Dirty Dining (2 page)

“Leftovers, want some?”

Doug worked at one of the best pizza places in town, and even their leftovers were better than fresh pizza from almost anywhere else.

“Sure.” For the next thirty minutes, Jeremy forgot about Thomas from the Dinner Club and concentrated on double-crust pizza with chicken, tangy tomato sauce, and marinated artichoke hearts. And they shared a few beers. By then Jeremy had already started working on his reading for class the following day and didn’t have time to google the Dinner Club. He’d research it tomorrow.

“E
VERYONE
,
THIS
is Jeremy.” Thomas introduced him to the other guys who would be working as serving boys at the Dinner Club that night, including one Jeremy recognized from the gym.

“Hi, Jeremy,” they said in chorus.

One slim blond guy with long bangs came up and gave him a not-very-subtle once-over and, before Jeremy could stop him, pulled his shirt out of his jeans far enough to get a good look at Jeremy’s abs. “Very nice.”

“Just chill, Kit.” Another guy shook his head and tugged Kit away. “You’ll scare him off before dinner even starts.”

Jeremy wasn’t thrilled with the grabby hands and hoped his client—whoever it might be—wouldn’t take liberties the way his fellow serving boys did.

“Let me give you tonight’s assignments.” Thomas spoke up to get their attention over the ensuing chatter. Jeremy was glad since he noticed some of it was speculation about him.

“Please let me have Mr. Gray.” Kit sashayed up to Thomas and tried to pull the clipboard out of his hand. The same law-abiding guy pulled him back.

“Sorry, Kit. You’ve got Mr. Yellow.”

“Oh, not so bad. I didn’t know he was coming tonight.” Kit grinned. “Or at least he will be,” he added in a singsong that had the others laughing.

“We’ve one new client, Mr. Green.”

“Let me have him!” It was another guy.

“Sorry, Rand, I think you’re a bit too much for him. I can’t have any of you scaring him off either. I think Jeremy will serve Mr. Green.” Thomas nodded at Jeremy. “He seems a little shy, so maybe you two will be a good match.”

“Okay.” Jeremy wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted or given an easy task. So far no one here seemed shy. But he needed to learn the ropes and figure out precisely what was expected of him as a serving boy.

Thomas gave out the rest of the assignments. Each client had a color-coded name, reminding Jeremy of the Tarantino film
Reservoir Dogs
. He hoped like hell tonight wouldn’t end up the same way, with everyone dead or wishing they were.

Once Thomas left, one of the guys came up to Jeremy. “I’m Rand. Been here the longest, so I’ll walk you through your duties. And if you’re not sure what to do, just ask me.”

“Okay.”

“First here’s your costume.” Rand handed Jeremy a box. “Open it up.”

Jeremy opened up the flaps and pulled out the flimsy pieces. Some thin filmy fabric, gold cord and not much else. “This is a costume?”

“Yeah. Every dinner has a theme. We’re Greek slave boys tonight. Tonight’s dinner has six courses, and there are six items in each costume. You take one off after you serve each course.”

Jeremy swallowed. Well, Thomas had told him he’d be taking his clothes off. He hadn’t realized quite how this would work, but it seemed easy enough. “That’s it?”

“You let your gentleman choose which piece you remove.”

“Then I take it off, right?”

“Yeah. Or if you let the gentleman do it, you get paid more.”

“Just taking clothes off? No one’s going to put their hands on me or request a lap dance or expect me to suck them off?”

Kit giggled in the background. “Only if you want to, pecan pie. And you may want to.”

Rand shook his head. “You only do what you want. If your guy asks for something, you can say no. You aren’t allowed to offer anything, or we can get in trouble for soliciting sex. There’s a menu—coded of course—and the gentlemen can ‘order’ something extra. You just let yours know which menu items are available.”

“What if I don’t want to do any ‘menu items’?”

“No worries. That’s why Thomas put you with a new guy. The new guys don’t often feel comfortable enough for anything besides the basic dinner service: just serving, sitting with them, cutting their steak, whatever. Some want you to sit on their lap. It’s up to you. Thomas can usually tell what guys are going to want. They all have interviews to join, and he can figure out a lot based on what kind of questions they ask. Mr. Green is a guest of a member, but he’s been advised of the rules.”

