Ollie Reeder is a man of simple pleasures. A good wank, a bit of football, and the occasional plate of extra salty chips. While he’s not exactly in the public eye he has to be cautious of some of the things he enjoys. After the mess from the last elections, Ollie can’t take as many liberties with his lifestyle. It’s not so much the ‘being gay’ (although he wasn’t public about that either; otherwise Malcom couldn’t pimp him out) as much as it is…the kinky stuff.
It started in university; where anything goes, no matter how posh the exterior. In his all-male hall of residence, everyone was desperate for physical sex that didn’t involve one’s own hand. Ollie was more than happy to supply a quick blow job to those willing to pay his price: an incriminating piece of information about themselves. These boys were potential future leaders, and Ollie was already securing his own potential political career.
He didn’t try bum sex until he was out of school. The guys in his hall of residence were always complimenting his arse, “Pornstar quality”, “Like a proper skank”, “Better’n my girlfriend’s”, touching, kneading, even slapping. But Ollie never trusted the bastards to safely penetrate him. Yet it was something constantly on his mind. He’d fingered himself enough times to want something bigger in there. Three digits in, and he’d close his eyes and imagine some decent cock up there.
It wasn’t like he wanted a boyfriend, either. Ollie just wanted two things: sex and information. He needed to stay unnatched. So he opted for anonymous sex, drunk hook-ups, orgies. Anywhere he could get some. He waited outside pubs and gay clubs posing as a free rent boy. Of course, that’s how he got his dirt. But he never did it without a condom and he never went to another person’s house. A lot of men weren’t too keen on public sex, but none of their fears mattered once they saw how much of a slut Ollie was for cock. The boy could take three, four, five, even six men at the same time, and he fucking loved it. Two in the arse, two in his mouth, and one in each hand. More would watch, maybe come on his back or his face. He preferred the face, so then he could lick it off.
After a while, he started to gain a reputation. There were still a few precautions he could take, still collecting dirt, never giving out his full name, always wearing his contacts, but Ollie was worried that it wasn’t enough. That his repository of blackmail fodder wouldn’t be enough to stay anonymous.
Once he began to establish himself in Westminster politics, he started hearing whispers of an exclusive sex club. Everyone there was a public figure of some kind. From ministers to celebrities to CEOs and even some minor royalty. Foreign dignitaries could pay a hefty fee to have access to high-class prostitutes.
Unfortunately, Ollie wasn’t exactly a professional and they made him wear a blindfold. But that didn’t really matter to Ollie; the clients didn’t care who he was as long as he didn’t make a scandal of their encounters. And Ollie didn’t care as long as they were safe and clean. And not Scottish.
Malcom Tucker was in the middle of giving a new junior minister the rundown in terms of the pecking order. He was about to the frightened MP’s place (somewhere below Malcom’s left bollock), when he received an SMS text from Jamie MacDonald. One text turned into a series of them, photos of middling quality. The main subject, however, was very clear even without the glasses. Malcom could pick out Oliver Reeder’s baby face out of a whole line-up of overgrown Harry Potter look-alikes.
Jamie’s last text simple said “COMING SOON,” complete with an obnoxious set of winky faces and eggplant emojis. The terror of Westminster simply smiled and shook his head.
“Alright, we’ll have to finish this later,” Malcom said, snapping right back to full bollocking mode. “Urgent meeting. Something came up.”
“But—but…” the new minister stammered. “My speech is in 2 hours! You said they’d have my head if I screw this up.”
“Look, I know what I said, but this is some serious shit. Straight from number 10.” He wasn’t really paying attention, concentrating on texting Sam to clear out his schedule for the rest of the day.
“Then why were you smiling at whatever you were looking at?” That made Malcom look up. Just a little show of teeth and a tiny crease of his brows made the junior minister for agriculture wish he hadn’t asked.
“I’ll have you know,” Malcom growled in a low voice, circling the other man like a shark, “that this particular meeting was set up by my senior press officer, James MacDonald.” The minister made an audible gulp and began to perspire.
“You’ve heard of Jamie, yeah? Would you like to call him personally?” Malcom held out his phone, knowing full well he wouldn’t take it. “Maybe tell him how much more important you are than whatever personal business he has with me? Hm?”
“Wait, I thought you said it was—” Malcom cuts him off with a nudge of his phone. “N-no, I don’t need to call him. I’ll be off, then.” The junior minister gathered his papers quickly and scuttled out of the office with a stunted wave.
But before the poor man could even touch the handle, the door swung open and Malcom’s pitbull gave him a toothy grin, before scurrying off. Jamie closes the door as he and Malcom shared an amused look.
The lock clicked and Jamie rushed to the other man’s desk. He opened his briefcase, and pulled out several pieces of paper. “I printed them out,” he said, waving them like a wad of cash.
