Yuri, the Entertainer - Chapter 2 (Patreon)

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

Chapter 2

The truffle pizza was delicious—maybe the best thing I’d ever put in my mouth. The alcohol helped. Tyron asked about my parents, about the shop, about whether I’d actually leave it if this “job” turned into something real. I sat on the answer for a second. I liked the shop. My boss trusted me. I packed boxes and read comics and nobody asked me to be brave. But I also didn’t want to die behind that counter.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’d leave.”

He asked what I’d tell my parents when I had to travel. I didn’t have that answer. Blake’s hand landed on my shoulder, warm, heavy, like he was already solving it.

“We’ll figure that part out,” he said. “Don’t freeze on us now.”

Every time the waiter came near the table the air changed. I still didn’t have his name in my head the way I wanted it. Tall. Athletic. That cut. Under the black uniform I kept seeing the outline of him, and I kept picturing myself on my knees with that outline pointed at my face. First cock I’d ever touched was Blake’s, twenty minutes earlier, under a tablecloth. The second one was already writing itself in my head.

By tiramisu I was drunk and full. Blake patted my stomach like I was a pet.

“Little piggy’s ready for the slaughter.”

I laughed. If I hadn’t been drunk I think I would have been scared. The check came. Tyron didn’t look at it. Black-and-gold card. Blake slid bills to the waiter the way he’d promised—quiet, clean, like a tip that wasn’t a tip. They sat through coffee and limoncello until the restaurant closed and the waiter’s shift died with it.

Outside, San Francisco had gone cold. Blake lit a cigar against a brick wall and the smoke made him look even more like a problem I wanted. I could still feel his cock in my palm. Hot. Hard. The first one. I knew I was going to remember that for the rest of my life.

The waiter came out in a sports jacket and jeans, backpack on one shoulder, younger without the uniform. He looked like he’d been built to stand in a doorway.

“Whole group here?” Tyron asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Nervous. Trying not to show it. Same as me.

The car was a silver Bentley. Worth more than the house I grew up in. Blake opened the back door. Leather. Expensive air. Nothing like the pine trees people hang off rearview mirrors. Blake drove. The waiter folded himself in next to me, head nearly in the roof.

“Buckle up, kids. I’d rather not scrape you off the windshield.”

Jazz on the radio. The city sliding past. My hand started shaking on my knee. Nobody knew where I was. I was in a car with a couple who’d made their money in a way my mother would call a sin, and the waiter might have been in on it. I thought about the shop. I thought about going home. I thought about Blake’s cock in my hand and stayed in the seat.

The waiter noticed. His hand covered mine. Twice the size. Warm. He squeezed once.

“I’ve got you,” he said, almost under the music. “Chill.”

I didn’t pull away. His hand stayed on mine the rest of the ride.

Pacific Heights. Glass and beige stone. Modern shoved up against Victorian. He whistled when the Bentley pulled in.

“We haven’t even been here six months,” Tyron said, unlocking the door. “LA and New York, mostly.”

Inside: pale, expensive, almost nothing on the surfaces.

“We don’t like having a lot of stuff to clean,” Blake said.

They took us into the living room. A long low sofa. A window the size of a wall. The city thrown down the hill like jewelry. Blake told us to sit. Tyron poured water, then something stronger I didn’t catch the name of. I sat on the edge of the cushion like I might have to run. The waiter sat a cushion away. In the light I finally had him without the restaurant in the way. Jacob Elordi if Jacob Elordi worked doubles and had a girlfriend he wasn’t sure about. He told us to call him Walker. Nate Walker. Bianchi used Nate. He liked Walker better.

Blake didn’t sit. He stood in front of the window with the cigar dead in his fingers and looked at both of us like he was already framing a shot.

“I’m going to be straight with you,” he said. “What happened at the table was a test. You passed. Walker passed. The site’s going to want more than a hand under a cloth.”

Tyron came back with a thin folder and a tablet.

