The Congressman's Whore: A Marriage of Convenience Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  The

  Congressman’s Whore

  Clancy Nacht & Thursday Euclid

  www.einekleinepress.com

  Thank you for everything, din. Miss you.

  The Congressman’s Whore

  Copyright © March 2018 by Clancy Nacht & Thursday Euclid

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by

  Eine Kleine Press

  P.O. Box 3671

  Pflugerville, TX 78691

  USA

  www.einekleinepress.com

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Eine Kleine Press’s books are for sale to adults as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 1

  Zane checked the mic and double checked the high definition webcam, adjusting it on the tripod until it showed him to his best advantage. The ambient lighting eliminated all but the most flattering of shadows, and the bedroom around him radiated tranquil sensuality with its heavy wrought iron canopy bed, luxurious furnishings, and deep blue and pale gray palette. To one side, a complement of sleek sex toys and BDSM accoutrements were displayed on dark, polished wood shelves. The laptop perched on an elegant dresser against one wall, and Zane lounged on a big, comfortable armchair nearby that gave a fine view of the setting.

  After all, he was selling a brand as much as his body.

  Men who paid for Zane’s time wanted finesse, power, and luxury. A feast for their senses. An hour or a night without the weight of their worlds pressing down on their shoulders. Zane took control, gave them pleasure, and returned them to their high-stress, high-powered jobs refreshed and invigorated. The pseudonymous testimonials on his website attested to his skill at doing just that.

  “Zane will do in two hours what a psychotherapist couldn’t do in two years.”— John2372

  “Zane saved my marriage. One night a month with him, and I’m ready to face my life.” — KNJr

  Glowing feedback from ambassadors, senators, and presidential aides, among others, submitted in secret, posted online to Zane’s slick, graphics-laden website. He’d learned Photoshop, some design, and CMS in high school. Other than that, Zane promoted himself entirely through word of mouth and judiciously shared business cards that directed interested parties to zanesawyer.com, which allowed potential clients to submit a Skype handle and arrange an appointment to meet on cam. The potential client got to scope him out, and Zane got to prescreen for any obvious crazy.

  Or police. Not that any had ever contacted him. Zane kept things low-key; his clientele wanted his discretion as much as any other skill. Even the hint of a scandal would destroy Zane’s fledgling empire.

  Between the personal risk and the professional, every screening made Zane nervous. He might be desired for his ability to take charge, but he was at the mercy of his clients. They were meant to forget that; he never could.

  Waiting for the call from his latest prospect, Zane managed his expectations and got into character. Whoever filled the screen when he answered, he would desire, at least until the call ended. Consummate professional service.

  While some of his clients were handsome middle-aged men, most were much older—jowly and paunchy—or if younger, then disfigured in some way—burn victims and amputees. They each stirred Zane in their own way. He didn’t take on clients he couldn’t please—that would be bad for business—and pleasing them meant making them feel wanted.

  Popping a Viagra before they met wasn’t enough; when Zane was in the right frame of mind, he saw things in people others didn’t. Beautiful eyes or soft skin, a perfect Cupid’s bow mouth, delicate wrist bones, or maybe adorable freckles. Just one endearing trait, one perfection amid the imperfections every human possessed, and Zane could invest in making that person feel amazing.

  Every human deserved to feel good in their own skin.

  Zane sipped his cup of honeyed rooibos, straightened his open collar, and arranged his lines more perfectly where he lounged. His gaze strayed to the clock. Any second now.

  He answered at the first ring, then settled back in place, wearing the hint of a smile he’d mastered in front of the mirror—mysterious, alluring. That was before he saw who was calling. Then he lost control of his expression for a moment, smiling openly. “Well, hello there. I’m Zane Sawyer. What do I call you?”

  Because he knew who that man was. He knew the instant he saw him, even if he wasn’t standing at a podium or in a pictorial with his family in The Atlantic. The question was, who was he to Zane?

  “Oh, um.” Upton Bennett’s telegenic smile brightened the call. It must’ve been years since he had to tell someone his name. That he hadn’t come up with a pseudonym was glaringly obvious. The name on the Skype account was CrocodileRock6977. Probably brand new, made for this meeting.

  What was he doing here? Most powerful men Zane met with were influential and rich, which Bennett was. They were also typically in the closet, which Bennett wasn’t.

  “Is my name all right? Do I need a code name? Secret Service used to call me Little Elton.” Bennett’s lips pursed as if it wasn’t an entirely pleasant memory. There had been a lot of talk before Bennett came out. Apparently, he’d been a flamboyant child. The code name was likely a dig at him for seeming effeminate, like Elton John. That Upton had brought it up made Zane think Upton was trying to reclaim it. Who didn’t love Elton John?

