by Amy Star
“I understand,” Justin said. Then, after a beat: “So…did you have any…misgivings about getting started in it?”
At this, Suzanne looked wistful. A kind of look came over her that was sad and faraway. For the first time since she’d arrived, she did not look at Justin. She looked off a bit, and Justin could sense her mind’s eye falling on something that only she could see.
“At first,” she began, softly and hesitantly, “I thought about my parents, and what they would have wanted for me. And…I couldn’t see them wanting this. I couldn’t see any girl’s parents wanting a life like this, a career like this, for their daughter. And I can’t blame them. You know, there are reasons why this profession exists. People say it’s about morality, but there’s something I heard about morality once. I once heard someone say what people call morality is really the fear that someone else is happy. And I think the reason why this profession exists is unhappiness.”
“I don’t follow,” said Justin.
She looked back at him now. “Maybe you don’t, because of the kind of life you have and the kind of life you’ve always had. And you have to understand, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty for being rich or being born with money. It’s not that. It’s just that there’s a huge difference between your life and most people’s. You don’t want anything in your life. But the world is full of people who want things they don’t have. There are people who want a kind of person for a lover who doesn’t want them back.
Or people in relationships where they’re not getting something they need, and they don’t want to leave the one they’re with, but they don’t want to go their whole lives never getting that thing. And they’re unhappy. They tell me about their lives sometimes, and they’re so unhappy, so full of wants, and it hurts. The way I see what I do, it’s about making people maybe a little less unhappy, making them maybe hurt just a little less. And when I think of it that way… I still wouldn’t expect my parents to understand. But that’s the way I’ve taught myself to look at it.”
Justin was completely captivated at this. He ventured further: “The unhappy men—was it hard for you at first, when you were new, being with them?”
“When I started,” she replied, “I was afraid I couldn’t do it. I was afraid I’d have to tell Ginny no, I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t touch these strange guys, see them out of their clothes, do things with them and let them…no, I couldn’t. Because all I could see was aging, plain-looking, balding, flabby guys with all the money in the world, who hadn’t taken care of themselves.
I couldn’t bear the thought of it. I honestly thought I’d ruin myself. But I found something out about the kind of guys that Ginny takes on as clients. They’re…I guess you’d call them discerning men. They don’t have any worries about money or how they spend it, but they also like to keep themselves looking good. See, they put most of their time into their work and themselves, and they don’t have much time for the kind of social life that other men have.
And a lot of these guys know what it’s like out there for men now, where anything they say or do when they’re socializing with a woman might get them into trouble. Ginny’s clients like to be able to relax with a woman, and they’re really not the kind to do the kinds of things that men get called out for. They’re smart, educated, busy guys. And they know what ‘no’ means and they back off when they hear it. They come to Ginny looking for the kind of women they want, who won’t be quick to say no. They’re looking for quality time with someone who interests them, with no worries and no complications.”
And there she had used the expression that Justin had used: quality time. An expression that said nothing specific, but still said everything. She thought she saw a little glint in his eyes to hear it coming from her.
“The biggest problem I had working with Telegirl, honestly,” Suzanne went on, “was the idea of serving unfaithful husbands and cheating boyfriends. I was afraid I’d be trampling on other women’s marriages. So I made a rule right away. I knew these guys must be coming to Ginny—and me—for something they weren’t getting at home, with their girlfriend or their wife.
But I didn’t want to hear about it. No details about home, or their families, or anything outside of my time with them. My time with a client, I think of it as an island, cut off from everything else. There’s just him and me, no other people in the world. I think of it as a space in his life where nothing else even exists. And when it’s over, he goes back to whatever his life is and I know nothing except what happened in that space.”
“Compartmentalizing,” said Justin.
Suzanne blinked, startled at the word. “Excuse me…?”
“It’s something that I’ve heard some of the women who work for me talking about when they talk about their boyfriends and their husbands. The way men can ‘compartmentalize’ their thoughts and their feelings, keeping everything in their heads in its own separate box or on a shelf and taking things out when they need them. My women employees talk about men being able to ‘compartmentalize’ instead of letting all their feelings run together. Sometimes they complain about having to compartmentalize at work. I don’t judge them for it and I don’t call them out for it or hold it against them. I just take it as a difference between men and women, something that I accept. I’m aware of it. Sometimes I have to take it into consideration when I’m dealing with a woman employee. Women don’t seem to like compartmentalizing. They prefer to ‘multi-task,’ emotionally.”
“If I had to ‘multi-task emotionally,’ doing what I do,” Suzanne admitted, “I’d probably go crazy. To do the work I do, I have to compartmentalize. I have to keep things separate. If I let things run together…well, Ginny would probably have to find herself another ‘favorite girl,’ I’ll put it that way.”
