Working Men 2 Box Set

Blurring the Lines-3

I know he has money—a house like this? He’s loaded. But rules are rules, and I have to see the cash up front. I can tell he doesn’t have it on him because his sweatpants highlight the bulge at his crotch and his round, bubble butt, and there isn’t a wallet in sight. So when I ask for the dough, he ducks back out into the hall and disappears for a few moments, leaving me alone in the guest room. This all feels strange to me for some reason I can’t quite put my finger on. Whenever I’m at a client’s house for an appointment, it’s all business. Wham, bam, thank you, Sam.

But this? This feels like I’m not here for the money but for him, and it shouldn’t. I don’t know what to do about that.

Less than a minute passes before he’s back. He has a leather wallet in his hands, and when he opens it casually, I see a wad of fifties the same way other guys carry fives or tens. He peels one off and hands it over. I never take the money first, so I set it on the dresser in plain sight. He starts to leaf through the other bills. “Do I tip you, or something?”

“Fifty’s fine.” Facing him, I unbuckle my belt and unbutton my jeans. Before I unzip, though, I ask, “You just want me to strip? Or do you maybe want to undress me? Some guys like to do that.”

He grins and sets the wallet on the dresser with the fifty dollar bill. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

So I lean back a little, hips jutting forward, and he comes closer. Snagging my zipper, he eases it down with just enough pressure against me that I feel his fingers against my d**k the whole time. He’s looking at me, but I’m watching his hands—I don’t want to look in his face, I don’t want this to become intimate. It’s a quick blowjob, nothing else. We aren’t friends, I remind myself. He’s paying me to be here.

His hands rub around my waist and, gently, he pushes down my jeans. They fall to my knees. I push my shirt up out of the way so he can see the front of my briefs—I’m already half-hard, not because I’m into him but because I’m about to get sucked off, and no matter who’s doing it, I always come. I like the warm feel of a hot mouth around my c**k, tender hands massaging my balls, a wet tongue licking down my length. As I watch, my d**k twitches in anticipation, and RC’s fingers hook into the waistband of my briefs to tug them down.

The moment my d**k slips free, it stands up to greet him and he sinks to his knees like an acolyte kneeling before a temple god. “Gorgeous,” he sighs. His breath tickles the sensitive skin on my lower belly, making it flutter.

He kisses my bulbous knob first—not a quick buss or a hurried peck, either, but a deep, sensual frenching that actually makes the bottoms of my feet tingle. That’s never happened before. My ass clenches as his lips rub over my slit. He definitely knows what he’s doing.

Then his tongue licks out and traces the shroomy tip in a counter-clockwise motion, from the slit around to the left, over the top, then back up underneath, ending where it began. With a final little kiss on the underside, he trails his tongue down my length as if it were a lollipop. His mustache and beard tickles where his hair brushes against me, and my d**k stiffens against his cheek. At the base, he sucks one of my balls into his mouth and rolls it around a bit before he lets it slip free. My other nut gets the same treatment. Then his lips are kneading back to the tip of my d**k, which has already begun to weep a thin, clear liquid.

God, he’s good.

My knees feel weak and I stagger, hitting the back of my knees against the side of the bed. I drop to the mattress and prop myself up on my elbows, spreading my legs as far as I can. My jeans keep them from going too wide, though, so RC pushes the pants down farther, to my ankles, before he slips his sweats down, as well. His c**k is rock hard and curves up towards his navel, as if reveling in its sudden freedom. With one hand, he strokes himself as he kneels between my legs again. A second later, he encircles my d**k with his other hand, opens wide, and swallows it down to the root.

I feel his throat constrict around me as his tongue and cheeks and mouth work to bring me to release. His fingers massage my hardness, teasing and kneading and squeezing me, sending shivers down my spine. I’ve never had anyone pay such loving attention to every single detail, every inch of my d**k, every nerve, every fiber, every little piece of me. In all the appointments I’ve had, most men were closet queers looking for a real-life c**k to suck, but they didn’t really know what they were doing. Or they were trying to please themselves more than they wanted to please me—they spent more time fiddling with their own joysticks while slobbering over mine. One guy literally took forty-five minutes to make me come, and just before I busted a nut, I was almost ready to call it quits. Enough already, you know? Just quit yanking on it.

But RC knows how to please a man. His lips and tongue do things I didn’t think were possible, and when one stray finger tickles down below my balls, I almost don’t realize how close he is to my no-go zone until his nail scrapes over the puckered skin of my anus.

Suddenly I sit up, scooting back on the bed out of reach. “Whoa, man.” I’m a little unnerved by how shaky my voice sounds. “Blowjob only. That’s all you paid for.”

