Chapter Text
Khaotung is one of the fresh-faced newcomers recruited by GMMTV. With his bangs, oval face, and an overall appearance of cuteness, he seems to fit the mould of being innocent and adorable. However, he has a secret that remains unknown to the public. But it is neither the rebellious tattoo found above his hip bone, nor the line of text inked on his thigh.
Even before joining GMM, he had already gained fame in the shadows.
Within the gay community, many gray areas exist. Most of which are difficult to explain to the general public. Some gay individuals may live their entire lives without ever hearing about the clandestine transactions that occur in these hidden corners. However, once you delve into the depths of this world, it's like discovering a magical room on the negative third floor of a hotel you've been living in for decades. There are professions you never even considered; serving clientele numbering in the thousands, conducting business day in and day out. And if you're familiar with this small circle, the address "132 Orange North Street" is definitely not unfamiliar to you.
Mr. Tu is a masseur. Describing him simply as a masseur might sound ordinary, but Mr. Tu's profession goes beyond the conventional definition of a masseur. Apart from being a masseur, there is no other precise way to define what he does. However, unlike regular massages, Mr. Tu's services provide customers with an extraordinary climax experience. Without relying on props or drugs, solely with the power of his hands, he can elevate people to a heavenly state. No one has seen Mr. Tu's true face as it is always partially covered by a black mask, and his voice is transmitted through a voice modulator embedded into the mask. No one knows his real name, but it does not matter. What matters most to the customers are his hands.
Sometimes, with the client's consent, he may shoot short videos and post them on social media. However, the clients' faces never appear in the footage. "132 Orange North Street, top-secret service. Everything that happens within this room stays within these walls—no strings attached, just pure bliss."
In the gay community, word of mouth is the primary way of spreading information. So when Mr. Tu's reputation started to spread, clients flocked to him out of curiosity and admiration. Some even discovered Mr. Tu through the short videos he posted on social media because no amount of advertising can compare to the authenticity captured in those videos—the genuine longing for release, the cries of climax.
However recently, Mr. Tu's availability for appointments had significantly decreased. From having three slots open per week, it had dwindled down to just once a week, and sometimes he didn’t even open for appointments for a full two weeks. When clients inquired about this on social media, Mr. Tu simply replied with a brief statement, "Too busy."
It was another weekend, and Mr. Tu had opened up his schedule for appointments.
A customer arrived at 132 Orange North Street.
"Is this number 132?" The visitor was a young man, wearing a baseball cap and a loose beige sweatshirt. He stood at the doorway, somewhat hesitant. He held his phone, which indicated that he had reached his destination. “You have arrived at your destination.” Startled by the abrupt sound, his eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights. Apologizing, he quickly lowered his head and exited the navigation interface.
Mr. Tu, holding the doorknob, remained motionless. The lower half of his face was concealed behind the mask, making it difficult to discern his expression. However, his eyes scanned the boy from head to toe.
"I'm the one who made an appointment with you today... ah!" The boy suddenly remembered something and rummaged through the canvas bag slung over his shoulder. After searching for a while, he pulled out a mask and quickly put it on. With his hands pressed together, he apologized again to Tu, "I'm sorry, Phi, I can't show my face. This is the best I can do… I'm Champ, the one who scheduled the appointment with you today."
Tu responded with a chuckle, "But I've already seen your face, Champ."
The boy, with his hands on both sides of the mask, appeared somewhat distressed. "Can we pretend you didn't see, P'Tu?"
Tu's eyes curved with an amused expression as he smiled and gestured for him to come inside.
Legend had it that 132 Orange North Street was not some luxurious penthouse but simply, a small one-bedroom apartment hidden on the street corner. The interior was clean and tidy, with only a few pieces of furniture, giving the impression that it was unoccupied. Standing in the center of the room, Champ glanced around and immediately recognized the soft fabric sofa against the wall. In the videos Tu had posted on social media, many people reached their climax on that very sofa. Champ felt like he could still see the hands of the previous person indulging in pleasure, gripping the folds of the fabric. It appeared clean, but countless fluids had soaked into the soft fabric covering it.
Tu stood behind him and gently pressed the icy glass cup against Champ's left cheek. Champ yelped, jumping back in surprise, and frantically covered his face.
