Feature Writer: T.S.Severe
Feature Title: A FRIENDLY CAPER 4
Published: 18.07.2015 / Copyright© 2015 by T.S.Severe
Story Codes: Erotic Horror, Religious, Teenagers, Romantic, Reluctant, Bi, TS, BDSM, Interracial, Anal
Synopsis: A teenage boy experiences his sexual awakening at the hands of his first crush, one of his counselors at summer camp. Later, he finds his first real love, runs away from the orphanage where he grew up, and works as a high priced escort in Europe only to find himself betrayed and sold to African White Slavers…And then the aliens arrive.
A Friendly Caper 4
“I told you, we just need a little more money and we can get out of here.” Dylan looked at me, standing in the doorway of the bedroom with his hands on his hips and kind of a stern look on his face.
“Yeah, I know, but we’ve been doing this a long time already,” I said softly. “How come we don’t have enough yet?”
“Cause we have to buy food, pay the rent, buy your clothes, baby.”
Dylan walked into the room, moving behind me as I brushed my hair in the mirror. My boyfriend had turned me into a blonde because the customers liked it, or so he claimed. I wasn’t so sure and it wasn’t up to me anyway. I always ended up doing whatever he told me to and sometimes I didn’t like it, but what was I gonna do?
“I take care of you good,” he continued, staring into my reflected eyes. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” I whispered, feeling his big black body against my back, the bulge of his cock against my butt as he hugged me.
He wore nothing but a pair of leopard print briefs that only barely contained his beautiful black prick. I could feel it through the baby blue short-shorts I wore. Dylan’s hands went up my bare tummy to the pink halter top I wore, finding my puffy nipples as they tried to poke through the cotton. He kissed my neck and hair, finding my left ear and nibbling on it gently while my cock grew hard in the pouch of my thong.
“You’re going to ruin my makeup,” I complained, tilting my head as I watched us in the mirror.
“Just a few more tricks, that’s all,” he said. “You ain’t gonna be a whore forever, I promise.”
“You’ve been saying that forever,” I told him with a roll of my dark, smokey eyes. “I wanna get out of here, that’s all. Please?”
“Don’t worry, I’m making some deals, baby.” He pinched my nipples through my top and rolled them around. “I’m gonna hook us up, you just gotta trust me.”
“I gotta get going,” I sighed, looking at my watch. It was small and pink, a little girl’s watch to go with my junk jewelry. I’d turned fifteen a week before, but I looked like a 13-year-old girl.
“Room 214,” he reminded me. “Make sure you get the money first.”
“Duh!” I giggled, but kind of unhappily. He’d been saying that same thing for the last nine months, ever since Dylan had started pimping me out.
“And it’s just a two hour gig, right?” he told me. “I got some shit lined up later, don’t be turning your phone off.”
“I know, you told me ten times already.”
“So, now I told you eleven times,” he said as I turned around. “Smile for me. Come on, show me some love, baby.”
“I love you,” I sighed. “I just don’t feel like smiling right now, alright? I gotta go.”
“Okay.” Dylan nodded, letting me slip out of his arms. “Be a good girl.”
“Yeah.” I made a face and I didn’t really like playing dress up for strangers, but a lot of my customers loved it.
I didn’t mind doing it for Dylan, you know? It was fun then, but doing it all the time sorta made me forget I was supposed to be a boy, as dumb as that sounds. Sometimes I wondered if I should have left St. Luke’s at all. I couldn’t even remember the reasons I’d wanted to run away, but that’s what we’d done and now I was paying for it. Literally. Dylan didn’t work, he just worked me. Setting me up with guys for sex and at first it had seemed kind of like a game, but after doing it for so long … It was just work now. I went someplace, or let a guy pick me up off the street sometimes, did my job and gave Dylan the money. I never saw any of it again. He paid for everything, gave me what I needed, and was supposed to be saving up so we could go to California, but I had no idea how much we had.
