my coworker buckled my butler harness at the convention hotel. we missed the afterparty bc i was on my knees in my gloves

Friday · October 2

the hotel booked marcus and me into one room with two beds and the front desk guy looked at us like we should have been grateful.

we were not grateful. we were exhibitors at an adult industry convention, three days of standing behind a booth, and i had a butler costume in my garment bag for the afterparty. marcus and i had been coworkers for two years. no reporting line, no excuses. just a lot of late nights and a lot of looking at each other’s hands over spreadsheets.

two beds. sure. fine. very funny.

the costume made it irrelevant anyway.

i’d had it made. fitted black vest, white shirt, a leather harness that went under the waistcoat, gloves, thigh straps with little brass buckles. i came out of the bathroom with the vest hanging open and the straps in a tangle and stood in front of the mirror by the window like an idiot.

“help,” i said, and turned my back.

marcus put his phone down. i heard him get up.

he fastened one thigh strap. then the other. his fingers kept finding things to adjust that were already adjusted, a buckle that was fine, a strap that sat flat, the gloves at my wrist, smoothing them down one finger at a time.

i watched him in the mirror. he wasn’t looking at my face.

“you’re taking a long time.”

“complex engineering.”

“it’s a buckle.”

his hand stopped at my waist. just rested there, over the white shirt, over the harness.

our eyes met in the glass. my heart was going so hard i thought he could feel it through the leather.

he tightened the harness one notch. i heard myself breathe in, and his mouth twitched, and he did it again.

i turned around. we were about six inches apart. he smelled like hotel soap and the cinnamon gum he chewed all day.

“kiss me before we miss the party.”

we missed the first hour.

office after hours · cinnamon gum, gloves on

he kissed like he’d been thinking about it for two years, which, same. i locked the door without looking, felt for the chain, hung the do not disturb sign on the handle with one hand while his mouth was on my neck. my gloves left black smudges on his shirt.

he walked me back to the mirror and stood behind me. both hands on my waist.

“turn.”

i turned. the command went through me worse than it should have, now that neither of us could pretend this was costume assistance.

he touched a thigh strap, then the gloves, then the vest. “what comes off?”

i thought about it. “open the vest. everything else stays.”

he undid the little buttons one at a time. the harness came out from underneath, black straps across my chest, a ring at the center. i watched his face in the mirror. there. exactly the look i’d wanted.

he slid two fingers under one strap and pulled me closer, my back against his front. i could feel how hard he was against my ass through his slacks.

“pretty,” he said into my neck.

i couldn’t help it. my face fell open.

“again?” he said, and he’d noticed, of course he’d noticed.

i looked at the carpet. then, because i’m bad at lying, “yes.”

“pretty,” he said, and bit the side of my throat, and i leaned all my weight back onto him. i was hard in my little black shorts and i’d stopped being able to hide it. every piece of the costume was giving him something new to touch. glove. strap. buckle. the little collar. nothing ornamental anymore.

he turned me toward the bed. “kneel.”

i dropped down on the carpet. then i laughed.

“you practiced that.”

“no.”

“that was suspiciously confident.”

he put a hand under my chin. “look at me.”

i stopped laughing. his thumb pushed over my lower lip, pulling it down a little, and i felt that all the way to my toes.

“what do you want?”

i looked at the open vest. at the harness. at the big obvious shape in his slacks. at him.

“your cock.”

his face changed. i liked that a lot.

i undid his belt with the gloves still on, which was clumsy and slow and made him breathe through his nose. i got the zipper down, got his boxers down, and he sprang free, thick, a little curved, flushed dark at the tip and already shiny. i wrapped my gloved hand around him and the leather was cool and he hissed.

his other hand went into my hair and wound tight.

i took him in my mouth.

the gloves made everything stranger. more deliberate. one hand braced on his thigh, the other around the base of him, leather squeaking a little as i worked it. he tasted salty and clean and i went down slow, tongue flat, until the head bumped the back of my throat and i breathed through it.

“fuck,” marcus said above me.

i pulled off, spit stringing from my lip to the tip of him. “professional standards?”

“shut up.”

i went back down.

his fingers tightened in my hair. i liked the pressure. i liked the praise more.

“good,” he said. “just like that.”

my cock was jumping in my shorts. he saw. he looked down at the whole picture, me on my knees in a vest and gloves and thigh straps with his dick in my mouth, and his voice cracked.

“pretty boy.”

i moaned around him. the sound i made was embarrassing. he felt it through his whole body, i watched his stomach clench, and that ended whatever composure he had left.

he started to move. small thrusts at first, shallow, letting me get used to it, then longer, until my eyes were watering and the wet sound filled the room. the hotel walls were thin. someone out in the hall laughed, a door shut, and marcus froze and i didn’t stop. i looked up at him and kept going and he swore, softly, fingers white in my hair.

“you’re going to make me come.”

i sucked harder.

“theo. i’m going to—”

i didn’t pull off. i looked up at him and took him deeper and let that be the answer.

conference room · cha cha slide playing, bedframe knocking

he came with a low shaky groan. thick, hot, a lot of it, pulsing on my tongue. i held him there and swallowed and kept my mouth on him until his knees started to give, and then i sat back on my heels and wiped my chin with the back of a black glove.

marcus stared at me, chest heaving.

“that’s not fair,” he said. “you’re still wearing everything.”

“you’re still wearing socks.”

he laughed, wrecked, and hauled me up by the harness and onto the bed. he put me on my back. my shorts were soaked at the front. he pulled them down and my cock slapped against my stomach, red and leaking, and he looked at it like it was a present.

“gloves stay on,” i said.

“gloves stay on.”

he took me in his mouth, no teasing, no warm up, and i arched off the mattress so hard the bedframe knocked the wall. his tongue was hot and his lips were tight and he pulled me deep, one gloved hand of mine in his hair, the other twisted in the sheets. the harness strained across my chest every time i breathed.

“marcus. marcus, oh my god.”

he hummed. i felt it in my balls. he slid two fingers into his mouth next to me, wet them, and pushed one against my hole, rubbing a slow circle, and my brain left the building.

“i’m going to come,” i said. “i’m going to—”

he didn’t pull off. he pushed the finger in, curled it, and sucked.

i came with a cry i’m pretty sure the whole floor heard, hips jerking, filling his mouth, the leather straps creaking, the vest falling off one shoulder. he swallowed all of it, and when i finally went limp he crawled up the bed and kissed me, and i tasted myself and him and the cinnamon gum.

i should say the thing about the afterparty is that nobody asked where we were. people at conventions assume. my phone buzzed on the nightstand six times and i looked, which was a mistake.

marcus took the phone out of my hand, turned it face down, and put his mouth on my collarbone again. i let him. i let him do a lot of things after that.

afterward i lay on the sheets with the vest open, harness crooked, gloves on, looking exactly like the afterparty had happened to me personally.

marcus propped himself on one elbow and kissed my shoulder.

“we missed the party.”

i looked at the clock. almost midnight.

“better event.”

“definitely a better event.”

in the morning i wore normal jeans and a hoodie to breakfast. marcus slid into the booth across from me and looked under the table.

“checking for straps?”

“professional standards.”

he picked up his coffee, trying not to smile. i stole his bacon.

“two beds,” i said. “huh.”

“we only used the one.”

“we’re going to need the other tonight.”

he choked on his coffee.