The Gentlemen's Club

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

1

Taylor cracked the seal on the bottle of Redbreast 12 Year that he'd bought for just this occasion. He held the bottle aloft as he twisted the cork free. A new town, a new place, a new job. Relief, heavy and pure, melted over him.

Taylor swirled the whiskey in a glass he'd bought just for swirling whiskey, and sipped deeply, gagging momentarily at the unmistakable taste of nail polish remover. A handful of ice was added on top, and Taylor blinked the fresh inklings of moisture from his eyes. He sipped gently, and breathed in the smell of fresh air and cardboard boxes. It smelled like freedom. The walls were still bare and gray, the boxes along the walls still unpacked, the furniture still en route. But, with the light shining in above the river outside, and the cold drink in his hand, it was feeling pretty damn peaceful.

And the quiet. My God, the quiet, he thought.

After his childhood home, then university, and then back with his mother in the townhouse, this was absolute bliss, Taylor decided. Absolute bliss.

The sun was fully gone by the time he started looking for dinner, his eyes flickering up and down the screen of his phone as the options scrolled by. D.C. had a hell of a lot more to pick from than Dansville, NY, where his father had kept the family stashed away for nine months out of the year (valiantly protecting them from the press, “so they could live a life of normalcy”).

...And to keep his mistresses and wife as far apart as he could, without suffering through too long of a flight back home.

Taylor swirled the dwindling ice cubes around in his glass, gulped down the last of it, and set it aside. It would be easy to be bitter and cynical, he knew. His friends from college had also grown up with some wealth, and they had all run with that idea. To be angsty young men growing up in their fathers' shadow, to bear the burden of expectations and privilege, to have nothing required of you, and no attention paid... The call to whine a lot about it was understandable, but it had never quite interested him. There were too many exciting avenues left to explore. He was too busy. His father had his life, Taylor had his. Even his mother, he supposed, might have her own things to be caught up in. It all worked rather well for all of them.

Exactly one pad Thai and two more drinks later, his mind was gently twirling, and he collapsed onto his boyhood mattress, which lay unceremoniously and unevenly on the hardwood floor of what would be his new bedroom. Stars shone down through high, wide windows above him.

For the first time in a very long time, the weight of the world slipped gently from his shoulders, and he fell right to sleep.

2

“This is your office here. You'll be sharing it with Dave, Karen, and... Damiqua?” the man attempted, nodding at three young people they had found huddled together in the small back room. A small, darker woman cocked her head in confusion, but the tour continued onward before she could respond.

“You'll have a chance to swing back in here before lunch,” his new employer said, shutting the intern's office door behind them, “but we're gonna be throwing you into the thick of it after that. You up for it?”

“Yes, sir,” Taylor threw back promptly, instinct forcing a smile. His guide hadn't introduced himself yet, or asked Taylor for his name, but the man had been waiting at the entrance for him, and presumably he knew what he was about.

He was an older, balding man, quite short, and quite overweight, but he had a friendly enough face. He made the effort of eye contact and made sure Taylor was actually following along with his explanations, which was more than he had come to expect from a low-level job like this. Copy rooms were pointed out, a supply room was explored and pillaged, lunch was secured in the appropriate fridge.

“You'll be happy to know you won't be fetching any coffee, or anything like that. We have food services for that. No printing, or copying either, we can manage that ourselves. In short -nothing an intern might have done in my day.” The guide grunted and wiped the sweat from his brow as he pulled open another heavy, wooden door, Taylor nodding along behind him. “And now we're right back to the start, with your office down the hall, and mine beside us,” he said flicking a finger from one side of the hall to the other.

Taylor glanced at the name placard on the door. “David Kosslings” was embedded in a plastic plaque. He willed his brain to remember it, but felt it slipping away already.

“Before you go to lunch, just make sure you can get signed into your laptop. If not, one of the other interns will take a look with you, or find me. For now, though, I need you on my laptop, so I can show you how this all works, and what I'll need you to start on. Ready?”

Taylor was ready with another “Yes, sir,” and then they were off.

And then immediately delayed, as his new boss took one phone call for a full fifteen minutes, and then a second as Taylor stood awkwardly in the corner, waiting to begin, and too anxious to do anything but wait.

The program and the task sounded straightforward. His boss, clearly, was uncomfortable with the technology, and adamant that they walk through each case together. It bordered on painful, to watch fingers struggle slowly to find the right place, to watch his boss -David (?), be somehow less familiar with the system than he was. But after a full two hours of demonstrations, Taylor was able to dash back into his office to begin in earnest.

The other interns shots their heads up as he entered, cellphones hovering beneath their desks, with their screens blinking off. They relaxed quickly when they saw who it was. He waved a hand in greeting.

“It's not Damiqua, is it?” he asked. The woman in the corner shook her head gravely. “It's Monica.”

The rest of the day went quickly. The work was finished before lunch, but Kosslings had no time to meet with him again, so instead he finished the day by playing on his phone and waiting for the door to open. If the others were as bored as he was, they hid it better. They kept their heads down and their brows furrowed, occasionally sprinting out the door to disappear and reappear looking even more concerned.

“You ready?” the others asked, just before six P.M., as they shouldered their bags in unison and made their way to the exit. It was the most they had spoken to each other since lunch, which they'd spent huddled over their computers, coordinating some higher project they'd apparently been pulled into, nibbling cold sandwiches in-between. The others nodded and finished tapping out the last of whatever they were working on. Taylor followed closely behind. The day hadn't exactly been exciting, but it had gone by quickly, at least.

“So, how did you get by today?” Monica asked, as they started down the hallway.

“They, uh, didn't give me much to work on...” Taylor started, trailing off as he spotted Kosslings' bald patch through the window to the man's office. He looked busy, typing away as he cradled a phone against his shoulder.

Don't look up, don't look up...

Kosslings' eyes flickered up to meet his as they passed. Then, with a plummeting feeling in his stomach, Taylor saw a single index finger raise upward. Wait, the gesture meant. The others waved, and Taylor waited behind.

Time stretched on indefinitely. His eyes glazed, starring into nothingness. The internet had long since run out of interesting content to explore. Nothing remained but the wait. The fact that he wasn't even hourly hovered over him like a rain cloud. “I want to go home and assemble my dresser” was the only coherent thought he could cling to. The longer he waited, the more certain he was that he had been forgotten, and that his boss long ago left him behind. After a time, none of these thoughts could even stir his anger Only boredom existed now.

The door knob clacked and the door swung open, catching him off guard as he laid his head against the table. He jerked upright, blinking his eyes back awake.

It wasn't Kosslings. It wasn't anyone else he had met that day, either. It was a lanky, older man in a plain dress shirt, his face leathery and suntanned, his hair white and buzzed short. He wasn't quite grim, but he had the air of a grandpa who'd been in the war, and had little time for whatever nonsense Taylor had to offer. He held a letter up in the air between two fingers.

“You'd be Taylor Evans?” the man asked. Taylor nodded. “Then this is for you,” he finished, offering the letter to Taylor.

It was heavy, expensive parchment. There was an engraved seal and everything.

“What is it?”, he managed as the man stepped back out the door and tried to shut it again.

“Your invitation,” the man said, sounding confused at his ignorance. “For tonight. They won't let you in without it. You're not going to forget it now, are you?,” the man's eyes widened with what looked like a real concern that Taylor was a moron. “They won't let you in without it.”

Taylor barely had time to let out a “thanks” before the man was gone again, leaving him alone once more. He twirled the paper in his hands, and cracked the paper tape holding it closed.

Dear Taylor Evans,

You are invited on the evening of April the 27th to the welcome event for Sherwood Estate Holdings new hires at 8 p.m. at the Lion's Tale Gentleman's Lounge (address below). Formal wear only.

Taylor scanned past the address and found, in smaller font, “Attendance mandatory.” He starred blankly at it for a while longer, escape plans endlessly cycling through his mind. How mandatory was 'mandatory'? Which box might his nicer clothes be kept in? Was there even time to get home, change, and get there in time?

Not really.

He was out the door with his bag a moment later. His boss was still doubled over his keyboard, somehow slumped even further than before, plucking away at the keyboard. Taylor swept past him quickly and took the stairs downward three a time, clearing the length of the garage at the quickest pace he could keep without attracting stares.

Three minutes later, he was looking at the back of gridlocked traffic. He took a careful breath in, thinking thoughts of inner peace, and felt it turn black as his mother's name flashed on the screen.

“Hello?” he asked, drooping slightly over the wheel.

“Well, hello stranger. All finished with your first day of work?” The sounds of happy crowds in the background drowned out her voice some, and irritated him a few notches more.

“Not yet.”

She let out a gasp of surprise. “But how could they?” She asked. More indignation followed. “They told your father they were lucky to have you!”

Brake lights flickered off for the briefest moment, only to flash back into his eyes as he tried to find the gas pedal.

“Just a meet and greet. Something for new hires. It'll be okay.”

She sighed audibly, calmed but unhappy. “Well, it better be. Are they treating you alright? Does it seem like it'll be interesting?”

Taylor's eyes narrowed further. “Mm.”

“Maybe they've got a baseball team. That would be fun, wouldn't it? You were so good at it back when you tried.”

Taylor had played for two years in college, and had done well for his size. He couldn't hit for match, but he could run like hell. But two years had been more than enough to sap any enjoyment he had left for the sport.

“Have you talked to your father recently? He's going to be over there in a few days, just a reminder. I know he'd love to see your new place.”

“Yeah,” he managed, after a long moment.

“And-”

She went on for some time. By the time she hung up, he was pulling into his back alley parking lot, and it was already a quarter after seven. He had gone to the office in a dress shirt and trousers, so a jacket and a tie were all he needed to be passably well-dressed. He cast a longing glance at his bottle of Scotch and the pile of takeout advertisements on the island in the gloom of the kitchen , and then it was back out the door, and back into traffic that had only marginally improved.

It was okay. Things were fine. Think of the positives, he told himself.

There would still be plenty of night left after this thing was over. The other interns weren't going to be there -this was all higher ups. People who (not that he wanted to exploit the fact), but they likely wanted to impress his father. It would be people who knew of him, at least, so the small talk wouldn't be too painful or awkward. This was how you got ahead, and made opportunities. This was what he was here for. This was a good thing. It was the whole point in taking the internship.

He breathed in, and breathed out again, feeling calmer. He nearly felt excited. Drinks with old time money in fancy suits, telling him how to climb the ladder, seeing how the Senator's son might help them, in return... The inevitable cloud of cigar smoke was a small price to pay.

“The Lion's Tale” read the squat green letters above a strip of short brick buildings. Taylor glanced at the directions on his phone, and back at the name. It looked like a spa you could find in any suburban strip mall. Not seedy and broken down, not flashing and gaudy. It had all the refinement of a Subway, he thought.

He followed signs for off-street parking. An elderly valet took his keys at the back entrance, and pulled open the door for him with focused effort.

“Welcome, sir,” he said, as Taylor passed by. Taylor nodded in return and walked the half block back to the entrance. He pulled a worn, but shining metal door open and glanced around. It occurred to him again that it really did look like a spa more than anything, with a modest fountain in the corners and stacks of white towels. Black plastic chairs lined the wall along a waiting area by the window, and a woman in a loose red uniform smiled at him from the distance.

“Can I help you, sir?” she called over.

“Yeah,” he started, fishing for the invitation in his pocket. “Is this The Lion's Tale?”

“Taylor Evans,” a voice called out from the far side of the room. A tall man with a red mustache and a gray suit waved him over from beside a doorway. He might have been just over fifty, and had a deeply lined and tired face. “He's with me, Lenore, thank you,” he said, waving Taylor forward, letting him pass ahead through the doorway, and closing it behind them.

The hallway that extended past it was awkwardly narrow, and the paint on the walls was starting to yellow at the edges. It was also, apparently, used for storage, and cleaning products lined the way to another door.

“This way,” the man said, pushing past again to lead the charge. “Forgive the mess. My name is Frederick. So, welcome. You're working with Townsend's company, yes?” The man asked, pressing his thumb into the keypad of the far door, and shouldering it open.

“Enh-” He didn't know who the hell Townsend was, but the sight beyond knocked the thought right from his head. A wave of cool moisture blew out past the door, like a calm gust along a sandy beach. The sight of white marble columns and clear pools, hip-deep, ran and branched off in the distance. Dim, cooling lights and misting steam from the water gave the place an otherworldly feel, like the bathhouses of ancient Greek gods.. The soft sound of harps came from all around, distant, like it was lost in the fog, or coming from some other realm. It seemed to run for miles.

The air was thick as water from the humidity, and the fabric of his shirt was already sticking to his neck as Taylor began moving again to keep up with the man.

“What is this?” Taylor managed. Every marble tile must have been ten feet wide. It took a handful of strides to cross even one. How could someone have built all this here?

The man named Frederick laughed and pulled open a heavy oak door and let them into a large hall. It was, thankfully, less moist on the other side of it, but no less extravagant. . Old wood, old stone, dim lights...

Old money, Taylor thought. The scary, ancient kind of old money, too. That's what it felt like.

“This is The Gentleman's Club,” Frederick said. “Mr. Townsend is a member here, as you know. It's on his authority that you're a guest here tonight.”

“Am I the only new hire?” Taylor asked. “And, I'm sorry, I don't really know Mr. Townsend. It was...” he searched for the name, “Mr. Kosslings that hired me.

Frederick raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Hm. I'm not familiar with him,” was all he said, as they passed into another pool room again.

Three men in white robes, all carrying glasses of dark amber, one holding half a cigar between his teeth, all red skinned and laughing with the enthusiasm of those well in the sauce. They spared Taylor no attention as they passed, but one of them called out (a little too loudly), “Are we running late, Williams?”

“Not at all,” Frederick said, pulling Taylor onward without slowing.

“How... late do these new hire events last?” He cast a look back at the group of men, who had gone back to their conversation, and were doubled over with laughter again. Clearly, they weren't feeling rushed.

“Best not to worry about it, son,” Frederick said, as they passed into another, wider hall. Elevators ran along one side, and the deep sounds of a thumping bass emanated from a double door to his right. Through the glass windows, it looked like an old fashioned bar on the other side, packed with the silhouettes of mingling businessmen. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a thin arm and a red fabric before it was lost again. It was a woman.

Taylor turned toward it, but Frederick pulled him onward by the shoulder, guiding him through the door across the hall. “Not here.”

Another room of white marble, columns, and wet air. This one actually populated, with four men in the nude lounging against the edges of the pool, trays of shot glasses and empty bottles of Scotch scattered around the ledge beside them. Taylor shot his eyes upward and walked faster toward the next door.

“Do these... all connect?” he asked. “The pools?”

Frederick nodded. “Most of them. You will find that The Gentleman's Club is not known for frugality,” he said, enunciating each syllable distinctly. “Come along now. The guest entrance is terribly far away from where you need to be.”

Off to the side, a staircase wide enough to fit a bus across descended a full story below them, spilling into a wider lobby. They walked on, passing more elevators, a hallway of meeting rooms, a dozen unmarked doors with keypads.

“What is this place?” Taylor asked.

His guide slowed for the first time, and glanced around. They were alone again, to Taylor's relief.

“It's... the result of generations of work,” Frederick said, glancing around them with what looked like religious awe. “Men, who came to America with power, and made sure they kept that power. It's not the most honorable of stories, but every generation has built upon that. There's not much we don't have our hands in, one way or another. And not many countries we don't have a hand in, either.”

“There's more clubs like this one?”

Frederick shook his head, and started walking again. “Not like this, no. It's an old rule. Everyone comes back, and everyone comes here. It's a brotherhood. If we ever get too spread apart, or we stop gathering in person, the ties that make us strong start to fall apart. Separate clubs develop separate alliances, pit us against each other over enough time.”

Taylor looked away, trying to keep his face placid. It sounded like a men's lodge mixed with some kind of cult. Mixed with delusions of grandeur and obscene wealth, for good measure. In the corner of his eye, through a window, he saw the pool still running along in the distance. Maybe it wasn't just delusion.

“This isn't a new hire thing, is it?”

Frederick gave him a cold smile and came to a halt in a room that held half a dozen doors leading away from it, all unmarked.

“I believe I should clarify something,” Frederick said. “Edward Townsend's invitation is what brought you here tonight. He owns companies, that own companies, that own companies, that employs managers, et cetera et cetera. All the way down to your... Mr. Kosslings, was it? And then all the way down to you.”

Taylor blinked back at him. If the goal was to make him feel small, it was working. And he suspected it was the goal.

“I don't say this to humiliate you,” Frederick went on. “I say this as a warning: Edward Townsend spends billions by suppertime on a slow day without blinking. And Edward Townsend is not someone of much significance in The Gentleman's Club.”

Frederick leaned closer, looking him in the eye. “These are not men to be trifled with. You may be use to men in power from your father's work, but we are not those men. Buying and selling Senators like your father isn't work Mr. Townsend would bother his secretary with. He buys states wholesale.

“These men are dangerous, and they are cold. Not to fellow members, of course. But you are here at our invitation. You are not a member here.”

Taylor swallowed hard.

“And why do they want me here?” he asked.

They want a favor from my father. He knew it already. What else did he have to offer? They wanted to use him to get to his father. And if he didn't do it, then what? Would they blackmail him?

“I don't know,” Frederick said, and his bright green eyes suddenly looked quite sad.

He does, Taylor thought.

“But I hope for your sake it's something you fall over yourself to give them. Us,” he added, after a moment. “Mr. Reinhart wants to meet you. He's as far above Townsend as Townsend is to you. Do you understand?”

Taylor nodded quickly.

“Then I don't know what other warnings I can give you,” Frederick said.

3

Taylor was guided through a door made of glass, and found it empty on the other side. There were benches of old oak, with fabric cushioning on top, and nothing else of note. Lockers, chest-high, ran around the edge of the room, nearly hidden by the careful lighting. It was a changing room. He looked behind him, as Frederick had instructed, and found the door of one locker hanging open, the white robe inside shining through. He changed quickly in the center of the room. There was nowhere to cover yourself in the small room.

That's probably the point, Taylor thought.

The cloth was white cotton, as soft as anything he'd ever felt. “Guest” was embroidered along the breast.

That's probably why they were waiting for him in the sauna, too. It wasn't enough to have wealth and influence over him. They had to literally strip him down before they lorded their power over him. It was an amateur psychology move. The whole thing got more bitter with every minute. He could feel annoyance bubbling through him, and it grated at him even more. He could get by without their help. If they thought he'd jump at their commands like a trained dog, they were dead wrong. He pushed through the door at the far end, as directed, heading further into the maze, and he emerged into a thick fog of steam.

He hadn't been in one before, but he knew immediately that it wasn't any ordinary sauna. It was like a town hall. Rows of benches ran around the room on raised tiers, descending into a stage in the center. It was wide enough that the steam hid the far side. With no windows and only two narrow beams of light coming from the ceiling, Taylor could barely make out the second row of seats. There were a few bodies already seated along the benches. And one sat on a special throne above all the others, watching him. Taylor stepped down onto the smooth wooden planks.

The air was painful, at first. Then it became suffocating, once the door swung shut behind him, dimming the lights even more. From all sides, more people seemed to be joining them, filing into the seats in muffled silence. The air was rank with musk and old wood. He could hardly breathe from it. Taylor came to a stop at a short table, covered in a cloth, that sat in the center of the room.

He felt, with absolute certainty, that if he tried the door behind him again, he'd find it locked. He held his gaze forward, and waited for them to talk.

When everyone had settled and the man in front finally did speak, though, it wasn't to Taylor. It was to the room.

“Gentleman,” the man began, “we have business.”