A lot, I hoped. I made at least two hundred dollars a night, usually a lot more than that, and I’d been doing it for a lotta nights. Once in awhile I’d get a night off and Dylan would take me out and spoil me a little, but those occasions were getting to be rare. He even had me turning tricks on my birthday and I was still a little upset about that. This wasn’t the life I’d been expecting when we’d run away together, but maybe it should have been. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“Motel Eight,” I told the taxi driver. “By the airport.”
“Got it,” he replied, looking over his shoulder as I got in. “You want the meter or…”
“I can blow you,” I said with a small shrug of my pale shoulders beneath my pink leather jacket.
“Sounds cool,” he agreed, adjusting his rearview mirror so he could look at me while he drove.
He was a black guy and not as rough looking as a lot of taxi drivers I’d met. Most of them would be happy just to look to me, but every now and then I’d get one like this guy. Trading a blowjob for a thirty dollar cab ride wasn’t a great deal for me, but I really wanted to get out of that town.
Twenty minutes later I was squatting on the asphalt, leaning into the cab with the man’s chubby cock stretching my lips. He wasn’t that long and I’d quickly learned that all black men weren’t hung like horses, but he was nice and thick. I slid my pink lips down the shaft and felt his spongy meat filling my mouth completely. I used a lot of tongue and played nicely with his sweaty balls, wanting to bring him off as quickly as I could. He tasted pissy and slightly bitter, but I didn’t mind. I love men and especially their cocks, everything about them, and in that respect I had to admit I’d chosen the right career.
“Oh shit, you suck good,” he breathed, holding my head and playing with my bleached blonde hair as I bobbed up and down.
“Hmmph…” I appreciated the complimented and swallowed down our mixed spit and precum.
He didn’t take real long to cum, maybe five minutes or so, and I had time anyway. He’d driven us across town fairly quickly since he’d known what was waiting for him once we got to the motel. When he finally lost it, I swallowed easily, tasting his semen all bitter-sweet and salty. I enjoyed that too, the distinctive flavor and texture of a man’s orgasm, and I liked the way it filled my tummy. I didn’t spill very much at all and after thirty seconds of washing his dick clean, I sat up red faced and smiling, wiping around my mouth with my fingers.
“Here…” He found some McDonalds napkins on the dashboard.
I thanked him for that small favor as I cleaned the cum from my chin. He even let me use his mirror to fix my makeup. What a nice guy.
“Take one of my cards…”
“You have business cards?” I giggled as I stood there, feeling sort of high the way I did after sucking down a load of fresh sperm.
“ … call me if you need a ride,” he continued. “Company cards, but my number’s on the back.”
“Bob Porter?” I read the back of the card and flicked it with my thumb as I looked at him.
“That’s me,” he grinned.
“Okay.” I nodded. “Thanks. You working all night?”
“Until sunrise,” Bob said. “How old are you anyway?”
“Too late to be asking me that!” I giggled. “Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s what I thought,” he sighed, teasing me with his warm brown eyes.
“Pick me up in two hours?” I asked, cocking my left eyebrow playfully.
“Right here?”
“Out in front,” I said, since we were around the side of the motel.
“I can do that,” he agreed. “You be careful, huh?”
“You’re worried about me now?” I giggled again. “Be careful, Bob. I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“You must be Candy,” a middle aged white man said as he opened the door. He looked pretty average in his suit trousers and t-shirt, half-dressed after a long day of doing whatever it was he did.
“I must be,” I said with a pretty smile, tossing my hair from one shoulder to the other as I looked around him. “Can I come in?”
“Huh? Oh! Yeah,” he nodded, stepping out of the way. “Jesus. How old are you?”
“How old do you want me to be?” I asked, turning around as I dropped my butt onto the bed with a giggle. I crossed my legs and leaned back on my arms as we looked at each other.
“Eighteen would be nice.” He closed the door and locked it, but I didn’t believe him.
