Satan's Fury

# 2 #

Justin and Martin rode a small and slightly greasy lift up from the somewhat seedy coffee shop that served as the reception area for the Quoin.

The lift doors opened into another world.

A wide archway gave access to an extended reception area cum foyer and bar. There was a small concierge's desk, and many elegantly comfortable chairs and sofas scattered across the parquet floor, while off to the side a chrome and glass bar appeared, from the range of bottles on display, to serve virtually every drink known to mankind. Justin was to realise later that other intoxicants were on offer there as well.

A distant thump-thump-thump indicated that somewhere in the club was a dance room, but here all was quiet and relaxed.

Lighting was, for the most part, soft and indirect spilling from wall brackets and lamps. But at intervals though the room, overhead spots made patches of startling brightness. As his artist's eye took in the effect, he realised that a number of young men, all clad in attire that was in some way revealing, were drifting round the room, pausing occasionally, as if by accident, in the clear illumination of the spots.

The effect was mesmerising, a changing panorama of delights on offer.

Here, a slender Asian youth wearing a short tight shirt in vivid blue and tight white silk pants that were cut away to leave his deliciously rounded butt cheeks on display. There, a tall, well-muscled Viking whose tight jeans and short denim vest left his lower back, chest and nipples exposed. Over there, a shorter man with skin the colour of polished mahogany who wore a tight red crotchless leotard which outlined every curve and hollow of his body and proudly displayed his cock which was coated only in a soft sheen of golden dusting powder. And there … Justin's breath caught in his throat … there was the hazel-eyed waiter from downstairs.

He wasn't wearing an apron now. He was clad instead in tight black jeans with only the top button of the fly done up, so that it bulged open enticingly, tantalising with what it hinted at, but did not reveal. With these, he wore a black wife beater, cut very low at the neck, so that again the plunge, while not revealing much more than normal, hinted at delights to be explored.

He was tall and slim, with beautiful bones, a long slender neck and legs that went on forever. Justin's eyes, running longingly down that beautiful body came to the feet, and he saw with a stab of astonished lust that they were bare. The sight of them flexing against the polished floor was incredibly erotic; Justin felt his cock swell in unspoken response.

He reluctantly diverted his attention when he and Martin were approached by an older man who smiled at Martin warmly.

"Martin! It is so very good to see you. You haven't visited us in far too long."

Martin returned the smile. "James. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm very well." For just a moment, his face tightened, then he smiled again. "These boys keep me young."

Martin nodded, "May I introduce my nephew, Justin."

Justin had been warned that once inside the club, first names only would be used. If he wished to be addressed as "mister" then he would choose a pseudonym, which would be registered on his file and of course all employees would refer to him by that name. But `Justin' was fine with him.

James took his hand and looked deeply into his eyes for a moment. Justin felt himself flushing, even as his artist's eye for detail took in the pain lines and the slight gauntness of the man's cheeks.

"Justin," James said warmly. "You are very welcome here, my dear. Your uncle has told me a little about you and we have something very special arranged for you."

Justin flushed even more deeply, his heart pounding. Half of him hoped that the hazel-eyed man was part of the `something special'; part of him was terrified at the thought of his gawky ignorance being exposed to someone so beautiful and self assured.

But then James gestured and a dark haired, dark eyed man with a friendly smile joined them.

"Justin, this is Michael. Michael is one of our most experienced and skillful staff members. If you have no objections, he'd be happy to be of service to you."

Justin blushed and stammered. The guy was okay - had a nice body, he supposed, but really, there just wasn't anything even vaguely sexual in Justin's response to him. But the curse of good manners had been ground into him since childhood and he smiled and nodded.

Martin's eyes narrowed. "Justin, are you sure? I told you, this is about your pleasure, everyone will understand …"

"No! It's fine," Justin managed to get out. Probably just as well, he told himself. That other guy looked really hot, and he didn't think he was exactly ready for someone so …

"You wouldn't prefer to be with … um …" Martin gestured to where the hazel-eyed man had been approached by someone else. Justin caught a glimpse of him as he stood flirting, casting his eyes down, and looking up into his potential client's with a glint of a smile from under his lashes.

"No! No! Really …"

"Martin, I don't think …"

Justin's voice and James' collided. They both fell silent.

At a subtle gesture from James, Michael took Justin's hand.

"Perhaps you'd like to come with me … we have a room already set up for you. And drinks ready. You like dry martinis, I understand."

"Um, yes. That's right."

Justin let himself be led away, refusing to look any more towards the object of his fascination. Martin watched him go with a troubled frown between his eyes.

James coughed gently.

"Martin, I'm sorry. I understand that he finds Brian attractive. Indeed there are few who don't. But it really would not be suitable. Not suitable at all."

Martin found himself frowning even more at the words, they sounded all too much like what his brother might say.

"Brian's quite … new," James went on in explanation. "His six month trial period with us is just coming to an end. We're not entirely sure that we'll be renewing his contract."

Martin raised an eyebrow. The young man was attractive in the extreme, he found it hard to believe that the Quoin would consider not keeping him on without very good reason.

"Oh, don't misunderstand me. He's very good at what he does, and very popular with the clients. But there are other factors …"

James let his voice trail off with a sigh as he considered those other factors.

First and foremost there was the fact that Brian absolutely refused to bottom - for anyone. Which had caused a few difficulties in the very early days, although now all their regular clients understood and accepted that that particular service was not on offer. Not from Brian, at any rate.

Another major problem was Brian's uncertain temper. There had never been an incident with a client, his contract would have been terminated immediately if there had. But on at least two occasions, and James and his partner suspected there were more, he'd had to be pulled off one or other of his fellow employees.

He was a bit of a rough diamond, was Brian, who'd seemingly spent most of his adolescence on the streets, and was more than capable of taking care of himself in a fight. And although he seemed able to turn his cheek to most things certain comments triggered temper outbursts that, coupled with the 666 tattoo on his hipbone, had earned him the nickname among the other employees of `Satan's Fury'. Then, too, he fought dirty. One man had had to be excused duty at the Quoin for over a week after Brian had followed up a knee to the groin, with a vicious squeeze to the guy's nuts.

Only the fact that the attack had been triggered by a remark the man had made about Brian's sister had led James and his partner to continue to employ Brian, albeit somewhat anxiously. That, of course, and his undoubted popularity that had increased house profits every night he had worked since his first week.

Which memory led James to sigh again over the other major problem with Brian's continued employment. Or, for that matter, with the prospect of dismissing him. The problem that was currently sleeping in a little backroom downstairs, near the kitchen, carefully guarded by Marjorie.

Brian's four year old sister, Claire.

Or, as she was currently insisting on being called at the moment, Faith; apparently after a character in an American television programme about vampires that by the sounds of it she shouldn't even be watching.

James sighed again.

"He can't be that bad, surely," Martin's voice broke in on his thoughts.

James smiled. "No, he isn't. He's very good, and developing nicely. I'm sure we'll work out a way …"

He tried to keep his mind away from what on earth they were all going to do when Faith had to start school in September.

"But he's still far too inexperienced himself to prove a reliable partner for Justin for his first time," he said firmly. "Especially if you are right and that beautiful young nephew of yours has had a bad experience or two. Michael will know just how to handle any little difficulties that might arise."

Martin nodded. That could well be the case. The last thing he wanted was for Justin to have a bad experience here. He'd just have to trust James' choice and his experience, and hope that Justin really was alright with it.

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