As Mark rang the bell at the back of the hotel, he smiled, knowing he had at last done something for his mother. Life had been hard since his father had left many years before and his mother had struggled heroically to bring up Mark and his younger sister Kelly in their small apartment, but at last he could repay a little of the effort she had put it.
Since he was sixteen he had been planning this. Some guessed that Mark was still sixteen -- he looked quite boyish with his mop of black hair, slim figure, standing about 5ft 10. People said of Mark that he would fill out to a fine figure of a man. They said that when he was older he would have everything -- good looks and genuine charm. At eighteen Mark was kind, and growing slowly in confidence, with "boyish" good looks.
As soon as he could Mark had signed up with the agency to get work waiting on at dinners, banquets and functions, and had served in many different places, from hotels to marquees to halls, work he could do while studying in the day time. Of course, he had contributed to the "family pot," but had also kept some of his earnings for himself. He enjoyed buying music, and sometimes even clothes. But he had saved some as well. And now his mother had just gone on her first holiday that he could remember. She had flown to the sun with her sister for ten days. And Mark had paid for it.
Of course, he had needed to convince his mother she should go. And convince her she could find some spending money. In the end she had flown out earlier that day, leaving Mark at the house to look after himself -- with the promise of no parties -- and Kelly with friends. Mark was pleased his mother had gone -- she deserved everything she got as a result of what she had done for Mark and Kelly.
Mark's mind turned back to the shift for the evening. It was some sort of awards function for an insurance company. He wasn't sure what, and didn't particularly care. Probably normal stuff -- best salesman, special awards, best newcomer. He enjoyed his work, enjoyed the company of the staff he worked with, and enjoyed the interaction with the customers, but this was just one more "do." After the first half dozen shifts he had worked he had lost interest in who he was serving. Tonight he was with a team of ten others -- all the same sort of age as him, mainly students -- and the shift went well. A team of ten suggested a hundred people, with the hotel using their own staff to run the bar.
Food was served. Starter. Main course. Pudding. If you had asked later, Mark could not have told what the food was -- he just had to deliver plates to tables and clear up after.
Then there were speeches, and awards, and for the staff a lot of hanging around in a corridor polishing cutlery, waiting to clear tables. For Mark it was just a typical ordinary shift. After two years of this work he was used to the waistcoat and bow tie he had to wear. He had polished cutlery mountains. He had served more chicken than Bernard Matthews had grown. And this was just another shift. They worked hard. Joked. Waited to go home.
At last it was over -- most of the guests had left. About 10 men were left -- managers of the company. It was often what happened -- the organisers/managers would run the event, then stay the night in the hotel so they could drink afterwards until late, often staying in complimentary rooms if they had paid enough on the dinner. The tables had been cleared, and then stacked at the side of the room. The team were being approached by the group of managers -- it was always good form to say thank you to the staff who had worked hard.
"I just want to say thankyou for your hard work tonight," said the man who appeared to be in charge. "First time we've had a dinner like this and it went very well. Like to just give you a bottle of something to say thankyou." They gave each of the team a bottle of wine to say thankyou.
"Just wanted to say we are going to have a private drink or two, and wondered if one of you would like to come and serve a few drinks to us for a couple of hours? May be do a few other favours for us?"
The team knew what these things could mean. A bunch of blokes getting drunk. Cleaning up sick. Staying for hours till the bitter end. Trouble getting time sheets signed, so not getting paid for it. The team melted away quickly. Needed to be home. Last bus due. Taxi waiting. Truth was Mark knew they were all off to a club. As the team disappeared Mark moved over to the Manager of the company. He was a tallish thin man, about 45. Smart, although his tie was a bit dishevelled after the long evening. He was good looking, with a ready genuine smile. Mark spoke to him. They seemed like friendly people, and he might get a good tip.
" Sir, I know what these things can be like, but I've got nothing better to do. I'll stay as long as I'm happy." Mark knew he didn't have to be home as he was the only one staying there at the moment. He wasn't doing anything the next day either, and could leave whenever he wanted.