“Maybe you want my big sister instead,” I pouted. “She’s almost eighteen.”
“Almost?” He grinned at me. “Take off your jacket for me.”
“Mmmm…” I shook my head slowly. “Let’s take care of business first, okay? Two hundred?”
“Can I see what I’m getting first?” he asked, rubbing the lump in his trousers and I rolled my eyes.
“I’m sitting right here,” I told him. “You wanna fuck or just fuck around?”
“Oh, I wanna fuck,” he decided as he let his eyes roam over my body. “I just want to make sure. You’re gorgeous as hell, you know that?”
“Yeah. I get that a lot,” I said with a smile, uncrossing my legs and spreading my creamy thighs. “You really wanna see?”
“Yeah,” he breathed, dropping his eyes to my skirt as I pinched the hem between my thumb and finger.
I lifted it for him slowly, teasing the man as my pink thong was revealed and the pouch bulged with my trapped cock and balls. I hadn’t grown much taller over the last year, and I certainly hadn’t put on much more weight. I stood five-seven and a 112 pounds soaking wet, but my cock had enjoyed a nice little growth spurt and I packed a solid six inches when it was fully erect. Not huge maybe, or even large, but it looked bigger than it was on my slim, decidedly effeminate body.
“Okay,” the man nodded, pulling out his wallet and he didn’t need to see everything quite yet. “Two hundred?”
“Uh-huh,” I nodded, stroking the pink nylon with my pink fingernails. I liked pink a lot and it was my favorite color.
“You’re under arrest, Candy,” he said almost apologetically, holding up his wallet and it wasn’t a wallet at all, but a badge. “King County Sheriff’s Department. Put your hands on your head for me.”
“Aw fuck you!” I frowned as another cop came out of the bathroom with her gun out. She looked like a dyke.
“Not tonight, sweetie,” the man chuckled. “You’ve got a headache.”
“Get your hands up,” the woman told me. “Now, faggot!”
“I’m not gonna like you,” I said to her, putting my hands on my head. “I can tell.”
“You’ve got the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you … blah blah blah”
“Name?” a bored looking cop dressed in shit brown asked me.
I sat next to his desk and the sheriff’s department was full of whores, most of them women, but a couple guys in drag too. Apparently there was a big sweep going on and I’d gotten caught up in it, but I’d never been arrested before or anything and being fifteen, I figured nothing would happen to me. I’d have to call Father John though and have him come down to get me and that would suck. He’d take me back to St. Luke’s or maybe send me somewhere else, I wasn’t sure. And did I really want to go back there?
“What’s your name?” he asked again. After emptying my pockets and purse on his desk, the cop didn’t have a clue. Beyond a birth certificate that I’d never seen, I didn’t have so much as a library card. So I guess being an orphan ain’t all bad.
“David Hathaway,” I replied. “H-A-T-”
“I got it,” he said. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” I said and he stared at me. “What? I’m eighteen.”
“What’s your address?”
“I don’t have one,” I shrugged. “I just got into town. I needed some money, you know…”
“You got a pimp? What’s his name?” They knew I had a pimp because Dylan had set me up with the guy and I guess they figured he would have shown up with me, but he hadn’t.
“Dwayne something,” I shrugged. “I met him at the bus station. We’re not married or anything.”
“Right.” The cop chuckled. “Where’d you come from?”
“Vegas,” I said. “I wanted to be a showgirl, but they told me I was too short.”
“You got an address there?”
“Nope,” I shrugged. “Sorry.”
We went around like that for awhile and the cop didn’t really think I was eighteen, but he couldn’t prove I wasn’t. I didn’t have any ID or anything, just a lot of lip gloss, bubble gum, condoms, and crap like that. They had more prostitutes coming in too, so he didn’t fuck around too long. The cop filled out the forms, got me fingerprinted, photographed, and locked up in a twelve by twelve holding cell with a half dozen other guys dressed like women.
“Hey little girl,” a passable red head grinned at me. “They grab you for skipping school?”
