Midtown Masters

by Cara McKenna

  Meyer pushed the straps over Suzy’s shoulders and the dress fell to pool around her feet. Only that lacy scrap of panties remained as Meyer turned her around by her waist. Now they both faced John, both held his stare.

  He’d seen Suzy naked a half dozen times, digitally, and live and in person just last night. But this was something else. She was exquisite, displayed before him with Meyer’s pale hands cupping her darker hips. His focus could’ve settled on a hundred places—her legs, panties, breasts, and nipples. But it was her black eyes that drew his ardor, in the end. Those eyes, and those lips, quirked in a bemused smile. Christ knew what his own expression looked like. Glazed or gawking or plain old dumbstruck. He didn’t care, as long as she was smiling at him. That had his cock harder than any other thing in this room.

  Meyer slid a thumb beneath the tiny strip of fabric at either of her hips, dropped to his knees as he slid her underwear over her thighs, her calves, all the way to the floor. As he stood, she stepped out of the tiny garment and flicked it onto the pile.

  “What next, John?” she asked, voice low and husky.

  “Kiss,” came the reply. “On the bed. Undress him slowly as you do.”

  Meyer took her hand and led her the two steps to the mattress, always the wayward gentleman. She sat, and he pushed her down by the shoulders, at once aggressive and playful. John’s gaze caught on the planes of Meyer’s back, lit pale gold by the lamplight. He could see two of his vertebrae at the nape of his neck, the sharp angles of his shoulder blades, the swells of muscle where the small of his back met his hips and the dimples in the flesh above his buttocks. He wondered what his skin felt like. Warmer than Suzy’s? Cooler? Rougher, harder? When they had sex on camera, Suzy’s flesh would show the impact, in her hips and backside and breasts, her softer areas. Meyer showed the motion in the flex of his muscles, that body so nearly fatless. Stark and glorious.

  He joined Suzy on the bed, knocking her knees wide and lowering his half-clothed body to her nude one. As John had the night before in his underwear, Meyer rubbed against Suzy. She must be feeling his belt, his fly, the seams of his pants. Meyer must be feeling so maddeningly little, in return . . . though Suzy’s hands were kneading his arms, back, hips, ass. That had to be a consolation, to feel a woman’s desire so tangibly, roaming over your body.

  They kissed, and just as John had ordered, Suzy made slow work of Meyer’s clothes. Her hands slipped between them, working his belt open, his fly, then she pushed his pants low on his hips. She’d be feeling his erection now, through his shorts. How much of the man’s excitement was John’s doing? He didn’t want to presume, but he also knew it mattered, that he was here. Bizarre as it was, something about him excited them. Both of them. Perhaps it was as arbitrary as his being a man, in Meyer’s case. Perhaps it was his inexperience itself.

  Meyer’s pants slid lower, then there was a break in the action so he could kick them away. He wore jockey shorts, snug and gray, and John felt that old, guilty pang as he admired the man’s backside. It felt just like every time his curious and confused eyes had been drawn to the packaging of the men’s underwear in department stores, for as long as he’d been old enough to feel sexual attraction. He’d had the luxury of stuffing that interest down for a long time—he’d found Victoria’s Secret catalogs equally compelling, so he’d merely corralled his interest to the more orthodox option.

  Though there was no denying that right now, in this strange room, on this warm night, it was Meyer’s body that had his blood pumping fast and his mouth drying up.

  Suzy didn’t push Meyer’s shorts down—not right away. She played with the waistband first, running her thumbs beneath it, scrunching it in her fists. John couldn’t guess who she was even toying with—

  “What next, John?”

  Fuck. He could just about hear her smiling as she said it.

  He swallowed, the action thick and slow. His voice wavered as he managed to say, “Take them off.”

  He’d seen Meyer naked a half dozen times now . . . more than that, if you counted the times he’d rewatched their performances. Why did this feel so monumental? As though he’d never seen the skin being revealed as Suzy eased that waistband down, nor the shape of his muscles, the shadows between his legs.

