Fic: Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy Entry 121-126/151 (Entourage, NC-17, Vince/E, Vince/Others)
Title: Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy
Entries: 121-126 of 151
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage
Word Count:~7,400
Disclaimer: I don't own Entourage or anyone who has ever appeared on it.
Pairing: Vince/Eric, Vince/Pretty much everyone else except Turtle, Johnny, and the Golds (seriously)
Rating: NC-17 for lots and lots of sex
Warnings: AU, prostitution, mentions of past childhood physical abuse, BDSM, gay sex, straight sex, group sex, rape fantasy, fisting, wax play, a foot fetishist, mentions of daddy-kink, extremely brief mention of watersports. If any of the particular warnings are squicks for you, send me a private message and I'll tell you which entry to avoid!
Betas and helpers: guest_age, justabi, allyndra, ariadne83, pesha and deepad were all completely indispensable. Thank you so much.
Authors Notes: This inspired by Belle de Jour's blog/books/TV series but doesnt crossover in anyway. But it is a hookerfic so I know there are a lot of warnings but I hope you guys will give it a try anyway. Minor characters from canon have links to their pictures if you need a reminder. This fic is complete and I will, baring any unforeseen circumstances, be posting a segment a day until the end of the entourage_fest.
Summary: Entries from the private journal of Vincent Chase, a high paid male escort living in Los Angeles.
Entry 1-20
Entry 21-40
Entry 41-55
Entry 56-58
Entry 59-70
Entry 71-85
Entry 86-105
Entry 106-120
Entry 121
I recognize Dave from the last party of Ari's I worked and he attaches himself to my side the moment I step in. He doesn't say anything. He just gives me a nod that clearly says, "I got your back," and that's it. That's enough. It's a safety net that lets me let go of everything.
I come when called, and I'm pliant and easily moved by directing hands. I don't protest as I'm made to kneel and bend over a leather-padded punishment bench by two guys, each of them older than Ari and sporting white bands of skin where their wedding rings should be.
My knees are on another lower bench connected to the one my torso is spread over and the two men are strapping me in. Restraints circle my ankles and calves and hold me in place. When the cuffs attached to the base off the bench at the other end tighten around my wrists, it's like a switch flips and shuts off my brain.
Being bound shuts my thoughts down and turns my cock on, and it makes my nerve endings fucking dance and my ass ache. I can't think with all the doing and the feeling. For a few blessed fucking hours, I'm just a toy and toys don't have to do anything but be played with and be moved.
I gasp as one of them enters me without warning. It burns, but it's a good burn. I don't know who's fucking me and I don't care. I'm not hollow anymore. I'm not empty. There's someone else moving in me and it's so much better than being trapped alone.
The other man disappears and for a while it's just me and the man fucking me. It's a steady, thoughtless rhythm that I can drift in, but then his friend returns. I smell smoke and a drop of something wet and burning hot lands on my back. I buck against it, pushing back violently and involuntarily against the man fucking me.
He's hand smacks my thigh with an audible crack and I groan loudly. More hot liquid hits my back and spreads, cooling quickly but not before stinging bad enough to pull strangled noises out of me. I've done wax play before, but usually I'm expecting it before it happens.
It crosses lines that Mrs. Ari would be furious with me for not safe-wording out of, but I don't care. It hurts so fucking good that for the first time in ages, the hurt outside balances out the shit in my head that I can't control and I feel balanced out. Level.
The fucker thrusts in particularly deep, forcing me open and hitting my prostate at the same time as his partner pours a long stream of wax on the base of my spine. I let out a noise that's a little embarrassing, but it ends on a moan begging, "More."
"Hungry fucking whore." The man with the candle laughs. A few small drops land on my hands and arms. I whimper and the man fucking me slaps me again. He and the candle man both laugh. But the man fucking me doesn't speak. He's not the one in charge here. "You need it bad, don't you, you little bitch?"
"Yes."
"Ask us pretty and we'll give you anything you want," the candle man croons. He drops more wax, onto my ass this time, and it makes me thrust back so hard that I see stars and my wrists ache from yanking against their restraints.
"Please, please, fuck, please."
"Please what, bitch? What do you want?"
"More. Just more. Fucking please more."
"I'm done listening to you talk now, bitch." He sets the candle down on my back then jerks my hanging head up by the hair. He pries my mouth open with the fingers of his other hand before shoving his cock between my lips. He keeps hold of my hair with one hand before picking up the candle with the other.
His hips snap in time with his friend and I feel like I'm being overfilled and turned inside out with every other breath. The man holding my head keeps babbling about my mouth, my sick, dirty, beautiful mouth, and how tight my lips are, now pretty I look with his dick down my throat.
I moan and lock my jaw open as more wax hits my body, dribbling down my back and onto my sides. My body rocks as much as it can while tied and gagged like this, and my internal muscles squeeze like a fist that's only half the result of years of practice. It makes the man fucking me come, his fingers leaving deep, punishing bruises on my hips.
He smacks me once more as he pulls out then stumbles away. The candle man says something to him I miss and then pulls out of my mouth. My whole body sags for a few seconds before another splash of wax lands, on my ass this time, making me scream as some of it slides between my cheeks and burns.
His hand is back in my hair, pulling me backwards hard enough that my eyes water. "I didn't say I was done with you, did I, bitch?"
"No," I gasp, wishing that nothing ever had to be done, that this thing didn't need to end.
I barely get the word out before he slam-fucks into me, his condom-covered dick sliding against the wax and his friend's lube. I let out a whimper that turns into a laugh, that turns into a sob, that breaks off in the back of my throat. I see Dave take a step forward, but I make the okay sign with my thumb and index finger. He nods once and then takes a step back.
I don't want it to stop. It can't stop yet. I can still feel things besides the pain. So it can't be done yet. I'm not ready.
~*~*~
Entry 122
Thanksgiving is a family holiday, but for the last five years, we've been doing it at Rufus's place. Turtle won't do the holiday without Kelly and she won't spend it away from her family. So we've all started trekking into the valley for it. Christmas, too.
Kelly's mom is an amazing cook. She makes mashed potatoes that could float off the plate and up into the air and a turkey that's better than drugs. Johnny's been trying to get her recipes from her for years, but she won't budge.
It's usually a pretty good time. Kelly's little brothers are fun and her dad's cool if you're not the guy fucking his daughter, and it's so normal. Almost Stepford in its normal, really.
Except for the fact that sitting this year is hell because my ass is still aching from the wax-burns of a few days ago. It has me shifting in my chair every few seconds like a kid with ADD.
Kelly asks me if I'm okay, but I shrug it off. Turtle gives her a meaningful look across the table and she drops it, passing me the stuffing instead. I don't know what all Turtle knows because I didn't tell him anything, but we've been friends long enough that it's safe to assume he's figured some stuff out.
"So where's your friend?" Rufus asks me and my whole side of the table goes quiet. "I thought he was joining us."
It's the best Rufus can do. He's old school and that doesn't really jive with me fucking men, but he had invited E to this. It was a big step, even though he couldn't put it in terms I would have and I'd been so touched by it. And now-Well-
"He couldn't make it, Daddy."
"Least he could've done was let us know. You know your mother cooked for nine."
"It's fine, Rufus," his wife says sharply. "I don't mind. More for us. I know how you like my stuffing, Johnny." She beams at Johnny before scooping another serving onto his plate. He doesn't stop chewing to thank her, just nods and applauds her by clicking his fork and knife together.
"I was supposed to tell Kelly, but things got kinda crazy. But it's all right cause the turkey's unbelievable and there's more for me," Turtle agrees awkwardly. Kelly's youngest brother parrots him and Kelly gives him a swift kick under the table.
"Ow!"
"Don't be a shit."
"Kelly, language."
"Make him leave Turtle alone."
Turtle's shoulders are up around his ears. He's been giving off high levels of stress since early this morning. "I got it Kell. It's fine."
Her lower lip starts to droop when Johnny swallows loudly then clears his throat. "Can I just say something?"
Rufus sighs. "If you have to."
"I'd just like to say how thankful I am that we're all here, together, eating this amazing meal. Ya know? That's pretty awesome."
It is. I actually smile at him and try really hard to be thankful for that. It's something, right? Better to have something than nothing. And I cling to that through the rest of dinner until I can follow Rufus and his kids into the living room while Johnny and Turtle stays to help Kelly's mom set up for desert.