“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes and ignored the looks I was getting.
A couple of those guys looked pretty bad, definitely drag queens and one of them really needed a shave. But the red head looked good and except for his small Adam’s apple, it wasn’t at all obvious he wasn’t a woman. He dressed nice too, not slutty like me or whorish like the others, but more like a college girl out for a night on the town. He looked pretty classy, I thought, and I wondered where they’d busted him.
“Pull up a seat,” he said, patting the stainless steel bench beside him. “Where’d they get you?”
“Motel Eight.” I shrugged, leaning against the wall and crossing my arms over my flat chest. “How about you?”
“Marriott,” he replied. “My lawyers are going to have some fun with these bozos.”
“You’ve got lawyers?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“The service does,” he nodded. “Pacific Escorts? They arranged the contract, nothing illegal about it.”
“Then why’d they arrest you?”
“Because I asked him how generous he wanted to be with the tip,” he explained. “I never told him what I’d do for it though.”
“Is that important?” I wondered, remembering how I’d asked that stupid cock if he wanted to fuck or what.
“I’m just an escort,” he said. “We go out to dinner, go dancing or hit a party, whatever he needs, and it’s just like a date, you know?”
“So you don’t really have to fuck the guy?”
“Not unless I like him,” he told me. “And then it’s up to him how much he wants to tip me.”
“Really?”
“Well…” He laughed lightly and his voice was perfect, soft and feminine. “Theoretically.”
“Heh!” I giggled at that.
“How about you?”
“My boyfriend pimps me out,” I sighed. “I’m pretty tired of it though.”
“How old are you?”
“God!” I laughed. “Everybody’s been asking me that tonight.”
“Well, you look like you’re twelve or something.”
“I’m fifteen,” I whispered, glancing around. “But I told them I’m eighteen, you know.”
“Don’t want to go back?” he asked with a knowing look, and he didn’t have to know where I’d come from. Nobody becomes a whore in the middle of a happy childhood.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I’d rather go to jail.”
“Don’t say that,” he told me. “I’m Monica.”
“Candy,” I said, touching his fingers and sharing a smile. “You look really great.”
“Thank you.” He made a little face and the guy was definitely the best cross-dresser I’d ever seen in my life. “So do you. I wouldn’t have guessed you’re not a girl.”
“Yeah, well…” I shook my head. “Even if I dress normal, everybody wonders.”
“You sound like you don’t like it.”
“I just want to be me,” I said. “I dunno. How long are they going to keep us in here anyway?”
“Couple hours,” Monica replied. “I already called the service and as soon as they get me in front of a judge, I’ll post bail and get out of here.”
“Hmmm…” I frowned as I thought about that.
“That’s only because I’m going to contest it though,” he explained. “I’ll have to go to court in six months or something, you know. It’s a hassle, but at least I’ll still be a virgin.”
I guess that’s why Monica wasn’t stressed and depressed like the other guys in our cell. They just sat around, looking unhappy, some of them listening to us, a couple of them pretending to be asleep. From some other cell, we could hear women giving the cops a hard time. They were loud and pretty disgusting with some of the things they were yelling and I was glad I hadn’t gotten stuck in a cage with them.
“What if I don’t do the bail thing?” I asked, having no idea what that might cost and thinking I probably couldn’t fight the charges against me anyway. I was pretty guilty.
“Have you ever been arrested before?”
“No.”
“Then just be polite and look innocent,” Monica said with a smile. “That shouldn’t be too hard for you. Tell the judge you’re sorry and he’ll give you a fine probably.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe a thousand dollars for a first offense? Maybe less than that.”
“I don’t have any money,” I sighed.
“What about your boyfriend?” Monica asked. “I thought pimps are supposed to take of this stuff anyway.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t really want to call him.”
“Well, you better call somebody,” he told me seriously. “If you can’t pay the fine, they’ll throw you in county and I’ve heard stories about that place.”
