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“It’s a tough market out there. What made you want to enter the sex trade?”
She coughs and grabs for her drink. Several gulps in, she empties the glass and sets it on the table in front of her. “Would you call this the sex trade?”
This was way too much fun. I slide closer to her in the booth. “Sweetheart, you’re getting paid to have sex. I’d say the minute we exchange money for sex it’s a done deal.”
By the shocked look on her face, I’m sure she hasn’t considered that.
“Oh lord, I—”
“Hadn’t thought about it? Well, don’t worry.” I pat her hand and feel the same heat as I did when we shook hands earlier. It races through my body and settles in my cock. I mimic her earlier squirming trying to adjust
the swell. “We list your position as a product analyst. Nobody has to know that you sit in your office and mas—”
“Here you go.” The waitress puts the platter on the table and leaves.
Relief washes over Janey’s face. She’s been saved by gumbo and red beans with rice.
We dish up our servings and eat in silence. My brain is anything but silent, it’s full of questions and visions and unmet desire.
After we finish lunch, I order beignets and chicory coffee, which seems to please Janey, and that, for some odd reason, pleases me. I haven’t wanted to please a woman since Gloria walked out on me a year ago. She met some guy down in the Haight-Ashbury District and they took off together to make daisy chains and tie-dye shirts. She left with nothing but the clothes on her back. Said the guy had sold all his belongings, and they were going to live off the grid.
“How did you enter the sex trade?” Janey asks. She takes a bite of her beignet and powdered sugar sticks to her lips. She pats it with a napkin but it doesn’t go anywhere. I’m forced to look at those beautiful lips and wonder how good they would feel against mine. How sweet they would taste. How beautiful they would look wrapped around my co—.
“Anything else?” The waitress asks.
“No.” The word sounds short—terse even. I pull two twenties out of my pocket and slap them on the check still irritated at her poor timing. Just as my vision manifests into Janey’s lips wrapped around me, she interrupts it, cheating me out of a virtual blowjob. Is it shit or perfect timing? I’m not sure.
“Where were we?” I reach over and thumb the sugar sitting below her lip, then suck her sweetness into my mouth. Her eyes go wide, but she says and does nothing. “We were talking about the sex trade.”
Over another cup of coffee, I tell her about a college prank that turned good. How we made cock clones and sold them as a joke, but later found it to be profitable. “Sex sells.”
This opens talk about sex toys and the industry and loosens her up to the point where she asks more questions than I have time to answer, which means tomorrow we’ll meet again for lunch. I regret having to take her back to the office. While she’s in the back doing her job, I know I’ll be in my office miserable.
Three
Janey
“What the hell am I doing?” I say to the monster cock suctioned to my desk. I push it and pull it trying to get it to lose its suction, but it stays put.
The woman’s complaint is that the suction is faulty, but I can’t find fault in the item at all. It stands tall and firm regardless of the pressure I put on it.
In the background is the buzz of The Stimulator. It’s almost a replica of my missing bullet and the sound comforts me while I work through the compliments and complaints page of the website.
Maybe this job isn’t so bad. I had a nice lunch with my super sexy, hot boss. I don’t have to save up for a new bullet because I have a room full of toys at my disposal. Although I refuse to pleasure myself at work, I can see where some of these items will make their way home with me. I continue to prod the giant cock and laugh. Maybe I should bring this big daddy home and shove it up Glinda’s patootie the next time she bangs on the floor above me.
I squirt a dose of lube onto the bulbous head and slide my hand up and down. The thing is massive and lifelike from its ridges to the large underside vein. The only thing missing is the pulse of an orgasm.
While I give it a good hand job, I read over the woman’s email again. Just as I reach the bottom of her message, the cock pops loose and rolls to the floor. “It’s the lube,” I say out loud. I type her a return message telling her that lube should be used sparingly so as not to disrupt the suction. I grab a towel from the pile in the corner and clean up my mess.
“This won’t be so bad,” I say, trying to convince myself. Once clean, I stick the phallus back on the shelf where it belongs. Women fantasize about alpha men with massive dicks, but too much of a good thing is still too much. A dick that size will split a girl in half.
My mind travels back to Caine, and I wonder which of the dildos on my shelf is his. He did mention cloning, so one of these has to belong to him. I glance at the one I returned and shudder. The man who wields that beast has to walk like a cowboy straight out of the saddle. How could he have a normal gait with a beam hanging between his legs?
I walk the perimeter of the room to inspect each of the toys. There are at least a dozen replicas, but they aren’t named. They’re lettered A to L and once again, I wonder if any of these belong to Caine? On my way back, I notice all kinds of stuff I’ve heard of but have never seen. There is an entire section of plugs and clamps and flavored body oils. There’s even body fudge, which I can’t resist, so I pull it off the shelf and take it back to my desk where I proceed to devour the entire jar one finger swipe at a time. The only complaint about this stuff is it doesn’t last long enough.
Somewhere in the afternoon the buzz of the vibrator slows down and dies. I take notes on its battery life and tuck it into my bag with an extra pack of double As.
My computer is just shutting down when there’s a knock at the door.