This must be Reinhart, Taylor thought. He was older, over sixty, his hair white was cropped short, with a wild beard. He was powerfully built; his massive, broad-shoulders hiding the back of the chair he sat on. He definitely seemed like he was running the show. In a loose robe, sitting on a bench in the sauna, his face in heavy shadow -he held all the authority of a king addressing his peasants.

“This is a brotherhood built of power.”

Jesus Christ, what is this?

“The dull axe kills the wielder. The rope untested is the first to fail. The judge grown merciful sentences the world.” The others chanted the words along with the old man. It was like watching cloaked Satanists gathered over a bound virgin in a movie. And Taylor watched it all with the same detached feeling.

“Our brotherhood is built of power. The world is for us to ravage. Our actions will be unanswered save for wilting servitude. Gods do not feel shame. Taylor Evans,” Reinhart said, his eyes flashing suddenly down on him. The boy staggered back several steps instinctively at the dark look that bore down into him. He was still holding tightly to the knowledge that this was just businessmen asking him for a favor. It was business. They were still bound by rules.

“Taylor Evans, you have seen our faces. You know our names. You see our palace,” he said calmly, raising his hands upward. “And do you see fear in our eyes?”

Dozen of eyes looked to Taylor. “No,” they chanted together.

“You are meat for us to use as we desire,” Reinhart said, his robe sliding from his shoulders. He stood nearly six and a half feet tall, three hundred pounds of hair and knotted muscle. His massive cock swung like a pendulum between his legs, rooted in a thick forest of gray hair.

“You will re-forge our bonds. You will show us our power,” he said, stepping closer, and around the low table in the center of the room, nearing arms-reach of him. There was straps beneath it. He could see the corner of one.

Now he was ready to run.

The sound of the crowd changed as he spun and leapt back up the steps toward the door handle. It wasn't sounds of anger or surprise, like he expected, but excitement. Someone cheered for him.

Fuck this, he thought. He grabbed the handle and pulled hard, and was surprised to find it opened easily. He slipped through and tore across the locker room in a blur. He hadn't kept up his training much after college, but he was breaking records now. Through the locker room, he burst back into the hall surrounded by doors.

If he had a moment to think about it, he may have found the door he had come from earlier. Instead, he ran for a lit hallway on the left, and made sure he kicked the door closed on his way through it. It only took him a moment to see it wasn't the same way he had arrived through, but that didn't matter now. There was no use getting to the lobby with the keypad if he wasn't getting through it. And more could be watching for him there.

They'll be watching for me anywhere now, he thought.

Not helping, he replied.

The next door he found was locked. The next had another keypad. On down the hallway he went. The next room held a single elevator, with the power off, and three doors. Two were dark and locked, one was lit and open, leading down another hallway lined with rooms.

Locked, locked, locked, locked, locked... There were no more doorways with the lights on. It was a dead end. He could feel the panic building in his throat. If he went back, there was every chance he'd run right back into the mob.

He turned suddenly at the sound of a doorknob turning. It wasn't from the way he'd came, it was from one of the locked rooms.

“Trap,” Taylor said.

The man only shrugged, a guilty grin on his face. He was quite overweight, but young, maybe thirty. He was still wearing dress pants and a button-up, though the buttons were undone down to the last two.

“Did you follow the lights, little moth?” the man asked, his voice eerily low. He approached slowly, no longer grinning. “These doors are all locked,” the man said, glancing around as he stepped forward. “Time to take your medicine and get sent home to bed. Don't make daddy angry now,” he said in the same low voice, almost at a whisper.

“No,” Taylor said, unable to put the rest into words. “I'm leaving.”

He looked for a way around the man, but he was too damned fat. He was impossible to slip past. He could fight him, but the man had two hundred pounds on him, easy. He wouldn't feel a few lame punches. At least not to the face...

Taylor charged with ten feet between them. He still had his speed, at least. The man tried to close his legs, but they were too slow, and too heavy. Three hard kicks to the balls connected, and dropped the man to one knee. Taylor hit the wall to slide past, and the man's hands were wrapped around his wrists a moment later, crushing them with impossible pressure and pushing him to the floor in an instant.

“Nope,” the man croaked, twisting him along the ground, trying to climb on top of him, crushing him with his weight.

With a howling, panicked scream, Taylor pulled his leg free enough to kick wildly. When the man turned to guard his groin again, Taylor's head connected with his nose.

“Fuck!” the man gasped, dropping his full mass onto the boy's legs. Taylor squirmed wildly, his body wet with sweat, and pulled himself forward. He hopped quickly out of reach of the man's hands and sprinted back the way he had come.

Two hallways later, he was limping. He knew the fat man had done more damage than his brain could process yet. His legs would be bruised from his ass to his ankle, he could tell already. He grabbed every handle he came across, lit or not, and pulled them open, running into any open rooms he could find.

And then he heard it. The soft harps, the gently running water. He was back in of the pool rooms.

They all connect. Those arrogant bastards connected them!

The pool beside him was empty, but he had to lean and peak through the pillars to confirm it. The pillars surrounded the water on all sides, obscuring the view, while the marble pathways were open and visible. He slipped past the columns without a second thought, and stepped quickly into warm water down to his waist. He wasn't much of a swimmer, but his legs were slow, and aching more now with every step. He dropped the heavy robe from his shoulders and hid it behind one of the stones before swimming in. The water and the weightlessness was nearing bliss as it pulled him in.

The pool spanned nearly a hundred feet before branching off in two directions: one the way he had come, and one the way he had been heading. He took the second path, and cruised under the near-darkness that divided the rooms, through a long tunnel lined in ghostly blue light. There were recesses carved into the stone, with hot tubs that overflowed into the main pool and marble busts of old men. The recesses were, thankfully, all empty. As was the next tunnel he reached, five minutes later, when he collapsed over the railing, panting for air, letting the steaming water pour against him in the darkness.

How much further could it be? How far had he come?

He shook his head. He couldn't remember how many rooms they had walked through. A dozen? It didn't matter. He wasn't even going the same way he had come in. The sudden sound of a door pulling open sent him off the wall and back below the waters, his head re-emerging from behind a pillar.

Voices followed, not quite so happy as before, though he couldn't make out the words. He watched the shadows pass quickly between the pillars as they headed onward in the direction he had been heading. His muscles trembled wildly, ready to collapse at the first hint of defeat. He could travel behind them, though, hiding if they doubled back.

“Hey!” Taylor jerked, turning suddenly toward the sound, totally caught by surprise. A face was bobbing in the water from the tunnel he'd just swam from, less than fifty feet away. Taylor's mind went blank. It wasn't possible.

“HEY!” the man screamed again, rising from the water to point a finger in Taylor's direction. “I found him!” he shouted down the corridor. The man dove back into the water, flying through the water toward him like a fish.

The door in the hall banged open again, and Taylor was gone, floundering wildly at full speed, swimming blind, waiting for the feeling of a hand to snatch him around his ankle, for his movement to suddenly stop short. But it never came. A minute passed -a full, agonizing minute of panic swimming on overspent muscles. His heart beat erratically in his throat, his breath was ragged, his eyes burning from the water. He'd lost all sense of direction, and the water burned at his eyes.

Idiot, he thought. Taylor slowed to a stop.

He turned and saw the shaggy black hair of the man behind him, casually paddling in his direction, a smug grin smeared across his face. The shadows jogging lightly along the pillars were even closer. A splash of water from behind made him turn, and he spotted someone wading toward him, a hulking shape, eager for the kill. If he felt any pity for Taylor, his face didn't show it. The man's hands snatched the boy by the neck and wrist, pulling him toward the edge of the pool. The man scooped his hand under Taylor's armpit, and pushed him easily out of the water, letting him collapse feebly on the marble, unable to even hold himself up.

The boy panted for breath, blinking water from his eyes, as he lay on his back. Out of the water, his body felt dangerously hot, and sweat poured from his skin in heavy droplets.

The blonde giant rolled him easily onto his belly, his heavy hands spreading Taylor's limbs apart, bracing him tightly against the floor. There was the sound of loud voices all around him, as the others caught up. Shadowed, white robed figures towered over him, intermingled with the white pillars. Taylor's legs spasmed suddenly as a wide thumb slid across his asshole, leaving something cold and wet behind. The thumb slid back, and pressed it's way inside, driving a heavy grunt from deep in his throat, and it sounded inhuman. The crowd loved it.

Taylor felt the blonde man readjusting behind him. His hands snatched out to the pool's edge out of instinct, trying to pull himself away. Two heavy hands grabbed him by the waist and dragged him further back into the hall. His legs scrambled to get off the ground, then collapsed as they were kicked savagely apart. His wet skin slapped down against the wet stone, and the sound of it echoed around the room as the onlookers suddenly went silent.

The hand at his back pressed hard, pinning him there. And then he felt it, the fat, swollen head, burning hot to the touch, dragging itself up and down against his hole, trying to find it's way inside. Taylor closed his eyes, his knees kicking wildly.

The man rolled his hips, re-positioned himself, and kneed the boy's thighs open wider. The heavy weight probed again, firmly, not fitting, but not giving up. Taylor's legs quivered in a last attempt at finding purchase, and then stopped suddenly as the the pressure gave way, caving into his body.

Taylor gasped, feeling the weight and warmth pressing in, driving its way through his tight body, feeling it pressing into his chest, into his lungs. It was an impossible feeling of being filled. His muscles rejected it wildly, squirming to escape it. The blonde man grabbed him by the hips, rolling his weight forward again, bucking lightly, pressing in further. Taylor could feel the heat of his hips getting closer.

The crowd moved closer too, their hands dragging against the boy's face, caressing what they could grab, holding him to the ground. It was a distant haze as the pressure drove it's way into his belly, his legs jumping each time the blonde giant pressed further in.

“Halfway there,” the blonde giant called in his ear.

Taylor's hands clawed at the wet tile, and found no grip. Hands grabbed at his wrists a moment later, and pinned them on the ground like he was being crucified. He strained for a moment, until another set of hands grabbed his head and held it still.

He didn't see it, he shut his eyes too quickly, but he felt the swollen, glossy head as it pressed its way between his lips as he gasped for breath. It drove past his tongue and, thankfully, could go no further as the dense mat of wet hair pressed hard against his mouth and nose. The man pounded wildly, and the grip holding Taylor's hands and head tightened harder, not letting him budge. He held still. If he didn't move, it wasn't big enough to gag him. All he he could feel was the rubbing against his tongue and lips as the man pumped faster. A moment later, the man's hands latched onto Taylor's face. The cock jumped again, pressing in harder and further then before. Taylor gagged, feeling the warm spray hitting his throat and pooling in his cheek. The moment the man was out of his mouth, before Taylor could even cough out the man's cum, two others were fighting against his lips, probing, trying to break past his lips. One won.

The blonde giant behind him had worked all the way inside. Taylor could feel his damp thighs against the back of his own, could feel the weight of the man's hips against his butt, and the bulges of bone and muscle. The man wasn't rushing. Taylor could feel him, could feel the fat head of his cock dragging back and forth inside him, churning his insides, filling him well beyond what his body could take. Something about the feeling, though. Each time he dragged his way down, his own cock jumped, some primitive crossing of wires driving the wrong response.

Taylor's attention shot back to the man in his mouth, who pulled out as he came, spraying his load all over Tyler's drooling mouth and cheeks. The next man pushed him aside before the spurts even slowed, sending the thick streams across the boy's eyelids. The next man drove right down to his throat, practically snaking down to his stomach. Taylor gagged around it reflexively, struggling to breathe, the muscles tightening against it.

It was like swallowing a baseball bat. He sucked in a sharp breath each time the head popped from his throat, like a cork from a bottle. He could feel the spit and spent cum being pulled from his lips with each thrust, spilling down his chin. The grip on his head didn't budge an inch, his arms were still helplessly pinned outward on the ground, he couldn't see. All he could do was wait for them to finish as the spit dripped freely to the floor beneath him..

The blonde giant from behind suddenly latched his thick, sweat-slicked arms around Taylor's body and pulled him tight, the muscles swelling powerfully, crushing him. From deep inside his belly, Taylor felt a mighty throb, almost like a kick, as the man choked out a long, moaning grunt. The cock in his mouth began to pump faster in the silence, his seed suddenly spraying out in fat spurts, filling the back of Taylor's mouth before plummeting deep into his throat for a few more sprays. Taylor could feel his belly swelling with the load.

“Who was first?” someone asked, from above him, as the blonde's thighs still crushed his legs still. With what seemed liked great effort, the pressure eased and the man slid his way back out of the boy in one pull.

The grip on his head loosened, and he turn with one clean eye to find Reinhart standing over them, back in his robe. There was more than a dozen others there now. The blonde man raised his hand and staggered to his feet. His massive cock still hard and gleaming, swaying wildly in the air. His face looked distant as he raised a hand.

“It was me sir.”

Reinhart nodded, and his eyes dropped suddenly to meet Taylor's. The boy starred blankly back -one eye smeared closed, cum and spit dripping from his face, his body red and spent.

Pity me, some distant party of him thought. Let me go.

Taylor felt the man's gaze slowly run down his body, lingering unpleasantly on certain places. Reinhart waved a hand, and the hands on his body vanished, letting him stumble to the ground. Taylor buried his face in his elbows, blocking out the light. His body was suddenly exhausted again, eager to fade into unconsciousness.

He heard the old man's robe fall to his feet. Reinhart stooped toward him, and his massive arms wrapped tight around the boy's armpits, twisting him like a wrestler onto his belly, squeezing hard.

Reinhart kicked the boy's legs back apart savagely. Taylor felt a rubbery head the size of a fist pushing, his legs jerked helplessly again, renewed by panic from the size of it. It was like a baseball. It wasn't going to fit. It was going to tear him in half. A moment later Reinhart was inside him, pushing the air from Taylor's lungs, sending a wail from him that deafened the crowd.

Reinhart's arms squeezed tightly as the man slid his way inside, his muscles hard as rocks and swallowing him whole. Whether it was lube or he was still gaping from the blonde giant, it was easier this time, despite the impossible size. It felt like a fist gliding into him and driving down to the elbow as Taylor's fingers uselessly grabbed at the tile again, never giving up the fight.

With his body pinned tight, there was nothing left to focus on but the thick bulge pumping in slowly, and rocking back even slower, triggering whatever instinct it was that made his cock swell tighter with every stroke. He could feel the pressure of it against his abs. He squeezed back instinctively to push the man out, or to hold him back, and felt the pressure build even tighter, the head growing thicker. His knees shook as some new wave of sensations drove down his thighs and set his cheeks on fire.

The wet mat of pubic hair ground into him from behind. He could feel the coarse strands of hair brushing between his crack with each stroke, grinding hard into him. He could feel the man's balls, heavy and tight, stroking against his own with each push. The hands crushing his chest suddenly eased. At first, it seemed the man was stopping to finish, but then Reinhart crept a heavy hand carefully down to the boy's belly, latching onto Taylor's cock by the base, and holding it tight. The boy grunted, then kicked, and Reinhart stuffed two fingers into the boy's wet mouth a moment later, silencing him, ambivalent as the boy bit weakly down with all the energy he had left.

For a long moment, Taylor felt his mind going blank. Some heaviness was creeping over him, some strange pressure he hadn't ever felt before. The tightness around his cock, the soft brush of their balls stroking together, the sweat, the coarse hair, the muscles of his tight ass clenching hard against the other man's massive cock, the head that slid in and out, the smell of animal musk and sex, the dragging feeling inside his body that made his body betray him. He felt like he was going to burst out of his skin.

Taylor's cheeks suddenly flushed with furious heat, the muscles of his rectum tightening hard against the intruder, crushing it, feeling the shape of it defined so clearly inside him. Taylor's body buckled, every muscle tensing at once. Something so entirely unlike any orgasm he'd had before slipped across his body like an ocean wave. He was spraying thick ropes of cum out well before the climax came, and when it came he felt it would never stop. Semen poured from him like a fountain, endlessly pumping out more onto the tile beneath them as a moan poured from his lips. Reinhart began to thrust again, pumping his hips into the boy. He finished a moment later. Taylor felt the man twitch inside his belly and slow again, but Taylor's own body was still going, the orgasm still rolling from him in waves, unable to free himself from the sensations that were driving it, crushing the cock still lodged deep inside his body, stretching him. His face burned, his muscles were pulling tight to their breaking points. His cock weakened, then grew hard again, over and over again. Helplessly, he shook and moaned beneath the larger man, waiting for the feeling to end, still holding the man inside of him with a death grip.

Just when his penis had finally seemed spent, Reinhart wrapped a hand around the boy's throat, tight, but not threatening, and the older man's hand began to stroke him again, his hand still tight around the root of his cock. Taylor's body buckled, his legs instinctively kicked, causing Reinhart to squeeze his throat even tighter. Taylor felt new sets of hands grab his own, holding him still. Once more, there was nothing left to focus on but the stretched pleasure of his hole, now wet with cum again, the drops pooling and seeping from his body, and now the hand that crushed his cock like a vice and pulled it, stroking him, still wet with his own cum.

The hand at his throat wasn't crushing, but he felt the world growing distant and foggy, his body still spasming and spilling cum from his first orgasm, the never-ending waves of blinding pleasure still rolling down his body, his cheeks burning, the taste of cum dripping down his tongue.

The hand at his throat tightened, Taylor's body buckled, every limb shaking wildly, pathetically weak now. Reinhart's ankles wrapped around his own, pinning him tighter to the ground. A torrent ripped through the boy's body, sending first pleasure unlike anything he could imagine, and then only darkness as the world fell away.

4

Taylor's head jerked suddenly upward as his body was lifted from the ground. Not much time seemed to have passed. He gagged, and spat a wad of thick cum to the ground, the drool clinging to his lips as he fell over a heavy, naked shoulder with a grunt.

Some in the crowd cast a glance his way, but the others were beginning to get dressed and make small talk again. A server approached the outside, passing drinks with a blank face. Reinhart was in the distance, shaking his head at something and giving orders, entirely ignoring him, lost in some other deal.

The man carrying him lurched forward and they set off, a small party in tow.

“-That doesn't even make any sense. If we're going to buy, and we know we're going to buy, there's no reason not to act now. The market's never going to be hotter than it is now, and we know the price will be a quarter over that by next year...”

“It absolutely will be lower than it is now, have you not been paying attention to what's happening over there? Thompson's going to panic -he's already panicking -and he's going to jump once he sees we won't budge. He needs this. He thinks he needs this.”

“You're out of your mind to bet that much on him. He's not panicking-”

Taylor's hands tried to find a grip, to hold himself steady, but his clammy, tired hands slid against hard muscle, and the man re-adjusted him quickly, bracing his body tighter.

“He did the same thing in '05 and-”

“Exactly! He's not going to take that kind of loss again. He doesn't need-”

“Are you kidding me? He-”

Taylor bounced as the man re-adjusted him again. They were making their way back down the dimly lit marble hallway as two of the followers continued to bicker. With the hand around him holding him gently still, the slow walk, and the meaningless chatter continued, Taylor's fear lulled again, and he dropped from consciousness once more.

He jerked awake again as elevator doors chimed open, the hallway outside suddenly unfamiliar. Clean, modern whites greeted him, with wide open hallways and large frames of art. The lighting was bright and soft, and the hallways were short. The man re-adjusted him again and set off toward the closest door, one of several along the wall, like rooms in a hotel. With the quick swipe of a thumb, the door slid inward and let them in. Only Taylor and his ride entered. The man closed the door quickly behind him with the swift kick of his foot. With a gentleness he hadn't expect, the man lowered Taylor onto the sheets of a firm bed with crisp, clean sheets, his large hands still cradling the boy.

Taylor's eyes raised up and found Frederick looking back at him. There was a long moment of silence between them. Taylor knew that the feelings of anger and betrayal were there inside him somewhere, but he couldn't summon it now.