“Okay.” Jeremy wondered what Kit and Rand did on a normal night. He didn’t think he’d want to do anything to his “gentleman.” He could get through this one night and then see if he could stomach another dinner.

“Don’t forget to tell him about nightcaps.”

“Right,” Rand continued. “That’s spending the night with the guy. There’s a basic fee for the hotel room upstairs. You get half. And then whatever you decide to do in the room is entirely up to you. Even if you just hold hands. You negotiate activities directly with the gentleman.”

“It’s optional?”

“Yes. My God, you are a nervous Nelly, aren’t you? What do you think is going to happen? The guy’s going to tie you down and rape you in the dining room, then carry you upstairs for round two?”

“Ooh, I hope so!” Kit trilled.

“Knock it off,” another of them said and shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s really easy, and it can be fun if you’re in the right mood. I’m Barry.” The guy held his hand out to Jeremy and they shook.

“Thanks, Barry.”

“Better get dressed.” Rand tapped the box and then headed over to a chair at a mirror across the room.

Jeremy put the box down on the spot in front of his assigned mirror and pulled out the costume. It wasn’t much. He’d probably catch cold in it. But he could use three hundred bucks. It wouldn’t cover the car repairs, but if he did this four or five times, he’d have enough.

He took his street clothes off, acutely aware of the stares of the other guys in the room, and reminded himself the job was letting other guys look at him. He slipped on the sleeveless tunic, a sheer piece of fabric that left his arms completely free. Then he put on the bottom garment, which was nothing more than two thin pieces of white fabric attached to a gold mesh belt. The back panel barely covered his ass while the front left his dick and balls swinging free.

He glanced in the mirror and moved around, realizing with every step or slight brush of air, just about everything was visible. The front barely reached past the end of his cock. He glanced around and realized the other guys were wearing equally revealing costumes, all of a similar theme. They were in slightly different cuts and colors, but all had gold or silver braid and mesh.

The rest of his costume consisted of gladiator sandals, thin leather soles with thick gold braids that wound their way up his ankles and calves, and gold wristbands. He hardly considered wristbands and shoes as items of clothing and realized the goal was to get the serving boys naked as quickly as possible.

“Forgot your headpiece.” Rand came by and settle a ring of gold leaves on his hair. “Do you want some shine or color?”

“Makeup?” Jeremy glanced around to see the other boys with makeup brushes and eyeliner pencils. One guy was painting another guy’s nipples with something glittery.

“It’s optional, but you can decorate yourself a little. It’s mostly food-grade stuff they use for cake decorating. Edible.” He grinned.

“Makes your nipples nice and sweet.” Barry laughed and handed a brush and pot of pink glittery powder to Jeremy.

“Just in case you let someone lick them.” Rand grinned, and Jeremy moved the edge of his tunic so Rand could paint pink sugar on his nipples. The brush tickled and he squirmed at the strange sensation. He watched the others getting ready and realized a couple of them had tubes of lube and butt plugs or dildos.

Kit bent over, and another guy moved close, lubed up a few fingers, and slid one inside of Kit.
What the hell?
Jeremy stared. Several of the guys were lubing themselves or others up, sliding fingers and toys inside, stretching each other out.

“Wait a minute. Rand? I thought this was serving dinner, not fucking.”

“Their gentlemen like more than dinner service. Some clients want to play with you or feel your ass is ready, even if they don’t intend to fuck you. Marketing.” Rand nodded. “I’ve seen guys slip their hand up someone’s skirt, feel that slippery hole, and go for everything on the menu.” He laughed. “It’s optional. But I don’t recommend you slick up unless you’re interested in more than the basic service.”

“Uh, maybe next time.” At this rate, there wouldn’t be a next time.

“Sure. Just have some fun with it. The guys really just want to be pampered and turned on.”

Jeremy couldn’t help staring. These guys seemed excited about the idea of their colorful gentleman fucking them. And Jeremy found watching them get ready was enough to get his cock a little bit hard. He glanced down and realized his little skirt-like thing lifted up, making his slight arousal completely obvious.

“Looks like someone might be on the menu after all.” Barry winked and turned so he could slide a slim dildo into the guy at the mirror on his other side. “Let me know if you want some prep.”

