The Circus

The rest of the show went as smoothly as a new show could. Lena and Charlie, the only straight, married couple Tom knew, pulled off their new acrobatics routine without a hitch. The two were actually Latin American dancers but Charlie had bulked up in the last year or so and their lifts and tricks had become a majority of the act. Tiffany's new pole dancing choreography went down a treat and Caleb's fire eating act was so hot even Thomas had to adjust himself a couple of times. His Ringmaster's act was more efficient than ever, powering all his nerves about that night's booking into crass jokes and high kicks, it nearly worked too. But the night went on as it must and the audience clapped and jeered as expected. Leicester gave a healthy tip but left with a majority of the audience. They were well booked for the night with Tiffany, Bertie, Caleb and - ugh - Thomas himself all readying themselves for the evening's activities. Tom's ever-attentive bar staff looked after the five remaining guests while the performers piled into their various dressing rooms. They would soon be making their way upstairs into the main house the basement 'theatre' itself sat on top of, it had been converted into six luxury, and soundproof, bedrooms precisely for The Circus. On a whim, Tom had also purchased the house next door which had conveniently been available at the same time and even with his wealth, it had almost physically pained him to sign the contract. He lived there with Tiffany, Lena, Charlie and Bertie, more out of loneliness than financial need. A smarter man would argue they didn't need the second house, what with The Circus' many bedrooms, but maybe a smarter man had never had sex for money before.

Thomas was tempted to shower and ready himself in the dressing rooms but it was a shared 'gym style' shower system there and he couldn't face the comments he knew he'd receive if Bertie or Caleb saw him there. Peeling off his ringmaster's costume and slipping on some soft yoga trousers and a t-shirt, he grabbed his ledger off the desk in the box room he liked to think was his office. Marching into the shower room as he had many times before, he allocated the night's bookings. Caleb was standing almost entirely obscured by steam lathering up his toned body, Bertie was in the shower next to him, muttering something and none-too-subtly trying to grope Caleb, of course, Caleb wasn't bothered, the man fucked anything with legs. Tiffany was fiddling with a garter belt and stockings, cursing loudly when her nail snagged and subsequently laddered the fine material. It was an altogether surreal scene and one Tom felt oddly comfortable with. "Tiffany," he pointed at her with his pen, "You've got Smith again you lucky thing," Smith was Tiffany's most prolific regular, a sweet young man who by all means sounded like a terrible lay but adored her and payed well, "Room two for you." Tom ticked off his ledge and Tiffany gave him a cheeky salute. "Caleb," the young man turned off the shower, stepping out of the steam in a his perfect naked glory, Tom cleared his throat, "You've got John and Jane Doe again, Room four." Being bisexual, a slut and one of the sexiest men in existence, this was not the first time Caleb had been used to reignite the spark in a marriage. The fire-eater smirked, his pierced lips holding promises for both members of the Doe party, then three other people in the room all shifted to hide their arousal, no wonder Tiffany was in love with this guy. "Bertie, Room five," Tom shifted to the small man, who was pulling on a tiny pair of mesh underwear, the pains of having hot employees, "It's Ginger, so you're topping okay?" Ginger was a bear of a man and the only who ever wanted Bertie to top. Everyone has their kinks I guess. Bertie nodded quickly, his tongue shifting round his mouth in excitement. "I'm in room one if anyone needs me, working hard everyone!" Ignoring a few raised eyebrows, Tom snapped his ledger shut and left the room.

Chapter three

"Shit!" Tom jumped back, hopping around the shower and picking up the bottle of lube he'd just dropped on his foot. Reality had set in and after standing in the stream for a few minutes, he had set to getting ready for the night ahead. He added another layer of lube to his thin fingers and worked them back into his tight opening. Damn this is difficult, he groaned at the intrusion, was it always this difficult? How long since I last had sex? For someone who worked in the industry, Tom couldn't remember the last time he'd had vaguely enjoyable sex, or even sex full stop, ignoring his sporadic and disappointing evenings with Leicester. He could remember the one time he'd had the best sex of his life but there was no point thinking about that now.

