1. Diesel
1
DIESEL
S traightening himself, Diesel ran his fingers under his nose, removing any evidence of the white powered residue that might be lingering before leaning forward and checking himself out in the mirror.
His eyes took a moment to focus as the effects of the last two bumps he had just done began their journey through his body. Warmth, followed by a tingling sensation, followed by a feeling of being pulled away, all added to the euphoric bliss sweeping across his body. He loved this part.
Smiling, Diesel leaned closer to the mirror to make sure that there were no traces of the powdery substance clinging to his nostrils. Not that he was ashamed for doing a line of coke, but rather he didn’t think Matteo would appreciate his dancers strutting around onstage with a nose full of cocaine on full display. That didn’t exactly scream “classy”—more like five-euro hooker who will blow you in a back alley if you ask them nicely .
Loads of clubs in Europe offered that sort of thing—naked young men, eyes glossy as fuck, with traces of drugs on their faces or needle tracks in their arms. But not here. Not at La Maison de M .
Here, at this club, Matteo and his boys offered nothing but class and luxury. A mix of high-end elegance and sinful debauchery.
Watching as his reflection came into focus, he scanned his features carefully.
Good. Nothing on his face and no evidence of his extracurricular activities. Matteo wouldn’t freak the fuck out.
Lifting his hood over his head, he gave his cock a few extra tugs. In the mirror, he watched as the blood rushed to his cock, causing his meat to thicken in his boxer briefs. His cock always looked good when it was sitting low against the material—like a sleeping anaconda just waiting to wrap itself around its next victim.
Admiring the thickness of his shaft, he thought about all the men… and a few women who lost themselves in the pleasure of his beast. Remembering the way their eyes rolled back in their heads or the way their bodies quivered beneath him was… fuck , those memories were making him horny.
He needed to get laid. Not just shoot his load because someone was paying him to, but actually enjoy himself, connect with somebody…
Connect with somebody? Ha! Who are you kidding?
Diesel’s jaw tightened as he stared at his reflection once again.
Who was he trying to kid?
Giving himself one last scan, he adjusted the waistband of his briefs, then adjusted the hoodie he was wearing. The zipper was undone, and his chiseled chest was on full display. He was going for that stoner-fuckboy look that always made men hard in their pants. It was that combination of not giving a shit and always being down to party that seemed to resonate with his client base.
Damn, he looked good. Even he would fuck himself. It was time.
Turning, he made his way down the short corridor from the guy’s dressing room to the theatre’s stage. Diesel nodded to a few of the crew members as he strutted past them.
He couldn’t exactly remember their names, but one guy liked to smoke pot out behind the maintenance garage, while the other guy liked to get his dick sucked by the dancers on the DL. Always on the down low, these straight, questioning, sometimes-married straight guys… if you can call someone straight who enjoys having their knob worked over before coming down a man’s throat in the darkness of a secluded maintenance area.
Diesel didn’t judge. Every guy’s secrets were his own.
So long as no one was getting hurt, he didn’t care who got their dick sucked, when, where, or by whom.
“You ready, brother?” a familiar voice asked over his shoulder as a large warm hand landed on the back of his neck.
“Always. You want to take the lead? Or should I?” Diesel asked Jared as he stepped up beside him. He already knew the answer.
He and Jared had been best friends since they both started working at La Maison several years ago. Jared was a good guy. Caring, passionate, loyal to a fault. The kind of guy you would do anything for to keep around and in your life—even share him with a certain blue-haired, attention-deficient little shit who liked to play pranks and had the loudest freakin’ orgasms Diesel had ever heard.
Glancing down at Jared’s package, he wondered if perhaps Isaac’s orgasmic screams had more to do with the size of Jared’s rod and not the need to rub it in everyone’s faces that he was getting dicked down on the regular.
No, Diesel wasn’t jealous. Well, yes, okay. He was a tad jealous that he wasn’t bustin’ a nut as often as his best friend and his best friend’s fuck-hole—a.k.a. Isaac. But, no, he was not jealous of the disgustingly sweet relationship that the two of them had been sharing for almost a year now.
Nope. Not jealous. Not even a bit.
“I’ll lead,” Jared noted with a wink of his eye.
Like there was ever a question. Always the top in the relationship.
