Silk House Pt. 04

"You think you wanna do that again?" Toby asks me mindlessly. We're in his room, playing Smash Bros on his Switch like we used to do next door. Toby's bedroom is slightly larger than mine, and he has enough space in here for a sizeable TV with an opposing couch, which the two of us are sitting on now. He's beating me in a stock match, but only barely.

"No, I think it's a bit too intense for me," I respond. We're talking about my outfit just a couple nights ago, the one where, for all intents and purposes, I was collared and shaped into a womanly figure. "I'll admit, I like it... but it's finnicky. It's not always my bread and butter. I... I like the simplicity of layers, and my actual body. Most of the time."

"I do too," Toby lightly agrees. "But you wanted to be prepared. For Doherty's business," he continues tentatively. I falter a bit in my gameplay at his words but quickly recover. Both Toby and I are still deliberating our potential future here, but right now we haven't landed on the same page. With me, I'm not certain I'm ready to jump into a committed role so soon, but I'm definitely liking the prospect. Toby, on the other hand, is on the fence. He definitely likes the lifestyle that Doherty so graciously provided for him, but he also values his freedom, his independence. I've no right to convince him to decide either way, so we usually don't go into depth about our prospects.

This conversation is breaking that silence.

"I figured I should know what'll be asked of me, if I decide to say yes," I explain, and then we focus on the game for a minute, the sound of our joysticks toggling and gameplay music filling the room. "Money's money, and I don't imagine any other job I accept will be so... erotic, I guess."

"Do you think it's like a brothel?" he asks suddenly, and pauses the game to look at me. I scoff.

"Un-pause the game!" I exclaim, and after raising his eyebrows and teasingly mimicking me, he does so. Within another minute of us playing, he beats me in the match. He places his controller on the small coffee table in front of us.

"All I'm saying is, we're not going to know what we'll be getting ourselves into until we see the place and look at the official contract," he points out, and I sigh.

"You're right," I admit.

"Aren't I always?" he says, wearing a smug look on his face, and I push him by the shoulder. Toby's always in need of a little cajoling; he's far too playful for his own good, and I'll take any excuse I can to touch him, whether he's covered or uncovered. Toby's a bit of an exhibitionist when it comes to choosing his daily outfits, it seems, and today he's wearing only a slick red-and-white wrestling singlet. I've opted for forest green unitard, my hands, feet, and head free from cover. Better to handle controllers with.

"You're not nearly as clever as you think you are, Toby Stone," I say.

"We're using full names now? No 'sir' or 'master' for me, then?"

"I'd hardly consider you my master," I retort, and his playful expression hardens.

"Oh yeah?" he asks, begins crossing the space between us menacingly. "Why don't you turn over and I'll prove you wrong?"

"What if I don't?" I ask, backing up against the arm of the couch. Toby pounces on top of me with a growl and I'm nowhere near capable of fighting back, my wrists pinned down by his hands in mere seconds. His face is only a few inches above mine and he has a wicked smile, and before I know it, he's flipped me on the couch. He holds me there by the small of my back and I squirm around trying get out from under him, but it's no use. Toby weighs down my legs with his own and places his firm cock against my ass, grinding his hips into me, proving me wrong. He leans over my body and puts his face by my ear.

"Say it," he whispers. "Tell me you're sorry." I can feel the way he insists a response by how firmly he grips me, the tip of his covered cock now aligned with my hole.

"Sorry, sir," I manage, and he laughs, continuously teasing my ass with his rock-hard member.

"That's not what I want to hear," he explains, and a shiver runs through my body, realizing I'm completely submissive to him in this moment.

"Sorry... master," I whisper again, and he tenderly bites my ear.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" he asks in a lighter tone. His grip on me loosens, and he allows me enough space to roll on my back to face him. We're still very, very close. "That wasn't too hard."

"It was very hard."

"Hey. I'm the one with the bad jokes around here. Lay off my turf," he says, then lowers his face to my neck and kisses me there, once, twice, many times. It's like electricity against my skin, and I writhe around helplessly until he finishes. Then, when he finally lifts his head to look at me once more, his expression is slightly more serious. "We do need to talk about this, though. We don't have a lot of time." I sigh again.

