“Hey, babe,” Corey says as I let him in, looking him up and down and admiring the view.
He looks fantastic in a snug black t-shirt that strains across his chest and a pair of form-fitting joggers that accentuate his assets. God, what is it about a guy in gray sweatpants?
In his mid-twenties, he has a swimmer’s build with lickable lean muscle, and is a couple of inches shorter than my six-foot-one. He has zero body hair except for his full, wavy blond locks, framing his gorgeous face.
“Hey,” I reply, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ve really been looking forward to this. Can I get you anything?”
“Maybe just a bottle of water if you have it.”
I grab one from the fridge in the galley kitchen and hand it to him. Our fingers brush, and an unexpected spark shoots through me. It’s been a while since I’ve felt anything remotely like interest.
“I’ve got everything set up in the living room,” I say, lowering my voice. “But we can hang out a little first… if you’d rather ease into it.”
He winces. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’d love to, but I’m in a bit of a time crunch, actually. There’s a party in Soho tonight that I’m going to with some friends.”
My heart sinks. Maybe I read too much into our flirty texts. It wouldn’t be the first time I misjudged. I’ve never had trouble finding sex, but finding something more than that is a different story.
He must see the disappointment all over my face, because his expression softens before he presses his body against mine. His gaze sharpens, a hungry look in his eyes.
“I may not have much time,” he murmurs with a sultry smirk, “but I’m more than ready to get down and dirty with you.”
I paste on a smile and swallow my disappointment, shifting into professional mode. “I like the sound of that. Let me get the cameras going.”
Heading into the living room, he’s right on my heels, stripping out of his clothes. Pulling my shirt over my head, he skims his hand across my back, but the thrill I felt when we touched a few moments ago is gone.
Once the cameras are recording, we waste no time. I pull him in for a fierce kiss, our tongues and teeth clashing. Tugging my shorts down, he drops to his knees, palms my half-hard cock through the jockstrap, sucking on the fabric. I kick my shorts off the rest of the way, while he takes me out and engulfs my shaft down his throat.
Gripping his soft, golden hair as he sucks me, I relish the feel of him swallowing around the tip of my cock. When enough time haspassed for the sake of recording, I’m ready to bend him over and fuck him on the chaise lounge. Angling him toward the camera, I rim his hole, stretch him out with my fingers, then ease my lubed cock inside.
“Oh, fuck, nice and tight,” I murmur as my dick slides inside.
Dirty talk is always a hit. Subscribers flood my DMs asking for more, and I aim to please.
Looking back at me, he moans deeply. “Oh yeah, give me that big dick.”
I take my time pounding into him from behind before flipping him onto his back, where I bury myself deep, thrusting hard, ready to get this over with. I’m trying not to overthink it, but the disappointment is taking its toll.
“You gonna come for me?” I rasp, grabbing my phone off its mount to get a close-up, while I jack his hard cock.
It doesn’t take long before his breathing becomes ragged, his moans deepen, and he’s coming hard, splattering his release on his chest and abs.
I should follow him over the edge as his ass clenches around me, but despite the buildup, I stall out. It’s been taking me longer to get there lately. I have a mental block that I’ve been trying to push past.
As I pull out, I close my eyes and start to stroke. I try to conjure up images of what I know will get me off, but after years of having sex for a living, the fantasies are diluted and not having the same impact they used to. Way too much time passes, and dryness and chafing start slowing me down.
Corey gives me a sympathetic look. “Do you want some help with that?” God, this is so embarrassing. I’m a professional, and cum shots are the moneymakers.
“Yeah, suck me off,” I say, hoping that might help. I rarely let my emotions get the better of me, but I’ve psyched myself out. I’m not sure it will happen.
He spits on my dick, gives me a few strokes, and then deep throats me. The wet heat feels good, so I close my eyes and clear my head, letting him work me up.
Finally, I can feel the buildup again. I can do this. Pulling out of his mouth, I give myself a few more tugs before spilling a pitiful amount of jizz on my hand, having one of the weakest orgasms I think I’ve ever had. Before I’m even finished, Corey is on his feet and grabbing his clothes off the floor.
“Do you mind if I use the bathroom before I head out?” he asks, barely making eye contact with me. This is not how I imagined this day going. The awkwardness after my poor performance feels humiliating.
“Of course, it’s through there,” I tell him, pointing to the only open door.
I close the doors of the rooms I don’t want anyone to go into after learning the hard way after a guy stole a couple of pieces from my movie memorabilia collection when I wasn’t paying attention. I won’t make that mistake again, even if it’s a friend.
