DOING SOMETHING UNHOLY

[tensions]

THE BODY SHOP ( justin, intersex!monty ) A reality where deviancy is the privilege of the wealthy and the powerful. Monty has a little secret and is trying desperately to be good but the man who owns them is has some other ideas.

Comments

at his pleasure

[blessed_is_he]

Justin Baruch was one of the richest, most powerful men in the country, and it very much showed - he had the best of everything, admired and envied wherever he went, and every comfort and privilege that money and influence and connection could possibly afford to him. He was an avid and notoriously discerning collector, of cars, and art, and other rarities, all meticulously stored and maintained, the rarer and more difficult to obtain, the better.

And chief among his most prized possessions was Monty, a truly unusual and lovely specimen, his licensed Companion of several years, though Justin was notoriously close-lipped about where he'd obtained them and how they'd been trained.

Companions were a ubiquitous sight in circles like this, even in - especially in - formal business settings. They were a visible and carefully controlled demonstration of status, an exorbitantly expensive luxury item among the truly influential, due to the restrictions and regulations that guarded their trade, care, and keeping. It was almost considered gauche these days, simply to flaunt ownership of an expensive car, or watch, or some other material luxury as a status symbol, but demonstrating excellence in the care and keeping of a genuine, licensed Companion - boys and girls of exceeding beauty and exquisite mannerisms, who should think of nothing but pleasing their Patrons in all things - was an indicator of means, manner, and personality that had started to become a byword in the highest and most exclusive social circles. They often accompanied their Patrons - a pretty word for the relationship, all things considered - in public and in private, a celebrated underlying glue holding society together, particularly among the moneyed and entitled set. There were special designated Houses and Auctions that catered to all kinds of subjective tastes and fashions (and wallet capacities), and the consequences for straying from those established business models were swift and severe, even for the wealthiest offenders. Entire generations had been stripped of familial wealth in the payment of fines for a singular moment of indiscretion and lust, if one member was caught in unapproved and unlicensed activity, to say nothing of the additional reputational hit the good name of a company or business might take if any of their executives did the same.

But in return, these protected relationships between Companions and Patrons were allowed an extraordinary amount of leeway in what was considered acceptable behavior for polite society, an outlet for all kinds of sexual aggression and deviancy.

He can tell his guests today - here to talk business, of course, since they were in his office, perched on one of the highest floors in the city, with its own attached conference room and few other amenities - were just a tad bit distracted. Fascinated, perhaps, was a better word, when it came to their avid gazes, the way their attention was clearly divided from the delicate and sensitive negotiation at hand, and the... decorative centerpiece, that Justin had taken such pains to arrange for them.

Monty was half kneeling in the center of the table, directly in front of Justin, bound and suspended from a discreet hook in the ceiling, a beautiful mesh of chains spiraling in a pattern down their arms, held together above their head, a ballgag keeping their mouth open and muffling any noises they would be inclined to make. They are dressed in diaphanous silk, several overlapping layers covering from neck to wrists to waist, a seemingly modest cut ruined entirely by the translucence of the fine cloth, showing off the exquisite handiwork of the collar wrapped around their neck, the heavy weights clamped around their perked nipples, their perfectly sized breasts - just enough to be a substantial handful in each hand - bouncing with their movements, their trim waist and stomach. Sheer silk stockings in a matching color, cover them from toes to just under their thighs, matching ribbons as garters tying them off, though they are starting to loosen now from sweat and exertion.

From waist to knees, they are utterly exposed to the entire room, their legs splayed wide, revealing two vibrating dildos tucked inside them - one in each hole, leaving a puddle of lubricant and slick come pooling underneath them on the polished wooden tabletop. But the piece de resistance was their cock, wrapped in matching silk ribbons, dripping precome from the head and jerking with their movements as they writhe and sob on the table in front of the assembled group.

Almost absentmindedly, Justin reaches a hand out to rest on his Companion's ankle, a gentle, subtle caress, while he attentively watches the speaker at the head of the room giving the presentation. A few of the other men in the room have already given up pretense, dragging their own Companions underneath the table top to utilize their mouths or hands, their eyes clearly fixed on Monty as they muffle groans of arousal and appreciation.

[tensions]

Monty is used to seeing the world in halves. Part this, part that. They're used to everything having a contradiction, having a rule and an exception simultaneously. They're used to inconsistencies and the discomfort of adapting to them, to perceived imperfections and monstrosities coexisting in everyone, everywhere.

See, Monty has several halves too. Part male, part female. Partially good, partially deviant. At once desperate to please, to serve, yet longing for control, for agency. A doer and a voyeur. It's a challenge, sometimes, to hold all of these pieces together in one coherent whole. And for a long time, Monty never quite figured out how to reconcile it all, to make their peace with it. They weren't sure if it was even possible.

And then they met Justin Baruch. To this day, Monty still isn't exactly sure why they had caught his eye (at least not at first blush) and how the two of them fell into each other with such furious velocity. But they had. It started out innocently enough: Monty worked the nightshift at The Body Shop, a popular sex club downtown that catered to the ultra rich, powerful, and famous. They were a waiter then, tasked to stay unseen and unheard, to be nothing more than quiet and attentive hands in the dark. It was an easy job and gave Monty the pleasure of being able to watch the debauchery unfold from an arm's length without having to admit they wanted a taste. From this relative safety of anonymity, Monty could try and temporarily sate their growing thirst by taking unnoticeable sips of a world they soon learned they actually longed for.

A world that Justin Baruch offered the keys to.

