Back when I agreed to the gigantic list of rules and regulations that bound Silas and me together as Benefactor and Aspirant, I’d picked Tuesdays and Saturdays. The latter mostly to be spiteful and deprive Silas of the ability to include me in whatever wild-as-fuck things rich kink guys got up to on weekends, and the former because any day was as good as the other.
We’d already broken that rule when Silas had kept me at his suite at the Devonshire one Monday night, and now we’d be breaking it twice. Tuesday for grooming—god, what a word!—and then we’d still be away on Saturday.
Not that I really cared about the days off. Personal day. It didn’t click in my head, though I was sure the rule violation was eating Silas alive.
Sure, it was nice not to be on call or be expected to cook some elaborate—by my standards, at least—meal for lunch, but personal time suggested that I had hobbies and interests and the ability to exist outside my current situation.
It suggested that I had things to focus on apart from Silas, his cock and my own caged need.
As loath as I was to admit it, I spent every fucking hour thinking about my Benefactor, so having personal time was simply a reminder that he wasn’t going to pop up out of nowhere, throw me to the floor and fuck me senseless.
Hell, we were a month into this crazy contact and Silas still hadn’t fucked me. In fact, until two days ago, he’d only ever jerked himself off over me, so when Silas had tossed me to the kitchen floor and all but skull-fucked me to stop my incessant questions on Friday, something in my brain had exploded.
I’d been obsessed with his cock ever since.
It didn’t help that I’d spent the entire afternoon on my knees between Silas’s thighs, learning the exact pressure he liked, the rhythm that made his breath catch, and the angle that earned me a hand fisted in my hair that went straight to my cock. And died there, trapped as I was. But that wasn’t the point.
I licked my lips. The taste of him was long gone, but my body remembered the good stuff like the weight of him on my tongue or how I had to stretch my jaw wide to accommodate him. It wasn’t often I could say I was obsessed with having some dude’s dick in my mouth, but here we were, and the way Silas watched me with his unreadable eyes while I worked to prove my value was now officially burned into my memory.
I was getting better at the ‘being useful’ part, at least. I’d been pretty bad at it to start with, but I got the feeling he liked the challenge and if I was being honest with myself, then I enjoyed it too. Thinking differently and pushing myself in ways I never would have before was fun, and the thrill of never knowing what came next kept me wanting more.
The thought came with a flicker of pride I didn’t want to examine too closely. But it was true. I’d gotten better at reading the subtle shifts in his posture and the tension in his muscles, and there was a whole story behind the way Silas’s eyes would narrow ever so slightly as he looked at me and undid his belt.
Moreover, I’d gotten hella better at ignoring my own screaming need while focusing entirely on his, because that was the job. That was what I’d signed up for and what I was being compensated for.
I opened a new tab and checked my bank account, just to ground myself in reality. The numbers there still didn’t look real. That was four digits in front of the decimal point. Usually there was only two low numbers there, or sometimes just one. I’d only gotten one full monthly payment from Silas so far, but I already had more money than I’d ever made working three jobs at once.
It wasn’t enough to know I’d never go hungry again or never be forced to sleep on a friend’s couch or ration meals or wonder if I’d get evicted before I scraped together rent, but it was a considerable step in the right direction.
And that was the trade. Security for autonomy. Comfort for control. I did what Silas wanted, how he wanted it, and I got paid for my efforts.
It was the oldest profession in the world, and tomorrow I’d get promoted to the next rank.