“There's a bath, for when you want it,” Frederick said, nodding to the far room. “There's food in the kitchen. But the door outside is locked.”

Taylor looked back at him, his eyes dropping, despite himself.

“I will try to be back when they come. He didn't tell us what was in store for you. I'm sorry that I have no help to offer. But if you stay strong...” Taylor's eyes drifted close again. “I don't know” Frederick finished bitterly.

When Taylor's eyes opened again, he wasn't quite sure if he had fallen asleep, or for how long. The lighting of the room hadn't changed, and the door still looked shut. He shifted to his side, and suddenly buckled. Every muscle felt torn and tightened into knots. Gritting his teeth, he swung his leg from the bed with a grunt and staggered to the nearest wall. He rested his sweat-soaked head against the cool wall and sagged into it. Waves of ache pulsed through him, not unlike his orgasm earlier. The thought drew his attention back to the gentle ache of his hole. He could still perfectly remember the feeling of Reinhart stretching him, filling him. His cock swelled quickly, dulling the pain of his aching muscles.

In the kitchen, he found a glass of water and a packet of Asprin waiting for him. He finished the pills, gulping the glass down in one go, tasting a bitterness that he didn't think was only from the medicine. His face felted crusted, and he could almost taste the reek of himself. Gripping the wall, Taylor stumbled his way down the hall and into the bathroom. A cobblestone square stood beneath a wide showerhead on the ceiling. The room was empty, save for a toilet and a small, mirror-less sink.

With a twist, water flowed down like rain onto him, melting away the mess. After a minute, he eased himself to the ground, sitting under the heavy torrent of water. After another minute, he laid down on the cool stones, briefly dosing again.

An hour passed before Taylor moved again, scrubbing the last of himself clean with fragrant soap that reeked of oiled wood and leather. He gargled and spat until the sour taste was gone. Then, as gently as he could, he cleaned behind himself with handfuls of soap, wincing from the soreness. It was nearly another hour before he cut the water and dried himself off with white towels, fluffy and soft, reminding him of the robe they'd dressed him in the night before. He found clothes in a cabinet and put them on delicately, they smelled clean and felt expensive.

Taylor peeked carefully into the kitchen, but saw no one. His muscles had loosened in the heat of the shower, and combined with the Aspirin, his body wasn't hurting nearly as badly as it had before. He opened the fridge and found an assortment of sandwiches, soft drinks, and snacks. There was focaccia and oil on the counter, and he snacked on that. It was gone before he realized it. He finished a roast beef on a baguette along with a ginger ale a moment later, followed it with a pear, and then a bit of cheddar and deli meats. He was searching the cabinets for more when he heard the sudden crack of the door swinging open behind him.

It wasn't the sad, friendly face of Frederick. It was six men he didn't recognize, dressed in casual suits, glancing him over with cocky smirks and dark eyes. Taylor felt his heart sinking again.

The one that lead them through the door saw his face go pale and held up a palm, “Easy there. Just here to talk.” Taylor felt the food churning in his belly, suddenly starting to reverse its course. “Just here to talk,” the man said again as the others made their way in, shutting the door behind them. It locked with an audible click.

“I understand you had a long night last night,” the stranger said with passable sincerity. “I was not involved, none of us were. I want to be clear about that,” he said, glancing to the others. None of them paid the comment any mind as they sat on the bed or ambled around the room. “We're just an outside party, here at the boss' request. Do you want to sit? My name's George, by the way. Nice to meet you,” he said, nodding. “You're Taylor, right? Taylor Evans?”

Taylor nodded slightly, his eyes glancing to the others. They were whispering into each others' ears, not listening. Taylor eased carefully backward, brushing against the cabinets behind him as George settled onto the kitchen's only chair.

“Yeah, Evans. Evans, Evans, Evans... See, that's the problem,” he said, his voice getting sing-songy. “We know your father,” George told him, wagging a finger. “And your father sure knows us. Been making all sorts of trouble. I'm sure you understand that, right?” he laughed. “I bet he gave you a hell of a time, growing up. He's a tenacious one, ain't he? A real dog with a bone, that one. When there's something he doesn't like... I get it. I respect it,” George said.

“But I don't think the Senator pays us the same respect,” George said unhappily. “We offer him a deal, he spits on it. We offer him a better deal, he spits on it,” George said, with comical surprise. “Think what you may, but we're a civil people. We'll start with the carrot every time. We're not barbarians. But your father, my God! He just wants blood! He doesn't want our money. He doesn't want our help. He wants blood, I swear to God! I try to give him cash, he wants blood. I pile that cash even higher,” he said, gesturing up to the ceiling, “and he just wants blood!”

George shook his head sadly. “We gave him every opportunity. Some people start with threats -that's not us. With threats, they're just words, ya know? Who's scared of that? It's just... I don't know. Air,” George said, looking confused. “Who cares, right?” George sat in silence for a moment, pretending to think. “Well, I dunno. Here I am talkin', so I guess sometimes words ain't so bad. But the boss, enh, he doesn't talk so much.”

After a long silence, he clapped his hands suddenly. “Anyway, blah blah blah, here's the deal- We weren't here last night. We didn't do nothin' to you. But you're gonna do some things for us- I know, stop,” George said, jumping to his feet and holding out his hands as Taylor tried to move. He was no longer jovial. “I know you don't wanna, but that's the way it is. That's what's gonna happen. And -and,” he added, stepping forward, trying to recollect the boy's attention, “when it's done, you're on your way. The Boss gets his revenge, or whatever he gets off on, and you find -hey, look at that, a plane ticket and a promotion in some other town. And, God as my witness, you never see a one of us ever again. All done. Are you following me?”

Taylor blinked as sweat beaded on his forehead again. The others were paying attention now, watching him with frightening indifference.

“There's no 'no' option here, so I don't really need a response. But I told you -we don't get violent unless you make it violent. You settle the fuck down and we can be out of here in five, maybe ten minutes. I don't know about you, but this ain't exactly something I want to draw out. I gotta be in LA by lunch or my kids are gonna be fuckin' nightmares about it all fuckin' day. My God, you think you got it bad, kids are thirty years of getting' fucked in the ass...

“Now, do we need to chase you, or can we move along? I promise you none of us exactly volunteered here. It is what it is, ya know? None of us here are callin' any shots” George said, waving a finger around the room. “Not sayin' we've got it equally bad, naturally. I mean, just it is what it is.”

Taylor's mind was racing in circles around the same words. Bathroom, no exit, bathroom, no exit.

Fighting wasn't an option. There was nothing in the room to fight with, and he wasn't going to take six of them. There was only flight, and the only door in the place was locked and behind half of them. The walls were closing down around him quick.

“What... What do I...” Taylor started, his voice cracking wildly, his tongue suddenly dry.

George sat down again, visibly relieved. “Ah, reason! A very fine choice indeed, sir! You excel beyond all expectations!

“I gotta say, I am a lazy old man, at heart. If I work hard, it's to work less hard, you know? Anyway,” he said, waggling his eyebrows and slapping his leg, “I said this'll be quick, and I aim to keep my word. I've got, let's say, an 'efficient' crew behind me here, so any delays will be firmly on your behalf.

“But let's not pretend you'll like any of this, and let's not pretend it ain't just business on my end. I've got orders, same as you, like I said. Blah, blah, blah -we've been over this. You are,” he said, pulling a note from his pocket, “to give one blowjob. That'll be me,” he said over his shoulder to the others, “and then you be on the receiving end of some anal-penetrative sex from one, two, three, four, five others,” he said, counting it out on his fingers as he read from his notes.

“They will be greased up, and they will be true to their two-pump chump infamy. Plus or minus,” he added as an aside. “Afterwards, five minutes from now, you go clean yourself up, a driver takes you home, you pack a bag, you take your upgraded room and your upgraded job. And never again the twain shall meet,” he said, holding out his arms. George considered that for a moment. “Not really the right context for that quote, but it's been a long night for both of us.”

Without another word George stood, flicked his belt open with this thumb, and undid his dress pants. They fell to his ankles as he pulled his boxer briefs down his thighs and settled back into the chair. A wide, but stubby cock lay between his legs, uncircumcised and flaccid. Taylor watched it, and the others watched him back in silence.

“Sooner begun, sooner done, I say, Champ” George said.

Don't think about it. Just move.

Taylor lurched forward, climbing gingerly down to his knees. The bruises from the knee before made him wince, but they were quickly forgotten as Taylor found himself once again at eye-level with another man's dick. It's hung limply out from a full bush of pubes, the testicles squished beneath and gripping to the chair. The hair sprouted from the wrinkled skin in patches. The smell of musk, sweat, and cologne were heavy, even from two feet away. George leaned his head back and sighed.

Taylor shut his eyes and scooted himself closer blindly, his hand on George's thigh as a guide. When he could feel the curly, dense mat of hair on his chin, he opened his mouth and scooped down, pulling the oddly heavy member into his mouth. His tongue brushed over the tip, feeling the smooth head between the foreskin, and George jumped in response. “Oooh, easy there, Tiger.”

What the hell do I do now? The men in the pool had done all the work themselves.

In a moment of furious panic, Taylor's mind flitted through a future where he failed to perform and the men beat him, keeping him there forever.

He swallowed a mouthful of spit that had pooled into his mouth, and George's penis twitched in response, growing quickly in an instant, filling his mouth. Taylor eased his head back to keep from gagging, and plunged gently lightly again, remember what the men had wanted the night before.

In and out, he thought. In and out.

George didn't grab his head, like the others had before, and he didn't gag his throat. Taylor bobbed over the tip, now swollen and defined, never taking it further than his tongue, holding him in both hands to make sure it stayed where it wouldn't choke him. It wasn't a long one, but it was quite fat and shockingly heavy. The hairs along the shaft ran through his fingers as he brushed it past his lips, felt the ridge of it run along the roof of his mouth, and slid it quickly back out again.

George's breathing got faster. Taylor couldn't see him, the man's head was still hanging backward, draped over the chair, but he could feel the man tightening, thrusting lightly back each time Taylor stroked him with his tightened lips. Without thinking, Taylor released one hand, it was shaking and white, but he slid it underneath George's sac. As gently as he could, Taylor stroked the underside.

George's body trembled.

Taylor bobbed faster, feeling the cock grow tighter, feeling the sweat beading from the folds of the man's thigh, seeing the skin around him flushing red. The man felt longer suddenly, the head somehow swelling fatter.

Fast as lightening, George grabbed him by the head with both hands, squeezing hard and holding him very still. The rubbery cock head jumped in Taylor's mouth, and a warm, numbing sensation sprayed against the back of his tongue. A taste, bitter and slightly sweet, filled his mouth. As Taylor tried to pull him out, George slid himself back in again.

“Nuh uh. Swallow it,” he said.

Taylor winced again, and half gulped, feeling the thick and slippery goo coating his mouth, somehow feeling like nothing had gone down.

“All of it now,” George chided. Taylor shut his eyes and worked it to the back of his throat as best he could, moving his tongue gently around the swollen cock that was stuffed in his mouth. After four attempts to swallow, it was mostly gone, but more leaked from the man in steady drips each time Taylor thought he was done. He could taste it dribbling onto the back of his mouth.

“There ya go,” George said, finally sliding out, tucking himself back in, and buckling with the other hand. “Almost done now. Go ahead and face the bed. Drop your pants.”

The part of his soul that bucked at the sound of direct orders like that flared, and quickly died once more. Almost done.

He didn't question if the words were a lie as he went to stand against the bed. He bent across it without being asked. He undid the buckle of his pants and pulled them down to his ankles. There was nothing there for him to fight against. And it was almost done.

Taylor heard the ruffling of clothes and the movement of bodies behind him. He waited, dully starring at the wall, then closed his eyes. There was the thick, wet sound of lube being applied by the group around him.

Hands gripped him, re-positioning him lower. His body tightened hard like a clenching fist as the wet knob pressed against his hole and pushed its way inside, he pulled away on instinct. A heavy hand pressed him down harder against the mattress. Taylor's legs trembled weakly against the ground as the man probed, rubbed, and massaged his way inside with practiced patience. More than five minutes had passed before he slid his full length inside, pushing the air from the boy's lungs. Taylor felt the man press to the hilt, his hairy groin digging in against between the boys cheeks, grinding against him before sliding back out. Taylor gripped the sheets as the next pumps came hard and fast, bouncing him hard against the mattress. He could feel his own muscles tighten, bracing against the blows. A few pumps later, the man grunted, stiffening suddenly. He pulled out a moment later, and another hand was on his back, pressing him down, pressing inside.

One by one, they held him down and slid effortlessly in, claimed him hard, and finished quickly, as promised. Only the last man was wide enough to make him gasp and feel the stretch, and he was quickest of all of them.

“One, two, three, four, five. All done. Just as promised,” George said, clapping Taylor on the ass before the last man had even pulled out. The man inside him held Taylor still, waiting for the orgasm to finish before sliding out.

“So, maybe it wasn't five minutes, but what can I say, you took your time to warm up to us, I guess.”

Taylor laid his head on the bed and let his knees sink to the flour. Behind him, the door opened, closing again before he could turn around. George was dragging the kitchen chair a little closer, but he was the only one of them that was left.

“I told you, the boss, he always starts with the niceness and all that, right? He did it with your father and, believe it or not, he did it with you. You ran on that first chance he gave you, in the sauna, and that was a mistake. Now, here's your second carrot. He only does two, though, remember? And you're on number two.

“So now here's the deal. Here's the carrot. All that we just did? That wasn't for us. I ain't into you kid, believe it or not. I didn't want to do that to you. None of my boys did. But we did it, because those are cameras,” he said, pointing four, then five times around the room. “That video is going right to your papa the moment they get that together. I know, I know,” George said as what was left of Taylor's color drained from him. “It's done, non-negotiable, etc, etc. He's gonna see you and then it's up to him who else sees it. It's up to him how he wants to go on. That's out of both our hands. That's his deal.

“But you've got your very own choice now. You go back to the lobby, you go back to the car, the driver takes you to the airport, you take your own private plane, and then you're off to...” George glanced up at the ceiling, searching for a name, “I dunno, Who Cares, New Mexico, and then you take your nice new job. Easy peasy.'

Taylor slid a little further down to the floor. He could feel the steady wetness leaking from him as the cum dripped back out, pooling onto the floor. He could still taste George's on his tongue.

“Or?” Taylor asked, already resigned to the fact that it wasn't going to be the path he would take.

“Well, I'm glad you asked. Or you run off to the police, or the papers -representatives that, in all likelihood, already held you down and fucked your face today, and you tell them your whole story of woe.”

George clapped. “And then we meet again, and I don't do my whole charming, Jersey shtick. And I don't try to scare you. These polite threats are because I want something from you, you understand? That's what threats are for. I want something from you. I want you to do as you're asked.”

Taylor nodded.

“It's because we're civil. Because we can get away with it. If I don't need nothin' from you anymore, if you annoy me, then I don't need all that. Your father's got the benefit of still being useful. He can annoy my all day long, and I'll just think of worse things to do to him. But you, this is the last we meet on pleasant terms, I think.”

George popped from his chair, fixed his suit jacket, and stepped out through the door. Taylor scrambled across the ground to try and catch it, but found Frederick holding it open instead.

5

Frederick starred back at him, his eyes heavy and gray. His jaw was clenched tightly as he nodded to the boy. Taylor stepped back, to let him in.

The man's face grew tighter as he surveyed the room. Taylor didn't follow where his eyes went. The shame was too great to re-live, to see the look on the man's face as he worked out what had happened. He pulled his pants back up to his waist quickly

“I'm to bring you to the car,” Frederick said, his deep voice suddenly tight.

Taylor nodded. He wanted to shower, but not here. Not again. He didn't want to rest and snack and recover, hoping it was all over. Not again. He wanted to be out and out the door. New Mexico wasn't far enough.

To his relief, Frederick nodded and waved him toward the door. With the press of his thumb, the door unlocked again and they were gone. The air was cool and fresh on the other side of it. Taylor had to limp to keep up, but Frederick slowed his pace to accommodate.

“We're going back through the entrance you came through, and I'm afraid it's a bit of a walk. Tell me when you need a rest, and we can stop. I'll try to make sure we don't pass anyone we don't need to.”

Taylor's heart raced a bit at the thought, but he nodded. They made their way back down the elevator to the main floor in silence. True to his word, they passed no one until the third pool, and doubled back to go through hallways marked for meeting rooms. After ten minutes, Taylor's head was drooping and he found himself dragging against the wall for support. Frederick helped him to a nearby bench, and sat him down gently.

After a few minutes, Taylor nodded, and Frederick helped him back to his feet. “Reinhart's many terrible things, but he's a man of his word. If he's offered you a deal, he'll honor it,” he said, his arms still around Taylor's shoulders for support.

Taylor felt he should nod, or acknowledge the man in some way, but couldn't muster the effort.

So what? So the man who had him held down and raped will leave him alone if he keeps his mouth shut? He'd pinky swear to not do it again, unless he wanted to? Unless Taylor's father annoyed him again? Or would he just drag his mother here instead, and see if that breaks the saintly fucking Senator?

Frederick grip on his shoulders suddenly tightened. Taylor shrugged him off and trudged on.

“Taylor, stop.” The boy limped onward, ignoring him.

“Taylor,” Frederick said, sounding worried, suddenly hustling to catch up, “There is a third option,” he whispered.

Taylor stopped

Frederick spoke very quickly, his voice low, “You can try to report this -and I can assure you it will fail, and then there will be consequences. Or you can take their plane ticket and their money and try to forget about all this. And that... may work for you. Some can resign themselves to it. But there is a third option.”

Frederick's eyes were bright and eager, though his face was hard. “I can take an apprentice. I can take you as my apprentice.”

Taylor's mouth slowly gaped, caught between not understanding and not believing.

Frederick stepped closer, holding up a placating finger. “The Gentleman's Club was not always like this. It was the man before Reinhart that started all of this. We didn't need to scare people into thinking we had power, not before him.

“And we're not all criminals. We do good things. Sometimes it takes a strong hand and sacrifices. We stand for a lot of things, not just power and trying to spread evil. We want to make this world better, even if it just means making it better for our own sake. It's how I use the influence I have. It's how Reinhart uses it, too, when he's-”

“Don't,” Taylor warned. He couldn't express much of what he felt right then, but he could say that.

Frederick shook his head and held up his hands. “He's evil. And he's brought that evil into this club. But our roots run deep. There's nowhere they could send you where they couldn't also just take you again, if they felt the need.”

Taylor shut his eyes. The thought was too much to consider just yet.

“If you join me, though, if you join us, they won't touch you. I swear it. They honor these codes, if nothing else.”

Taylor stopped again. “And do what?” he said, turning back to the man, his voice suddenly ragged. “Join you and do what?”

Frederick grimaced again and shook his head. “You do whatever I tell you to do. Not all of it good, but most of it is, I think. We do as the higher ups command when we have to, but otherwise we do as we want. We're all free men. And there aren't too many members left above me. Not anymore.”

“What's 'not good' mean? Like tonight?” Taylor asked defiantly.

Frederick's face showed nothing. “Sometimes worse.”

Taylor shook his head again.

“But there are benefits, and not just for your own sake. I'm not just here to be the crony of some madman. I'm here because I think the good I do outweighs the evil. And because I don't believe Reinhart will live forever. Someone will wield the power. It's taken a very long time, but I trust myself with this responsibility more than I trust others.

“Do you trust Reinhart to leave your family alone, if your father submits to him?” Frederick asked, his eyes suddenly cold. “He wants him as a slave. He wants to break him, and you were just the first try. If you run off, neither you nor I can protect him.”