The thing is, Monty loved to fuck. They couldn't stop thinking about it, all day, every day. It was starting to become a noticeable problem. The need to be touched, to be grabbed and squeezed was uncontrollable and they spent an inordinate amount of time constantly imagining crude scenarios: being fondled, being fingered, being cored open daily. At first, it was simple to manage but very quickly, their appetites stretched wider, deeper, darker. It was incredibly hard to focus, to even hold down a standard 9-5 (and Monty couldn't imagine what would happen if they were ever exposed, if their desires were made fully public). And so they found it easier to take on odd jobs at bizarre hours instead of something steady or dependable, found comfort in never staying too long in one place or be too known (remembered) by anyone.

But now, years later, those anxieties feel so foreign.

Monty never thought that being a Companion would be suitable for them. It was a lot of responsibility and a lot of pressure. Not to mention the months and even years of training and accreditation required to even earn the title was intimidating to say the least. But once Monty started, it became impossible for them to imagine their life in any other way. And maybe it wasn't so much that they liked the role necessarily but that they adored their Patron. Deeply. Yes, Justin was rich and handsome and charming. He spoiled Monty, provided for them in a way they never even dared to think was possible. But more importantly, Justin saw Monty for who they were and, surprisingly, treasured each and every part. He guided Monty to channel their hunger in productive and pleasurable ways, gave them a purpose.

Finally, all of Monty's parts started to make sense. His halves started to become a whole.

Presently, they're squirming on the table and making a mess. There's a presentation going on in front of them but they haven't captured a single word (not that they were expected to, anyhow). All they can focus on is the deep, merciless thrumming of arousal inside of them and the way they're practically leaking onto their own thighs.

The presenter flips to the next slide. Monty groans. The men around him all seem to echo the sound.

The hand on their ankle is a warm weight, keeping them present and grounded. Both a tender reminder and a gorgeous threat. Monty bites down hard around the gag in their mouth, eyes fluttering closed as they try pathetically to keep from squirting on the spot.

[blessed_is_he]

He smirks inwardly, knowing with expert ease and familiarity exactly how to read Monty's reactions, what that desperate tensing of their body meant, what those extra twitches of reaction in their cock and along their thighs meant, but outwardly he is the picture of calm and professional interest, politely attentive to the comparatively dry presentation, as though his precious, beautiful Companion weren't crying to be filled and used properly, in their eyes a constant desperate plea. He can see, with a different, but no less accurate expertise, exactly how much the sight was affecting the carefully selected audience - all strategically selected for this very moment of business transaction, when he could make use of all his resources to gain an advantage in this other arena in which he excelled - all desperate for a taste, a touch, enough to be distracted from the seemingly inconsequential details of the lucrative deal they were actually here to transact.

He loved this, pride of possession and ruthless business savvy combining into one convenient, pleasurable, and profitable whole.

He nods subtly at the presenter, who adjusts his presentation to match, and the dazed, drooling, horny men around the table, thrusting desperately into the well-trained mouths of their own Companiond do not stand a chance. His next gesture is a slow, tender slide of movement up along Monty's stockinged calf until he reaches bared thigh, and he doesn't stop until he can wrap his fingers around Monty's desperate little cock.

It takes a moment to undo the concoction of ribbons, cloth fluttering down to the soaked tabletop, and he knows Monty can read the command inherent in the gesture without help - come for me, show me how much you love this, let me see you squirt and shoot out come from both your desperate holes at the same time - but he helps all the same, sliding his large thick fingers into Monty's pussy, wrapping around the buzzing vibrator and stretching the abused orifice wide almost around his clenched hand as it shakes with the mechanical vibrations and the effort of accommodating Justin's hand.

[tensions]

The moment Justin's touch begins to crawl over him, a welcome invasion, Monty starts to moan behind their gag, spit dribbling down the corner of their lips, their chin. They're helpless to resist, seeing their Patron out of the corner of their eye, seeing that stony expression on his face betraying nothing of his real intent, his inherent command, is nearly enough to hurl Monty over the edge.

But Justin was never so subtle.

Monty's entire body jerks violently when they feel thick, familiar fingers force into their sloppy, swollen pussy. Alongside the punishing width of the vibrator (translucent, of course, for even more of a visual), they feel stretched overwhelmingly, almost painfully so.

Monty starts to sob. They're deliriously happy.

And on the next rough flex of Justin's fingers, they cum explosively, squirting so hard that they wet nearly half the table in front of them.

all of me changed like midnight

[tensions]

Monty's reflection stares back at them in the mirror. And for a moment, they think they’re looking at a stranger. A very handsome one, but a stranger nonetheless. They tilt their head, examining themselves in profile. But no matter how many more times they do this, how many more angles they choose to view themselves from, it's always going to be a little off-putting to see their own face so plain like this, free of glitter and eyeshadow and lipstick, their high cheekbones clear of blush and golden highlights.

They lean forward and touch their chin, drag the pads of their fingers down the skin to feel how stubble has already started to come out to dust the line of their jaw. It's rough and a little itchy. Usually, this would annoy them. But today, Monty doesn’t feel like shaving. They don’t feel that squirming discomfort in the pit of their stomach when they tuck their button down shirt into a pair of dark, bootcut slacks. They don’t feel that distressing sense of strangeness when they choose a pair of oxfords instead of heels or mules.

They square their shoulders. Then, they reach a hand up, the wrist decorated by a thick, silver watch, and pushes back their hair roughly, admires how a single wavy strand slides stylishly back down over their brow.

They feel...confident. Bold, even.