“Are they higher quality?” Malcom asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Ach, no. But they’re bigger. I blew them up on the computer. You know, in case you need a copy.” Malcom rolled his eyes. He loved Jamie, but sometimes he could be a bit dense. Neanderthal, even.
“I’ve already got them on my phone.” But he sifted through the pictures anyway. Malcom squinted and pulled out his glasses as if he was looking at important documents instead of a photo of a special advisor hungrily sucking the cock of a faceless figure while getting pounded from behind by another one. Each one seemed lewder than the last. There were no kind hands, just Ollie’s body being pulled and twisted in every way imaginable. His face was always a toxic mix of pain and pleasure. His mouth was opened wide; Malcom could almost hear the breathy moan.
“Got them from a friend of friend, who happens to know Ollie’s been at this for a while,” Jamie said. He noticed Malcom trying to re-adjust himself. The other man’s eyes were glued to the low-res images. The papers were now splayed across the table just as the subject laid spread eagle in one photo, jacking off two men while three others came on his chest. Jamie was getting half-hard himself. “Pretty hot, eh?”
“Yeah,” Malcom breathed out. “I mean, I suspected he was a bender but this…” He looked up at Jamie with a heated stare. “This is some dirty shit. This is the kind of shit I’ve seen fuckers pay upwards of 200 quid for. Are you sure it’s him?”
“Oooh, yeah, definitely Ollie. The blindfold makes it hard to tell, but my guy said he heard him talking like a fucking two-quid whore, and it’s definitely him.” Jamie’s tongue jutted out of him mouth alongside another flash of teeth.
“Where were these even taken?” Malcom asked seriously. He took off his glasses and pursed his lips. “I mean, if someone else has them it could be—” Jamie cut him off with a dismissive wave.
“No, no, don’t worry. This is from that cocksucker arsey fairy gay club where all the closeted big wigs get their rocks off.” He put a hand on his hip and gave one of his sneering smiles. “The old fucks are more concerned with their identities being revealed. Besides, Ollie is a special case.” Jamie wiggled his eyebrows, but Malcom simply frowned.
“And how would you know that?” He asked pointedly. But Jamie just waved him off again. Malcom narrowed his eyes.
“Look, the blokes at The Aristocrats don’t kn—”
“It’s the name of the place.”
“What the fuck kind of name is that for a fucking…a fucking sex dungeon?” Jamie shrugs his shoulders.
“I don’t know, some ironic American thing. But like I was saying, those guys at the club don’t know his name, but we do.” Malcom gave the other man an incredulous look.
Was he really suggesting to blackmail someone whom Malcom already had a ridiculous amount of control over? Considering how long he stayed with Emma (and how easily he could get them back together if need be) it seemed pretty pointless. It felt like he was missing something.
“Jamie, does this have anything to do with—Oi! Who’re you texting now?”
“The cockslut prince himself, who else?” Jamie replies without looking up from his phone. Malcom rolled his eyes. “Ollie should be here in oh, say, 45 minutes.” At least the rest of schedule was clear. Bless Sam.
There was a reason Ollie’s only boundary was “no Scots”: this exact situation. It only took one photo, one that Malcom had not been shown, to confirm his fear about the identity of last night’s client; it wasn’t just a dream, he’d sucked off Jamie.
“What do you mean ‘no Scots?’ That’s…that’s bloody racist, that is!” Jamie shouted at the poor maître de. Everyone at the club could hear him, excepting those in their private suites, such as Ollie himself.
“Sir, while he is available for no charge, we still have to respect the boundaries of our staff,” he responded in a cool voice. “And please don’t speak in such a loud tone, if you don’t mind.”
With as much self-control as he could muster, Jamie replied, “Look, I could blow this whole operation wide open, I work for Malcolm F. Tucker.” He made sure to raise his voice at the mention of Malcolm’s name, at which point several other patrons, in various states of undress, turned around to see who was talking. Most of them looked nervous, as did the maître de. “Yeah, see that?” Jamie wagged his finger in the air, knowing he had won. The other man shakily gave him the key to Ollie’s room.
He practically leapt over to the enclosure, but managed to curb his excitement momentarily once he remembered who it was he had for the night. In truth, Jamie had been texted the photos about a week ago. He’d doubted it was Ollie in all those photos (six dicks at a time seemed a bit much), so he'd wanted to come see it for himself. But he hadn’t had a good reason to come by until tonight.
Jamie knew it was petty, coming here after a fight with Malcolm regarding the publicity (or lack thereof) of their relationship. But he figured he could turn this around into a “let’s fuck with Ollie” thing. Which is even pettier, but he was beyond caring.
