The Darker Side of Trey Grey (6 page)

“I love the simple boys,” he said with a wink as he set my drink in front of me.

I may not like sex, but I loved empty flirting. I offered back a sultry half-smirk. We shared a playful chuckle then he went back to hustling.

I slid some Stoli down my throat, and was turning around when a hand traveled along the peak-a-boo tear in my jeans.

“I think I’d know that tush anywhere.”

“And I think I’d know that smoky voice anywhere. Fancy seeing you here, Molly,” I said to one of my regulars before swinging my head towards her. “You look good.” She did too. Her rich sheaf of a dress matched her green eyes, and complimented her long strawberry-blond hair. But then Molly always looked like money.

She bumped my shoulder with hers. “You look better. So, what brings you to this rat trap?” she asked with a wrinkle of her nose.

“I was invited.” I took another swallow of my drink as I wondered. “You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that would you?” I wasn’t sure why Molly hadn’t entered my mind when Lila told me we had some mutual clients. Molly liked to play, and she was quite well-off thanks to an ambitious husband.

“Oh hell no, not me.” She smirked knowingly. “However, I can’t say it wouldn’t be nice to have you here. All my favorite toys in one place.”

I laughed at that and she laughed back. She had definitely hawked me to Lila.

“Tell me, if you have all this to play with why are you slumming with me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her hand slid around my backside, and I slapped it away, giving her a blithe look of warning. I wasn’t here for her to paw me. Her playful expression fell, but only a little.

“I never really considered three hundred a pop slumming,” she said laconically as she leaned over, peering at the bartenders. “Jesus, what do you have to do to get a drink in this place?” 

I shrugged. “I just had to look pretty.”

She let out a feminine snort as she shoved her shoulder against me. Being the gracious gentleman that I was, I moved to the other side of her so the bartenders would see her better. I leaned my back against the bar, and looked around without really seeing, my eyes being somewhat glazed over from the éclat before me.

Molly turned around with something pink in a glass and handed me mine, refilled.

“I think the dark-haired bartender likes you.” She took a sip of her pink concoction.

“They all do.” I waved a hand dismissively making her chuckle.
 

I took a slug of my drink, and was about to take another when my eyes caught on something shiny and pretty. When I had been a teenager, the few times I had been able to jack off without breaking down into a sniveling pile, I had fantasized about a comic book superhero. And here he was, in all his golden glory, better than my fourteen year old disturbed brain had ever been able to muster him.
 

“God, it’s a God,” I muttered to myself, biting down on the rim of my glass over the chiseled long-haired blond milling through the crowd. Molly followed my eye line then coughed.
 

“You okay?” I asked keeping an eye on Thor as he stalked down the stairs. Then I had an
Oh my...
moment when I realized I still wanted to fuck the sexual daemon from my childhood.

She nodded, glancing sternly at me. “I thought you were straight,” she said in all seriousness.

“Really?” I said mockingly.   

She flagged her hand between us. “No, but a girl can pretend, and you just shot that all too shit for me,” she said in a disappointed tone. “I suppose you’re too... everything, to be straight.” She sighed profoundly.

“Molly, darling, I’m as straight as you want me to be,” I told her, running a sympathetic hand down her back while my eyes stayed glued to the God.

“Ah shit, he’s coming over,” I hissed through my teeth. I never get nervous around anyone, but he had me wondering if I looked okay, if my clasp on my chain was in back, if my eyeliner was smudged.
Damn it
. He was just a pretty thing to play with.

“We are talking about the scruffy blond right?”
  Molly asked pointing her finger right at him, he didn’t miss it and crooked his lips. 

“Shit, Molly. Put your fucking finger down,” I said between my teeth.

She laughed at me, a big open-mouthed guffaw if there ever was one.

“That’s my baby brother,” she blurted, still laughing.

My head snapped towards her.

“No shit?”
 

She nodded, straightening with some effort. I didn’t have time to think about the irony, or time to find it amusing, as he had arrived. All six luscious feet of him.

“Matilda.” He bent down and kissed her cheek then inspected me with a frown. “A little young for you, don’t you think?” he asked, unkindly.

I guess good manners didn’t necessarily go with God like looks. I was opening my mouth to retort when Molly kicked my boot.

“Fredric, you are being rude.” She glared petulantly at him.

“She was having trouble catching the attention of a bartender. I helped her out, and now we’re chatting,” I told him, noticing his long hair must be forty shades of gold, at least. I could imagine wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I rode... Okay, enough of that.
 

He stabbed me with disapproving hazel eyes. “You realize she’s probably twenty years your senior and married,” he accused, but his rancor was waning. Even so, he had enough steam to shoot at his sister; “Poor Andrew. I don’t know why he puts up with you.”
 

Molly withered under her brother’s words, and sagged back against the bar as she folded her arms protectively around herself. Even though he was quite a bit younger, it was obvious he could demean her with little effort. And he appeared to know just the weapons to do so.

“I said we were chatting, not fucking,” I defended, then took a large gulp of alcohol wondering if I was about to get punched, and if I was, figuring I would need it to dull the pain later.

However, in a surprising show, Fredric’s lips quirked up and Molly stifled a laugh under her hand. Crisis averted for now, but the night was still young, and thankfully the drinks were free.

“Freddie Fangor,” he said, extending his hand to me.

“Trey.” I took it, hoping for a shot of excitement or at least the quiver of lust when we touched. But there was nothing except a warm hand against my cool one.

He, on the other hand, seemed caught in a lascivious web as his face warmed, eyes darkened, and he actually grabbed his lower lip between his teeth.

“Trey? No last name?” he asked in a gruff tone.
   

