Dillon found himself staring at a pure white ceiling wondering where the hell he was. He lifted his arm to push away his dark scarlet hair and found it was attached to something. He looked at his hand in shock at the IV and looked around wildly for a moment. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten there. A fight? The form of a large man with a powerful, cold body holding him. Long, inky black hair that surrounded him like a thick curtain and a pale masculine face full of stark beauty that took his breath away. The prick of pain on his tiger tattoo as his whole being seemed to be engulfed in blackness. Yet he had felt no fear, only anger at being held captive and at what was being taken from him without permission.

"Dillon, you’re finally awake," came a man’s relieved voice.

Dillon turned to see his father’s old friend and partner, Jack, sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair next to him. He could tell that the old man was worried and upset at him yet again.

"What the hell happened to you? You were found almost dead outside the hospital, drained of all your blood," Jack demanded harshly, his face lined with worry and anger.

"I don’t know," Dillon said vaguely as he tried desperately to grasp at the memories of what had truly happened to him.

His hand went to his neck, hesitantly touching the warm tiger where the phantom prick of pain still resided. He could feel the strong beating of his heart through the soft, unbroken skin as he tried to remember what had happened to him. He sensed he was forgetting something, something important that hovered on the very edge of his mind. The blurred, vague form of a man that he couldn’t quite remember, yet strangely his body seemed to know what his mind refused to tell him. He could still feel the cold skin and silken hair like a ghost. Yet his mind wouldn’t form the vision of the man that had most certainly put him in the hospital.

"Dillon, are you even listening to me?" Jack asked, his exasperation cutting into Dillon’s thoughts.

"No, I’m trying to remember what the hell happened to me," Dillon snapped.

"You mean you seriously can’t remember?" Jack asked doubtfully.

"No I can’t, I told you that," Dillon said.

"You’ve got to stop fighting, Dillon, this is getting out of hand. You can’t even remember what’s happening to you," Jack said worriedly, his tired dark eyes fixed on Dillon.

Dillon remained quiet, unable to say he hadn’t been fighting. The last thing he could clearly remember was beating up a group of guys that thought they would have fun with a young girl. He had been on his way back from paying the old hag’s rent when he had heard a muffled scream coming from an alleyway. It was dusk and in a bad part of town, it hadn’t taken a rocket scientist to know what was going on in the dark alleyway.

He had jumped the group with their pants around their ankles letting loose with a fierce abandon, not so much to save the girl who was past saving but to let loose his own frustrations out on people who more than deserved it. Soon his anger and frustrations were lost within the vicious joy he always felt every time he fought. He knew there was something wrong with him, for he found a freedom and joy in fighting that he rarely experienced any other way. He constantly found himself in the center of any fight just to feel that euphoria and a deep, gratifying thrill at risking his life.

"Dillon, Sarah is worried about you. She can’t stand to see you so beaten up all the time. She has raised you since your dad died all those years ago and feels like you are her own child. She is sitting home right now sick with worry while trying to cope with Nick, who is down with bronchitis again. You’re not in a gang or running drugs, yet you are constantly in fights, we almost lost you this time. Please, it has to stop. I’ve already talked to the chief, you quality for a scholarship since your dad died in the line of duty, your still a cop’s son and your grades are excellent despite the fact you hardly went to school," Jack said, running his finger over his balding head.

"I can’t wait years, Jack. The old hag needs money today to pay the rent, utilities, not to mention food and medicine for all the brats. I can’t go to school and make the money she needs," Dillon said stubbornly, having already had this conversation countless times since he had graduated high school six months ago. He hadn’t even wanted to do that but the old hag had insisted he finish school.

"She won’t take the money anymore Dillon. She knows where it’s coming form," Jack said flatly.

"You told her," Dillon accused, half rising out of the bed only for dizziness to lay him flat again.

"She wanted to know, what was I suppose to tell her? That you were running drugs? Stealing? Damn it Dillon the only reason you haven’t been arrested is because no one wants to arrest Richard’s kid for hooking," Jack growled frustrated.

"She was never to know, damn you. It would have been better for her to think I was stealing. Get out Jack," Dillon snarled, his face twisted in anger.

"Dillon we just care for you. We don’t want to see you hurt," Jack said softly, his lined face full of pain and defeat, pulling Dillon up out of his anger.

"I only do it when I can’t get construction jobs Jack. The old hag needs it, and we both know damn well you can’t help, not with your own family to support, you’re not even making it. Besides Jack I enjoy it," Dillon argued with a shrug.

