Six Dead Poets

"Read it, sign it. And then the fun begins."

I licked dry lips as I read the waiver. "Do people pay for this?"

"They pay Oscar, mostly so they can keep this place going. There's a surprising number of privacy measures you can't see that they need to maintain."

I signed the document, which said exactly what he'd said to me, and he took it and folded it in three and put it into a padded envelope.

"Phone."

I handed him my phone, and he slid it with his into the padded envelope and sealed it shut.

"So... how'd you find out about this place?" I asked.

"Someone brought me here when I turned eighteen," he said. He wrote 'Will and Jesse, Room 3' on the envelope. "I was in room four, taking turns with my minder. I loved it, and I know you will too. It's freedom, Jess. Freedom to do what you want to do with people who want to do it with you."

He opened the door and handed the envelope to someone, then shut the door again.

He took another piece of paper from his pocket and scanned it. It looked like a list. I caught a couple of names, and what looked like song titles.

"What's that?"

"Your order of service," he said. "They each get fifteen to twenty minutes with you, and they choose songs to mark time, rather than me having to tell them when their time's up."

"How many?" I asked.

"Six," he said. "Although, I'm not sure who's up first." He frowned and muttered, "They're supposed to tell me."

So, one and a half to two hours then. Of sucking cock.

He glanced at me. "It goes a lot quicker than you'd think."

I had to question why the thought of spending two hours sucking strangers' cocks was the most exciting thing I could possibly think of, but it was. It just was.

"Should I strip off?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, whoever's first will have paid extra to watch the virgin flit strip for the first time. Oh, and by the way, don't be alarmed if you get called a 'flit'. They're into their antique fiction here, and you'll find a copy of Catcher in the Rye in every room."

I looked around and sure enough, sitting on top of a copy of Delta of Venus, was Catcher in the Rye.

Very, very odd. But not the oddest thing about this place by any means. I wondered if their society had a name, and decided to never, ever ask.

"Fuck, Jess, your first time here..." He grabbed my jacket and pulled me into a rough kiss. His mouth tasted of cigarette smoke which mixed nicely with the red wine I'd been drinking.

He pulled back and let out a shaky sigh. "I almost wish I was one of them, touching you for the first time. The way you are now..."

There was a knock on the door. Hearing that sound, knowing what was coming, something in me switched. Nervousness moved to excitement that gave me a pleasant tightness in my pants. Full in my jeans, full of myself.

Will pointed to the bench at the end of the bed, and I took a seat. I leaned back on my arms and let my legs fall open and waited, wondering which of the men I'd met would be the first to fuck my mouth.

Will leaned against the wall and folded his arms as... Oscar... pushed the door open.

Will gave him a look of surprise. I guessed if the simple act of watching the new guy get undressed was worth cash to him, him being here meant he saw something he wanted more than money.

He came into the room and shut the door behind him, breathing heavily from his short trip up the stairs.

"And how's our little society virgin tonight?" he asked me.

I gazed up at him arrogantly through the spikes of hair that hung across my face and said nothing.

He smiled. "Get up, flit."

I got to my feet and he lumbered over to me and grabbed the lapels of my jacket. He tugged them, hard, causing me to lose my footing, then rocked me back onto my feet.

"You'll answer me when I speak to you."

I started to put my hands to his to push him off me, but Will raised an eyebrow in a warning.

"Yeah, alright, mate," I said instead, and let my hands drop.

Oscar's eyebrows drew together. "Has no one ever taught you to be polite?"

"It wasn't high on my parents' list of priorities."

He put a hand against the back of my neck, a firm grip. "I wonder what was?"

He searched my eyes for an age, then said, "You're not fond of your father, are you? But your mother's done her best."

He ran his gaze over me, his eyes dropping to my hands which had unconsciously balled into fists.

"Problems with violence during your formative years."

He put a hand against my chest and took a deep breath in. "Closeted until very recently."

His eyes came back to my face. "You're a ticking time bomb, aren't you, my boy?"

I eyed him warily. I didn't know what cosmic tealeaves he was reading, but he wasn't wrong. Except maybe the last one. I hadn't raised my hand to anyone in a long time and didn't intend to any time in the future.

"You're here because of him." He glanced at Will, who kept his expression neutral. Oscar returned his gaze to me. "But he's right. This is where you belong. This will make you happy, I think. Ease some of your... tension."

