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When I come to this place of temptation, the menu might be varied, but there is only ever one option for me. This option fits my requirements exactly. I don’t need to know their names. I don’t need to talk to them or worry about their feelings. I come here for what I need, and I leave again with the satisfaction of a release and nothing more. It’s a system that has worked well for me, and I find that, like everything in my life, I try not to indulge too much. Once per month is all I usually allow, just enough to remind me that I am human.
When the doors open, I step inside, greeted by the sight of the usual raucous crowd. The offerings here are extensive, so it comes as no shock that I’ve seen many oddities here over the years. Currently, there is a large orgy taking place to the right, and on the left are the voyeurs. Down the corridor behind me, I can recall a dungeon for those who prefer whips and chains, and it’s anyone’s guess what goes on behind the private doors. I have seen enough during my visits here to have an intimate understanding of the mechanics of sex. I would often find myself watching, too, fascinated by the full spectrum of human longings. Some were more interesting to me than others, and I’d be a liar if I said I’d never reconsidered my position on the matter. Consistency is the key to maintaining my emotional baseline. I have always known that if I were to give in to anything more, I might go getting strange ideas in my head. Ideas about more than a transaction, ideas about an entanglement or even a relationship, and those are ideas I can never entertain.
“Dominus et Deus.” A young brunette who has serviced me several times approaches me when she sees me in the waiting area. “What will your pleasure be this evening, my lord?”
“A table massage.”
A secret smile curves her face, and she bows her head before turning on her heel. “Right this way.”
I follow her into the back, considering the length of her hair, the curve of her naked hips, and the gentility of her voice. From this angle, I could almost imagine her as someone else. Someone more petite, with amber eyes and a heart-shaped face.
She leads me into a private room, pulling back the sheet on the table for me and then offering to assist me with removing my cloak.
“I’ll do it.” I want her to stop talking to me. I want her to stop so that I can keep this image in my head.
When I’m naked, I climb atop the table and lower my head onto the cushion, facing the ceiling. My dick is already hard when she starts to massage my feet. She rubs oil into my skin, working in long, even strokes, building anticipation as she moves up my calves toward my thighs.
For a moment, I consider what it would feel like if I were to let my control slip, just once. Just for tonight. If I were to bend her over and fuck her the way I want to fuck Natalia. I could call her Natalia if I wanted to. I could tell her not to speak. I could have her do anything I wanted, but that realization sours the fantasy before it can really take shape.
I could do all those things, but she still won’t be Natalia. She won’t smell like her or taste like her, and I’m convinced she wouldn’t feel the same wrapped around my body.
My breath hisses between my teeth when the woman touches my dick, stroking it without warning. It should come as no surprise. This is what I came here for. This is what I always get. Nothing more, nothing less. Now, it feels all wrong somehow.
“Stop,” I command.
Her hand freezes and then falls away as I open my eyes and stare up at her through the mask.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” I force my voice to retain control. “It’s not you. I’ve just … changed my mind.”
She looks visibly distraught by my confession, so I try my best to reassure her.
“I’ll leave payment and a tip for you at the front.”
She dips her head and leaves, slipping out quietly and shutting the door behind her. I curse to myself and stare down at my offending cock, swollen and needy with a new mind of its own. Apparently, not any hand will do.
“Fuck you,” I growl, gripping it in my palm and tugging viciously. “You can’t have her.”
I feel manic, jerking myself off to disjointed images of Natalia. Images I’ve studied at night in my office from the privacy of my computer. Shots I’ve replayed over and over. Her delicate hands. Her fucking smile. The way she walks. The way she sleeps. It isn’t enough to watch these things from a distance anymore, and that’s a goddamned problem. Right now, I don’t care. In my head, I’m fucking her every filthy way I’ve ever witnessed. I’m spreading her legs apart and ripping her blouse open and sucking on her tits through the lace material of her bra. I’m unraveling her hair and biting her neck and making her sit on my face until she soaks me in her pleasure. Only then do I get to feel her, only then do I sink my cock deep into her body and fuck her until I explode.