"Don’t lie to yourself, I’ve seen too many prostitutes to know they don’t like what they are doing. Do you think that matters to Sarah? Do you think she wants that for the child she raised? It doesn’t matter if you’re a girl or boy, how can a mother stand to see her child hook just to support her? She won’t take the money anymore until she knows you have stopped," Jack said.

"It doesn’t matter. If she won’t take the money her landlord will, and the utility companies, rather than kick her and the brats out. We both know she won’t let food be wasted," Dillon said with a sigh, pulling out the IV with a wince of pain.

"What do you think you are doing?" Jack said, half standing.

"Leaving. I finally landed a construction gig for the next few weeks, but if I don’t show..." Dillon left the rest unsaid as he swung out of bed and a wave of nausea hit him.

The nurse came in and looked at Jack for a moment as the man nodded minutely. Before Dillon could right himself again he found a needle inserted into his upper arm. He was pushed back into the bed as blackness once again enveloped him.

Unused to getting calls he quickly answered it in a panic, thinking something had happened to the old hag since making sure she could always get a hold of him was the only reason he had such a non essential item.

"Hello," Dillon said anxiously.

"Dillon?" came a deep masculine voice that he couldn’t quite place, although it sounded familiar.

"Yes."

"Good, I wasn’t sure I would be able to get a hold of you again. I haven’t seen you at the club in a few weeks. This is Tyron, you.... ah... provided some service for me and a couple of friends about a month ago," the voice said through the phone.

The voice clicked with a mental picture in Dillon’s mind as his groin tightened at the memories of the man. Tyron was different from his normal clients, being extremely wealthy and handsome. He had by chance picked the man up in one of the higher classed clubs that Dillon had been lucky enough to get into because of his looks. It had been a pleasure to service Tyron and his two friends throughout a long night. He had been taken repeatedly by each man and had been so engrossed in the pleasure of being used over and over again by rich, gorgeous men that he had allowed them to take pictures of him naked and defiled, something he normally didn’t allow. He had been so incredibly horny he had even posed for them, allowing them to photograph every part of his cum stained body.

"Yes, I remember you. Do you need my services again?" Dillon asked, some of his fatigue slipping away at the thought of another night of unbridled sex that he would be paid handsomely for.

"Ah, unfortunately I’m in the middle of a rather messy divorce. It would be umm... unwise to... Anyway I have a friend who is very interested in you after he saw your pictures, although his request is a little unusual," Tyron said.

"I don’t do S&M," Dillon said flatly, knowing where this was going.

It was far too risky to let anyone tie him up. He had started hooking confident in the knowledge that if a client became too rough he could always fight back, absolutely certain that most would be unaware of the strength in his wiry frame. Yet if he allowed anyone to tie him up he would be entirely at their mercy, something he would never allow.

"No, no, nothing like that. He is a painter and would like you to model for him, nude of course. He will pay you a substantial fee as well," Tyron said quickly.

"Modeling? No sex?" Dillon asked, a little disappointed, although glad to have another lucrative job. Tyron had paid very well, so he knew the pay would be sweet for this job as well.

"You will have to talk to Brian about that, he does have a live in boyfriend so I doubt it," Tyron said. "He wants to meet with you to discuss the job."

"Where at and when?" Dillon asked.

"Nine tonight at Cabellro? He is anxious to meet you," Tyron asked.

"Very well," Dillon sighed.

"Great, I don’t think you will regret this. He is rather well known and it could lead to more job offers for you."

Dillon hung up, looking at his phone with a sigh. He needed the money, but at the same time he was dead tired. Cabellro was a high class restaurant, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to just throw on jeans and a t-shirt. It meant getting out his good clothes and really dressing up, although he knew that he would have had to do the same for Tyron. The difference was the end result was a night of hot sex, where at the most he would he would get out of this job would be shivering naked in a rigid pose for hours with the artist.

Hopping on his motorcycle and putting on a helmet he peeled out for home. It took him an hour to make himself presentable. He had chosen the least flashy of his good club clothes, opting for black hipster pants and a loose black shirt open at the collar. He had finally decided to leave his scarlet hair down, figuring the artist would probably have his own ideas about what to do with the thick blood red hair. For once he was glad he had been too busy with work to get into any fights, for he was sure the prospective client wouldn’t want to see his model cut up and bruised.

He was dead tired and decided that staying at home until the required time was a bad idea, with his bed so close at hand, so he picked up his keys and headed out. Arriving almost an hour early he parked his bike and leaned up against it, lighting a cigarette. The cool spring breezed played with his loose hair, waking him up a little as he gazed at the dark city lit by street lights. It was a quiet part of the city where he didn’t have to be worried about being messed with, and he found himself spacing out, thinking of nothing as he waited, calmed by the nicotine flooding his system.

