The Alley
Orli stands on the street corner. The yo-yo sits in his open, upturned palm as he watches cars go by, waiting to cross. He turns his hand over, lets the yo-yo drop to the end of the string and spin there quietly, sleeping.
Flick and twist of his wrist, catches the awakened yo-yo. Flicks and twists down and the yo-yo drops, barely jerks at the end its string, spins...; flick-twist up, and Orli curls his fingers around it loose as the little man on the other side beckons him. Lights up green and tells him to walk, pulls him across the street and Orli releases the ball of the yo-yo so it hits the pavement, bouncing lightly before settling to skim the surface. 'Walks the dog' across the street, snaps the yo-yo up into his hand a step away from the sidewalk, shoves it down deep into his pocket as his foot goes up over the curb.
Orli arranges himself against the side of the building, one foot up against the outer wall. He combs his fingers through his hair, then rests his hands on the wall behind him, jutting his hips out slightly. As usual, Viggo didn't tell him much about his 'appointment.' Orli likes it this way, likes the extra rush of surprise and improvisation. He moistens his lips, leaves them parted, looks around alertly, and waits for the man with the 'safe phrase.'
Josh stands across the road from the whore watching him playing with a yo-yo, just as the pimp had said he would be. Josh grins, takes a last drag of his cigarette and waits for the green man on the crossing. He strolls across the road, tossing the dog-end into the gutter with a sharp, accurate flick of his fingers. He walks up to the whore and leans in close. Lowering his voice, he whispers, "You know, winter's drawing in. Aren't you cold standing out here like this?"
It's what he's been waiting for, and Orli looks up at the man's face for the first time now. Undeniably attractive in that unmistakably American way. "Yeah," he returns. Shivers on impulse, shivers for effect; shivers at the coolness of the man, the confidence and spark in his eyes and smiling mouth. Orli drops his eyes, drops his foot to the ground, pushes himself off the wall lightly to stand before the man. Looks up again, blinks softly, asks in a low voice, "Have you got somewhere warmer we could go?"
Josh smirks at the whore. Pretty. Just how Jason likes them. Him, too. But it's more that he likes Jason liking them pretty.
"Not sure about warm." He turns and begins to walk up York Way, gesturing for the whore to follow. He checks over his shoulder and impatiently snaps his fingers to one side, cock swelling in anticipation.
Already moving with the man, Orli obeys the snap, steps in closer without crowding or touching as they go down the wide, dark road. He can smell the water but doesn't allow himself to wonder if they are going to the marina; if the man wanted him to know where they are going, he would have said.
Orli dares another glance up at the man, who is looking straight ahead. Orli looks straight ahead, too. He doesn't glance again or speak. He just stays snapped to the man's side, as he's been told to by the man's fingers.
The whore keeps close, and Josh wonders if he's afraid. Sometimes he thinks they're brave for following a stranger down a dark alley. More often, though, he thinks they're stupid.
Not that it makes any difference to him. This one seems confident enough not to question where they are going. Josh likes this.
He turns and walks quickly down a dark side street, eyes flicking to his side to check out the boy beside him.
When the man turns off the main road, Orli's stomach clenches. He follows without outward hesitation, keeps his eyes on his feet as they keep time with the man, a fraction off the man's rhythmic footsteps so as not to grate with conformity. Orli swallows hard to force down the bile; swallows and pushes it down. Reminds himself that Viggo set this up, and Viggo would never set him up for something bad; not Viggo. Reminds himself of Viggo, pushes down the clenching; glances at the client, forces himself to relax and go with this attractive American, unmistakable.
Finally they arrive at the alley that Jason had chosen earlier that week. Not too near the main road to warrant too much attention, but still near enough to give that shiver of recklessness to the proceedings.
Josh moves quickly away from the whore and turns, grinning. He stops a few yards from the mouth of the alley and puts his hands in his pockets. "Well, here we are then. You want to sort out the money first?"
Orli looks up into the man's face, reads the fingersnap in the eyes belying the friendly tone of the voice. "Yeah, alright," he replies, carefully casual ease in his own tone and demeanor even as he obeys the man's eyes to approach.
Josh reaches further into his pocket and brings out the money. He waits a beat, then steps forward. Making sure he doesn't touch, he hands the money to the whore and steps around, moving so that he's standing behind the whore, staring at his arse.
Orli folds the notes over as he accepts them and slides them into his front pocket without looking at them. No point counting it in front of the client, which is bad form; and anyhow, Orli doesn't know how much the man's agreement with Viggo was for. He presses the money against the bottom seam of the pocket, pushes a little more even though it has nowhere to go, just to tug his jeans down a little and give the man a glimpse of skin. He readjusts the jeans, pulling the denim tight up against his arse, and spreads his legs to widen his stance as he lets the man look him over, shivering again for the man's gaze.
Josh smiles as he watches the whore adjust his jeans, giving him a better look at his arse. Good boy. He likes it when they're sussed enough to play the game. He moves and stands with his body almost flush against the whore's back. He leans in, then runs his tongue along the back of the whore's neck. He lowers his voice so that he knows the whore will have trouble making out the words. "So pretty. Do love pretty boys." Running his hands down the whore's back, Josh strokes lightly, letting them settle on the hips. "What's your name?"
Orli inclines his head forward in offering when he feels the wet velvet of the man's tongue on the back of his neck. He tilts back when the man whispers something; Orli feels more than hears the words. Knows better than to turn his head or ask; the words aren't as important as the breath on his skin. His cock is starting to harden now, and he makes appreciative sounds from his throat as he arches and presses himself back into the man's caresses. Doesn't know if he's allowed to touch; keeps his hands to himself without touching himself. "Whatever you want it to be," he murmurs in reply.
Josh takes hold of him and presses up against him. Holding him at the hips, he moves the whore around until he's facing the wall of the alley. Pushing him up against it, Josh leans into him, mouth touching skin, and whispers in his ear, "Whore. I want your name to be Whore."
The word shivers up Orli's back, makes him shiver inside. Orli pours the shiver into another word, the one he sighs now for the man: "Yes." He hopes the man will tell Orli what to call him, because if the man pushes Orli against this rough, hard wall in the dark and fucks him rough and hard, calls him 'whore,' Orli will come hard with Ewan's name on his tongue if he isn't told what to say.
Josh pulls the whore back a step and takes his hands, placing them against the wall so that he is braced, arms straight out in front of him. "Stay."
Orli presses his palms against the roughened brick surface. His fingertips curl to find the mortar grooves as he spreads his legs wide apart and arches pliantly, wordlessly. He rolls his hips, shifting in an effort to relieve the pressure caused by his straining cock.
