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“Yes, yes, yes,” she mumbles into the mattress.
Of course, this is all just talk. The only thing I’m coming in is a condom. And that’s if I come at all.
Shutting my eyes again, I take myself to a few of my favorite memories, hoping one will get me there.
I’m so close, but it’s downright cruel how much my orgasm will tease me. It hovers just out of reach—like it always does.
After a few more minutes, I do what I’ve resorted to doing over the past few weeks.
I fake it.
I’m not proud of it. But as I shudder and moan through a jizzless orgasm, I silently pray my client won’t pick up on it and start canceling her sessions.
When I’m done, I pull out and roll over to remove the clean condom and take it to the trash. My client has maneuvered to her back, staring at the ceiling, looking entirely satisfied and well-fucked. Her cheeks are red, and her hair’s a mangled mess.
“How are you feeling?” I ask after I’ve picked up my black briefs from where they lie folded on the chair. As I slip them on, she gives me a soft smile and a nod.
“I’m wonderful.”
On my way to the mini-fridge to retrieve her water bottle, I notice the time. Ten minutes left. Perfect.
I unscrew the cap as I reach the bed. “Be a good girl and sit up for me.”
She gives me a flirtatious smile as she sits up on the bed, resting against the headboard. “Thank you,” she murmurs as she takes the water. After the first sip, she looks at me with her lips pressed together. “My friend was right about you.”
One side of my mouth lifts into a smirk. “Oh yeah? I hope that means you enjoyed yourself.”
She chuckles to herself as she glances down. “I never imagined I’d do something like this.”
Sitting on the bed, I reach out to her and touch her hand. “What do you mean by that?”
When she looks back up, she gives me a shrug. “I didn’t just want sex,” she says before chewing on her bottom lip. “But most guys I date just don’t get it. Even if I told them what I wanted, they didn’t take me seriously or take the time to make sure I even finished. It’s pretty sad if you think about it. Having to pay someone to put your needs first.”
That is fucking sad, but I don’t say it. “I’m here for you anytime,” I reply because what else am I going to say? That normal men being shit in the sack keeps me in business. That I’m glad she can’t get a good fuck because then I know she’ll come back and shell out another six hundred bucks.
It is fucking sad, but that’s life. Life is fucking sad.
I’m just here to give orgasms when I can to make it a little less fucking sad.
"Thank you,” she says, her mouth screwed up in a soft smirk.
After our session, I walk my client to the door. A security guard will ensure she gets to her car safely.
On my way back, I notice my pink-haired boss practically jogging across the club toward me.
“Dean,” she calls before I can disappear back into my room.
Begrudgingly, I turn around to face her. “Sage.”
“We just scheduled your last appointment for August. You are booked for the next three months.” She says this with pride and excitement as she grabs my arm and gives it a squeeze. Then she leans in as if to tell me a secret. “You’re by far our most popular escort out of them all.”
That is not a secret. She knows that.
We all know that.
But Sage is kind and doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
“Thanks,” I reply politely. “I’m happy to add another opening in my week.”