Rufus and Kelly talk around me about the game. She sits next to me on the couch, hand on my knee and eyes fixed on the game, a quiet reassurance I don't really need, and her father mostly ignores me. Third and down, I notice Rufus glancing towards the kitchen every minute or so for about half an hour. He's waiting for something-pie, maybe-and I'm not sure what it is that he's waiting to see but when he does, he rises from his chair and shepherds all of us back into the oddly darkened kitchen.
I hear Kelly's sharp intake of breath as my eyes adjust to the dark, and then I see why. The table is covered in lit candles. There's a few pies on the table and there's a faint air off turkey still in the air. But mostly, there's just Turtle, on the floor closest to the living room on one knee, smiling at her. Johnny and her mother are standing on the opposite side of the table from Turtle, and Rufus has a restraining hand on each of his sons.
"Kelly."
Her hand is pressed to her mouth and her eyes are wide. "Oh my God."
Turtle holds out his hand to her. "Kelly, baby, come here."
She crosses the room to him like a ghost, wide-eyed and slow. She stops in front of him and he takes her left hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles.
"Turtle-"
"I love you, Kelly. And I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. I wanna be a part of your family, to make a family with you, and I want you to be part of my family, too."
"Turtle," she says again, and there are tears in her voice now. It makes his name crack, but she's smiling so big that the tears that are rolling down her cheeks glitter. "Oh, God."
"So, will you marry me? I know I ain't perfect, but I love you like crazy and I just wanna make you happy. If you say yes, I swear I'll bust my ass for the rest of my life making sure you are."
Kelly looks down at him for a long moment, then over in the direction I'm standing, at Rufus. I turn to look, too, and he's grinning at her. He nods his approval and she chokes on a little noise that's half a sob and half laughter.
Something in my chest aches with pride for my boy. Good for you, Turtle. Way to go through the proper channels for once. The fact that he knew to ask, that he thought to, speaks volumes about how much he's grown without me paying any attention.
"Yes, yes, I love you. God, of course, yes, you doofus," she cries and then she's kissing him. She kisses him so hard that they actually fall over backwards onto the kitchen floor, laughing. I hear the word "love" come out of both their mouths enough times to be embarrassing before they pick themselves up off the linoleum.
Only Kelly's little brothers are unmoved, but then, they're both teenagers and at the age where they're way too cool to get emotional over romantic stuff. But her mother and my brother are both a mess as he slides the ring on her finger.
"My baby girl's getting married," Rufus declares proudly, turning on the lights now that the dramatic moment is over. "I think this calls for pie." His wife agrees and seems relieved to have something to do while Kelly waves the ring out and in our direction and tires to keep kissing Turtle at the same time.
I take her hand and give it a tight squeeze before looking at it. Tiffany from the looks of it, small enough that Turtle clearly bought it himself with his own money but not cheap, and clear set in smaller gemstones of blue, sapphire, or maybe jade? It's beautiful and sturdy but not showy-just like Kelly.
I accept a slice of apple from her mother and bite into it with a sigh. I watch them, curled together and so damn happy, it's a little easier to be thankful all of a sudden. And proud. Because yeah, my boy did good.
~*~*~
Entry 123
My foot fetishist paints my toenails Christmas colors-red, green, and white. Then he puts a condom on my freshly painted big toe and fucks himself on it. I'm so surprised that it doesn't even occur to me to say anything.
It's weird. It's a first and I know for a fact I can't get very deep inside him, but I think the novelty of the whole experience is what really does it for me. It hits something deep inside and as soon as I've been paid and left the room, I laugh. I laugh so hard that my side hurts, I feel like throwing up, and there are tears on my cheeks.
It leaves me more exhausted than the best orgasm I've ever had. And when I get home, I sleep straight through the night without dreaming of E.
~*~*~
Entry 124
Kelly insists I take her Christmas shopping, even though it's nearly a month away. She's good with forethought that way. She's a planner and really logical about it all, too.
Johnny is out because he can't keep quiet about gifts and he's a glory hog, Turtle can't go with her because most of her presents are for him, and since at least some of what she's getting is rated M for Mature, she can't go with her parents, either.
She could go alone but she doesn't want to, so I'm the obvious choice. No one knows a triple X rating like me and I've got more than my fair share of experience with gift-giving and getting.
We passed on the Black Friday chaos two days ago and are going today instead. Sunday's usually pretty quiet. Lots of people are at church, the spa, or taking advantage of their only day off in a hundred-hour week.
We get the family gifts out of the way first. Kitschy photo album-type stuff for her parents, cooking stuff for Johnny. Then she drags me into La Perle, sits me down in the dressing room with her, and makes me wonder if maybe I shouldn't go back to women for awhile.
"Well?" She does a little twirl. The negligee is yellow. The color is awful on her and the cut makes her look heavier than she is. But it lifts her dark breasts up and makes them swell like scoops of ice cream.
"You can do better."
"You think?" She turns back to face the mirror, giving me a close up view of her backside. The yellow lace gets in the way of what is truly an award-winning ass. Turtle's praised it on more than one occasion and now I can really see why. It's apple-shaped and bitable.
I look away as she unhooks the bra and let's it drop to the floor in a pile with other scraps of sheer and slinky fabrics in mixed colors.
"I don't think. I know. Try the blue one."
"Yankees blue or Congratulations It's a Boy blue?"
"Come on, it's a lighter, better blue than 'it's a boy' blue."
"Whatever. It's gonna give Turtle ideas."
"I thought that was the whole point."
"It is. Just not those ideas. It took a lot of work to get my ass this fabulous and I'm not ready to give up my tummy and thighs yet. You can open 'em now."
I look up from my study of the carpet and this one is much better. Its pale blue satin with a light purple piping that makes her skin look edible. It exposes the skin of her belly and there are clips for stockings that hang down the panties to mid thigh, and if I know her at all, she'll get the hose and heels to match.
"Damn."
She grins at me and preens a little so that her breasts jut forward even more, begging to be touched. "So, tell me Vince-if you had to choose between this," she waves a hand at herself, "or eight hard inches-cut-which would you pick?"
"Are you still engaged to my best friend in this hypothetical?"
"Nope."
"In this purely hypothetical situation? You, in that, in a New York minute. You could burn my eyeballs out you're so hot in that," I say, enjoying the ability to pay an honest compliment for once. "It's a good thing you told Turtle yes, or I would have to do you right here. I haven't fucked anyone in a dressing room in like…ten years." Not since Freddy moved out of LA.
"Perfect." She sighs, pulling her t-shirt over the outfit. Somehow, without flashing me, she manages to do the hooks on the bra and slide it out the sleeves. It's kind of like watching a magic trick up close. She slides her skirt on before getting the fancy panties off and her underwear back on again, without flashing me once. It's voodoo and dark magic as far as I'm concerned. "I think this is the one."
"Definitely."
"You want to look for anything?" she asks. "They've got a men's section."
I shake my head. Underwear shopping is work. This is some of my off time.
"I've got more than enough."
"I don't know, Vince. You look amazing in green. Maybe if you get those green pajamas, you could get some doors to open."
My throat goes dry as she stares at me. I don't answer. I just rise off the stool and exit the dressing room. I don't get very far before she catches me and wrangles me into the checkout line.
"Kelly-"
"I bet if you showed up at his place in those," she points to green, silk men's pajamas, "with the shirt hanging open, the pants all low and sexy on your hips, it'd open up communications with him."
"Kelly, stop."
"No. I just…I don't understand, Vince. You seemed really happy. I've never seen you like that before with anybody, and I think that you shouldn't let that go."
"You're going to be my best friend's wife, you're a good friend, and I love you. I do. But just because you're engaged and stupidly happy, that doesn't mean that you have to fix everyone else, Kel."
It keeps me from having to answer at least until we're out of the store. She leaves it be until we stop for lunch. She waits until after we've ordered, and then tears into me over the breadbasket.
"You're in love with him. So why aren't you still with him? Turtle and Drama may be too big of pussies to ask, but I'm not, and you're gonna tell me."
"Kelly, it's complicated."
She rips up a piece of French bread, giving herself a moment to think, then hits me with a fast one out of left field that comes in right over home plate.
"Is this 'cause of the whole ho thing?"
I cough on my water. "What?"
"You know, Vince, the ho thing, the fact that you sell it. Is it 'cause you won't quit? I thought he was cool with it. I mean, it's part of the deal, right?"
"I-no."
"No, he ain't cool with it?"
"Yes. No. I-he didn't know."
