Debts of Desire (3/12)

Ethan stood in front of the mirror, his fingers trembling just a little as he applied the final stroke of eyeliner. Small flick, steady wrist, no hesitation. Tonight had to be perfect. It was "Eva’s" first official appearance, and the guys had made it very clear—she was expected to impress.

He slid open the top drawer and pulled out the panties—white, sheer, trimmed with lace and a tiny satin bow—stepping into them with a shaky breath. Then came the silky white thigh-highs, their scalloped lace bands hugging his thighs snugly. The dress was skin-tight and off the shoulder, unforgiving as it clung to the curves shaped by padding and forms. Last were the black platform stilettos, tall and velvety, lifting him high and locking his legs into a tight, elegant line.

The walk to the door felt longer than it was, each click of his heels echoing up the hallway like a countdown. He paused just before knocking, smoothing the sides of his dress with trembling hands. Then—tap tap tap.

Trent answered, grinning as he looked him up and down. “Damn, look at you.”

He stepped aside, but not before cupping one of Ethan’s ass cheeks in his palm, giving it a firm squeeze.

Ethan flinched, face going hot.

The moment he stepped inside the sleek, bachelor-pad-style loft, the energy shifted. Brad and Darren greeted him with wide grins and low whistles, already lounging in front of the big screen where a football game played.

Darren smirked, patting the seat next to him. “C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t be shy.”

Ethan smiled stiffly, cheeks pink, and tottered toward them, the heels making his hips swing in practiced rhythm. He plopped down between Darren and Brad, their hands immediately resting on his thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The next hour blurred into a steady stream of orders—fetch snacks, refill drinks, bring napkins. Each time he bent over to reach into the fridge or leaned across the counter, one of them would give his ass a sharp smack. His dress rode up more with each trip, and by the third time, he stopped bothering to pull it back down.

Finally, the football game ended, and they moved to the poker table.

Darren smirked as he shuffled the deck. “Chip leader gets the girl on his lap.”

Ethan’s mouth opened slightly—surely they were joking.

They weren’t.

The first hand went to Darren, who spread his legs with a grin and patted his thigh. “C’mon, princess.”

Face burning, Ethan obeyed, easing himself down into Darren’s lap. He felt it immediately—the thick bulge straining beneath the man’s jeans, pressing up against him through the thin layers of dress and lace. Darren gave his waist a squeeze, one hand casually resting on his bare thigh as he played his next hand like Ethan was just another accessory.

It didn’t stop there. Within a few rounds, Darren "lost" and Brad took over. Then Trent. Then Darren again. Each time, Ethan had to stand, click-click-clicking his way in those stilettos from one man to the next, his pace a little shakier with every switch.

Each lap was the same. A hard cock pressing into him, fingers tracing his thighs, nails dragging down his sides. Whispers in his ear. Tiny squeezes. At one point, Trent even lifted the hem of his dress just to “adjust” him on his lap, leaving the tops of his stockings—and the edge of his panties—plainly visible.

Eventually, the guys called it a night, pushing their chairs back with lazy stretches and smug grins. Trent gave Ethan’s thigh a final squeeze before patting it twice, a silent order to get up. He rose carefully from the man's lap, legs a little unsteady after so much time spent perched and pliant.

As he tottered toward the door, the teasing didn’t stop. Brad gave his ass a loud smack as he passed, while Darren gave him a slow, approving nod—like he was inspecting something they'd all just broken in.

“Same time tomorrow night,” Trent said behind him, voice calm and final.

The door shut behind him with a soft click, heels echoing down the hallway as he made his silent exit—caged, dolled up, and dreading tomorrow.