24 Exeter Place

Even if I had taken another type of job altogether, I would still crave the cock. A variety of men and a variety of cocks. Even penetration by a cock as soon as one had pulled out of me. I was addicted to being fucked. “Whore” was a term of release for me, not a dirty word. All in all, it was the perfect job for me—as long as I could keep my looks and my channel was able to take a cock.

I had been given no idea what we were seeing at the theatre, nor did I care. It was time not spent on my back with a cock up my ass on a taxing day. It gave me the respite I had wanted to get by taking a walk and nothing was required of me. I sat in the last row in the box. The marchioness was there, sitting by the marquis, the two of them putting on a display for the world. She didn’t ask who I was and obviously didn’t care.

At the interval, they went to wherever the glitterati go and I went to the men’s cloak room.

“Luke. You’ve come to the theatre.” It was said in surprise. I turned to see the baronet, Sir James Stockdale, standing there, licking his chops like he’d like to eat me—which, in fact, he’d already done that day. Standing behind him was the novelist, Sir Henry Duwright. He hadn’t eaten me out today, but did so on alternate days. Was this an even or odd day? I wondered. I’d lost count. Today was the type of day that I lost count of cocks as well.

“Great seeing you here,” Stockdale continued. “Henry and I were just discussing what we wanted to do after the theatre. If you’re free and would like to earn a little extra, we would love sharing you.”