Page 1 of Disciplinary Action
“You sure you want to do this, man? Once you walk in that door, there’s no going back.”
Callum Whyte licked his lower lip but refused to meet his friend’s gaze. Outside, a storm raged, fogging the windows until it felt as if he and Bastian were locked in a protective bubble, the soothing white noise of the rain and the purr of the engine a balm for Cal’s frayed nerves.
“Yeah, I have to do this. I don’t have a choice.” It wasn’t a lie. “Besides, you said he’s cute, right?” When Bastian didn’t answer, he flicked his gaze towards him. “Right?”
Bastian nodded, the top half of his face shrouded in the shadows of the car’s interior but his mouth illuminated by the glow of the streetlight just outside. “Yeah, he’s smoking hot but, like, in a George Clooney kinda way. Like, guys who have this kind of money are never our age.” Seeming to remember who he was talking to, he corrected himself. “Well, in the real world outside of Roosevelt Academy.”
Cal had spent most of his life living with money that would have afforded him not only an apartment in the building just outside but the entire building itself had he wanted it. Bastian, however, hadn’t grown up in privilege. They were friends by accident, thrown together by circumstance and proximity. Now they were the same, thanks to his father. “Even if he’s ninety, I have to do this. Just tell me what I need to know.”
Bastian nodded. “Like I said, he’s particular. His name is Gideon, but you will refer to him only as Daddy unless he says otherwise. He will punish you. Usually, it’s spanking.”Usually?The thought sent a strange arch of electricity through his bloodstream, but he didn’t interrupt. “He uses the traffic light system. Green is good, yellow means you need a break, and red means everything stops. He will ask you, and you’ll repeat it just like that. Don’t fake your responses to him. If you’re into it, great. If you’re not, that’s fine too, but if you moan like a porn star and like you’re putting on a show, he’ll end the whole thing.”
It seemed strange that a guy hiring a prostitute would be mad if they faked enjoyment, but what did Cal know? Admittedly, he had limited experience with this sort of thing. It wasn’t like he’d ever wanted for money before, and his sexual encounters were the typical drunken fumbling of most nineteen-year-olds. He’d done nothing like this before, especially with an older man. A shiver ran over him. He had to do this. He didn’t have a choice.
Cal could tell Bastian was nervous about recommending him for the job. He wanted to reassure him that he wouldn’t embarrass him, but he was almost positive if he tried to talk his voice would shake.
“He will want you to stay afterwards. He’s real big on that. He’ll use you hard. He’s big, in every sense of the word. But afterward, he will want to take care of you. It’s part of the package, and he’s a high roller, so you’re going to let him. Honestly, you’ll need it, anyway. Don’t fight him. Don’t try to leave as soon as it’s over. He’ll tell you when he’s done. He’s paid Hillary for the whole night. Any cash he gives you is a tip, and it’s yours to spend. Once you leave, call Hillary so she knows you’re okay. That’s non-negotiable. She’s really protective of us, and she doesn’t like worrying.”
A madam with a heart of gold. Cal fought the nervous giggle that threatened to bubble out of him. Instead, he gave a stilted nod. He could do this. He’d been in pain before. He’d never had anybody whip or spank him, but he’d broken his finger during lacrosse and he’d broken his leg skiing in Vail with his dad when he was thirteen. Bastian had promised the guy wasn’t a monster, just kinky. Cal could handle kinky.
He turned in his seat, thrusting his shoulders back and lifting his head. “How do I look?”
Bastian pushed Cal’s chocolate brown hair back off his face, narrowing his gaze. “Good. You’re kind of little. I think he’ll like that.”
“Wow. You don’t have to be a dick.”
“Shut up. You know what I mean. You have that heroin chic, chiseled cheekbones and lanky build look. He’ll like that he can manhandle you. It’s a compliment, asshole.”
He’d have to take Bastian’s word for it. “And you’re sure this dude’s not a serial killer or something?”
“He’s Hillary’s most loyal client. The problem is, he never uses the same boy twice. She’s constantly having to scout new talent for him. He’s not a bad guy, just…damaged. Hillary thinks he lost somebody. We get a lot of those types. Widowers, divorced dudes. He’s just another lonely guy with money.”
“Got it,” Cal lied. He didn’t imagine there were a lot of hot, rich guys that bought their dates verses just picking one out of a group of willing males or females. For as long as Cal could remember, his father had always had beautiful women dying to be the next Mrs. Whyte, but his father had a short attention span…with everyone in his life.
“When you get to the front desk, just say ‘Gideon’s expecting me’ and act like you belong.” Cal was reaching for the door when Bastian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Do yourself a favor. Don’t kiss him. I know it sounds cliché, but it’s just better that way. This will be intense enough without…that.”
Cal frowned but nodded. “I’ll see you back at the apartment.”
He made it past the doorman and desk clerk without incident. Cal was lucky, he supposed—he still looked like he had money. His black pants and crisp white button-down shirt were expensive and tailored to hug his form. Without his jacket and tie, there was no sign this was a school uniform. It was only once he stood outside the door to the stranger’s apartment that the weight of what he was about to do hit him. This is what his life had come to…anonymous kinky sex for money. He shook off the thought and rang the doorbell before self-pity could sink its claws in any deeper.
The door swung open, and Cal froze. Bastian had lied. This man—Gideon—wasn’t hot. He was fucking Clark Kent, tall and tan, with a square jaw, black wavy hair, and a five o’clock shadow. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties. Creases formed in the corners of his stunning eyes, a bright, clear turquoise blue even behind the lenses of black-framed glasses. Cal couldn’t seem to find his voice. He just stood, gaping at the man in his oatmeal colored cashmere sweater and form fitting dress pants. Cal’s gaze dropped to the floor. The man was barefoot. It made the whole thing seem more intimate somehow.
“Come in.”
Cal’s heart raced as he crossed the entrance. The space was cavernous. An L shaped open loft with gleaming wooden floors and a wall of windows that seemed to lead to a balcony outside. Cal wasn’t certain because, like the car, the windows had fogged over, leaving what lay on the other side a mystery. His gaze swung from one space to the next, desperate for any place to look but at the man standing in front of him.
A kitchen with pale wood cabinets and high end stainless steel appliances dominated one wall, and a living space with a brown leather sofa and two olive green chairs took up the space closest to the balcony, but Cal’s eyes locked on the enormous king-size bed framed against the exposed brick wall. There was no headboard, only a large mirror.
Gideon closed the door behind Cal and gestured for him to walk farther into the room. “I trust Hillary explained how this works?”
“Y-Yes,” he mumbled, his cheeks flaming as the man’s brows lifted. “Yes, Daddy,” he added, hating how awkward he sounded.
“You don’t have to call me that just yet. You may call me Gideon until we begin. What should I call you?”
Bastian had told Cal to choose a moniker, a name for his clients with no ties to his real life, but now he floundered. “I—”
“Is this your first time?” Gideon asked, his gaze pinning him in place.
“I’m not a virgin,” he promised.