"What's wrong? Are you a germaphobe?" Tu handed him the glass cup. "Have some water first."
Champ took the cup, his eyes darting around but avoiding direct eye contact with the person in front of him. "I'm not thirsty, P'Tu."
Tu chuckled as he observed him. "You'll be thirsty later."
Champ awkwardly held the cup in his hands, not realizing that his face had turned red. "Where...?" He cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound more normal. "Where do we..."
Tu watched him silently as he struggled with the word "do" in his mouth, eventually failing to utter a sound.
"Relax," Tu chuckled softly in a low voice, his voice carrying a hint of illusion through the mask, but his tone was indeed gentle, even the voice modulator couldn't hide that. "Before we proceed, I will go over some precautions and disclaimers with you. Of course, I have already sent them to you in an email, but I need your verbal confirmation. I will make a backup recording, but you can trust that I will never disclose this recording without your permission. Then, we can chat freely. You can tell me about yourself, and I will share some things about myself as well. It will help you relax. Is that okay?"
Champ held the water cup tightly, exerting so much force that his fingertips turned white.
"Is that okay?" Tu repeated and slowly began to approach him. He was shorter than Champ, so he had to tilt his head up slightly, but the composure in his gaze seemed capable of making Champ feel small. "Feeling scared? If you change your mind, I can refund your deposit."
"No," Champ's voice was as small as a mosquito's buzz. "I'm just a little nervous. I haven't... done this before."
Tu's eyes crinkled, and his voice carried a playful tone. "You weren't this nervous when you were standing at the door. Did it just sink in? 'Is this really happening, and I don't know if it's a mistake or not?' Haven't thought it through, huh?"
Champ lowered his head, stealing a few glances at the couch before retracting his gaze.
"Wait here for me," Tu instructed, before turning into another room, perhaps the bedroom. After a moment, he emerged with a plump bean bag, one of those commonly known as a lazy sofa, where sinking into it could make a person instantly enveloped. Tu tossed the bean bag into the center of the living room and beckoned Champ to put his bag down and sit.
Champ had slender limbs, but when he sat inside the bean bag, he could curl up into a ball. Tu watched as Champ tightened his knees, his feet exploring the edges of the bean bag, unable to resist a smile. Champ resembled a cat he owned, cautiously stepping on the bean bag, testing left and right, before finally curling up inside.
Tu half-knelt in front of him, his eyes meeting Champ's gaze, holding a voice recorder in his hand, which he shook to show the blinking red light. Tu noticed the boy's eyes shift from the recorder to his fingers, and even after Tu set the recorder aside, Champ's gaze remained fixated on his hand. Tu stretched out his fingers and, under Champ's gaze, lightly touched the hand holding the water cup, exerting some force to bring Champ's left hand closer to clasp their hands tightly together.
"So, Mr. Champ, let me explain my rules to you first. At Orange Street 132, I charge per session, and the deposit is collected at the time of booking, which is non-refundable once the session officially begins. The minimum duration is two hours, and you can extend if you wish, with a maximum of three and a half hours. Any additional time is not charged extra and is still counted as one session." Tu paused, "Is everything clear so far?" He asked.
Champ's hand was icy cold, and Tu knew he was nervous. He deliberately softened his voice as he spoke. Champ nodded, "Charged per session, and a session is..."
"The number of times you ejaculate," Tu interjected.
Champ's face deepened in red within half a second.
"Do you know what a dry orgasm is?" Tu asked.
Champ shook his head.
"Some people can reach an orgasm without ejaculating anything. It's called a dry orgasm. It's normal unless it's caused by a medical condition, so there's no need to worry. However, since I charge per session, dry orgasms don't count as separate sessions. That's why I require a medical report from clients during the booking process." Tu blinked, paused for a moment, and said, "I've reviewed the report you submitted, and you're in good health."
Champ lifted the water cup to his face, intending to take a sip, only to realize he was still wearing his mask. He hastily pulled down the mask and took a sip with his neck craned.
"Do you want to experience it? Many people find it so pleasurable that they cry. And it doesn't count as an additional session," Tu said.
Champ gulped down a mouthful of water, then stammered, "I... I can't. I just want it to be... normal. I'll be fine with something normal."
