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Nov. 29th, 2020 05:24 pmmaninchargeCorrigan Molloy isn't usually the type to go out cruising. He doesn't need to, not in his line of work. No, not the official, above-the-table work he puts on resumes and business cards and LinkedIn and all that -- real estate, especially on the East Coast, is not a very reliable way to meet people. It's been lucrative, especially in the wake of several economic collapses, especially with his uncanny ability to predict the fluctuations in trends and capitalize on them. The long and short of it is that Corrigan doesn't have to worry about money, and hasn't had to for a long time.
Generally, due to the under-the-table side of his work, he doesn't have to worry about companionship either. It's been almost ten years since an acquaintance of his (Solstice, who would indignantly declare herself his "best friend", which is ludicrous) had partnered with him on the Hotel. An amorphous, vague name for what was now one of the most reputable sex work locations in the city. She'd handled the marketing, the licenses and the testing and the recruiting, he'd handled the location -- a newly-purchased six-story hotel, modest and unassuming on the outside, redone in lush aristocracy on the inside -- and the funding. It had paid off tenfold in the past decade, himself and Solly taking cuts of the earnings and insuring that the workers were protected, regularly tested and able to pick and choose clients. The world's oldest profession, in the digital era.
As the manager and owner of the Hotel, Corrigan wasn't necessarily needed to work -- he easily could've cloistered himself in his penthouse suite, maintaining his properties in Massachusetts or Vermont or overseas and never even acknowledged what was going on in the floors below. But every so often there was a potential client who reached out, via the discreet, hard-to-find website, or through word of mouth, who wanted something a little more...intense than the straightforward, vanilla experience. And, once Solstice had screened them vigorously to insure that no, they weren't wanting something akin to that godawful 50 shades of whatever book, Corrigan was occasionally inclined to step up, to shift into the Dom persona he'd lived almost full-time in when he was much younger, when kink in general -- much less between men -- was a rarity, hidden in secret clubs and private parties. Back in those days, he'd even had a series of fulltime submissives -- one of whom he was still Facebook friends with, actually -- though none had lasted more than a couple months.
You're so intense, Corry, had always been their ultimate, apologetic explanation for wanting to end the relationship. Not in a bad way, just...it's not what I'm looking for permanently. And of course, he'd always understood, knowing that his personality -- bossy, domineering, able to fill a room with his presence, but intensely focused, doting and attentive on whoever he was with -- could be a lot. Too much, maybe, for any one person. Maybe it was better to keep things sex-only.
And so: there he was, lingering outside a nightclub, pulsing with energy and neon and music, hands in his pockets, debating whether to go inside. None of his doubts showed on his face, though, long accustomed to hiding his emotions under a brooding, impassive mask. It was a gay club, which was technically not exactly what he was -- "pansexual, but male-leaning", Solstice had helpfully deemed him, which had gotten a baffled look as Corrigan thought immediately of cookware -- but it definitely fit what he was looking for. His last four customers, over the past six or so months, had all been women. That damn 50 Shades book was an insidious piece of shit.
Corrigan huffs out a thoughtful, grumbling sound, stepping around to the corner by the club and pulling out his cigarettes. He'd smoke a little, debate if he actually wanted to go inside and go through the song and dance (literally) of finding someone to go home with. Maybe he'd just give it up, pour himself inside a taxi and go home. Catch up on 90-Day Fiance or something.
Generally, due to the under-the-table side of his work, he doesn't have to worry about companionship either. It's been almost ten years since an acquaintance of his (Solstice, who would indignantly declare herself his "best friend", which is ludicrous) had partnered with him on the Hotel. An amorphous, vague name for what was now one of the most reputable sex work locations in the city. She'd handled the marketing, the licenses and the testing and the recruiting, he'd handled the location -- a newly-purchased six-story hotel, modest and unassuming on the outside, redone in lush aristocracy on the inside -- and the funding. It had paid off tenfold in the past decade, himself and Solly taking cuts of the earnings and insuring that the workers were protected, regularly tested and able to pick and choose clients. The world's oldest profession, in the digital era.
