Hunger (Chicken Ranch Gentlemen's Club Book 1)

Chicken Ranch Gentlemen’s Club, Book One

Hunger

Amanda Young

About Hunger

Disowned and cast out of his home, eighteen year old Declan Mayo turns to the only thing he can think of to help him get back on his feet. Working at Chicken Ranch, a rural brothel that caters to gay men, seems like the perfect solution. He isn’t about to let a lack of sexual experience stop him from taking what he sees as his only way off the streets.

Falling in love with one of his clients wasn’t in the game plan, but Declan can’t seem to help himself. Killian Hamilton is sweet and kind, with a stutter Declan can’t help but find adorable. Surely, if anyone could overlook Declan’s choice of employment, it would be a kindhearted man like Killian.

What Declan doesn’t count on is Killian’s connection to one of the brothel’s regular clients, or the way his love life is about to blow up in his face.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Hunger

© 2009 by Amanda Young

© 2016 by Amanda Young

Second Edition

Cover design by M.H. Silver

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book contains sexually explicit content which is suitable only for mature adults

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Without money for a cab or the gonads to hitchhike, what should have been a fifteen-minute drive to the countryside took Declan Mayo almost two hours by foot. A light mist of rain began long before he made it to the muddy driveway leading up to Chicken Ranch. His head and shoulders felt more damp than wet, but his sneakers squished with water thanks to all the puddles he'd stepped in along the way.

The sign above the entrance wasn't huge or well lit, as he'd half expected from an establishment of ill repute. It looked much like any other discreet title carved into a wooden placard above the many ranches and farms in the area. No one would give it a second look, which he supposed was kind of the point. Keeping things low-key would be essential to any illicit business.

With a ragged sigh, he started up the darkened lane. Every step made the blisters on his heels burn like fire from where his shoes had rubbed his skin raw. As much as he would've liked to turn around and run in the opposite direction, he didn't have many options. Pride didn't make him any less homeless or fill the empty ache of a stomach that had gone too long without sustenance. Going back the way he'd come would only mean another long night on a hard park bench, worrying about whether he'd be accosted in his sleep or arrested for something he couldn't help.

By the time he shuffled half a mile to the large colonial house, Declan was beginning to think the hustler who'd clued him in to the existence of a local, all-male brothel had been yanking his chain. Granted, prostitution was illegal in much of the country, but surely someone who operated a thriving, modern-day whorehouse would have the money to pave their driveway.

Dread crept up his spine and settled at the base of his skull as he climbed the steps and warily approached the front door. Although interior lights were on, assuring him he wouldn't actually wake anyone up, he was a little afraid to knock. God only knew what he would discover once he did.

Would someone answer the door with a shotgun and accuse him of trespassing on private property? Better yet, maybe this was all a setup, and he'd find himself kidnapped and sold into a ring of slavers looking for fresh meat.

His stomach gurgled, too empty to work up a full growl, and reminded him why he was there. Good or bad, there was only one way to find out what fate had in store for him. Declan steeled his courage and rang the doorbell.

"State your business."

Declan jumped and glanced around, only then noticing the small voice box located on the door frame. He pressed the Talk button and leaned in close, not sure how good the little box's range was. "I, ah…"
Fuck. What the hell am I supposed to say?
"I'm here to inquire about a job."

The door buzzed and swung open, revealing a young man with bouncy chestnut curls and big brown eyes that reminded Declan of the heifers on his old friend Brody's farm. He wore a prim white dress shirt, buttoned up to the stiff collar, and pressed beige slacks—not exactly the kind of attire Declan thought of as a whore's ensemble.

"So," the man said, looking Declan up and down. "You'd like a job, huh?"

"I, uh…I guess so."

"You guess?" The brunet snorted and stepped aside. "Come on in. My name's Colt. You'll have to speak with Mr. Graves about a position, but he's always on the lookout for new boys."

Declan stepped inside and gawked, feeling out of his element. His family wasn't poor, but being middle-class did not provide crystal chandeliers. Not that his family was providing him with much of anything other than scorn these days.