He slotted the key into the suite’s door. When he opened it, the sight before him made his dick jump. Ollie hadn’t prepared himself from his last client, who had been brutish to say the least. His hair was still disheveled and blindfold askew. He’d cleaned himself with wet wipes, though they couldn’t hide the fresh bruises and welts, and had hastily pulled on his shorts (Jamie licked his lips when he realized the young advisor was still half hard). The rest of his outfit, his regular suit and shirt, laid in tatters across the floor, so he hadn’t had time to fetch a new one. All he knew was that the staff somehow had to break his only rule and there was a Scotsman coming. He wouldn’t have been worried if they’d been paid off. Ollie would have been flattered more than anything, but it had sounded like whoever was at the door had muscled their way into booking private time with him. He fixed his blindfold, straightened his back, put his hands at his sides, and asked, affecting his practiced professional smile, “How can I please you this evening, sir?”
Jamie didn’t respond, not wanting to reveal the surprise quite yet. He quietly closed the door.
Ollie waited a beat before speaking again. “Sorry I couldn’t get ready. It was rather sudd—ahh!” The Scotsman had stridden silently toward the other man, reaching for his dick.
Jamie pulled Ollie toward him by the supple flesh. He began his exploration with Ollie’s neck. Jamie alternated between lips, tongue, and teeth, smelling the faintest hint of aftershave. There were already marks there, which only made it hotter for him. Malcolm was the only other man he’d been with, so the lack of wrinkles felt almost feminine. Yet there was no mistaking the square jaw and the even shave of his stubble. Jamie continued down his shoulders, sinking his teeth into the smooth flesh. Ollie gave something between a moan and a whimper. He shifted himself forward, offering the appendage for better access, which elicited a clipped, breathy laugh from Jamie. He’d clearly been roughed up enough for the night, yet he wanted more?
He smoothed his hands along Ollie’s lanky, slim frame. His ribs were jutting out just a bit, and he shivered when Jamie’s fingers brushed down his sides. He pulled Ollie towards his own chest, but the feeling of that creamy pale skin against his dress shirt made him crave naked contact.
Jamie pulled on his tie; the swish of fabric was all too familiar of a sound to Ollie, and he gave an audible gulp, fearing (hoping for, really) the worst of his be-suited client. Jamie considered the material in his hand for a second: a flushed red which matched the hue of the younger man’s face. He assumed there was probably already rope or whatever in the room somewhere, but there was something to be said for resourcefulness.
Jamie pushed lightly, enough to indicate for Ollie to get on the bed behind him. Ollie laid himself obediently at the center of the decadent king-sized bed, only giving a slight wince to indicate the marks on his back. Jamie kicked off his shoes before crawling onto the bed and over the younger man’s body. He looped the fabric around Ollie’s already bruised wrists and through the conveniently placed hole on the headboard.
“Nothing like makeshift bondage,” Ollie quipped. Jamie laughed lowly again. He secured the tie and patted Ollie’s face.
At that single word, the color drained from his face and Ollie began pulling at his bonds.
“It’s fucking—I fucking knew it!” He exclaimed. “I swear to Christ, I knew it would be fucking Jamie here to fucking eviscerate me or some shit.” God, he hoped this was a dream. Maybe the rough treatment from his last client had put him in enough of a post-orgasmic gaze to knock him out. The last man who’d come in had big, strong hands that ripped his clothes from him and squeezed his wrists to the point of pain. It had been everything Ollie wanted: treated like shit, limbs contorted every which way, and the guy had brought his own flogger to decorate his back. He’d come just from getting fucked like a ragdoll. There was nothing he loved more that relinquishing control to a stronger, more powerful figure. But Jamie, fuck, someone who had actual power over Ollie? It was scarier to think about actually enjoying himself with him than to hate the experience.
“Relax, Poxbridge,” Jamie replied, unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m here for the same reason all the other queers are.” He undid his flies and squeezed the base of his cock. “To have my way with the slut boy wonder.”
Ollie groaned, rolling his eyes under the blindfold. Truth be told, he could always hit the panic button behind the headboard (convenience takes many forms), but he was already hard again so it didn’t seem worth it. Besides, now that he knew Jamie was the one they let in, he assumed the Scot had invoked Malcolm’s name to do it. And that was a name that could scare every last person here. Oh, this wasn’t a dream. This was a fucking nightmare.
“I’m not a slut for just anybody, you know,” Ollie grumbled. “I draw the line at members of the Caledonian Mafia.” But that just made Jamie laugh, again.
“There’s pictures, you know,” Jamie said as he continued to stroke himself lightly. “I don’t think ‘kinky’ covers it. More like, downright filthy.” Ollie blushed furiously, though his shame was a front for his twisted sense of pride. “Yeah, you could make some serious money off shit like that.”
“Blackmailing me only incriminates the blackmailer,” he replied automatically. That was Ollie’s main defense against the possibility of blackmail. He couldn't see if people take pictures, but he knew it could happen. If they wanted it for their own records, that was fine by him. To be honest, it only made him harder to think about being someone’s future wank material.
“Oh, I wasn’t even thinking about that, but now that you mention it…” Jamie gave a crooked smile. “I wonder how Malcolm would react to seeing you here, eh?”
