I drop my clothes into the hamper as I head towards my bathroom. The cool air kisses my skin, but it does nothing for my cock with a mind of its own.
I turn on the water, letting it run a minute or two to get to the temperature I like. My apartment isn’t shitty, as working for Foxy has definitely afforded me some luxuries in life—more than what stripping did, if you can believe that—but even a place as nice as this one has its problems, and the water temperature here sucks. I like a nicehotshower, not lukewarm rain.
Well, technically I love a nice hotbath, but I don’t have a tub, and I haven’t had a tub since I lived at home. Some days, like today, I’d kill for a bathtub full of bubblebath, where I could plop my airpods in and relax, maybe even get my inner Julia Roberts on and karaoke in my bathroom.
But I digress.
When the temperature finally hits suitable, I step in and let the water rush over me. It’s not melt-your-skin-off hot, but it’s already starting to steam up in here, which helps the atmosphere.
I don’t waste time as I wrap my hand around my cock, going through the motions the same way I do every day. I start to build a rhythm, relishing in the steam and the warmth as my hips start moving of their own accord.
I close my eyes, letting my mind wander. Usually I try not to think too much, but I have a few things that have stuck around in my brain from the books I’ve read and the porn I’ve watched over the years, and sometimes I tend to mash the two together.
Tonight, I think about Emerson, from Sarah Cate’sPraise,but instead of fantasizing about him with Charlie, I instead think of myself in her place, and I set the scene in my mind. I imagine the big, sexy man twice my age pushing me over the arm of my couch, grasping my throat as he fills me, telling me howgoodI am.
The thought elicits a deep moan from my throat, and I quicken my pace.
You take my cock so well, Jacob.
The voice in my head is smooth, warm, and it takes me a moment too long to realize it’s not the voice I usually imagine.
The words shift from imagined, to perceived in the blink of an eye.
Hell, you can suck me off in the fucking closet with that perfect mouth of yours if you want.
My cock pulses with a fresh bead of precum as my thumb slides over my weeping slit.
What the fuck?
I blink, trying to push away the memory of Aaron’s voice, but when I do, I start to go soft.
No. No, no, no, that is not happening tonight!
I grunt out a sound of frustration as I pick up my pace, gritting my teeth as I reluctantly let my mind wander back to his voice. I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just fantasy. He was being sarcastic. Maybe he was even joking, considering hewas drinking. I doubt he’ll even remember saying such a thing tomorrow when we actually meet up and go over everything.
The chances of Aaron actually shoving his dick down my throat after the event are slim at best, and I know that.
Most of the men who hired me in the past tended to be skittish at best in the dick department, save for one, and I certainly don’t want to think abouthim.
Garrett was an asshole, through and through, and only hired me to get back at his boyfriend for cheating on him. Or so he said. So he hired me, paraded me around like I was his arm candy, and I ate that shit up. I’d just started working for Foxy, and I didn’t quite know how to separate myself from who my clients wanted me to be yet.
Garrett was my learning curve.
I don’t want to think about Garrett, though, and so I push the memory aside and focus on the task at hand. Aaron’s voice fills my psyche as I close my eyes again, imagining not what he looks like, but what his cock looks like; all angry and pink and swollen, veins slithering up his thick shaft. I bet a man with a bravado like that has a nice, thick dick.
That elicits a moan from me, and so I quicken my pace once more, imagining said thick, veiny dick pushing between my lips until it hits the back of my throat.
I haven’t had a cock in my mouth or my ass in nearly four years. I know I could get on the apps and find a hook up, and I’ve considered it, but… I know it sounds dumb, but I want it tomean something.I don’t just want to suck a dick that is going to leave me in the morning, with nothing but the memory and blue balls.
Now is not the time to get all mopey, Jacob, I tell myself as I focus on the fantasy of wrapping myperfect moutharound Aaron—or the idea of Aaron, since I don’t know what he looks like—and making him come.
The very thought of his cock pulsing in my mouth has me coming within seconds, and I let out a heavy groan of relief. Every muscle in my body loosens, relaxing as I paint the tile with my release; the tension lifting.
Almost immediately, I feel the onslaught of guilt hit me because what I just did… it’s wrong. So fucking wrong.
I shouldn’t be jerking off to the thought of clients. Especially clients I don’t even know.
God, you’re so fucking desperate, it’s pathetic.