“Stories?” I looked at him. “Like what?”
“Like what happens to pretty boys like us in ugly places like that,” Monica said. “Stay out of jail, Candy.”
That sounded like good advice to me and maybe going back to St. Luke’s wouldn’t be so bad after all. I could call Father John and I knew he’d come get me. He’d have to after all the things we’d done together before I’d run away. I probably wouldn’t even get fined if I had a priest there to tell the judge what a good boy I really was and how my sad circumstances had led me astray. He could be pretty convincing when he needed to be, I had no doubts about that.
The problem was that going back to the orphanage didn’t sound all that different than going to jail.
The judge barely glanced at me and she was a middle aged Chinese woman who looked like she hated the world. I guess night court probably sucked for judges, maybe it was a punishment for them or something. Anyway, so far as I could tell, her mission was to get people in and out of her courtroom as fast as humanly possible. I swear, she didn’t spend longer than thirty seconds on anybody and then she’d snap her fingers impatiently for the next case.
“ … you’re charged with one count of solicitation,” the judge sighed. “How do you plead?”
“Um … Guilty, your honor,” I said. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“The State of Washington imposes a five hundred dollar fine,” she said. “Next case…”
“But I don’t have any money,” I blurted and she stared at me then, making me feel like some kind of bug.
“You have until 10am to pay the fine or you’ll spend fourteen days in the county jail. Is that clear enough for you?”
“Yes ma’am.”
At least I got my phone call, although I waited until seven that morning to use it, and I had to be crazy, but…
“Yeallo.”
“Bob?” I giggled nervously. “Hi, um … It’s me, Candy? From last night?”
“Candy?” He cleared his throat.
“The Motel Eight?”
“Oh, right,” he said. “You stiffed me when I came back.”
“I got arrested.
“Oh.”
We shared a pregnant pause.
“Soooo … Why are you calling me, Candy”
“I was kinda wondering if I could borrow five hundred dollars.”
Click
“Fuck!” I looked at the phone and the cop leaning against the wall grinned at me. “You got five hundred dollars I can borrow?”
“You want to call anyone else?” he asked, kinda sarcastically, and I thought about calling Dylan. I felt sort of mad at him and for a lot of different reasons.
“Yeah.” I picked up the phone again and he gave me another thirty-five cents.
“Hmmmm… ?” a sleepy voice sort of hummed.
“Who’s this?”
“Paul,” he said, making sounds I can only describe as snuggly. Like he was holding the phone and curling up next to a warm, black body after a long night of hot sex.
“Paul who? Where’s Dylan? What are you doing there?”
“He’s sleeping,” the guy sighed.
“Well, wake him up!” I yelled.
Click
“Fuck!” I slammed the phone into the cradle and the cop, a big sheriff’s deputy, clucked his tongue.
“Troubles at home?” he asked. “Come on, we’re done here.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I was pretty done.
“They’re gonna love your ass in county,” the man said, sliding his hand down my back to squeeze my butt.
“Fuck you too,” I breathed, jerking my hips away from him.
“Right,” he chuckled. “Keep that good attitude, cocksucker. You’re gonna need it.”
“Yo! Is that David Hathaway?” another deputy called out, holding up a phone and covering it with the palm of his hand.
“Right here,” my cop replied, grabbing me by the arm as we stopped walking through the office.
“His fine’s been paid,” the deputy said. “Take him down to processing, they got the paperwork.”
“Who paid it?” I asked, blinking with confusion, but the guy didn’t say anything else.
“Hey!” Monica smiled at me as I walked out of the sheriff’s department and into the bright sunlight.
“You paid my fine?” I smiled back as he shrugged.
“You have to pay me back,” he said. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“We’ll go to Denny’s.” Monica jerked his head. “Come on, I’m parked in a handicap spot.”
“Heh!” I giggled and he wasn’t lying. Three cops walked right past Monica’s old BMW and didn’t even blink at the big blue handicapped sign in front of it.