“No! Not here, not M—mmmmphfff,” Ollie tried to object, but Jamie took the opportunity to stick his cock in his open mouth. It was thick, full of foreskin, but far from an unfamiliar taste. Ollie slid easily into a smooth rhythm. He licked and sucked as much as he can, pushing back the foreskin with his lips. Jamie pulled out a little, teasing him with his cockhead. Ollie had barely tasted the tip and he was already begging for it. Like a dog being kept from his bowl, he reached with his mouth as Jamie pulled back, chuckling. He was desperate, but he couldn’t reach with his bound arms.
“You really are a cock slut. Like, actually a slut for any cock that passes you by,” Jamie said with a hint of wonder. Only a moment ago, Ollie had been freaking out at his mere presence, and now he was treating his dick as water for a dying man. He was whining and moaning just to get a taste of Jamie. “I want to hear you beg for it. Can you do that?”
“Please,” he responds without question. “Please, I want your cock in my mouth. I-I need it in my mouth, please. I’ll make it good for you.” Ollie opened his mouth as wide as he can, nearly unhinging his jaw, folding his lips over his teeth. Jamie can’t possibly resist, and thrusts himself into the welcoming heat.
Ollie felt the head bump the back of his throat, but tamped down his gag reflex. Jamie pulled back so the younger man could suck and lick at the shaft. It was nothing like Malcolm’s brutally efficient blowjobs; Ollie was taking his time, even taking pleasure in it. He swirled his tongue around the head, eliciting a moan and another erratic thrust.
There was something about sucking cock that Ollie genuinely enjoyed. Every new taste of flesh in his mouth was a gift to him, a treat. That was why begging for it came so easily to him. It was a never a show; he really wanted that dick in his mouth.
Jamie wouldn’t last much longer under Ollie’s ministrations, and he was fucking that wanton mouth in a staccato rhythm. Ollie’s back burned as he was continuously pushed into the mattress, but it only spurred on his own erection. He was moaning around Jamie’s cock like the whore he purported to be. Of course, a proper whore actually takes money, Jamie thought with a wicked grin. Ollie was something else, something worse, something better. Jamie reached around to pull at the other man’s dick, and his moans became even louder, sending pulsating vibrations through his own cock.
It was too much. Jamie cried out from the overwhelming sensation. “F-fuck, I’m gonna—” But Jamie couldn’t finish his sentence, and shouted as he came hard down Ollie’s throat. He did his best to swallow it in one gulp, but was coughing as Jamie pulled out. “Tha’s a boy,” he slurred, patting his cheeks with his spent cock. A stray bit of come leaked out onto Ollie’s face, and Jamie instantly decided he needed his own souvenir.
He fished around in his trousers for his mobile. Ollie was breathing hard, lips cherry red and cheeks covered in spittle. Jamie quickly snapped a picture and tossed his phone back with the rest of his clothes.
“P-please…” Ollie panted out. Jamie raised an eyebrow . “If…if you wouldn’t…mind…?” He nudged his head, indicating with his chin to turn around. Jamie slowly looked back and noticed the still leaking cock.
“Oh, that, yeah. Right,” Jamie said nonchalantly. Ollie was afraid for a moment that the other man would refuse to reciprocate. It was never a requirement for any of his clients of course, though it never hurt to ask.
“I’m nothin’ if not courteous, eh?” Jamie turned around and put his hand around Ollie’s dick. The angle was a little awkward, but he managed to get in a few strokes, before the younger man was letting out a high pitched moan as he came all over his chest and Jamie’s hand.
Instead of shaking it dry like he usually would, Jamie scooped up the rest of the come with fingers and turned back around. Without warning, he easily pried the dazed Ollie’s mouth open with his clean hand and stuck his come-stained fingers in. The apparent whore instinctively began to suck. It seemed like Ollie was quite familiar with the taste of his own semen. “Filthy, dirty fucking mouth,” Jamie mused. Ollie nodded in agreement.
Ollie was barely lucid at this point. Thick fingers were pulled out of his mouth with a lewd pop and wiped on his face. His mouth was agape and he was still breathing hard. Anyone could have touched him at that point and he would have come like that. He’d still been pretty high on endorphins from the last session, and now that he’d come, Ollie was about ready to conk out. Under the blindfold, he could barely keep his eyes open at this point.
Jamie smiled his crooked half smile. “Baby needs his rest, eh?” He began undoing the knots on his tie; Ollie wanted to say something, but his mind was blank. Once his hands were free, they slipped down from the headboard and lay limp at his sides. It was then that Jamie noticed the bruising. “Skin like fucking paper,” he mumbled as he ran his fingers over those wrists. The younger man twitched at the contact.
Ollie tried to reply verbally but his words were jumbled and came out like nonsense. Jamie didn’t realize he hadn’t tied the younger man up for nearly long or tight enough to leave that shade of purple. Ollie wanted to say something about the patron before him in order to diminish the Scotsman’s role, but he only managed more garbled words and a half-hearted point.