He increased his grip on the back of my neck and I felt a kick of nervousness.

"Understand this, flit. Whatever this boy's told you, what I say goes. This is my house, and these are my rules."

"He doesn't mean your safe word, Jess," said Will, and Oscar cast him an irritated glance. Will ignored it. "Use traffic lights, and you tell me anytime you want out."

Oscar smiled. "You're lucky. Not everyone who comes here has someone who cares so much about their welfare."

He let go of his hold on my neck and plucked at the shoulders of my jacket.

"Now get these clothes off. And take your time."

He waved a hand towards Will. "Get me a chair, would you? And put on Annette Hanshaw."

Will touched a discreet touch screen on the wall and some 1930s-style music came on. It wasn't what I'd associate with stripping, but it was what I had to work with.

Will fetched him one of the ornate chairs and sat it in front of the door, so that I had space to strip. Oscar lowered himself into the chair and folded his hands against his lap. He gave me an expectant look.

I'd never stripped for anyone, but I had a sense of what Oscar was looking for and I was pretty sure I could give it to him.

I stood with my feet apart and shrugged my jacket off my shoulders and let it fall down my arms. Will came over and helped it off the rest of the way, leaving me standing in my boots, jeans and the t-shirt he'd picked out. I hooked my thumbs into my belt and tilted my head to one side as Oscar ran his eyes over me.

"Long legs. Slim, that's good, but I can see you've been working out. Narrow hips, and your arms are toned." He glanced at Will. "You've done well with this one."

It wasn't clear if he was complimenting Will for dating me, bringing me to this place, or making me work out. Probably all three.

Oscar's gaze settled back on me. He gave me an expectant smile and rested a hand against the hardness in his suit pants.

To draw out taking off my t-shirt, I crossed my arms and inched it slowly up over my chest, holding Oscar's gaze as I pulled it over my head. I put a hand to my bare chest and smoothed it down towards my pants.

Oscar's gaze lit with hunger as I unbuckled my belt and slid it out of the loops on my jeans.

"Turn around," he said hoarsely.

I did as he said, remembering back to the striptease Will had performed for me the first time he'd fucked me.

I put one foot up on the leather box and stuck out my arse as I unzipped my left boot and pulled it off along with my sock and kicked it away. I did the same with my right boot and sock so that I was left standing in bare feet and jeans.

I glanced over my shoulder and found Oscar's eyes fixed to my arse.

I undid the fly on my jeans, then pushed my hands into the back of my pants, grabbing my arse cheeks with both hands, then pushed down my jeans and briefs in the same movement. I stepped out of them and kicked them across to Will, then turned back to Oscar.

"You're hard," he said, and his voice was a harsh breath out. "Stay there a moment. I want to look at you."

I stood there, my hands at my sides, itching to touch myself. But I had a sense that wasn't what Oscar wanted. Will had told me I could read him if I paid attention, the way I could read Luce. So I trusted my instinct and stayed still, while Oscar stared at my cock with its glistening drop of precum welling at the end of it, the head swelling and darkening the longer he stared at me.

He moistened his lips. "Come here."

I stepped up to him and he placed his hands on my arse and drew me tighter into the V of his legs.

I gazed down at him and tensed my arse as he kneaded my buttocks. I could feel Will's gaze boring into my back and knew this must be torture for him. Why he'd bring me here when he couldn't join in, I wasn't sure, but I was starting to think Will got off on denying himself. He certainly enjoyed making me wait.

Oscar slid a hand around to the front of me and ran his fingers up under my tightening balls, on up to grip me.

He jacked me a couple of times, then took my hand and placed it on my cock.

"Cum for me."

I glanced back at Will. He gave me a look that said, 'up to you'. I glanced back at Oscar. Could I really jack off in front of this guy?

His sharp eyes burned into me, one hand sitting against his own bulge, his other resting on his thigh. He looked so turned on, precum was starting to leak in a string from the end of my cock.

I decided I could, and slowly started to run my hand up my shaft with long strokes, using my thumb and forefinger, then running my palm up over my balls from the base, palming my cock, teasing over the head.

As I wanked for him, Oscar undid his trousers and slid them down his legs along with his pants, then moved his hips forward so that he was slumped down in his chair, one hand resting on his hard cock. He placed his other hand against my thigh, the back of his thumb brushing the underside of my balls.