"Toby, my honest feelings are... I don't think it's a bad idea. It's a job. A well-paying job, the way Doherty describes it. Besides, we always have the choice to leave."

"Yeah, as long as it doesn't compromise our contracts. What if we decide one day that we're unhappy?"

"Do you really think you'll get up and change your mind in a single day? To the point where staying would be unbearable?" I ask, and he mulls it over. "If you decide it isn't right for you, I guess you'd have to deal with it until the end of your contract. But I can't imagine it becoming truly unbearable." I'm suddenly aware his warm, hard cock is pointed up and aligning with mine, but we're tame right now, civil. I try to keep focused on the conversation.

"I guess so..." he grumbles, stuck in thought.

"Maybe we negotiate a package deal. You and me, together, or else it's quits," I pose. His whole body perks up.

"You'd really want to go into a contract with me?" he asks.

"Well, you're the only person I can really rely on right now, being in the same situation and all. Plus that whole, 'I like you' thing."

"Right, that thing," he repeats. "We can try to negotiate that, then. I'm not sure how well Doherty will respond."

"And if he says no?"

"Then... we say no," he concludes. It seems like a good way to go about things. I can be relieved, now, knowing that Toby and I are on the same page. I remember something he mentioned just a couple minutes ago.

"Oh!" I say when it comes back to me. "And we'll need a tour of the place before putting our names on any papers."

"Definitely," Toby agrees.

Again, relief.

Given that he's paying us to stay in this house, Doherty doesn't like us squandering much time without seeing him, so not long after we finish gaming, Toby and I prepare a game plan. We'll need to talk to him about our future terms, so our methods of buttering Doherty up consist mainly of getting in his favorite gear. Doherty loves to see our bodies fully covered, often commenting that it's one of the better ways to appreciate the human form—we're "unmarred by detail and individuality," he artfully remarks—so we sneak into the basement and dress each other up in matching deep red zentais, taking our time to make sure they fit our measurements. Doherty, curiously, has supplied this basement with multiple sizes of the same suits for any potential visitors, so our prep-work and size-finding is relatively thorough.

After stepping back up the stairs, Toby lets me have the honor of knocking on Doherty's bedroom.

"Boys? Come in, come in," he says, and we enter to find him on his bed, wearing his bathrobe and reading glasses, dutifully typing onto a laptop. He doesn't even look up at first, probably expecting nothing but our casualwear, as tonight is more of a night for him to catch up on work.

"Sir," I say seductively, and that's when he looks over and sees the garb we're in. He lowers his reading glasses to take us all in and then removes them entirely.

"Why, boys, this is unexpected."

"You don't mind?" Toby asks from behind me. I walk to the left side of the bed, Toby to the right, and we slip ourselves onto the mattress, our bodies facing him. This feels different, to even moderately turn the game around on Doherty. But the older man has clarified more than once that he's merely a voyeur for us, so we don't make contact. "We were hoping to ask you a couple questions." Doherty slowly grabs the top of his laptop screen and closes it, then gestures for me to put it on his bedside table, which I do. He sits up a bit straighter and crosses his fingers in front of his belly.

"We were talking about what would happen after our thirty-day contract with you, Sir, wondering what would happen if we joined your business as... what did you call us? Escorts?" I asked, mindfully poking at the sheets between me and him with one finger, making a small circle.

"That's correct. Your job would different from an actual escort's, but we find the title fitting enough," he explains. Toby, then, picks up talking about our proposition instead of me, making sure that Doherty gets a good look at both of us.

"We were wondering... if it were possible, that we could have a tour of your business, or headquarters; where we'd be living under your employ. We thought it would be a good idea to get a lay of the land."

"And to see the typical contract you have your workers sign," I add.

"None of this is out of the question, boys. You didn't have to dress up to ask me all of this," he tells us, but there's a pause that follows while he looks us over. "However, I am not one to complain." This last part of our proposition is something that Toby has to specifically bring up to Doherty himself, given that his stipulation for employment relies on this partnership with me.

"We did have one last question..." he starts, his seductive slow voice revealing some nerves. "And if we could have this satisfied, we'd both be very glad to seriously consider a contract for future months."

"What would that be, then?"