As the manager and owner of the Hotel, Corrigan wasn't necessarily needed to work -- he easily could've cloistered himself in his penthouse suite, maintaining his properties in Massachusetts or Vermont or overseas and never even acknowledged what was going on in the floors below. But every so often there was a potential client who reached out, via the discreet, hard-to-find website, or through word of mouth, who wanted something a little more...intense than the straightforward, vanilla experience. And, once Solstice had screened them vigorously to insure that no, they weren't wanting something akin to that godawful 50 shades of whatever book, Corrigan was occasionally inclined to step up, to shift into the Dom persona he'd lived almost full-time in when he was much younger, when kink in general -- much less between men -- was a rarity, hidden in secret clubs and private parties. Back in those days, he'd even had a series of fulltime submissives -- one of whom he was still Facebook friends with, actually -- though none had lasted more than a couple months.
You're so intense, Corry, had always been their ultimate, apologetic explanation for wanting to end the relationship. Not in a bad way, just...it's not what I'm looking for permanently. And of course, he'd always understood, knowing that his personality -- bossy, domineering, able to fill a room with his presence, but intensely focused, doting and attentive on whoever he was with -- could be a lot. Too much, maybe, for any one person. Maybe it was better to keep things sex-only.
And so: there he was, lingering outside a nightclub, pulsing with energy and neon and music, hands in his pockets, debating whether to go inside. None of his doubts showed on his face, though, long accustomed to hiding his emotions under a brooding, impassive mask. It was a gay club, which was technically not exactly what he was -- "pansexual, but male-leaning", Solstice had helpfully deemed him, which had gotten a baffled look as Corrigan thought immediately of cookware -- but it definitely fit what he was looking for. His last four customers, over the past six or so months, had all been women. That damn 50 Shades book was an insidious piece of shit.
Corrigan huffs out a thoughtful, grumbling sound, stepping around to the corner by the club and pulling out his cigarettes. He'd smoke a little, debate if he actually wanted to go inside and go through the song and dance (literally) of finding someone to go home with. Maybe he'd just give it up, pour himself inside a taxi and go home. Catch up on 90-Day Fiance or something.
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Date: 2020-12-09 04:36 am (UTC)The belt gets dropped into the tangle of clothes on the floor and Corrigan crosses the space between them in mere steps, reaching out to slide his hands over Kurt's sides, up and down his bare back, pulling him close and satisfying his need to see if the younger man is that toned and lean everywhere. The answer is: yes, mostly, except for that ass that's been tormenting Corrigan since the alley, which he grabs at possessively, gripping hard enough to bruise.
"Fuckin' gorgeous," he growls appreciatively against Kurt's neck, following the words with his mouth, tongue and teeth digging into the tender junction of neck and shoulder, leaving the marks he's wanted to all night. "C'mere," he adds, backing towards the massive bed that takes up the majority of the suite, heavy intricately carved headboard and silken sheets and everything. He sits on the edge, pulls Kurt back into his lap, leans up to kiss at his bloodied mouth again, harder this time, much more possessive and hungry.
His thumbs rub over the sharp jut of Kurt's hipbones, reaching easily, and he's struck again by how much smaller the young man is. "Could break you apart," Corrigan murmurs, mostly to himself, then glances up and runs his tongue over his teeth. "Would you want that? Promise it'd feel good. I'd make you scream so pretty for me."
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Date: 2020-12-13 12:53 am (UTC)They won't annoy him in the morning, however. He'll finds himself chasing the marks all over his body, cataloguing every bite, every scratch, every bruise, inspect his naked body in the mirror and marvel at the colors and shapes. He'll find himself disappointed when they start to fade.
