When he walked into the room, my eyes rolled down like a waterfall, crashing and widening in response to the bulge that showed clearly through the wide netted fabric of his boxer briefs. He pulsed it a few times, causing the black cotton to expand, holes stretching, which led me to the awareness of my twitching cunt. I considered how much I’d like him to stretch my holes in a similar manner.

Picking me out of the crowd, he moved toward me, the size of him seeming to grow as he came closer. An illusion, but effective, nonetheless. I breathed in, catching his musk on the air, thick and inviting.

He was naked, aside from the briefs, his body covered in soft dark hair…primal. He’d sprayed himself down with oil, making his skin shine in the flashing lights.

Closer now. Close enough for my hands to hover over his thighs…his glutes…his belly.

Trailing my fingers from his navel, lightly over the bulge, still pulsing, bouncing lightly against his lower abdomen…beckoning me.

I looked up at him, silently asking…can I touch?

He nodded slightly once. It was enough.

I slipped a finger through one of the holes in the mesh, touching the stretched skin of his erect cock. It shifted slightly in response, seeking my touch.

The twenty in my other hand suddenly seemed paltry, but I placed it in the band of his briefs anyway.

It was all I had.

He mouthed the words “thank you,” winked at me, and took hold of the back of my head, pressing my face into his groin, rubbing my nose and lips against the rough fabric. But, I could feel the soft skin beneath. His hands grabbed fistfuls of my hair, yanking my head back, forcing me to look up at him.

The women behind me screamed in response, egging him on, wishing they were me as he undulated against me, every muscle taut and slippery, dry humping my face.

I opened my mouth against him, wrapping my lips around his hard, thick cock, and he pulled away, looking down at me, wagging his finger at me, his mouth forming a silent “ah ah ah” – his flirtatious way of saying “you aren’t allowed to do that here.

It was my turn to mouth the words “thank you” and wink. He gave me a devilish smile in return.

The twenty would be back in my purse by the morning. But it was fun to see him in action, to be a part of his working hours, when nobody knew who I was, or that I would be at home waiting for him. Let them smell him, touch him, want him. Let them dream of him tonight.

I would be holding him, feeling his skin against mine, knowing he’d performed just like this for women like me all night.

They deserved a good show. And he gave the best.


Inspired by this sexy photo from Elliott Henry.

Written for Masturbation Monday.

5 Replies to “Worth More than My Last Twenty”

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