“I can't stay,” Taylor said, shaking his head. He couldn't say the rest of it.

I can't see their faces again,he thought.

“I can't promise to keep you all safe,” Frederick said, ignoring him. “But I think the only way we have a chance is if you join us. It's the only way I've been able to come up with.”

Taylor felt his stomach cramping, suddenly feeling ill again.

“And I think I need you to help me, too, Taylor. Reinhart has us both, and he'll ruin anyone in his path. This club... it's taken a very dark turn lately, and I don't see any way to stop it, other than to clean it from the inside.

“I've been in your shoes, believe it or not,” Frederick said, looking away. “Reinhart's predecessor. He had a.. habit of finding young interns and inviting them around, same as yourself. He didn't share, though, and he had a room in the back of his apartment” Frederick said, shaking his head. “I didn't step back outside this building for nine full months. Something about me he liked, I guess,” Frederick shrugged. “He started me in an office near him, I guess just for fun. He kept me close, though, and kept me lonely.

“Over time, his interest faded, but the skills I'd learned had become useful. And with nothing else to do but work and wait for him, I became quite good at what I did. But that never changed who I am. Or what I believe in. I believe there is good and evil. I believe in efficiency. And, above all else, I believe in patience.”

Frederick suddenly swooped in closer, hugging the boy tight. “Because after twenty-nine long years, I plan to watch that bastard die as I choke the life from him,” Frederick whispered into his ear.

Taylor looked into Frederick's eyes again and saw something he hadn't before. Something like excitement.

“I won't promise you anything. I said it was a third option. Believe me, I'll understand any path you take. And I truly don't know which one might make you feel better, in the end.”

Frederick stood, dusting the knees of his pants clean, waiting for the boy to respond.

Taylor opened his mouth, then stopped himself.

The offer was bullshit. There were no choices here. Not reasonable ones, at least. They'd left him with only one path to take again, like following the lights through the maze, all the way into the trap.

They wanted something more from him. He wasn't sure what it could be. It was too hard to think straight when he could barely stand, but they wanted something, he was certain of it. And what did that matter anyway? There was only one path to take. It was that or see how creative they could be about finding a new way to hurt him.

Out of the frying pan, he thought, and headfirst into the fire.

“I'll be your apprentice,” Taylor said, nodding. Frederick reached for his hand and gripped it tight. They starred solemnly at each other in the empty hallway in the depths of The Gentleman's Club, and the deal was done.

5

Frederick was pacing, glancing at the exits. He hadn't said anything in a minute, and Taylor was starting to think his new protector was spiraling.

“I'm sorry,” Frederick said, stopping suddenly. “I think... we need to move quickly. I need to stop some things. I need to let them know,” he said, his gaze going blank again as he worked through the internal math. He shook his head to clear it, “I need you to stay here. I can be right back, but if-”

“No,” Taylor said, looking around at the empty room with endless locked doors that could let someone in without warning, with nowhere to escape to.

Frederick watched him for a moment in confusion, and then shook his again. “Right. Nevermind. I... I can store you in my quarters,” he said, his face suddenly brightening again. “But,” he groaned, “we'll really need to hurry.”

He grabbed Taylor's wrist in his hand, and pulled him back the way they had come. They quickly veered off from the path they had come from and twisted down unmarked halls of old oak and hidden alcoves.

“You're not meant to know the way, so don't worry if you're feeling lost,” Frederick said in a hushed voice as they shuffled along, his arm now wrapped around Taylor's shoulder to lend support. “The place is a maze of two centuries worth of construction, new wealth building over old... Hardly any of the members know the way anymore, other than where to find their room and a few of their favorite bars. I've seen twenty year members calling the line in a panic, needing to be rescued. Half the time, they're drunk again before the staff can find them,” he said, shaking his head.

“So why do you know it then?” Taylor asked.

Frederick frowned as he pulled open another doorway leading down a hallway of white stone. “One of the benefits to being caged here for so long.”

They emerged back into a contemporary room again, with art on the walls and shining, polished floors. “The sauna is just one door that way,” Frederick said, pointing. “If you look at the upper frame, you'll see a marking. That will lead you toward the public sauna. It's important to remember that. It's become kind of a meeting hall.” Frederick stopped, and Taylor could feel the man's eyes on him as he held his own gaze firmly on the floor. “But what happened there to you before will not happen to you again, I can promise you. You'll be one of us, when you return. They'll hold no ill will toward you. Nor interest. To them, it was any other day.”

Taylor nodded without looking at him, wanting him to move on again. His words weren't making him feel any better. Frederick squatted slightly, making sure he caught Taylor's eye.

“It's important that you know that. It's impo-”. The door beside them opened suddenly, and a robed man with graying hair, apple red cheeks, and a glass of brandy in his hand swayed precariously through. He blinked twice at Taylor after a moment and cocked his eyebrow.

“What're you doing here?” The man asked, glancing to Frederick, and then back to the boy. “What're you-”

“I'm escorting him upstairs, Liles. I've taken him as an apprentice.”

The man called Liles sipped at his drink, shaking his head gravely, then laughed, coughing as he finished. Taylor's heart sped to panic levels again.

“You've lost your damned mind, Williams,” he said, downing the last of his drink. “You have lost your mind.”

The man shrugged and stumbled onto an elevator across the hall. He leaned into the wall as he waited for it. Frederick pulled the boy quickly through a door on the far end, and swiped his finger at the next control pad. They were in halls that looked like apartments again. These ones quite a bit nicer than the last ones he'd seen, and were much further apart. They walked another minute in silence before Frederick stopped at the final door and pulled him inside.

It was breathtaking. It was like stumbling into The Gentleman's Club all over again. Polished red wood ran the length of the place, ending in a staircase to the second floor. Windows ran the entirety of the wall, showing the city's early morning skyline. It must have been a video with cameras, because they were surely even deeper underground by now. He wasn't sure he hadn't lost track, though, and it looked real enough that he was starting to think it was true. Somewhere off the main entrance hall, a fireplace crackled away. It seemed to take ages to cross the hall, but he found the fire was real, at least, and gave off a powerful wave of warmth.

“Is there someone else here?” Taylor asked, marveling at the old stone. The fire was longer than his whole body. It was the grandest thing he'd ever seen, he decided.

“No,” Frederick called over, still standing near the hall. “It's automatic.” Taylor pulled himself away to meet him again. Frederick seemed antsy still. “I need to go now, Taylor,” he said. “I may not be back for some time. But-” he said, cutting the boy off, “No one, not even the help, can get through this door without me beside them. Not even Reinhart, not even if I was screaming for my life. When you are right here, I can think of no safer place in the world to be. Do you believe me?”

Taylor nodded.

“And I will not return with anyone else. I will promise that as well.”

Taylor wanted to believe it.

“The door to the guest bedrooms also lock from the inside, they're upstairs and to the right. Take any you like,” he went on. You'll find the bathrooms and kitchen where you'd expect them.”

Taylor nodded on again. It was starting to dawn on him that he wasn't going home.

“My phone?” he asked. “My parents...”

Frederick nodded. “I will ask for it. And your other things,” he said, standing back up and turning toward the door. He stopped again after a few paces, “You can leave, too, if you like. Through this door,” he said, pointing at the entrance. “You won't get much further yet, until they have your thumbprint on the records, but you can leave. I... thought it was important for you to know.”

Not a captive of this room, just this floor, Taylor thought with little comfort.

Frederick left, giving a final, apologetic look. Taylor watched the door for a minute before turning back around and letting the warm morning sunlight bathe over him. Surely, it was real. But this view was from twenty stories up. That didn't make any sense, it had to be fake.

He took the stairs up to the second floor slowly, pausing every dozen or so for breath. It was at least a forty feet up, he thought. He found a series of guest rooms with the doors all propped open, letting a mysterious, but light, breeze in across the white sheets and polished wood. It was like being in an old English estate, he thought. He closed the heavy double doors on both sides of the room and bolted them closed. The bathroom that was attached was larger than his apartment, with another rain shower in the center of the room, unenclosed. He took his time, and when he finally collapsed onto the puffy, white sheets, all impossibly soft, he was sure it must be lunchtime out in the real world. Somewhere out there, the other interns might ask be asking each other where the new guy had gone, as they stuffed cold sandwiches into their mouths, curled over their laptops.

Did someone tell his boss? Had his father received the tape yet, he wondered with a pang of shame and horror.

The room was silent, and the pillowy duvet engulfed him. The outside world felt so remote now. He drifted quickly to sleep once again.

When he awoke, if felt like hours had passed. Outside the room, the skyline had gone dark. Frederick still hadn't returned (or at least he hadn't found him). There was no food on the table, and he found the refrigerator was nearly empty, save for a few cans of soda. The cabinets held fine china and sparkling silverware, but little else. He could feel his stomach grumbling again.

He strolled around the main floor to pass the time. He found a pool hall, a small corner room with a hot tub built into the ground beside a wet bar and what seemed like a patio table. There was a library that felt like its own enclosed world, and even had a rolling ladder to reach the higher shelves, like out of an old movie. Room after room of wasted wealth, he thought. The place was spotlessly clean, but it was also clearly unused -all of it. He would have bet anything that Frederick had never spent more than a week here, in all the years he must have owned it.

I wouldn't, if I were him.

Taylor spent the day exploring the place, doing his best to stay distracted. It was nearing daylight again when Frederick returned, looking worn thin. He took one look at the boy and his eyes went wide. “What happened? Did you get any sleep?”

Taylor shook his head, starting the other man. “No, I mean I did. I'm okay. Just starving...”

“My God,” Frederick said, bounding over to the wall. His finger brushed a device on the wall. “Send something up. Whatever's already ready. Enough for four,” he said, and the line cut off again. “I'm so sorry. I didn't even think about it. We're... I think we should be okay, but I need to catch you up.”

Frederic lead him to a seat beside the fire, which he thankfully diled down to embers.

“The others have been notified of your status, and you can now come and go with all the protection the Club can offer.”

Taylor didn't want to know how they had his fingerprints on file. “But?”

Frederick nodded, “But it only buys us time. First, your father. I can't tell you everything, but I can tell you the plans that I've heard. He's being followed, and the video's ready but being held for the right time. They won't apply pressure until they think it will work. If he gives in once, it'll be easier the next time. Whether that means a week or a month, I don't know. But, if he doesn't give in, they're likely to plant evidence against him. They'll make the charge go away,” he said, noticing Taylor's distress, “but they'll hold it over him for when they need it.”

“And what can we do about it?”

Frederick shook his head. “I don't know that there's much that we can do, unless you think you can convince him to end his fight and bend to our will.

Taylor shook his head again. They were acquaintances, at best, but he knew his father was unlikely to bend, if it came to his career.

“Then that brings us to the second issue,” Frederick went on. “An apprenticeship lasts for three months. Think of it as a trial membership. Before that time's up, you'll need the committee's vote for full membership.”

Taylor heard the worry in his voice. “And how do I do that?”

Frederick grimaced. “I'm still working on it. The situation is... unusual. Most apprentices are sons, or we get the occasional business partner. Sometimes it's a business rival that we haven't been able to crush and instead bring into the fold. But you're different. To them,” he said, holding up his hands, “your value has already been taken.”

Taylor felt his hands shaking at that. Fury, buried beneath shame.

“They assume I'm... infatuated with you.” Taylor felt his cheeks warm suddenly. “And it's best to let them think that, for now,” Frederick went on. “They won't understand. But, in a few month's time, we'll need to prove you have a role beyond that. That you can provide some value to the entire Club.”

Taylor rubbed at his eyes, suddenly exhausted again. “Well, I've got nothing for them, so I don't know what you want from me. This was your plan.”

“I kn-” Frederick was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Open front door,” he said. The front door audibly unlocked. A small man in an apron pushed a large cart inside and began setting the meal up on the dining room table. The man made no eye contact as he set the silverware straight, bowed, and quickly left.

“How do they do it?” Taylor asked bitterly. “How do they see all this, and serve you dinner?”

“We give them money. You'll find that's usually enough.”

They ate in silence, Taylor found he had an appetite, despite everything. It was all wonderful, every bite of it.

Frederick rubbed at his face, obviously weary, and pushed his plates aside. “I know you don't want to talk about this, but we'll need a plan. There are eight members you need to win over before that time is up. Some of them should be easy, and we can buy them off. But not enough of them. Most members' accounts start in the upper hundred million, so you won't be buying them off for cheap.

“Luckily for you, I don't actually intend to train you in business, so we can make this our only priority. At least for now. Our task will be winning over as many as we can, convincing them you can help them personally. This keeps you safe for a few months, at least, and we can use that time to help your father as much as we can. But, in the end, he makes his own decisions and he will live with those decisions. Do you understand that?”

Frederick's eyes, bright and blue, starred down at him, trying to convey some internal struggle he faced.

Taylor starred down at his empty plate. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do for them. Like, an intern again?”

He knew it sounded absurd. They didn't want some lackey. They wanted someone who was going to make them money.

“No, not like an intern again. Taylor, do you know what I do?” Taylor shook his head. “What do you think I do?”

“Do you... own properties? Trade stock?” Frederick shook his head at each response. “Manage money? I don't know.”

“I keep others out of the race,” he said. “Bribes, coercion, blackmail, trickery. Everything we'll do to your father. I already have my investments. All of us, every member here, is in the business of keeping everyone else out of the race.”

Taylor grit his teeth. It was a cynical idea. It was short-sighted. It was certainly not “for the good of the community,” or whatever bullshit it was Frederick had promised him. These parasites were sucking the world dry.

“So,” Taylor said, “if I help them get rid of their competition, they might let you keep me? Is that what it is?”

Frederick waggled his hand. “More or less. But, thankfully for you, that is what I excel at. I'll line them up, you'll do the legwork. If they can be won over, at least. I don't know who-”

Knock, knock, knock.

Someone was at Frederick's front door. He held up a finger, telling Taylor to stay still, and strode the long way back to the front door. Taylor crept along and watched from the door way.

It was an older man -much older. Quite large, with a shaved chin and a very loose hold on his robe. He was swaying, clearly drunk, and had a smile stretched as far as his face would allow.

“-him now. Let's party, come on,” the man shouted, rocking wildly. “Let's see if he's worth it,” the man laughed.

“Worth what?” Frederick asked, his voice barely audible.

“My vote! They gave me the board vote on… your newest guest,” he laughed. “Now where is that tight piece of ass,” he said, his small eyes scanning the room, somehow missing Taylor. “Just like that little fucker from... enh.. wherever it... Copy boy. You take the front, I take the back, enh?”

Frederick's eyes found him, and they looked hollow. Taylor watched him watch as the man pushed past him, now discarding his robe, his cock a small, pale lump below his large belly.

“What the fuck?” Taylor whispered.

“Taylor,” Frederick called out, “I know this isn't what you want to hear right now. But I think we can get you one vote,” he said, pushing the front door closed.

6

“Where is he?” the man shouted, from down the hall. Taylor shook his head, his eyes locked on Frederick's. He could hear the stranger stumbling through the rooms, calling for him. “I'm ready,” the man sang out.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think he would be here so soon. You don't have to do this tonight,” Frederick said. “No one will stop you if you leave. No one will harm you until the votes are counted.”

“I don't want to do this.”

“I know.”

“The whole point of joining was to not do this,” Taylor said urgently. It was hard to emphasis the point enough. “I thought I was going to be your apprentice.”

“I know,” Frederick said, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “The only difference here is that you decide what you want to do. And when it ends.” Frederick dropped his shirt to the floor, exposing a tight roll of abs coated in a thin layer of red and gray fur. The sharp curves of his pelvis dipped down into his belt, drawing the boy's gaze despite himself. Frederick was gone a moment later.

When Taylor finally made his way to the hot tub's edge, they were already a glass of champagne in, nude, but on opposite sides of the tub, their feet barely touching.

“There he is!” the stranger shouted, finally noticing him.

“Boy,” Frederick called over. “This is Bill Wardings. Bill, this is our new friend. Say hi, boy,” he said, nodding solemnly when the man's back was turned. “He's shy,” Frederick mock whispered, when Taylor didn't respond. “But he's an extra-hard worker. Aren't you, boy?”

Taylor nodded, his face grim. The room was stony silent, save for the sound of bubbling water jets.

“Ooooh, don't be shy!” Bill shouted, his face even brighter red than before, either from the heat or the drinks. “I'm friendly,” he bellowed, slapping the water playfully. “Are you? Why aren't you joining us? I've heard so many fun stories about you already.”

Don't think about it.

Taylor closed his eyes and pulled his shirt from over his head. He dropped his trousers quickly from behind the bench and stepped quickly into the tub. It was hotter than he expected, but he submerged himself in the burning water to avoid the stares. He sank down until his chin was under water, carefully positioned in the middle to be the furthest he could from either of them.

The man named Bill was faster than he looked. Drunk, heavy, partially submerged, he was still in Taylor's lap before the boy could even register him coming. Bill's small, hard cock prodding him in the belly, his legs gripped hard around the boy's waist, pinning him. “See?” he said, “Friendly!” he laughed.

Taylor turned his head, straining to look away. The stranger took the opportunity to bury his face on the boy's smooth neck, licking and sucking messily, his hands rubbing hard against anywhere he could grab. First the boy's nipples, and then his belly.

“Ugh,” Bill grunted hard, with his lips pressed against skin. His lips found Taylor's mouth a moment later, his tongue hungrily digging inside. Taylor could feel the man humping down against his body, his movements slow from the water. He gagged as the tongue pressed deeper into his mouth. Somehow, it was worse than all the other violations of his mouth.

Bill was out of the water again with surprising speed, his hand finding Taylor's and spinning him around. Bill pulled, trying to tug the boy from the water.

Frederick's hands were at Taylor's hips suddenly from behind. “Be gentle, Bill,” he said, guiding the boy out of the water again. “This one's fresh. You have to play gentle. And he's sore like you wouldn't believe.”

Taylor climbed out of the water and found Bill sitting on the padded couch that lay beside the tub. The silence and slight echo of the place was oppressive before, but now it felt suffocating. He covered himself as best he could and stepped where the lights were dimmest while he waited for Frederick to emerge.

“The boy needs us to keep him safe, Bill,” Frederick went on, guiding Taylor forward again, with his hands on the boy's narrow hips. “He needs to know you'll let him stay, that we'll keep him safe. Together.”

“Mmmm,” Bill said, spilling backward onto the couch, his hands finding another drink. “That's a lot to ask... He really wants to be one of us?”

“Mmhmm,” Frederick said, letting go of the boy and sitting down beside Bill. His cock was rock hard and dark red, Taylor saw. Is he enjoying this?

“That's a big ask...” Bill said, gently masturbating himself. “More than a few have killed just to visit once. And he's just a babe in the woods.”

Frederick uncorked another bottle of champagne, the sound deafening. “He needs protection, Bill. He needs a good home. He wants to stay here and work hard for us. Isn't that right, boy?”

Taylor said nothing.

“He's too shy, Williams! I don't see what I can do for him. He doesn't seem like terribly good company so far.”

Frederick dropped in the man's lap, and kissed him deeply. “For me?” he asked, after a long moment.

Taylor's eyes darted between them.

Bill sighed deeply, and then sighed again even more loudly. “One chance!” he said, rolling Frederick off of him. “I'll give him one chance to show me why he's worth keeping when fresh boys are a dime a dozen. One chance!”

Frederick clapped his hands and shot a grin in the boy's direction. “He's a man of character, our Bill! Kindest heart alive.”

Bill pulled his legs onto the deep couch with a mighty tug, and then pulled them closer to his chest, cradling himself into a fetal position. “But if he doesn't eat my ass like lives depend on it, then I'll personally make sure his mother's down there tomorrow, begging for the chance,” he said, his face suddenly sober and harsh.