“Save your strength for the next guy, Poxbridge.” Jamie leaned over and mashed his hairy chest with Ollie’s clean, waxed one. It wasn’t so much hairy as it was sparsely covered with a big furry patch in the middle; enough for Ollie to feel it scratch on his smooth skin. Plus, Jamie’s weight was putting pressure on his back again, causing pathetic cries from the other man. Not necessarily pain or pleasure, just a reaction to the sensation.
Jamie dove at Ollie’s neck again, looking to leave a mark this time. He’d seen the younger man pull his collar up on several occasions at work, and now he couldn’t wait to peel it back tomorrow and observe his good work. Jamie nipped and sucked, harder than before, as Ollie whimpered in response.
Once he was satisfied, Jamie sat up, straddling Ollie. He put his hand on the younger man’s neck, feeling out the potential bruises. Ollie winced , but it really wasn’t anything too bad. Just some hickeys. At this point, he just wanted to knock out, but Jamie’s weight was putting too much pressure on his back to be comfortable. Unfortunately, Jamie caught the discomfort on Ollie’s face and puts back on his own shirt as slowly as possible. The man below him groaned until he was done buttoning and slipped off the bed to finish re-dressing himself.
Ollie breathed a sigh of relief, and sleep began to overtake him. Jamie grabbed his tie off of the bed, but not before giving a smack to the younger man’s softening, limp dick. His whole body jerked and he lets out a small “Ah!” and the other man laughed again.
“I’ll text you, love,” Jamie said with a wink. Ollie was too tired to care what that meant, though it sounded ominous. Then again, most anything Jamie said was somewhat menacing. As he left, Ollie finally passed out.
When he woke up, Ollie felt hands all over him. Two, no, three pairs, at the very least. He wasn’t too surprised that they were sent in while he was unconscious; there were too many cheapskates waiting to have their time with him.
How had he fallen asleep in the first place? He remembered a familiar Scottish accent but… No, it couldn’t have been him. It was the other man. The one with the flogger. Ollie figured he must’ve passed out from the pain. It hadn’t been that bad, but how else could he explain that…dream? The one with Jamie?
He opened his eyes to the darkness, stirring. Ollie could feel the men’s smiles on him even if he couldn’t see them. The hands, caressing and nervous at first, were suddenly tugging and greedy. He whimpered as he felt himself turned over. He automatically lifted his ass in the air. There was a wave of appreciative murmurs all around.
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Malcolm and Jamie take advantage of Ollie, who honestly doesn't seem to mind.
Sorry for the long wait, guys. So I actually wrote this a while back, like actually around the time I had finished and posted the last chapter, but I got a new computer and the old one wasn't working properly. Well, my new computer started to be shit so I tried to get the old one to work, and now it does (although now I had a new, NEW computer). So then I remembered that I still had this third chapter on it and just cut off a little bit at the end to make it a coherent chapter, and save it for the next one. This fandom is so small I don't know if I'll have the motivation to even finish this, but your comments and kudos will go a long way <3
Also this is un-beta'd because my other beta kind of left the internet and I figured I want to get this up as soon as possible anyway.
It’s nearly 2:00 am when Jamie gets back to Malcolm’s flat. He’d stormed out at around 11:00 pm and headed straight for The Aristocrats. He’d been planning to go back to his own place after wandering around for two hours, but then he checked his phone to find a string of worried and apologetic texts. Jamie knocks on the door and Malcolm is there in an instant.
“Where the fuck have you been?” He exclaimed, but keeping his voice down so as not to wake the neighbors. He was still in his suit and his hair looks like he’d pulled at it quite a few times. “I texted you half a dozen times before you fucking responded, now get in here.” Malcolm leads him to the kitchen where he’s already got a pot of tea brewing. He’s had five cups in the past two hours and he’s kept re-heating the kettle in wait for his lover.
“I’m…I’m sorry Malc,” Jamie said, genuinely apologetic. “I figured I should go back to my own flat, after, well, you know…what you said about the papers talking about…us.” Malcolm looks away. He’s been burying that story for months, the one about the PM’s Enforcer and his Senior Press Officer being seen together at the same flat.
“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I mean, I’m not changing my mind, but I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” Jamie bit his lip. It was an apology, but not an apology and it made Jamie wonder if he should have come back at all. As if he could read his mind, Malcolm adds, “Stay tonight, though. Please.” He reached out to put a hand on the other man’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.
Jamie looks at his shoulder, then looks at the kettle. Just not at Malcolm. He thinks about what he’d done tonight; what he has planned for tomorrow. Malcolm will figure it out, eventually. He always does.
“Sure.” They kissed, light and chaste, and headed upstairs.
“Er, hi, yes, I think Malcolm is expecting me…?” A nervous Ollie asked Sam once he’d reached Malcolm’s office. The door was closed and the secretary seemed to be standing guard.
