FILTHY SHADES OF GAY: A Collection Of Raw MM Erotica.

RUIN MY ASSHOLE, DADDIES! 1

RUIN MY ASSHOLE, DADDIES!

**Jamie's Pov**

The Velvet Room smelled like leather, expensive cologne, and the faint metallic bite of lube that never quite washed out of the carpets. I slipped in through the staff door at 9:12 p.m., already running late because the 6 train had decided to stall under the river again. My gym bag banged against my hip as I jogged down the narrow hallway toward the dressing room. Tony caught me before I could disappear inside.

“Jamie.” His voice was low, cigar smoke curling from the corner of his mouth. “There’s a special booking in the upstairs suite. You’re the pick.”

My stomach did that quick, familiar clench. I stopped, sneakers squeaking on the polished concrete. “Who?”

“Three. Finance guys. Hedge-fund money. They saw your profile on the private app and requested you by name.” He pulled a folded slip of paper from his shirt pocket and held it out like it was a winning lottery ticket. “Forty-two thousand. Cash. Up front. For the night.”

Forty-two thousand. The number hit me like a slap. Enough to kill my credit-card debt. Enough for a security deposit and first/last on a real apartment. Enough to quit this life for a while if I wanted.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag until the leather creaked. Three at once. I’d done doubles—couples who wanted a third, businessmen who liked to watch each other—but three? No breaks. No safe word unless they agreed. Hands everywhere. My c**k gave a traitorous twitch in my briefs even as my pulse hammered in my throat.

Tony raised one eyebrow. “In or out?”

I exhaled through my nose. “I’m in.”

“Good boy.” He clapped my shoulder,hard enough to jolt me forward, and jerked his thumb toward the stairs. “Suite 7. They’re already up there. Clean up quickly. And Jamie?” He leaned in, breathing hot with a cigar. “They tip big when they’re happy. Don’t f**k it up.”

I showered fast in the staff bathroom—hot water pounding my shoulders, soap lathering thick over my chest, down my abs, between my legs. I shaved smooth everywhere Tony liked us to be, slicked my hair back, dabbed a little of the good cologne behind my ears and on my wrists.

Got on a black jockstrap that framed my ass perfectly, sheer black shirt unbuttoned to my navel, slim black pants that clung like a second skin. I checked the mirror one last time: dark hair still damp, lips bitten red from nerves, eyes wide but steady. My c**k was already half-hard under the jock. I adjusted it, took a deep breath, and climbed the stairs to the VIP floor.

The hallway was quiet—thick carpet, red walls, sconces throwing soft amber light. Suite 7. I knocked once. The door opened almost immediately.

The man who answered was in his late thirties, charcoal suit unbuttoned at the collar, dark hair swept back, blue eyes that raked over me like I was already naked. “Jamie?”

I nodded. Stepped inside.

The suite was massive, black leather sectional, glass coffee table, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering Manhattan skyline. Low R&B pulsed from hidden speakers.

Two other men waited on the couch. One, tall, blond, wire-rimmed glasses, sleeves rolled to show ink on his forearms, sipped whiskey, watching me over the rim. The other, broad-shouldered, dark skin, gold chain glinting against his open collar, leaned back, legs spread, smirk slow and dangerous.

The first one, Damon, closed the door behind me. Click on the lock. My pulse jumped; my fists stayed loose at my sides, but my nails pressed into my palms anyway.

“Drink?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’m good.”

Ethan, the blond, set his glass down with a soft clink. “We’re not here to waste time. Strip.”

My stomach flipped again. I reached for the top button of my shirt, fingers steady even though my heart wasn’t. The shirt fell open; I shrugged it off. Pants next—slow unzip, shimmy down my hips, and I stepped out. Jockstrap stayed on. My c**k strained the pouch, outline clear. Three sets of eyes on me. Heat crawled up my neck, settled in my cheeks.

Malik, the one with the gold chain, leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Turn.”

I did in a slow circle. Felt their gazes like hands—on my shoulders, down my back, lingering on my ass framed by the straps. My fists clenched at my sides; nails bit skin.

Damon stepped behind me. His hand landed on my lower back—warm, steady. Fingers traced the waistband of the jock, dipped under to cup my ass cheek. He squeezed once. I sucked in a breath. He pressed closer; his c**k was hard against my ass through his slacks. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured against my ear. “We’re going to take our time with you.”

Ethan stood. Crossed the room. Kissed me first, slowly, deep, tongue sliding in like he had all night. I kissed back, hands rising to his shoulders. Malik watched, stroking himself through his pants, eyes dark. Damon’s hand slipped around my front, palming my c**k through the jock. I moaned into Ethan’s mouth; hips rocked forward into Damon’s fist.

They stripped me slowly—jock peeled down, c**k springing free. Ethan dropped to his knees, took me in his mouth. Wet heat, tongue swirling. I groaned, head falling back against Damon’s shoulder. Malik kissed me now, rougher, teeth nipping, tongue claiming. His hand joined Damon’s on my c**k—stroking in tandem. Pleasure built fast; my thighs trembled.