The Denny’s turned out to be less than a block away, practically across the street, and we didn’t really talk until we were sitting in a booth. He still looked like a pretty college girl to me, but even better than before as Monica had been able to fix herself up in front of a mirror. That’s the first thing I did too, excusing myself for the restrooms and after a second’s hesitation, deciding I’d better use the men’s because I didn’t need to get busted again for something stupid.
“I was thinking about taking off,” Monica told me. “Go someplace else, you know?”
“Like where?” I asked, eating a big western omelet and it tasted good after a long night in jail.
“Paris,” he shrugged. “Rome, London, all those places. I want to check out Europe.”
“That would be nice,” I agreed. “Probably costs a lot though.”
“Probably.” He took a bite of his own omelet. “I figure I can work there too, though.”
“That escort thing?”
“Sure,” he said with a smile. “Look, there’s not that many guys who look like us running around.”
“A lot of girls though.”
“Right. Girls,” Monica nodded. “But we’re not girls and that makes us special.”
“The cops didn’t think so,” I reminded him with a wry grin. “What about your court thing?”
“I don’t know.” He fluttered his hand dismissively. “I can always change my plea and just pay the fine.”
“Yeah.”
“Or just blow it off,” Monica giggled. “As long as I never come back here, I’ll be okay.”
“Better ask your lawyers first,” I suggested.
“I just wanna be somewhere else,” he sighed. “Meet some rich Italian guy with a big boat and sail around the Mediterranean.”
“That would be nice.”
“Would it?” He looked at me with a curious gleam in his green eyes. Monica tilted his head, brushing some red hair out of his beautiful face.
“Well … Yeah,” I said with a smile. “Who wouldn’t want to do that?”
“You want to come with me?”
“Me?” I laughed and showed him my pink tongue. “I can’t go anywhere. I don’t have any money. I don’t even have one of those passport things.”
“Have you got a birth certificate?” Monica asked. “Where were you born?”
“Here,” I told him. “My mom died when I was like two or something.”
“Oh.”
“It’s okay. I mean, I didn’t really know her and she didn’t even know who my dad was, so…” I shrugged and it wasn’t okay, but what choice did I have?
“Well, we can get a copy of your birth certificate and then apply for a passport, but I think you need a parent or guardian to sign it.”
“Father John can sign it.”
“Who?”
“The priest at the orphanage where I ran away from,” I explained. “He’ll sign it.”
“Are you sure?”
“If he doesn’t, I’ll tell on him,” I decided with a grin, earning me a curious look, but Monica didn’t ask for any details.
“This is a nice place,” I told Monica, looking around his apartment. “You must make a lot of money.”
“I do alright,” he agreed lightly. “You wanna take a bath?”
“Just a shower would be great,” I said. “Are you sure it’s okay if I stay here?”
“Of course.” He smiled over his shoulder as I followed him down a short hallway. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You don’t even know me,” I sighed, feeling kind of worn out suddenly and just neutral again, like I was standing outside the world.
“Well, if we’re going to Paris together…” Monica said softly, putting his arms around my waist. “Maybe we should fix that.”
“I’ve never kissed a girl before,” I said with a self-conscious giggle, feeling Monica’s full breasts against my puffy nipples.
“I’m not a girl,” he whispered, smiling into my eyes as he pulled me close enough to feel his erection.
“Me neither,” I breathed, but it did feel kind of strange kissing the guy when he looked like a fashion model.
Monica’s lush lips covered mine and his tongue felt light and delicate, not like a man’s at all as it slipped into my mouth and tickled mine. His hands went under my skirt to feel my bare butt cheeks and he squeezed me gently, digging his fingernails into my soft skin and making me moan. The pink thong I wore was pulled tightly across my balls and anus, and Monica followed the thin strip of nylon deep to play with my hole while we made out.
“Are your tits real?” I breathed a half minute later and he didn’t say anything, but let go of me so that he could undress completely.
