Solicitous Service

Goran saw the young man standing nervously at the reservations desk and liked what he saw. He was even happy that Serge, the maître d, was pretending not to see the young man, because that meant that Goran, the waiter, could see him to the table—and could make contact of some sort with him on the way there. Goran was one to make an immediate assessment of the playing field and pick out who he would like to play with.

"Table for one?" he asked, as he approached the young man at the entrance of the terrace section of the Great Falls, Virginia, Serbian Crown restaurant. It was an exclusive suburban restaurant on the Potomac Palisades south of Washington, D.C., that was frequented both at lunch and dinner by the rich and powerful of the nation's capital. Goran felt it was perhaps to be his good fortune that the maître d hadn't considered this young man identifiable as rich or powerful.

"No, two, please," the young man said with a shy smile. "I'm meeting someone here. I'm surprised he isn't here already, but I don't see him."

"Certainly, umm, will this? . . . Perhaps if we have a name of your dinner companion so that we know who to bring to the table." Goran suddenly realized that he needed to know whether to seat the young man by the door to the kitchen or in a prime spot. The maître d would have his hide if he guessed wrong.

If it were up to him, though, he would seat the young man in his lap. He couldn't be more than twenty-four and was movie-star handsome. Dark, Mediterranean features, with black curly hair, full lips, and blue-green eyes the color of that same sea. He was dressed presentably enough for the maître d. He just hadn't been recognizable as someone important. And he was beautifully formed. He also looked like what Goran went after—a submissive, who'd just let Goran have his way with him.

"Uh, of course. Senator Julian Jamison."

Goran practically snorted, both from surprise and amusement. Senator Jamison was about as glorious as clientele came in the Washington area. The maître d would swallow his teeth when Goran told him whose luncheon companion he'd stiffed—and rightly so. And Goran couldn't help but get approval for having saved the situation.

"Very good, sir. How about this table here?" Goran had taken a U-turn into the center of the dining area.

"Umm, maybe something a little more out of the way?" the young man asked shyly.

Goran's antennae went up. An almost obviously submissive young gay man—like most gay men Goran could tell these things with a great deal of assurance—meeting a prominent senator and asking for a discrete table. His prospects were looking up. The restaurant had such tables, of course. "How about that one over there, blocked off from the other diners a bit by the trellis and grapevine?"

"Perfect. Thanks." The young man gave Goran a shy smile and looked down.

Bet he knows, Goran thought. The dip of the head; bowing to the Alpha Male. Bet he knows that I'm a dominant. Bet he knows I'll fuck him if I can too. Bet he's already resigned to letting me.

Goran placed the palm of his hand on the young man's back to guide him over to the table, and was rewarded with a slight shudder. Another good sign. Surrender. Only opportunity lacking.

Goran was just the ticket for a certain type of young man. His was body-builder built and a bit thuggish looking. He was of Serbian descent—as all of the crew at the Serbian Crown were—and he clearly was a dominant and demanding sex partner. He was in his mid thirties, old enough to be well experienced and yet young enough to be vigorous and have stamina. Goran sought out the handsome, submissive types who he could fully master, and, he was happy to say, he couldn't remember ever having had an unhappy customer.

And this young man, Goran gauged, was exactly the type of young man he specialized in.

"May I get you something to drink while you wait?" Goran asked, solicitously.

"What? Oh, yes, a glass of sauvignon blanc, please. The house wine would be fine." Another submissive dip of the head after he had spoken.

"Certainly sir." A smile that was as assured as it was possessive.

Goran had the pleasure to inform the maître d, whose eyes were drilling into him as he approached for giving up a key table, who the young man was waiting for. He stayed around the reservation desk only long enough to see the maître d blanch at hearing the senator's name and for beads of perspiration to dot his brow, before he hurried to the bar to pour a generous glass of better-than-house wine, reasoning that the more wine the young man drank, the more opportunity Goran would have with him. Then he went into the kitchen and, invoking the name of the senator, rustled up a choice appetizer and then returned to the young man's table.

The young man was sitting, looking pensive, and not noticing Goran's approach. His hands were on the table, with one fiddling with his napkin, and Goran managed to brush it with his, making sure to brush the thick blond hair on the back of his hand against the young man's hand, as he set the wine glass down. Another little shudder from the young man rewarded Goran's effort.