"Pretty whore." Lean muscles tense under Josh's stroking fingers. He bends his head and inhales the whore's scent deep into his lungs. "You smell so fucking good." He grips the whore's t-shirt at the bottom and lifts it up. "Arms." The command is swiftly obeyed, and he pulls the soft cotton over the whore's head. "Nice." He licks the whore's neck again. "Soft." Another long stroke with his tongue. "Skin." He places soft, gentle kisses down the whore's back, stroking the flesh. Feeling the whore's body thrum in response.
Orli shivers at the chill caressing his skin, skin the man has exposed to the cold so that Orli will shiver. He licks at the night, licks the air, the only thing his mouth can touch. Vibrates with each touch of lips and fingers on his skin; low vibrations emanate from his throat, too soft to be a growl; he purrs whorishly, trembles with vibrations buzzing along his skin, pulsing under it, in his blood, in the blood rushing to his cock. He's awash in vibration but not drowning; the pleasure he allows himself is finely tuned, kept at a low hum so he can hear and feel the man's pleasure, so he will be able to please the man.
Josh's hands move to the front of the whore's jeans. He pulls at the buttons until the fly is open and he can slide his hands inside. He moves teasing fingers over the whore's cock, which is hardening under his touch. He lifts his hands out of the whore's jeans and grips the fabric, pushing them down over the jutting hipbones and curved arse. When the jeans are at the ankles, he takes hold of the whore's calf: "Lift." Again, the order is instantly obeyed. He slips the trainers off one foot, then the other. Then he removes the socks. Finally, Josh pulls the jeans off the whore's legs and puts them aside.
He steps back and admires the whore's nakedness. Watches him shiver in the cold evening air.
Orli gasps at the slight rush of air as the man moves back and leaves him completely exposed. He pushes his palms harder against the roughened, porous surface of the wall, his fingers curving back convex against nothing, then curling forward into the grooves. Flattens and curves himself, braces himself and offers himself as a wall to be explored by the man's palms and fingers. Shivers for the man to look at, shivers for the man to touch; whatever the man wants.
Josh dips into his pocket and pulls out the length of fabric. It's soft and supple from many uses. He runs it across his palms and strokes it against his cheek. Moving forward once more, he runs his hands up the whore's arms and sighs into his neck, "I want you to be very still." He raises his arms above the whore's head, hands gripping the length of fabric at both ends as he brings it down over the whore's eyes, whispering, "It's ok. Just relax. I'm not going to hurt you." Then he pulls the blindfold tightly across the whore's eyes and knots it firmly at the back of his head.
Blackness darker than London nights covers Orli, and he sinks into it with a deep sigh. Wants the man to sink into him. Sighs and whimpers for the man in the dark. Feels the man standing behind him; can almost feel the man. Stretches himself more, curves his spine, curves his calves in a stretch, knees locked, elbows locked, extended and exposed. Splays his legs, displays his body. Shivers and trembles in the dark.
He tenses at the muted fall of approaching footsteps. But the man he's shivering for makes no move toward or away from him and neither does he speak, so Orli remains still, taut and focused, and shivering.
Jason walks down the alley, his footsteps muffled by the wet ground of the unmetalled alley. He walks around the pools of water collecting in potholes by Josh's feet, and approaches him.
Josh towers over the whore, nonchalantly appraising him. The whore has a mop of curly hair, spilling over the blindfold, like a cliché of a street urchin. He is fragile, slender and positively begging for it. Jason smiles.
"Are you enjoying yourself, Josh?" Jason asks, considering where to touch the whore first. "Is everything under control?"
When the second man speaks familiarly to the first man, Orli's stomach jumps, not so much at the words spoken as at the shift in power he feels in the air between them, around them, in the very air Orli is breathing into himself; the power shift ripples inside him now, making him shiver again for the second man.
Josh turns and grins at Jason. "Oh yeah, completely under control." He runs his fingers down the whore's back as he speaks. "He's pretty, huh?" Josh laughs and steps back to give Jason a clear view of the whore. "Real obedient as well."
Orli vibrates at the touch. Already stretched, he arches a little more when he feels the American step back; arches and shivers for the Master's gaze.
Jason watches the whore tremble under Josh's touch. The boy is exceptionally responsive for a whore. Jason doesn't know if it's because the boy is too fresh, too new to it to have become jaded; or so hardened to it that he's become artful.
"Josh, they all look pretty in a blindfold," Jason says cynically. "Viggo's merchandise is usually reliable. He wouldn't send out a whore that was going to be difficult."
Josh turns back to the whore and runs his fingers through the dark curls at the nape of his neck. "I like this one. Very amenable." Josh leans in close to whisper in the whore's ear, "You're gonna be real good, right?" Orli isn't sure if he's expected, or allowed, to speak, so he only nods in response.
Jason notices that the whore is still trembling and smacks the whore hard on the arse with the flat of his hand. The unexpected blow shudders through Orli's body, making him arch again in supplication.
"Keep still," Jason instructs the whore. "Didn't you tell him to keep still?" he asks Josh. "If you give an instruction to a whore, you have to make sure that they obey." Jason watches the whore trying to keep still. He folds his arms. "Why is he shivering, anyway? Is he frightened, or just a little slut, wanting to be fucked?"
Josh smirks. "Yeah, he's just a little slut wanting to be fucked." Josh runs his tongue down the whore's back to the base of his spine. "Aren't you?"
Orli moans lightly under the American's tongue. Wants to shift his feet to spread his legs wider, to show them how right they are, to show that he wants everything they want to give him. But he's been told to keep still, and he does.
Hasn't been told not to speak, though, so he murmurs, "Yes, sir." Breath coming a little heavy, jagged edges catching on the cold air he's sucking in; still in control. "I want to be fucked."
Jason walks around to stand in front of the whore and takes hold of the boy's wrists, to move his arms out of the way. He rests his forehead against the boy's and listens to the whore's breathing, a little more audible than it should be.
Orli wants to moisten his lips for the Master, but doesn't dare flick out his tongue while the Master's mouth is so close to his own. He doesn't think the Master will kiss him now, anyhow, but Orli always likes to be prepared.
"He seems a bit nervy to me, like a little animal. You'll have to help him stay still. Bind his wrists," Jason tells Josh.
The Master's words are little razors of meaning cutting through the warm, soft breath on Orli's face. It's still cold but Orli stops shivering, holds himself more perfectly still and pliant.
As instructed, Josh takes hold of the whore's wrists and pulls them behind the whore's back. "Hold them there." He reaches into his pocket and brings out the rope. As he binds the wrists tightly, Josh whispers to the whore, "There, how's that feel? Does that feel good?" Orli shivers with wordless appreciation. Josh runs his hands up the whore's arms and says to Jason, "See what a good whore he is?"