Taylor felt the world shift off-balance around him again. He couldn't will his lungs to exhale. He could feel the oxygen cutting off; his brain was suddenly weightless. Bile poured into his stomach.

But he didn't faint. The feeling of helpless terror was becoming far too common for that. And if he passed out now, the chance would be gone.

Don't think about it.

It was becoming a mantra.

One step at a time. Only one path to take.

There was nothing else to be done about it. Frederick's hand waved at something near the wall, and the lights dimmed until they were all just shapes in the dark.

Taylor urged his leg forward, and then the next. Don't think about it. Move!

His shins hit the edge of the couch cushion suddenly, catching him off-guard and dropping his knees onto the surface. He scooted further in, using Bill's damp thigh as a guide, positioning himself between the man's hairy legs. Taylor could feel the mess of dense hair, still wet from the water, growing thicker the further in it ran. The man's balls and small, swollen cock shone bright in the dim lighting. But... below... it was only dense hair and darkness.

Taylor lowered his face down, his cheeks burning, as Bill rocked himself back a little further. Somewhere behind him, Frederick must be there watching in silence. Was he still hard from this?

Bill's body radiated heat out like a furnace. His massive body soon blocked out everything else as Taylor leaned in and buried his face in the man's wide crack, the hair engulfing his lips and cheeks.

Bill grunted, and grabbed Taylor by the head, pushing him hard in the right direction. Taylor felt it, the deep ridges of the man's hole, the soft skin, the sudden clearing of hair, and his body winced, instinctively retracting away.

Bill pushed his head in harder, moving him back in place. Taylor spat out his tongue, and dragged it up. Bill shook, his clutch momentarily loosening, and moaned hard. Taylor tried again, and the man's body quivered violently. Once Taylor found the rhythm the man wanted, Bill's hand dropped to rest gently on Taylor's shoulder. Taylor kept his eyes shut, burying his face in deeper, keeping his tongue wide and wet, lapping at the tight line of skin like a dog. Until, suddenly it wasn't so tight, and the tip of his tongue slipped lightly inside.

Bill went wild, his cock suddenly swelling hard against the boy's head. The man gripped his erection hard and began to stroke it again furiously. Taylor could feel the pounding above him. “Get in there,” Bill moaned, using his legs to pull the boy in tighter.

Taylor shut his eyes tighter, and gripped his hands tighter, pulling himself hard into the man's hole. His tongue found the right spot and pressing in again hard, his fat tongue tight and rigid, trying to push in deeper. It didn't seem to go in far, no matter how hard he forced it. He pumped his head wildly, the soreness in his jaw nearing unbearable from the strain of keeping his tongue stiff. Bill's fist rained down hard above him. Then, with a strength he would never have expected, Bill grabbed him by the hair, pulling Taylor's lips away, and slamming them back down around his cock. Bill held him tight for what felt like an eternity, the older man's body spasming wildly beneath him, his cock as hard as a rock, stretched to bursting. Then, just as quickly, he melted beneath the boy, his cock pumping stream after stream of hot, viscous cum along the walls of his mouth. Bill trembled, his limbs falling helplessly to the side, his cock still dribbling the last of it. Taylor couldn't hold it any longer, and couldn't swallow. He choked, and the semen dripped from his mouth, splattering onto the man's pubic hair. Bill didn't seem to notice. His eyes were glazed and half-closed.

Taylor slipped his mouth off the man and swallowed the last in two gulps. Bill's cock had already shriveled and retreated by the time Taylor stood back up. Frederick was there standing over him again, now holding a towel. The boy wiped his face and cast another look at Bill, who seemed to have fallen asleep.

“Get some rest, Taylor,” Frederick said. “One vote secured, and it hasn't be twenty-four hours,” he laughed. “My God, I think you're going to do just fine.”

Taylor left him, and made the long trek back upstairs. He couldn't remember which bedroom he'd taken before, so he took the closest and locked the door behind him. He gargled his way through a bottle of mouthwash in the shower, spitting it into the drain as the rainwater poured from the ceiling. When it was gone, he crawled deep under the heavy comforters. The room seemed to block out any sound, and there were no windows to let in a hint of light. His eyes drifted shut and, in the darkness where no one could see, he tugged and tugged at his own erection, the feeling of Reinhart's arm around his throat still clear in his mind. When he finally came, bucking softly against the smooth sheets, it was unsatisfying, but just what he needed to fall back asleep.

Sunlight poured in from the main hall when he opened the bedroom door, hours later. He made his way slowly down the grand staircase, and found Frederick in the kitchen, looking at his phone, a variety of breakfast items spread out on the table beneath him. Frederick glanced up as the boy approached, and gestured for him to sit.

“Bill's sent me the list of others on the voting counsel. Eight senior members are chosen, with five votes needed to pass. Two were personal friends, and were no trouble to confirm. With Bill's... surprising appearance, we already have another.”

Taylor's eyes widened. “I only need two more? That's it?” Frederick nodded. “I thought...”

“You thought it'd be a lot harder?” Frederick asked, and held up a finger. “Don't get ahead of yourself. Bill...” he trailed off. “Let's say I laid the foundation there pretty thick before extending him the invitation. If he hadn't stumbled his way to our door last night, he'd have been a lost cause for us.”

“You invited him?” Taylor said, his heart suddenly beating in his throat.

Frederick nodded, his eyes cold as he tour apart a croissant. “I invited him. Though I didn't think he'd come so quickly. And you had every opportunity to walk away. You still do,” he said, nodding toward the door. “You're here because you wanted his vote. It's why you stayed, instead of taking the redeye to Indiana.”

Taylor shook his head, lost for words.

“You made your choice,” Frederick said flatly, as he poured Taylor a cup of coffee from the French press. “I laid the trap, and he came. I drugged him during cocktail hour, regaled him with stories of everything he missed during your first night here, and mentioned you were eager to work for votes. I got all of his appointments for this morning canceled, and I had his dinner reservations fall through yesterday evening, while gifting him a very fine bottle of... well, whatever my assistant cared to send. And now one vote is secured in less than a day. Not easy, and be no means without sacrifice, but it's now done. And if you're no longer interested in seeing this through, you let me know now.”

Taylor glanced back to the door again silently. “Should I expect two more of them? Is he still here?”

Frederick shook his head. “He left some time after you went to bed. He might come back.” Taylor shot him a dark look “-but you already have his vote. What you choose to do with him from now on is your business alone. He's given his word and that's enough.” Taylor watched the man chew his lip for a moment.

“Of course,” Frederick went on, “if he does come back, and you're rude to him, he might try to turn others against you... But-” he said quickly, waving Taylor's objections down again, “But I mean for us to be long gone from this place before he has the chance.”

“Where are we going?”

Frederick glanced back to his phone, “Austin, Texas, I think. We have five candidates to get two votes from. The sooner we resolve this, the sooner we can start to help the rest of your family find a way out of this. I'm thinking Gregory Thane is our next target.”

“Is it going to be...” Taylor started, “like with Bill?”

Frederick's eyes starred blankly back at him again. “Do you have something else to offer?”

Taylor looked down at the table, and said nothing.

“You're young. You're very fit. You have a spirited fight in you that more than a few members here would enjoy trying to break,” Frederick said. “There's no shame in having something others want, and using it to get what you want from them in turn. That's business. It's rarely easy to stomach the sacrifices it demands. But... there are other ways.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I don't know yet,” Frederick shrugged. “I would hope you have some other skills to offer this world, though. I would like to think it's not just a sullen, empty shell here that I'm risking my own future to help. Am I wrong? Are you meant for more than abuse?”

Taylor grimaced, and thought for a long moment in silence. All the helpful qualities he could think of to offer began with 'my father...'.

“I've got a business degree,” Taylor said. “I graduated summa cum laude.”

“From where?”

“University of Rochester.”

Frederick blinked several times. “Admirable, but I believe most of our members here have their business dealings in hand. In fact, that's where the trouble lies,” he said, setting his phone down and slicing into a steak of fried ham. “How do you bribe billionaires?”

Taylor said nothing. “They're still greedy as sin, and cheap, but the cost to get their attention could bankrupt even me. They don't need new business ideas. They don't want accounting tips. The stock market's rise and fall is at their discretion. They can do nothing and still grow fatter as the poor grow poorer.

“Our days aren't spent finding ways to make wealth. Our days are spent keeping others out of the game, as I've said. We make the rules, we make the money. We alone hold the power. It's our strength, and the very thing that will kill this gentleman's club, in the end...”

Taylor raised an eyebrow, but Frederick went on, “Anyhow, Gregory Thane. Texas. We find who's bothering him, we find a way to remove this obstacle, and Gregory Thane suddenly has a use for you.”

Taylor started to ask a question, but bit it back. Frederick's patience for him seemed to be waning in the morning light. “I'll do some research.”

Frederick's hard gray eyes studied him for a moment, then nodded. He slid from his chair and took his jacket off a hanger in the wall.

“Then let's fly to Austin.”

Despite his best guess, there was no helicopter waiting for them on the roof. A chauffeur met them in a parking lot beneath the apartments, a line of black limos all in a row, and took them outside of the city to a terminal well away from the airlines he was familiar with. They drove right inside the hanger, stepping out in front of the steps leading up to the plane.

Taylor spent the entire trip there and the entire flight with his nose buried in a borrowed laptop, a notepad on his leg and he jotted down everything he could find. A beautiful woman, some kind of giggly Swedish supermodel tried to hand him champagne and flirt, and he waved her off each time. He'd found nothing helpful on Gregory Thane, and he could feel the panic building to the point where he could only stare at the screen in blank terror.

Thane was born into wealth from oil lines across the Southwest. His grandfather owned electronic empires, network channels, parent companies that owned parent companies that produced half the things he owned. His parents expanded that. Gregory himself took that and ran with it. How was Taylor supposed to know what sort of backroom deals the man was working on, or which rival company might be bothering one of his?

Frederick was right. Bill's vote was an easy win.

Taylor rubbed his eyes and sat back in his chair, trying to focus again.

“There's an easier way, you know,” Frederick called over, as he shooed away the flight attendant.

Taylor looked over at him, and found him grinning. There had to be an answer. He ground his knuckles into the sides of his head.

He couldn't be bribed. Killing him wouldn't help. The man had thousands of competitors. He probably had even more trying to suck up to him. He could have anything he wanted. Taylor could buy him nothing, give him nothing, offer him nothing... What possible advantage did he have over someone else?

Then it hit him. “We can talk to him,” Taylor said. “We can ask him what he wants.”

Frederick raised an eyebrow. “Go on,” he said after a moment.

“He'll know why we're there,” Taylor said. “And we're all members of the club. He'll know you, or at least know of you, and what you can do. He knows my father. We can just walk up to him and ask him and how to win his vote. That's our advantage. Is... that where we're going?” Taylor asked, when Frederick didn't respond.

“We have dinner reservations for eight P.M.,” he said, with a little grin. “Which leaves us,” he glanced at his watch, “with just under eleven hours to go. Why don't you get some rest in the back compartment?”

Taylor shut the laptop and slid it onto the seat beside him, suddenly feeling very weary.

“You could have told me.”

“An apprentice of mine must put some thought into the game,” Frederick called back.

It was that simple. They would just ask the man what he wanted. Taylor trekked to the back of the plane without a word, starting to weave with the plane as he walked. The door slid open to reveal a single room beyond, with a wide bed occupying nearly all of the space on the other side. The sheets were dark blue and felt like silk, and the room was pitch black once he slid the door shut behind him. He scrambled on top of the covers, as the plane wobbled and bumped, and after a long while, fell asleep once more.

7

Taylor awoke in the dark on his side, confused, half-dreaming, and groggy. A feeling of intense pleasure caught up with him, of need, building in his stomach, nearing orgasm. It was like waking up out of a wet dream. A hand was wrapped tight around his cock, pumping it fiercely, oiled and sloppy. Another hand was wrapped around his chest, across his shoulder, holding him tight over his shirt. The stranger's hips were pressing hard against Taylor's butt, spooning him, and he could feel the swollen erection from behind what felt like a thin pair of briefs and nothing else. His own pants were unbuttoned and peeled down to his hips, his ass bare against the cool sheets. He could feel a prickly chin in the nape of his neck, kissing him softly, exploring him with his tongue.

The man's other hand crawled down from his shoulder, finding his tight sac, and stroking slowly, all the way down to his taint. Taylor buckled, his legs spasming hard. The hand around his cock squeezed tight and held firm. Taylor's breath left his body all at once. He sprayed his cum in long, ropy strands across the sheets. The hand at his balls continued to stroke, and the other hand gently pumped away until every last drop had spilled.

The man's thumb stroked the head when he was finished, smearing the last drops around, making it sticky. Taylor heard the man bring the finger to his mouth and suck it clean. After a moment, the man wrapped his powerful arms around Taylor's body, cradling him like a toy, and nestled his head against Taylor's.

It was Frederick. The man's tall body, his powerful arms, his mustache. Taylor felt the heavy weight of the man draped over him, felt the warmth, and knew it was him. In the darkness, he felt no shame about that. He was snoring again within moments.

When he awoke again, he felt the same heavy weight still wrapped around him, and he nestled tighter into it. It was still pitch black in the room, but he could tell that hours had passed by already. The soreness in his muscles had nearly vanished, and inside he felt a bit of excitement. He felt awake. Frederick's erection was harder than ever, jutting between Taylor's bare ass, as his jeans had drifted further past his feet entirely. He clenched his checks around it, feeling the strength of it. Frederick was awake, too, and nibbling on his ear gently. The man's hand slipped up Taylor's shirt, and his thumb began to stroke the nipple inside.

The boy's cock swelled even tighter. Frederick's hips ground back into him, using Taylor's tight ass to stroke himself. Taylor felt his cheeks burning red down to his throat. He could remember the firm grip of Frederick's big hand so clearly he could nearly feel the crushing orgasm that had followed.

Taylor turned suddenly, freeing himself from Frederick's arms. He heard a confused sound from beneath him, but it stopped when Taylor's fingers found the edges of Frederick's briefs. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and tugged them down hairy legs, past the knees.

Frederick's cock was easy to find in the dark, the heat of it radiating from it like a burning coal. It was swollen to bursting when Taylor slipped his dry lips around the tight, rubbery head. A thick sheen of pre-cum was smeared against his lips as he slid it inside them. He found the hard ridge and stopped. He licked the last drops out from the hole, sucked it down, and swallowed. It was sticky, and tasted like bitter honey.

Frederick's abs tighten beneath him, and more hot drops oozed out onto the boy's tongue. Taylor slid his mouth further down, felt the fat cock head drag down the roof of his mouth. It was so warm. He could feel Frederick's pulse against his lips, could feel the man straining not to move, could taste the dribbles now falling onto the back of his tongue.

Taylor slipped his mouth up and back down, bobbing slowly. Each time he made his way back, he drank down every drop that spilled out. He brushed a hand up the man's thigh, feeling the dense mat of curling hair. Taylor's hand crept in further, where the fur grew even thicker. Frederick's sac was tight, and heavy -dense with fur, wet with sweat. Remembering how good it had felt when Frederick stroked him, Taylor's hands moved to caress beneath Frederick's balls, stroking him from his anus to the base of his cock.

Too effective!

Frederick gripped him hard by the hair. First with one hand, then the other. God, he's strong!

Taylor tried to pull away, but Frederick wrapped his powerful legs around Taylor's chest and crushed him tight between them. His cock pushed in deep, pushing right past Taylor's tongue, slipping into the tight ridge of his throat, pressing the air from his lungs. Taylor felt his throat constrict around it, and his legs quiver. He couldn't even gag, he could only choke helplessly around it. Frederick twisted his body, rolling suddenly on top of him, pumping in even deeper now. Taylor felt the heavy cock sliding in and out of his throat, its stiff head dragging down the narrow space and, finally, the spasms spilling out seed deep into his throat. Frederick's hairy balls slapped against the his chin as Frederick pumped and ground out the last few spasms, until every drop had been released.

When he finally pulled back, Taylor gasped like he was coming back from the dead. Frederick spun him quickly, sending him drooling and coughing over the side of the sheets. He yelped as he felt Frederick's big hands spread his butt apart, and he squirmed to escape. Frederick gripped him even tighter, pulling him back across the sheets. A warm, fat tongue dragged across his hole. Taylor's body went rigid against the bed, his instincts suddenly failing him.

“Easy,” Frederick whispered, the hairs on his lips brushing against the boy's tight hole, giving it a gentle stroke of his tongue again. He lapped at it slowly, carefully, trying to ease the boy down. Taylor tried to relax his muscles, but his body held them firm.

There was the sound of a plastic bottle, and something squelched. Frederick's thick fingers smeared something cold and wet between his cheeks with warm hands. Taylor felt his fingers glide easily between his tight cheeks, searching, then pressing firmly into him. Two of the man's firm, thick fingers penetrated him, then curled inside toward his belly. Taylor's body tightened harder as the man repositioned himself closer, dragging the boy's hips further back, using his grip from inside to drag him along his belly. Frederick's hand slid in and out, tugging each time against the walls of him. Then, his fingers slid out, and it was the fat, heavy head of his cock that pushed against his hole instead. He pressed firmly, trying to ease inside, but he still wasn't loose enough. Each time, it circled around the hole, pressed, then backed away again. It felt like the head of a baseball bat gliding in between his cheeks, trying to find purchase against the rim of his tight asshole.

Taylor's body pulled away, and Frederick's hands held him tighter still. Frederick continued to rock against him, gentle, but persistent. Twice, Taylor thought he almost had it. He could feel the head, positively dripping with lube, connect, and burrow its way into the muscles that blocked the way. Frederick would hold him tight, and the pressure would build, sending the boy's legs kicking wildly against the ground. But, each time, Fredrick pulled back after a minute, and continued to glide and probe.

When Frederick connected the third time, the pressure built, and built, and built... Taylor grunted hard. Frederick's hard cock dug his way in, driving the thick rod all the way inside. Taylor felt it in his lungs as he tried to gulp down air. He could full the muscles of his butt gripping hard, crushing the poor man, trying to drive him out at any cost. Trying to break him. But still Frederick held him still, and pushed in further still. Taylor could feel his insides giving way, spreading for him, stretching.

Taylor gasped and breathed shallow breaths against the silk sheets. They were silent in the darkness, except for those sounds. Frederick's hairy sac dragged against the back of the boy's round ass, and the man's hands released him. Taylor could feel Frederick's fingers inching their way down his back, pausing along his butt, caressing it, kneading it with his strong hands.

CRACK!

The sound was deafening in the tight room. Taylor's body jumped, but his body had nowhere to go, and Frederick pushed him back down against the mattress, smacking his other cheek now, even harder than before. Taylor's body tensed like an electric shock, and then unclenched as the shaking, spent muscles grew weak.

“Good,” Frederick purred.

Taylor felt the heavy cock inside him slip backward. He could feel the shape of the thick, rubbery head as it dragged its way all the way back, stretching the rim out again, growing close, but never slipping out. Gently, Frederick eased his way back inside, filling him tightly, driving a pressure down through him that built all the way down to his throat. Taylor could feel the blood rising in his cheeks, burning his face.

Back and forth Frederick went, driving the head through him like a fist, lighting every nerve in his body on fire, then dragging it back and doing it all over again. The pressure was building beyond reason. When he twisted and fought, when he tried to pump against the bed and finish himself off, Frederick would brace him tightly until the madness had eased. He went slower again each time, sometimes hardly moving, until Taylor could feel the pressure building in his head near to bursting. He screamed like an animal suddenly. Frederick tried to hold him still, his cock was at the very edge of the boy's hole, but he held it still, waiting to see if the boy would come back from the edge. But it was too late. He'd gone too far.