"After talking with each other for a while, I decided that if I couldn't personally negotiate a contract that, in words, attached me as a joint escort to Charlie, I wouldn't join your employ at all." Toby looks at Doherty right then (or at least, that's what his covered head indicates), and there's a long silence that follows after his words. I stop fidgeting with the sheets, and Doherty takes a long breath, his face stern, serious.

It turns up, into a grin.

"Why, is that all you wanted, boy? We can make that happen. It's no issue."

"It isn't?" Toby asks. He sounds bewildered.

"Of course not. Most of our escorts work as individuals only because their chemistry with others isn't exceptional. When I took you two under my roof, it was my goal to train you together so you had the experience, then eventually separate you. But it's evident you both legitimately work well as a pair."

"That's not an issue, then? But... all those times I felt that you disagreed with the way we... showed affection," I start to ask, but I'm unsure how to finish it. Doherty looks down at himself thoughtfully, then returns his gaze to me.

"It's not typically a wise investment to sign partners because there's no guarantee they won't experience a falling-out. They grow to resent their work together. When I saw you display affection for one another, I was—and admittedly, still am—concerned about the potential consequences," he explains, and then looks over at Toby. "But if you two truly believe you're compatible, and if my only option to have you signed, Toby, is to have you both in a joint contract, I'm willing to make that compromise."

We were elated, but we could hardly do anything to celebrate with Doherty laying between us. We thanked him and told him we wouldn't let him down, and he laughed.

"That's good. Now, Charles, hand me my laptop. Both of you, I'd like on your stomachs and your feet to the headboard. I'd like a nice view while I work."

It took a couple days, but Doherty was finally taking Toby and I to the house. Yes, it was a house. He said there was a small office in the city where a team of dedicated employees were regularly dealing with the contracts, finances, and general paperwork, but he said that wasn't necessary to visit—far too boring. More importantly, there was a house in a neighborhood on the outskirts of the city where a dense forest took over. It was only an hour's drive from the hustle and bustle of urbanity, but quiet and secluded enough (because of the woods) to allow lucrative businesses like Doherty's to thrive. Our college town, inconveniently far away from every proper city in the state, was two hours away from this location, but we wanted to make the journey nonetheless.

The only hurdle that Toby and I really had to cross was the front lawn. Doherty wouldn't budge on the wardrobe clause of our contract, not even for an outing, so we had to risk exposure in spandex to our neighbors. We thought it would be weird, but Doherty suggested we wear clothing that indicated a trip to the gym. We were excited to pick out our wardrobe with this in mind, but Doherty wagged his finger and chose our outfits for us.

The good news is that we're wearing matching short-sleeve compression shirts and workout tights, all in black. The bad news is that they're a size too small and exceptionally—aggressively—shiny. Toby and I can't move an inch without a wide swath of light gliding over our skin. On any other day we'd be delighted, but today it's making us bite our lips. Doherty hands us new all-black tennis shoes to match.

At least it's only the front lawn—Doherty's business is allegedly hidden in a large chunk of the forest, so this is our only worry. Doherty steps out of the front door with us in tow and casually crosses his lawn, getting in his car and starting the ignition. We're still stuck on the shaded porch with our eyes darting everywhere, nervous, but he waves at us as soon as he's buckled in. Toby and I swallow our breaths simultaneously, too intimidated for words. But after we step into the light of the sun, we see that no one is around to stare at us, so we get in the back of his car unscathed.

"You lads need balls," Doherty teasingly grumbles, then pulls out onto the road and hits the gas.

"There's not a single stitch of loose clothing inside that building right now. The only people that evade such a rule are potential patrons and myself," Doherty explains. We've finally made it to the place of business, but the only thing we've done is sit in the car and gawk at it through the car's front window. It's a remarkable modern mansion, from what I can tell by our view, likely five stories tall and made exclusively of slick wood and metal. Huge glass panels make up some of the house's outer walls, stretching from floor to ceiling, and I think I see figures lounging inside if I look closely enough.

"We forgot to ask, sir," Toby speaks up. "But what is the name of your business?" Doherty turns his head to the side to face him.