“Yes, Malcolm and Jamie are both waiting for you,” she responded with a knowing smile. She obviously didn’t know the extent of what was going on, but Sam knew how much both men delighted in yelling at DoSAC’s special advisor. It was quite funny, in a way, at least if you weren’t the one who was the subject of Malcolm’s, and to a lesser extent Jamie’s, wrath. “Go on in.” Ollie nods awkwardly, and opens the door.
He finds Malcolm perched on his desk, with Jamie off to the side looking intently at his mobile (he was rifling through the pictures on his mobile, no doubt looking for inspiration). He puts down his bag with sweaty fingers. “So, erm, was there something, uh, specific—”
“Cut the chit-chat and shut the door. You know why you’re here. Jamie told me everything,” Malcolm interjected before the younger man could make his half-hearted attempt to pretend this was a normal meeting. Ollie closed the door behind him and gave an audible gulp. “You know, they sound-proofed this office about a week ago. Too many noise complaints.”
“Too many scared ministers, more like,” Jamie scoffs. Malcolm gives him a look, but he doesn’t respond, still looking at his mobile. Ollie was grateful not to have to look at Jamie, for now, though Jamie was observing him through his peripheral vision.
“Anyway, it means I can do what I like and no one’s gonna hear. Right, Jamie?” He turns to the other Scotsman, who finally puts his phone away, and looks back at Malcolm with a lascivious grin.
“Like how we fucked over your desk on Tuesday, eh?”
“I fucked you over the desk,” Malcolm corrected him, but Jamie only shrugged.
Meanwhile, Ollie was anxiously looking back and forth between the two men. He was still too scared to say anything. As for the confirmation of Malcolm and Jamie’s sexual relationship, Ollie had heard the rumors, but he was never too sure, and there was no way in hell he would ever have asked the scariest people he knows. But now he was wondering what ‘everything’ meant. What were the boundaries of their relationship? Was it serious? Did Ollie play party to some kind of breach of trust between them? Again, these were questions he was too frightened to even consider asking.
“How do I fit—”
“So Jamie sent you those photos, right?” Ollie shut his mouth and nods, not bothering to correct him that it was one photo. “Unless you do what we say for the next…” Malcolm looks at his watch “Say, three hours, we’re leaking all of them to the Mail. Got it?” Ollie bit his lip, thinking over the proposal. “You understand, fuckwit?” He looked away and scratches his neck.
“You don’t have to blackmail me, Malcolm,” Ollie blurted out before the other man could shout anymore abuse. “I…I’m not exactly shy about—well, ‘giving it up,’ so to speak. And you’re, um…” he blushes, still not looking at the man in question. “You’re not too bad looking. I mean, I just…I just didn’t want you finding me there.”
Malcolm raises his eyebrows at this new revelation. He looks at Jamie, who just shrugs again. “I told you we didn’t need to blackmail him, cunt. Look at him,” he points to the blushing, sweating, Ollie. “He’s just a fucking powerslut. Right, Ollie? Come on, look at me.”
He does look up this time, but only because Malcolm asked. “Y-yeah, I…I guess so,” Ollie responds. He smooths his hair back, trying to regain his composure. He’s been doing this for years now, but somehow with Malcolm, Malcolm and Jamie, two men who already exploited him on a regular basis; it was a whole new monster. He remembered that time in the bathroom when he tried to tell Malcolm he was bullying Ollie. What he’d really meant was, ‘You’re turning me on and I can’t deal with that right now.’
“So I’m right to assume you’ll do anything we say?” Malcolm asked with a wicked glint in his eye.
“Y…yeah.” Ollie let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He was biting his lip, as he mentally prepared himself for what he was about to say. “I’m all yours.” The other man grinned, showing his teeth.
“Take off your clothes,” was his first command. But before Ollie can pull off his tie, Malcolm puts a hand up. “Slowly. Jamie and I want a show, right?”
“Give us a good show, yeah.” Somehow, Jamie looked even more dangerous than Malcolm, with his own toothy smile. Perhaps it was because Ollie had already encountered him in a sexual context. Or maybe the Pitbull was just more physically intimidating than the skinny, aging Malcolm.
Ollie undoes the knot on his tie, and slipped it off. He rolled his neck around with airy grunts, before he pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it on a chair. Then he started working on the buttons off his shirt. His mouth opened just enough lick his lips with that devilish tongue. He leaned forward as he revealed more skin. Ollie looked from Malcom to Jamie, who were both quite preoccupied with his body. He gave a small smile as he finishes unbuttoning his shirt. He let the garment fall off his shoulders. The air was cold in Malcolm’s office, so he barely had to rub his nipples to get them hard.
Ollie’s pale, youthful flesh was mostly unblemished, save for some fading bruises at his sides and a few on his stomach. He kept very good care of his skin to please clients, though it was impossible to hide everything. But in this case, it seemed like Malcolm was quite fixated on those bruises. The younger man noticed him staring and it made him blush.