I had close to three shots of Stoli in me, and I was beginning to feel the effects. It was probably all alcohol induced fancy, but I still wanted to play with him. And I
never
wanted to fuck for fun. I was reasonably sure more alcohol would kill off the dejected feeling slithering down my chest so I could do just that without remorse.

“For now, no,” I replied then added. “I think I’m going to mingle. Molly.” I bent down, brushing my lips along her cheek.

“Have fun,
Trey
,” she said, raising her glass along with her eyebrows. I clinked my glass to hers as I gave her a glare of warning over the fact she now had my name. The corner of her mouth lifted mischievously, but her green eyes told me she understood.

I dipped my chin at Freddie then sauntered off into the crowd. If he was truly interested he would find me. Hopefully more inebriated and better prepared. If not, well, who needed him. The thought had me sighing completely out of character. I may not need him, but I kinda wanted him. Okay, I definitely wanted him if only to satisfy my youthful fantasies.

Not fifty feet from the bar, I was caught up by a rainbow-haired pixie of a girl literally panting for me. She was resplendent in a glittered lime collar and short lead. Her gauzy cornflower-blue handkerchief dress floated around her. It goes without saying she was respectful to a fault. The girl was subtly indicating she wanted to dance, her eyes darting towards the dance floor below, then to her sandaled feet, as her body swayed.

Leaning in, I told her, “A pixie belongs in a cage, not on a collar.”

She almost convulsed into an orgasm right there. What the fuck, she was cute. I downed the rest of my drink, and set the glass on the closest table.

“Come.” I took her lead, and led her to the dance floor.

The next hours blurred into a gluttonous assortment of bodies tugging me one way or another on the dance floor. I shunned the doms that showed interest with a firm glare, and stuck with the more respectful subservients. A few starry-eyed souls brought me drinks and I threw them back aggressively. I never doubted I would be popular, yet this was going beyond, way beyond, into infatuated adoration, and I couldn’t deny I felt a bit dizzy with the power I had over these rich players.

With a sudden jolt everything was too warm and uncomfortable. I found myself with my tongue shoved into the pixie girl’s throat, a boy massaging my back, and an emo chick rubbing up and down my leg. Jesus, how much shit did I have to drink?

Disentangling the bodies, I held up my hands and departed in search of someplace quiet. Obviously too drunk to think straight, and unmistakably too drunk to drive, I needed to wind down before I could climb behind kitten’s wheel.

The world wasn’t tilting yet, but if I walked too fast I couldn’t walk straight. It was an effort to pull myself up the marble steps, and I gave up after two flights. I stumbled down the corridor until I found an unoccupied puffy red chair tucked behind a Grecian style black marble pillar. Sinking in, I laid my head back and took several deep breaths to clear my head.
 

I had to admit I was having a good time. This was college boy fun with a wet splash of my world, and it was a comfortable combination. I would need to think about the redhead’s proposition more thoroughly, when my mind was running on all cylinders again. I giggled. Right now it needed a valve job.

I felt my eyes getting heavy, and struggled out of the comfortable chair. Dozing would turn to full out sleep, and that would not be a good idea. Walking, that was a good idea.

I had wandered the corridor up and down a few times when I noticed the action in one of the playrooms had turned lurid. This particular glass case was set behind a pillar and tucked into a corner, making it almost invisible.
 

The woman, dressed in purple leather and spiky thigh-high boots, leaned into the back of a slightly pudgy, dark-haired man cuffed to a wooden cross. I caught the pink strike marks along the edge of his ribcage then saw the thin hog whip discarded on the floor.

Even though they were here to entertain the patrons, for some reason I didn’t want them to catch me peeping. I was about to move on when I noticed the glass was grayed. One-way glass. I had been privy to it on a few occasions when I visited Fairfax. It made sense actually. We could watch, yet they couldn’t see out, giving the illusion of privacy. Of course they knew we could see them. However, being in the sex trade, there were times I wasn’t in the mood to be openly observed.

I leaned a shoulder against the pillar as I watched the woman discreetly jacking off her sub. I chuckled when his hips moved and she pinched him hard for the discretion, her black nails leaving pink half moon marks on his white ass. Hadn’t the guy heard of nude tanning?

“Have you ever played?”

I turned to the masculine voice and found Freddie, arms crossed, with a demure-pissed off look on his face. It was an odd combination, but on him somehow it worked.

“Yeah.”

“Bottom or top?” he asked, running a thumb over his lower lip.

“Both,” I replied, turning back to the scene without further elaboration.

“Me too.” He leaned against the pillar behind me. “You seemed to be having a good time. Did you have a good time, Trey?”

“Did you come find me just to ask if I was having a good time?” I giggled.
Not, not drunk yet.

“No— She’s using a toy on him... crafty bitch isn’t she?”
 

I tilted my head at Freddie’s observation and noticed the man’s ass clench then relax. Sure as shit, she was.

“Think she’s risking her job?” I asked speculatively.

“Naw. I saw a few others pushing the limits of legal display.”

“A voyeur eh?” I teased.

“No. I was bored waiting for you to leave your entourage.”

His voice blew warm against my neck and I felt a small frisson of lust stir.

“Trey, can I touch you?”
 

Shit, he was asking my permission. I never would have pegged him for a submissive. “IT” stretched, then mumbled and went back to sleep. Despite my body’s lackadaisical response, as a whole I was becoming more intrigued with Mr. Fangor.
 

“You can touch me,” I replied.
  

His hand ran tentatively up my thigh, and it was nice to have someone soft and experienced touching me with veneration. I leaned back against his chest, soaking in it.

We stayed like that, Freddie caressing my thigh, my hip, my waist while I absorbed his warmth as we watched the scene’s climax. When the man came there wasn’t any emission and I realized, with mixed feelings of relief and disappointment, he was wearing a condom.