“We have an offer,” Tyron said. “Simple. One live. Tonight. Yuri’s first time on camera, first time with a cock in his mouth. Walker’s the cock. Face off Walker—body, legs, dick, that’s it. Yuri we can keep three-quarter if he’s shy, but the mouth work has to be visible. One thousand each on top of what we already discussed. You sign image release, you get paid when the live ends, you can walk after. No one owns you after tonight unless you want them to.”

The number landed in my chest like a second heartbeat.

A thousand dollars. To kneel on a rug in a house in Pacific Heights and do the thing I’d only done in my head.

Walker let out a breath through his nose.

“My girlfriend—”

“Doesn’t have to know,” Blake said. “Your face stays out. You keep the jacket off, shirt off if you’re comfortable, pants open. That’s a body. Could be anybody’s. You already said the relationship isn’t in a great place. I’m not here to fix that. I’m here to ask if you want the money.”

Walker looked at me. I looked at the folder.

“And if I suck at it,” I said. “I’ve never— I mean I touched Blake. That’s it. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Blake smiled like that was the selling point.

“That’s why it’s a live and not a scene. People pay for first times. You look like what you are. That’s the product.”

Tyron set the papers on the coffee table. Short. Dates. Names. Amount: $1,000 USD each. Grant of rights for the live and seventy-two hours of replay on their site. No secondary sale without another signature. Age confirmation. Initials on three lines, signature at the bottom.

“Read it,” Tyron said. “Out loud if you want. I don’t like surprises.”

I read it. Walker read it over my shoulder, that big hand braced on the back of the sofa. My name in print looked fake. Nineteen. Consenting adult. I kept waiting for the sentence that said I couldn’t leave. It wasn’t there.

“This is a test,” Blake said again, quieter. “For the site. For us. For you. You don’t like it, you stop, we cut the feed, you still get half. You finish, you get all of it. Walker—same math.”

Walker laughed once, not happy, not no.

“Fuck. Alright. Yeah. I’ll do it.”

He signed. His signature was huge. I signed under him. My hand shook on the last letter. Tyron took a photo of both pages and transferred something on his phone.

“It hits when the live ends,” he said. “Not before. Don’t look at your bank in the middle of it.”

Tyron moved like he’d done this a hundred times. A ring light from a closet. A laptop on a low table. A second camera on a stand aimed at the rug in front of the sofa, low, so it would catch knees and a lap and not a face if Walker stayed back. He tested levels. He muted a notification. He put a glass of water on the floor where I’d be.

“Bathroom’s down the hall if you need it,” he said. “Two minutes.”

I went. I stood at the sink and looked at myself. Messy blond hair. Glasses slightly crooked. A mouth that had never done this. I ran water over my hands and tried to remember how porn started. They always looked sure. I wasn’t sure. I was hard anyway. I was also terrified. Both things sat in the same body and didn’t cancel each other out.

When I came back Walker had his jacket off. White t-shirt. Jeans open at the top button. He was standing where the light hit his stomach. Blake had taken the armchair to the side of the frame, already palming himself through his slacks, not in a hurry. Tyron had headphones around his neck.

“Sit on the sofa, Walker,” Tyron said. “Hips forward. Knees open. Yuri on the rug between. If you lean your head back, the camera loses your face. That’s the deal. You look down, we crop. You look at the lens, I kill that angle.”

Walker sat. The sofa took his weight like it had been waiting. He rubbed his palms on his thighs.

“You good?” he asked me.

“No.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

Blake’s voice dropped into the register he’d used at the restaurant.

“We’re live in thirty. Yuri. You don’t have to perform. You put it in your mouth and you learn. I’ll talk. That’s my job. You just stay on your knees and try. Walker, you don’t have to thrust unless he can take it. Hands in his hair if you want. No names. No girlfriend. No last names. You’re a waiter who got lucky. He’s a kid who answered an ad. That’s the story.”

Tyron counted down on his fingers.

Three.

Two.

I got on my knees.

The rug was softer than it looked. Walker’s knees boxed me in. Up close he smelled like the restaurant and the cold outside and something clean underneath. Blake started talking to a camera I couldn’t see.

“Evening. Special drop. First-timer. He’s never had a cock in his mouth. The one he’s about to learn on belongs to a very tall, very straight boy who waited our table two hours ago. Face stays off the talent. Everything else is yours. Say hi, kid.”