“Give us a turn,” Jamie said knowingly. He winked at Ollie, who turned around obediently. Jamie hadn’t been sure when he’d had the young advisor the night before, but sure enough, Ollie’s back was littered with red, splotchy lines. Jamie looked over at Malcolm, who was absolutely transfixed, as Ollie arched forward to give a better view.
“Fucking beautiful,” Malcolm said in a low, raspy tone. He strode toward the younger man to feel those lines himself. Ollie whimpered and bit his lip, trying to contain his moans. “Sound-proofing, remember?”
He nodded as Malcolm fingers glided across his back. This time, he let out his breathy moans, both at the memory of receiving the blows and Malcolm’s undeniable presence. Without warning, he pulled himself fully against Ollie’s back. Malcolm started grinding his half hard cock against his backside, which elicited more moans and whimpers.
With deft hands, Malcolm began undoing Ollie’s flies and found a fully formed erection. “You really do give it up for anyone. Fucking slut.”
“Always want it. Want it so bad,” Ollie whimpered in response. He pushed back against Malcolm’s cock, and rubbed it up and down with his arse.
“The pain or the fucking?” Malcolm grunted. He squeezed Ollie’s cock hard. Despite appearances, he still had a decent amount of strength.
“Both!” Ollie cried desperately. “Please, please, Malcolm, I need you.” But his prayers went unanswered as Malcolm backed off. Before he could turn around, Jamie had taken the opportunity to lunge at his neck.
He’d spotted the hickey as soon as the shirt was gone and it was as if a switch turned off and Jamie’s primal instincts were free. He cupped Ollie’s arse, something he hadn’t had the time to do previously. His butt was two pieces of perfectly rounded flesh, which Jamie squeezed and kneaded without abandon. As he ravaged Ollie’s neck, the younger man was panting and moaning.
Ollie hadn’t remembered Jamie being so violent. His teeth felt sharper as if he was trying to draw blood, and those hands were like clamps. This was the feral Scotsman he’d been expecting, not a bantering John like he’d been last night. What was different this time? As Malcolm moved to stand in front of him, Ollie looked up and it clicked into place: Jamie was trying to impress him.
Malcolm pulled down Ollie’s trousers and pants in one swift movement, eliciting an especially pathetic whimper. He attacked Ollie’s mouth with his own and thrusted his tongue into that wanton mouth. With one hand squeezing the younger man’s thigh, Malcolm uses his other to pull roughly at Ollie’s cock.
There was no mercy or tenderness from either man; only unadulterated lust that made Ollie’s head spin and his face hot. He couldn’t even keep his eyes opened. Malcolm’s hands were all over his body, mapping it out with a combination of light scratches and hard caresses.
Ollie screamed as Jamie finally broke the skin on his neck. It didn’t hurt as much as it surprised him. A small trickle of blood ran down his neck and into his collar bone. Malcolm, the bastard that he was, fucking laughed.
“He’s a wild one, isn’t he?” Malcolm said, as he looked at Jamie over Ollie’s shoulder. As if to prove the point, the other man only grunted in response. “Not much for talking during sex. He likes using his body.”
On cue, Jamie grabbed the younger man’s hips and started grinding wildy with his clothed cock. He was rubbing hard and fast against Ollie’s arse, and it seemed like his trousers would burst into flames.
“Slow down, Jamie, we’ve got plenty of time.”
“Wanna fuck that arse,” Jamie whined, though he slowed his thrusts.
Not that Ollie really minded, as he made clear with clipped moans. It did, however, shed some light on the dynamics of Malcolm and Jamie’s relationship. The former, it would seem, exercised some amount of control over the latter. The ‘leash’ applied both in and out of the workplace. Ollie would have laughed if he wasn’t so over-stimulated. Of course Malcolm was the one in charge in the bedroom. He was such a meticulous control freak in everything else that it was perfectly logically to extend that personality trait to the bedroom.
“I know,” Malcolm replied lowly, as if he didn’t want Ollie to hear. He reached out to touch Jamie’s waist, and rubbed it in a light, re-assuring gesture. “But we’ve still got a bit of foreplay.” Jamie nodded in understanding, and the other man returned his attention to Ollie.
“Now, tell me, foetus boy. What area is most sensitive for you?” Ollie rubs the spot on his neck where Jamie bit down and contemplated the question. “Other than your cock,” Malcolm added. He jerked his head downward to indicate the red and leaking dick.
Ollie thinks about his body, where it’s been touched and when. Every part of him can be sensitive when it was stroked the right way.
“Oi,” a disgruntled Malcolm interrupts the younger man’s thoughts. He backhanded Ollie across the face, and his glasses went flying into a corner of the room. “Answering the fucking question, twatface.”
“My nipples,” he replies automatically. Ollie ghosted his fingertip across the mark Malcolm’s left on his face, cherished the redness. He was too aroused to have bothered asking if he can fetch his glasses. “My nipples, they’re the most sensitive.”