Slicking up a third finger, Tom pressed back into his hole, shuddering at the sensations. He could never understand how Bertie found it so fun, as much as he had played with his arse, Tom had never found much pleasure. Well, apart from with him. Thomas was no doubt a bottom, he has never found much joy in his short career as a top and deep in his gut he knew he wanted to be on the receiving end of primal, masculine domination. Like every other gay boy in London, his cynical thoughts persisted and he finally gave up on loosening himself up for his evening's companions. It wasn't going to be an enjoyable night anyway, why bother trying to make things easier? With the insane rates Tom charged his was probably going to be an old, closeted snob who got off on feet, or being dominated or some other weird shit.

Leaving the shower Thomas slipped on the black silk robe he had laid out earlier, why go to the effort of getting dressed to just undress again? He glanced at the clock, only a few minutes now, he plumped up the cushions on the excessively huge four poster bed and dimmed the lights a little more, furthering deepening the burgundy walls of Room one and highlighting the gold accents around the room. He tried, rather unsuccessfully, to arrange the variety of lubes, toys and condoms of the mahogany dress in an aesthetic fashion before checking himself in the mirror one last time. Nerves didn't look good on Tom, his dark hair was a little too long, dipping past his shoulders and sticking slightly where the steam of the shower had reached it, his stage make-up was mostly gone but he hadn't been vigilant enough a traces of eyeliner and lipstick remained, his ivory skin was flushed and his stomach felt bloated from the water he'd downed after sweating it out in the show. What a mess. He was about to do something about his hair when there was a soft knock at the door, his mouth went dry. "Mr. Lee is here for his meet and greet Ringmaster," came his bartender's voice from outside the door. On wobbly legs Tom made his way over and pulled open the heavy wood, flashing his most professional smile, "Thanks love," he croaked to the bartender. Just do it! His inner Shia Labeouf screamed, there's children starving in Africa and you can't offer up your arse for one night? Newly motivated, Tom turned to his guest, this time his mouth went dry for an entirely different reason.

Let it be said that The Circus had a decently attractive clientele, the a few that were a little under par, (a few that were very under par), but nobody with a gammy leg or covered in boils. That being said, they were also the kind of people that went to dodgy sex shows and paid for sex, so make of that what you will. However, very, very, very, rarely did a man like Mr. Lee show up. Pathetic as it sounds, the man was beautiful, not blockbuster film beautiful, but renaissance painting kind of beautiful. He had smooth clear skin with the odd light dusting of freckles, rings of tawny brown hair fell into a pair of sensual chocolate eyes. He was taller than average, six foot something and though his simple navy suit didn't strain with muscles, there was definitely some bulk to him. Tom was immediately drawn to the pair of slightly over large lips which sat on his clean shaven face. "Please come in," Tom moved back away from the door, amazed he still had the ability to form words, his heart pounded and suddenly regretted his choice not to wear anything under his robe. Mr. Lee nodded, saying goodbye to the bartender with what looked like a genuine smile and following Tom into Room one. This is definitely too good to be true, he must be here to murder me or something. Thomas closed the door and turned to find a very nervous looking man fidgeting by the arrangement of supplies near the dresser, Mr. Lee suddenly looked younger, he couldn't have been over thirty. "Can I get you some champagne?" Tom asked with far more confidence than he felt. Mr. Lee nodded mutely again and it now felt like it was going to be a long evening. There was undeniable attraction between them if Mr. Lee's constant lusty glances were to be believed and Tom couldn't deny eyeing up the man's broad back as he poured them both a healthy glass of champagne.