Directly in front of him were two impressive curved staircases that led to the second floor. A hallway disappeared behind each set of stairs. Spacious sitting rooms were located to his left and right. As he looked on, a buff, bare-chested guy dressed in black leather chaps, sans anything underneath, jogged down the stairs and disappeared into the sitting room on the left.

All the saliva in Declan's mouth dried up. His gaze strayed to the doorway, hoping the practically naked man would appear over the threshold and let him take a long gander at the goodies he was sporting.

The door closed with a
bang
behind him, making him jump and jerk around. His face heated as the other man—Colt—shot him curious look.

Colt smirked, drawing attention to his firm lips. "You're a jittery little thing, aren't you?"

Declan shrugged. "No, sir. Well, not usually."

"You don't need to call me 'sir.' We're all working stiffs around here."

"Oh. Are you, um, are you a…?" Declan let his question trail off, unsure of what title he was supposed to give the prostitutes. They would undoubtedly take offense to being called whores.

"I'm not a rent boy, if that's what you mean. I assist Mr. Graves. You know, you're lucky it's a Monday, otherwise the boss would be too busy to see you without an appointment."

"Well, I, um, appreciate that." Declan winced. He sounded like a complete moron. The owner—was there a male term for madam?—would probably take one look at him, think he was simpleminded, and send him packing.

"Mm hmm," Colt said, turning his back on Declan. "Follow me, please."

Declan trailed after the other man, down the hallway to the right of the stairs. Colt stopped at the first door and knocked lightly. A deep male voice called out for them to enter.

Colt opened the door and waved for Declan to go in ahead of him. "In you go."

Declan stepped over the threshold, quickly taking in the tidy office before his gaze zeroed in on the man behind the desk.

"This guy—" Colt glanced at Declan, waiting.

It took Declan a second to figure out what the man wanted. "Oh. Um, my name's Declan. Declan Mayo."

"Right. Declan is here about a job." Colt backed out of the room and closed the door. The tiny
click
of the latch catching sounded like a gunshot to Declan.

"Have a seat, Declan." The raven-haired man behind the desk motioned toward the chair in front of Declan and then folded his arms across the impressive width of his chest. A charcoal gray sports coat pulled taut across the shoulders, while a white, scoop-neck shirt drew attention to the bronzed skin at his throat. The overhead light caught the slight traces of silver at the man's temples and made the individual hairs shine like strands of the finest silk.

Declan sat on the edge of the seat, his back protesting. Used to slouching, the ramrod-straight posture felt unnatural. As unobtrusively as possible, he stared at the older man and waited for him to speak first.

"What kind of work are you looking for, son?"

"I, uh…"
Why is this so hard? If I can't say it aloud, I sure as hell won't be able to actually do it
. "I want to…" Declan inhaled and let everything out in one long rush of air. "Iwanttohavesexformoney."

"Mm hmm." The older man nodded. "Men or women?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you want to fuck men or women?"

"Uh…men." Declan was a little taken aback by the man's blasé tone. He may as well have asked what the weather was like outside.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, sir." Declan didn't think he could even get it up for a woman. After discovering his attraction to males early, he had never bothered to try anything with the opposite sex.

"Good. May I ask how old you are, Declan?"

"Eighteen, sir."

"Can you prove it?"

"Yes." Declan pulled out his wallet, empty except for a driver's permit and library card, and held it out so the man could see his license.

Graves glimpsed at the ID and nodded. Declan lifted up out of his seat and returned his wallet to his back pocket. Meanwhile, Graves stared at Declan, his gaze intense and invasive. "Are you interested in working full-time or part-time?"

"Full-time, I guess." He needed to make as much as he could.

"Full-time consists of four days on, three days off. Should you change your mind, part-time is weekends only. That's generally when we're the busiest."

"I won't change my mind."

"Fair enough. I'd like to know what you have to offer this establishment that no one else can provide."

"Myself." Declan blushed. "I don't have a ton of experience, but I can make up for that with enthusiasm."