It was atypical for Monty to present so clearly and proudly masculine. And even when they did so in the past, they often chose more subtle expressions of it anyway: accessorizing with thicker jewelry, keeping their nails wiped clean of color, wearing more conservative clothing in a darker palette, and speaking with a rougher vocabulary. It's only recently that they've been feeling the urge to try something a little more...complete.

[blessed_is_he]

When Justin Baruch wakes up, his bed is empty. This was an uncommon, but not at all surprising occurrence, though he did enjoy those days when Monty felt inclined to offer a warmer, more...intimate kind of wake-up call.

He stretches out his arms and pads out of bed, heading to his private gym for a more traditional workout, a habit of his on early mornings when he was alone, and then showers and gets ready for the day.

He's toweling his hair dry, an open button-down shirt on, when he pokes his head into the luxurious suite of rooms set aside for Monty, containing no less than two full walk-in closets of their clothes and toys and jewelry and belongings, and pauses at the sight of his Companion standing in front of a mirror, dressed in complementary business attire, and raises an eyebrow, a pleasant anticipatory heat running through his body.

"I think I'm in the mood for an early treat before breakfast," he comments, eyes steady on Monty, to judge their reaction to the suggestion. "I've got several public appearances to make today, so it'll have to be quick or I'll miss my first appointment."

[tensions]

They glance up, eyes locking on their Patron's face as it suddenly appears in the mirror behind their own. A blush rises instantly to Monty's young face and for a moment they nearly apologize on impulse before biting their own tongue. Their Patron doesn't look...upset. In fact, there's that familiar simmer of pleasure in his gaze that Monty has learned to look for, to yearn for.

It meant he liked what he was seeing.

A punch of heat knocks into Monty, curling right between their thighs, making them start to throb. "Of course, sir," they respond, their voice pitched lower but still tender, warm, and sweet as always. "Should I wait for you in the car, then?"

[blessed_is_he]

"I believe that would be for the best, yes," he replies casually, his eyes lighting up with the obvious strength of Monty's reaction, even though there is no other sign of it as he steps back and away, draping his towel across his broad shoulders and buttoning up his shirt the rest of the way. "The weather is lovely today, so I think we should drive with the windows down today. Get some fresh air and sunshine."

It takes him a short amount of time to get ready - habit and practice seeing him through - and he greets his driver with a nod as he slips into the seat, where Monty is already waiting for him. He instructs the driver to take the long route to the cafe they often frequented, a short distance from the office, and then seemingly doesn't notice Monty at all, gazing out the window with a pensive expression, until they are stopped at a red light in one of the safe districts of the city, and he reaches to the side without looking to cup Monty's cock in the palm of his hand, groping them carelessly.

now it's like snow at the beach, weird but fuckin' beautiful

[tensions]

It's been fifteen minutes but it feels like hours. Monty is sitting on the edge of the stiff bed in this strange room, waiting. All around him, the windows are drawn shut so that no light and no wandering eyes come in. The air conditioning is loud and persistent but Monty still finds themselves sweating, palms damp.

They wipe their hands down on their pants. They're so nervous.

Today, they're dressed like a boy. Their hair is short (they had just cut it a month ago after a year of wearing it wavy and long, pulled back with ribbons and clips) and the softness of their body is mostly hidden behind a boxy shirt that was one size too big. They didn't bind today either which makes them feel uncomfortable but the caseworker had been explicit about that: they had been asked to arrive with no alterations, decorations, or enhancements. Nothing "misleading" was to be allowed. Today was about honesty.

Monty squirms at the thought. Honesty was for the straightforward and the simple. The privileged. It was for the kinds of people not stuck living their lives in-between realities, between half-truths. What has honesty ever done for them other than put a target on their back, expose them and strip them of their comfort in ambiguity, force their fluidity into a cage and beat it until it made sense to everyone else looking in?

The doorknob turns. The sound feels so loud in the empty room and Monty's head whips instantly over to look at who has decided to walk in, their eyes wide and blue and so, so pretty.

[blessed_is_he]

Justin Baruch had been looking forward to this day for some time.

When he'd met Montgomery Quill that night at The Body Shop, Justin's very first reaction had been a mild curiosity upon seeing a slight, delicate beauty dressed in the house uniform, short dark hair and bright blue eyes. But the boundary between (potential) Companions and waitstaff was very clear-cut, especially in a club as exclusive and high-class as The Body Shop, and Justin automatically dismisses the waiter from his thoughts, focusing on the performances and his companions for the night. But throughout the night, he keeps seeing that waiter again out of the corner of his eye, staring at the personal contracted Companions draped around their Patrons scattered throughout the room, at the beautifully dressed House Companions who strolled through to offer their services for the night and perhaps entice a new contract, at the performers on the stage in their carefully selected attire, plying their craft - at almost everyone, it seemed, other than the clientele he was meant to be serving as part of his job.

Justin had no intention of interfering with the running of business, but there was something about the way he'd kept staring at the performers, particularly the beautiful boys in shining corsets and long lashes, flirting their skirts at the Patrons in the audience, with a look of pain and envy mingled with a deep, desperately repressed want, that had coaxed Justin into recklessness on a whim. After all, he hadn't had a long-term contracted Companion for almost a full year now - it had been an amicable parting, mostly mutual - and at the end of the day, he enjoyed making people happy more than anything else.

