Chapter 29 - Sweating, Working, Dancing #2
Tony, the manager, signalled him down during a track transition. “Cal, VIP Suite One. Someone just dropped five figures to have the room, and they insisted on you specifically.”
Callum froze. Suite One was the ‘Dark Suite’, a barely used, soundproofed bunker of black velvet, leather and chrome that rarely saw use because of its ridiculous price tag.
It was the kind of room where the no-touch rule was abandoned, provided the tips were high enough.
Apart from the leather sofas, a low table and a pole, the only other thing in there was a glass bowl filled with condoms and lube sachets.
It was clear what went on in there. Callum knew some of the other dancers were more liberal than he was and had sex for money in there, but he never had.
He thought, what would Julian think? He wouldn’t normally do something like this, but the money was useful. He would ensure it was only dancing and nothing more. The other guys might be happy going further, but he wasn’t.
“I’ll do it, Tony, but I’m just dancing. Definitely no extras,” he said.
“Hey, what goes on in there is between you and the client. I just rent the space.” Tony turned and melted into the crowd.
The VIP suite was quieter, a stark contrast to the thundering main dance floor.
The only sound was a deep melodic techno track playing through unseen speakers.
The room was dark, edged with a purple glow from strategically placed neon lights in the corners.
Callum entered quietly, locking the door behind him.
There were no interruptions and no escaping this now.
Callum turned to see the client sitting on the main leather sofa.
He was a big guy, wearing a tuxedo, jacket discarded, white shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful, hair-dusted forearms. His face was obscured by a black silk mask, but the silhouette was unmistakable to Callum.
The breadth of the shoulders, the massive upper arms, and the rolled-up sleeves. It was unmistakably a Titan.
Julian had come to play.
Callum’s heart hammered against his sternum. He felt absolute relief. He knew he should speak, should call him out, but the air in the room was charged with a heated, sexual electricity. This was a game. A roleplay of power and possession.
Callum didn't say a word. He stepped into the centre of the room, locking eyes with the masked man. He decided to pretend he didn’t know who he was, and, as the beat dropped into a jagged, rhythmic grind, Callum began to move.
He didn't just dance; he displayed.
He used the pole as a prop, twirling in time to the beat, arching his spine to show the deep groove of his back muscles, his hands tracing the lines of his thighs and codpiece, showcasing his now semi-erect dick.
He was showing Julian exactly what he’d built in himself, his own masterpiece, an art form that he knew turned him on, big time.
As he danced, he wondered how long he was going to be able to sit there.
He didn’t expect it would be too long.
Julian’s breaths were heavy, his hands gripping the edge of the sofa so hard the leather groaned. He didn't move, his gaze a physical weight traveling over Callum’s glistening chest, the ripple of his abs, and the tight, heavy curve of his glutes in the leather shorts.
Callum could see that Julian was now aroused as he started rubbing himself through his trousers.
He took the dance up a notch, playing with his nipples, making them erect and pert against his chest. He scooped up his own sweat, licking it off his fingers one by one, before then running his hand down his abs to the codpiece, which was now straining against his erection.
He pulled the worn leather tight against his member, which could clearly be outlined in the reflective purple light.
This was too much for Julian, who, without shame, unzipped his fly, freed his cock, and started slowly wanking himself. Callum could see he was completely stiff.
The tension snapped when Callum turned his back, leaning over the table in front of Julian, glutes high in the air, looking at him over his right shoulder.
Julian ripped off the mask and surged forward in one fluid movement, his hands gripping Callum’s hips, upending the bowl of condoms and lube, sachets spilling across the table and across the floor.
Regardless and oblivious, he yanked Callum back against him, his chest a wall of solid heat against his back. He sat Callum on his lap; his dick stretched under Callum’s leather-bound arse.
“You’re mine,” Julian growled, his voice a low jagged rasp against Callum’s ear. “Do you have any idea what it does to me, seeing you dance like this?”
Callum turned to look over his shoulder.
“Yes, I can feel what it does to you, and it’s a good job; I truly am yours,” he said, rhythmically gyrating against Julian’s hot dick under his arse.
He could feel his warmth through the natural leather.
It felt good and Callum was glad he had, for some reason, cleaned himself earlier.