"The wine. And the kitchen would be pleased if you would try out this appetizer—on the house—and let me know how you like it." He stood close over the young man and smiled down at him. He made sure his crotch, with its decided bulge, was at the young man's eye level.

"Oh. Thanks," the young man smiled up at him. It was a radiant smile. His eyes were flashing like he was excited about something. Goran hoped that, before he left, he'd be excited about Goran, but he knew that it was too soon for this smile wholly to be for him.

"Your wish is my command," Goran said in a soft voice, although this was the opposite of what he was hoping for down the road—he wanted to command and he planned on being hard if he did. That's what a submissive young beauty like this needed—a pounding deep inside him, rattling his world completely. "If there's anything . . . anything at all . . . that I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."

They both heard the arrival of the senator at that point and both looked up. He pulled up in a stretch limousine, with both driver and body guard, and the maître d was beyond vociferous in greeting Jamison.

Goran backed off, watching the obviously important, trim, for all appearances prematurely gray-haired man move across the restaurant floor toward the table. There was something in the way the man looked, though—a bit embarrassed and uneasy—that told Goran that perhaps this meeting wasn't going to go completely as the young man had planned and hoped. If not, Goran's prospects had just increased tenfold.

* * * *

As the senator walked across the mostly empty terrace dining area, Goran's eyes went to the young man. He's stricken, he thought. There was no doubt that the senator was spiking him. Goran suffered a twinge of regret. It wasn't likely that he could compete with riches and power—unless, of course, he could get his dick in the young man. That would level the playing field real fast. This type of submissive settled right down once you had your dick in him.

The young man rose from the table. "Senator."

"Tyler," the senator answered. His voice was a rich baritone. His smile was one that surely gave comfort to his constituents, but, to Goran, it looked a bit strained, and the senator wasn't making eye contact with the young man. Again Goran sensed that there was something wrong here—and that it probably was something the young man wasn't aware of.

After he had taken the food and drink orders from the senator and the young man—being happy that the young man ordered a second glass of wine—the waiter was drawn away to take the order of another table, and then another.

There was a chill in the air at the table when he returned with the drinks. The two were still engaging in small talk, but the young man was repeating, "What is it Julian? What aren't you saying? There must be a reason we're meeting like this rather than in the office or at the apartment."

Their food was ready when Goran went back to the kitchen. The young man was engaged in animated conversation when he brought the food to them, but he stopped and looked down at the napkin in his lap while Goran served the food. Goran tried the typical "I hope you enjoy" small talk but the young man didn't respond and the senator was a bit brusque and dismissive.

The really nice thing about this table mostly being hidden by a wall at the side and a vine-covered trellis toward the restaurant proper was that there was a place a waiter could stand right where the wall and trellis met where it would appear that the waiter was being attentive to the tables but yet he couldn't be seen from the table behind the trellis and could hear what was being said at that table as clearly as those at the table could. This was one reason why this was Goran's favorite table to attend.

"You can stay in the apartment until the end of the month, of course," the senator was saying. "I doubt that will be a problem if you're going back to Louisiana, though."

"I don't understand, Julian," the young man replied in a snuffly voice. "What have I done? I've always been discrete and I've tried to be careful. And both the job and cutting us off at the same time. I just don't think I can—"

"It's the kindest way for it to end," the senator said.

Yeah, right, Goran thought. But this was getting interesting. He just might be able to make something out of this.

"I don't—"

"It's my fault. I should never have started this in the first place. It's too risky. People will find out. It will ruin your life."

You big shit, Goran thought. I'll bet you seduced him. In fact, I know you did. He doesn't look like he has an aggressive bone in his body. You just pushed him up against a desk one night, and once you'd gotten your dick inside him, he was ready to do anything you wanted. And ruin his life? Please. It's your skin you're worried about. You don't give a shit about him. You used him for as long as you thought it was safe. And now you're throwing him away.