It had been almost a month since he had last been forced to turn to the lucrative job of prostitution. At first he had hated throwing away his pride and selling his body for money. His tough, hardened persona hated surrendering control over to another. It was easier when it was a woman, yet often times the money given to him by them had strings attached beyond the one night of sex. Many thought they could buy his love along with his body, and he wasn’t into having a relationship based on sex and money beyond one night stands.

He had found that men paid more and were far less complicated. He was also surprised to find he enjoyed sex with men a great deal more than women. It had been a shock, but he had quickly come to accept it as part of himself, since it was hard to ignore how during sex he would often plead to be taken harder and actually mean it.

He had been very careful not to get pulled into the world too deeply, despite how much he had enjoyed the sex and the pay. He still couldn’t help but feel torn about how much he liked it, against his fierce pride at degrading his body for money. It was also a risky and dangerous world that one mistake in choosing clients could possibly find him dead or beaten and raped like Sarah’s own daughter, who died at the hands of one of her clients trying to sell herself for drug money. Still, he felt a deep pull to sell his body at times, just as he felt a pull to fight. The dangers tempted him, the desire to walk on the edge and see if he would fall was like an addicting drug to him.

Flicking his cigarette butt to the street he was surprise to see a short, delicate man standing before him with long blond hair and dark green eyes. He was incredibly pretty in an almost feminine way, yet his sharp dress suit left little doubt to his gender. Despite his cute, sweet face the intensity of his dark eyes pulled at Dillon, making him shift uncomfortably against his bike.

"What do you what?" Dillon asked finally, unable to bear the pressure any longer.

"You. I am Brian, Tyron contacted you about me," came a light airy voice that suited the androgynous man perfectly.

"You’re early," Dillon said.

"I couldn’t wait to see you. Will you work for me?" Brian asked intently, his gaze never leaving Dillon.

"I wouldn’t be here otherwise, what do you want from me and what are you offering?" Dillon asked, somewhat shaken by the intense look.

"I want you to model nude for me at my studio, that is all. I will offer you $100 an hour. I want you, Dillon without you I can’t do the piece in my mind," Brian replied, stepping forward.

"No bondage or restraints," Dillon said flatly, not liking the intensity of the man but unwilling to turn down such an absurd amount of money.

"I will drape chains loosely around your wrists," Brian said.

"Loosely, if I can’t get them off easily no deal," Dillon said firmly.

"Of course," Brain nodded.

"Fine, where are you parked? I will follow you," Dillon agreed reluctantly.

"Right there," Brian pointed to a small white corvette.

Dillon nodded and put on his helmet as the blond went back to his car. His felt more than a little uneasy with this artist. His eyes seemed to burn with a deep passion, yet he was far too delicate to even come close to overpowering Dillon, and the pay was too good to pass up. The last thing Tyron had said about opening him up to more rich clients also set heavily in the back of his mind, so despite his misgivings he pulled his bike behind the man and followed him back to his studio.

He followed the man into a parking garage of a high class apartment complex. Parking next to the man and removing his helmet he waited for Brian to get out of his car and lead him to the penthouse. He was led through a luxurious home with a rich, dark decor up to the second floor and into a huge room filled with half completed and finished paintings. A wide variety of art from simple portraits to abstract paintings were carefully laid out on tables and standing against the walls. One side of the room stood completely empty except for a white satin cloth draped against the wall and slipping onto the floor. It was there that Brian led him.

Without a word Dillon stripped off his clothes, baring his slender but well sculpted body to the artist. Brian stepped forward and moved him onto the white puddles of cloth and stood on his toes to arrange his loose hair. Then he left Dillon for a moment to return with black chains, which he held out for Dillon’s inspection. Dillon nodded as the man delicately wrapped his wrists loosely with them.

"Now just stand there for me please, and focus on me," Brian said as he set up a blank canvas and paints.

Dillon sighed, feeling his tired body protest even as he gazed at the artist. He had to admit at least the room was very warm and comfortable to be nude in. He stood as still as he could, Brian staring at him intently, his green eyes raking over his completely nude body. It was the first time in his life that someone had so minutely examined him, especially with such a fierce, passionate gaze. Slowly he began to feel the lower part of his body awaken. Unable to hide his reaction he simply stared at the artist helplessly, until Brain put his paint brush down.

"Wait here a moment."

Unable to do anything he relaxed a little, trying to think of something that would deflate his semi-hard organ. Unable to succeed by the time Brian returned he was surprised to see an adjustable cock ring in the man’s hand.

"May I?" Brian asked.