"Is that so? But none of the service here is normal." Tu continued to circle his thumb on Champ's hand, smiling as he watched the boy drink the water incessantly.
"Relax. Everything I do from now on will be with your consent, but sometimes I may push you a little. For example, if you say 'no more,' I'll assess your tolerance level," Tu's gaze remained fixed, but his hand slowly moved onto Champ's thigh, maintaining a safe distance of ten centimeters above the knee—close enough to imply something intimate yet not enough to cause confusion. He kneaded the muscles of the thigh, leaning closer, and looked into Champ's eyes as he spoke, "I want you to know that you have absolute control over what will happen tonight and over the actions I will and won’t take. However, only when you say 'the transaction is over' will I completely stop. Otherwise, I will assess for myself how much more you can endure."
Tu lowered his gaze to the empty cup in Champ's hand. "Do you want more?"
"Hmm?" Champ snapped out of his daze, his voice soaring eight octaves higher, as if he had flown to the ceiling. He cleared his throat, realizing that Tu was referring to the water. "No, thank you, Phi. I'm good."
Tu took the water cup from Champ's hand and set it aside. Both of his hands returned to Champ's thighs, now positioned closer to the root of his legs. Since Champ was curled up in the beanbag, with his knees pulled towards his chest, it was easy for Tu's hands to reach the area just below his thighs. Tu's thumb kneaded the underside of his thigh. "What do you want me to do? Any taboos or preferences, you can tell me now," Tu said, his thumb continuously rubbing on Champ's thigh.
"...No preferences, Phi," Champ said, slightly drawing his knees closer. His legs were slender, with not much flesh on his thighs. Tu's hand gripped his leg and gently opened his knees again. Champ lowered his head and stared at Tu through the wide gap between his knees, his hands nervously clutching the beanbag beside him.
"On your reservation form, the box for 'enjoy being penetrated' is not checked," Tu's hand moved from his knee to the root of his leg, repeatedly working the fabric. The loose, faded jeans formed wrinkles as they glided roughly against Champ's inner thigh. Tu could easily lift his legs with little force in this position, but instead, he deliberately avoided Champ's key areas, focusing on kneading his skin. Under his touch, Champ's legs had opened wider without him realizing, and his toes were already touching the ground on both sides.
"Hmm..." Champ managed to utter a sound from his throat, whether in response or not, it was unclear.
Tu chuckled. "But the box for 'not accepting any form of insertion' is also unchecked. Now I need to confirm with you, did you fill out the form with full awareness and understanding? Is there anything you want to change?"
"...Hmm."
"I need an explicit answer from you."
"....Yes, there's nothing I want to change."
"You should have seen the video I posted on Twitter before, but I still want to clarify that no services at 132 Orange North Street involve any part of my body other than my hands. However, I assure you that the experience you will receive will be worth every penny you pay."
Tu reached over Champ’s body and picked up the recording device from the ground, pressing the pause button. Then, under Champ's gaze, he used his left hand to hold the small mass that had already bulged between Champ's legs. "Are you hard?"
In that instant, Champ's body jolted, arching almost off the beanbag. His toes touched the ground, and he tilted his head back, revealing the graceful curve of his slender neck. Tu watched his Adam's apple bob up and down a few times, refraining from any sort of action, apart from his hand which was enclosed on the raised area.
"I need an explicit answer from you."
"...I'm hard," Champ's body slowly settled back into the beanbag. He swallowed a few times and whispered, "Can...can you let me know in advance, Phi?"
"Do you really want me to give you a heads-up? It would take away some of the surprise," Tu softly questioned, his hand applying gentle pressure through the denim fabric, slowly massaging the shape beneath.
Champ's head tilted back, his eyes closed, and his mouth silenced.
Tu straightened up, easing the pressure between Champ's legs, but keeping his elbow near his head. His hand remained on Champ's thigh, though, slowly massaging the area. He lowered his head, his gaze tracing the curve of Champ's exposed neck down to his tensed jawline. There was a small mole there.
"Answer a question for me, Champ… and in exchange I’ll tell you something about myself," Tu said.
"Mm?" Champ blinked his eyes reluctantly, meeting Tu's gaze with his head still tilted back.
Tu's fingers, skillfully navigating the fabric, found his sensitive area and exerted a little pressure through the denim.