She blinks at me, eyes huge in her face, mouth hanging open so that I have a great view of half-chewed bread. "Are you for real?"
"Yeah, of course I am."
"How could he not know? Shit, Vince, you're not exactly smooth about it. I mean, come on. What did he think you did for a living that you worked 15 hours a week and made six figures a year? Did he never notice the fingernail marks or nothing? Cause you mighta been careful, but I saw a few red flags after you two got together." Kelly plants both her elbows on the table and stares across it, studying me with fascination. "He saw you naked all the damn time and never guessed? How stupid is he?"
"I told him I was a personal assistant."
"For who? God? The prince of Saudi Arabia? Bill Gates? He knew, Vince. He had to know. He was sleeping with you regularly-he had to know someone else had been there. "
"Helping people cheat is a whole subset of my job, Kel. I know how to not get caught. He had no idea. And then when he found out-" " My throat suddenly burns and I take a long sip of water, trying to banish the ache away. "He said I was disgusting."
"So quit. Eric's got more money than God and he loves you. He loves you silly. I bet that if you quit, he'd take you back and you could live happily ever after, the end."
I've had this fight with E; I can't have it again with Kelly. But she's so damn earnest and she cares so much that I lower my voice and lean across the table to give her an answer.
"If I'm going to be bought and sold, I'm going to do it on my terms. I'm not going to be someone's kept boy, Kelly. It's only a couple steps up from being someone's slave and I'm not doing it. It's not pretty or acceptable, what I do, but I've worked and earned everything I have. I can't love someone I'm beholden to like that."
"So you'd rather love him and miss him than try something? Get a real job. Daddy'll find you something. It's a good place to start and you can-"
"I don't know how to do anything but fuck, Kelly. It's all I'm good for. So drop it, okay? I know who and what I am, and I'm okay with it. He's not and that's why it's over."
"That's bullshit."
"That's life, Kelly. Not everyone gets to marry their best friend."
She looks sad as she twists her engagement ring around on her finger. "No. But they should."
I don't answer her. Our salads arrive and I ask her what she's thinking of doing for her dress, and she lets me change the subject.
~*~*~
Entry 125
"I've got a weird one," Ari tells me when I come to pick up my November paycheck. "But you're gonna wanna hear this."
"They're all weird, Ari. Normal people don't have the money or the inclination."
"Weird enough that if the money weren't so fucking pretty, I wouldn't have even mentioned it."
"How good?"
"Five figures for one month of appointments. You meet him for four hours, twice a week, for all of December-with an option to renew in January."
"How is that weird?"
"You have to agree sight un-fucked, and you have to show up to every single one or you don't get paid. And you follow the instructions he left for you."
"You agreed to that?"
"He's paid a deposit already. If you don't agree, I have to give it back," Air winces like the very words pain him. "But if you agree and then you miss one, then he doesn't pay the sixty percent you'd get, but I get to keep the deposit, so I need you say yes so I can keep his pretty, pretty credit card payment."
That is weird. It's not the sort of deal Ari usually goes in for. "That is kinda weird."
"After my cut, you get forty grand."
Holy fucking shit on a stick. That's un-Goddamn heard of. "Are you kidding?"
"No."
"Some guy wants to pay forty thousand dollars for 32 hours of my time. I'm not that good a lay, Ari. No one is that good a lay."
"Oh it's more than forty. Forty is just what you see after I get my cut."
Red flags go up in the back of my head faster than a shot. "What's wrong with him?"
"Look, he background checked out fine. The missus ran a thorough check and he seems sane, as sane as someone willing to pay almost seventy grand to fuck your ass can be, but still. He's not an ax murderer, and he's not violent. What else do you need to know?" Ari demands.
"I need to know what's wrong with him because it's my ass, Ari."
"Who cares what's wrong with him? He could be Quasi-fucking-modo. It doesn't matter. Just lay back, spread your thighs, and think of your bank statements. It's easy money, baby. It's almost free. Don't ask questions. Just take it. Take it, Chase."
I bite my lip for a long moment and then, almost unconsciously, I nod. It's almost much as I could make in three months. I can't say no, no matter what kind of sick, sideshow freak he is. "Yeah. Book it."
"Yeah, baby! Take care of yourself, back, sac, and crack, and I'll email you the specifics. This cat's got bank and we're going to give him the best."
~*~*~
Entry 126
The instructions are pretty specific. Go to the Peninsula Hotel. Get the key to penthouse Ken the night receptionist has waiting for me. Go in. Take off my clothes. Lay face down on the bed. Close my eyes. Wait for him to come and fuck me. That's all easy.
It's waiting for him to touch me that's difficult. I count backward from a hundred four times before a hand lands on the back of my neck. It's gentle and it's warm, and it strokes delicately over my shoulders before skimming down my spine. I shiver and heat explodes wherever the client's hands touch me. They're electric in a way that makes my breath catch and my body shiver. It's confusing and I can't tell if it's him, subtle submission, the mystery, or what, but it's turning me inside out.
They stroke the small of my back before dipping into my crack, dry and firm, pressing but not pushing. Then his lips mimic the path taken by his fingers and I gasp and try to pull myself up onto my knees so that I can push back onto his lips and tongue. But his hand on the small of my back stops me, holds me prisoner as he tongue-fucks me into a begging mess, begging to be fucked.
It feels amazing. It's the best I've ever had with a client. But there's an edge of tension spiking through the air that won't go away, no matter how good he makes me feel, because there has to be something wrong with him. There has to be something bad enough that he won't speak or let me look at him, and it makes my nerves knot in the muscles right above my cock and adds a sharp edge to my arousal.
I hear the sound of a condom wrapper tearing and know that it's the easiest money I've ever made in my life because if he can fuck me half as good as he rimmed me, it's like I'm being paid to orgasm and that is the best kind of payoff.
His hand returns to base of my spine, holding my ass still and the other lands on the back of my neck, pressing my face into the pillows and holding me captive. It makes it so that I can't move when enters me.
His hips hit my ass and I know. I know with every cell in my body who it is, and the realization sucks the breath out of my lungs and stops my heart fucking dead in my chest.
He sets a familiar rhythm, hypnotic and recognizable, and it takes every ounce of will I have to speak. But I have to.
"E?"
The man inside me says nothing, just fucks me harder in confirmation. God, I know his cock. I know how it feels inside me. And suddenly I can recognize his hands, too. And I know this bed and this room, this bed where he fucked me for the first time.
He doesn't stop fucking me. His hand's aren't bruising or painful, they're just confining, and God, I feel like I'm spinning. My stomach rolls like a wave pushing at the back of my throat and my voice breaks. "E, you have to-"
"Shut up, Vince," he says. His voice is flat and even, and I feel so nauseous that I'm gagging on it.
"E. E, get off. Please get off me. "
"Why?" His voice is brittle, angry. His words are clipped and they cut through me like knives. "I paid for this. You agreed the moment you laid down. That's how this works, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, that's how it works. But I'm gonna puke. So please, E, let me up. You gotta let me up."
Mercifully, he pulls out and I scramble, naked and clumsy, to the bathroom. I land on my knees with a thud and pain rocks up my legs to my hips as I heave into the bowl.
He's wearing slacks, unzipped and unbuttoned, and he kneels next to me. He doesn't touch me or rub my back like he did last time I was sick in front of him. He held me then. Now it's different. He holds out a wet washcloth and presses it into my hand as I finish.
I wipe my mouth and fall back, naked, against the side of the raised Jacuzzi bathtub. He looks so good that I want to cry. I had forgotten how good he looked. I hadn't really realized how much I missed him.
"E, what are you doing here?"
"I'm waiting for you to get done being sick so I can finish fucking you."
I flinch. Then I stare at him, hurt and confused and all I can do is shake my head. "Why? E, I don't understand."
"You wouldn't quit," he says, like he still can't believe that I would do it. Like he can't believe I was available to be here in the first place. "You wouldn't quit," E repeats with a flatness that scares me a little, "because it'd make you my whore. So I bought your time. Honest and legit, right? So now you can have it your way, and I can still have it mine."
"But, you could have yours. If you wanted me, E, you just had to say so. I'd have come back. I want to come back." I choke back an I love you. "You don't need to pay for me. You've never needed to."
"No, I can't. Because if you come back then-then it'd mean you were mine. Not my whore or my boy-toy or my, I don't know, my mistress. You'd have to be my lover. My partner who I don't share. Goddamn it, Vince, you'd have to be mine." He blinks and looks upwards, back towards the bed, anywhere but at me. I recognized the move from when we were very small children, and it means he was trying not to cry. "I'd be yours and you'd be mine. And you can't be, can you?"