The conversation veered off into other things—things they had studied in school, places they had been, funny stories about Justin’s business; things not quite as deep as the story of how Suzanne became an escort and how she felt about her profession and her role. Dinner passed into dessert, the most exquisite chocolate mousse that Suzanne had ever tasted. While they dabbed at spoonfuls of mousse, the conversation veered back to the matter soon at hand.
“Have you ever been with a morph before?” he asked.
“I have,” she replied. “Once. In college. My boyfriend was a lycanthrope.”
“Good,” said Justin, smiling subtly. “Experience with a lycanthrope is good. Or with any morph. You know what morph men—straight ones, anyway—are like with females. You know what we like. And what we like best. And how much we like it.”
Their dessert glasses empty, they put down their spoons and traded looks across the table. Suzanne could practically feel Justin getting erect already. She calmed her heart and stopped it racing. She was experienced, after all. She was not a little girl, and she did know what she could expect from this night and the next two days. Justin’s inexpressibly handsome face took on a little bit more of a smile. He stood up, went around behind her to pull out her chair, then offered her his hand, which she took. His hand felt strong and warm and sure. Her heart fluttered just a bit in spite of her best efforts. Justin led Suzanne, hand in hand, down the stairs to the lower area where the bed and the fireplace were.
It was time to take care of business.
CHAPTER THREE
Justin had Suzanne stand by while he went to one of the nightstands and picked up a remote from it. He hit a button on the remote. A little whooshing sound behind her startled Suzanne a bit and made her look to the fireplace, where a fire had leapt into being, on command. She looked back at Justin and smiled. He hit another button on the remote. The lights overhead went out, while the lamps on the nightstands and another lamp mounted on the wall directly over the bed flicked on. They lit up with a half-dimmed glow that made the bed a spot of soft golden light in the darkness. Justin and Suzanne stood together in the muted half-dark around the bed.
“Take off your clothes,” he said. “Except your underth
ings. Put them there on the sofa.”
“Would you like me to keep my shoes on?” she asked.
“No,” he said, “that’s a human male thing. I’ve never understood human men’s fetish for women in those heels. Those heels are only for show. Otherwise, when it comes to the most important thing, it’s not what’s on a female’s feet that interest me. Take them off.”
Appreciating this—sometimes having to have a man take her with only her shoes on was one of her least favorite parts of the work she did—Suzanne began to undress as he said. As she slipped out of her gown, she fixed her eyes on the sight she had been waiting to see from the moment she first opened his file. Justin Gates undressed for her.
He deposited his clothing on one of the luxurious chairs. Mesmerized, she watched him strip off tie and jacket and shirt, revealing the marvelous musculature of his upper body. His shoes and socks went next. Then went his slacks. And there he stood before her, the way she’d seen him in his poolside shots and his gym pictures: Justin Gates wearing almost nothing, clad in nothing but a silk thong whose contents so bulged it that Suzanne should not have been surprised if it snapped clean off from the stress. The pictures had not lied, nor had they been doctored. What lay within that thong was enormous. They had talked about her modeling earlier, but Justin himself could have made a killing as a fitness model. He was everything that a man ought to be and he knew how to show it.
Suzanne resisted the urge to lick her lips at the sight of him, though she wondered if, being the kind of creature he was, Justin would actually mind. She was about to be taken by a man with the perfect face and a body beyond perfection. Before her, as she had seen on her Mac, stood Thor. And Captain America. And Superman. They were all one and the same in this room tonight. And Justin was going to do the most heroic things to her with the hammer wrapped up in that thong.
She was going to have her work cut out for her and then some this weekend.
He held out his hand, extending a mighty, massive arm to her. “Come to me,” he said.
Suzanne obeyed, striding over on her bare feet. She took his hand and he pulled her commandingly to him. He pulled her close and into a kiss, a hard, deep, wet kiss of full-on desire and unmistakable intention; a kiss that told her that from now until two mornings hence, she belonged to him and he would have her. She welcomed the kiss with her parted lips and open arms, yielding to him from the first second. He would know her total submission, which she would give gladly—so very gladly.
“Touch me all over,” he told her. “Everywhere.”
The unspoken command was, Worship my body, and Suzanne hardly needed to be asked. Continuing to kiss her, Justin ran his big, strong, warm hands up and down her body and she did the same to him, lingering and clutching at his bare ass—not his “bear” ass—which felt utterly fantastic. He parted the kiss but kept her close, and undid her bra, letting it fall to the floor at their feet. Then he slid his hands to her hips and pulled at the waistline of her panties, taking them down to her thighs. His hands on the bare skin of her hips and thighs lit a fire in her to match the one in the hearth. His breath on her face and neck and shoulders felt equally hot.
Justin dropped to one knee and continued pulling her panties down to her ankles, and let her step out of them. He left her panties on the floor and felt his way up her thighs until he reached her pubic hair, and beneath it the entrance to his destination for the weekend. His fondling and stroking of her pubes made that destination grow moist. Suzanne tossed back her head and breathed in deeply, ready—so ready—for anything and everything that Justin wanted to do to her. The rustling of his fingers through her pubes was like the passing of a bear’s paw through the thicket of a forest as he explored it. She would become his territory tonight.