It had been a hassle (and a significant expense) to arrange everything from a proper distance, to inquire after the young waiter through the proper channels, and allow the appropriate intermediaries to make his offer. He'd only been a little surprised to hear that he'd accepted, but after that point, other than the money slipping out of his account (a barely noticeable sum for him, though for most others it would be a drain) in regular increments, he had no news or updates. This approach was intended to decrease abuse of the system (and its charges), to leave enough space and room for candidates to make clear-eyed, informed decisions, without direct pressure from potential Patrons to muddy the waters. The money always went through two neutral channels before being deposited, every cent and condition and term carefully accounted for, and all-in-all represented a very hefty sum even after the administrative fees were taken out (the Crabtrees really knew what they were doing), certainly more than some favored mistresses had been graced with, in times long ago.

Mostly, Justin tried to put that out of his head, counting the money as lost already, regardless of the outcome. After all, when you already owned almost every material possession and comfort possible, there was something especially thrilling about making someone else's dreams come true.

But then, after months of radio silence, word comes back. Montgomery Quill ('Monty', the summation had said) had agreed to an initial meeting, to take place in one of the monitored rooms (privacy was guaranteed, but the archives would be kept for 72 hours after the meeting ended, in case of any serious allegations of violation). Once again, the foremost emotion for Justin was curiosity, a subtle, unlooked-for hope that, perhaps, there would be some break in the usual monotony - a very comfortable monotony, to be sure - of his day-to-day life.

He closes the door behind him, and tilts his head, nodding apologetically.

"Sorry if I startled you, Monty - may I call you Monty?" he asks, his tone gentle, polite. "I'm Justin Baruch." Montgomery Quill would already know who he is - from reputation, if nothing else - but other than his name, age, and appearance, Justin knew very little about the young man in front of him.

[tensions]

They fret and stand instantly, their movements a little undignified, fumbling. "No, not at all, Mr. Baruch," they reply. Their voice is soft and light, a stark contrast to the image they're projecting now: nothing more than a shy, young man, shifting uncomfortably in his black, hand-me-down Chelsea boots.

"And yeah, I mean," they squeeze their eyes shut as if to momentarily force themselves to focus, "yes that's fine. Everyone I know just calls me Monty anyway."

They open their eyes again, staring at the man before them, the man who has been paying him a small salary (good enough so that Monty could stop waiting tables at least for a few weeks) and sponsoring him with the hopes of...purchasing him. So to speak. Monty swallows dryly.

"Is...is there anything you'd like for me to...do?"

[blessed_is_he]

He watches Monty shift, clearly nervous and anxious, and wonders what exactly he'd been expecting, what the caseworker had told him would happen during this meeting. He offers a reassuring smile, a far cry from the kinds of expressions he usually wore for business negotiations, and tilts his head. "You can sit," he offers, gesturing. "Or stand. Whatever makes you most comfortable. This meeting is really for getting to know each other, so if you had any questions for me, I'd be glad to answer them. I hope you won't mind answering a few of my questions as well."

pierced open wanting

[blessed_is_he]

Among the many, varied, and explicit stipulations in the Companion contract between Montgomery 'Monty' Quill and Justin Baruch, were some specific notes regarding general hygiene, specialty procedures, and permanent body modifications. These ranged from the practical - that Justin was responsible for the costs of any procedures Monty proposed that he agreed to, that Monty had final say and veto power over any suggestions originating from Justin, that best practice medical recommendations must be strictly adhered to in terms of recovery and maintenance.

All of which was to say that, for the past few weeks, Justin had been completely avoiding Monty's cunt - as well as, unnecessarily but scrupulously, their ass - seeking relief and release mainly from Monty's mouth and other parts, to allow the piercings that they had elected to receive to fully heal and settle in. There had certainly been teasing - Justin had no intention of not enjoying the sight, since that didn't interfere with any doctor's orders - but he had been almost painstakingly thorough in his obedience to the recommended timeframe for recovery.

Besides, he had every expectation that he would be reaping long-term dividends from his careful adherence to protocol, and it had not been much of a hardship even in the short term. Monty had been practically gagging for his cock almost immediately following after the procedure - even more than usually desperate and begging for it - thanks to their newfound sensitivity. Justin had even taken some glee in setting additional boundaries in place, pointing out that Monty was just as bound by the terms of the contract as Justin himself was.

All of which was to say that Justin was very much looking forward to reaping the benefits of his patience today, having cleared his schedule for the weekend, waiting for Monty to return from their errands of the day - a few spa and beauty treatments and a final physical from the specialist - fully cleared to partake and ready and waiting for Justin to experiment and make full use of all the brand new, just installed features of his favorite toy.

[tensions]

It had taken almost two whole months for the three small piercings on their vulva (two small rings on either side and one stud at the very top, right where they're most sensitive) to heal completely. The area remains sensitive even now, so they’ve been scrupulous about not touching the area at all. Though, it had been difficult. Extremely. Even the smallest amount of pressure in their groin was enough to start hurting.

Both fortunately (for Monty’s health) and unfortunately (for Monty’s rampant nymphomania), their Patron had been extremely strict about prioritizing the piercings. To satiate the both of them, Justin had been thoroughly creative at the very least, and extremely attentive. In fact, more so than he’s ever been: gentle and present and sweet. It had made Monty feel…adored, which was different from just being physically desired. What did that even mean? They’re not sure.

(“It’s almost as if he loves me,” they said idly the week before to their caseworker during one of their mandatory check-ins. They were then asked to expand on that, but refused.)

Regardless, that all likely comes to an end today anyway. Monty had spent the past few hours getting pampered: having their whole body shaved and waxed, their hair trimmed, nails done, and new clothes tailor fitted. They come back to their Patron smelling of eau du gardenia and warm vanilla, dressed in a short pleated skirt and a thin silk blouse.