I tuck my knees up to my chest and hug them tight. It hurts, in my throat from the stomachache and in my heart from where it is breaking.
"I want to be with you, E. Why can't you just let that be enough?"
"Because you'd have fucked whoever was here, Vince. It didn't matter who it was, he paid so for four hours after you walked in the door, your ass and mouth and all the rest of you belonged to him, and that's fine by you."
E blinks one more time and one of the tears slips past his lashes and down his face. I reach for him and he hits my hand away. Another escapes as I watch, and he wipes it with the ball of his hand and keeps talking.
"As long as he had the money, you'd spread your legs and take it, and then ask for more. It just happened to be me. But you've turned into fuck-slut for whoever's tongue and cock it was. That's why it isn't enough. But I can't let you go.'"
Without warning, he reaches out and touches my face. His hand cups my cheek and his thumb strokes over my mouth. He drags it across my lower lip and now it's my turn to slip. A tear hits his fingertips and he kneels in front of me.
"I can't let you go. I tried, Vince. I did. It's fucked up, and I tried to do the right thing and just leave it be. But I can't. So I have to do it this way. You can't be mine, so I've got to take my turn just like everyone else."
I lean into his hand because more than anything else in the universe, I want him to hang on to me. But I feel like I'm bleeding from the inside out and this is only going to make it worse for both of us. "E, you aren't everyone else."
"It's better than not touching you." The back of his other hand caresses my other cheek. His knuckles slides over my skin and it makes me shake. "Isn't it?"
Yes. God, yes. I was fucking touch-starved for E. His hands on me are like giving water to a man dying of thirst in the Mojave. "How can you ask me that?"
"If you can't stop, then just be a whore and let me take my time with you when I can. Just… let me. Take my money and let me have you. You won't give us anything else, so you owe me what you'd give anyone else. You owe me more, but that's all I'm asking for." He says it with a bitterness that slices through the gentleness of his touch.
I shake my head as best I can without dislodging his hand. "Don't punish me now for something you already knew. You know what I do, E. You knew it when you came here. I didn't make you. So if you're gonna chose to come into this, you don't get to punish me for that when we do it."
He jerks away from me and onto his feet. He glares down at me with his hands clenched at his side, his eyes bright, wet, and angry. "I gave you all of me," E spits. "I gave you all of me, and you cheated on me the entire time we were together. And you lied about it. So I think that means I can punish you if I want. I paid seventy thousand dollars to get to do whatever the fuck I want with you now."
"If I stay."
E shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. It makes the tattoo on his chest ripple and makes him seem taller than he is. He smiles, the first one I've seen on his lips since this mess started, and it's not a good smile. It's smug, superior, and cocky as hell, and just a little bit mean. "Oh, you're going to stay."
"The fuck I am."
"If you're not going to stay, and get back in bed with me," he takes a few steps back and clears the way out of the bathroom, "go. Go now. Get your clothes on and leave. I dare-hell, I double dog dare you. Go."
I rise on shaky legs and walk out of the bathroom, stopping to take a few mouthfuls of the complimentary mouthwash and spit it out in the sink. And I get as far as finding my boxers, sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. The bed E and I first made love in. The bed I've slept in with him so many nights, safe and comfortable. I don't even pick them up off the floor.
I drop onto bed, jostling the packets of condoms still sitting on the duvet beside me. Defeated, I look over at the bathroom. He's standing, leaned against the doorjamb, watching me. I sigh and rub the back of my neck, and even across the room, I can see him smile.
He crosses the room in a flash, pushing me back on the bed and kissing me at the same time. He doesn't lift up or pull away when he grabs a condom. He's still kissing me as he covers his dick and lifts one of my legs up over his shoulders.
"Beg," he breathes into my mouth. "Beg for me, Vince."
It's not a surprising request. Hundreds of clients have asked me for that very thing. But that order from them has never undone me like it does coming from E.
I'm incoherent. I'm pathetic. It's just a bunch of "please's" and "fucks" and "E's" in a jumbled unintelligible mess of sound. Because of course I want him. He's all I've ever wanted.
"Anything for you, Vince" he replies and God, fuck, he pushes into me with no prep but the lube on the lubricated condom. The burn is harsh, but combined with the slam against my prostate, it sends my eyes rolling back into my head so all I can see is black and a little bit of the ceiling tiles.
He's never fucked me like this before. It's all force and strength and his dick slamming inside me. But he's not touching me anywhere else. It's difficult to wedge my hand between our bodies because every thrust of his hips rocks us backwards, but once my fingers wrap around my cock, its one, two, three, fucking Fourth of July fireworks behind my eyelids.
It wrings me out and exhausts me, but he doesn't stop. And I'm left with that raw, over-sensitized feeling as he keeps fucking me. He holds himself up with one arm and his other hand is bruising my waist as he slams back and forth, head bent, eyes shut, sweat shining on his forehead and neck from the light coming from the bathroom.
He grunts like he's in pain and I lift the leg not over his shoulder off the bed and wrap it around his waist. I wipe the come off my hands on the duvet and then bring them to his shoulders, sliding through the sweat before wrapping my arms around his neck.
E drops his head into the crook of my neck and I bend one of my arms so that I can stroke his hair. His grunt turns into a sobbing sound that makes my chest ache and I kiss the bits of him I can reach-his temple, his ear, the side of his forehead.
"I've got you, E. I've got you."
The hand on my hip digs so hard that I gasp in pain. E rams into me a half of a dozen more times, hard enough to make me wince and clench my teeth against the pain, before he cries out my name and collapses on top of me, panting and limp with his head buried in my shoulder.
After a few moments, his breath evens out, but there's wetness on my shoulder, and God. God, I can't deal with E crying. I can't. I don't know how to deal with the fact that I hurt him that much.
The best I can come up with is, "It's okay." I say it while I run my fingers through his hair and rub his back, and I punctuate it by pressing my lips to his temple. But it's really not sufficient.
"It's not. Fuck, Vince's it's not okay. God, what I just did. How could I-"
"It is. It's okay, I swear to God, E. It's better than okay. It's good. I've missed you so much. I wanted you. I always want you. I came like a freight train and I loved holding you through yours. It's okay, E. It's good."
"It's not. It's not. This is so many kinds of not fucking okay, Vince. Because I love you so fucking much and I'm reduced to this to be inside you."
He says this like it's the dirtiest word on earth. This being what I do, what I've made of my life, the money he paid Ari for the four hours in this hotel room. For the first time, this feels dirty to me, too.
And I don't want him to think that's why I stayed-for the money. He can keep his fucking money. I know he won't, but fuck, I want him to. Because I stayed because I missed having him inside of me so much that there have been times over the last month where it physically ached without him.
"You don't have to pay for something I'm giving you freely. You've got me, E. You've got my heart and my body any time. You don't have to buy me."
"Yeah, yeah I do. If I want you, I have to."
"No you don't. I love making love to you, E. It's not a job. It's not work. It's pleasure and it makes me happy. It makes me feel close to you, like you're part of me. No one else does that to me."
He looks up finally, eyes red and face wet. "I can't live with the alternative that you can't give this up to be with me. So if I can't have you, I have to be part of what you can't give up. I have to do this. So don't make it harder for me. Okay? If you love me at all, do me that favor."
"All right, E."
"All right," he echoes on a sad sigh. Then, with a careful consideration that was missing during the sex, he pulls out of me and lies down beside me. "You should probably go."
"No." I glance at the clock and swallow hard. If he wants it this way, then the least I can do is give it to him. I'm good at that, giving people what they need. "You've got three more hours left."
He says nothing. He just reaches out and pulls me to him, so that my head is resting on his shoulder. Together, we're suddenly out of proportion-my legs hang down off the bed because I'm so much taller than him. But it feels closer to normal and home than anything has since the night we ended.
But it's so far from normal that it's in another universe. It's broken and bizarre that E is desperate enough to go after this the way he is, to shell out for the illusion of acceptance of my world and my life. It's crazy that I'm desperate enough to take what I can get-him any way I can have him for as long as he'll let me. And we love each other too much to do the right thing, the smart thing, and just walk the fuck away from each other.
So, I need to belt in and hang on. Because I don't think what's coming will be easy. But for now, E's holding me, carding absently through my hair, while I trace his tattoo over and over again with my fingertips. It's quiet and familiar, and right now it's enough for both of us.