  Between John’s own legs, his cock was rock hard. He wouldn’t have the first clue what to do with Meyer if he got his hands on the man, but there was no denying he wanted him.

  Meyer got his shorts the rest of the way off and knelt upright, clasping his own erection in a fist. He looked at John over his shoulder, locking eyes with him and stopping his heart.

  “What next, John?”

  No directives came, though his mouth opened and shut, trying to form words but seeming to have forgotten how. He probably looked like a grounded trout.

  “He said he wants to see us, just how we are,” Suzy said.

  “I know. But I wanted him to say it.” Meyer never took his eyes off John as he spoke. “Plus there is no default, when we fuck.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And there’s undeniable context, tonight. So. John, tell us how to fuck for you. Not like on Tuesdays, though. Not what you think some nonexistent, generic woman wants to see. What you want to see.”

  Christ, what a question.

  What did he want to see? More to the point, what fantasy did he want running through his head every time he went to bed for the night for the next year, laid down and wrapped his hand around his cock in his lonely bed, in his lonely house? Because there was no doubt that’s what this performance would be. For all he knew, it was the last time he’d see either of them. To hold back would be a disservice to everyone in this room.

  “The mechanics don’t matter.” His voice was a mess of nerves and excitement. “The acts don’t matter. But I’d like to think that it matters that I’m here, w-watching.”

  “Of course,” Suzy said.

  “I’d like to think that my being here . . . that it changes the mood. So whatever it means, or whatever it makes you both feel, to have me here . . . I want to see what that looks like. I want to see whatever it is you want to show me.”

  She smiled. “Fair enough. What do you think, Mey?”

  “I want to show John everything Lindsay never asked for.”

  “Like?”

  “Like he said, the mechanics don’t matter. I just want it rough and nasty and utterly beastly,” Meyer said, his tone amused, nearly haughty.

  “We’re good at that.”

  “I know.”

  “Get me ready, then.” Her voice changed as she said it, a challenge cladding the words in steel, hard and sharp.

  “He’s seen me eat you a hundred times.” As he spoke, Meyer moved. It was all John could do to keep from looking away, but he knew not looking would be laughably prudish—or worse, cowardly. And so he forced his attention to stay where it both feared and ached to go—Meyer’s cock. He was bigger than John, longer and thicker, utterly deserving whatever small celebrity he might boast as a pornographic performer.

  Meyer sat with his back to the headboard, spreading his legs. “Sit,” he told Suzy.

  She did, leaning in to his chest, draping her legs over either of his. As his arms came around her she held his wrists. Her gaze flicked to John for a breath, then dropped down as one of Meyer’s hands dipped between her legs, the other gripping her thigh where it met her hip, firm enough to dent the flesh there. He splayed two fingers, framing her clitoris, stroking her labia.

  If he’d had two brains cells left to rub together, John would’ve started taking furious mental notes. As it was, all he could do was pant.

  She sighed harshly, turned her head and spoke against his shoulder. “Fuck, you’re good.”

  “I know.”

  She laughed, a little huff of a thing. “Inside me.”

  Two long, slender fingers slipped inside
her. When they slid out they were slick in the lamplight, making John want to see so much more. That perfect cock sliding deep in that same spot, coming away gleaming.

  As Meyer’s fingers drove inside in steady strokes, his thumb rubbed her clit. He made it look so easy. John caught his own hand mimicking Meyer’s and quickly made a fist, pressing it to his thigh. Even that small hint of contact made his cock jump. He felt like he was going to burn up inside his clothes.

  You could join them. Take yourself out, do exactly what they always expected you were, all those nights you watched them.

  Yes, he could. But he wouldn’t.

  Suzy groaned. “Fuck, Mey. Get inside me.”

  He sighed. “I love when you get bossy.”

  “And I love when you do what I say. Please?”

  He looked to John. “What does the man of the hour say? You want to see that, John?”

  “Yes,” came his reply, thoughtless.