“No. Not tonight.” Jeremy kept watching, wondering whether he’d ever want some stranger to fuck him. Of course he would. He’d gone home—or not home—with guys he’d hooked up with at clubs. You didn’t need dinner and a movie if the attraction was mutual. Mr. Green might be exactly his type. But fooling around for money? That changed everything, didn’t it?

A dinner gong sounded, and the other boys—as they liked to call themselves—put the finishing touches on their costumes and makeup and lined up to parade out in front of tonight’s gentlemen. Each boy had a colored snap-on armband that would match a ribbon on one gentleman’s lapel. Butterflies fluttered in his gut and soon turned to huge bats flapping their wings when the door opened and he heard the men’s voices, their laughter as the boys walked into the dining room.

Rand had told Jeremy to go last, so he could see how the other boys greeted their gentlemen, and he stood in the doorway observing. Boys’ bodies blocked his view at first, and he was halfway into the room, glimpsing heavyset men with gray temples and jowls, before he spotted the bright green ribbon on his client’s lapel.

Oh dear. Oh fucking fuck,
he thought and moved around the perimeter of the room, feeling the breeze under his loincloth as his cock and balls swung free with each step. He felt the sheer fabric flutter around his dick and tried not to be self-conscious as he exposed himself to everyone in the room.

Mr. Green was fucking gorgeous.

B
RICE
M
ARTIN
hadn’t known quite what to expect when he’d been invited by a colleague to the Dinner Club. He’d heard of the place—mentioned in hushed tones by his wealthier gay friends—and he’d checked the website. But outside of a few vague descriptions and tame photos, it wasn’t clear precisely what went on during the dinner parties. The overly generic name only added to the mystique.

He’d been at Christie, Parker, and Lane for six months before anyone but an old friend of his realized he was gay, and then within a week he’d been invited to dinner here by one of the junior partners. He hoped it was a good sign, but he didn’t know quite how to act. He’d watch Watkins and take cues from him, but the idea of paying for sex of any sort wasn’t on his wish list.

They’d come here straight from work, still wearing the suits and ties they’d put on for a meeting with someone from the Securities and Exchange Commission. They’d taken a cab from the office to the posh Pacific Heights Victorian and sipped expertly mixed drinks while they waited for dinner.

Brice didn’t know how to interact with the other diners. They were here for what promised to be a pretty licentious evening, but he didn’t go in for either exhibitionism or voyeurism. Was he supposed to chat with these guys? He had enough to worry about with what Watkins would do or expect. Best to remain quiet and see if anyone spoke to him.

Finally, they were ushered into the dining room. In the center stood a long, wide table. It was made of sturdy wood with a dark green runner and six place settings, three to a side. The dishes, glassware, and silver were of top quality, as elegant as any San Francisco restaurant he’d eaten at. Before each place setting was a wide padded bench rather than a chair, with plenty of room between each bench.

“Sit where you like, gentlemen.” The man at the door greeted them and waved them toward the table.

Watkins took a seat at one end and pointed to the opposite bench. “Sit there. Best view.”

Brice complied, then wished he’d seated himself next to Watkins. With this configuration they could see each other. He didn’t want Watkins observing him, nor did he want to watch Watkins with his own serving boy.

Boy. The word jarred every time Watkins said it. “Of course, they’re all legal. But they’re called boys.”

Brice sipped his dirty martini—extra dirty, just to dilute the booze. He’d been nursing the same one since they’d arrived. He didn’t drink much and definitely wanted to stay in control tonight. Watkins was on his second neat Scotch.

“Welcome to the Dinner Club. I’m Thomas, and I’ll be your host tonight.” Brice recognized the man who had given him a quick, but incisive chat before he was admitted. “Please ask me if you need anything you’re not getting.” He gave a crooked leer of a grin and some of the other men laughed. “We have a few new faces at the table tonight, so I’d like to cover the ground rules before the boys come out.”

The men glanced around the table at each other, and Brice hoped no one spotted he was the newbie. He was uncomfortable enough. There was a palpable tension in the room, the others looking out of the corner of their eyes at each other, as if this was some sort of competition. Thomas opened an ornate carved chest and pulled out a shoebox-sized container. He stood behind Watkins. “Good to have you back, Mr. Orange,” Thomas stated before he pinned a bright orange ribbon to Watkins’ lapel. “Nice to meet your friend, too.”