  Zane was all about reclaiming. It was hard to pioneer a career as the capital’s premier male escort without getting comfortable call
ing oneself a whore.

  “Elton then.” Zane smiled and tilted his head to the side appraisingly. He didn’t have to try very hard to find something appealing about this young man. Upton Bennett was a golden god from a prestigious political dynasty, the only one in his clan whose pro-equality beliefs aligned with Zane’s. Despite Zane’s attempts to stay out of the political fray, he knew plenty about D.C.’s most visible queer figurehead.

  Leaning forward, keenly aware he was shirtless, Zane raised a brow. “So, Elton, why did you want to meet me? I’d remember if I’d given you my business card. We’ve never talked shop.”

  “Oh, the usual, I guess. Too busy to find someone. Too many expectations on who I meet.” Elton sat back and loosened his tie. He looked tired, as if he’d had business scheduled right up until now, and as it was ten o’clock at night, the too busy part rang true. “I found you online.”

  “I won’t ask what you Googled to find my site.” Zane relaxed back in his chair, sprawling a little to show off his impressive physique and low-slung jeans. “Instead, let’s talk about your fantasies. What do you want to do with me, Elton? What are you craving? Something cozy and casual? Intense and sensuous?” Zane’s smile turned wicked. “Wild and dangerous? You tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you what it takes to make your fantasies real.”

  Elton’s gaze danced over the screen. He was taking it all in with dilated pupils. The lamp behind him didn’t mitigate the harsh glow of the computer monitor. Even with the dark circles, Elton radiated beauty with his wide, bright, blue eyes to his narrow nose, to soft-looking lips that parted slightly as he took it all in.

  “When you say wild and dangerous, how wild and dangerous do you mean? Obviously, I can’t show any signs of… but I….” He sat back and looked away.

  It was all too familiar. Fragile masculinity made it difficult for men to ask for what they wanted, particularly men in power. They had fantasies like anyone else, but those could be used against them.

  Fortunately for powerful men, they had their ways of making dreams come true. For the right price, a man like Zane could give them whatever they wanted, if they got over themselves.

  “I can bring an edge of pain to our play without causing unwanted marks, if that’s what interests you, and there are a number of options in that realm of experience that we could safely explore.” Zane wished he could reach through the screen and touch Elton, reassure him physically. Instead, he projected that urge to comfort into his voice, pitching it low and soothing, giving it just a little authority. “But exploration is what this is about, isn’t it? A chance to see what else is out there, what more life can give you. You’re being run into the ground by work, by the weight of it all. You deserve release, Elton, and I can provide that.”

  “If we’re being honest here… as honest as Elton can be with Zane…” Elton gave a wry smirk. “When I found you, I thought that I’d ask about a bill I was working on for sex worker rights. Is it off the table to do some work if I engage you otherwise?”

  Seriously? Zane tapped a fingertip against his lower lip thoughtfully. Then he shrugged. “I’m sure you understand the necessity of discretion as well as I do. If you want to discuss issues relevant to my business life during our meetings, I’d be open to that. We’re living in the twenty-first century, but with so many Puritans running around, you’d never know it. If you want to raise awareness of the pressing concerns members of my profession face, well, I’d be a bad citizen not to assist you.”

  None of his other clients had ever raised the subject of sex worker rights.

  Elton smiled. This one looked real; it reached his eyes, slightly crooked, less practiced and precise. “Good. Discretion is important. Many names were bandied about when we were talking about the bill. Yours wasn’t amongst them, which is a good sign. First rule of Fight Club, and all.”

  He undid his tie and the top button on his collar. “As for the other business, I’m looking for a time to let go. To trust, I guess as much as anything. I’m not really a masochist; I don’t want pain for pain’s sake. I want the whole experience, the psychological part of it, and the catharsis.”

  “Mm,” Zane agreed, slinging his legs over one arm of his big chair and leaning back against the other. He tucked his fingers beneath the low waist of his jeans and raked his teeth over his lip as he gazed at Elton, making plain he approved of that idea. “I’d enjoy that. Getting in your head a little, taking away your stress for a while, replacing it with something easier to bear. If you arrange enough time, I’ll take such good care of you after too. Take you apart and put you back together.”

  Zane’s cock hardened as he talked about it, imagining the pristine blond coming apart for him, needing him, letting him comfort him after... It was a pretty picture, all too tempting. He chewed his knuckle for a moment and then urged, “Tell me what you want, in detail, and I’ll give you what you need.”