As Josh binds the boy's wrists, Jason admires the way the boy's shoulders are pulled back taut, due to the tension in his arms. Jason moves his forehead from the whore's and studies the face below the blindfold. Josh was right: the boy is pretty, beautiful even. He runs the pad of his thumb over the contours of the boy's face, and presses gently against his lower lip. The whore has such a delicate mouth that Jason revises his earlier plans to misuse it. Josh probably wanted to make use of it, too. "Josh, you're not to touch his mouth," Jason says in a low voice.
Orli purrs low as the Master touches his face, claims his mouth for the Master's own, as is the Master's right. He smiles inside at how right about them he was. Doesn't let his smile show, just purrs and stretches in the relaxed strain of his body.
Jason moves his other hand to stroke at the soft skin of the whore's inner thighs. He takes a little skin between thumb and forefinger, and pinches hard. "Spread your legs wider, whore, so that Josh can touch you," Jason orders.
The sharp pleasure of the pinch thrills through him, straight to his cock, making it twitch even as he keeps the rest of himself still. Full of obedient anticipation, he follows the Master's orders and skims his feet out along the ground, spreading himself in offering to the Master's American Josh.
Josh yanks the rope, making the whore jerk back slightly. He bends down until he is kneeling on the ground. The rope wrapped around one hand, he strokes gently down the whore's thighs. Murmuring softly, he licks and nips at the soft flesh, teasing with his hands all the while. Then without warning, he sinks his teeth into the fleshy inner thigh, biting down hard.
The tug on his bound wrists pulls his shoulders back farther and draws Orli's attention to the American, now on his knees behind him. As the American touches him with hands and mouth, Orli continues to purr, showing the Master his appreciation for the Master's generosity in giving him to the American for pleasure.
When the American's teeth sink into him blunt and hard, Orli's cock twitches hard, his eyelids twitch against the blindfold, and a groan escapes his open mouth.
Jason grabs the whore's hips and pulls him forward, so that his shoulders are arched back. The whore's arms are stretched tight between the pressure of Jason's pull on his hips and Josh's grip on the rope. Jason kisses the whore hard, swallows the whore's moans. He pushes his tongue into the whore's mouth, feels the whimpers against his lips, feels the whore's mouth pliant under his. He wonders what Josh is doing to cause such a response.
Josh continues to lick and kiss the whore's inner thighs. He whispers softly all the while, "Soft. Sweet. Pretty." His hands move gently across the whore's calves, stroking and petting.
Orli kisses back in grateful supplication, welcomes the Master with twirls and flicks of his tongue, offers deeper moans and eager whimpers in return for each claiming stroke of the Master's tongue. His body trembles with strain and wanting: wanting pleasure, wanting to please. His muscles flex under the American's caresses; locks his legs so they won't follow a whim and kneel before he is told to.
Jason feels the whore relax and respond, and the gentleness, the tenderness of the whore's kiss, makes him want to touch, to hold. He wraps his arm around the whore's waist and strokes the boy's cheek, encouraging him to respond. The fact that Josh is responsible for the boy's response makes Jason's cock harden.
As the Master pulls Orli to him, Orli wants to wind his arms around the Master in response, wants to entangle his legs with the Master's. Can only entwine their tongues, press himself into the Master's embrace. Moaning and whimpering continuously, feeding him the small sounds of pleasure the Master seems to want, Orli alters the angle of his face to incline into the Master's touch without breaking the kiss.
Josh listens to the sighs and moans the whore is making above him. He licks the back of the whore's knees, feeling the slight tremble of flesh beneath his lips. Then he bites down once again. The thin skin behind the knees feels as if it might tear, so Josh releases it and licks at it to soothe the hurt.
When the teeth sink into the sensitive flesh behind his knees, Orli flinches: his well-trained feet stay rooted to the ground, but his hips jerk forward unbidden, forcing his cock to slide with delicious friction, without permission, against the textured material of the Master's garments; with a muffled cry, he moves back a fraction so the Master's tongue slides safely from his mouth as he nearly bites down himself. Rests his still-parted lips against the Master's, whimpered entreaty and offer of more.
Jason misses the feel of the whore's soft, submissive mouth against his own. He is aggravated by the sudden interruption. He threads his fingers through the curly hair and gently pulls the whore's head back. "What's the matter?" he asks softly.
It is, perhaps, a genuine question. But whether or not it is that, it is also a line, and Orli has to make a quick decision about how to play it. Infusing his answer with the petulance of a Little Boy, hoping he's guessing correctly to please the Master, Orli whines, "He's biting me."
Jason smiles at the whore and caresses his face. He considers taking off the blindfold. He'd like to see what those eyes look like, and how they'd look bright with tears.
"Josh, that soft skin you keep rambling about - have you marked it?" Jason asks sternly.
"A little." Josh runs his fingers across the red welts that are already appearing across the whore's skin. "I don't think he marks easily. Maybe I should try a little harder? Then again, maybe not." Josh laughs and blinks up at Jason in the gloom. When he gets no response, he continues to stroke, lick and nip at the whore's knees and thighs.
Jason lets go of the whore and takes his wallet from his pocket. He removes twenty pounds and rolls up the notes. He brings the money to the whore's mouth, brushes it across his lips. When he's sure the whore knows what it is, he finds the whore's wrists and slides it between the boy's wrists and the rope.
Orli's cock hardens more at the touch of the money against his mouth and wrists, at the touch of the Master's fingers on his skin. His own fingers curl to touch the edge of the extra money he's been given. He isn't sure whether this is for damage done or damage to come, but it reassures him, gives him confidence that his trust in following the American down a dark alley has not been mislaid.
"I know we can't soil Viggo's merchandise without paying; you don't have to worry. Any more complaints?" Jason asks, as he traces his fingers over the whore's hips, then reaches up to stroke a nipple.
"No," Orli murmurs, adds on an impulse, "Master. Thank you, Master." Orli flicks his tongue out over his lips, licks the roof of his own mouth, the backs of his teeth, lets his tongue rest just inside his open mouth.
Jason grabs hold of the whore's hair and roughly pushes him against the wall. He puts his mouth to the boy's ear and says, "Don't move your mouth away from those bricks, little whore."
The voice is Ewan's for a moment and Orli swallows his moan, rasps his tongue over the roughened surface his open mouth is pressed to, tastes the polluted sweat of the city clinging to the brick wall, licks and swallows the filth. He hopes that if they are too brutal, that if his mouth is forced too sharply into the wall, his teeth will come out cleanly, unbroken enough to be sewn back in straight and beautiful so he can still flash his smile.
Jason reaches down to help Josh up off the ground, and strokes his hair. "I've got to deal with the whimpering. Can you take your belt off, please?"