That boy’s butthole was probably so tight that it could make diamonds if sand ever got caught between his butt cheeks and left there for an extended period of time.
Actually, that was kind of gross. But the point was that Jared—who was gay—was one of those “strictly top” kind of guys. How boring.
We get it. You’re a control freak and tough and like to act like the hero in the bedroom.
But in actuality, it was the guys who flipped who controlled all the power between the sheets. They were the dominators and the submissives. They were the ones who were able to give power as well as take it away. If one was bottoming and not getting what they wanted from their top, they could easily take control and seize power over their partner.
Kind of like him.
Diesel was one of those guys who liked to switch-hit. He liked to top, bottom, lead the train, onload/offload passengers… you name it. Diesel enjoyed doing it. He even played with titties from time to time. While pussy was not Diesel’s meal of choice, he didn’t mind having a bite here and there, especially when a questioning young dude was involved in the meal.
Pulling the curtain back, Diesel slapped his best friend’s ass as Jared hopped up onstage to the sound of cheering, horny, rich men. God, he loved that sound.
Smiling, Diesel joined his buddy and let the music and cheers and cocaine take control of his body.
He loved the feeling. He was happy, confident, a tad arrogant, and horny as fuck. Perfect for getting down and frisky with a room full of cash-loaded, horny dudes who all wanted to shower him with attention and alcohol.
It was great being wanted.
Out onstage, Diesel pumped his arms to get the crowd going. They screamed and cheered while others threw cash on the stage at their feet. Diesel loved the feeling of power and control, knowing that it was up to him to decide how much or how little he showed these men. That their lustful eyes pleaded for mercy, begging him to show them more.
And he would… for a price.
Running his fingers slowly across his bare chest, he teased the rows of salivating men, no doubt wishing that they were onstage, licking every exposed piece of flesh that he allowed them to see.
Power was addictive.
Behind him, Jared removed Diesel’s hoodie and tossed it over his shoulder. Next, Jared moved in close, wrapping his arm possessively around Diesel’s body and began slowly licking the side of Diesel’s neck.
To the casual observer, the act was hot as fuck. Sinful, sensual, and boner inducing.
To Diesel, it was torture. He tried his best not to laugh or twist away from the fiendish succubus currently trying to make love to the side of his neck!
How could one man’s tongue be so fucking ticklish?
Across the room, Diesel spotted Isaac quietly giggling, knowing just how ticklish Diesel was whenever someone tried to suck on his neck.
Bastards.
Both of them.
Deciding he needed to break from Satan’s tongue, Diesel bent over, being sure to press his butt back onto Jared’s junk.
Let’s see how funny you find this. Diesel smirked, stealing a glance over at Isaac.
Isaac was no longer giggling.
Enjoy this, you little giggling bastard. Yes, Diesel could be an asshole like that.
Grinding his ass deeper into Jared’s lap, he winked at a handsome Filipino man who was waving a hundred-euro note up in the air.
Yeah, you want us, don’t you?
Diesel and Jared had been doing a joint strip routine for the past two years. At first, it was a bit awkward. Jared, being the tight-ass alpha male that he was, had trouble relaxing and letting Diesel take control from time to time. But as they got to know each other and their friendship developed, Jared began to relax and let Diesel take the reins… once in a while. And their routines became f’ing hot!
No. There was nothing sexual going on between them. No matter how much it looked like they wanted to fuck each other onstage or how much he played with Jared’s boner—hey, it was part of the job!—Diesel had no desire to stick any part of Jared’s body in his mouth or up his ass.
It took a certain blue-haired little freak a few months to learn that fact when he first moved into the mansion—poor guy had the biggest hard-on for Jared, even though he refused to admit it to himself. Eventually, Isaac began to see that Jared was basically just a brother to Diesel. Okay, perhaps a frat brother— ew . He couldn’t believe he compared himself to a beer-guzzling, brainless muscle pod. What the fuck was wrong with him ?
They were performers.
They created fantasies when onstage. Fantasies that gave them access to their clients’ wallets and handfuls of cash stuffed into their underwear.
No. Diesel was not too proud to take his pants off and suck a dick for money. He was young, hung, and always up for a good time. Those that said otherwise were just jealous because their dick was too small to use to get what they wanted.
His dick was like a magical wand. He waved it around, and people became hypnotized by its power. He might not be the smartest man in the room or the best looking, but when it came to dicks, his commanded attention.