  “And not like Lindsay’s nights,” Meyer went on, moving, crowding Suzy back with his body until she reclined, welcoming his legs between hers. The way their bodies were, John would get to see everything at that crucial moment of penetration. And he bet that was no accident.

  A thousand years ago, when John had had sex that singular time, there had been a condom. He’d learned to put it on the moment he’d needed to, and found the entire experience clumsy and embarrassing and frightening as well—he’d had no clue if he’d actually done it properly, and the girl had definitely not been someone he’d ever want to field an accidental pregnancy with. In the end it hadn’t mattered, as he never came, but condoms had loomed like a specter ever since. He half wished the Parkses—or Suzy and Meyer, rather—used them. If anyone could make that necessity tolerable, perhaps even appealing, it was them.

  “Wait.” He surprised himself, speaking the word.

  Meyer was kneeling above Suzy, stroking himself, drawing out the tension just before penetration. They paused, both looking his way.

  “I have a strange request.”

  “Hallelujah.” This from Meyer, admonished by a little slap on the arm.

  “Would you use a . . . a condom?”

  A pause, then Suzy said, “Sure.”

  Meyer nodded, sitting back on his heels. “Whatever turns you on.”

  “It’s not that. Not exactly. It’s complicated.”

  “Do you have one?” Suzy asked. “Or should we call the front desk?”

  “I do.” He’d bought a three-pack this morning, an impulse purchase at the drugstore when he’d discovered he hadn’t packed shaving cream. He’d been loath to presume he and Suzy might find occasion to need them, but it seemed both wise and hopeful to bother.

  He stood, acutely aware of his erection as he strode to the bathroom. He found the box behind his toiletries bag and opened the cardboard, detached a square. He returned to the main room, and it was Suzy who put her hand out, so he delivered it to her.

  She busied herself with the packaging. “Can I ask why?”

  “I just . . . I’ve had a hang-up about them,” he said, taking his seat. “Since my lone, disastrous encounter. I’ve never been able to imagine working one into sex without it decimating the mood.”

  “Oh, condoms are fun.” Suzy tossed the plastic aside, rubber in hand. “It’s been a treat to go without them these past few months, but I like them. Whenever a condom shows up it’s like a signal that fun is about to happen.”

  He managed a smile, liking that logic.

  “Anyone who says they can’t feel anything with a condom on is either lying or not fucking hard enough,” Meyer said, rising back up before Suzy. He put his hands to his hips, giving her his full attention as she pinched the end and slowly rolled the rubber down his cock. He grunted softly, a private sort of sound. Soft and genuine, not the work of a showman, merely a lover. John hoped that was who he was about to watch. Two lovers, not two performers. He supposed with him as their undeniable audience, it was by definition a performance, but still. He wanted everything tonight to feel as genuine as that breathy little grunt.

  “Good?” she asked, letting his cock go.

  “Very good. I’ve dearly missed this sensation.”

  John marveled for a moment. They hadn’t made a big deal of it, hadn’t turned the process into some special, seductive show. They’d done more, in a way. They’d made it a nonissue. Sexy and efficient, nothing to apologize for, not a speed bump in the action, merely another step. Perfect, as always.

  Meyer lowered down, fisted himself once again. “Ready?” he asked Suzy.

  “You know I am.”

  “I do. And what about our third?” he asked.

  It took John a long moment to realize Meyer meant him. “Oh. Yes, I’m ready.” Our third. Like this was a threesome, not merely a show. Like his presence changed the sex, enriched it. Like he was their lover? Christ, he hoped so.

  “What do you need?” Meyer asked Suzy at the same time he slid inside her, slow and deep. John got to watch every inch, and he was rock hard again in an instant.

  “Show off,” she instructed. “Make a big deal of it.”

  It, meaning his cock, John imagined. He wondered when they’d last cammed, and what their client had wanted. Probably nothing like what “Lindsay” had requested.