"Silk House," he responds curtly, then resolutely turns away and opens his door. "Come on, boys! This place won't bite. I have someone I'd like you to meet." Toby and I share a conciliatory glance full of concern, hope, and allure, then follow Doherty out onto the gravel path up to the deck. The front door opens and I see a young brown man—Indian, I think—walk to the edge of the deck to meet us. He must be about my height, slightly taller because of his loose black coif of hair, and he's similarly toned like me, if a bit more muscular. He's wearing a bright orange, long-sleeve spandex shirt, a pair of slick black leggings that cut off at the ankle, and a pair of black Oxfords.

"Alan!" Doherty exclaims, then walks up the two steps to wrap the young man into a hug. The young man is startled for a brief second at the embrace and then, after they've separated, initiates a professional-looking handshake. "Boys, I'd like you to meet Alan Chopra. This man is the head boy of Silk House, its live-in manager, and the reason all our lovely escorts haven't run out the door screaming. Isn't that right, Alan?" he asks. Doherty's abruptly brusque nature appears to have unbalanced the younger man a bit, which Doherty seems smug about, but Alan has a distinctly professional cool about him that feels near-impenetrable.

"I do take pride in running an efficient and accommodating work environment, yes. I make sure all Doherty's employees are comfortable and well taken care of," he explains politely, revealing an English accent in the process. "Please, do excuse my boss—he has a terrible habit of forgetting how to introduce me to new prospects and clients."

"Ah, these two—this strong young lad here is Toby Stone, and this one is Charles Quiz. I told you about bringing them into the fold, didn't I?" he asks, and Alan nods in confirmation.

"Silk House is always welcome to accepting new prospects, and I know that Doherty has likely taught you very well," Alan says. I think about how 'taught' feels wrong—groom, in most cases, feels right, or even more accurately, molded. Doherty hasn't exactly 'taught' us anything beyond how to lace a corset and ways to get stuck in a leather collar. I'm not remotely bitter, it just seems like Alan is posing Silk House as something it's not. I nod my head.

"I assume you got my messages about a tour, then, if you're out here. But where's Major?" Doherty asks Alan.

"Ah, I'm afraid one of the resident escorts broke a rule only a few minutes before you arrived, and he's currently busy handling their punishment," he explains, and while Doherty had already made mention of potential for punishment with our own thirty-day contracts, Alan saying it now feels haunting. "I can still give you the tour, if you'd like? Major should be done before it's concluded."

"Major," Doherty says, turning to me and Toby, "is in charge of the grooming of escorts, their punishments, and unlike our beloved Alan here, is unfortunately not an escort in my employ."

"You're one of Doherty's boys?" Toby asks, trying his best not sound incredulous. It's not that we couldn't imagine this being the case, because I know I can—Alan is incredibly handsome, and clean cut—we just didn't expect someone of authority to also be an escort.

"The best boy. It's why I have the job I do. Previous managers who weren't escorts grew to... delude themselves about the welfare of the employ, some of whom used the escorts without legal permission, others approving patron contracts that contradicted escort contracts... it was quite the mess." Doherty leans into Alan and wraps his arm around the other man's back, grips his shoulder.

"We learned the best kind of person to negotiate business transactions and run the house is someone who fulfills those contracts and lives like the others," Doherty explains.

"Efficient," is all I can think to say, and there's a pause between all of us.

"Would you like to start the tour, then?" Alan asks.

We're not two steps through the front door before Doherty says he's heading to his office. So many offices! Alan only nods and suddenly it's only the three of us. Toby's already staring into the room, impressed, when I follow his gaze.

This very first room has a circular pit full of built-in couches and throw pillows, lit up in moody blue and pink lights that remind me of dreaming. No one's lingering in here, however. Along the far wall—and making up the entirety of said wall—is one of those massive windows I saw from the outside, letting in all the light and showing off the evergreen forest. An equally-moody bar is on the left side of the room, decked out with a wide array of low-to-high shelf liquors.

"Silk House, you'll come to observe, is comprised of many, many bedrooms and living spaces not unlike this lobby you're standing in now," Alan starts, walking around the pit. We follow slowly. "I won't need to show you every room, but I will say we host over twenty escorts already and still have plenty of room to spare for new prospects, our rooms ranging in a number of styles that might fit your taste."