"Please, Julian. There must be some way. And at least . . . at least let me keep the legislative assistant job until I find something—"

"It's already too risky for that. I think some of the staffers are already talking. No, it's best if we make a clean breast of it. Ummm. Have you tried these scallops? They are absolutely delicious. Come, you haven't touched your meal. No, you best go back home to Louisiana and let the whole affair . . . just let it all vanish. A few months and we'll both not even think about it, I'm sure."

"I'm not sure at all," the young man said. "I could go to Idaho. Find a job or something in Boise. Then when you went back home—"

"There's really nothing else to discuss about it, Tyler. It's over. It's finished. This really is the best way—especially for you. I can't really blame you. You were like a disease. But it isn't right. We must move on."

I wonder what other young staffer he's found to fuck, Goran wondered. Will he move him into the same apartment? He couldn't feel any resentment, though. He was a shark himself. And he was smelling the chum in the water.

"If you aren't going to eat those scallops, you might as well send them over here," the senator said right before Goran had to leave his vigil to serve at another table.

* * * *

The next chance Goran had to look at the table behind the trellis, the senator was gone. But the young man—Tyler, Goran now knew—was still sitting there, in shock and crying quietly.

Hot dog, Goran thought. He headed straight for the bar and poured another glass of the better, heady sauvignon blanc.

"Here," drink this, Goran said, putting the glass of wine down in front of Tyler and pulling the chair the senator had vacated around to the side of the table so that he could sit close to the young man. He moved a knee so that it was between Tyler's knees. Tyler didn't seem to notice. There really was no doubt in Goran's mind now. Get something between the thighs of a submissive like this, and he's yours.

"I didn't order this," Tyler said in a small voice.

"But you need it, I can tell. It's on the house. The service here is the best."

"Thanks," Tyler said, picking up the glass and taking a deep drink. "Yes, I did need that."

"There's as much of that as you want," Goran said. "And I give the best service. The very best." He had a hand on the suit coat sleeve of Tyler's forearm. Tyler looked up and saw the expression on Goran's face and then looked quickly away.

"I'm sorry. I should be going." Neither one of them believed that.

"Not until you're feeling better. And you must know what would make you feel better."

"I don't—"

"Tyler. Your name is Tyler, isn't it? I overheard. My name's Goran."

"You overheard?"

"Yes. A lot. I know what that jackass has been doing to you."

Tyler let out a little moan and took another big swig of wine. That was fine with Goran. Let him be tipsy.

"I don't want to talk—"

"Yes you do, Tyler. You want to scream to the treetops above us about it. The man has taken fucking advantage of you and has cast you aside." He hadn't used the word "fucking" by accident, and he saw how the use of the word jolted the young man. "What you need is to get right back on that wagon. Show him for the bastard he is. Show him with a younger, more fit man. Someone with a real cock."

No sign of shock. Goran was home free, and he knew it. And his young Tyler knew it. They were going to fuck.

"I don't know. I really should be . . ." But it just trailed right off and Tyler showed no signs of leaving. Goran's beefy thigh was now pushed far in between Tyler's legs. He was rubbing his knee against the young man's crotch.

"Here give me your hand, Tyler." Tyler looked at him blankly. "Give me your hand." The voice was commanding; just the tone the young man needed. Goran took the hand and laid it on his basket. "Is that bastard the man I am?"

Tyler gave an unintelligible squeak. But he didn't try to take his hand away. Goran wouldn't have let him if he had tried. They were over the hump now. Goran would give the direction and Tyler would respond as directed.

"I don't want to rush you," Goran said, clearly wanting to do just that—and knowing his submissive males well enough to know what worked. "But I want to fuck you and show you that that old bastard isn't worth another thought."

Tyler just looked at him dumbly. But he wasn't trying to get away.

Goran stood up. "Come back to the back. You don't want to leave looking like that. I'm going to fuck you and then let's get you cleaned up."

Tyler stood and put his hand in Goran's and let Goran lead him back into the restaurant building; through the empty dining rooms, already set up for the dinner service; down the hall past the guest bathrooms; and into the back of the restaurant and into a bathroom used by the service staff. He shot home the lock on the door and crowded Tyler into the wash basin, pushing his pelvis into Tyler's and grinding his package against Tyler's crotch while he took possession of Tyler's lips with his. Tyler's mouth opened right up and Goran scooped out and sucked suggestively on his tongue. Tyler was making little mewing sounds.