Seeing how turned on he was, I started to thrust into my palm, my eyes half-closed, and felt myself swelling to the point of climax. I suddenly realised I had no idea where he wanted it, and then it didn't matter.

I let out a noise through clenched teeth as cum spurted out of me, across my hand, splashing across his spread thighs, his cock and balls.

I stood in front of him, breathing hard, as the last of my cum drooled from the end of my cock. My whole body felt hot and sensitive, my nipples hard and tight against my chest.

Oscar massaged drops of my cum into his sac and gave me a look I knew well. A quick flicker of his eyes from mine to the floor and back. I put my hands on his thighs and dropped to my knees between his legs, stroking my thumbs against his inner thighs.

I still had cum all over one hand, and Oscar took hold of my leather-wrapped wrist and guided that hand to my mouth.

I held his gaze while I licked my fingers and the back of my hand clean. I tasted good. Will had put a lot of pineapple juice into my diet lately, taken out half the energy drinks.

The song playing ended, and I wondered how much time Oscar had left, and if time limits applied to him if he owned this place.

He put a hand to the pendant Will had given me, and his eyes flickered to Will.

"You're together?" he asked.

I glanced back at Will, still leaning against the wall with one foot flat against it, his arms folded. He made a face that said 'I don't know, are we?'

I looked back at Oscar and said nothing.

"You should be so lucky," he said to me. His eyes dropped to my mouth, and taking my cue, I took his swollen cock in my hand and lowered my mouth over it.

From his own teasing, he had the same smoky taste as clung to his clothes, the cherry-tobacco bitter against my tongue, while the sticky precum leaking from the tip of him was ripe with salt. He was just over six inches long, thick in my hand, and satisfying in my mouth.

I spread my fingers across one thigh covered with coarse, steel-grey curls, and kneaded his flesh as I sucked him, glancing up at him as he made noises of appreciation, his hands curled into fists against his thighs as if he was stopping himself touching me.

I suctioned him harder, pushing him as far back as I could, and he let out a noise of irritation.

"Slow down! Let me enjoy you."

I did as he said, moving my tongue around him, stroking up the vein that snaked along the underside, teasing against his head where I liked to be teased, where Will liked to be teased.

I licked at his precum, and when it welled again, licked again, collecting it on my tongue. When I swallowed, the taste made my cock start to swell back to life.

The song playing ended and still another started. I could sense Will's tension at my back. Oscar's time was up, but he wasn't anywhere near done with me.

"What do they call this?" he asked, as I sucked him. "This," he waved a hand at me, "style."

I pulled off him, but before I could speak, Will overrode me.

"We just call him 'Jesse'. Labels upset him."

Oscar laughed. "I do like the sensitive ones," he said to Will. "Such fun to tease."

I dropped my gaze and concentrated on the feel of him in my mouth, the way his cock pressed against my tongue and filled the back of my throat.

He was hardening to rock-solid now, and I stroked fingers across his balls, seeking out the thin stretch of skin behind them, so that his sac sat in my hand and my thumb curled against one testicle, massaging it.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, lost in me working him.

I watched his fingers slowly uncurl and spread against his thighs, and then he lifted his hands and put them on my shoulders, gripping me tightly as he humped my face.

He came, filling my mouth with smoke-acrid cum that I drank down without hesitation, the feel of it against my tongue as he fucked my mouth the most satisfying thing in the world.

I waited until his cock quieted, and his grip on me loosened, and swiped a tongue across the cleft of his head, teasing away the last of his cum.

With a shudder he pulled out of my mouth and dropped his hands back to his thighs. He gave me a drunken smile and let out a sigh of happiness.

"Worth the revenue loss, I think," he said. "Yes, worth it."

"How much?" I asked. I was curious how much the simple act of watching me get undressed for the first time in this place was worth.

He put his hand under my chin as I leaned both hands on his thighs.

"You were bid up to three thousand. Not the highest we've had... but then, you're no virgin."

He glanced up at Will. "You did well preparing him. But it remains to be seen if he makes it through the night."

Preparing me? Clearly he didn't know Will. But I was pretty damn sure I could make it through an hour and a half of sucking cock.

Oscar shook his head at me. "Your youthful libidinousness will only get you so far, my boy. Your pretty face and big brown eyes won't save you from Frost's blade."

What. The fuck. Was 'Frost's blade'?