“This is me,” he said and if it was strange watching someone strip in a hallway, neither of us noticed.
Monica’s tits were real, or as real as money could buy anyway, and they were perfect C-cups with small, brown nipples, hard and pointing upward. He had a naturally slender build, much like mine, and a soft, flat tummy with a pierced belly button. His hips were soft and round and the man had long, shapely legs that must have been recently waxed because I touched them and they were smooth as silk. Monica had no hair at all on his body, just the silky red hair on his head and his arched eyebrows, of course, but everywhere else he was soft and pink and hairless.
“You’re beautiful,” I told him, staring at Monica’s long, curving penis and he had a nice one!
It must have been seven inches long, probably more, and curved like a banana so that it jutted upward from his generous balls and smooth scrotum. Monica had a piercing there too, a small gold ring through his ballsack near the bottom. I wasn’t sure what that was for, but it looked kinda hot to me. While I honestly couldn’t say that I found him sexy the same way I would find a normal, hunky looking man … A cock is a cock and like I say, Monica’s penis made my mouth water.
“Let me see you now,” he said without a hint of embarrassment, but I’m sure Monica knew he had an awesome body.
I wasn’t so sure about mine, but I did as he asked. I undressed slowly, dropping my clothes carelessly on the floor near my feet. I knew I was small for my age, maybe not so much in height, but definitely in weight. I looked thin and fragile, girlish as well. I didn’t have Monica’s curves, but with my pretty face it was easy to mistake me for a teenage girl only reaching for maturity. I had nice skin and a tight round ass, but no tits. Just those puffy nipples that always seemed to throb no matter what I was doing. They were burning beneath Monica’s smile, I’ll tell you that much, and so was my cock.
“Let’s skip the shower,” he suggested and I couldn’t help but agree as Monica took me by my penis and pulled me towards his bedroom.
We didn’t waste anytime, but fell onto the bed and I quickly found myself faced with his beautiful cock sliding between my lips. We were in a 69, laying side by side, and I could smell nothing but flowers. Perfume, I thought, or baby powder maybe. Something sweet and not overpowering at all, and I wondered if that’s what it was like being with a real woman. I didn’t know and I never wanted to find out as I stroked Monica’s hip and thigh, and sucked his cock like the faggot cocksucker I was. I played with his balls and the size and softness of his scrotum amazed me. He had some seriously low hanging balls and I nursed on his soft skin, chewing and sucking gently while I jerked him off with my hands.
Monica did much the same with me, of course, and at times it became very hard to concentrate on what I was doing. He could take all of my cock into his mouth and throat, swallowing around the shaft and even extending his tongue outward to tickle my balls. The sensations were wonderful and the pleasure grew more intense with every passing moment. Monica had to be the best cocksucker I’d ever met and after so many months being a male prostitute, I’d had my dick sucked a lot by lust filled men. None could compare to the blowjob I was getting from Monica though and all I could do was try to keep up and make him feel just as special.
I came first, feeling my cock spasm inside his mouth and Monica swallowed my ball cream quickly and easily. It took him another few minutes, but at least I could concentrate after shooting my load. I felt a lot better and went to work on his cock with a vengeance. I nursed on the swollen head and jerked him off with one hand while the other played with his ass. When I pushed my finger inside his cunt, that did it. Monica gasped and pushed his cock deeper just as I swallowed the first hot spurt of his semen. That worked out pretty well as his cock suddenly filled my open throat and I found my nose pressed into his balls while he blew his cum straight into my tummy.
“God!” Monica gasped after he’d finished cumming and I nodded, licking my lips and drinking air. “We’re going to do that a lot, Candy!”
“Yeah,” I agreed, smiling as I massaged his still hard cock, spreading the remains of his orgasm along the shaft.
“Do you have any idea how much a man would pay to watch us do that?” Monica wondered and that made me giggle.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “How much?”
THE END OF CHAPTER FOUR