Orli licks the wall again, wonders whether to whimper more or stop now. Whatever his body wants, Orli can stop; but the Master wants to 'deal with' him and he can hear the leather sliding softly through belt loops. He mustn't deny the Master this desire, and so Orli whimpers again.
Smiling, Josh leans into Jason's touch. He unbuckles his belt and pulls it loose from his jeans, eyes fixed on Jason, looking for approval. As he hands over the belt, he gently runs his fingers along Jason's jaw. He feels the thrill rise up in his throat. He needs to see Jason punish the whore, make the whore scream under the feel of the belt. His belt.
Jason kisses Josh softly on the lips and feels the anticipation. He knows Josh likes this whore, likes the sweetness of him. Jason likes the sweetness, too, likes the bitter aftertaste of the artificiality of the whore, like saccharine. He wants to take the whimpering away, wants to only hear the fragile little breaths when Josh prepares the whore for him. He knows he has to make the whore whimper more first, has to make Josh's sweet pretty thing cry out, before the whimpering will stop.
Jason approaches the whore, smiles at how the whore is even responding to the touch of the wall. He takes hold of the whore's hips, and pulls them back slightly. He grasps the thighs that Josh has marked and pulls them further apart.
Orli submits to the hands upon him, lets the Master draw and mold his body into a new stretch; stretches and mewls.
Jason takes the belt from Josh and places the buckle against his palm. He curls his fingers around the buckle and wraps the belt around his fist. When he's certain he has the right length, he trails the belt across the whore's bound wrists, and takes a step back.
The first blow lands as Jason intended, equally across both buttocks, leaving a clear red stripe on the whore's soft skin.
A shudder ripples through Orli's body, snaps his head up slightly, his mouth scraping the wall; the rippling shudder comes out of him a fluttering moan. /Ewan/, Orli thinks, fluttering behind the blindfold. Tongues the unyielding wall. Ewan; not Ewan; the Master and his American, their eyes on him, their hands... Shivers and quivers, flutters and moans.
"You're right. He doesn't mark that easily. I was intending six, but now I think he'll need ten. Let's see how quickly he'll beg," Jason says, more for the effect it will have on Josh than the whore.
Josh's eyes widen as the first blow hits the whore. "One." He begins to count off the strokes, knowing that Jason wants to hear the count. Wants to listen to Josh count. Count out above the sound of the whore's ragged breathing. The sound of leather on flesh makes his cock harden within the confines of his jeans. He takes Jason's face in his hands and kisses him hard, tongue flicking into Jason's mouth, testing and tasting. Breaking the kiss, he tips his head toward the whore and smiles. "Mark him. Hit him harder. I want to hear him beg, Jason. Please. Make him beg for me," he sighs. Running his fingers across the bulge at his crotch, he shudders with pleasure.
Jason grabs Josh by the collar and pushes him back slightly. He glares at Josh disapprovingly.
"You are being far too pushy. Unless you want me to strip you off and put you up against that wall, next to your little whore, I suggest you calm down," Jason says. He pushes Josh away, expecting Josh to obey him. He knows Josh likes to obey. Jason turns his attention back to the trembling little whore, so responsive to the touch of a belt, just like Josh is responsive to the touch of words.
Orli feels the connection between the Master and the American in the marks vibrating along his skin, in the words that pass between them, the vibrations in the air. The tenderness between them in the way the Master strikes the blow. Aches and wonders if Ewan would ever strike a blow like this, with his belt or his hand; if Ewan would do this for him, hit someone for Orli's pleasure, if Orli brought someone round for him. Throbs and wonders if Dom would do this for him, feel tenderness on his own tender flesh...
Jason touches the red welt that he has left on the whore's skin, feels the whore moving under his fingers. He notices scarred lines of raised white skin, and puts his hand up to brush his fingers across them. He feels the whore twitch nervously underneath his hands, and it feels like a genuine response this time. He takes his hand away.
"It's okay," he says quietly, inclining his head towards the whore's. "I won't hurt you there."
Jason evaluates the remaining skin, takes a step back, and aims for the skin under the welt. He leaves a new red line, parallel to the first one.
Hyperaware of where the belt strikes him, Orli tamps down the twitch, focuses on the lash of leather against his skin. Lets himself feel the vibrations singing through the air with the lash, vibrations warm and stinging across his skin in lines; licks the lines of the brick wall, swiping his tongue along the mortar grooves. He lets the vibrations sink into him, lets them push the twitch down deep and still. Doesn't twitch again, just whimpers and shivers hard for the Master and his watching American.
"Two." Josh feels the ghost of Jason's touch on his skin and sighs. Watching the belt mark the whore, he resists the urge to stroke his cock. Not yet. He knows that release is not permitted until Jason is ready. The whore whimpers at the stroke of the belt. Josh admires the whore's concentration. So still. So passive. Just how Josh likes them to be.
Jason knows that the whore can cope with whatever he's given. Josh probably can't. Jason knows Josh is too close, won't last if Jason draws this punishment out. Jason increases the pace, swiftly lands a blow on one buttock, then the other. He can hear the tension growing in the whore's whimpers, and the echo of that tension in Josh's voice as he counts the blows.
"Three. Four," Josh groans as he counts off the strokes. "Five. Six." Jason has started to work faster now. The increased pace makes Josh feel breathless. His cock is aching, so hard he can barely stand still. Josh wants Jason to shove him against the wall and fuck him. Wants Jason to give him his whole attention, stop teasing the whore for him. He knows that Jason is speeding up the strokes because Josh is so close to coming. He knows that Jason wants to beat the whore until Josh comes.
Jason wants the whore to suffer more; it doesn't engage his interest, but he knows it's what Josh needs to hear, what Josh craves. Jason aims lower, catches the whore across the crease at the top of his thighs, sees the end of the belt snap across the bite marks that Josh has left. Before the whore has a chance to recover from the pain, Jason repeats the stroke, strikes the whore across the same spot.
"Seven," Josh counts the strokes, adding them to the litany, "eight." He breathes in to stop himself from toppling over the edge. The whore's thighs are red raw, but Jason has yet to draw blood. Josh idly wonders if he can ask for it. Ask for the whore to bleed. He blinks at Jason's face in the dim alley light: he looks exultant and Josh knows the look is for him alone.
Orli's mouth is crushed to the wall with each hard stroke; his mouth grinds with the hard rhythm against the wall, fucks the wall, is fucked by the wall. As the strap kisses his body, Orli hardens, kisses the wall harder. Feels wet and warm, and his tongue flicks out, tastes blood. /Ewan./ Nearly arches, but he's been told to stay still, and this isn't Ewan. Moans the name inside his head; moans aloud inarticulately, breathing coming further undone; whimpers and moans, bleeding and ragged.