The man held out his hand to shake Mark's and introduced himself as Chris. He asked Mark his name.
"Mark, I know what you're thinking. I did your kind of work when I was young. But it won't be drunk and sick and gross men swearing. We're not like that. We've got other plans for later. Are you happy to give us a few hours?"
Mark thought before he spoke. "If it's not drink and sick, then what do you want me to do?"
Chris thought before he answered. "Absolutely everything we want. And no getting out of anything. And we won't pay you. And I think as our member of staff you need to call me sir. Still want to do it?"
Part of Mark thought he should just walk away. But he was intrigued. And when Chris had said Mark should call him "sir" something stirred inside him.
"I'll do it, sir. There's no-one at home tonight -- my mother is away on holiday -- so no-one will miss me."
Chris chatted for another ten minutes to Mark, asking him about his mother's holiday, a little about his life, why Mark was working as a waiter for these events. Chris was more and more impressed with the quiet young man, and knew it was the lad the manager at the agency had told him about, how he had saved for his mother, and the tough life they had in the apartment, struggling to make ends meet. At last Chris told Mark to report to room 404 in 15 minutes. Chris suggested Mark may want to freshen up, take a shower, before reporting.
With that the ten men had disappeared, the hotel staff had melted away, and Mark was on his own waiting in the dining room of the hotel, looking at the clock. Mark did take the shower in the staff area -- it had been a hot and sweaty shift. One minute before the 15 minutes were up, Mark took the lift to the fourth floor, and was knocking on the door of suite 404. Almost immediately the door was opened by Chris, and Mark invited inside.
For the next few minutes Mark did what was his duty -- he served drinks, handed around nibbles, washed empty glasses in the small kitchen attached to the suite. It gave him a chance to take in the surroundings a bit more. It was a large suite with plenty of chairs, as well as a double bed, with a small kitchen and bathroom attached. The ten or so men who were the managers of the organisation sat on the chairs talking. For a group of men who had drunk a few, they were remarkable quiet and friendly to Mark. Mark also noticed another man who was clearly very friendly with Chris, perhaps even a partner, called Tony. Tony was a couple of inches taller than Chris -- over six foot, although height was deceptive for someone as slim as him. He was perhaps 45, with blonde hair. Mark found him particularly kind to him.
It was after twenty or so minutes that Chris clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "Gentlemen," he started, clearly about to make a short speech. "Gentlemen, it is obvious that we have managed to set up a good company. It's not often a group of friends from a gay bar succeed quite so well! Setting up our own insurance company ten years ago was the best thing we ever did." There was clapping amongst the other men. Chris continued. "So perhaps we ought to celebrate!" He paused. He turned to Mark stood by the kitchen. "Mark, come and stand by my chair." After he registered he had been spoken to, Mark moved to the side of Chris's chair. Chris spoke to Mark quietly. "Whatever happens, don't move. Unless I tell you."
Mark stood wondering what was going to happen. Perhaps there was a special champagne to serve, or a cake to be brought in. Mark was only half listening to what Chris was staying. "I reckon the best way to celebrate is for us to share something special together. I've always wanted to do this. A gangbang."
There was a pause. Even then Mark had only half heard and hadn't registered, although it was obvious the other men liked the idea after they too had registered Chris's suggestion. Later Mark thought it was perhaps the drink that made them so uninhibited. Chris was still speaking. "I've always wanted to gangbang a nice fresh eighteen year old, and we have one here." Mark felt Chris move a hand from behind, between his legs, and reach up and cup his cock over his trousers. Afterwards Mark knew he should have run -- he would have escaped through the door. But he didn't -- his just stood there and let Chris do it to him. Perhaps it was that he said he would obey and had been told not to move. Perhaps he wanted it. Even in his acute embarrassment he felt his cock twitch into Chris's hand. He also knew afterwards that having stayed for this moment, he could have been led into anything. And was.
