He consented, like a little obedient puppy. We dried quickly, and I moved him onto the bed. He was lying on his back and I was on top of him. His hands were on my chest, slowly descending around my hips. His penis was minuscule. I couldn’t even tell if it was hard or not, but I grabbed it with my two fingers, until he started moaning in pleasure. Then I grabbed one of his nipples, first softly, then much harder.
‘Yes, master,’ he whimpered.
It was clear the famed CFO was actually a sub in bed. I was about to have way too much fun with this scenario.
I held his head so I could put my cock on his face, and he hoovered it into his mouth like he was eating ramen noodles. I pushed it hard, and he choked on it until he relaxed his throat and allowed me for deep throat action. It was sloppy and wet, but it felt god damn good.
Phil was touching himself and rubbing his left nipple. That’s when I sat on his face and made him lick my arsehole. His warm tongue went everywhere, like he was licking a plate. I really wanted to try to fuck him, but I wasn’t sure how to stick it in with all the excess flab, so I decided to put two fingers down his throat, to get them drizzly with saliva and to then put them inside his hole. He screamed in pleasure.
He wanted for me to get further, harder. I put another finger in it, and next thing I knew, my thumb was the only one left out. His arsehole was making the same noise as his throat when I was face fucking him. I had never fisted anyone before, but judging by how sweaty and horny Phil was, I could tell that’s what he wanted from me. I looked around the room to see if I could spot any sort of fisting lube, but I couldn’t see anything. It barely looked like he had unpacked. My four fingers were still inside him, but I could tell I wouldn’t be able to get to the next step without some seriously thick Crisco-like lube. I didn’t want to kill the atmosphere with me asking where the lube was, so I tried to stick my very dry thumb in, to see if he’d vocalise the location of our secret ingredient.
He screamed louder and pointed at the bedside table. I opened the drawer and voila—a small bucket that looked like it stored DIY paint, rather than anything remotely sexual.
I managed to open it with my left hand, while my other hand was still very much inside Phil.
The whole time he was whinging like a little girl. The power rush was exhilarating. Think of me, a guy riddled by anxiety and doubts, now about to get elbow-deep into a gigantic American man. I was ecstatic.
I grabbed a fistful of the product and smeared all over my wrist and my arm, adding more and more and getting my hand to move inside him, in circular motion. When both his hole and my entire arm were covered in the stuff, it made it incredibly easy for me to add the thumb in and completely get my fist and part of my arm inside him. His screams sounded like he was getting murdered, but I kept going. He could stop me at any time, but he kept begging for more.
My hand kept coming out clean, which was surprising. I wondered whether he had somewhat planned this beforehand. I didn’t think anyone could be fisting-ready just like that. Not that I was complaining, considering I wasn’t wearing any gloves.
I found the whole process very erotic. I felt like a porn actor, making grunting noises and calling him names. It was like I had forgotten how sweet our conversation was throughout dinner and now my only goal was to get deeper and make this man cream himself from pleasure.
He kept masturbating his tiny dick, and all of a sudden, he did just what I was expecting: shot a load all over himself. His final moan was louder than any sound he had made throughout the session.
I slowly removed my arm from him and left his gaping hole breathing on the ruined sheets.
I was panting; my heart was thumping out of my chest. I wasn’t sure what had gotten into me. I never thought I could be that person.
I also didn’t cum, which wasn’t surprising, considering my favourite hand wasn’t available for work. I didn’t mind. I’d have a hell of a wank once I got home.
I got into the toilet and washed my arm off. That stuff really gets stuck to you. Everything was slippery and with a very distinct smell of chemicals and some sort of lavender.
That’s when I looked at myself in the mirror, my forehead dripping with sweat and my hair all over my face. I felt like a stud.
I came out of the bathroom and Phil was wearing his bathrobe. I was expecting him to feel awkward, but he was just as smiley as he was before we even started doing anything remotely sexual.
‘You are exceptional,’ he said. Like I had just aced an essay.
‘It was fun,’ I responded, trying to sound cool and detached. I was putting my jeans back on and trying to get dressed as soon as possible. I was not a fan of the moment after. I wasn’t much of a cuddler and I could really do with some sleep.
‘You can stay here if you want,’ he said, being conscious it was quite late.
‘I have to get up early for work, but thanks for a lovely, lovely evening.’ I grabbed my jacket and gave him a kiss on the lips. I was about to leave, when he called me.
‘Don’t forget this,’ he said, handing me an envelope.
I trusted him, so I didn’t even open it there and then.
‘Goodnight, Leo.’
I smiled at him and waved goodbye.
I checked the envelope in the lift, and big fucking whoop, there was a thousand pounds in it. All in fifty-pound notes. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but it appeared Phil really, really appreciated my company.
Well done, Leo.
My flat was silent. It was late, and I wasn’t sleepy at all. It was probably the adrenaline from the sex acts of the evening, but my brain felt wired. I sat in front of my laptop updating my profile on Seeking Arrangement to add more risqué bits to my sexual biography. I didn’t want to miss out on extra money. I had also added some of the photos Petar took of me in Sofia. Something about the black and white nude added a tad of professionalism to my profile.
The wedding was only a few months away, and I felt like I was already in a good place to treat myself a little.
I wanted to do what my friends did: go to a roof top bar, give my card away to open a tab, order bottles and bottles of expensive bubbly and maybe even say yes to that jacked weirdo that always shows up at straight clubs with cocaine and bitches.
Why the hell not?
CHAPTER 15
£2455.90
December had crept in and my job was officially turning into a nightmare with every passing day. I had been rearranging the stockroom since early morning, so luckily I was spared from interacting with awful customers, but there was something else I was dreading. It was Dominic’s first shift back since he went on holiday to Berlin. He’d do that around three times a year. He’d spend nearly twelve hours dancing and doing drugs at a club called Berghain. It was the kind of club where you could just wear a jockstrap and a pair of leather boots and be fucked in the middle of the dance floor by some sweaty, long-haired, dressed in rubber wear bloke, and no one would bat an eye. In fact, it would be encouraged.
I was organising coats by size and colour when I finally heard his bubbly voice.
‘Sweetie?’ he screamed from the stock room entrance.
‘I’m here,’ I shouted.
He gave me a huge crotches-touching hug. It felt nice. I had been a dick to him.
‘I wanted to apologise for how we left things last time,’ he said.