His hand’s still around my shaft, his middle finger still tantalizingly close to my a-hole. “How much do you charge for this?” he asks, brushing between my cheeks again.

“More than you can pay,” I tell him. Though, really? I mean, look at this place. I clench my buttocks to deter any further exploration. “It’s off-limits, dude. My e-mail said—”

“All right, all right. I get it.” In one fluid motion, he stands and I see he still has his c**k in his other hand, pointing it at me like a loaded gun. “Mind if I rub us together to get off?”

I hesitate. That isn’t part of the deal. But I can’t see anything wrong with it—it isn’t s*x, after all—so I shrug and lay back on the bed. “Sure, fine. Just no ass stuff. I’m not gay.”

He sort of grunts at that but doesn’t say anything. It sounds all right when I’m home alone typing it into a message, but here it comes off a little hollow. Both of us half-naked, both of us hard as steel, him leaning against the bed between my legs with one hand on his d**k, the other on mine. But I’m not gay. I’m not.

Still, I can’t deny the pleasure that spikes through me when he holds his c**k alongside mine. He clasps his hands together, encircling us both at the same time, and starts to thrust towards me. His d**k slides against my spit-slathered shaft with ease, his fingers working us at the same time, from root to tip and back down again. I close my eyes and find my hips arching up off the bed of their own accord. For the first time ever while at an appointment, I feel lust rising within me. Each thrust, each f**k, each squeeze, I have to bite back a litany of words pressing in my throat. Yes, and God, and please. I’m no longer getting paid to come. I want to, and not just because I want to get this over with.

Surprisingly, I don’t want it to end.

But it does, in a hot rush that leaves RC’s hands slick with our mingled juices. I spurt first, a high-arcing shot that beads in his trim beard. Then he grunts as he comes in thick, ropy bursts that splatter my belly with his jism. “God,” he sighs. “You’re good.”

Before I can sit up, he leans down and kisses my c**k again, almost lovingly. He licks the tip of it clean, then catches the overflow running down my length. Without looking up at me, he asks, “When can I see you again?”

I’m wondering the same thing.

* * * *

We set another appointment a week away, so I’m surprised when I get a text from him Friday afternoon. U busy?

If he can pay, I can play.

I call to see what he has in mind. “I just want to see you again,” he says.

Uh-oh. This can’t be good.

“Nothing s****l,” he hurries to add. “Don’t you ever just go out with your buddies or, I don’t know, hang out and watch TV?”

I grunt, noncommittal. “I’ve seen yours. It’s huge.” I mean the TV.

Don’t I?

He laughs. “How about we grab a bite to eat? We didn’t really get a chance to talk much the other day.”

No, we were too busy getting off. I almost think having s*x but that wasn’t what we were doing. Just to underscore it, I remind myself it was business only. I got paid for being with him. Out loud, I remind him, “I’m not gay.”

“I’m not talking like a date,” he says. “I’m talking maybe meeting up at this place downtown I know, great restaurant, Jules? You’ve heard of it?”

Enough to know I can’t afford it. “I’m a little low on cash.”

“My treat,” he says.

“Then it is a date.”

He laughs again, that throaty, sexy sound that seems to grab me by the balls and dares me not to laugh along. “No, man, I’m paying for the pleasure of your company. I just want someone to talk to and I think you’d be a lot of fun to get to know.”

I set my ground rules specifically so none of my clients would get to know me. But something about RC makes it hard to say no. I have nothing planned for the evening, and I’m surprised and a little unnerved to find that the idea of going out with him pleases me. He said no s*x, I remind myself, so it’s just two guys palling around. Almost like we were friends, even if we aren’t.

Since college, I haven’t really met many people. I went to school here in Richmond and stayed after graduation, but everyone I knew packed up and moved out. Went back home, mostly, or moved onto new places with new careers. Everyone but me.

I don’t really fit in with the university scene any longer—I’m not on campus, I’m not a student. Men my age either have lifelong friends they still talk to or they meet new people at work. I don’t keep in touch with anyone I used to know, except for the occasional message on f*******:, and I don’t work. Or, rather, I’m not gainfully employed. I meet plenty of guys doing what I do, but none I want to hang out with later.

Until RC.

He stays quiet, letting me think. Finally, I draw in a deep breath and admit, “You realize I’ve never done this before. I don’t usually see the guys who hire me to…”

“So I’m your first.” There’s a smile in his voice that makes me grin to hear it. “Don’t worry, I’ve never gone out with a straight guy before. I don’t even know if we’ll have anything in common to talk about.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something,” I promise.