  Meyer began to pump, his hips looking strong and agile, ribs knitting, arm muscles cocked and sharp as he lowered, bracing himself on the bed. Reflexively, John caught himself trying not to notice the man’s backside. Silly. He let himself look, feasting on the motions and the flexing of his muscles. As he did, Suzy’s hands slid low, from Meyer’s arms down his back to cup his ass, fingers digging into that firm flesh.

  Meyer went slow for a minute, but soon he was working hard, giving it to her in long, smooth motions. It was so hot John could nearly feel those strokes taunting his own cock, as though an invisible hand were on him.

  This was nothing like the nights when he’d watched them online. There was the smell of sex, so foreign to John there was no familiarity in it, only intrigue. There were subtler sounds of the sex as well—the soft slap of bodies meeting and covers rustling, and their panting breaths sounded so much richer in person. Their voices were all around him, not a nuance lost in digital translation.

  And then there was John’s own voice—the scariest sound in the room, one that made him feel naked even as he was the only one dressed.

  Naked isn’t such a bad sensation, though. It was a healthy sort of scary, a phenomenon he’d been learning so much about since these people had come into his life. He’d been scared when he first hired them, scared when they’d accepted him, scared when he first typed an order. Scared when he’d revealed himself to Suzy, then met her, then kissed and touched her. Scared when he met Meyer. Yet every one of those leaps of faith had led him deeper into his own sexuality, healing the broken and neglected parts of him, making him more whole, measure by tiny measure. So scared really wasn’t a feeling to avoid, he decided, if you were looking to grow.

  “Can I see her on top?” he asked, inviting the inevitable anxiety to settle inside him alongside the lust.

  Meyer made a sound of dirty approval, a growl. “Always. Suzy’s a fucking artist on top.”

  She smiled and gave his arm another little slap, and he got off of her, rolling onto his back.

  “Okay if I take this off?” Meyer asked, circling the base of his cock.

  “Yes. Thank you.” It was only the application John had cared about.

  Meyer shed the condom and John watched with fascination as Suzy straddled him and eased down onto his long cock. He raised his arms and they clasped fingers, the change giving Suzy more leverage or balance, John imagined. They looked beautiful, like a living sculpture.

  She moved slowly at first, with deep and drawn out undulations of her hips. John tried to imagine being Meyer, and how she
’d feel on top of him, so warm and exciting and strong. Graceful. Powerful. What would her weight feel like? What would it be like to have a woman looking down at him from so close, and to feel one taking pleasure from his body?

  I could find out, maybe. Not tonight, he didn’t think—tonight was about the performance—but maybe someday. She liked him, he thought. Why, he couldn’t guess, but he trusted that it was true. She didn’t mind his inexperience. She seemed to like it, in fact, and she enjoyed teaching him. Maybe that made him little more than a passing curiosity to her, but he didn’t mind it. If she wanted to take this strange and wondrous education further someday soon, it felt beyond foolish to let the opportunity pass.

  With a grunt, Meyer shifted—a sudden, smooth motion that brought him up to sitting and then to his knees. His hands gripped Suzy’s thighs, sealing the two of them center to center.

  “I thought I was leading,” she teased as Meyer’s hold on her began to dictate the movements. His body was thrusting up to meet hers, the both of them in perfect unison.

  It was marvelous to witness in person. It had been breathtaking the first time they’d done this for him, live, and this was all that night had been, and more. He’d been a part of it then, he supposed, but anonymous, hiding behind two screens and a robotic voice, not a living, breathing, excited man. He could see everything happening between them, and they could see him as well. His face and whatever expression it bore. His antsy hands, aching to cup his cock.

  “You’re amazing,” he told the both of them.

  “Thank you.” Suzy said it, and though John couldn’t see her face, he could see Meyer’s, and the man’s smile was sharp and cunning, rousing him. What he’d give to see that face and that smile looming so close, from above . . .

  Meyer turned and caught John’s gaze, freezing him solid.

  “There’s no reason you can’t join us.”