But that's all for later. For now, Kurt eagerly follows Corrigan's lead, shuddering all over from the big hands grabbing him possessively, the hot tongue painting his neck with future bruises, the appraising growl from the most attractive man he's ever met. He follows him onto the enormous bed, into his lap, kisses him back with loud, hungry whimpers, so needy when he presses his whole body against the bigger man. The sense of vulnerability that shoots through him when he realizes Corrigan is still mostly clothed is far more intoxicating than anything he's had to drink tonight. It leaves him trembling, white-knuckling the man's half open shirt, thighs clenching over his lap, hips bucking against him out of sheer instinct.
The man's dangerous words, his hungrily murmured promise to break him, to make him scream, makes that heady feeling all the more potent. Being vulnerable, being breakable... Kurt hadn't thought he would relish in that feeling. "Yes, p-please, sir. Please, I-- I want that so bad, want to scream for you, sir, please, split m-me apart."
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Date: 2020-12-13 04:03 am (UTC)It'd be easy to stay like this, Kurt in his lap, perfect and eager and all his, for hours. But Corrigan has other plans, moving to shift the younger man off him and onto the bed, on his back. Another of those long, lingering kisses, a flick of his tongue over the still-raw bite mark, and Corrigan is taking one of Kurt's arms, stretching it above his head to where a leather padded cuff is fastened to the headboard. It's well-made, no expense having been spared, and it buckles snug and unyielding around Kurt's wrist.
Corrigan pauses, kneeling over Kurt and tightening the strap from the cuff to the bed, then giving him an arched eyebrow. "You know what to say if you don't want something, right?" he prompts, with that same nearly-condescending patience. This is only pleasant if the idea of being tied up hits those same buttons in Kurt that Corrigan's been pushing all night, makes him mindless with wanting and excitement.
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Date: 2020-12-14 02:41 am (UTC)It's everything he had no idea he'd always wanted.
His wrist is secured to a padded cuff Kurt hadn't even noticed, luxurious and sturdy, tight around his wrist but somehow still comfortable. He gently tests it, finding there's no forgiving yield - he's properly tied to the bed, well and truly stuck. Being tied up was always something he'd thought he'd hate, something he'd cringe at, a tame and fumbling and embarrassing affair of fuzzy handcuffs and eye masks that would end pretty much as soon as it began. But so far, all Corrigan has done to him has left him wanting more. He wants to see this to the end. The almost-condescension is met with a soft whine this time, Kurt nodding eagerly, impatiently, catching his cut lip between his teeth.
"Yes, sir, I-- I do. I remember, I promise. P-Please, I want this."
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Date: 2020-12-16 01:35 am (UTC)...still. It's the winter time, after all. Long sleeves and high collars are expected this time of year, right? With that in mind, Corrigan leans down, presses his lips over one of the dully reddened marks he's left on Kurt's neck, gently at first, before the sharp nip of his teeth comes, worrying it to flare up into vivid, purplish glory. "I know you do," he murmurs against the mark, cuffing Kurt's other wrist to the bed, then sitting back on his heels to examine his handiwork. "You're desperate for it."
One hand slides down over the patchwork of bite marks and bruises he's left scattered along Kurt's throat and collarbone, over where he can feel the young man's heart racing in his chest. He keeps it there for a moment, eyebrow arched. "I think you'll need to prove to me that you're good enough before I give you any more, though," he says, placidly, with a meaningful glance to where Kurt's hard and leaking, inches from his hand. "I don't bring just anyone home with me. I had a...premonition, let's call it, that you'd be able to prove yourself."
His hand moves down, the slightest bit more. But not enough. "Was I right?"
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Date: 2020-12-22 05:37 pm (UTC)But there's something about Corrigan. His energy, the air about him, the way he touches him, the way he talks to him, the sum of everything he's done to him tonight to bring him to this state of eager submission has Kurt whining for more of that sharp sting of pain right at his throat. He can't see himself, the pink and red and purple marks spreading on his skin like watercolors, but it feels divine.
"O-Oh," he says uselessly, eyes wide and pleading, watching Corrigan kneeling above him, hand resting teasingly on his chest. What does that even mean? Kurt doesn't know how to prove he's good enough, doesn't know what that means, what the other man could possibly be expecting of him. His mind races, hands unconsciously pulling against the chains, legs spreading on instinct.