Taylor let out an almighty scream from every ounce of strength he had, exploding like a cannon, every muscle in his body pulling with all its strength, doubling him over into the fetal position. Even after he screamed his breath away, and his muscles could shake no longer, still he felt his balls pulsing with orgasms, spraying more and more seed against the sheets like an endless river. Distantly, he felt Frederick pound his way to his own finish against him, he could hear the wet sounds of meat slapping against him, but his mind was blank. He could see only flashing white lights across the dark room. Frederick mounted him as he came. He stayed that way until he went limp and slipped from Taylor's body. They fell asleep together like that, with Taylor curled beneath him.

It was Frederick who had woken first, and peaked beyond the door. Crisp, blue light flooded the room. Sometime in the night, Taylor had crawled under the sheets, and he pulled them over his eyes quickly. Frederick was gone a moment later. Taylor rose on an arm to peak out and shivered as he felt a stream of semen spill from him. He glanced under the sheets, and saw the wet pool beneath him. Gingerly, he got to his feet, and gathered his clothes from the edges of the bed.

Outside, Frederick was waiting for him, standing nude except for white briefs.

“Good morning,” he called, sipping on a mug of steaming coffee.

A man in a butler's outfit nodded to him from across the cabin. Two stewardesses nodded from beside him, smiles frozen to their faces. “Good morning, sir,” they called in unison.

Taylor nodded back to them, and rushed closer to Frederick. “Are we here?” he said, glancing at the empty hanger through the window.

“Indeed,” Frederick said. “We landed about two hours ago, I'm told. They've been gracious enough to wait.”

Taylor nodded, careful not to make eye contact with any of them.

“You'll have to shower here, I'm afraid. It's nearly two P.M., and we have reservations. Do you want me to join you?” Frederick asked.

Privately, Taylor was feeling near spent. His body had never been this sore. Every muscle in his body felt spent again. He felt dehydrated. He was certain he was bruised in a few places. But every drip that slipped from him sent a tingle right all the way up through his body. He nodded quickly, when the help had turned away.

The shower was tight, barely enough room for one. Frederick bent him against the wall and jerked him to completion against it. It was quick work. When he was done, Frederick helped Taylor to his knees and slid his cock right down his throat. He let Taylor work it slowly, his lips around the head and his hand around Frederick's heavy sac. He let him explore, and taste. When Frederick was done, he sprayed his load across the boy's face, making a mess of him. Taylor licked off what he could, and Frederick helped him wash the rest off before they exited.

The butler dressed the boy in Frederick's wardrobe, and they rode in relative silence on their way to lunch. Taylor was starving. He tried to think of what he might say, how they might pressure the man, but all he kept coming back to was what he might order. He wanted steak. And pasta for days. And a lobster... They stopped outside a building with black windows and no name. Their drive ushered them through an unmarked door and bowed as they passed inside.

Gregory Thine was waiting for them. He was everything Taylor had come to picture of The Gentleman's Club -old, white, heavy, a cigar clenched in his hands. Beside him were a team of bored, but attentive staff, all in their late thirties or early forties. Most were men, carefully dressed, but a few were women. They looked like lawyers. They were all deeply attractive, and radiated judgment. They watched Taylor closely. Everyone in the room knew he didn't belong there, with this crowd.

Gregory glanced over him and seemed equally unimpressed.

“Didn't you get any sleep on the way down here, Williams?” the man asked, his body sagging slightly.

“A moment or two, perhaps,” Frederick said. “And how are you old friend? Has my wife been by yet?”

“Just this morning, thank you,” Gregory said briskly, and waved to the host who had been waiting silently beside them. The man spun on his heels with a smile and directed them on through another door -first Frederick, then the boy, and then the army of lawyers trailing tightly behind. “I don't suppose that donation had to do with this visit?”

“Not at all,” Frederick said promptly. “The moment I heard you were interested in the area, I couldn't bare to see our name on the lease any longer.”

“Funny,” Gregory called over his shoulder. “I was nearly certain you'd only bought the land around my vineyard just to spite me for whisking that daughter of yours away from you.”

“A comical misunderstanding, most certainly,” Frederick said dryly. “But they all come home to roost in the end.”

Taylor felt very tired suddenly. There was a lot to Frederick's life that he hadn't known anything about. It was difficult to remember that this was just another day to these people. A lunch meeting they would forget by the end of the week. A minor chore and bored jabs.

“It was a thoughtful gift to offer but, I must say, I didn't think you'd be trading that chip in so quickly,” Gregory said, turning and glancing Taylor over again.

They reached their destination at last, a dimly lit private dining room at the back of the restaurant. Fish swam past along a stretch of aquarium glass, old gas lanterns filled the place with warm orange light, a muted saxophone played over hidden speakers.

“Just get to the point, Williams,” Gregory said, collapsing backward into a chair at the head of the table.

Their host pulled the doors closed behind him as he left, leaving their party quite alone in the dimly lit room. The army of lawyers sat and watched attentively, studying Frederick's face with clinical impassiveness.

“It's not him,” Taylor said, his voice wavering sharply. “It's me. I'm the one who needs a favor. Who wants to do you a favor.” Gregory turned towards the boy slowly, his face blank. “Only I don't know what you need,” the boy finished quietly

Taylor swallowed hard in the silence. Frederick wouldn't look at him. He could feel the eyes of the others boring into him now, and he could feel his cheeks starting to flush painfully.

Gregory eyed him over again quickly, but said nothing for a long time. Servers swept into the room, and poured a heavy red wine as the silence grew thick around them. Only when the doors were pulled closed again, and Gregory had taken a few sips, did he speak again.

“What are you hoping to achieve here, boy?”

Taylor started to speak, not knowing what he might say, but Gregory cut him off before he could begin.

“Reinhart's done with you, you know that?” He looked at him beneath heavy eyebrows. He almost looked like he could be giving grandfatherly advice for a porch step, all concern and ancient wisdom. “He was done with you, and he'd never spare you a thought again. But now,” he sighed wearily, “if you thought he was mad before...”

“Not at me,” Taylor said quickly, holding up a finger. “He was never mad at me. That's not the issue. He's coming after my father. They said he'll come after my mother next, just like he did to me,” he said, sparing a glance at Frederick.

“Unless you do what? Join us?”

Taylor nodded, but Gregory only shook his head. “That doesn't save your father. And if you think he'll tear down everything he's planned-”

“I'll make Reinhart find another way.”

Gregory cleared his throat in indignation. “You won't.”

“If it's personal, no, but his is about the good of everyone in the Club. All of us,” he added, glaring between the two men.

“You're not one of us yet, boy,” Gregory said.

“Not yet. But I know it's meant to be about helping all of us. If my father would help us, if I could change his mind, if he would work for you, that would save you money, right? It would save everyone time and effort and money...

“And I promise, my father won't break if you push him. Not because of me or my mother... He has no secrets to dig out. He doesn't care about money. He's not a saint,” Taylor said, seeing the look of skepticism grow on Gregory's face. “I know that. But he thinks he is. He is militant in keeping his record clean on paper. And if you push him to be a martyr, he would jump at the chance.”

Gregory rolled his eyes in annoyance and shrugged dramatically. “There doesn't need to be a scandal to find for there to be a scandal. Do you think it matters to us if we fill his trunk with pieces of your mother's body? We could have two priests swear they watched him do it for less than this lunch is costing Frederick here. We'd forget about your father long before they'd fry him.

“But,” Gregory went on, fixing the napkin in his lap, “I acknowledge your point. What I fail to see, though,” he said, “is how you'll convince him to join us. If he cares so little about you. If he'd leave your mother to the dogs.”

Taylor shook his head. His mouth opened, but hung their dumbly. He couldn't even think of a plausible lie.

“What other choice do I have?” he asked. “I'll make him see reason. The Club loses nothing for trying. I'm told we prefer the carrot.”

Gregory scratched at his beard for a long while, and drank his wine in silence. Taylor looked to Frederick, but he was looking determinedly away.

“I can't say I like the idea of pissing Reinhart off, by helping you... I have a harder time believing Reinhart could see be made to see reason, and to set his rage aside for whatever small benefits your father might someday, by some miracle, provide.

“He doesn't just want a bit of blood, boy. He wants your father gutted and dragged through town. He wants your father to see his life's work in ashes. All his friends disgraced. His life scratched from the annals of history. And I mean none of this figuratively,” Gregory said, finishing his glass and pouring another himself. “The way you're going, you're going to be right there in that boat with him. He'll maim you. He'll shame you publicly. He'll do the same to your mother. He does not tolerate anything but subservience,” he whispered. “He breaks men.”

“It's not his vote,” Taylor said.

Gregory drummed his fingers against his knee in silence a bit longer, but he grinned in the end. “You're bold, boy.”

“It's been a long few days, sir,” Taylor admitted.

Gregory sighed and stroked his beard again. “What do I want...” he muttered, casting an appraising look towards the boy. “I suppose there's the dinner,” he said, half-shrugging. “If Morgan and the others see the Senator's boy working for me, a few of the right hints, that could certainly have their attention. It'd at least get them talking... Doesn't quite seem like fair payment, though,” he added, eyeing the boy a little harder. “Not for that kind of punishment. Reinhart has a lot of ways to make me miserable, boy.”

“I'll give you four weeks. I'll say anything you need me to say to them. Ask me to do something, and I'll do it. It's not fair payment,” he said, casting a glance toward the team of lawyers, “but it's all I have. Appearances, whatever. If you need me to lie about my father, I will. If you want me to make someone a promise on his behalf, I will.”

Gregory frowned, but seemed to consider it. “And you, Williams? What do you say?”

Taylor felt for a moment that Frederick might refuse to let him leave. Then he remembered the wife and child Frederick had waiting for him at home, somewhere, wherever they might be. And besides, he wasn't Frederick's to give away.

“Taylor belongs to The Gentleman's Club. He's free to make his own deals. Do you accept, boy?”

Taylor inclined his head quickly and Frederick swept to his feet a moment later, bowing low across the table. “Then, gentleman, I will be off. A good day to you.” Gregory waved his hand dismissively as he backed his way through the door. He was gone a moment later.

8

Silence hung over the table, heavier than ever. The lawyers said nothing, simply waiting, while Gregory ignored them all. Dinner was brought, served family-style, though only Gregory and boy took plates. Taylor said nothing as he heaped a charbroiled slab of beef, a cut he didn't know enough to identify, and a pile of salad. When he noticed the others took nothing for themselves, the silence hung heavier in the room.

“You can go,” Gregory announced, as Taylor picked up the silverware. It tumbled from his hands and clattered against the old oak table a moment later.

He scooted his chair back quickly, nodded to the old man, and hurried from the room in the span of a breath. Perhaps a day ago, he might have tried to stutter out questions, or maybe even tried to arrange a time to talk again. He might have asked the billionaire to repeat himself, if he was truly stupid. He felt quite a bit older as he kicked his way back up the steps of the entrance and emerged onto the street again.

He'd been hoping Frederick might have waited, but the street was empty. First, he would need a place to say. He had enough money in his account to last a few weeks in hotels, waiting by the phone. He would need supplies, though... And he'd need to find out where exactly he was in town. He'd promised Thane four weeks. As far as he was concerned, the clock had started.

Taylor glanced up the road, taking in vacant buildings, accounting offices, other places he mentally filed under “Misc.” He might need a job, if this went on for too long. If Frederick had left a number, he could have called him back and asked for help again. But he didn't have his, and he didn't have anyone else's. Even Bill, the gross old man, even he would have been a welcoming sight now.

What the hell was he going to do? Flip burgers while his time wasted away, hoping Gregory would find him?

He headed off down the road at random. He could feel eyes on him from behind the restaurant's black glass windows, or at least he thought he could. Anywhere seemed better than here. He had to start moving.

“Kid,” a voice shouted out at him from behind. “Where are you going?”

Taylor spun on the spot and found a bald, incredulous hulk of a man squinting down at him.

“Get back here,” the man said, waving him inside, letting the door slam shut again.

Taylor hustled back to the shop and made his way inside. The man was waiting beside a door they had passed earlier, and he pulled it open to reveal a staircase heading upward. Wordlessly, Taylor went through, and the door shut quickly behind him, leaving him quite alone all over again.

The top of the steps revealed an attic bedroom that seemed to have been used heavily for a few dozen years. The sheets were maybe even changed a few times since then. After Frederick's apartment in the underground labyrinth of The Gentleman's Club, this place was a pit. It was hardly a step above sleeping in the alley outside. He found an overturned plastic crate and took a seat, trying to think of something helpful to do. After a moment, he gave up and pulled out his phone. The screen was already lit. Incoming call. It said “Dad”.

Taylor felt his heart freeze. He declined on instinct.

A moment later, the call was coming in again. He let it buzz until stopped, his mind still unready to deal with it. A text message came in instead. He watched the phone for a long while. He knew there was nothing to gain from ignoring it. His father had already sent it. The damage was already done. He either had seen the tape, or he hadn't. Reading the message wouldn't change anything. He should read it. He stared at it silently until boredom overcame the fear.

“Are you safe?” the message read.

He wrote and re-wrote half a dozen drafts before sending “You are not safe” in return. It didn't quite answer the question, but he didn't quite know what else there was to say. He wasn't sure where he was, or what might lay ahead. And all to get another vote that might not even come.

There was every chance that Reinhart, or whoever else, didn't give half a shit about the safety they'd promised, and they'd all just use him and his father until they'd gotten what they wanted.

Was that “safe”? It didn't seem like it, squatting in filthy restaurant apartment with a few thousand in the bank and nothing else on his side. It felt quite entirely unsafe and unwise. And the things he'd let them do to him... Jesus Christ. He was going to have to bury that down deep, like coming back from a war and trying to pretend the world wasn't insane. At least if they killed him and his family, the knowledge of what they'd done would die there, too. That was the best re-assurance he had. He could felt himself spiraling.

A new message came in. “They won't get away with this. I swear it.” Taylor grimaced and was halfway through a reply when another came in:

“I'm working on a plan. Hold out for me, son.”

Taylor watched it for a moment, then shut his phone and set it aside. There was no reasoning with him. His father would do what he wanted, same as he always had. Taylor had known when the task was impossible when he'd sworn he could do it. All of this with the Club and getting votes... it was just biding time before the inevitable.

He sat there, sinking deeper and deeper into gloom, awaiting the next wealthy monster he could be passed along to, feeling neither tired nor scared. Someone would tell him where to go next. They'd use him, one way or another, and pass him along again. At least when Frederick had been there, he'd had an ally. It was a lot easier to see how hopeless it all was now with him gone.

And, yet, it wasn't hopeless. Unlikely, perhaps, but he had some saving graces. Frederick might be gone, but he was on his side. And he'd secured him a few votes In four weeks, he might have another. If his father couldn't be persuaded, perhaps his mother could be given some measure of safety, once he had some influence of his own. These were men with money. Men who, so far, didn't seem displeased with him. It might not be dignified, but he'd survive and earn a place in one of these empires, if he was smart enough about it. It was almost going according to plan, if you fudged some of the details. Maybe even ahead of plan, at that. Somewhere in his mind, objections were raised, and quickly stuffed off somewhere else.

He swept himself off the crate and took a fresh look around. The place was filthy, with sour old chef jackets piled high alongside boots caked with food and debris. There were books, cigarette butts, and junk food containers across every flat surface. But there was a bathroom, and he spotted no roaches as he turned on the lights.

Working quickly, he undressed and stepped under the shower, leaving the door wide open for anyone that happened to check on him. What did he have left to hide? His muscles were pulled tight as a piano wire, and he'd lost a worrying amount of weight. The bruises and scrapes along his skin were blooming to life with color. But he was getting clean.

When he stepped out, he bypassed the stiff brown towel that hung beside the light switch and instead found paper napkins to pat himself dry with. Finishing his look in the mirror, he looked nearly respectable again. He found clothes in a dresser beside the mattress that lay on the floor. Surprisingly, the contents were clean, even if they did fit a bit too loosely. It might be stealing but, he reminded himself, he was a member of The Gentleman's Club. What the fuck were they going to do about it?

9

Hours passed as he waited to be dragged off to the next destination. He found a charger for his phone, and spent his time researching Gregory Thane. And, most importantly, to see if Gregory had any reason to have a vendetta against the Senator. Taylor felt like an idiot, failing to find anything that looked remotely important. Gregory owned companies that owned companies that blah, blah, blah. Senator Evans had bills and subcommittees that ranged across all areas of politics, which all stretched on for years and involved countless others. Googling the two names together failed to find a single smoking gun, so it seemed his father hadn't pissed off one member of the club enough that they wrote a headline about it, at least.

Two hours passed before Taylor heard the shuffle of feet coming up the stairs again. They didn't bother to knock when they came inside -it was the same goon who had called him back in from the street. This time, he came offering a suit for him, still in the dry cleaning bag.

“We need you in twenty,” the man said, and he hesitated to lay the clothes down on the piles of trash that covered the couch beside the door. He instead stuffed the bag into Taylor's hands and was gone again before Taylor could thank him for it.

The suit fit well, though he struggled briefly with the tie. The twenty minutes passed quickly, and the bald goon was back again to escort him down the stairs, into an awaiting limo outside. The car didn't move after the door slammed shut behind him, and there was no one else but the drive inside. Ten minutes more, and Gregory entered the car, too, this time flanked only by the man from before, which Taylor figured to be some kind of security. With a wave of Gregory's fat finger, the car was moving..

Gregory stared, dead-eyed, at his phone for five blocks before glancing up and seeming to notice Taylor for the first time.

“What's that?” Gregory asked, nodding slightly in the boy's direction.

Taylor raised an eyebrow, hesitating to annoy the man with a question, but not knowing how to respond. “The suit?” he ventured.

“Your wrist. What is that?”

Taylor glanced down, and spotted the edge of a yellow-green bruise creeping from outside his cuff. He looked at the other wrist, but and found a similar one along the palm.

“Bruising, sir,” Taylor said quickly. Gregory seemed even more confused. “From the Club,” he added.

“They're brutes up there,” he said, though he didn't seem terribly bothered as he went back to his phone. After a pause, he went on, still not troubling to look up, “There was a time when this was about money. About actual power.” Gregory shook his head, apparently mildly saddened by the development. He set the phone down suddenly, undid the latch of his watch, and slid it off his wrist to hand to Taylor. “Put it on. It won't hide all of it, but it's something.”

Taylor accepted it silently and slid his hand through the band, uncertain if he should feign gratitude.

“Your father is not a very well-liked man,” the man said.

Taylor found it hard to keep the man's gaze. He had a hard face, and there was harsh judgment behind his eyes. He waited for Gregory to go on and, when the man didn't, Taylor found it hard to hold back.

“He might not be a good man, but he wants the world to be fair,” Taylor said. “I don't blame him for that,” he added after a moment. “Sir.”

Gregory snorted. “If fairness was all he was after, we might let him be. Runs against what we do, of course, but it would be commendable none-the-less.” Gregory shook his again. “That's not what your father wants. And it's not fame or power either. Men like him... Do you read the Bible?”

Taylor shook his head.

“David and Goliath. You know that one, at least. And your father,” Gregory paused, seeming to debate it, “he doesn't want to be either of them,” he said, leaning closer. “He just wants to be the stone. He wants to be thrown at something grand and see it all comes crashing down around him, knowing that he did the damage. He ended something bigger than himself, something glorious. And that makes him just a bit glorious, too.” Gregory leaned back, and gestured toward a cigar, which the bald man clipped and lit. “That's what I think.”

“I thought you said he didn't want fame,” Taylor said.

