definitely wanted to stay in control tonight. Watkins was on his second neat Scotch.
    “Welcome to the Dinner Club. I’m Thomas, and I’ll be your host tonight.” Brice recognized the man who had given him a quick, but incisive chat before he was admitted. “Please ask me if you need anything you’re not getting.” He gave a crooked leer of a grin and some of the other men laughed. “We have a few new faces at the table tonight, so I’d like to cover the ground rules before the boys come out.”
    The men glanced around the table at each other, and Brice hoped no one spotted he was the newbie. He was uncomfortable enough. There was a palpable tension in the room, the others looking out of the corner of their eyes at each other, as if this was some sort of competition. Thomas opened an ornate carved chest and pulled out a shoebox-sized container. He stood behind Watkins. “Good to have you back, Mr. Orange,” Thomas stated before he pinned a bright orange ribbon to Watkins’ lapel. “Nice to meet your friend, too.”
    Thomas came around the table to Brice. “You’ll be Green tonight. Enjoy yourself,” he added as he pinned the ribbon to