[blessed_is_he]

He hears the sounds of the private elevator and feels his own pulse quickening. He puts aside the book he'd been flipping through idly, his work already done for the day, his schedule cleared in anticipation. He's already dressed down for the evening - only his slacks on without a belt, a white shirt with the first few buttons undone - and he looks the picture of ease sitting with his legs crossed idly, leaning back against the sofa, anticipating Monty's arrival.

There were some Patrons who kept a very strict contract and routine - micromanaging every minute and second of their Companions' days, with detailed requirements for everything from clothing to diet. It was the kind of demand that was adjusted for in the monetary compensation, with more frequent periods for renewal, to allow the contract to be terminated or renegotiated.

Justin tended to be more laid back, though he'd taken on a few short term contracts with similar terms, as an experiment. There were even some Companions who thrived in such a scenario. But with Monty, Justin had taken a more indulgent approach, allowing them to ask for the rules and then set the boundaries they wanted to follow within them. So far, it had kept things from getting stale, and Monty's eagerness and creativity had not flagged yet.

The piercings had been their idea, something Justin had readily agreed to, and Justin had found their dismay at exactly what the consequences of that choice would be in the short term rather adorable. It had not been very much of a hardship for him - Monty was very good with their mouth, after all, and so desperately intent on pleasing him - but he could tell his little Companion was getting desperate, even acting up at times in hopes of provoking a reaction.

But that would be over with today. Justin had reviewed the hard boundaries and limits Monty had set in their contract - not many, unsurprisingly - and he had some exciting things planned, now that they had presented him with some exciting new...features and buttons to play with. He already had things set up and prepared in the playroom and if all went well, neither of them would be leaving that room until well into the weekend.

[tensions]

The doors of the elevator open and Monty all but bounces into the grand living room, setting the many bags they had been carrying on their arm (all bearing luxury brand names embossed in stiff, metallic lettering) on the ground in a slightly messy pile next to the sofa.

"I had such a good day, sir," they chirp as they press a kiss to Justin's cheek. He smells of aftershave and musk.

Monty knew that even amongst Companions, they had it made. Justin was a surprisingly easy-going Patron in many respects. He had his expectations, certainly, and his rules, but he seemed to delight in allowing Monty a life outside of their contract. This was not the norm, Monty has come to learn, and they were ever the more grateful for that.

"I got a few special things today. Wanna see?"

across a crowded room

[blessed_is_he]

While not a requirement by any means, there was naturally a considerable overlap between those who were privileged and financially well off enough to support an official Companion (or more) in a formal arrangement as a Patron and the overall BDSM community, which had been central to the legalization and formalization of the industry as a whole, so it wasn't uncommon for Justin to see peers from work alongside other friends from all walks of life at social gatherings. Despite the mainstreaming of the lifestyle in some ways, these were still relatively exclusive events, with a high level of screening and an entry fee - assessed on a sliding scale based on means - for all approved members to participate.

Justin, of course, had been a longstanding and active member for years and was very well known in the overall community. In the past he'd attended events with previous partners, with some of his Companions (though only the ones who'd explicitly consented in their contracts), or even alone on a few rare occasions, and he was almost always a welcome attendee when he chose or was invited to join a scene, and his reputation was such that just about everyone looked on him fondly.

On this particular occasion, he had finally brought Monty, his current Companion. They were a source of interest and gossip in the relatively small community. Those who'd had business dealings with Justin and had witnessed Monty accompanying him had shared what information they had about them physically, but overall they were something of a mystery. After all, they had no prior connections to the community, and other than what had been demonstrated of their preferences within the confines of those particular interactions, no one - other than Justin - knew much else about them, or what their relationship was with the popular and wealthy man, other than the obvious business contract between them. But rumors abounded, and this would be the first time any outside observers got to see them in a scene environment.

Pretty much everyone was looking forward to it, and wondering if they'd get a chance to get at least a little taste.

There was never much of a dress-code for these things, though good manners usually dictated some level of coverage in the wider public area meant for mingling (more like a cocktail party than anything else), though all bets were off once people stepped deeper into the inner play areas. Justin was dressed in a beautifully tailored suit - a little boring, perhaps, but it suited his personality and persona for the night. Monty, on the other hand, was wearing a simple but lovely getup of lace and translucent gauze, thigh-high stockings with garters, and beautifully heeled shoes, giving a clear enough idea of what was beneath while leaving just enough to the imagination to still be intriguing.

What drew the eye most, however, was the expression in Justin's eyes as he oriented Monty to the room and the event, one hand resting low against Monty's hip while he squired them from table to table, offering introductions and exchanges with an almost tender smile. At one point, he notes a cluster of subs, several of whom were past Companions of his, and tilts his head at Monty, suggesting that they join the group and 'make some friends' while he did some additional mingling of his own, but a few more perceptive individuals note the slightest hesitation and reluctance in Justin's hand as he lets go of Monty's waist and turns away.

it's our party, we can love who we want

[perjury]

His boredom has always been a shadow he can't seem to outrun. It extends out long and wide behind him the brighter he shines, the more intensely he lives. But Henry's good at running. He has been his whole life. He can't stay still in one place for long anyway. It's why being a career Companion had been so appealing to him originally. It allowed him to explore a variety of extremes within the safety of a contract and provided a safe space for him to flee when he needed to.

And he always, always needed to.

Until the next time he needed a hit of course.