He felt confident, and he knew it was time.
Julian crashed his mouth onto Callum’s, a desperate, hungry collision of teeth and tongue. It wasn't a boardroom kiss; it was a reclamation. Callum’s hands tangled in Julian’s hair, pulling him closer, needing the friction, the heat, the intensity of him.
They fell backwards in a tangle of limbs.
Callum scooted around, got down on his knees between Julian’s legs, his mouth fast around Julian’s cock, sucking him, licking him, giving him the stimulation he craved.
He worked with a frantic need, his mouth and hands worshiping Julian’s body.
He undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing his hairy chest. He pinched his nipples, and Julian quivered under his touch.
He undid the trousers, tracing the happy trail with his fingernails.
He removed his shoes, pulled his trousers and shorts slowly down, never missing a beat, sucking Julian with equal precision and pleasure.
Once Julian was naked, apart from the open shirt, he increased the intensity even further, using his tongue against the rough underside of Julian’s helmet.
This sent him into a frenzy of low moans.
He was working Julian’s cock like he never had before, the position ideal, until he was arching off the leather sofa, a raw, guttural sound escaping his throat.
Callum paused. “I want it, Julian. It’s today, Satan, it’s today.”
Julian smiled at his joke. “I want it too, Cal, so much.”
Julian pulled Callum upright. He flipped the press studs on the codpiece, discarding it and revealing Callum’s dick, but he didn’t suck it as he expected.
Julian ran his hands over the head, which by now was dripping with precum.
He scooped it all up in his hand, flipping him with effortless strength so Callum was pressed chest-down against the sofa cushions.
The leather of Callum’s shorts creaked under the pressure.
Yes, yes, this was what Callum wanted, right now.
Julian’s other hand found the silver ring of the zip at the small of Callum’s back. With one slow, deliberate jerk, he dragged the zipper down, and the shorts opened, now falling around his ankles. The cool air hit Callum’s skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of Julian’s palm.
“I’ve wanted to do this since the first day in the penthouse,” Julian hissed.
Julian used zero finesse. He was animalistic in that moment, hotter than he’d ever been.
He started fingering Callum, using his own precum as lubricant.
Callum moaned and squirmed back on his hot digits.
Julian inserted one finger, then two precum-coated fingers into Callum, hard and deep, stretching him, claiming his space.
Callum let out a choked, high-pitched cry of pleasure, his forehead now digging into the leather upholstery.
It was too much; it was agony and ecstasy at the same moment, the blunt, heavy pressure of Julian’s possession. But he still wanted more.
Julian’s other hand gripped Callum’s hair, pulling his head back to expose the line of his throat. They were hovering on the edge of total surrender, the frantic need to bridge the gap and finally, truly, become one.
“Julian,” Callum gasped, his back arching, his fingers clawing at the sofa. “Please. Now.”
Julian’s breath was ragged against his neck, his body trembling with the effort of restraint. They were seconds away from fucking, right there in the purple light of the Dark Suite, any boundaries of trainer and client, billionaire and dancer, burnt to ash in the heat of the moment.
Callum reached for a sachet of lube from the table.
Julian reached for a condom, but Callum pushed it away.
He looked deeply into the green eyes. “I trust you. Now fuck me, Julian. We have waited, but I want you now, and I want it hard and rough. I want your huge dick inside of me right now. But follow my lead, ok?”
Julian’s eyes darkened as he nodded. He too knew this was the moment.
He ripped open the lube sachet and squeezed a load against Callum’s hole, working it in with his fingers. He spread the remainder over his cock head and shaft, warming it with his hot hand.
Callum arched his back, raising his butt high in the air, ready to receive.
Julian ran his erection along Callum’s arse crack, the heat now intense. Callum moaned; he wanted it. Julian brought the head against Callum’s hole, just resting it there, hands on Callum’s hips, supporting him, guiding himself.
This was the moment Julian had fantasised about so many times, and it was now about to become a reality.
“Slowly, please,” Callum said.
Julian could feel Callum tensing his hole; he could feel the skin moving, feel the heat emanating from deep within him. He leant in, pushing against it, feeling it slowly envelope his helmet, eased by the slippery lube.