~*~*~
Continue to Entry 127-140
Entries: 121-126 of 151
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage
Word Count:~7,400
Disclaimer: I don't own Entourage or anyone who has ever appeared on it.
Pairing: Vince/Eric, Vince/Pretty much everyone else except Turtle, Johnny, and the Golds (seriously)
Rating: NC-17 for lots and lots of sex
Warnings: AU, prostitution, mentions of past childhood physical abuse, BDSM, gay sex, straight sex, group sex, rape fantasy, fisting, wax play, a foot fetishist, mentions of daddy-kink, extremely brief mention of watersports. If any of the particular warnings are squicks for you, send me a private message and I'll tell you which entry to avoid!
Betas and helpers: guest_age, justabi, allyndra, ariadne83, pesha and deepad were all completely indispensable. Thank you so much.
Authors Notes: This inspired by Belle de Jour's blog/books/TV series but doesnt crossover in anyway. But it is a hookerfic so I know there are a lot of warnings but I hope you guys will give it a try anyway. Minor characters from canon have links to their pictures if you need a reminder. This fic is complete and I will, baring any unforeseen circumstances, be posting a segment a day until the end of the entourage_fest.
Summary: Entries from the private journal of Vincent Chase, a high paid male escort living in Los Angeles.
Entry 1-20
Entry 21-40
Entry 41-55
Entry 56-58
Entry 59-70
Entry 71-85
Entry 86-105
Entry 106-120
Entry 121
I recognize Dave from the last party of Ari's I worked and he attaches himself to my side the moment I step in. He doesn't say anything. He just gives me a nod that clearly says, "I got your back," and that's it. That's enough. It's a safety net that lets me let go of everything.
I come when called, and I'm pliant and easily moved by directing hands. I don't protest as I'm made to kneel and bend over a leather-padded punishment bench by two guys, each of them older than Ari and sporting white bands of skin where their wedding rings should be.
My knees are on another lower bench connected to the one my torso is spread over and the two men are strapping me in. Restraints circle my ankles and calves and hold me in place. When the cuffs attached to the base off the bench at the other end tighten around my wrists, it's like a switch flips and shuts off my brain.
Being bound shuts my thoughts down and turns my cock on, and it makes my nerve endings fucking dance and my ass ache. I can't think with all the doing and the feeling. For a few blessed fucking hours, I'm just a toy and toys don't have to do anything but be played with and be moved.
I gasp as one of them enters me without warning. It burns, but it's a good burn. I don't know who's fucking me and I don't care. I'm not hollow anymore. I'm not empty. There's someone else moving in me and it's so much better than being trapped alone.
The other man disappears and for a while it's just me and the man fucking me. It's a steady, thoughtless rhythm that I can drift in, but then his friend returns. I smell smoke and a drop of something wet and burning hot lands on my back. I buck against it, pushing back violently and involuntarily against the man fucking me.
He's hand smacks my thigh with an audible crack and I groan loudly. More hot liquid hits my back and spreads, cooling quickly but not before stinging bad enough to pull strangled noises out of me. I've done wax play before, but usually I'm expecting it before it happens.
It crosses lines that Mrs. Ari would be furious with me for not safe-wording out of, but I don't care. It hurts so fucking good that for the first time in ages, the hurt outside balances out the shit in my head that I can't control and I feel balanced out. Level.
The fucker thrusts in particularly deep, forcing me open and hitting my prostate at the same time as his partner pours a long stream of wax on the base of my spine. I let out a noise that's a little embarrassing, but it ends on a moan begging, "More."
"Hungry fucking whore." The man with the candle laughs. A few small drops land on my hands and arms. I whimper and the man fucking me slaps me again. He and the candle man both laugh. But the man fucking me doesn't speak. He's not the one in charge here. "You need it bad, don't you, you little bitch?"
"Yes."
"Ask us pretty and we'll give you anything you want," the candle man croons. He drops more wax, onto my ass this time, and it makes me thrust back so hard that I see stars and my wrists ache from yanking against their restraints.
"Please, please, fuck, please."
"Please what, bitch? What do you want?"
"More. Just more. Fucking please more."
"I'm done listening to you talk now, bitch." He sets the candle down on my back then jerks my hanging head up by the hair. He pries my mouth open with the fingers of his other hand before shoving his cock between my lips. He keeps hold of my hair with one hand before picking up the candle with the other.
His hips snap in time with his friend and I feel like I'm being overfilled and turned inside out with every other breath. The man holding my head keeps babbling about my mouth, my sick, dirty, beautiful mouth, and how tight my lips are, now pretty I look with his dick down my throat.
I moan and lock my jaw open as more wax hits my body, dribbling down my back and onto my sides. My body rocks as much as it can while tied and gagged like this, and my internal muscles squeeze like a fist that's only half the result of years of practice. It makes the man fucking me come, his fingers leaving deep, punishing bruises on my hips.
He smacks me once more as he pulls out then stumbles away. The candle man says something to him I miss and then pulls out of my mouth. My whole body sags for a few seconds before another splash of wax lands, on my ass this time, making me scream as some of it slides between my cheeks and burns.
His hand is back in my hair, pulling me backwards hard enough that my eyes water. "I didn't say I was done with you, did I, bitch?"
"No," I gasp, wishing that nothing ever had to be done, that this thing didn't need to end.
I barely get the word out before he slam-fucks into me, his condom-covered dick sliding against the wax and his friend's lube. I let out a whimper that turns into a laugh, that turns into a sob, that breaks off in the back of my throat. I see Dave take a step forward, but I make the okay sign with my thumb and index finger. He nods once and then takes a step back.
I don't want it to stop. It can't stop yet. I can still feel things besides the pain. So it can't be done yet. I'm not ready.
~*~*~
Entry 122
Thanksgiving is a family holiday, but for the last five years, we've been doing it at Rufus's place. Turtle won't do the holiday without Kelly and she won't spend it away from her family. So we've all started trekking into the valley for it. Christmas, too.
Kelly's mom is an amazing cook. She makes mashed potatoes that could float off the plate and up into the air and a turkey that's better than drugs. Johnny's been trying to get her recipes from her for years, but she won't budge.
It's usually a pretty good time. Kelly's little brothers are fun and her dad's cool if you're not the guy fucking his daughter, and it's so normal. Almost Stepford in its normal, really.
Except for the fact that sitting this year is hell because my ass is still aching from the wax-burns of a few days ago. It has me shifting in my chair every few seconds like a kid with ADD.
Kelly asks me if I'm okay, but I shrug it off. Turtle gives her a meaningful look across the table and she drops it, passing me the stuffing instead. I don't know what all Turtle knows because I didn't tell him anything, but we've been friends long enough that it's safe to assume he's figured some stuff out.
"So where's your friend?" Rufus asks me and my whole side of the table goes quiet. "I thought he was joining us."
It's the best Rufus can do. He's old school and that doesn't really jive with me fucking men, but he had invited E to this. It was a big step, even though he couldn't put it in terms I would have and I'd been so touched by it. And now-Well-
"He couldn't make it, Daddy."
"Least he could've done was let us know. You know your mother cooked for nine."
"It's fine, Rufus," his wife says sharply. "I don't mind. More for us. I know how you like my stuffing, Johnny." She beams at Johnny before scooping another serving onto his plate. He doesn't stop chewing to thank her, just nods and applauds her by clicking his fork and knife together.
"I was supposed to tell Kelly, but things got kinda crazy. But it's all right cause the turkey's unbelievable and there's more for me," Turtle agrees awkwardly. Kelly's youngest brother parrots him and Kelly gives him a swift kick under the table.
"Ow!"
"Don't be a shit."
"Kelly, language."
"Make him leave Turtle alone."
Turtle's shoulders are up around his ears. He's been giving off high levels of stress since early this morning. "I got it Kell. It's fine."
Her lower lip starts to droop when Johnny swallows loudly then clears his throat. "Can I just say something?"
Rufus sighs. "If you have to."
"I'd just like to say how thankful I am that we're all here, together, eating this amazing meal. Ya know? That's pretty awesome."
It is. I actually smile at him and try really hard to be thankful for that. It's something, right? Better to have something than nothing. And I cling to that through the rest of dinner until I can follow Rufus and his kids into the living room while Johnny and Turtle stays to help Kelly's mom set up for desert.