His leg is shaking, his knee bouncing up and down. The heel of his dirty white converse shoe tapping out a dull, rubbery tempo against the ground as he waits, one leg dangling off the side of the bed. He's leaned up against the headboard, limbs askew, the way a child might sprawl out when left unattended and free.

He's not nervous. But he is impatient.

This isn't the first time he's taken interest in a Patron, but it is the first time he's felt genuinely excited about meeting one. He didn't know very much about this Justin Baruch, other than what was obvious to all: he was handsome, wealthy, successful, blah blah. That wasn't what mattered to Henry of course. What mattered was this: he could recognize the way the man's smile had just the sharpest edge of falseness to it, how his eyes would sometimes fall softly blank despite a laugh rolling out of his chest at the same exact time. He could tell that Justin was the kind of man who had a lot to hide, someone who could never quite be satisfied. But why?

Henry rolls over onto his stomach, eager to find out as the door opens.

[blessed_is_he]

There was a lot of seemingly complicated and formal etiquette to the Patron-Companion system - an inevitable consequence of bringing a varied conglomerate of what had often been shadowy, exploitative interlinked networks into the light, of imposing strictures and protections, punishments and practicalities - and creating the layers of bureaucracy that provided them. Justin knew there was still, even now, exploitation and corruption outside of the system, people who saw it as something to be skirted and flouted, who used privilege and wealth - and the inevitable warping effect of their proximity - to their advantage in secretive, off-the-books arrangements. There were still some houses of varying levels of repute who approached the practice of "negotiation" in a way that was more akin to the placing of an advanced order, of allowing Patrons to demand specialized training and customizations, of manipulating and sculpting on-hand merchandise to suit a customer's needs to make a sale rather than a contract, while placating monitors with scripted loopholes.

That being said, while Justin's tastes might be varied and sometimes extreme, that side of things had never held any kind of appeal for him. He actively enjoyed the challenge of personally determining compatibility, of truly negotiating between parties. The safe, sane, consensual practices of BDSM within the social circles he moved in - which touched but did not always overlap with the system - were paramount, and he had never found it to be an unnecessary stricture to be chafed against when dealing with scene partners, whether or not they were contracted Companions. The process of discovery was a key part of his enjoyment.

But this approach did impact the longevity of his contracts and arrangements, no matter what role he played. Because of just that - they were roles, personas, masks he slipped into and out of for the sake of a scene or contractual obligation.

Just because he actively enjoyed the process of meeting another's needs did not necessarily equate to his own being fully satisfied.

Proper etiquette usually dictated that the Companion set the terms for an initial meeting with a potential Patron, regardless of who had made the first overture. There were monitored facilities for this purpose, usually used for newer or younger Companions, but many of the more experienced Companions had their own systems. Places they trusted, or were comfortable with, places that they found useful for getting a true measure of their potential Patrons before embarking on the drier process of monitored negotiation. Some dispensed with the first meeting entirely, trusting in their exhaustive written lists, intuition, and experience to dictate terms, even entering into some contracts sight unseen. Justin had contracted with a few of these, with mostly good results, but he personally found the tradition of first meetings somewhat charming.

While not unheard of, Companions typically did not seek out specific Patrons without prior close contact - such as an encounter in private, on a social occasion, perhaps during an existing contract. Whether it was a marker of actual preference or simply common practice was impossible to determine. Justin had always divined potential interest by his own intuition, or a demonstrated compatibility, such as during a group scene, and it was often easier for a Patron to make that initial overture.

Which automatically made Henry Ghersinich a very intriguing prospect. Justin knew of him by reputation and apearance - a few shallow contacts with minor acquaintances, all of them positive - but they had never interacted beyond a surface level. He's reasonably sure they had never even scened together, though he had made his usual off-handed assessment with guesses and observations.

So: an interesting young man, a Career Companion, often given to seeking novelty over security, game to try almost anything at least thrice, only a few hard limits. Likely a switch, but not usually a Dom, with a slight - very slight - preference for bottoming, based on what Justin remembered of previous contracted Patrons. A lovely smile, with an accompanying restlessness under his skin, visible in his eyes and mouth, in the subtle energy of his body, even on occasions where he seemed otherwise still.

Yes, Justin was very intrigued.

He'd dressed down for this occasion, foregoing his usual suit ensemble for jeans and a looser button-down shirt with a subtly striped pattern, leather shoes and belt. A minute after the appointed time, he opens the door without bothering to knock, stepping into the room with a smile.

"Thank you for your patience," he says, not quite acknowledging any delay, eyes taking in Henry's sprawled posture, a careful cover for a palpable sense of eagerness and curiosity, the clearly well-loved shoes he is still wearing. "I trust you weren't waiting too long?"

[perjury]

"You're welcome," he chirps instantly, as if they had already been talking for a while and are just now sliding into the midst of a new topic in the conversation, "I'm not known for it."

His voice is surprisingly light, boyish, like the rest of him. His smile is bright but not warm, inviting but not entirely welcoming. There was something sharp and very temporary about it, the kind of smile that urges you not to trust the man behind it.

He shakes his head as he sits up but without much care for his posture. "I was waiting, sure, but it's all fine, really." He talked carelessly (or, at least, appeared to do so anyhow), as if he didn't think much for the words that came to him, paid little attention to their meaning or cadence or organization. And yet, Henry never came off dim-witted (distracted, at his worst) or unintelligent. If anything, he's been told he often made others feel that way instead. Which, he always found particularly funny.