More hard caresses, and he's throbbing hard, skin throbbing, cock throbbing. Orli's cock is so hard and he's aching to be touched, to touch release. But Orli won't come; he's a good whore, he can stay hard for the Master and the American – he will. He doesn't think he could stay hard for Ewan, though, if Ewan were to whip him like this. He isn't a good whore for Ewan. He wants to be; wants to be a better whore for Ewan, to be Ewan's whore, to give Ewan this exquisite pleasure, if only Ewan would let him.
He licks at the blood again, wonders if Ewan would want to be the one to beat him like this, make him bleed; or want to be the one to watch him bleed. Orli wants to purr and growl. Whimpers more instead: whimpers as ragged as his breath, whimpers torn from him fast and hard.
Jason hears the whore whimpering, and there's something too fragile there, something that Jason didn't intend to be there. Jason's used to hearing the meaning of pain, the answers that are only given when words are not permitted. He's used to hearing them from Josh, and from others who are more subtle in their passivity. Jason stops, lets the hand that holds the belt drop to his side. He walks around to survey the whore.
Jason finds that the whore is breathing hard against the wall, mouth cut, bruised, and battered. Dust from the wall clings to the blood. Jason pushes the whore upright and steadies the boy with his hand. He takes a tissue from his pocket, and wipes the blood from the whore's face. The cuts only look superficial when the blood has gone, not so bad that Viggo would have cause to complain.
"Okay, little one?" Jason asks. "Let's help you to take this."
Orli lets the Master direct his body, pliant and now quiet, breathing hard through parted lips. 'Little one,' he likes that, so close to Ewan's little whore. He keeps breathing, doesn't respond, because despite the inflection it's not a question. It doesn't matter whether or not he is okay; it only matters that he will take more, take "this." If the Master and the American wish to help him take more of this, that is their right and Orli is privileged to allow them, to give them whatever they wish.
Jason strokes the boy's head and turns to Josh, who seems to be suffering in quiet desperation, suffering more than the whore.
"I want you to help him stand. He may find this last bit difficult," Jason tells Josh. "I don't want that pretty face damaged."
Jason waits for Josh to come over, and thinks that Josh will benefit more from supporting the whore, from feeling that taut slender boy pressed up against him in agony, from being so near to that mouth, when those lips part in a scream.
Josh slides in front of the whore, slipping his hands onto angular hips, feeling hot flesh tingle underneath his own blunt fingers. He holds the whore up. Holds himself up. Settling against the wall, Josh rests his head against the whore's shoulder. Sighing softly and dragging his teeth along the blade, he bites down and feels the whore flinch. He bites harder. The whore moans. Josh smiles and licks the bitten skin. In the half light, he can see the marks of his teeth. Perfect prints. It occurs to him that if they found the whore dead in this alley tomorrow, they'd be able to match the marks to his dental records. "You're not to come, okay?" Josh whispers to the whore. "You understand?"
Breath escaping from between his parted lips in quick, hard, shallow gasps, Orli shivers and nods in the dark. He understands that he cannot come. Understands he cannot speak. Understands that he cannot rub against the body before him, holding him; cannot press his mouth to the body before him as if the body were a brick wall, cannot fuck this warm wall of skin and flesh and bone or be fucked by it.
He swallows, presses his tongue up, slides it along the roof of his mouth, pushes it behind his teeth, breathes out a small, anxious whimper. He understands that he is allowed to beg, but not with words, not with his body. He is not to use words or touch or movement. He is to beg only with the sounds they are beating and coaxing out of him, inarticulate and whorish, for their pleasure.
Jason runs the belt across his hand. The leather is still new. It hasn't had a chance to soften up yet. He feels the harsh edge of the belt and angles it for the next stroke. He aims low, watches the keen edge of the belt land across the back of the whore's knees, slicing the skin open. A little blood wells up from beneath the whore's skin, drips onto his legs.
Orli sucks in a deep sharp breath at the deep sharp stroke, lets it out in a sharp shallow cry, elongated; the agony shudders convulsively through Orli, makes him perform the arch he's been aching for but resisting, makes him jerk forward hard into the American holding his hips and it doesn't matter whether he wants to or not because he doesn't have a choice, the deep sharp stroke forces him and he gives himself over to it; tears sting and trickle out of his bound closed eyes, blood trickles out of his cut open skin.
"Eight." Josh counts the eighth stroke again. Miscounts the stroke. Hears himself say it and smiles. Smiles at the convulsion. Knows that this time the belt cut the whore. Can see this from Jason's face. Josh's smile fades as he stares at the whore's blindfold. He wants the whore to see he miscounted on purpose. See that he wants the whore to suffer another stroke. He leans toward the whore and runs his tongue over the whore's lips. Wants to kiss the whore, but knows that Jason won't like that. Wants more than anything to please Jason. Wants to please Jason more than he wants to taste the whore.
The second 'eight' makes Orli smile inside himself around the delirious edges of wet, burning pain. Typical, that. Punters always cheat.
"Pretty whore. Did that hurt?" Josh raises his hand to the whore's mouth and rests it against the lips. "You can bite down. It's okay, I like the pain. I like feeling the hurt." He pushes his hand into the whore's mouth, feels the whore's teeth settle against it. Josh sighs.
Orli closes his mouth around the American's hand, presses his teeth into the flesh, sucks, licks the skin along the underside before his tongue comes to rest curled against the edge. Whimpers at the taste of the American, human musk and bitter cleanness of soap; whimpers for the next stroke, wants to jerk forward again, wants to give the American the pain he craves, the pain the Master is giving him to give the American.
Jason watches the whore's response, and knows it isn't enough for Josh. Josh needs more, so Jason takes hold of the whore's leg, just below the knee, and bends the lower leg back, brings the foot up off the ground. He caresses the leg, feels the definition of the tibia under his hand, heightened by the position he's put the boy into.
Straining, strained with tension and cold, Orli's muscles sigh and quiver under the Master's touch. He mouths the American's hand, clenches and loosens his jaw rhythmically as he sweeps his tongue over the skin, passing on the caresses the Master is giving him; testing the limits of the soft flesh in his mouth, just as the Master is testing the limits of Orli's own body.
Jason runs his hand down the leg, catches the tibia and fibula where they articulate with the whore's foot. He pushes his palm down further and flexes the whore's foot back. When Jason lets go of the leg, the boy maintains the position. Jason steps back and lands one blow across the sole of the whore's foot.