Gregory waved him away. “Glory, I said. That's not the same thing. The suicide bomber isn't doing it to have their name in the history books. It takes balls to die for a cause like that. Even if it's stupid. And cowardly.”

“So you believe it then?” Taylor asked. “That this club is doing good in the world?” Gregory raised a bushy eyebrow, and undid the button to his jacket, saying nothing. “I haven't seen much of what you people-”

“Hey, I thought they were your people now.”

Taylor nodded. “I haven't seen much of what we do day to day, so I don't know about that. But I've been inside the club.” He waited until Gregory nodded for him to continue. “I saw extortion, blackmail, wasted billions... Even now with me and my father. If he's in it for glory, fine, but I've seen some of the work he does. If you take him away from that work, I think the world's a little worse off.” Taylor frowned, trying to work out the words. “There might be plans he interferes with, but he does work that helps a city. I don't see a way that it can be right to stop that.”

Gregory puffed at his cigar, and said nothing.

“I'm not just here to save my father. I want to believe The Gentleman's Club actually does collude for some... higher purpose. Frederick said that's what we do. If that's true, that's something my father would join willingly. It's something I'd fight hard for, too.”

Gregory looked away and thought for a long moment. The security sat stone-faced through all of it, watching the seat ahead of him blankly. Taylor watched a vent in the room suck the cigar smoke up in a neat line, carrying it off to spill outside.

“Well,” Gregory sighed after several minutes, “Some of us try, at least,” he said, with a weary expression. “And f this meeting doesn't go well, perhaps we've fallen short once again.”

“I need to believe it,” Taylor said, and the older man looked confused again. “Not that you'd hurt him, that this place is capable of good. He needs something to work toward, if there's any chance of him joining us. It's not enough to threaten him.”

“The time for threats is past, son.” He held up a hand, as the boy tried to cut in again. “But I understand you're point. And that's been accounted for, believe it or not. He wants improvements to public transportation, he wants to hold several developers accountable, he wants to see better numbers in the education budget. Etcetera. There are colleagues of his, and staff of his, that are ours.” Gregory shrugged, “We could alleviate these issues, until he sees the bigger picture. If he truly cares about these ends, he can take our help without cost, while he gets to live and see his wife unharmed.

“A three month grace period,” Gregory said. “That's the last and final offer we grant, do you understand?”

“Three months is nothing.” Taylor said. “I'm sorry, but that's nothing in his work. He won't have-”

Gregory held up a finger to silence him. “I said we assist him. In three months with us, he'd finish two years of projects. But know this: I'm not here to debate you. You're here as a show pony. He sees you're unharmed, he listens to my deal. That's it.”

Taylor bristled at the word “unharmed”, but let it go. The gesture with the watch suddenly seemed a lot more hollow.

“Need I remind you,” Gregory said, “That you need me a lot more than I need you. If your father says no, Sam here's severing his windpipe in the parking garage and no one's going to try and find out why. Then you don't get your vote, and your best bet is to keep them satisfied for on your knees for as long as you can. Remember to struggle. They fuckin' love that over there. They're goddamn brutes, remember?”

Taylor felt the spittle against his flushed cheeks, but the threats were nothing new. “You're not my only option for another vote.”

Gregory scoffed. “Is that so?” Taylor sensed the trap, but nodded. “Well, I look forward to seeing how you win over Old Nelson Braugh, king of textiles in Southeast Asia, owner of the largest fleet of cargo ships in the world. Faithfully married to a wife of forty-seven years. Outside of a sincere belief that those outside the white race don't qualify as human beings, and the kind of crushing greed that leads a man to prey on impoverished nations, you'll find it hard to pin a vice on him. I've heard the man condemn Bingo as the devil's work. Now why didn't Frederick send you into Thailand, I wonder?” Gregory said, his eyes cold. “Maybe he just fancied some of our world famous brisket, I suppose.”

Taylor felt his heart racing, and tried to remember it probably wasn't as bleak as that. If Gregory hadn't wanted his help, he wouldn't be trying to scare him. It's what the other man had said, George, the Jersey thug. They only try to scare you when they want something.

“I've taken bigger risks,” Taylor said slowly. “I'll help you in anyway that I can, but... not at any price.”

Gregory pulled a hard pull from the cigar, and spat it back out. “From what I gather, the only help you have to offer, I can already get for free. But you're right,” he said, readjusting himself in the seat. “I think I do want some help. Get on your knees, boy.”

Taylor watched him back blankly.

“I'm not talking to Tom here, boy. Get on your goddamn knees. You owe me four weeks of work, little cub.”

Taylor tried to swallow, and found his throat suddenly dry. “You said you wanted me to talk-”

Gregory shifted his hips and began to undo his belt. “Come on now, you can talk to him” he said, ignoring the boy. “Don't mind Tom here, he doesn't care.”

Taylor froze.

“Quick with it, boy. Tom, help him.”

The bald man turned, but Taylor held him off. There had been enough of that.

Taylor stepped forward, kneeling onto the carpet of the limo. The older man had undone his belt and zipper, but his pants were still around his waist. Gregory lifted himself and allowed Taylor to pull them down to his thighs, dragging a pair of purple silk boxers down with them.

His cock was limp, and buried in coarse black hairs. He was cut, and had a belly that nearly protruded over it, but it was otherwise all the same as the rest he'd encountered this week. Except for Frederick, he thought, as he wrapped his lips around the head, and gently slid it inside his mouth, wetting it.

He slid his way down the short shaft slowly, drawing the skin taught, sucking hard as he glided back again, making sure to flick beneath the head with his tongue. Slowly, but surely, the man stiffened against his tongue. Taylor pulled his mouth away, and gently scooped the man's sack into his mouth as he stroked Gregory's cock with hands sticky from his own saliva. Gregory pulled him away quick, though, and pushed his swollen head back between the boy's lips. After a moment, his hands wound their way into Taylor's hair, and he began to pump his hips, stroking himself against the boy's tongue. Taylor closed his eyes, feeling the fattened head punching closer and closer into the opening of his throat, waiting for the end.

“You hold my cum, boy,” Gregory said, his voice broken and husky. “You hold it all night. I'm going to make sure you don't say a goddamn word.” He continued to pump wildly, the wet sounds as he penetrated the boy's lips growing louder. “You swallow a fucking drop, and I'll kill him in front of you. You understand me boy? I'll stab his fuckin' face apart on the goddamn table,” he growled, peeling one of Taylor's eyelids back to stare at him in the face. Gregory came as their eyes met, the old man grimacing hard as his load splashed against Taylor's throat, which the boy was nearly too slow to gag back up into his mouth.

“Let me see it,” Gregory demanded, before he'd even pulled himself fully out.

Carefully, Taylor opened his mouth wide for Gregory to inspect, which took longer than seemed reasonable. After a long moment, the man nodded, and pulled his cock back into his boxers.

“A single drop less than that, and he dies in front of you. Do you understand?”

Taylor readjusted the slippery mess onto his tongue, and nodded. And, more importantly, he believed him.

“You sit there, you say nothing, you communicate nothing. You do nothing he says. You do everything I say, when I say it. You don't make eye contact with anyone.”

Taylor, seeing no way to argue, nodded.

“You do this, your father leaves alive. And if you are on your absolute best behavior, I'll give you my vote in one hour's time.” Taylor had to brace himself, to stop from swallowing in surprise. “Hell, we could be teaching you how to hide your money before you get the taste of me out of your teeth.” Gregory was all smiles and grandfatherly warmth again.

Sam waited for the old man to button his belt before swinging open the door and letting them both outside. A crowd dressed in black suits and white gowns was surrounding the limo, and what looked like an usher was peeking inside to lend them a hand out. Taylor waved him back and did his best to make his face look normal as he stepped out, the bitter taste in his mouth sloshing back and forth across his tongue.

It was easy to see the place was filled with other politicians. All picturesque and heatedly reciting statements to the nearby cameras that lined the door. Gregory charged through the center of them, attracting not a single glance as they passed through the great glass doors that lead to the wide state room inside. The seats were sparsely populated, with most of the guests still removing jackets or standing to talk with others.

Wordlessly, Sam gripped Taylor by the arm and lead him to a table near the far corner, seating him in a chair that faced the center of the room. His eyes scanned the faces of the people around them, never once falling on the boy. His grip remained in place. Looking down at the table's seating chart, it certainly didn't seem to be set for them, unless they were using assumed identities. It seemed as plausible as anything else that had happened.

He sat in silence, watching Gregory make his way from group to group, leaning in close to talk, laughing at their jokes, seeming to be without a care in the world. It was a surprise then when the man suddenly nodded in his direction, with Sam lifting his arm to wave in return. A head peaked from behind the crowd to see, and Taylor felt his stomach plummet in a way it hadn't before, even in that first terrible night. It was his father.

Whatever conversation followed, Taylor couldn't see it. They were both hidden again by the crowd of strangers. It seemed to drag on for hours. The seats were filling quickly. It wouldn't be long before the rightful owners of their table showed up, and then what? Would they have to leave?

And then, Gregory was headed back to them, his face suddenly hard again. To Taylor's absolute dread, his father followed behind. It was a long walk back across the hall, and with every step they took, Taylor felt the heavy puddle pooled around his tongue, and the unbearable weight of guilt that came with it.

“Jesus, Taylor. I'm so sorry,” his father said, when he reached the table. “Are you okay?”

“You may nod,” Gregory said, his eyes locking on Taylor's.

The boy nodded.

“I want to hear him speak for himself,” his father said, turning to Gregory with what seemed like barely controlled rage.

“I haven't allowed him to. And so he will not,” Gregory informed him.

They both turned to Taylor, who sat in perfect stillness. He felt the sweat that had suddenly began to spill from every pore in his body.

“He is alive,” Gregory went on. “And he is here. You will be free to take him with you, if you've changed your mind on my offer. Your wife, too, will be allowed free.”

Taylor stopped himself from swallowing again in his rush to talk. His father didn't seem surprised by the news, but Gregory flashed him a warning look to stay silent.

“This is insane. You won't get away with it.”

“But we do, Mr. Senator,” Gregory assured him. “And we have for time out of mind. Think of the shame and scandals that will follow them. Think long and hard, Senator. Not just what your voters will think, but what they themselves would need to live with when you're gone.”

Taylor watched his father grow from red to purple. He'd never seen his father get angry before. He could shout to make a point, but it was in the deliberate way of politicians making a point. But never got truly angry. He went right passed it and into blind rage. It took quite a lot to get him there, but here he was at the edge of it now.

“Or,” Gregory added delicately, “We give you every assistance you may need. We bury this information we've acquired. Your wife and child we vow to leave unharmed. And we give you this choice to join us again in three months. If you decline, we'll have you ended humanely, with no others involved. It is our final offer.”

The veins in his father's face were pulsating wildly, and he shot glanced between Gregory and Sam like a trapped animal deciding which limb to bite off.

“It is not about you, Senator,” Gregory chided him. “It is about the suffering they will live through. Taylor, stand up.”

Taylor was on his feet by instinct.

“Come here, dog.”

He stepped to Gregory's side, facing his father, but keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. His father's hand grabbed him gently by the arm.

“Spit.”

He knew the stakes, even if his father didn't. He let the milky load spill from his lips onto his father's chest. His father, far from being pushed over the edge, instead staggered backward. Gregory didn't try to help him, and instead watched as he stumbled and regained his footing again.

After a very long silence, his father nodded.

“Excellent,” Gregory said.

10

His father held him for the briefest moment, before pulling him into the car behind him. Gregory had allowed it, losing interest the moment the deal was done.

As the door snapped shut, Taylor remembered the threat. The other way the night could have gone, with his father on the ground, right here, his throat slashed open. He knew Gregory would have slept just as well either way.

His father wasted no time in raising the partition up, once the driver started moving.

“Whatever they did to you, I swear-”

“Don't,” Taylor said, cutting him off. “I'm serious, Dad. You can't understand what kind of power they have. You haven't been hurting them. They're just toying with you for fun. This is them being gentle.”

His father was turning a darker shade of red again.

“Where's mom? Did they take her?”

His father stopped breathing for a moment, and shut his eyes, but said nothing.

“Is she okay?”

His father kept his eyes shut. “They took her before.” Taylor frowned. “What do you mean? When?”

It took a long time, but finally he said, “Last year. We told you she was... skiing.”

His mother had been gone for three weeks on a trip to Vale. When she'd returned, she still had the bruises and a new fear of the outdoors after hitting ice and tumbling down a patch of rocky outcroppings. At least, that had been the story he'd gotten.

“And you didn't take the deal then?” Taylor asked, his own blood pressure rising now.

His father shook his head. “They didn't offer one. I didn't know about them until after. She went to the police...”

“And they threw her back out?” Taylor asked. His father nodded.

“Said the results came back that it was... my DNA inside of her. That there was evidence I had done it. Witnesses had come forward,” he said, his voice cracking. “My own staff. They said... there was evidence of others I'd...” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“And they said it would all go away if you did as they asked?” Taylor ventured.

His father shook his head. “Only if we tried to talk to the police again.”

“What did Mom say?”

His father flashed him a dark look. “Not to do a single thing that would help them.”

Taylor nodded. It certainly sounded like her. But, he couldn't help but also remember it was the last time the Senator had spent his time at home. He'd taken an apartment in the city soon after. He'd always assumed there was another woman.”

“They were going to kill you, Dad. Tonight,” Taylor said. “You don't know how hard I've been trying to keep you both alive.”

“It's not your job to keep me alive. You're not responsible for what they do.”

Taylor shook his head. “I am now. I... I joined them.” He knew it would hurt to hear, but it had to be said if the family was going to get through this. They had to know the plan. The look of fear in his father's eyes made him regret it immediately, but there wasn't time to explain as the car suddenly pulled to the side of road, seemingly in the middle of the nowhere. There was a single black car waiting for them.

“What is this?” his father shouted out, dropping the screen between them and the driver. “Jonathan, what's going on?”

Through the windshield, Taylor saw three men in suits spreading out around the car. And, between them, Frederick.

“Time to go, sir,” the driver said. The partition began to rise again.

His father turned to him, his eyes wide with panic, fighting between fear and rage. “You stay away from them, Taylor. You watch your mother. I'll make sure this ends here. I'll give them anything they want, I swear it,” he said, attempting, and failing, to re-do the buttons of his shirt. The door opened quickly beside him and an arm reached in to assist him out of the car. He brushed it off and stepped outside on his own.

“Dad!” Taylor shouted out. The door slammed shut before he could even get the word out.

Scrambling to the window, he saw Frederick opening the door of the other car, and speaking to his father with a solemn look on his face. His father nodded and, with a final look back to Taylor, he stepped into the vehicle. Frederick closed it behind him, and went back into the driver's seat without looking back. One of the security was waving ahead, and Jonathan put the car in motion without hesitation. They were back on the highway and blending into traffic less than two minutes after they had pulled over. His father was gone again, just like that.

The car drove for twelve hours before the welcome signs for D.C. greeted him. He was back. He was already starting to forget where his new apartment had been, where the office building he's spent one full day in would be. He wondered if someone else had moved his things. Perhaps not. The rent would be good for another few weeks. And, somewhere, the checks would be auto-sending on without him. Maybe they'd never notice he left. It wasn't where Jonathan was taking him, though. He knew where he was going long before they swooped into the underground garage, past two security points, and came to a full stop at a third.

“Welcome home, sir,” Jonathan said.

Taylor recognized the face of the man who waited beside an unmarked metal door. It took a moment to place him, but it was the man who'd come to his room the night after the... welcome party. The Jersey thug, George.

“Hey, Champ. Still killin' it, I see. Still workin' them brains, ain't ya?” George called over. “Thanks, pal,” he called to the driver, rapping on the hood twice with his knuckles and spinning on his heels to direct Taylor onward.

They made their way through the door, and stopped at a black panel on the wall with a much higher level of security.

“Try it out, kid. Hand on the thing,” he said, gesturing to the plate. Taylor pressed his palm against the glass. Taylor did, and the door ahead cracked open silently.

“I was still in town, so they asked me to be your guide. Your friendly face in a world of turbulence, and what not. Hey, you're not still mad at me, are ya? No hard feelings?”

Taylor looked at him in disbelief.

George laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “I told you, kid, that ain't my call! Ah, God! Jesus, don't hate me, kid!” he shouted in mock terror. “Don't hate me!”

“Where am I going?” Taylor asked. “Is my father here? Is Frederick coming?”

George waved his questions away and started strolling onward again. “Nah, don't worry 'bout that. We're gonna do our thing, they're gonna do theirs. Not that kinda thing, though,” he added quickly. “Nah, big boss has some ideas for you. But first, you're going back to your room, give ya a bit of a rest, bite to eat, and then tomorrow you're off to work. I think you'll be alright.”

George chattered on endlessly as they made their way across the facility, through the stretch of marble hallways and past the steaming pools. They passed dozens of others, some lounging in the water, drinking and cigars in hands, others standing, chatting with others. Bartenders stepped in and out of the parties as they were beckoned. Some waved to George, some waved to Taylor. He didn't recognize any of their faces, but the lingering looks they gave him felt familiar. The bar they passed seemed in full swing, and he was glad to pass it quickly. In the end, they reached a panel of elevators he'd been in before, and took it back up to the room he had spent his first night in.

George let him inside the room, and Taylor found his things from the old apartment collected in a pile on the far side. “This is you for now. Pretty sure I got everything, but you just let me know if you need more, okay? Us outsiders gotta stick together, right?”

Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Outsiders?”

George look offended. “Ah, I thought your were one of me! Us poor folk!” he said. “We get by on bein' useful, unlike these useless chumps,” he said, nodding toward the far wall.

“This is what I'm going to be doing? No offense,” he added quickly, pointing between the two of them.

“Uh huh,” George said, frowning. “Don't you worry about it, Champ. They got bigger plans for you. I handle the work I handle. They'll find somethin' else for you. I don't need some up and comer tryin' to steal my work from me. You get your own thing, punk.”

George faked a punch at his belly, laughed hard, and swept himself out the door without another word, finally leaving Taylor in peace.

He sorted through the boxes of his things, mostly setting them back down and pushing the boxes aside, until he reached the Scotch. He sat down at the small counter, poured himself half a water glass full, and then began to drink. He was half the bottle in when the doors bolted themselves shut. Then the lights began to dim.

At first, it felt like an automated system, to signal the coming of night. But then he remembered his first invitation here. Somewhere, below him, or above him, or wherever it was, Reinhart would be there in that sauna, shouting out his pseudo-religious nonsense, working the others into a frenzy. And his father would be there at the center of it. Whatever plans they had for his father, it didn't same him from their ritual.

And how long would it be before Taylor was down there himself, joining them? If he was lucky enough to live that long.

Taylor drank until he couldn't stay upright, then finished the bottle from the floor. He slept for a long time, and found the lights still off and the doors locked when he awoke. He was sick into the toilet, then slept again until the doors opened, hours later. It was Frederick that found him. He had the same haunted, distant look in his eyes as he hovered over the boy's face, trying to shield him from the lights.

“My God, son, what've you been doing?”

Taylor shut his eyes again, but struggled to push himself upright. “My father...” he began, but he didn't have the words to finish.

“Alive,” Frederick said. “He's sleeping. He's a few floors down from you.”

Taylor nodded, and climbed unsteadily to his feet. His breath was awful, and he slunk into the bathroom to find his toothbrush.

“Take your time. And clean yourself up,” Frederick called over. “I'm to bring you to Reinhart in an hour. You need to be sober.”

“What does he want?” Taylor asked.

“He wouldn't tell me, and I wouldn't ask. But I would like to remind you-”

“Not to defy him, insult him, whatever,” Taylor said through a mouthful of foam.

“Yes,” Frederick said, sounding nervous.