He stood up again and with a single, sure gesture, he pulled away his thong. He tossed it away and Suzanne looked down with growing rapture at the immense Sequoia trunk of male flesh that fell free from where the silk pouch had been. A distant voice at the back of her mind enthusiastically shouted, Timberrrrr…! Justin’s cock was like that of her old werewolf boyfriend, but bigger—way, way bigger. At the thought of him putting that tremendous thing in her all weekend, Suzanne honestly wondered if perhaps she should be paying him.
Also like her boyfriend, Justin was uncircumcised, another difference between metamorph men and many of their human counterparts. Morphs had no taboos about foreskin, and Justin’s was ample, covering the bluntness of his glans when he stroked and pulled at it to whet her appetite for it.
“Feel my dick,” he told her. “I’m going to be sticking it in you all weekend; get to know it. Feel it. And my balls.”
She did. Closing her hand around that gigantic trunk, Suzanne now could no longer suppress a shudder of anticipated, awesome delight, and she knew that he could feel her trembling. No doubt every woman that he took to bed gave him the same tremor as she prepared to submit to him.
Justin felt and groped her breasts, ran his fingers through the long, long fall of thick and wavy blonde hair that fell down her back, and caressed her bottom. “I feel safe and confident telling you this,” he said. ““I’ve spent my life on two things: business and fucking, not always in that order. I take my fucking as seriously as I take my business. I’ve been to bed wth more females than I can count: dozens of them, your kind and mine and others. I’ve fucked so many, more than I can remember. But I think you may be the most beautiful one I’ve ever had. You have perfect tits and a perfect ass, and I’ll bet your little honey pot down there is even better. You know how bears love honey, don’t you?”
She grinned with total and utter arousal and threw herself into another long, wet kiss, while keeping one hand on the immensity between his legs. At the end of the kiss, with Suzanne tugging at his gigantic root, Justin said, “I think I’m going to enjoy fucking you the most of all.” And he pulled her into a kiss like a forest fire.
Giving herself into it once again, Suzanne wrapped both arms around him, releasing his unbelievable dick for the moment, and brought up one thigh around his hip. He clutched her raised thigh and her bottom and kissed her more deeply, feeding her his tongue, which she eagerly sucked in the expectation of sucking something even more wonderful. Then Justin lifted her from the floor and Suzanne instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, letting him carry her to bed. The rustle and bristle of the hard, hair-covered plate of his pecs and abs against her skin made her almost dizzy with delight.
Justin sat her down on the edge of the bed and stayed there on his knees to take one of her breasts in each hand. “Damn,” he half grunted, “such sexy tits.” She breathed deeply at his firm and rhythmic clutching of her breasts and the way he turned up one corner of his mouth sexily at the hardening of her nipples. She ran her arms up and down the huge cannons of his muscular arms, lingering on the colossal, round hardness of his biceps. His muscles were intoxicating: so hard, so perfect, jacketed in smooth male flesh. He felt like all the manhood that Suzanne could ever need in her life.
And speaking of manhood, it was time now for what Suzanne had been awaiting the most. Justin stood back up again, presenting his full glory to her. He had the most mythical kind of erection, the kind of hard-on that a woman usually only heard about in stories. It was that gigantic, the largest she had ever seen. This was going to be the greatest—and the most delicious—challenge of her escorting life. And she was ready for it.
Justin put the fingers of one hand under Suzanne’s chin and lifted her face. With the other hand he pulled back the foreskin of his monster cock, and moved the head of it to her lips.
He did not put it into her mouth at first. Justin was thoroughly aware of the size of his member, and the thousands of times he had used it with countless women had taught him exactly what to do with it. He knew that if he took a woman’s mouth and moved it to her throat with too much strength, too much aggression, he could choke or even seriously injure his partner.
Oral sex for him was necessarily a d
elicate thing. It would be all the more pleasurable for the time and care that he took with it. He began by playing the tip of his root across her lips, glossing them with the abundant, salty man-sap that exuded from its wide and yawning duct. This reminded Suzanne of another wonderful thing about sex with a morph: they produced more pre-semen during foreplay and more cream when they ejaculated than a human. She wondered how she could have gone all these years since college, never going to bed with another metamorph. Tasting the sap from Justin’s limb, Suzanne remembered what she’d been missing all this time. Clutching at his titanic thighs, she licked the salty liquid from his opening and swirled her tongue around the massive, blunt glans that was a hot purplish color, surrounded by the fleshy wreath of his foreskin. He sifted his fingers through his hair and groaned at her: “Oh, you’re just sexy, aren’t you? Mmm, you want this big dick? You want it?”
She rolled her eyes up at him, licking away at his glans, she nodded: “Mm-hmm…”