The expected shock breaks Orli's delicate balance, sends him against the American again; sends him, shudders and shivers him. And he bites down as he's been told to, gives the American as much of the pain the Master is sending through his body as Orli thinks the American wants, as much as he thinks the Master would allow Orli to give the American: bites down hard, bites down within the limits, careful to modulate the pressure just enough not to break the skin. Doesn't modulate his cry this time, lets it out vibrating unrestrained against the American's flesh, the human gag muffling him safely so that no one will hear, there is not even a chance anyone will come down the alley after this barely audible scream.
When the whore jerks forward, Josh feels the whore's cock pressing against his thigh. He draws in a sharp breath, both from the feel of the whore's cock and from the feel of the teeth biting into his hand. He can feel the marks they will leave. He wants to look, wants to see the marks, knows how pleased Jason will be that he is marked. "Nine," Josh counts off the stroke. He can feel the whore's pain vibrating up through sinew and bone. He knows that the whore is hurting, but knows that the whore has only one more stroke to carry. Josh wants to hear the whore beg for the next stroke: beg for Jason to stop the next stroke, make the next stroke harder. He leans in and kisses the whore's cheek. "I know how much it hurts. You should tell him to stop. Tell him. Beg him. It's okay, just beg him to stop."
"Josh," Jason says, "get your hand out of his mouth now. I told you to leave that mouth alone." Jason turns his attention back to the whore. Ignoring Josh is usually the most effective punishment. Jason strokes the whore's raised leg, pleased that the whore has managed to maintain the position. He lowers the leg and places the whore's foot back on the ground. He watches the delicate, over-sensitised skin of the foot balancing on the sharp stones that lie in the dirt in the alley. The whore probably still feels the warmth of the lash on that skin, and Jason watches the stones press into the skin as he lifts the other foot, letting the whore's weight balance on the aching foot. He positions the whore's leg, preparing him for the final stroke.
"Please," Orli moans, writhes supplication; gives them what they want: asks for more with the little twists of his body, twists with the gorgeous flames of agony licking up from the sole of his foot, up along his skin and underneath, agony shivering and spreading along connected nerve endings; asks for mercy with his mouth - "please don't," whimpers now, gulps pockets of air woven with words soft and trembling and desperate: "please, stop..."
Jason strokes the whore's back. He's happy with the whore's response, knows Josh is getting what he needs. He knows Josh likes the pretty, soft whore, and Josh will like the pretty, soft way the whore begs. "It's okay; there's just one more. I know it's hard to stand, but you won't be standing for much longer," Jason tells the whore. He tightens his grip on Josh's belt, watches Josh supporting the whore, and strikes the whore hard across the sole of his other foot. Jason looks backs up to Josh, wishes it was Josh that he was doing this to; knows that it is really Josh he is doing this to.
Josh counts the final stroke: "Ten." He wraps his arms around the whore and pulls him forward so he's resting against Josh. He strokes the whore's head and softly kisses his forehead. "There. It's all over. Are you okay?"
Orli barely moves his head in a slight nod, acquiescent, softens his whimper into a rough-edged purr.
Josh drops his face level with the whore's and looks at him. The whore's face is flushed and his breathing is sharp and shallow. "You were so good. I'm really impressed with how you took that." Josh looks at Jason over the whore's shoulder and smiles.
Jason walks over to Josh and pulls the trembling whore from Josh's arms. He guides him away from Josh, and kisses him hard on the mouth, swallows the whore's tendered moan. "I want you to resist him, just for a little while. Make him work for it," Jason whispers to the whore, as he strokes the boy's arms.
He leads the whore back over to the wall and places his bound wrists against it. He hopes the boy will be convincing, make Josh believe the resistance is real. He wants Josh to have to work to bring the whore back under control, because Josh hasn't behaved tonight.
"Josh," Jason says, handing Josh the lube from his pocket, and stepping away, "get him ready."
Josh moves in front of the whore. "This is the nice bit. Not that the belt isn't nice... I love the belt." Josh uncaps the lube. Lifting the whore's leg, he pushes him back so that he is hard against the wall. "Brace yourself, this will be a little cold." Keeping the whore's leg raised by settling it against his hip, Josh squeezes some lube into his other hand and tries to reach between the whore's legs.
The Master's words imprinted in his mind, Orli whimpers again, high-pitched this time, almost a squeal. Twists, coming off the wall as he shifts his hips away, dragging his leg off the American's hip and trying to get his thighs together to deny obediently the seeking fingers, to obey the Master and deny the American his right.
The whore squirms away from Josh's grip. "Hey! No, stay still. I'm not going to hurt you." Josh's words are pitched low and soothing, he doesn't want the whore to be scared. He shouldn't be scared. Josh has never had one of the whores resist this before. After all, it's what he's being paid for and so far he's been so good, so docile. "Hey, hey." Josh shushes the whore, strokes his arms and moves him backwards again. This time, he gets a firmer grip, making the whore see that nothing he can do is going to stop this. Josh takes the whore's leg again. his grip is firm and sure as he lifts the leg and places it once again against his hip. "Now, I want you to be still, right? I promise that I won't hurt you if you're still. Don't resist me." Josh moves his hand again between the whore's thighs, this time leaning into the whore so that there can be no moving away.
Orli wants to surrender to the luxury of the American's soothing voice, the American's soothing hands. The American was so pleased with him, and it troubles Orli that now he is disappointing the American. But the Master wants this, and Orli knows that he must not disappoint the Master. Orli leaves his leg wrapped up around the American this time, rubs it lightly against the American's hip, hopes the movement is deliberate enough to reassure the American and small enough to go unnoticed by the Master; turns his head to the side, exposes his neck as he touches his temple to the wall, presses back against the wall, squirms and shivers and whimpers softly.
The whore looks small and fragile against the wall. Josh is so turned on by this fragility that he wants to push the whore to the ground and fuck him. Fuck him into the ground. Feel the whore whimper beneath him. But Josh knows his place, knows that it's for Jason to fuck the whore. Wants to see Jason fuck the whore hard and fast, make the whore whimper and moan.
Josh leans in and slides his hand between the whore's clenched thighs. "Good, that's right. It's okay. It'll be good. So good. Just relax." He presses his index finger into the whore, sliding it in, feeling the whore tighten around it. "So good. Come on, relax. That's it," he murmurs in the whore's ear, stroking and coaxing him. Feels the whore tighten and ease. The second finger goes in, then the third, until Josh is fingerfucking the whore. Moving his fingers in and out, coating the whore, preparing him.
Orli squirms more when the second finger slides up inside him, squirms more and now with the fingers; thinks it's been long enough for the Master to be satisfied with his resistant squirming, thinks that now the Master will be pleased to see his pliant squirming; rolls his hips slightly, relaxes and tightens easily around the fingers.