“I thought I would be mentoring under you,” Taylor said as he finished up.

Frederick watched him, and nodded. “I had hoped for that, too,” he said sadly. “But it may still come to that someday.”

Taylor stripped quickly and stepped into the shower. Frederick was still there, watching, when he emerged ten minutes later. But it wasn't the same. He knew Frederick couldn't have

whisked his father away to safety but... he could have. And instead he drove him here, knowing what would be waiting for him. Knowing the misery would endure.

Frederick had laid out a suit from the luggage beside the bed, and Taylor changed into it quickly without discussion.

“Well, what do you think?” the boy asked, as he finished with his tie.

Frederick was standing, and he starred back at him blankly. “You've done very well for yourself, Taylor. You're one of us. You're safe. No matter what else happens, you will be safe, I promise you. And I know that doesn't matter much to you right now, but it means very much to me. There's still so much more we can do to set this right.”

Taylor looked away. That wasn't enough. And it was already too late to fix it. His father was already here. With his pride, and Reinhart's hatred, it probably hadn't been quick.

“He's alive,” Frederick reminded. “There's still time.”

Taylor looked away again, then nodded.

“We need to go,” he said, looking to his watch. Keep your eyes down when you speak to him. Talk only when spoken to. Be respectful.”

“I know. I've got it,” Taylor said quickly, starting to feel nervous again.

The older man gripped him by the shoulders. “I'm sorry, son. I'm making myself anxious, too.” After a hesitation, Frederick pressed him tightly against the wall, his musclde arms pinning him easily. For the first time in the light, he pressed his mouth against Taylor's, his warm tongue brushing gently across Taylor's. And, for the first time, Taylor didn't want it. After a long moment, it ended. “Let's go,” Frederick said, his voice shaking.

They walked together the long path to Reinhart's office. It passed in a blur, crossing faces Taylor didn't recognize, hallways and architecture he hadn't seen before. It was almost starting to feel familiar, though. He knew it wasn't the end, but it felt like it as they approached the last long hallway and a set of double doors large enough that they wouldn't have felt out of place on an ancient castle wall. Frederick walked him up to the very last step.

Taylor closed his eyes, took a breath, and knocked.

11

Taylor had expected a servant to answer, but it was the leader himself who pulled the door open, his eyes locked onto Taylor's. Frederick bowed low from the waist, and was dismissed by the wave of Reinhart's wide, tanned hand. Rings of gold glimmered beneath dense tufts of coarse gray and black hairs. Frederick backed out of view, and the sound of him quickly vanished.

The terror of their first meeting ran through him like a lightning bolt. He stood like a giant at the door of his keep, towering over Taylor, the breadth of him was so massive that Taylor could hardly see anything else. He was clothed, thankfully, in a white dress shirt unbuttoned down to his breast, the sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. Every muscle beneath stretched the fabric to its breaking point. Taylor watched them churn beneath the cotton, the stichings pulling tight as he jabbed a finger into the room.

“We need to speak,” he said in low voice that rattled the boy's stomach.

After a moment, he could see the man was not going to move out of the way, so Taylor inhaled deeply and slid his way past and into the room. It was less grand than he'd expected, less so even from Frederick's. There was a desk of dark, rich wood, neatly organized, and a wide chair behind it. But other than that there was no furniture, not even for guests to sit. There were no windows, but there was a wide skylight, and this one seemed real enough. There were doors off to the side, likely living quarters. There was no arrogance in the decoration, at least. It was quite unexpected.

Taylor stood beside the desk and waited as Reinhart shut and bolted the double doors. On his way back, he paused to cut and light a cigar from his pocket. When he'd finished, he scratched at his beard and looked the boy over.

“You ran from me,” he said at last.

Taylor waited for a moment, debating if this was a rhetorical observation. Then he reminded himself that this man wasn't the type to be rhetorical.

“Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir.”

Reinhart blew a cloud of smoke from the side of his mouth, and narrowed his eyes. “I like it when they run,” he said, moving behind the desk and sitting down. “And either way The Club proves our power.”

Reinhart sighed and shook his head grimly. “Power isn't earned and then forgotten, boy. It's fought for every moment of our lives. It's a vicious world, and one moment of satisfied breath is a knife to the belly.

“That's not poetry. The last leader of this club died halfway down that hallway,“ he said, nodding back toward the front door, “his friends having smelled the opportunity. They didn't make out as well as they had hoped. It's as much of a jungle in here as it is out there, and you'd do well to remember that. Because you're going to help me remind these fools what the law of the jungle is.”

Taylor blinked rapidly, desperately wanting to ask for clarification, but knowing better.

“Frederick came to me, a few months ago, and suggested it was time we put more pressure on your father. He thought you would be the way in.”

Taylor felt his stomach sinking.

“He told me your father wouldn't break at your suffering alone. He'd already moved past your mother's suffering. But... if you joined us, if you worked for us, both of you trying to save each other, both of you knowing the price of disobedience, both of you holding the hope of survival so close at hand, your father would be distracted. And that's what we needed. His own jungle would swallow him whole then.

“And, more importantly, it would hurt your family for the things your father has done to defy me. I will say, the plan appealed to me very much,” Reinhart said, narrowing his eyes once again.

“It was Frederick that put the pawns into play with my predecessor's death. If I could prove it, he'd be hanging with the others, lashed until we were bored, and left to rot. But a member of the club cannot be harmed without sufficient evidence, and Frederick is no fool.
“He does not want you, and he doesn't want my throne. He wants a friend he can control in this seat. Gregory Thane stands now as my second-hand. He's had a bitter history with Frederick. He only granted you his vote at my request. There's been nothing to suggest the two of them are working together to plot against me.

“And yet...” he went on. “they are,” he growled, standing up and looming over the desk in one quick motion. “He's using you to work against me, as well, isn't he?”

Taylor blinked. The old man saw the truth in his eyes, and sneered. “He thinks you'll fall beneath my radar, too, with your father broken. He's playing a very long game. We taught it to him. Soon he'll be loaning you out to friends, to spread secrets and take allies. He'll use you as a third party to make new partners. And, in the end, the knife will be in your hands, and he'll be there shed the tears. All so that bored, unhappy man can cause a bit of trouble.”

Reinhart stood again, and rounded the desk. “But you don't serve Frederick. You serve The Gentleman's Club. If I'm not mistaken, Frederick's out of allies and your one vote short. And you're going to earn that vote by rooting these snakes out from our midst.”

Taylor instinctively began to nod.

“It's not a question, don't nod at me, boy. It's a command,” Reinhart growled. “You're going to return to him, and convince him of your deepening hatred of me. You're welcome to make it sincere. You will regain his trust. Already, he's grown suspicious of our meeting, and he's making plans to cut you loose,” he said, flicking one of Taylor's stray bangs with his hand. “He wouldn't risk it, knowing we've talked without him listening in.”

Taylor watched as Reinhart puffed his cigar, and watched him silently, waiting for him to continue the conversation. If what he said was true... Frederick had been the cause of all of this. But, on the other hand, it was still Reinhart that gave the command.

“Did Frederick suggest my mother be taken?” Taylor asked.

Reinhart nodded. “And he suggested we kill her when your father gets out of hand again. And he will. It would turn you against your father, and twist the knife in further.”

“If Frederick wasn't plotting against you, would you have cared what happened to her?” Taylor asked.

Reinhart frowned. “No. Your father's worried about his city. I have billions more to worry about. His persistence disrupts a finely-tuned engine that keeps this fragile world in balance. Your father was warned of the price to be paid. If her life kept millions more running in order, I would make that call. And, as I said, it was personal.

“Two men, both would have caused your mother's death. The course is not pleasant,” Reinhart said. “But only one of us sought it out. And only one of us lied to you.”

That's not much of a reason, Taylor thought.

“And the safety you hold now comes from the same ancient rules that dictate who is in control here,” Reinhart said carefully. “I told you before, it's not a question. It's not a choice. It's a command,” Reinhart said, leaning closer over him.

Just as quickly, the old man turned and pressed his hand against the palm reader on a further door. The way to the back room slid open. “Follow,” Reinart said.

Taylor saw a soft blue light, and his curiosity drove his feet forward before he heard the words. The door slid shut as he stepped into the inner hallway. The light was coming from the ceiling, where an aquarium as large as he'd ever seen swam above them. A shark swam past, blocking out the sun for a moment. It couldn't be real, there was no way to fit it into the city, but it was impossible not to believe it. It was like living beneath a coral reef.

“Come,” Reinhart shouted, making the boy jump, and forced his feet to keep moving.

Reinhart lead him further in. There was a theater, and a large meeting room (also with only one chair), there was a small bar cart, and a shooting range. It seemed a tangled mess of unrelated rooms, all elegant in their own way, all clearly high-end and well-maintained, but it held none of the sophistication or care that Frederick's place had held. Or the rest of the Club, for tha matter.

Reinhart stopped at the edge of a darkened doorway and Taylor approached it slowly. The old man opened the door and ushered him inside, boltin the door behind them. Looking around the dimly lit room, it was clear what it was for. Reinhart was unbuttoning the last of his shirt by the time Taylor could tear his eyes away from it all.

“Frederick needs to believe I had a reason to call you here. And he needs a reason to believe you'll come back to him, hating me more. A very good reason. A convincing reason. He needs to be certain down to his bones that you are his pawn, and his alone. That you would burn this club to the ground to spite me. That you would die for the cause,” he said, dropping his shirt to the ground.

Taylor's foot stepped backward instinctively, but he held it still, forcing it forward again.

Reinhart was wrong. It was a choice. And it wasn't theirs. Frederick wanted Reinhart dead, Reinhart wanted Frederick dead. But Taylor wanted them both to suffer. And that road ended here if he didn't play along. The moment he was done, he would tell Frederick what happened here. Most of it, at least. And then he would do his best to make sure they slashed each other bloody afterward.

The long game. Frederick had learned to play it, and now he would, too.

Taylor stood tall, and waited.

“Do you know what I'm going to do to you?” Taylor nodded. It was nothing new now.

“Then let's get started, boy,” Reinhart said gravely.

With two large hands, he turned the boy around, and lifted him onto a long, padded board the hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. A mess of straps hung from beneath. Working with practiced hands, Reinhart tied the boy's knees together, and then his ankles to each of the hanging chains, spreading him open.

His wrists and arms Reinhart bound together and strapped against his knees beneath the board, trussing him up like a pig about to be spit roasted. Taylor felt the thick fingers against his back, digging into the waist of his pants. Effortlessly, the soft fabric of the suit was torn from the legs, exposing his underwear beneath.

Reinhart dug a single finger in, harder and harder, against his hole, the swing pushing forward higher and higher into the air as Taylor clenched tighter shut. Soon, gravity was pushing him back harder than Reinhart could push, and he could feel the tip of the finger starting to penetrate between his splayed legs.

A second finger joined and together they began to stroke as they pushed. Soon, Reinhart lost patience, and with a twist, he ripped a hole in the back of Taylor's underwear wide enough to feel the air against him. The swing dropped quickly and rocked back to level. Taylor strained against the cushion, but the straps held firm, and he squirmed instinctively as he felt Reinhart's breath between his cheeks. It smelled of tobacco in the room now, and it mixed with the already heady scent of leather and old musk coming from the place. There was a moment of silence while Reinhart let the rocking slow to a stop. Then the old man spat, a direct shot, sending a shiver up the boy's body.

The finger returned, rubbing the rim, the gentle rocking of the swing pushing him away, then sending him harder back against it. Minutes passed. Reinhart never slowed, nor grew impatient. His meaty finger circled the edge of his anus, then gently hooked and pressed against it. Taylor could feel it slipping around in the old man's saliva, could hear the sound of it. Every so often, the old man would lean in and spit again. It wasn't long before the insides of his crack were soaked, and it dribbled down his inner thigh.

But then the finger was gone. Instead, a fist kneaded its way inside his tight cheeks. It was well-lubricated, and churned and ground against him hard with slow determination. Taylor could hear, but not quite see the old man grab one of the chains that held the cushion aloft, driving the swing backward, sending him harder against his hairy fist. Every so often, a slick knuckle would slip into him, pressing at the entrance, turning and pushing, digging into him, then freeing itself again.

Taylor felt the first stirrings of his cock then. In an instant, the fist was gone, and a slick finger drove deep inside, right past the tight muscles.. It stroked once against the lining inside of his him, sending his muscles quivering again. The finger stayed as the man made a fist again and continued to twist away against him. When one finger wasn't tight enough, it became two, and they scooped downward inside of him, sending wet dribbles of pre-cum spilling against his underwear with each pass. Soon it became a third, and Reinhart could no longer make a fist, and instead let the swing go free as he pounded away inside of him, the thick muscles of his arm driving him nearly to the ceiling with each thrust, the fingers curled inside never leaving his body.

Then, the swing met no resistance. Taylor could feel the cool air against the inside of his gaping anus as he swung backwards through the air, and rocked forward again. After several passes, Reinhart stepped into view in front of him.

When the old man had taken him before, it had felt like a hand driving into him down to the elbow. He hadn't seen the man fully erect before, but he had felt it vividly inside of him. In his mind, he felt every curve of it was etched into him for life. And now he could see that his mental picture wasn't far off.

Beneath a pile of curling white hair laid a cock nearly a foot long and as wide as Taylor's forearm. Taylor barely had time to see it before the old man grabbed him by his hair, pulled his head back, and let gravity swing the boy half-way down the shaft of it.

Reinhart took a wider stance as the swing rocked back and grabbed the boy's hair with a second hand. The second swing came harder, driving a spray of spit and drool from the boy's mouth that coated the knotted muscles of the old man's legs. Reinhart pushed him back harder, letting gravity slam him back again. By the third time, Taylor could feel his face was turning purple, and spit dripped freely from his mouth. The man held the boy still and slid himself inside again.

“Breathe,” Reinhart commanded.

Taylor could feel the shaft pressing against the edge of his throat, expanding it as far as the walls could go. His body shook violently, and the old man paused before pressing in deeper.

“Breath,” he said again.

Inch by inch, Reinhart rocked his way further in. Taylor felt his body shivering violently, his eyes watering freely. He was choking, and he didn't dare to gag but he couldn't stop himself. The pressure from the shaft was nearing painful, but the head was like swallowing an apple whole.

Then, it was sliding out of him. Before he could gasp for air, the shaft of it swung into his face like a club. Reinhart whipped his lips with it as Taylor choked and spat. Then it was forced between his lips again, and the man was rocking the swing again, forcing it in deeper, digging toward his stomach. It wasn't long before Taylor's throat forced the man out again, gagging and spitting.

“You're going to take it, one way or the other,” Reinhart warned.

Taylor shook his head miserably, as much as the straps would manage. He couldn't see through the tears, and he gagged and coughed air back into his lungs. The words didn't register until he felt the man's hands on his inner thighs.

“No,” Taylor gasped.

The room went silent, and the hands stopped. He knew he'd made a mistake.

“What did you say, boy?”

Taylor swallowed hard, but before he could respond, a hand like a frying pan smacked against the side of his butt, sending a deafening crack across the room.

“I'm so sorry. Sir,” he added quickly.

Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.

Each one found a new place to strike against his cheeks. Each one was followed by a short, silent break, so that he felt the full effect of it.

Two fingers slid inside the wet hole again. They curled and lifted him from the cushion as much as the straps would allow.

“What did you say, boy?”

“I'm so sorry, sir,” Taylor said as fast as he could manage.

“Not good enough. Do you want me to stop, boy?”

“I want this, sir.”

“Then beg for it, boy.”

“Please, give me it, sir!” Taylor shouted.

“Give you what, boy?”

“Please fuck me with your cock, sir. Please fuck me with your massive cock. Please! Please be rough,” he shouted.

Reinhart gripped him by the shoulder, and Taylor felt the swollen head of his cock against the rim of his hole. It still wouldn't fit.

“Please fuck me, sir! Stretch me, sir,” he begged.

Reinhart glided the tip of it up and down, but still it wouldn't go.

“Use my tight asshole, sir. Fuck me so hard,” Taylor gasped. “Leaving me dripping your cum. I want you to fuck my tight whole, daddy.”

Reinhart re-doubled his grip on the boy, holding him by both shoulders and pumping his hips until the head breached the surface. A sound like a wail spilled from Taylor's lungs. Every muscle in his body pulled tight against the straps, and bucked hard against the cushion. They pulled and pulled until every last ounce of energy inside them was spent, and still Reinhart pumped against him, millimeter by millimeter, driving deeper inside.

Taylor felt a strip of fabric drift past his face. Before he had time to register it, it found his lips and Reinhart pulled it tight, gagging him, forcing his head back as far as it would allow. He tried to move it away, but the straps that held him to the cushion wouldn't let him. His moans were cut off and soon Reinhart was using it to pull the boy back into him, driving him deeper inside. He could feel the massive head of the cock burrowing into him, stretching him to his body's limit, digging deep, like he was being split in two.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Reinhart beat a heavy rhythm against the side of the boy's ass as he dug further in.

“Take it! Take my cock,” Reinhart screamed, beating harder. Taylor could feel his thighs and cheeks growing sore and inflamed, but it was a distant pleasure compared to the rest. He couldn't take full breaths, it was like there wasn't room for air inside of him anymore. His whole body was stretched so tight, and the harder it tried to squeeze against Reinhart's massive erection, the harder Reinhart was getting, and the larger the head of his cock grew inside Taylor's body.

Soon the old man was too deep inside of him, too close, to swat at him properly, and his hands gripped the boy's hair again instead. Taylor could feel the man's bulging muscles as he pushed the boy away, then slammed him back harder. After a few seconds, he could feel the old man's hips sliding against his cheeks. He could feel the warm sack slapping against his own, in perfect rhythm. He could feel the head stiffening inside of him, and twisting, churning, stroking every nerve inside his body. He could feel the heavy pulse of the vein that stroked against his prostate. And he could feel the pushes and pulls getting more violent, more urgent. His body was getting used like a toy, with as little concern. His asshole was gaping open and singing with pleasure. Soon, the only sounds in the room were the wet sounds of meat slapping against each other, and Taylor's muffled moans.

When he came, the old man dug in hard, claiming him fully. Both their bodies pulled tight to their very limits. Taylor could feel the head jerking inside of him, spraying its seed wildly, flooding his body with it. It felt deep enough inside of him that he could nearly feel it in his throat again. The man wrapped his arms around around Taylor's neck, dropping the sash, and pinned him tight until his orgasm finally finished, minutes later.

Days passed. Sometimes Taylor was bound and abused. Sometimes he begged for it like a dog. He fought it each time, but the man could bring him to orgasm with near effortless efficiency. With a tongue against his asshole, he found the man could bring him to a finish again and again, long after he had any seed left to spill. And then he'd be facedown in the puddle, and the man would drill him into the ground, and sometimes he'd cum again, and sometimes he'd just let the old man take what he needed. By the time Taylor stumbled back into the hallway, he could take Reinhart nearly down to the hilt without gagging, though his body still bucked like it was a rodeo when the man tried to mount him. All the way to the end. It was simply too much for a body to take.

Frederick was waiting for him in his apartment when he stumbled in, nude, half-covered in welts, and more than half-soaked in old semen. His lips were puffy, his holes still wet and leaking with lube and fresh seed. Where straps had been, there were red marks that would linger for weeks. He limped, having spent so little time standing in days, and the lingering soreness of penetration. Every bit of him was used, sticky, and stank of man. He could feel his insides still stretched wide, leaving a hollow feeling behind. His balls ached. He had been milked dry the first evening, and that hadn't slowed Reinhart's demands for a moment. Every drop he'd made and been spilled just as quickly.

For the first time in a decades, he felt absolutely in control.