"Precisely how much experience do you have?" Mr. Graves pursed his lips.

The devil on Declan's shoulder urged him to lie. "I've messed around with a lot of men, given handjobs and blowjobs."

"What about anal? Do you prefer to top or bottom?"

"I…uh, bottom, I suppose." At least if he wasn't on top, he wouldn't be expected to keep it up. He could just lay there and let the other man get his rocks off while he used Declan's body.

Mr. Graves cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "You suppose? Declan, have you ever had anal sex?"

"Yes." It was a justified lie. There was no way he'd get hired if he admitted to being a virgin. The sad truth was, he'd been waiting until college to really let loose and explore his sexuality. He hadn't wanted his father to find out about his preferences until he was long gone.
A shame it didn't work out that way…

Mr. Graves sighed and leaned forward, bracing his arms on the desk. "Listen, it's painfully clear you don't have enough experience to know what you're getting yourself into. As much as my clients would love someone green to defile, I can't in good conscience send you on the floor."

"No!" Declan snapped his mouth shut, his desperation rising. His nose burned as if someone had stuck a lit match up both his nostrils. He didn't know what he would do if he didn't get this job. Swallowing his pride, he said, "Please, sir, I really need this job. I know I don't have a lot of experience, but I swear you won't get a single complaint about my performance. I'll do my very best to satisfy all your clients."

The older man silently regarded Declan, his gaze beyond intense. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "All right. I'm willing to give you a shot, contingent on my clients' approval. As long as you keep them happy, you'll keep your job."

Declan released the air he'd been holding in. "Thank you. I promise you won't regret it."

"Not so fast, son. There's a lot of fine print we need to discuss. You may not be so excited about the position once you hear all the stipulations."

"Okay." Nothing he said could be worse than crawling into a stranger's vehicle and giving head for twenty bucks.

"First, I need to ask if you're clean."

"Yes, sir. I washed up before I came out here."

"Good hygiene is important, but that's not what I meant."

"Oh." Declan thought about it for half a second. "
Oh
. Yes, sir. I'm clean."

"Good. Then you won't mind submitting to an oral HIV-antibody test?"

"Uh, no, sir."
Except I don't have the funds to visit a doctor.

To Declan's relief, Graves pulled a kit out of one of the desk drawers. "These tests only take about twenty minutes to produce results. Although the outcome can't be used for anything official, we've found that they suit our needs just fine."

Declan nodded, unsure of what—if anything—needed to be said. Graves snapped on latex gloves and then pulled two pouches out of the box. He tore them open and took out a little blue stand and what looked like a plastic vial. The cap on the vial was removed and set aside; the vial itself was placed on the middle of the stand.

Graves held the other pouch out to Declan. "Take the test stick and swab the flat pad over your gums on the top and bottom. Make sure not to swab the inside of your cheek when you do it, or the test could be messed up."

"Okay." Declan took the little plastic swab out of the pouch and did as instructed. He took it out of his mouth, holding it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger, and held it out. "All done. Now what?"

Graves nodded toward the stand. "Stick it in the vial, all the way down, with the result window facing outward."

Declan did as he was told, a little embarrassed by the way his fingers shook. The other man removed his gloves and stuffed them into a red plastic bag with a BIOHAZARD label on the outside.

Graves tapped his fingers on the desk. "Now that we've got that out of the way, let me explain how we work things here. If you're hired, you'll be given a price sheet that lists all the favors we provide here at Chicken Ranch. It's up to your discretion what services you provide and which you don't. However, with that being said, I'm sure you realize that the more you're willing to do, the more income you'll make. You should also be aware that all earnings are split fifty-fifty with the house. Any tips are yours to keep. Are you still with me so far?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. As I was saying, you'll be given a sheet with a comprehensive list of services to offer each client. Clients come here because their confidentiality is guaranteed and it's safer than picking up a hustler off the street. Rubbers are to be used at all times, regardless of how much you're offered to perform raw. Sessions last as long as the client needs, but shouldn't exceed an hour unless specifically requested.