Rufus and Kelly talk around me about the game. She sits next to me on the couch, hand on my knee and eyes fixed on the game, a quiet reassurance I don't really need, and her father mostly ignores me. Third and down, I notice Rufus glancing towards the kitchen every minute or so for about half an hour. He's waiting for something-pie, maybe-and I'm not sure what it is that he's waiting to see but when he does, he rises from his chair and shepherds all of us back into the oddly darkened kitchen.
I hear Kelly's sharp intake of breath as my eyes adjust to the dark, and then I see why. The table is covered in lit candles. There's a few pies on the table and there's a faint air off turkey still in the air. But mostly, there's just Turtle, on the floor closest to the living room on one knee, smiling at her. Johnny and her mother are standing on the opposite side of the table from Turtle, and Rufus has a restraining hand on each of his sons.
"Kelly."
Her hand is pressed to her mouth and her eyes are wide. "Oh my God."
Turtle holds out his hand to her. "Kelly, baby, come here."
She crosses the room to him like a ghost, wide-eyed and slow. She stops in front of him and he takes her left hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles.
"Turtle-"
"I love you, Kelly. And I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. I wanna be a part of your family, to make a family with you, and I want you to be part of my family, too."
"Turtle," she says again, and there are tears in her voice now. It makes his name crack, but she's smiling so big that the tears that are rolling down her cheeks glitter. "Oh, God."
"So, will you marry me? I know I ain't perfect, but I love you like crazy and I just wanna make you happy. If you say yes, I swear I'll bust my ass for the rest of my life making sure you are."
Kelly looks down at him for a long moment, then over in the direction I'm standing, at Rufus. I turn to look, too, and he's grinning at her. He nods his approval and she chokes on a little noise that's half a sob and half laughter.
Something in my chest aches with pride for my boy. Good for you, Turtle. Way to go through the proper channels for once. The fact that he knew to ask, that he thought to, speaks volumes about how much he's grown without me paying any attention.
"Yes, yes, I love you. God, of course, yes, you doofus," she cries and then she's kissing him. She kisses him so hard that they actually fall over backwards onto the kitchen floor, laughing. I hear the word "love" come out of both their mouths enough times to be embarrassing before they pick themselves up off the linoleum.
Only Kelly's little brothers are unmoved, but then, they're both teenagers and at the age where they're way too cool to get emotional over romantic stuff. But her mother and my brother are both a mess as he slides the ring on her finger.
"My baby girl's getting married," Rufus declares proudly, turning on the lights now that the dramatic moment is over. "I think this calls for pie." His wife agrees and seems relieved to have something to do while Kelly waves the ring out and in our direction and tires to keep kissing Turtle at the same time.
I take her hand and give it a tight squeeze before looking at it. Tiffany from the looks of it, small enough that Turtle clearly bought it himself with his own money but not cheap, and clear set in smaller gemstones of blue, sapphire, or maybe jade? It's beautiful and sturdy but not showy-just like Kelly.
I accept a slice of apple from her mother and bite into it with a sigh. I watch them, curled together and so damn happy, it's a little easier to be thankful all of a sudden. And proud. Because yeah, my boy did good.
~*~*~
Entry 123
My foot fetishist paints my toenails Christmas colors-red, green, and white. Then he puts a condom on my freshly painted big toe and fucks himself on it. I'm so surprised that it doesn't even occur to me to say anything.
It's weird. It's a first and I know for a fact I can't get very deep inside him, but I think the novelty of the whole experience is what really does it for me. It hits something deep inside and as soon as I've been paid and left the room, I laugh. I laugh so hard that my side hurts, I feel like throwing up, and there are tears on my cheeks.
It leaves me more exhausted than the best orgasm I've ever had. And when I get home, I sleep straight through the night without dreaming of E.
~*~*~
Entry 124
Kelly insists I take her Christmas shopping, even though it's nearly a month away. She's good with forethought that way. She's a planner and really logical about it all, too.
Johnny is out because he can't keep quiet about gifts and he's a glory hog, Turtle can't go with her because most of her presents are for him, and since at least some of what she's getting is rated M for Mature, she can't go with her parents, either.
She could go alone but she doesn't want to, so I'm the obvious choice. No one knows a triple X rating like me and I've got more than my fair share of experience with gift-giving and getting.
We passed on the Black Friday chaos two days ago and are going today instead. Sunday's usually pretty quiet. Lots of people are at church, the spa, or taking advantage of their only day off in a hundred-hour week.
We get the family gifts out of the way first. Kitschy photo album-type stuff for her parents, cooking stuff for Johnny. Then she drags me into La Perle, sits me down in the dressing room with her, and makes me wonder if maybe I shouldn't go back to women for awhile.
"Well?" She does a little twirl. The negligee is yellow. The color is awful on her and the cut makes her look heavier than she is. But it lifts her dark breasts up and makes them swell like scoops of ice cream.
"You can do better."
"You think?" She turns back to face the mirror, giving me a close up view of her backside. The yellow lace gets in the way of what is truly an award-winning ass. Turtle's praised it on more than one occasion and now I can really see why. It's apple-shaped and bitable.
I look away as she unhooks the bra and let's it drop to the floor in a pile with other scraps of sheer and slinky fabrics in mixed colors.
"I don't think. I know. Try the blue one."
"Yankees blue or Congratulations It's a Boy blue?"
"Come on, it's a lighter, better blue than 'it's a boy' blue."
"Whatever. It's gonna give Turtle ideas."
"I thought that was the whole point."
"It is. Just not those ideas. It took a lot of work to get my ass this fabulous and I'm not ready to give up my tummy and thighs yet. You can open 'em now."
I look up from my study of the carpet and this one is much better. Its pale blue satin with a light purple piping that makes her skin look edible. It exposes the skin of her belly and there are clips for stockings that hang down the panties to mid thigh, and if I know her at all, she'll get the hose and heels to match.
"Damn."
She grins at me and preens a little so that her breasts jut forward even more, begging to be touched. "So, tell me Vince-if you had to choose between this," she waves a hand at herself, "or eight hard inches-cut-which would you pick?"
"Are you still engaged to my best friend in this hypothetical?"
"Nope."
"In this purely hypothetical situation? You, in that, in a New York minute. You could burn my eyeballs out you're so hot in that," I say, enjoying the ability to pay an honest compliment for once. "It's a good thing you told Turtle yes, or I would have to do you right here. I haven't fucked anyone in a dressing room in like…ten years." Not since Freddy moved out of LA.
"Perfect." She sighs, pulling her t-shirt over the outfit. Somehow, without flashing me, she manages to do the hooks on the bra and slide it out the sleeves. It's kind of like watching a magic trick up close. She slides her skirt on before getting the fancy panties off and her underwear back on again, without flashing me once. It's voodoo and dark magic as far as I'm concerned. "I think this is the one."
"Definitely."
"You want to look for anything?" she asks. "They've got a men's section."
I shake my head. Underwear shopping is work. This is some of my off time.
"I've got more than enough."
"I don't know, Vince. You look amazing in green. Maybe if you get those green pajamas, you could get some doors to open."
My throat goes dry as she stares at me. I don't answer. I just rise off the stool and exit the dressing room. I don't get very far before she catches me and wrangles me into the checkout line.
"Kelly-"
"I bet if you showed up at his place in those," she points to green, silk men's pajamas, "with the shirt hanging open, the pants all low and sexy on your hips, it'd open up communications with him."
"Kelly, stop."
"No. I just…I don't understand, Vince. You seemed really happy. I've never seen you like that before with anybody, and I think that you shouldn't let that go."
"You're going to be my best friend's wife, you're a good friend, and I love you. I do. But just because you're engaged and stupidly happy, that doesn't mean that you have to fix everyone else, Kel."
It keeps me from having to answer at least until we're out of the store. She leaves it be until we stop for lunch. She waits until after we've ordered, and then tears into me over the breadbasket.
"You're in love with him. So why aren't you still with him? Turtle and Drama may be too big of pussies to ask, but I'm not, and you're gonna tell me."
"Kelly, it's complicated."
She rips up a piece of French bread, giving herself a moment to think, then hits me with a fast one out of left field that comes in right over home plate.
"Is this 'cause of the whole ho thing?"
I cough on my water. "What?"
"You know, Vince, the ho thing, the fact that you sell it. Is it 'cause you won't quit? I thought he was cool with it. I mean, it's part of the deal, right?"
"I-no."
"No, he ain't cool with it?"
"Yes. No. I-he didn't know."
She blinks at me, eyes huge in her face, mouth hanging open so that I have a great view of half-chewed bread. "Are you for real?"