Dillon nodded dumbly as the man gently placed the confining ring on him. His warm, soft hand making his cock throb even harder as he looked at the delicate man. Dillon definitely wanted the artist to continue with his handling of his sex, but the man stepped away with a nod.

"That will help you to stay harder longer," Brian said before going back to his canvas.

Dillon restrained a moan of protest. The job had definitely taken a rather unpleasant turn as his aching organ pleaded for attention, jutting out before him lewdly. He stood as Brian stared at him for a while before turning his attention to the canvas. Now that the man wanted him hard he knew that trying to deflate his dripping sex was out of the question. It was his job to provide the man full access to his body, so instead he tortured himself with images of his thick organ impaling the artist. Over and over in his mind he pictured the man naked as he violated him in every way.

Every minute seemed like an hour to him and each hour seemed to bring a more painful ache to his cock, which was throttled by the ring around it. He was beginning to desperately wonder how much longer he would have to endure when a tall, dark haired man entered the room and walked up to Brian.

Dillon watched almost hungrily as the muscular man with a faint hint of facial hair brushed Brian’s hair aside to expose his delicate neck for his lips. Brian let his brush fall to the floor as he leaned back against the man, closing his eyes.

"So you got him, I think I’m jealous," the man said, looking up at Dillon, his brown eyes twinkling.

"Yes, he has been here for... over an hour," Brian said, looking down at his watch.

"An hour?! Brian what are you thinking?" the man said, striding over to Dillon, his large hands quickly snapping the cock ring free of Dillon’s almost numb sex.

"Steven," Brian protested.

"He may be a whore but he is now your model, Brian," Steven scolded, turning to the delicate man.

"I’m sorry, I was so lost within my work," Brian said weakly.

"Think about it next time! I know you know that piece is going to take you more than one day," Steven said darkly. "Are you ok? You need to say something to him sometimes to get his attention," Steven said, looking up at Dillon worriedly.

"I’m fine, he is the one paying me," Dillon said, sinking to the ground, exhausted.

Before he knew what was happening he felt himself scooped up into the man’s large, powerful arms and carried out of the room. He soon found himself lying in a large comfortable bed.

"Do you want me to take care of that for you?" Steven asked softly.

Dillon nodded, a little confused at the man’s actions as he saw Brian leaning in the doorway, watching as the man’s mouth descended on his aching cock. He winced a little in pain but soon found himself releasing a torrent of hot juice into the man’s mouth, moaning softly. Steven drank him fully before covering him and quietly leaving the room with Brian taking a hold of the man’s waist as he closed the door.

Dillon yawned, wondering at the man’s actions, for he had to be the live-in boyfriend Tyron had mentioned. Unable to move from the soft confines of the bed sleep pulled him under before he could grasp what had happened.

Walking out of the room he went to the studio to get his clothes, wondering how he was going to get paid, since he doubted his employer was awake. He was surprised to find Brian still in the studio with a light blue robe wrapped haphazardly around him, revealing large areas of skin.

"Good you are awake, we can start again," Brian said, tucking his loose hair behind an ear.

"I’m sorry, I have a day job, that I need to get to," Dillon said, moving over to his clothing.

"How much?"

"Excuse me?" Dillon asked, looking over his shoulder at the man.

"How much are they paying you?" Brian said.

"It isn’t just what they are paying me. It is steady employment for at least two weeks, for me that is hard to come by. You can’t just pay my wages for a day," Dillon said putting on his clothes.

"Three thousand, I’ll pay you three thousand to say here the next week," Brian said.

"Are you crazy?" Dillon said, dropping his shirt, looking at the man dumbfounded.

"Five thousand. I need you here, this must be completed by the end of the week, I have a showing with my mentor. I’ll pay anything to keep you here," Brian said desperately.

"You might ask me, considering I’m the one paying," Steven said from the doorway.

"Steve," Brian said, turning to the man pleadingly.

"Very well, half up front and half at the end of the week," Steven said with a sigh, looking at Dillon. "There is no way you could make that in a month’s time, so I suggest you take it."

"I’ll need to leave sometime today to take the money to the old... um my mother, and assure her that I’m ok," Dillon said, a little shaken.

"Very well," Steven nodded.

"But..." Brian protested.

"You can’t work twenty-four seven and neither can the boy, Brian," Steven said sharply as the artist’s face fell.

"Fine, but we start now," Brian pouted.

Dillon nodded, taking off the pants he just put on, and went to his place. Even as Brian approached him with the chains.

"Get me a brush, his hair looks like a haystack," Brian demanded even as he heard Steven sigh.

"It looks like I’m not going to get laid for the next week and have to pay five thousand for the privilege," Steven remarked as he started for the door.