The third finger makes him arch off the wall and Orli wants to be allowed to speak, to beg again; wants to beg for the fourth finger, wants to beg for the fist. Whimpers for it inarticulately because they want his whimpers, they love his whimpers; Ewan loves his whimpers, too, loves making Orli beg for it, beg for his fist.
Jason watches the whore arch and tilt, curl around and caress Josh's fingers, and he wants this now. Jason wants the whore responding to him, and not just for Josh to witness, but for Jason to claim. He walks over to the whore and reaches behind the clean line of the arched back to untie his wrists. Then Jason drops the money and the rope onto the pile of the whore's clothes, and turns to Josh.
"Get him down on the ground," Jason says, stroking the whore's thighs. Jason knows that Josh will know exactly how to position the whore.
Josh moves the whore away from the wall and into the middle of the alley. He leans in and whispers against the whore's ear, "Kneel down. Hands in front of you." With Josh's help, the whore kneels on the ground, water splashing against his ankles and across his feet.
Josh kneels in front of the whore and takes his hands. He pulls the whore forwards until the whore is stretched out, hands flat on the floor, arms stretched out in front of him: as if kneeling in supplication to Josh. Josh feels the shiver brush against his groin. The sight of the whore, prostrate, arse in the air, makes him so hard he almost begs Jason to be able to fuck the whore. Fuck him for Jason. Fuck Jason. The thought remains unspoken; the rules are so ingrained in Josh that he would never actually break them. He looks down at the whore. "Spread your knees." The order is almost groaned into the air.
Orli wants to shiver at the command, for the command; but the shivers have been beaten out of him. He pours the shivers he still has in him into the sound welling up from his throat. Whimpers openmouthed as he rolls his hips, shifting his weight to one side, skims his bent leg along the ground, rolls lightly to the other side and does the same again, spreads and stretches wide. Orli stretches, is stretched by the American, held tight by the wrists and stretched all over outside; wants to be stretched all over inside, too. His forearms are resting in the cold packed dirt, edges and curves of pebbles digging into flesh and he presses down a little harder. Feels the stretch as he arches more, offers up his arse, curves and stretches his back, face coming up, tilting up, openmouthed, tip of his tongue showing, muted mewling and hard breathing and this is how he offers and begs.
As Jason kneels down behind the whore, he tries to focus on Josh, tries to ignore the wordless invitation the whore is offering with his twisting, needing, begging. Jason thinks he doesn't need an invitation to fuck the whore; Jason has paid for, and caressed for, and beaten for the subservience that the whore now gives him.
As he rolls on the condom, Jason looks at Josh's eyes and thinks that Josh looks agonised, only staying where he is because of the muscle memory that Jason has trained him to obey. Jason thinks that Josh needs something to fuck, needs a void to fill. Jason knows that he has been subjecting Josh to too much for too many months. Josh needs to be given a little something to keep him in line; but not now, not because of this too willing little whore.
"Open up a little more for me," Jason says, "open a little more, little one."
He guides the whore's legs further apart, watches the whore's knees slide and scrape over the ground, and he feels the need to be gentle, to be delicate with someone that looks so delicate. He looks at Josh again, and knows he has to fill the whore with the desperation that fills Josh's eyes. Jason locks eyes with Josh as he holds the whore's thighs apart, and pushes in hard.
"Tighten up for me. I don't want to feel like I'm fucking a whore," he says to the whore, even though the whore is perfect to fuck, more responsive than Josh. Jason says it anyway. He says it for Josh.
Orli clenches, almost spasms at the Master's words, at the feel of the Master inside him at last, filling him and yes, stretching him inside. Orli's muscles clench obediently, tighten as the Master requires and wishes; Orli tightens so the Master can stretch him. Stretched taut, stretched wide, trembling with muscle strain, Orli moves the only way he can, inside, tightening up snug, not too much, not so much to cause pain to the Master, just enough to please him, to make the Master's cock comfortable inside him. Orli's toes and fingers curl tight, hard and tight. He tightens with practiced virginity for the Master and whimpers softly, so softly, for the American.
Josh closes his eyes and sighs at the retinal imprint of Jason fucking the whore, at the sound of the whore whimpering at the thrusts. Wanting the thrusts in him; wanting to be the one thrusting. Opening his eyes, Josh lifts one hand away from the whore's wrists and undoes his fly; lifting his cock out, he strokes it in time with Jason's thrusts. He watches Jason fuck the whore. Listens to the whore whimpermoan in time with Jason's cock moving inside him. Josh's hand begins to slipslide out of synch with Jason fucking the whore; begins to speed up and become almost desperate: desperate to be kneeling behind the whore, cock buried in the soft, pliant flesh.
Jason pushes deeply into the whore, maybe too deeply, can't stop himself from taking as much as he can. He feels the perfect control the whore has, even as he gives up control to Jason. It makes him want to fuck harder, deeper, to stop the whore giving up control so perfectly that it takes Jason's control away. Jason realises he isn't looking at Josh; he is looking at the stretch of the whore's body. The stretch is so perfect that Jason can feel it under him, around him, through him. He doesn't want to give this up, wants to have this returned to him, returned for Josh to take out his pent-up frustrations on.
Orli is rocked forward by the Master thrusting, not quite slamming into him and Orli wishes he would, wishes the Master would slam into him hard, fuck him hard and fast like Ewan does; Orli wishes this but doesn't allow himself to want, wanting is too much and it is not allowed to want, only to wish, only a little. The Master thrusts into him and Orli tightens, relaxes with thrill and tension and tightens more, thrills to the fill of the Master's cock, the slide and fill and heat and hard, the cock stretching him, the hands stretching him –
Hands; his hands are being held closer together now and the American is stretching too, stretching one of his own hands around Orli. Orli presses his wrists together hard for the American, so the American doesn't have to stretch hard around them. Just one of the American's hands around him now, slight hitch and rhythmic slide of the American's hand around Orli's wrists and oh fuck, Orli reads the hitch, and oh god fuck Orli wants - he wants the American to use him, arches almost impossibly more to tilt his head back, face up, mouth open, jaw stretched easy, wants the American to use Orli's mouth instead of his own hand. Wants the Master to fuck him hard like Ewan, and the American to hold his hands, like maybe Dom could hold his hands while Ewan is fucking him – or maybe Ewan would want to watch Dom fuck him while Ewan holds Orli's hands and fucks Orli in the mouth…
Jason moves his hands to grip the whore's hips, to stop the whore rocking away from him. He holds the whore tightly, helps him to stay still, as he starts to slam into him, to force his way in hard, the way he likes to force his way into Josh, when Josh needs teaching a lesson.
The whore's stillness, the passivity, isn't enough for Jason, who is used to more than a little resistance. He needs more, starts to pull the whore back hard against him, makes the whore's body meet his strokes.
