Flip Mecum Ch. 05

Curiously, he didn't lock the collar back in place after the shoot. And I didn't think it was forgetfulness on his part. He was meeting one of my wishes.

I went upstairs and changed for the gym. I really needed it. I returned, found a txt from Marty (### Dinner, outside Peacock at 7 ###), showered and headed for a nap. I had no idea what Marty had in mind for dinner and dessert that night. But, still nothing from Michael.

He took me to one of the nicest steak houses near Galleria. It was obviously expensive, and they just as clearly knew him. We got a private booth near the back, and he ordered for both of us--basic steak house fare: chopped salad, Texas T-bones, twice-baked potatoes, and green beans. No dessert--we both knew what dessert was. Marty was definitely conveying that this could be my life if I chose him as a partner.

We talked about a wide range of things at dinner, but mostly about our backgrounds and our expectations. I learned he had been born in Houston, had an MBA from UT-Austin, and had returned to start his own business. He had tried the restaurant route and failed. Then a friend had suggested a club. They had located the building where Peacock now existed. They had mortgaged everything and borrowed all they could to set up the Peacock Club. It turns out that the friend was far more than a friend, because a few years later when he was killed in a freak motorcycle accident on the Loop, Marty got everything. Marty was just barely over him.

He knew my background, so I didn't really need to add much. I talked a little about my two sisters and my brother. I hadn't seen him in nearly a year now--and he would be graduating from high school in a few weeks.

Marty asked if my brother looked anything like me, and when I described him, he asked if Ed might be interested in working at Peacock. I laughed and told him that Ed was the very definition of a hetero beaver-hound. Marty laughed, "That's the best kind. When they discover real sex, they fall hard. If a guy is sexed, he's already curious. If he's over-sexed, he's the perfect candidate for our kind. Girls never give that type enough. Tell him I'm interested. And let me take it from there." I laughed. I knew Ed way too well. Or at least I thought I did.

He paid and we left for Peacock. It was a reasonably busy night, even without entertainment, and Marty made the rounds before motioning me upstairs. I moved to the bed in his office and started stripping. He entered, "No, I meant my apartment, not my bed." He opened a door behind his desk and we walked into a sleek, sound-proofed apartment. One large room with a Pullman kitchen, a luxurious bath, a sofa in front of a big screen and a king bed behind a semi-open room divider. It was spotless and sterile. No personality at all.

Marty walked over to an expensive sound system and punched in a few numbers. The room was soon filled with Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. Unusual choice for fucking music. Next he approached me and carefully removed all of my clothing, one piece at a time, covering my body with kisses, sucking here and there where it made a difference. Fuck, he was trying to make love to me! "God, I love looking at your naked body, Flip. You are everything I've ever been looking for."

He moved to the bed, stripped and lubed his rigid cock. Back down on the bed. "Ride me boy. Show me that talent that you show on the stage. Ride this horse dick, cowboy."

I climbed over, straddled and positioned my hole over his cockhead. Slowly I descended, bouncing and swirling as I did so, making sure to scrape my prostate with each descent. I was at least getting off this time. Marty reached out and diddled my tits, drawing them into rigid little towers. As I bounced, my rigid dick bounced on his soft belly. I smiled and tried to show some passion. I could tell he was near. So I bent down and took his nipples between a thumb and index finger and began to squeeze, pull, squeeze, pull. It worked. He was just about there. And he hadn't pulled me down to a kiss. He pushed up a few times, and I felt the spasms. He was cuming. I tried, really tried to feel for him. But he was just a john, my employer for fuck's sake. I shot on our chests, as his hands came up immediately to massage it into my abs and pecs.

He didn't notice my detachment. He really seemed to enjoy the experience. He pushed me off and held me in an embrace at his side. Then he pulled me into a spoon and planted a few loving kisses on my neck. I guess I was in his bed for the night, covered in my drying cum. I couldn't even reach my cell to check for txts or calls. But I didn't dare ask about Michael.

Marty seemed pleased. But he had really left me cold. I performed like a pro. I don't think he even detected my reluctance, bordering on repugnance. This was it. I needed to get out. And I needed to work out the best possible way of doing so.

******

Michael showed up the next day, mid-afternoon. I had feared the worst. An alcoholic bender? A drug-induced vacation? Or an escape--without me. He swept me into his arms, seemingly the same as when we had parted a few days before.

It was only later when we were alone that he explained. Marty had called in his contract. In addition to film making, Michael was required to serve as an escort when asked. Marty had set him up with a wealthy Houstonian who wanted a companion for a few days in Las Vegas. They had flown out in a private plane with two other friends of the monster, and when he had dozed on the plane, the guy had confiscated his cell. "I don't want any interruptions. You are ours, boy, for two days. We've paid Marty a fortune. And he tells us you're one of his best, and that you're okay with rough."

The guy was a big gambler and a monster in bed. He was huge--probably over 250 and 6-4, strong and muscled, and with a dick to match. He was a dom. And into S&M. So much so that Michael had been bound and gagged in the suite when the guy was gambling, lying alone in the room often dripping the guy's cum. Once he had been drugged in a drink--a drug that made him unbelievably hard for hours. The gambler returned to the room several times a day (and night). If he had won, he fucked Michael hard. If he had lost, he was violent, but clever--never leaving lasting scars--before he took Michael bare and un-lubed. Over two days the dom and two friends had taken Michael more than a few dozen times, usually very roughly. The flunkies always got sloppy seconds or thirds. Fortunately, they always wrapped. Apparently they didn't trust each other to be free of STDs. They didn't give a damn about Michael.

Michael looked okay except for fatigue. But he was angry, very angry. And ready to pound Marty into the ground. I whispered that we should not meet again at Peacock or talk at all when we were there. He said he was sore and bruised and wanted some time to disinfect and rest. So, I arranged to meet him on Friday, in two days, at his apartment which was near the gym. Then I remembered that I was no longer collared, so it didn't matter. But nevertheless we set up the meeting at his place, midway through my usual gym time.

When we met on Friday, after he described the ordeal in Las Vegas, we talked about our future. It had been only about a month since we had really known each other. But, we were ready to take a chance on the future--at least I was. It was decided: he would leave Houston immediately after Marty gave him his cut from the Las Vegas trick. Michael suggested he'd never see anything from the trip--but the gambler had intimated that he had paid "ten big ones" for the two and half days. Thus he was entitled to half--and the other half easily covered his remaining debt. He was going to argue for it. Marty's cut was more than equal to his remaining debt. But, if Marty refused, he was still going to leave. He was through with Marty. He owed him nothing. He hoped Marty would do the right thing and give him some of the fee, but he wasn't optimistic. Unfortunately, he only had a few hundred in the bank--not enough to go to New York and rent a place. But he was nevertheless done.

He looked at me expectantly. What was I ready to do? I needed one more month, working at least two days per week to get my electrical license. Once issued, it would be transferable to another state with a simple test. Marty settled up with us on Sundays--and I had last week's earnings already banked. By the end of the month, I would probably have close to $25K saved. I could probably stay another month--even if Michael disappeared. Marty wouldn't blame me. It would be an "I told you so" moment.

Then it came to the ultimate test. Did I trust Michael enough to lend or give him enough to start our lives in New York while I finished in Houston? Did I believe Marty's accusations about Michael or the feelings that I had for him?

TBC BD