He may not know what Corrigan means, but he's right: he's desperate for it. "Yes. Yes sir, y-you were right," he says, arching into that hand, willing it further down. "I-- I can prove myself, I will, please sir, I'll prove I'm good enough for you. I'll do anything. Anything you want, sir, t-to show I deserve it."
wow sorry my computer is LOSING IT posting stuff early??? rude??
Date: 2020-12-24 04:43 am (UTC)"I thought so," Corrigan murmurs, moving his hand, squeezing the back of Kurt's thigh, bending his knee towards his chest, spreading him open. His gaze is calmly appraising, unflinching, looking over the young man with idle interest. He doesn't seem the least bit hurried, like he has all the time in the world. "I wonder -- if I, perhaps, told you to prove yourself by...not coming until I said you could..." Corrigan sets Kurt's foot on the bed, moves his other leg to the side, then moves closer, between his spread knees, a predatory look glinting in his eyes.. "...no matter what I did to you. Could you do that?"
i cannot believe ur computer is tryna cockblock us this badly !!!!!!!!!!
Date: 2020-12-24 01:24 pm (UTC)"A-Ah, I-- Yes. Yes, sir, I-I think so," he agrees, letting Corrigan spread his legs apart. He's completely bared now, vulnerable, exposed, so hard and aching for touch, and knowing Corrigan can see every inch of him like this makes Kurt blush bright red all over. The man looks unbelievably hot like this. Powerful, playful, predatory as he inches closer between his legs. Kurt finds he'd do absolutely anything the man told him to do like this.
Even if he's promising way too much. "No matter wh-what you do to me, sir," he sighs, biting his bloodied lip. "I'll prove myself."
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Date: 2020-12-27 06:06 am (UTC)So the older man nods, obligingly, reaching out to tap where he's placed Kurt's feet on the bed, keeping his knees wide. "Good. First test -- don't move these. Or I'll cuff them in place too." It's unclear if this is a threat or a promise. Then, without any further warning, while keeping his dark eyes fixed upwards, Corrigan shifts forward, curls his hand around Kurt's hard cock, angles it towards his mouth and slides his lips around the head, swallowing him down like a clearly-practiced professional.
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Date: 2021-01-02 01:35 am (UTC)His confidence quickly goes watery and weak once Corrigan's hand closes around his cock, once he slips the head right past those attractive flushed lips, once his mouth completely envelops his erection in one smooth, practiced motion. Kurt gasps, the noise melting into a loud moan, arching his back off the mattress while trying to keep the rest of his body still, to little avail. The chains rattle as his arms involuntarily yank on them, like his first instinct is to reach down and caress the man's face as he swallows him down, but he's not allowed it. He gets to lay there and drown in sensation, trying not to buck into Corrigan's hot, wet, perfect mouth.
He almost forgets to keep his feet in place. In lieu of touching him with his hands, Kurt almost wants to wrap his legs around the man's shoulders, wanting to feel him so close. But he catches himself, whimpering, bracing his feet harder, toes curling into the sheets - both out of pleasure and necessity. This is going to be harder than he thought.
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Date: 2021-01-04 01:37 am (UTC)"Good effort," he offers, low and rumbling, voice a little ragged, breathless. "You might succeed yet." Of course, he's just barely getting started, hand moving to rest over Kurt's stomach, holding him down so he can't even rock his hips upwards, not even when Corrigan's mouth wraps around his cock again, just barely, swirling his tongue and humming gently, lazily. Like he could do this all damn day.
Watching to make sure Kurt's watching, Corrigan leans back, pulls his own fingers into his mouth, sucking slowly until they're dripping wet. Then he goes back to sucking Kurt off, while his slippery fingers go sliding up the back of one of Kurt's thighs, slipping easily to stroke over his hole, one at a time, not pressing in yet, but teasing.