"Yeah, of course I am."
"How could he not know? Shit, Vince, you're not exactly smooth about it. I mean, come on. What did he think you did for a living that you worked 15 hours a week and made six figures a year? Did he never notice the fingernail marks or nothing? Cause you mighta been careful, but I saw a few red flags after you two got together." Kelly plants both her elbows on the table and stares across it, studying me with fascination. "He saw you naked all the damn time and never guessed? How stupid is he?"
"I told him I was a personal assistant."
"For who? God? The prince of Saudi Arabia? Bill Gates? He knew, Vince. He had to know. He was sleeping with you regularly-he had to know someone else had been there. "
"Helping people cheat is a whole subset of my job, Kel. I know how to not get caught. He had no idea. And then when he found out-" " My throat suddenly burns and I take a long sip of water, trying to banish the ache away. "He said I was disgusting."
"So quit. Eric's got more money than God and he loves you. He loves you silly. I bet that if you quit, he'd take you back and you could live happily ever after, the end."
I've had this fight with E; I can't have it again with Kelly. But she's so damn earnest and she cares so much that I lower my voice and lean across the table to give her an answer.
"If I'm going to be bought and sold, I'm going to do it on my terms. I'm not going to be someone's kept boy, Kelly. It's only a couple steps up from being someone's slave and I'm not doing it. It's not pretty or acceptable, what I do, but I've worked and earned everything I have. I can't love someone I'm beholden to like that."
"So you'd rather love him and miss him than try something? Get a real job. Daddy'll find you something. It's a good place to start and you can-"
"I don't know how to do anything but fuck, Kelly. It's all I'm good for. So drop it, okay? I know who and what I am, and I'm okay with it. He's not and that's why it's over."
"That's bullshit."
"That's life, Kelly. Not everyone gets to marry their best friend."
She looks sad as she twists her engagement ring around on her finger. "No. But they should."
I don't answer her. Our salads arrive and I ask her what she's thinking of doing for her dress, and she lets me change the subject.
~*~*~
Entry 125
"I've got a weird one," Ari tells me when I come to pick up my November paycheck. "But you're gonna wanna hear this."
"They're all weird, Ari. Normal people don't have the money or the inclination."
"Weird enough that if the money weren't so fucking pretty, I wouldn't have even mentioned it."
"How good?"
"Five figures for one month of appointments. You meet him for four hours, twice a week, for all of December-with an option to renew in January."
"How is that weird?"
"You have to agree sight un-fucked, and you have to show up to every single one or you don't get paid. And you follow the instructions he left for you."
"You agreed to that?"
"He's paid a deposit already. If you don't agree, I have to give it back," Air winces like the very words pain him. "But if you agree and then you miss one, then he doesn't pay the sixty percent you'd get, but I get to keep the deposit, so I need you say yes so I can keep his pretty, pretty credit card payment."
That is weird. It's not the sort of deal Ari usually goes in for. "That is kinda weird."
"After my cut, you get forty grand."
Holy fucking shit on a stick. That's un-Goddamn heard of. "Are you kidding?"
"No."
"Some guy wants to pay forty thousand dollars for 32 hours of my time. I'm not that good a lay, Ari. No one is that good a lay."
"Oh it's more than forty. Forty is just what you see after I get my cut."
Red flags go up in the back of my head faster than a shot. "What's wrong with him?"
"Look, he background checked out fine. The missus ran a thorough check and he seems sane, as sane as someone willing to pay almost seventy grand to fuck your ass can be, but still. He's not an ax murderer, and he's not violent. What else do you need to know?" Ari demands.
"I need to know what's wrong with him because it's my ass, Ari."
"Who cares what's wrong with him? He could be Quasi-fucking-modo. It doesn't matter. Just lay back, spread your thighs, and think of your bank statements. It's easy money, baby. It's almost free. Don't ask questions. Just take it. Take it, Chase."
I bite my lip for a long moment and then, almost unconsciously, I nod. It's almost much as I could make in three months. I can't say no, no matter what kind of sick, sideshow freak he is. "Yeah. Book it."
"Yeah, baby! Take care of yourself, back, sac, and crack, and I'll email you the specifics. This cat's got bank and we're going to give him the best."
~*~*~
Entry 126
The instructions are pretty specific. Go to the Peninsula Hotel. Get the key to penthouse Ken the night receptionist has waiting for me. Go in. Take off my clothes. Lay face down on the bed. Close my eyes. Wait for him to come and fuck me. That's all easy.
It's waiting for him to touch me that's difficult. I count backward from a hundred four times before a hand lands on the back of my neck. It's gentle and it's warm, and it strokes delicately over my shoulders before skimming down my spine. I shiver and heat explodes wherever the client's hands touch me. They're electric in a way that makes my breath catch and my body shiver. It's confusing and I can't tell if it's him, subtle submission, the mystery, or what, but it's turning me inside out.
They stroke the small of my back before dipping into my crack, dry and firm, pressing but not pushing. Then his lips mimic the path taken by his fingers and I gasp and try to pull myself up onto my knees so that I can push back onto his lips and tongue. But his hand on the small of my back stops me, holds me prisoner as he tongue-fucks me into a begging mess, begging to be fucked.
It feels amazing. It's the best I've ever had with a client. But there's an edge of tension spiking through the air that won't go away, no matter how good he makes me feel, because there has to be something wrong with him. There has to be something bad enough that he won't speak or let me look at him, and it makes my nerves knot in the muscles right above my cock and adds a sharp edge to my arousal.
I hear the sound of a condom wrapper tearing and know that it's the easiest money I've ever made in my life because if he can fuck me half as good as he rimmed me, it's like I'm being paid to orgasm and that is the best kind of payoff.
His hand returns to base of my spine, holding my ass still and the other lands on the back of my neck, pressing my face into the pillows and holding me captive. It makes it so that I can't move when enters me.
His hips hit my ass and I know. I know with every cell in my body who it is, and the realization sucks the breath out of my lungs and stops my heart fucking dead in my chest.
He sets a familiar rhythm, hypnotic and recognizable, and it takes every ounce of will I have to speak. But I have to.
"E?"
The man inside me says nothing, just fucks me harder in confirmation. God, I know his cock. I know how it feels inside me. And suddenly I can recognize his hands, too. And I know this bed and this room, this bed where he fucked me for the first time.
He doesn't stop fucking me. His hand's aren't bruising or painful, they're just confining, and God, I feel like I'm spinning. My stomach rolls like a wave pushing at the back of my throat and my voice breaks. "E, you have to-"
"Shut up, Vince," he says. His voice is flat and even, and I feel so nauseous that I'm gagging on it.
"E. E, get off. Please get off me. "
"Why?" His voice is brittle, angry. His words are clipped and they cut through me like knives. "I paid for this. You agreed the moment you laid down. That's how this works, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, that's how it works. But I'm gonna puke. So please, E, let me up. You gotta let me up."
Mercifully, he pulls out and I scramble, naked and clumsy, to the bathroom. I land on my knees with a thud and pain rocks up my legs to my hips as I heave into the bowl.
He's wearing slacks, unzipped and unbuttoned, and he kneels next to me. He doesn't touch me or rub my back like he did last time I was sick in front of him. He held me then. Now it's different. He holds out a wet washcloth and presses it into my hand as I finish.
I wipe my mouth and fall back, naked, against the side of the raised Jacuzzi bathtub. He looks so good that I want to cry. I had forgotten how good he looked. I hadn't really realized how much I missed him.
"E, what are you doing here?"
"I'm waiting for you to get done being sick so I can finish fucking you."
I flinch. Then I stare at him, hurt and confused and all I can do is shake my head. "Why? E, I don't understand."
"You wouldn't quit," he says, like he still can't believe that I would do it. Like he can't believe I was available to be here in the first place. "You wouldn't quit," E repeats with a flatness that scares me a little, "because it'd make you my whore. So I bought your time. Honest and legit, right? So now you can have it your way, and I can still have it mine."
"But, you could have yours. If you wanted me, E, you just had to say so. I'd have come back. I want to come back." I choke back an I love you. "You don't need to pay for me. You've never needed to."
"No, I can't. Because if you come back then-then it'd mean you were mine. Not my whore or my boy-toy or my, I don't know, my mistress. You'd have to be my lover. My partner who I don't share. Goddamn it, Vince, you'd have to be mine." He blinks and looks upwards, back towards the bed, anywhere but at me. I recognized the move from when we were very small children, and it means he was trying not to cry. "I'd be yours and you'd be mine. And you can't be, can you?"
