You didn’t expect me to give it to you for free, did you?

He trudged over to a chair in the corner of the room, the chair he’d draped his clothes on, and flopped down. On the dresser next to the chair, he noticed the hustler had left his cigarettes and lighter. Martin reached for them, taking a cigarette from the pack and lighting it without a second thought.

Sinking back in the chair, he savored the smoke from his first cigarette in six months. “Happy fucking fortieth birthday,” he said aloud, exhaling a gray cloud.

Dinner Party

Jay Starre

When I was invited to the dinner party, I had no idea I would be the main course. It was my idiot buddy Paul who got me into the mess, and in the end we shared the loot. He’s now my pimp, in a manner of speaking.

“You should be dancing at Cuties, Trent. I know you need the money, and with your body you could pick up some extra cash sucking cocks or taking it up the ass.”

Paul and I were in the gym when he blurted out that little tidbit. He was definitely an idiot. As I shushed him, I moved him away from the offended parties on the treadmills who had overheard. I could have smacked him, but then he grinned and I started laughing. He was short, blond, and cute and, yes, an idiot, but he was my friend.

“Anyway, we’re invited to this cool dinner party tomorrow night. A bunch of rich Daddies. Maybe one of them will be a publisher or an editor. You never know.”

“Okay. But don’t be selling my ass to any of them,” I cautioned, as if he would listen to me.

Seattle is full of tech millionaires, and Paul was a social climber with no scruples. He was always dragging me to parties and dinners. I imagined this was just another one of the same. I had no social life of my own, spending every waking hour trying to come up with saleable stories for my writing career. Either I was at the gym or in front of a computer. Paul dragged me out, kicking and screaming, as often as he could.

The next night we stood in the foyer of a hillside mansion overlooking Lake Washington. The sun was setting and the water was bathed in a ruby glow as lights began to come on all over the city. Large windows paraded down the front wall toward a sumptuous-looking living room and dining room beyond. The place was spectacular, and suddenly I was hungry, thinking of all the goodies rich guys had at their dinners.

“You can change in here. The guests will be arriving at any moment and we want you to be well presented when they do.”

This was from a smartly dressed and not bad-looking older dude who shook both our hands and practically pushed us into a small bathroom just off the foyer. When we were alone, I faced Paul with a frown, storm clouds in my eyes.

“What the hell is this? Well presented? Am I supposed to be dancing or some fucking thing?”

Paul was grinning, which I knew boded ill. He was also unbuttoning my shirt. “You’re not dancing, don’t worry about that! You just gotta get naked and be sort of an ornament.”

“What?” My voice went up several octaves and I was about to reach out and strangle Paul when he cut me off with a finger over my lips.

“Five hundred dollars. For one night. Of course I get twenty percent as your agent, and we have to hang around until two a.m. But it’s gonna be fun. I swear it!”

That stopped me. Five hundred dollars. Five hundred dollars. That was a month’s rent. Fuck! Paul had already unbuttoned my shirt and was unzipping my fly. “That’s not all. We get tips too. Maybe we could make a grand tonight if we play it right.”

“We? We? I’m the one who’s going to be naked in front of a bunch of people.”

“So the fuck what? I’ve seen you at the baths more than once with your ass spread in one of the rooms waiting for dick. You’re a slut at heart.”

“True, but that was in a bathhouse, Paul!”

“Pretend you’re in a fucking bathhouse. It’s five hundred dollars.”

He was on his knees pulling my pants and underwear down to my ankles. My dick was getting hard. Suddenly I was embarrassed. “How the hell am I going to walk around with a big hard-on in front of everyone at a dinner party?”

“You’ll be on your belly and no one is going to see your boner. At first anyway.”

Paul’s little revelation was still sinking in as he hustled me out of the bathroom, naked and with my hands in front of my hard-on. The well-dressed dude was waiting, all smiles.

“Nice! Very nice. The couch in the center of the living room is all set up. If you will just get Trent ready, Paul, that would be excellent.”

Ready? As Paul dragged me to the living room I looked around frantically to see if anyone was there yet. I didn’t really spot the couch until Paul had me there and was shoving me down on my stomach.

“I’m just going to lie here with my legs spread?” I asked in a daze.

“It’s kind of kinky, Trent. But don’t worry, I’ll be here all the time.”

Next thing I knew, Paul was slipping my hands into padded cuffs attached to the front end of the couch. It was actually more of an ottoman, without sides or a back. Paul snapped the cuffs together so that my arms were on either side of my head and I was suddenly trapped. For one moment I was close to freaking out, then I started laughing. I think I was a little hysterical.

Paul was busy spreading my thighs and securing my ankles in other padded cuffs on the lower end of the couch. He was laughing too, but there was no hysteria in his voice. He was probably laughing with joy at the thought of the money we would make that night.

So there I was, spread-eagled on a black leather couch, cuffed at wrists and ankles, naked with my ass wide open. Waiting for the dinner guests. My laughter subsided as Paul pulled up a fancy chair and sat nearby, a reassuring smile on his face. He could smile—he wasn’t the one naked.

I had a few minutes to think before I heard voices in the foyer. I wasn’t embarrassed about my body. And I was no virgin, although I wasn’t a slut. Not really. I needed the money. But how far would I go for cash? It wasn’t as if I was going to kill someone, or even rob them. It was just some kinky nudity, and knowing Paul, something else that I was going to find out about sooner or later. As I heard men arriving and moving into the living room, I resigned myself to my fate.

The first hand that touched my ass had me jerking around on the couch, my head craning and my fake smile strained. Fingers stroked one butt cheek and even slipped into the crack for a bold feel.

“This is some sweet ass. It whets my appetite for dinner, and dessert.”

The voice was full of raunchy insinuation, even as those fingers cupped one of my asscheeks and squeezed before abandoning it. I shivered and stared daggers at Paul. He smiled back brightly.

My cock was hard as iron, pressing into the smooth leather under my belly. I have a fertile imagination or I wouldn’t be a writer, and I could see myself in my mind’s eye. Tall and broad-shouldered, my torso tapering down to a slim waist just before it swells back out to a full ass. It was early spring and I hadn’t had time to tan, so my skin was milky pale and lightly freckled. As a redhead, I have an opalescent kind of sheen to my body. I was sweating at the moment, and I could imagine the pearls of moisture beading on my rounded asscheeks and dripping down into my deep crack.

I was hot. I was the object of men’s attention, and lust. I felt other hands grope me, and other voices proclaim my sexual attractiveness.

“Hot ass!”

“That muscle boy has a butt to die for.”

“I’d like to lick my dinner off of those cute asscheeks.”

“I’d like to eat my dinner out of that sweet little asshole.”