"How are you, Justin? I can call you that, right? Justin? Unless you prefer something else? Just stop me if you do." He speaks all in one breath, like he might run out of it if he slows down, and adjusts again, staring the other man down, trying to read him and realizing with a great deal of glee that he really couldn't. Not yet, anyway. It's ok, it's better this way. Henry liked to work for it. (He thinks: looking at Justin Baruch was like looking into a muddy, two-way mirror. All you saw was a blurry version of what you thought you might like, giving nothing away to the reality beneath it.

Henry's only ever met one other man like this. And he had genuinely scared him. But this feels different somehow. At least, Henry sure hoped so. It's not that he didn't like danger. He actually searched for it actively. And often. Henry liked living his life in this way, every moment a roll of the dice. But, when he had been undercover and investigating Stepan Shchervaskaya in the heyday of this whole...institution, let's call it, things had gone far beyond what even Henry had been willing and able to anticipate. He knows now there's just some dark things you shouldn't touch, some things that promise to bite you and will.)

"You can sit down. Like, actually please sit down. It's awkward otherwise." He pats the comforter in front of him. "I'm sure you've got some questions for me."

[blessed_is_he]

"No, I don't imagine you are," he murmurs, almost but not entirely to himself, as he takes in the torrent of words, the tripping and fitful flow of information and conjecture, the seemingly rambling consciousness, an almost constantly meandering stream, but Justin is used to this, to the extraction of meaning from chaos, reading the underlying current in the chaotic eddies and ripples at the surface. His smile shifts subtly, a slightly off-center quirk of his lips, meeting Henry's gaze without a hint of challenge, simply quiet amusement.

He doesn't bother to answer the questions that spill towards him out loud, simply works his way through the obvious motions - a brief shrug, a slight tip of his head, a nod of acknowledgement as he settles at the foot of the bed, his back and posture straight and steady, even without touching the frame - a rarity these days in most hotels, with most beds not even bothering to have more than a headboard - suddenly seeming perfectly at home on the same bed that Henry was lounging on, despite taking up very little of the occupied space.

"Nothing I planned in advance," he replies easily, his gaze shifting to the side. "I thought I'd follow your lead today, Mr. Ghersinich." Even, casual, off-handed - a gracious host putting a guest at ease, as though he had an inherent right to step into that role, regardless of the setting - but there is a glitter of interest in his otherwise limpid blue eyes. "I have to say, it's not often that I find myself in this position."

a gift worth unwrapping

[blessed_is_he]

It wasn't very often - almost never - that Justin Baruch felt unsure. He'd always prided himself on knowing exactly what to do, what to say, in almost any given situation. It was part of what made him so successful in most axes of his life. In fairness, he mostly came by that confidence honestly. He'd worked hard for his success and continued to work hard to maintain it, never fully resting on his laurels, seeking out every possible opportunity to improve, to learn, and to reflect.

But in his more introspective moments he had to admit that there were certainly ways he deliberately played into his strengths, bringing all his many resources to bear to arrange things just so to maintain his own self-image, as well as ways in which he ruthlessly cut out any potential for uncertainty or failure.

A case in point: he'd always approached the Patron-Companion system with very specific goals and types in mind, leaning on the clearly outlined boundaries and agreements of explicitly laid out contracts - just another kind of business dealing, a mutual fulfilling of obligations - to avoid ever over-investing emotionally in another human being, with all the flaws and foibles and frictions that came along with that.

Until Monty.

Perhaps it was simply an inevitable outcome of the way they'd met. Of Monty not being a career Companion, with that ingrained understanding of the transactional nature of the relationship. Justin was very much the type to easily break hearts, but he'd arranged so much of his life to avoid the possibility as much as possible, always alert for the blurring of carefully laid borderlines, for the hints of becoming too attached, and disengaging as gently as possible at the first hint of a warning sign.

Even now in this case, he was self-aware enough to know that he wasn't looking for, or expecting any kind of physical or sexual fidelity. He actively enjoyed their current arrangements, the freedom of choice inherent in a mutual no strings attached backed by the contract, and absolutely relished the way Monty responded to being given so many opportunities to truly revel and bask in their sexuality, to being able to facilitate that for them - even being vital to those experiences for them. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his presence was wanted - needed - that Monty appreciated how Justin made these experiences safe and enjoyable for them.

So what exactly was he finding so disquieting about the fact that Monty had yet to seek him out again after the party last weekend? Monty generally could barely go a day without wanting Justin's touch or his cock or some other tangible outlet for their appetites and eagerness to please. This wasn't even the first time he'd arranged something similar for Monty, who so clearly enjoyed being used as a whore for as many eager participants as Justin trusted and could request the presence of.

He'd always been cautious in the wake of such scenes, providing chaste and affectionate aftercare with his usual and habitual care and consideration - for Monty's physical limits, if nothing else - leaving it up to his Companion to initiate contact again once they felt recovered sufficiently, but it had never really been needed; Monty generally picked up where they'd left off with barely a gap to recover, something that had briefly worried him the first few times they'd tried this, before Monty (and Monty's caseworker) had impressed on him that it was entirely by choice, that Monty loved being used by him while still sore and aching, crying and pleading for more, clenching around the ghosts of a dozen or more cocks, rocking back and forth on Justin's dick while holding a hand to their stomach as if they could still feel the roiling of as many loads of cum as they'd greedily demanded over the course of each of those nights, despite the physical impossibility.

But it had been a few days now since the last time, and Monty had yet to approach him again, leaving Justin to go to work uncharacteristically alone. For a brief, disquieting moment, he regrets the leeway he's allowed in their contract, before he shakes his head and reaches for logic and reason.