“Mm, that’s an easy one,” Malcolm said. He closes back into Ollie’s space (which was still half occupied by Jamie and his erratic thrusting) so he could brush his fingers across those hardened, sensitive nipples. Ollie moans in response, eager to satisfy whatever the other man wanted. He then tweaked them roughly, garnering louder moans. Malcolm squeezed both nubs as hard as he could, and this time Ollie really screamed.
“Too bad the nipple clamps are at home,” Malcolm chuckles. Jamie, whose head was now perched on Ollie’s shoulder to observe, nodded.
“Office supplies?” Jamie suggested, which caused a clipped moan from Ollie. “Look, he likes it!” Both Scotsmen laughed at his expense and the younger man blushed for the millionth time.
“Haven’t got anything suitable I’m afraid. No paperclips, no bulldog clips.” Malcolm stroked his chin as if he was sizing up an opponent for a chess move instead of pondering how best to torture his victim. He backhands Ollie again, who gave a pathetic whimper. “He could use some roughing up, though.” Malcolm hits him again. “Fucker even likes it.” He punches Ollie’s gut, who recoils forward with a cough. The younger man clutched his stomach.
Jamie suddenly yanked Ollie toward himself. He gave a smack to one buttcheek and the other man lurched forward and gave a short, high-pitched moan. He smacked the other one with the same result. Five alternating smacks, and Ollie felt like he was going to fall. Malcolm was there to pull him up; he grabbed a fistful of black curls as Jamie continued to smack and enjoyed the sounds, not to mention to colorful results.
Ollie tried to look up, but the grip was too strong and he found himself at dick height. Even with Jamie still coloring his arse in red, he felt strongly compelled to open Malcolm’s trousers and suck. He actually tried mouthing at the clothed cock, which honestly surprised Malcolm, who had to pull him away. He mumbled something about an impatient fucking slut. Ollie’s mouth was agape and his eyes were pleading.
“Foreplay’s done,” Malcolm declared. Jamie stopped smacking and was eagerly awaiting permission. “Get the lube.” He doesn’t have to be told twice and leaps over to the desk to rummage through the drawers.
Meanwhile, Malcolm started undoing his flies. “You want a cock in your mouth, don’t you?”
“Need it,” Ollie replied without thinking. He was practically salivating.
Malcolm’s eyes hardened with lust and his lets out a long breath. Slowly, he brings his dick out of his pants. He wasn’t as thick as Jamie, but he was much longer. He pulled back his foreskin and stroked a few times.
“Please…please, let me.” Before Malcolm could say anything, Ollie brought up his hands to hold the base and sunk his mouth on it the rest of the way. He hollowed his cheeks and pulled back up with a lewd moan. He immediately started bobbing his head up and down as if he was in a trance.
“Fucking eager, this one is,” Malcolm said to himself. He threaded his hands through Ollie’s messy curls as a means of keeping control, and slowed the younger man’s fervent pace. After all, he didn’t want to come too quickly.
The fingers dig into Ollie’s scalp and he reaches for his own cock, and stroked vigorously. This was everything he dreamed of with Malcolm. He licks and sucks as much as he can while his head is pulled back and forth. His face felt hot, and the sudden intrusion at his backside made him feel hotter. Ollie squeaked around Malcolm’s cock as Jamie’s lubed finger entered his arse.
“Don’t think he’ll need much prep,” Jamie commented as he works in a second finger, eliciting another high-pitch noise. “Pretty loose back here.”
“Our Ollie is quite the—ah—the cockslut?” Malcolm replied as he continues thrusting at a leisurely pace. He looks down at the man in question “But you—ah—like being that—unh—don’t you?”
Ollie’s face would have been flushed if it wasn’t already so red. He nodded quickly around Malcolm’s cock, as a particularly hard thrust hit the back of his throat. Fingertips grazed his prostate, which caused the younger man to moan around the long cock in his mouth. He pushed back on the fingers; Ollie wanted more, as much as he could get. He can’t help but whine when the fingers are removed.
Jamie snapped on a condom, applied a liberal amount of lube, and pushed into the warm heat. He took no time in setting a brutal pace, which forced Ollie further onto Malcolm’s cock.
There were tears streaming down his face from the pain, and Ollie could barely breathe. As loose as he may be, Jamie’s forceful thrusts made him feel was being split open. But there wasn’t much on his mind apart from the sheer pleasure of being stuffed from both ends. After all, he’d taken more before.
“Let’s switch,” Malcolm grunted. He was getting close; he had to remove his dick from the warm heat, much to Ollie’s disappointment. But Malcolm managed to keep him in check as he was gripping his hair like reins on a horse. “Quick, now, or the cockslut’s gonna start fellating my shoes.”
“Already had that mouth,” Jamie replied without thinking, continuing to thrust erratically. He found himself frozen in place when he realized what he’s said.