Nick knew he should have tried harder to stand up to his father; he was an adult after all, and could do what he wanted. But without his money, he couldn’t afford to stay at Leeds university anymore.
When his father found out about his activities with the rugby team, he was furious. On the pitch, Nick Nelson was the rugby king, but in the locker room he’d earned a different reputation altogether. There he was known as ‘Beggy Bottom Nick’, and boy, did some of his teammates love to make him beg.
On one of the rare occasions that his dad had decided to travel across from his home in France to attend one of Nick’s matches, he’d been waiting outside the locker room after the game to take his son for dinner when he’d overheard some of the team.
“Can’t believe Nick is turning us down.”
“What, Beggy?”
“Yeah, something about his dad dragging him off to dinner.”
“That sucks, my girl’s blown me out and I was looking forward to dumping a load in him.”
Stéphane couldn’t believe what he was hearing, his son, the rugby king, was acting like some sort of slut for his teammates, his male teammates. As soon as he saw his son leave the locker room, hair still damp from the showers, he grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out to his car that was waiting outside.
The ride to the hotel that day was unusually quiet, Nick should have known something was up then. The few matches his Dad had come to, he’d always been keen to discuss the highlights on the ride back afterwards. But even the chauffeur seemed to pick up on the tension in the air that day. Not daring to ask if he could raise the partition between them as he normally would.
When they got back to the hotel, his father was pacing up and down. Eventually he asked, “C’est vrai?” Is it true?
“Papa?” Nick asked, confused as to what his father was asking.
“C’est vrai?” Stéphane repeated more firmly this time.
“Je ne sais pas-,” I don’t know- Nick started before his father interrupted again.
“Est-il vrai que tu es la pute de l’équipe?” Is it true that you are the team’s whore?
Nick was shocked, he didn’t know what to say. How had his father found out?! What could he possibly say? He tried to deny it, but Stéphane wasn’t listening. He wasn’t sure what his father was more upset about, the fact that he was letting all the team use him or the fact that he was having sex with men.
“Tu ne retourneras pas dans cette université. Je t’envoie, quelque part où tu ne seras pas un tel embarras!” You will not be going back to that university. I’m sending you away, somewhere you won’t be such an embarrassment!
Nick didn’t have a chance to reply; his father had stormed out of the hotel room, and that was the last time he’d spoken to him directly. He headed back to his flat before later that day receiving a text from his father’s secretary informing him that his funding had been stopped and that a car would collect him and his things the next morning at 10am.
That was three days ago, since then his father’s chauffeur had been driving him all the way from Leeds, through the Channel Tunnel and down into the South of France. He didn’t know where his father was sending him; all he could see around him as they drove was acres of trees lining each side of the narrow road.
He lost signal on his phone about an hour ago, and Nick was already feeling the pang of withdrawal from not getting laid. Normally he’d find someone to fuck him at least once a day, he loved the feeling when he’d just been fucked, feeling loose and open. Match days were the best – if the team had lost, they’d be extra rough with him and he’d feel it for days.
But he’d been saving himself for a few days before the match and pretty soon it will have been a whole week since he’d last had anyone or any thing inside him.
It was after dark when they pulled up in front of a large dilapidated building. Stepping out into the chilly autumn air, Nick looked up at the historic structure, which clearly hadn’t been cared for for years. The chauffeur dumped Nick’s bags on the ground beside him, before shoving an intricate and ancient key into his hand and driving back down the long driveway, leaving Nick all alone.
Trying to pick all his things up in one go, Nick staggered towards the grand entrance. Carved into stonework beside the archway, the words Château d’Amour were worn but still legible.
Dropping his bags on the ground, he stuffed the key into the lock of the large wooden door. Careful not to snap his only way inside, it was a bit of a struggle to get the key to turn but when it did there was a satisfying click before the double doors flew open, clattering back on their rusted hinges.
Nick thought nothing more of it as he carried his things inside the large double height entrance hall. The doors slammed themselves shut behind him, causing cobwebs to be blown from the paintings hanging along the walls and plunging Nick into darkness.
Feeling around the wall, he managed to find a light switch and was grateful that at least there was power, and that the converted chandeliers were still working. Off the entrance hall, Nick saw a number of doors on each side between the paintings and an impressive staircase on the back wall that went up to a small landing before splitting to go off to two upper wings of the house.
Nick was too tired to explore, he dragged his cases up the stairs and went off to find a bed for the night.