"First time doing this sort of thing?" Tom glided back over to his guest, handing him his glass before tapping them and downing his own drink in one. Mr. Lee's eyes widened and he followed suit, Tom watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed the drink, his mind drifting to other things he wouldn't mind Mr. Lee swallowing. "Yes it is," a rich voice answered him, "I apologise for being so nervous, I was actually going to cancel but the show was so good and when you kissed me..." the owner of sed voice pulled awkwardly on his tie. Ah, the mystery newcomer Tom had teased appeared to have turned out even better than predicted. Mr. Lee leaned in close, studying Tom's face and most definitely within kissing distance, "You're just even more extraordinary up close," his guest's cheeks flushed before he swiftly marched over to the table, pouring and downing another glass of champagne. Tom didn't really know what to say to that, this gorgeous man was apologising to him and calling him extraordinary? Thomas had received a lot of compliments over the years, but not extraordinary. Heat radiated up his body, and more importantly, to his nether regions, damn, maybe with him it could be alright. He refilled his own glass, relying slightly on his Dutch courage, "that's very kind of you," he trailed a hand down Mr. Lee's arm, enjoying the little tremor which followed, "I'd love to show you some other ways in which I'm extraordinary," he pushed the man's suit jacket off his shoulders hanging it over a chair. Mr. Lee let out a little sigh then, some of the tension leaving his body and Tom felt a tiny bit guilty, don't get so excited man, you're in for a night of amazingly average and very vanilla sex. He verbalised none of this, instead crouching in front of his companion before undoing and removing the man's leather shoes. Thomas plastered on his Ringmaster mask, looking up through long lashes as he settled on his knees in front of a now very tense Mr. Lee. Just as he reach forward to undo the top button of the navy trousers that were at his eye level, two large calloused hands pulled him to his feet. "Sorry," Mr. Lee was sweating slightly now, "I know.." he sighed, running a hand through his hair and ruffling the styled curls, "I know that's what we're here for but...." his voice dropped off. Tom almost laughed, of course I get the world's most awkward man, like I'm not nervous enough as it is, heck, he's probably still in the closet. Remembering Mr.Lee was sporting a green wristband, Tom gratefully retracted that last thought. The two of them stood in deafening silence for a few long seconds before Tom sighed, pulling his guest to sit next to him on the silken bed. "Look, it's fine if you don't want to do this," for some reason he was subconsciously running his thumb over the back of the other man's hand, "you wouldn't be the first or last to back out," Mr. Lee frowned at this and Tom felt his mask slipping a little. "All I'm saying is," he ploughed on, "nobody knows you're here, and i'd give you a full refund," he felt cheap even saying it, but meant it all the same.

"No!" Mr.Lee said, a little too loudly, clasping Tom's hand tightly, their clammy, shaky fingers finding one another. "I don't want that," he then muttered much quieter, embarrassed by his outburst, Tom caught the faintest of Irish lilts on the last couple of words. "I just want to talk a little first if that's okay? Just so we're not compete strangers in this," a pair of chocolate eyes finally made their way to Tom's face, burning into his own. He wants to talk? What could there possibly be to talk about? My favourite position? How much down time I need between orgasms? Where did this man come from? What heavenly cloud of pure innocence produced this specimen?

"Err, I guess we can talk for a bit first," Tom agreed. I must be a masochist.

Chapter four

The smile Tom received when he agreed to Mr.Lee's bizarre request warmed a pool of molten goo deep in his stomach. The man should be a diplomat, he thought, you could end wars with a smile like that. It was like the obvious tension had been sucked out the room as his guest hopped up to the mini fridge, grabbing them both a glass of red wine and a box of truffles before fluffing the pillows and sitting back on the bed. Are you a kid or something? Tom recovered from his shock quickly enough to accept the glass of wine and sit crossed legged opposite his client, arranging his robe so he was sufficiently covered. He'd just taken a sip of his wine when he caught Mr.Lee frowning at the little information sheet which came with the chocolates. "Umm, Mr.Lee?" The young man's eyes snapped up to meet his,

"Are you more of a sour cherry man or a praline man?" the sincerity and seriousness of his voice caught Tom off guard and he burst out laughing, tears springing to his eyes.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry," he giggled, seeing the shock on Mr. Lee's face, "But shit, I'm sitting here freaking out about you fucking me and you're actually worried about my chocolate preferences?" His Ringmaster's persona had slipped completely but he couldn't stop the stream of giggles that kept bursting forth every time he pictured the genuine concern on the poor man's face. The awkwardness between them was suddenly flushed from the room, Mr. Lee let out a deep, rich chuckle before sticking out his tongue at Tom and popping a chocolate in his mouth. "I'm trying to win you over here," he gnawed on the chocolate, "cut me some slack okay?"

"Win me over?" Tom guffawed, "You're paying me for sex, that's about all the winning over there is about it," he had meant it as a joke but felt bad when his companion scowled. "Sorry Mr. Lee," he grabbed a chocolate, sour cherry dancing on his tongue, "that was really unprofessional of me," he went to pull his clammy hand out the other man's grasp.