  “I don’t know if I have detail. I’d like to be bound, ideally, but that may be something we’d have to work up to. As would breathplay. That’s something….” Elton raised his hands as if Zane was going to attack him. “I know it’s dangerous by yourself, but I’ve dabbled. Definitely don’t want to do that on my own and wind up in the tabloids. Nothing undoes one’s reputation quite like death by autoerotic asphyxiation.”

  Despite himself, Zane laughed. “Yeah, let’s avoid that, shall we, Elton? We can plan to set a regular appointment if you like, meet up weekly to work up to that level of trust. If your goal is breathplay, we’ll work toward that. In the meantime, I’ll give you whatever else you need.”

  Usually his clients had a specific fantasy in mind when they called him. They’d work up to something pressing, obsessing, that they couldn’t get with anyone else, and then they’d pay him to make it come true. Elton’s more freeform interests piqued Zane’s curiosity.

  Zane swung his legs around to sit properly in the chair and studied Elton. “Do you want to see what you’re getting? It states my measurements on the site, but if you’d like personal visual confirmation... Or we can talk price and set a date.”

  Elton’s expression dissolved into a dirty grin. “Though there is a school of thought that anticipation is the best part, when a sexy man offers to show you his goods, you’d be a fool to say no.”

  He leaned in, chin on his hands, studying the screen. “Let’s have a look.”

  Zane stood, his upper body leaving the shot, and began unfastening his jeans. He stripped just slowly enough to put on a show, displaying his half-hard cock and neatly trimmed body hair. Turning, he gave Elton a perfect view of his ass and then dropped his jeans to the floor and stepped out of them before facing the camera again. He retrieved some lube from behind the laptop and slicked up his hand, then curled his fingers around his cock and stroked himself.

  “There’s still plenty to anticipate,” Zane murmured, trusting the mic to pick up his voice, his heavy breathing, the sound of his hardening cock sliding through his fist. “This is just so you can see if I’m big enough for you. You’ll have to meet me in person to find out what I look like when I come.”

  “I’m not really a size queen.” Elton said that, but he was staring.

  Though some in the alt-right media vilified Bennett for being gay, he’d nurtured a reputation of being “one of the good ones,” as far as politics was concerned. He was the golden boy of respectful identity politics, not so much as a jaywalking ticket on his record.

  Having the vanilla bean of homosexuals gazing longingly at Zane’s cock was a power trip, but Zane had to put that from his mind, because the focus would be on Elton-the-client and not Bennett, the man outside of this safe space.

  Even so, watching him squirm and smile tentatively was rewarding.

  Elton didn’t touch himself, at least not where Zane could see. His hands were still clasped together under his chin, as if he was trying so desperately to hold onto his control. Which, of course he was. He grew up in the public eye. Any momentary slip would’ve b
een all over the news.

  Though Zane had many politicians as clients, none of them commanded the national attention Bennett did. Gaining Elton’s trust would be a challenge.

  The idea of meeting that challenge aroused Zane as much as the way Elton stared and shifted.

  Maybe Elton wasn’t Zane’s physical ideal—a little bookish, maybe, a little too innocent—but this was hotter than he’d have expected. Zane usually stopped now, when he was fully hard, when the client was at peak anticipation, and brokered their dates and rates. This time, he didn’t want to stop. Staring at Elton’s rapt expression, he wanted to finish, to see what Elton would do. Could Zane could tax Elton’s self-control, get a gasp out of him, maybe make him sweat a little?

  This one was going to be fun.

  But Zane had a job to do, so he reined it in. He bent over to pull his jeans back on, tucked his cock behind the fabric, dressed it left, and then carefully zipped up. The obscene bulge on display tended to help him in the bargaining process, highlighting just how much he had to offer. Even if Elton wasn’t a size queen, he probably appreciated the titillation as much as the next client.

  Settling back into the chair slightly breathless, Zane gave Elton his best filthy grin and sprawled spread-legged, one hand resting over the too-tight crotch of his jeans and rubbing teasingly. “So, Elton, it’s from five hundred an hour for vanilla encounters, and anything shorter than one hour is billed for the full amount. I don’t bottom, and I require condoms for all penetration. I can produce the current month’s negative STI test results on request. I’m a non-smoker, and I am not your drug hookup, so if you’re looking for something extra, you’ll need to acquire it on your own time to bring to our session. You are responsible for booking a reputable hotel and sending me the details at least three hours out. I accept cash at time of service, or bitcoin if you roll like that.”