I tuck my knees up to my chest and hug them tight. It hurts, in my throat from the stomachache and in my heart from where it is breaking.
"I want to be with you, E. Why can't you just let that be enough?"
"Because you'd have fucked whoever was here, Vince. It didn't matter who it was, he paid so for four hours after you walked in the door, your ass and mouth and all the rest of you belonged to him, and that's fine by you."
E blinks one more time and one of the tears slips past his lashes and down his face. I reach for him and he hits my hand away. Another escapes as I watch, and he wipes it with the ball of his hand and keeps talking.
"As long as he had the money, you'd spread your legs and take it, and then ask for more. It just happened to be me. But you've turned into fuck-slut for whoever's tongue and cock it was. That's why it isn't enough. But I can't let you go.'"
Without warning, he reaches out and touches my face. His hand cups my cheek and his thumb strokes over my mouth. He drags it across my lower lip and now it's my turn to slip. A tear hits his fingertips and he kneels in front of me.
"I can't let you go. I tried, Vince. I did. It's fucked up, and I tried to do the right thing and just leave it be. But I can't. So I have to do it this way. You can't be mine, so I've got to take my turn just like everyone else."
I lean into his hand because more than anything else in the universe, I want him to hang on to me. But I feel like I'm bleeding from the inside out and this is only going to make it worse for both of us. "E, you aren't everyone else."
"It's better than not touching you." The back of his other hand caresses my other cheek. His knuckles slides over my skin and it makes me shake. "Isn't it?"
Yes. God, yes. I was fucking touch-starved for E. His hands on me are like giving water to a man dying of thirst in the Mojave. "How can you ask me that?"
"If you can't stop, then just be a whore and let me take my time with you when I can. Just… let me. Take my money and let me have you. You won't give us anything else, so you owe me what you'd give anyone else. You owe me more, but that's all I'm asking for." He says it with a bitterness that slices through the gentleness of his touch.
I shake my head as best I can without dislodging his hand. "Don't punish me now for something you already knew. You know what I do, E. You knew it when you came here. I didn't make you. So if you're gonna chose to come into this, you don't get to punish me for that when we do it."
He jerks away from me and onto his feet. He glares down at me with his hands clenched at his side, his eyes bright, wet, and angry. "I gave you all of me," E spits. "I gave you all of me, and you cheated on me the entire time we were together. And you lied about it. So I think that means I can punish you if I want. I paid seventy thousand dollars to get to do whatever the fuck I want with you now."
"If I stay."
E shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. It makes the tattoo on his chest ripple and makes him seem taller than he is. He smiles, the first one I've seen on his lips since this mess started, and it's not a good smile. It's smug, superior, and cocky as hell, and just a little bit mean. "Oh, you're going to stay."
"The fuck I am."
"If you're not going to stay, and get back in bed with me," he takes a few steps back and clears the way out of the bathroom, "go. Go now. Get your clothes on and leave. I dare-hell, I double dog dare you. Go."
I rise on shaky legs and walk out of the bathroom, stopping to take a few mouthfuls of the complimentary mouthwash and spit it out in the sink. And I get as far as finding my boxers, sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. The bed E and I first made love in. The bed I've slept in with him so many nights, safe and comfortable. I don't even pick them up off the floor.
I drop onto bed, jostling the packets of condoms still sitting on the duvet beside me. Defeated, I look over at the bathroom. He's standing, leaned against the doorjamb, watching me. I sigh and rub the back of my neck, and even across the room, I can see him smile.
He crosses the room in a flash, pushing me back on the bed and kissing me at the same time. He doesn't lift up or pull away when he grabs a condom. He's still kissing me as he covers his dick and lifts one of my legs up over his shoulders.
"Beg," he breathes into my mouth. "Beg for me, Vince."
It's not a surprising request. Hundreds of clients have asked me for that very thing. But that order from them has never undone me like it does coming from E.
I'm incoherent. I'm pathetic. It's just a bunch of "please's" and "fucks" and "E's" in a jumbled unintelligible mess of sound. Because of course I want him. He's all I've ever wanted.
"Anything for you, Vince" he replies and God, fuck, he pushes into me with no prep but the lube on the lubricated condom. The burn is harsh, but combined with the slam against my prostate, it sends my eyes rolling back into my head so all I can see is black and a little bit of the ceiling tiles.
He's never fucked me like this before. It's all force and strength and his dick slamming inside me. But he's not touching me anywhere else. It's difficult to wedge my hand between our bodies because every thrust of his hips rocks us backwards, but once my fingers wrap around my cock, its one, two, three, fucking Fourth of July fireworks behind my eyelids.
It wrings me out and exhausts me, but he doesn't stop. And I'm left with that raw, over-sensitized feeling as he keeps fucking me. He holds himself up with one arm and his other hand is bruising my waist as he slams back and forth, head bent, eyes shut, sweat shining on his forehead and neck from the light coming from the bathroom.
He grunts like he's in pain and I lift the leg not over his shoulder off the bed and wrap it around his waist. I wipe the come off my hands on the duvet and then bring them to his shoulders, sliding through the sweat before wrapping my arms around his neck.
E drops his head into the crook of my neck and I bend one of my arms so that I can stroke his hair. His grunt turns into a sobbing sound that makes my chest ache and I kiss the bits of him I can reach-his temple, his ear, the side of his forehead.
"I've got you, E. I've got you."
The hand on my hip digs so hard that I gasp in pain. E rams into me a half of a dozen more times, hard enough to make me wince and clench my teeth against the pain, before he cries out my name and collapses on top of me, panting and limp with his head buried in my shoulder.
After a few moments, his breath evens out, but there's wetness on my shoulder, and God. God, I can't deal with E crying. I can't. I don't know how to deal with the fact that I hurt him that much.
The best I can come up with is, "It's okay." I say it while I run my fingers through his hair and rub his back, and I punctuate it by pressing my lips to his temple. But it's really not sufficient.
"It's not. Fuck, Vince's it's not okay. God, what I just did. How could I-"
"It is. It's okay, I swear to God, E. It's better than okay. It's good. I've missed you so much. I wanted you. I always want you. I came like a freight train and I loved holding you through yours. It's okay, E. It's good."
"It's not. It's not. This is so many kinds of not fucking okay, Vince. Because I love you so fucking much and I'm reduced to this to be inside you."
He says this like it's the dirtiest word on earth. This being what I do, what I've made of my life, the money he paid Ari for the four hours in this hotel room. For the first time, this feels dirty to me, too.
And I don't want him to think that's why I stayed-for the money. He can keep his fucking money. I know he won't, but fuck, I want him to. Because I stayed because I missed having him inside of me so much that there have been times over the last month where it physically ached without him.
"You don't have to pay for something I'm giving you freely. You've got me, E. You've got my heart and my body any time. You don't have to buy me."
"Yeah, yeah I do. If I want you, I have to."
"No you don't. I love making love to you, E. It's not a job. It's not work. It's pleasure and it makes me happy. It makes me feel close to you, like you're part of me. No one else does that to me."
He looks up finally, eyes red and face wet. "I can't live with the alternative that you can't give this up to be with me. So if I can't have you, I have to be part of what you can't give up. I have to do this. So don't make it harder for me. Okay? If you love me at all, do me that favor."
"All right, E."
"All right," he echoes on a sad sigh. Then, with a careful consideration that was missing during the sex, he pulls out of me and lies down beside me. "You should probably go."
"No." I glance at the clock and swallow hard. If he wants it this way, then the least I can do is give it to him. I'm good at that, giving people what they need. "You've got three more hours left."
He says nothing. He just reaches out and pulls me to him, so that my head is resting on his shoulder. Together, we're suddenly out of proportion-my legs hang down off the bed because I'm so much taller than him. But it feels closer to normal and home than anything has since the night we ended.
But it's so far from normal that it's in another universe. It's broken and bizarre that E is desperate enough to go after this the way he is, to shell out for the illusion of acceptance of my world and my life. It's crazy that I'm desperate enough to take what I can get-him any way I can have him for as long as he'll let me. And we love each other too much to do the right thing, the smart thing, and just walk the fuck away from each other.
So, I need to belt in and hang on. Because I don't think what's coming will be easy. But for now, E's holding me, carding absently through my hair, while I trace his tattoo over and over again with my fingertips. It's quiet and familiar, and right now it's enough for both of us.
~*~*~
Continue to Entry 127-140