"In a week I’ll fuck your brains out, until them go to work and earn back the money I just spent," Brian said impatiently.

"The painting will earn back the money plus more, I imagine. After all, it’s showing with his, that’s what’s really got your panties in a twist," Steven snorted as he walked out the door.

"You don’t fucking have a clue," Brian said softly to himself as he stepped away from Dillon to go over and stare at his canvas moodily.

Dillon waited uneasily until Steven returned, brushing out his crimson hair and arranging it around him. Dillon waited expectantly for the hated cock ring only for Steven to move away and Brian start to work.

"Don’t worry, he doesn’t need you erect all the time. Besides he won’t sexually touch you while you’re his model so he will have to wait until you’re ready or I’m around," Steven said with a wink when he saw Dillon’s confused look.

"Not fucking likely, he can masturbate; you’re not getting your lips around him again. I might not be horrendously jealous but if I’m celibate then you are," Brian snapped. "Now get out of the way."

"Yes, princess," Steven said mockingly as Brian stuck out his tongue.

The hours dragged by for Dillon before Brian finally released him and he got back into his clothes. He was surprised when Steven walked up to him and handed him a check for twenty-five hundred dollars.

"I’ve already called my bank, they will instantly cash the check for you or set up an account for you if you wish," Steven said.

"Thank you," Dillon said, staring at the simple check worth more than he had ever seen in his life.

Steven snorted and looked over Brian, who was still fussing over his painting.

"You better get out of here before he decides break is over," Steven said quietly.

Dillon nodded and headed towards the door, tucking the check in his pocket, almost afraid he would lose it. The first thing he did was open an account at Steven’s bank and deposit the check, knowing that there was no way he would keep that amount of cash on him. After that he went and paid all of the old hag’s remaining bills and bought a week’s worth of groceries before heading over to her small apartment.

Letting himself in he was unsurprised to find her sitting at the kitchen table feeding a little girl she babysat for. He was surprised there was only one child, for she often had as many as five to care for during the day when the brats were at school.

"Dillon, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?" Sarah asked, looking at him in surprise.

"I got a different job," Dillon said cheerfully.

"A different job? But I thought the one you had paid excellent. Jack said that it was too bad it wasn’t for longer," Sarah protested.

"I got some work modeling for a painter, it isn’t as rough and the pay is better," Dillon said, putting the groceries away.

"Dillon," Sarah said firmly in a voice that meant he was in trouble. "You’re not selling yourself, are you?"

"Of course not, Jack shouldn’t have told you such things," Dillon said as his body tensed.

It was the first time the old hag had confronted him about it. He had dreaded this moment more than anything. He had never wanted her to know that he sold his body, for her own daughter had done the same thing long before he was even born, and had died from it. He knew it would spark painful memories for her and he didn’t want that.

"Dillon don’t lie to me," Sarah said, anger and fear running through her voice.

"I’m not, you old hag, so stop pestering me. I don’t hook anymore since Jack told you about it. I can’t now, can I?" Dillon said, closing the refrigerator door without turning around.

Suddenly he felt a hand hit his head hard, he turned in shock to see the old woman glaring at him from her all of five feet. Tire and worn but still a formidable force when angry he could see she was ready to hit him again for his stupidity.

"So as long as I didn’t know, it was ok? I should knock you into next week Dillon," Sarah growled looking up at him.

"I’m not hooking so stop worrying. It is a legit job. I’m going to be in a painting," Dillon reassured her.

"Modeling? And it is more than construction? Surely it won’t last that long," Sarah said doubtfully.

"He wanted me bad enough he was willing to make up the difference. You know how weird those artsy types are," Dillon said as the little girl began to throw her food on the ground.

Sarah rushed over to her and Dillon heaved a sigh of relief. He had evaded the subject but he knew it would come up again and again. He could kill Jack for telling her about it. It was one of those taboo subjects for the old hag. The fact that he was more than capable of taking care of himself, unlike her frail daughter, didn’t make any difference to her.

He sat down at the table with her and helped feed the cute little blond, telling her about his trials at the construction site and avoiding the subject of his new job. When she found out he had paid all of her outstanding bills she would be even more doubtful, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Finally he got up as she looked at him questioningly.

"I have to get back to work," Dillon said.

"Already? But you just got here."

"It’s why I’m making so much. I’m at his beck and call for the whole week, so when he feels inspired I’m already there," Dillon said.

"I guess that makes sense, especially why he is paying you so much. How did you land such a job?" Sarah asked as he walked towards the door, wincing at the question.

"He saw me working and liked my looks," Dillon said lamely.

"Dillon?"

"Yes."

"Be careful," the old hag said softly as he waved, walking out the door and hating himself for lying.