Champ immediately closed his eyes and unconsciously parted his lips, like a thirsty fish on land.
Tu's free hand brushed through Champ's hair, pushing his bangs aside and removing the mask that still clung to his chin. "Your name isn't Champ, is it? What's your real name?" Tu asked in a soft voice.
The boy's body stiffened, and his eyes widened as he attempted to sit up, lips tightly sealed.
"Shh... I didn't say you could get up yet," Tu blocked the boy with his own body, keeping him trapped between Tu and the beanbag. Tu's hand changed direction, moving downwards, and finding its way to the boy’s sensitive spherical area. He began to massage it.
The boy's face turned bright red, and his nostrils flared, unsure whether to stop him or not.
"You see, I've already seen your face. Isn't that more personal than knowing your name? Besides, I'm just asking for your nickname. You don't have to tell me your real name. Thailand has so many common nicknames, why deceive me with a fake one?"
The boy shifted uncomfortably, hesitated for a moment, and finally lay back down, raising his heels to allow Tu better access to that area.
"Good boy," Tu remarked.
The boy thumped in Tu's palm.
Tu raised an eyebrow. "So, you like to be praised..."
"I'm called Fir," the boy interrupted before Tu could finish his sentence.
Tu nodded with a smile, "See, it's not difficult to say it, is it?" He added in a praising tone.
The boy closed his eyes and let out a sigh from his throat that almost turned into distortion.
"Fir what? Fir isn't a name."
"Just... just Fir."
"Alright," Tu didn't press further. His hand slipped under the boy's hoodie, gently brushing over a patch of raised goosebumps, circling around the navel, and finally resting at the waist. The boy had no excess fat on his body, smooth skin covering firm muscles, warm, soft, and resilient. Fir seemed unusually sensitive in that area, flinching and contracting his body with just a light touch. He squirmed in the beanbag without much leverage, but eventually gripped Tu's wrist.
"Phi..."
"Did I say you could move?" Tu stopped his actions.
After a few seconds of standstill, the boy finally released his grip and placed his hands on the beanbag either side of his body, stretching out beneath Tu.
"You're such a good boy," Tu smiled and leaned closer to Fir's ear, gripping his waist and curving his hand around to trace along his spine, starting from the lower back. Tu quickly noticed that the boy was only wearing a pair of jeans, with the rough denim directly against his soft skin. "But maybe not that good, huh?" His fingers squeezed into the gap of the waistband, slowly descending until almost half of his forearm was pressed under Fir's body, his palm perfectly fitting against the firm and lifted buttocks.
Tu almost pressed his entire body onto the boy, strands of his pulled-back hair falling down and obscuring Fir's vision. In this position, he moved his fingers, tracing along the crease of the buttocks.
"Let me tell you something. I'm younger than you, P'Fir."
Fir widened his eyes, his hands firmly pressed against the surface of the beanbag. He seemed bound by an invisible rope, allowing Tu's fingers to brush past his rim, once, twice, three times, his entire body tensing up and trembling without any resistance.
Tu's voice, which was altered by the voice changer, gave him an illusory front. It lacked the smoothness of everyday conversation but was not quite mechanical like that of an AI computer software. Tu lowered his voice and spoke again, "Is it your first time, P'Fir?"
"Don't go in..."
"Really, your first time?" Tu tilted his head and smiled, looking at him.
Fir frowned, closed his eyes, and turned his face away, breathing heavily. "...No, it's not."
Tu's fingers paused for a moment.
"I don't like penetration. You said I could stop," Fir said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Tu withdrew his hand, holding onto his waist over the hoodie.
After just a few seconds, Fir turned his head back and looked at Tu, saying, "I'm sorry. Can... Can we continue?" His voice was as soft as a mosquito's buzz, as if he had instantly transformed back into that obedient boy.
Tu studied his expression, uncertain of what he was thinking. Fir had a small mole beneath his eye, making him look even more innocent when his eyes glanced upward. Like a bottle of milk with a lingering scent. He fixed his gaze on Tu, waiting for him to proceed.
It was hard to tell if he was a good boy or a bad boy.
"Be careful," Tu squinted, tilting his head and smiling at Fir, as his hand once again reached down and touched the still erect bulge.