fuguestates | DOING SOMETHING UNHOLY

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.

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.

Edited 2022-11-06 03:09 (UTC)

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.

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.

Edited 2022-11-21 01:37 (UTC)

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.

Edited 2022-12-30 05:24 (UTC)

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.

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?

at his pleasure

all of me changed like midnight

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

pierced open wanting