Dirty Dining Read Free Page A

Brice’s lapel and squeezed his shoulder collegially.
    He moved to each man, selecting a ribbon from the box and pinning one on each guest. As he made his way around the table, he continued his explanation.
    “Your serving boy will be wearing a ribbon matching your lapel ribbon. You will be served only by your boy. Rule number one is you will refrain from touching him in what we call the bikini zone, unless you have his permission. That means you ask. Not all boys are on the menu for touching tonight.”
    A low murmur of disapproval emanated from the table, but Brice couldn’t tell who had made the sound.
    “Rule number two is you will refrain from touching anyone else’s boy at all, unless invited by the boy and his gentleman.”
    “Rule number three, no sex in the dining room. And by sex, I mean fucking. No fucking the boys in the dining room . Save that for nightcaps in your rooms if it happens at all.”
    Brice sucked in a breath. That was good. He hoped he wasn’t going to be expected to do anything in public with this boy assigned to him.
    “So, what can we do to the boys in here?” A man with a Texan drawl asked.
    “If it’s on their menu, hands and mouths on the boys only. Gentlemen, keep your dicks in your pants in the dining room. If you can’t wait till dinner’s over, leave the dining room.” He glanced around and seemed to be gauging the men’s moods. “But boy-on-boy, anything goes. With permission from both parties. No means no. No exceptions. My assistants will enforce that, and they’re here to protect the boys. Be respectful of them. We can all have fun without anyone getting hurt.” At Thomas’s final remark, two heavily muscled men in tight black T-shirts and black pants straining over tree-trunk thighs entered the room. They looked like a cross between ninjas and bouncers. One moved to each end of the table and took up a post against the wall.
    Thomas looked at the men again. “Now, who’s ready for dinner?”
    A loud chorus of whoops and affirmative noises erupted.
    Brice glanced at Watkins, who was grinning back at him, nodding, with an odd glint in his eye.
    “This, my friend, is going to be fun.”
    “Can’t wait.” Brice took a gulp of martini and nearly choked, then turned his attention toward the door.
    He felt more than heard or saw a commotion in the hallway, and then Thomas nodded and a gong sounded. The door opened, and the first boy came through, wearing a very short gold-edged toga and a bright blue ribbon tied around one upper arm. Not mine , Brice thought. The boy was blond, smooth, and very good-looking in that go-go boy twink way he saw too much of at some of the local clubs.
    The other men let out oohs and aahs and a few disappointed groans as they spotted attractive boys wearing someone else’s color. Each boy made one round of the table before settling next to his gentleman on the wide bench seats. All were model good-looking, and none wore much. What little they had on emphasized smooth, lithe bodies, focusing attention on nipples painted with glitter, visible through the transparent shirts and tiny tunics that left little to the imagination about the size and shape of their cocks.
    Despite his initial distaste for the general setup, Brice couldn’t help feeling a little animal thrill at the sight of all these gorgeous bodies on display, even knowing as the night progressed, they’d be reduced to sexual objects, if they weren’t already. So far four boys had entered the room, and Brice still hadn’t seen his.
    Then a boy with an orange ribbon flounced into the room, and just behind him Brice glimpsed a flash of bright green. As the orange boy moved out of his line of sight, he saw the one assigned to him for the night: he wore a sheer sleeveless tunic and a tiny gold-edged loincloth, fluttering with each step, enticing Brice to glance under it.
    This boy was no boy in reality. He wasn’t quite as smooth as the others, with a sprinkling of pale hair on his