"It's fine," his guest sighed, not letting go of Tom's hand, "there's no point pretending I suppose. Oh and don't call me Mr. Lee, makes me feel like my dad," he gave a pretend shudder and once again the tension was broken between them. Tom finished off the rest of his chocolate, trying to ignore the way the other man watched his mouth, "hang on," he swallowed down his food, "you used your real name on the booking?" he asked incredulously.

"Should I not have?" Mr. Lee cocked his head to the side and Tom immediately imagined a curly spaniel in his place. It's like the man had 'I'm A Naive Fool Please Take Advantage Of Me,' stamped across his forehead. "Of course you shouldn't have," Tom facepalmed, "what if people found out you were here?"

"But I am here, people saw me, there's no point denying it," came a straightforward and genuine reply.

"But Mr.Lee-,"

"Ambrose, please," the young man was now trailing tiny circles on the back of Tom's handing is the most distracting of ways.

"Ambrose," Tom wrapped his mouth around the name of the angel-like man in front of him, it was soft and beautiful like him, but with a masculinity hidden within it's syllables. "I think," Tom continued, "I think we should um, get to the main event so to speak," what a terrible choice of words, "I've really enjoyed chatting, but professional boundaries and all that.." gosh, you're practically the Dickens of your time, "So maybe we could just sort of...get on with it?" in years to come they will hail you as the finest wordsmith of generations. Fortunately, all Ambrose did was laugh again, that warm chuckle filling the room once more,

"Yeah I suppose you're right, you're probably tired from all that dancing," he moved the chocolates off the bed, putting both their wine glasses to one side. In one swift movement he pulled Tom up to meet him, taking one fleeting moment to caress him cheek before swooping in for a slow, sensual kiss that tasted of sour cherry. Tom groaned, suddenly wondering if a man had ever actually died from getting an erection as quickly as he did then, Ambrose was a good kisser, scratch that, a sublime kisser. He wasn't particularly gentle either, barely giving Tom a moment before pushing in with tongue and teeth, nibbling, stroking and thrusting into Tom's mouth. The nerves which Tom's conversation with Ambrose had waylaid suddenly slammed back into him, his heart hammered in his chest, blood rushing to his untouched cock and abused lips, sweat rivered down his back, the silk robe stiflingly hot. A pair of rough hands were sliding up and down his thighs and Tom realised he had straddled the man in front of him at some point in their session, his own shaky fingers we gripping onto Ambrose's hair like the world depended on it. Finally, Tom's lips were released, only for his neck to suddenly be attacked, he trembled and squirmed, thrusting his hips wilding into Ambrose's hard body. "Jesus," he breathed as the man's hands slowly pushed his robe from Toms shaky shoulders, the whole thing slid off, leaving a very naked Tom clawing and bucking at a very dressed Ambrose. Shit, I'm the one supposed to be taking the lead here. Even as that thought raced through his mind, Thomas was a pile of nerves and need as Ambrose's hands skimmed over his back, barely touching. "So beautiful," the man's rich voice murmured next to Tom's ear, he nearly came at that. Ambrose attacked his nipples then, again none to gently, licks and caresses quickly progressed to bites and pinches and it felt wonderful. Thomas was hopeless, his brain telling him to pick up the slack whilst his body clung helplessly to the man in front of him, breathing in the scent of wine, chocolate and something else he couldn't place. "Ambrose," he squeaked as a particularly sharp bite of his left nipple, his voice reaching a pitch he didn't know was possible, "I'm gonna-," he was cut off by the larger man flipping them over, Tom flat on his back. In the midst of their steamy interaction, Thomas had barely actually looked at the man devouring him, now, with Ambrose leaning over him, flushed and aroused, Tom let the image burn into his memory. At some point Ambrose had pulled off his shirt, now in a fitted gray undershirt which barely contained the subtle muscles Tom knew he would have, dark eyes were nearly black and hooded with primal need whilst those plump lips were red from kissing. Another thing which was plump was the large bulge Ambrose was pressing into Tom's crotch which was, sadly, still covered by a pair of trousers. Whilst Tom was busy admiring his lover for the night, Ambrose pulled off his tee, revealing more of that smooth skin and a well toned body. Before Tom could fully drink in the fine specimen in front of him, Ambrose was attacking his chest once more. "I-I can't," Tom squirmed under his attacker, "I need-," Ambrose bit Tom's hip and he arched high off the bed.