I didn’t say hi. I looked at Walker’s fly.

“That’s fine,” Blake said, amused. “He’s shy. Shy photographs. Walker—show them what he’s working with.”

Walker hesitated half a second, then hooked his thumbs and shoved jeans and boxers down enough. It came out longer than I was ready for. Not thick like Blake had been in my hand. Long. A little darker than the rest of him. Already filling from sitting there being talked about. It hung, then lifted as I stared, and I understood why Blake had said learn. There was length to negotiate. There was a smell, heat, skin. My mouth went dry and then wet in the same breath.

“There it is,” Blake said. “Not a monster in the girth department. Don’t let that fool you. He’s got length. First-timers always think thick is the problem. Length is the problem. Yuri. Hand first. You already know how to do that.”

I wrapped my fingers around him. He jumped. I did too. Hotter than Blake. Different shape. I stroked once like I was afraid I’d break it and Walker’s stomach tightened.

“Tighter,” Blake said. “He’s not glass. Look at his face—don’t look at his face, Walker. Head back. Good. Chat’s already asking if the kid’s going to freeze. He’s not going to freeze. Are you.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

Somebody in the live typed something Tyron snorted at.

“He doesn’t know. Honest. I like him. Mouth, Yuri. You came here to put it in your mouth.”

I leaned in. I missed the angle and my lower lip hit the side of him. Walker made a sound he tried to swallow. I corrected, opened, and took the head.

It was nothing like my hand. Soft skin over something that wasn’t soft. Salt. Heat. My teeth threatened and I pulled them back hard enough my jaw ached. I didn’t know what to do with my tongue so I just held him there, breathing through my nose, eyes open because closing them felt like falling.

“That’s it,” Blake said, and his voice had gone rougher. I could hear his hand on himself, slow. “Just the head. Let him feel the wet. Walker, you can look down at his hair. That’s allowed. Don’t watch the lens.”

Walker’s hand found the back of my head. Not shoving. Resting. His palm covered my skull. I took another inch. Then another. The length made my throat think about panic early. I pulled off, spit on my lip, went back because the alternative was sitting there looking at them.

“Awkward,” Blake narrated, almost fond. “He’s figuring out he has a gag reflex like a person and not like a toy. That’s the point of a first time. Walker’s trying not to look like he’s enjoying a boy. He’s failing. Chat, be nice. This one’s new.”

I found a rhythm that wasn’t a rhythm. Down until my eyes watered, up until I could breathe, tongue flat because I didn’t know what else to do with it. Walker’s thighs kept tightening on either side of my ribs. Every time I went deeper he swore under his breath and Blake translated it for the room.

“He likes that. Do it again. Hand on what you can’t fit. Twist. Yeah. Look at him try. Glasses slipping. Somebody in chat said cute. Don’t say cute, you’re going to scare him.”

My knees started to hurt. I didn’t move. Walker’s cock was wet now, shiny, and when I pulled off to breathe it tapped my cheek and I made a noise I didn’t recognize. Blake laughed under his breath and I heard him stroke faster.

“Describe it for the people who just joined,” Tyron murmured.

Blake didn’t miss a beat.

“Nineteen. Blond. Glasses. Never sucked a dick until thirty seconds ago. He’s on his knees in our living room with a waiter’s cock in his mouth because we asked him to and because he wanted to before we asked. The waiter is six-four, built, claims a girlfriend, signed the same paper. You don’t get his face. You get the stomach, the thighs, that long cock, and the kid learning how to take it. If you like first times, stay. If you like watching a straight boy pretend this is nothing, stay longer.”

Walker’s hips lifted a fraction. I gagged and stayed on him anyway, spit running down to his balls, my hand working the base because the rest of him was more than I had room for. He said fuck like it hurt. Blake’s narration thinned out into breathing.

“He’s getting close and he’s trying not to be,” Blake said. His hand was louder now. “Yuri. Off. Mouth off. I want it on his face. Chat didn’t pay for a disappearing act. They paid to see a first-timer wear it.”