Jason says Josh's name as he comes, comes hard inside Josh's pliant little whore.
Josh watches Jason come; watches Jason lift his head, his gaze meeting Josh's. Josh feels his climax approaching and moves his hand from the whore's wrists to the whore's head. Digs his fingers into the whore's curls: soft and silky curls. He presses the whore down, feels the whore's face twist to the side, twist and settle into the dirt. The whore's cheek is flushed in the streetlight beaming into the alley. Josh wants to lick the whore's cheek, lick it and bite it; make it really flush. Josh holds the whore's head down as he comes; watches his come spurt onto the whore's cheek and into the whore's curls. Josh looks at Jason; brings his hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers, one at a time, tasting his own come, tasting it for Jason.
The Master's orgasm shudders through Orli; and then the American is using him too, not the way Orli dared to want but using him the way the American wants to; the American wants Orli's curls, his face, not his mouth but Orli keeps his mouth open anyhow, whimpermoans through his open mouth. When the American's come touches his skin, hits his face, Orli whimpers and moans and purrs, wants to rub his cheek against the American, rubs his cheek along the ground. He purrs and vibrates, appreciative to the Master and the American; vibrates and trembles and aches, aches to shiver but he is not allowed to shiver or come, only ache and whimper and so he aches and whimpers for them, for their pleasure. Stretched and displayed for their pleasure, everything for their pleasure. Turns his face, kisses the ground, his upper lip rests against a pebble and he brushes his mouth along the ground, tongues the pebble; curls his tongue around the pebble, fingers curled tight, toes curled tight, stretched and curling, purring with pleasure, their pleasure...
Jason pulls away from the whore, does his own trousers back up, and then takes hold of the whore, uses his hands to coax the whore up off the ground. He guides the whore to his feet, and takes away the blindfold.
"Okay?" he asks gently. He takes the whore's hand in his and leads him back over to the wall. He strokes the whore's hand and then steps back, leaving the whore facing wall. "You can come now." He walks back over to Josh, smiles at him fondly, and rubs his arm. "Cigarettes?"
Josh wants to kiss the whore; kiss the whore for being so obedient. Josh loves obedience; loves what he finds so hard to accomplish. Wishes he could be that obedient for Jason; but also loves how much Jason enjoys punishing him for his disobedience.
He smiles as Jason stands in front of him, waiting for Josh to fish a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. Josh smiles, lights the cigarette, inhales deeply and then kisses Jason, lets Jason inhale the smoke through Josh's mouth. Pulling away, Josh hands the cigarette to Jason and turns to the whore. Turns to watch the whore: pretty, soft, obedient whore. Josh thinks he'd like to take this whore home; take him home and play with him.
Josh waits for Jason to pass the cigarette back to him; watches and waits for the whore to come.
Orli stretches, presses his hand against the brick wall as high as he can reach, temple pressed against the wall as he looks towards them under his stretched arm. He spreads his legs as he looks, curls his hand around his cock without touching and just looks. Stretching and curling and trembling still, and the Master, he looks at the Master and the Master isn't looking at him and Orli whimpers in his throat, swallows it because he shouldn't beg for the Master's attention – the Master is letting him come, not asking him to come.
Shifts his gaze to the American, and the American meets his gaze and now Orli sees the want. Stretches more under the American's gaze, wets his lips and opens his mouth and closes his curled hand around his cock for the American's gaze. Orli isn't sure if the American can see his cock and he's about to shift, to alter his position, to make himself accessible. But the American is still holding his gaze, his eyes, so Orli looks back and blinks softly, curls tight around his cock and strokes nice and smooth; shivers again now because he's allowed to, moans and shivers and arches and tenses and looks at the American looking at him and aches, throbs so hard – curled tight around his cock, curled tight inside; curling tighter and throbbing with ache, so hard he spills over, holds on tight and closes his eyes, and comes in the dark.
Orli brings his arm down, folds it against the wall, rests his head against his folded arm, his cock resting in his other hand, mouth still open, eyes still closed.
Jason goes over to the whore and turns him around. He tilts the whore's chin up and studies his face, studies the damp curls, the dark streaks of dirty water across his cheek, and Josh's come drying against the whore's skin.
"You shouldn't have done this to his face, Josh. He can't go back to work looking like this. You'll have clean him up," Jason says, looking into the whore's eyes.
Orli gazes back at the Master, blinks softly so as not to stare into the Master's eyes as the Master looks at him. He hardly hears the words, only listens enough to know the words are not for him. He lets his tongue rest against the back of his upper teeth, lips parted just slightly, blinks softly again and inclines his head, the smallest movement, towards the Master's hand curving under his chin, fingertips touching his face. If the Master would allow Orli to break the gaze, if the Master asks with a flick of eyes or fingers, Orli will close his eyes and turn his head and press his lips to the Master's palm; if that is what the Master desires.
Josh picks up Jason's bottle of water from by the wall. He walks over to the whore; the whore looks at him with huge eyes. Josh uncaps the bottle and strokes the hair back from the whore's face. Holding him by the shoulder, Josh pulls the whore forward slightly, making him dip his head. "Keep still, so I can wash some of this crap off you." Josh pours half the bottle over the whore's head and rubs at the wet skin; fingers gliding through wet curls, washing away the dirt and come. "Here, lean forward so I can finish this." The whore moves obediently - such a well-behaved whore - and Josh tips the rest of the water over naked skin, brushing fingers along goose-pimpled flesh, stroking and caressing. "There. That's better, huh? Can't have Viggo saying we don't clean up after ourselves." Josh leans in and kisses the whore: the lightest of kisses, lips barely making contact.
Stepping back, Josh walks over to Jason and leans against him, rubs his forehead against Jason's shoulder; smells Jason's scent, as familiar to him as his own.
Jason wraps his arms around Josh, holds Josh tightly against him. He looks at the whore, shivering, naked and wet in the cold, needing to get dressed, but presumably waiting to be told.
"You can get dressed now, sweetheart," Jason says. He doesn't like having to tell the whore, doesn't like the whore thinking that once it's over, he's still subject to their whims. "Will you walk back with us? It's not safe for you to walk around here on your own."
Orli feels a twinge when the Master speaks, hears the disappointment underneath the words, hears his mistake; Orli should have known to get dressed on his own, should have known it's over now. He smiles and ducks his head, looks towards the ground for his clothing, pulls it on without hurrying, casual now that it's over.
He puts half the money in one trainer before sliding his foot in, toes curling over the notes reassuringly. The other half gets stuffed deep into one front jeans pocket as he straightens up and looks at them again, the two men waiting to walk him back safe, and smiles.