If Monty wanted to end their association, they had every right to do so. And Justin had been through just that many times before, with over a dozen former Companions.

It would be fine. He'd be fine.

So why did it feel, for the first time, like he'd be losing something he couldn't even begin to replace?

[tensions]

It's only been a few days but Monty has been thinking about this little surprise for quite some time. It was something they were always curious about but never had the confidence to try before: exploring their feminine presentation to the extreme. Although they were raised as a girl for much of their life (forced to suppress everything else that made them appear otherwise), they had severely disliked the experience overall. It felt so contrived, so restrictive at the time. It hade made them feel like a stranger in their own skin.

But, ever since meeting Justin, Monty's felt differently about that. They've felt differently about...a lot of things.

They started planning this...reveal in earnest a few days ago, securing the right clothes, makeup, and accessories and decor all in secret, which was exceedingly difficult to do considering how much time they spent in the constant periphery of their Patron. They shared everything with him, every moment and every though. It was only natural at this point in their relationship (and Monty enjoyed doing so). It would be impossible to manage a surprise of this caliber without arousing suspicion (or worse, spoiling the surprise early) had things remained the same between them. So, Monty took it upon themselves to adjust, forcing themselves to be more reserved, secretive even, not even allowing their mood to be particularly mercurial (as it usually was wont to be) day to day.

A hot, writhing temptation transformed into a cold, stone wall.

This lasted for days.

What they didn't anticipate is Justin's reaction so far. He's been...distant. Or distracted. Almost upset (perhaps hurt? Certainly not...) but Monty was too far along in their plans to back down now.

Plus, it would all be worth it, they tell themselves, as they watch their Patron's towncar pull back into the long driveway that evening before they turn back to the mirror to place finish tying the silk ribbon in their hair (that now flowed down in waves to their chest due to the expensive extensions they had had done earlier this morning). The bat their long lashes, dusted with fine glitter, at their own reflection.

They - no, she's perfect.

By the time Justin walks in, he'll see Monty and the entire bedroom completely transformed. The entire palette has been altered to pale neutrals: from the lamps to the hooks on the wall, down to the sheets on the bed and the rug on the floor. And then there's Monty, kneeling on the bed wearing nothing but tiny thong and a pink, sheer babydoll set that settles right under the curve of their small breasts, exposing them completely. A dainty diamond necklace sits right in the hollow of their throat, rising and falling as they take a deep breath in.

"Welcome home."

[blessed_is_he]

The work day had gone smoothly, and uneventfully. He wasn't ever lonely when he was working, and if he really wanted some kind of purely physical outlet there were all kinds of options available, ranging from the free-use options the company kept on hand (of course) to potentially borrowing another Companion with a relevant clause in their contract.

But he was self-aware enough to know that he didn't want just that.

For now, at least, he wanted Monty, specifically, whatever that meant, and trying to cover that up by seeking out an impersonal release as a poor substitute wasn't going to help.

Especially not if Monty was considering dissolving their contract.

He does his best to shake off the odd melancholy during the drive home from work. After all, if Monty was dissatisfied with their relationship, it was well within their rights to invoke any of the standard no-fault cessation clauses within the contract to terminate the contract before it reached term. They were rote, boilerplate clauses that were included as a matter of course in Patron-Companion contracts - in fact, removing them was very much frowned upon and would often trigger an exhaustive audit - and Justin had never had an issue with them before.

Of course, he'd never had cause to terminate a contract early before either, and he and Monty had already been together for over three years now, far longer than the majority of his previous contracts.

The elevator door opens into the quiet elegant solitude of the common living area, and his feet automatically take him towards the suite of rooms that had been set aside for Monty, this time not bothering with his usual courteous knock. One of options he usually offered Companions was a stipend to organize their personal space however they liked (with a corresponding decrease in direct compensation of course), and since in the past he usually spent time with them in the playroom or common areas rather than within their own personal spaces (as a kind of professional courtesy and acknowledgement of boundaries, unless they had explicitly declined them in the contract), he didn't usually pay much attention to what they did, simply authorizing the deductions from the stipend automatically.

It takes a moment for him to register all the changes, to connect them to the recent spate of charges he'd been asked to sign off (nothing individually exorbitant, but curious in aggregate), and then his eyes fall to Monty, utterly transformed and waiting for him in welcome in their completely refurnished room.

Well.

Never let it be said that Justin Baruch didn't know how to appreciate a gift.

"It's good to be home," he replies, low and warm, and he walks forward, reaches out to run his fingers through Monty's newly long hair, cupping their cheek, a more domestic kind of feeling settling down throughout his body.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" He asks, feeling out the situation. "Did you miss me?" A beat, and then, more genuinely than he expected, "I missed you, you know."

[tensions]

They perk up, cheeks pink instantly. The bed dips to one side as their Patron eases onto it and Monty has to resist immediately grabbing at him, desperate once more to feel the heat of his body, the comforting bulk of him.

"I missed you too," they respond, their voice pitched purposefully soft and light. "So, so much." Their slender fingers, perfectly manicured in slick pink and cream acrylic, glide over Justin's arm. "I thought you might like all of this. It's the first time I've...ever really...wanted to be like this. For anyone." Their lashes lower. "I've always been unsure of myself, of my presentations, but ever since I became your Companion...I'm not so scared anymore."

Between their legs, they're already throbbing. It's been too many days now that they've purposefully made it so that they weren't touched, weren't fucked and their body was so, so hungry.

"I wanted to thank you, somehow. It's almost the anniversary of when we signed our contract after all..."