Scott closed the bathroom door and rested his head against it.
The best thing about being an escort, other than the money, was pleasing people. Scott liked to adapt to whoever his customer was and do everything in his power to make sure they had a good time. Their version of a good time usually involved coming inside him, either his mouth, or his hole, and sometimes multiple times.
Scott loved it.
He loved making men come apart. He loved them gripping his hair, moaning as they got close and thanking him like he was a god afterwards.
It gave him a high.
Thomas wasn’t interested in Scott’s mouth or his hole.
As far as Scott could tell, he never got hard during filming.
His voice never sounded affected.
He didn’t have to readjust his jeans.
The only way Scott could please him was by following Thomas’s direction until he fit whatever vision was driving the shoot. Getting it right gave him the same euphoric high as bringing a man to orgasm.
Scott pushed off from the door and started the shower. He stood under the warm spray with his face directed down and touched himself.
He didn’t touch his cock, but his chest, dragging his fingers over his ribs until he shivered. His neck was sensitive, and he scratched his nails, loving the rush of sensation that went down his arms. He might have been stood in a warm shower, but his hairs lifted with an addictive chill.
Scott closed his eyes to enhance the sensation. He pinched, and squeezed, scratched and stroked, until his hand drifted down, not to his cock, but towards his arse. It felt forbidden, and he didn’t know why; he’d pushed his fingers into himself many times before, stretching his hole, preparing for someone’s cock, but there was no date lined up. No cock to fill him, and he still brushed two fingers over his rim before snatching his hand away and telling himself no.
He wasn’t going to do that in Thomas’s shower. He only needed to do that when he was getting ready for a night out with a customer. Rarely did the men he slept with think about stretching and lube. They wanted to push straight in when the moment came, and Scott got his body ready for it for both his and their benefit.
Sometimes he worried he might have given the impression all men had self-lubricating arseholes.
Scott shook his head and went back to showering as he pushed the strange thought of touching himselfthereaway.
Thomas was waiting for him in the kitchen once he was done. He’d already laid the table and warmed up their dinner for the evening.
Scott thanked him, sitting down, and they ate their meal in comfortable silence.
Once they were done, Scott loaded the dishwasher and put it on. Usually, Thomas vanished to feed his snakes at that point in the evening, but he stood behind Scott, waiting.
“Do you want to watch?” Thomas asked.
Scott’s first thought was no, no he did not want to watch Thomas feed his terrifying snake collection, but he bit his tongue, held his immediate response in check, then nodded.
Apart from clambering in through the secret passageway when Thomas had told him not to, Scott hadn’t been in that room again.
Without another word, Thomas turned around and left the kitchen.
Scott hurried after him.
Despite seeing the room before, it was still a shock to Scott’s senses. The floor, the ceiling, and the walls between huge tanks were painted with tropical leaves and vines. Jungle music filled the room, the cackle of birds and the screech of howler monkeys, but Scott couldn’t see the speakers, and the track didn’t repeat itself. Thomas had lit the room with greens and reds, and that colour combination, matched with the walls, made Thomas hard to spot if he stood still for too long.
It looked like there were a pair of blue jeans and a black T-shirt suspended in mid-air.
Thomas pointed at the door they’d come through. “Wait there.”
Scott did as he was told, frowning when Thomas crossed the room. All the furniture had been painted to match the floor and walls.
On the menu for the snakes were rats, mice and a plump, feathered chicken that Thomas told him had been thawing.
“Ring the bell,” Thomas mumbled.