I pulled back, coughing, spit hanging off my bottom lip. Walker made a wounded sound, like I’d stolen something. His cock stood there wet and dark at the tip, jumping every time he breathed.

“Hold him,” Blake said. “Chin up. Glasses on. Don’t wipe.”

Walker’s hand stayed in my hair and turned my face toward the low camera without putting his own face in the shot. I stayed on my knees with my mouth open because I didn’t know where else to put it. He stroked himself fast and ugly, the length slapping my cheek, my mouth, the frame of my glasses.

“Look at that,” Blake told the live, voice gone thick. “Nineteen. First cock. He’s about to take a facial from a waiter who still thinks he’s straight. Walker—give them something they can pause.”

Walker swore through his teeth. His fist tightened in my hair hard enough to sting. He came on my face in heavy stripes—across my mouth, up the side of my nose, one shot catching the lens of my glasses and turning the ring light into a blur. Hot. A lot. It slid toward my jaw and I flinched and didn’t lift my hands because Blake had said don’t wipe.

“Hold it,” Blake said. Almost gentle. “Let them see. That’s the shot.”

I knelt there breathing through it, blinking one eye, the taste of him on my lip even though he hadn’t finished in my mouth. Walker’s thighs were shaking. He looked down at me like he’d done something he couldn’t put back in his jeans.

Tyron let the camera sit on us for another few seconds.

Then he cut the feed.

The room felt too quiet. The ring light made everybody look guilty. Blake had come in his fist and was laughing at himself, low, pleased. Walker pulled his jeans up like the jeans could undo the last ten minutes. I stayed on the floor because standing felt like a different person.

Tyron checked the laptop.

“Clean. Chat liked the teeth almost happening. Transfers initiated.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket a minute later. The number was real. I stared at it until the digits stopped looking like a joke.

Blake tossed me a towel.

“You did fine. You looked like a virgin because you are one. That’s not an insult.”

Walker rubbed his face.

“I need water.”

“Kitchen,” Tyron said. “Stay. Both of you. It’s late and I’m not putting two drunk virgins in a rideshare.”

“I’m not a virgin,” Walker said.

“You were for that,” Blake said. “Guest rooms are upstairs. Two of them. Or one. I don’t care how you split it. Nobody drives out of Pacific Heights like that.”

I stood. My knees popped. The house was bigger now that the camera was off. I didn’t want a room by myself in a glass box on a hill. I also didn’t want to ask.

Walker saved me from it.

“He can take the one with me,” he said, not looking at Blake. “He’s shaking. I’m not leaving him down the hall with his thoughts. That’s all it is.”

Blake lifted both hands.

“That’s all it is. Towels in the closet. Don’t break the shower. Breakfast whenever you wake up. We talk about the next test after coffee. If there is a next test.”

Walker’s hand found my shoulder on the stairs. Same size as in the car. Same squeeze.

“I’ve got you,” he said again. “You don’t have to do anything else tonight.”

I nodded. I could still taste him. I could still hear Blake describing my mouth to strangers. The thousand dollars sat in my account like a door that had already opened.

Walker pushed a bedroom door with his foot. Big bed. City in the window. He sat on the edge to take his shoes off and left space on the other side without making a speech about it.

I sat. I didn’t lie down yet.

“Your girlfriend,” I said.

“Don’t.” He dragged a hand over his mouth. “Not tonight.”

“Okay.”

He looked at me in the dark, taller even sitting, and for a second I thought he was going to kiss me or tell me to get out. He did neither. He pulled the extra blanket up from the foot of the bed and threw it at my legs.

“Sleep, Yuri. Tomorrow they ask for more. Tonight you just stole my first gay anything. Let it be enough.”

I lay down on top of the blanket because under it felt like agreeing to a sequel. Walker turned off the lamp. His breathing filled the room. Mine wouldn’t slow down.

On the other side of the wall, faintly, jazz started again.

I stared at the ceiling of a house I couldn’t afford to dream about and thought about the shop, and my boss, and the way Walker had said I’ve got you with his cock still wet from my mouth.

I didn’t sleep. Not right away.

I listened to him sleep instead, and I already knew I was going to say yes to whatever they put in front of me in the morning.