He ran a hand down my naked arm, caressing fingers across my tattoo. "I always did like a boy who dared the needle. I'm not brave enough myself to endure such pain, but it does tell a story, doesn't it?"

I eyed him warily, not sure what he meant.

He slapped his thighs. "Right. The others will be waiting. I've taken too much of your time already."

I shifted back and got to my feet as he stood and pulled his trousers up.

"Yeats is next, I believe," he said, and Will nodded. To me, Oscar said, "Yeats is a good man. Indulge him. None of this bratty business. Save that for Walt."

Since I had no idea what he meant by 'bratty business' or who 'Walt' was, I said nothing.

Oscar gestured for Will to come to him and put an arm around his shoulders. He walked him to the door, and paused there.

"Don't let Frost break him. I want him back. It would be a terrible shame not to have that mouth on me again." He patted his crotch. "Very nice. Very nice indeed."

He opened the door and Will shut it behind him. He came back to me and put his hands on my shoulders.

"How was that?"

I grinned.

"I thought you'd like it. Yeats is next. I'll let you read him; it's good for you to figure your lovers out yourself."

There was a knock at the door.

"Get on the bed," Will said to me, and I did as he said, sitting up against the headboard with my knees up, my arms resting on my knees.

Will opened the door.

Yeats was a giant, built broad and tall. He looked to be pushing sixty, with grey hair grown long at the front that swept across his forehead, and round glasses.

"I'll just put your music on," said Will.

"If you wouldn't mind," said Yeats.

Some seventies-sounding music started up and Yeats smiled and closed his eyes for a moment as he listened.

"Perfect."

He pulled a joint from his pocket, and said to Will, "Does he smoke?"

I nodded, unseen by him, since he was looking at Will, but Will, the traitorous prick, shook his head.

"Not today. Frost's next."

That seemed to be all the explanation Yeats needed. Will stepped forward and touched a lighter to the joint, while Yeats puffed on it to get it lit.

He dragged on it, then turned to me.

"I hope you don't mind. Calms the nerves."

I ran my gaze over him, trying to figure out what he might want from me.

He glanced back at Will. "Would you leave us alone?"

I gave Will a nervous glance and he slid his gaze back to Yeats. "Not this time."

Yeats gave a shrug of disappointment and drew on his joint. He sat beside me on the bed and inhaled deeply, then exhaled the smoke past me in a long stream. I breathed in the sweetness of burning weed, and rested my hands on my knees.

"That's enough," said Will, a warning in his voice.

"He's no fun, is he?" Yeats said to me, a twinkle in his eye.

I relaxed a bit, inhaling all the second hand smoke I could, while Yeats smoked and cast his gaze over me.

"Would you get on your stomach for me?" he asked.

I looked into his kind eyes and decided to indulge him.

I stretched flat on the bed and laid my head on my folded arms on the pillow.

He smoked his joint with one hand, and ran his other across my back, roving over my shoulders, down to the curve of my back and up across my arse.

His touch was gentle, exploratory, relaxing. He leaned over me and blew a stream of smoke into my face. I closed my eyes, breathing in what I could, feeling Will's disapproving gaze on us both.

Yeats' second hand smoke wasn't exactly going to get me high, but the smell and the steady movement of his palm across my back was relaxing. I felt all the tension in my body drop away, and rested my cheek against my arm, the smell of the leather around my wrists strong against the weed smoke.

"Hold this." Yeats handed his joint to Will while he got undressed, then took it back.

"Okay, shift over," he said to me.

I moved over on the bed, and rolled onto my back, throwing an arm across my face.

Yeats sat on the side of the bed. "Dim the lights, would you?" he said to Will, and Will touched the panel on the wall, dropping the chandeliers back to a deep, ember-orange glow.

Yeats finished the last of his joint and, holding the smoke in his mouth, ground what was left out in an ashtray beside the bed and held his arms out to me. I sat up and he pressed his mouth to mine and blew the smoke into my lungs.

I did my best to inhale it all, and he put his arms around me, one hand sliding up to cradle my head as I held it in. Eyes watering, I let it out again, and he laughed as I broke into a coughing fit.

"Last warning," said Will, and Yeats flapped a hand at him. "I'm done, and he'll be lucky to get a ten minute buzz off that."

He put his face close to mine, and my eyes prickled. His were blinking red. He looked elated.