As Goran surmised would be the case, from the moment that he had Tyler pinned to the edge of the double-sinked vanity with his pelvis thrust between Tyler's thighs, Tyler was completely docile and submissive. Goran came out of the kiss, stripped off his own shirt, and placed Tyler's hands on his biceps and then on his pecs.

"I'll bet your senator isn't built like this," Goran said. "Go ahead and feel what a real man feels like."

Tyler moved his hands around on the bulges of the muscles as instructed. He was panting softly.

Goran dropped his pants and briefs and stepped out of them. He took one of Tyler's hands—with Tyler just giving it up docilely and giving Goran a glazed look—and placed it on his genitals.

"Does your senator come equipped like this?" Goran asked.

"No," Tyler answered in a small voice.

"I want to fuck you. I think it's what you need too. Do you want all of this inside you?"

"Yes, please," Tyler answered, and he started to paw tentatively at the buttons on his shirt as if he wanted to help get on with it but wasn't sure how. While pressing into his crotch with a now-free cock and rubbing up and down with it, Goran brushed Tyler's hands away and started pulling off the young man's suit coat and then his shirt and trousers, folding them pretty neatly and stacking them on top of the hand towel hamper next to the basin.

Tyler was breathing heavily and was beginning to move his crotch against Goran's. His hands had reached out and were gripping Goran's side half way between his waist and his pecs. "Hurry, please," Tyler murmured.

"Want it now, don't you?" Goran said, with a laugh. "We can make you forget all about that bastard. We're going to have a good time, you and me."

"Please. Please. Fuck me."

Goran lifted a now-naked Tyler and positioned him standing and hunched over the toilet while Goran felt around in his pants pocket for his ever-ready condom packets. Those found, he spread Tyler's butt cheeks with his hands and buried his face in the crack. Tyler began to moan and mutter a progression of "fuck me's" in a low voice. Goran reached through Tyler's legs and milked his cock.

When Goran had moved him back to the basin and perched his butt at the edge and Tyler had sunk his shoulder's back into the mirror over the basin, Goran slowly entered Tyler's channel while Tyler huffed and puffed and moaned and groaned. "Oh, shit, oh, fuck. You're so big. Yes, yes, fuck me."

Tyler lifted his ankles to Goran's shoulders and grabbed the Serbian's heavily muscled upper arms while Goran grabbed Tyler at the waist and pulled his channel on and off his cock in rotation with holding him still and pounding his ass deep.

Tyler came first, in a stream up Goran's belly, and Goran filled the bulb of the condom soon thereafter.

"Again," Tyler begged.

And, as much as Goran wanted to fuck him again, Tyler was just a bit too submissive for him. And Goran wanted to do something else for him.

"I don't think that would be wise, as nice a piece as you are," Goran said. "I just wanted to fuck that bastard who's just ditched you out of you. I think we've managed that. Why don't you shower and clean up now—there's a shower stall right over there. Make yourself presentable again and then I'll come back for you in a few minutes. Another fortifying glass of wine and I think you'll be able to handle life from here. Don't think of that bastard. You are a great lay and highly desirable. Get back out there again. A better man than that one will come by fast enough."

This revealed another aspect of Goran. With him it was mostly the chase and the assertion of dominance. He wasn't one for entanglements. He was more of a notches-on-the-belt man. Tyler had, indeed, had a nice tight channel and was a pretty little thing to fuck. But Goran felt no need or great desire to do him more than once.

While he spoke, Goran was sponging himself off with a wet towel. Then he put his own clothes back on and returned to the terrace. With luck, he thought, just the man Tyler needed would have arrived for his regular Tuesday lunch. And when Goran got out to the terrace, he saw that the man, indeed, was there. He made a beeline for him.

Fifteen minutes later Goran was guiding Tyler through the bar area, stopping there to pour another glass of premium red, and taking Tyler out onto the terrace.

"Tyler," he said, "This fine-looking gentleman, who I can verify has a nice big cock and a superlative sex drive, is Keith Engle. I have told him about you and he's eager to meet you."