Moving in sync with the music, Diesel and Jared groped and ground and played with each other’s bodies—all to the encouraging whistles and cheers of the rich and powerful men who came to La Maison searching for a good time.
After their three songs were done, Jared and Diesel joined their fellow brethren down on the floor, drinking and flirting with any horny guest who happened to make eye contact—or in Diesel’s case—stared at his dick for way too long.
Yes, his dick was big, but Diesel never considered it weapon-status worthy. Although, sometimes, it did inflict a lot of pain… especially on those who weren’t as “experienced” as they claimed to be.
“Your turn,” Diesel announced, giving the Hungarian politician sitting next to him a devilish grin.
They were heavily engaged in a game of “Never Have I Ever,” to which Diesel was painfully winning. Every friggin’ question the man asked, Diesel had done.
Never have I ever… had a foursome.
Drink.
Never have I ever… been caught fucking outdoors on a motorcycle.
Drink.
Never have I ever… fucked a dude, then fucked his girlfriend right after.
That one had been a funny story.
One Halloween, he had been partying hard with some dude and his girlfriend, doing lines of coke and taking shots of whiskey, when his girlfriend decided she needed to run to the corner store to buy some more smokes. The second the bitch left the apartment, he pulled out his cock, and her boyfriend went for the ride of his life. He wasn’t sure how long the girlfriend had been standing there, but the moment her boyfriend came, she announced it was her turn and practically pushed her man off Diesel’s dick so that she could hop on and experience the ride herself.
Drink.
“I think you won this game,” Diesel said, sliding his hand down the Hungarian’s chest and grabbing the bulge jutting out from the man’s dress pants. “Or perhaps I’m the winner after all.”
Smiling, the man took a sip of his whiskey and let Diesel play with his cock.
Teasing and flirting. It was all part of the game.
Diesel would get the man nice and close, then stop, claiming he was getting thirsty. The man would either buy him a drink or ask him for a private show. That was the point at which Diesel would “finish the job”—for a fee, of course.
Onstage, the music shifted to some Euro fast-moving beat that Diesel and his untalented white ass could never hope to dance to. Somehow, Gunnar and Anders made it look so simple… and sexy.
Leave it to the six-foot-two, blond, blue-eyed Scandinavian brothers to make dancing to this crap somehow look like they were making a porn video onstage.
Whatever.
Two tables over, Isaac and Jared were having drinks with three strapping gentlemen who appeared to be from Bulgaria. Two didn’t speak English, while the third seemed to be translating for them.
Do translators provide translation services in the bedroom as well? That might make for an interesting encounter.
Watching his best friend and his boyfriend work together, Diesel almost felt jealous. Almost .
Adjusting his grip on the Hungarian’s thick piece of meat, Diesel glanced across the room to where Chase was sitting on a barstool chatting with Levi—his fiancé. Another case of love sickness striking hard at La Maison .
Diesel didn’t exactly hate love… he just didn’t trust it. Love was an emotion that made smart people stupid and kind people into monsters. It was crazy how many people Diesel knew who were willing to stab someone in the head if they so much as looked at their partner. See ? Crazy.
Finally, Diesel’s eyes fell on Matteo. The one man he owed everything to. The one man who cared if he lived or if he died.
Even Matteo, the man who swore off love so many years ago, was sitting at the bar staring lovingly into his partner Ares’s eyes.
How does that even happen? One day, Matteo was ready to stab the man in the eye just for breathing near him. The next, he was letting the man rub his belly and shower him with kisses.
See? Smart man, stupid.
There was no denying that his boss and mentor loved the crazy Russian. Romanian? German? Whatever the sneaky gun man was. Matteo had apparently gotten over his aversion to love and joined the other cultists as they polished off their crazy juice.
Then there was himself. The perfect reminder that all he had going for him was sex, drugs, and alcohol. All around him, he was surrounded by people who claimed to be his—his family. Yes, they all loved him and would always be there if he needed them. But in the end, they all had their own lives, and like everyone else in his life, they would all eventually leave him.
Alone.
In the end, that was all he was.
Letting go of Mr. Hungarian’s throbbing cock, Diesel downed the last of his drink, then signaled for their server to bring them another round.
He wasn’t drunk enough yet.