Man Candy

by Tia Siren

  Wow, I had a client. I was actually going to get paid for doing something I had trained for rather than taking orders and clearing tables at the freakin’ Red Lobster.

  I had a client.

  How cool was that?

  CHAPTER NINE: Miranda

  When I came back into the room, he was lying on his stomach on the table with his hands tucked under his cheek and his eyes closed. Even though he had draped the towel across his round rump, I could tell that he was naked underneath because I could see the dimples just above his ass cheeks and the top of his crack.

  The only thing I could think about was how uncomfortable it must be if he was laying on top of that big thing I’d seen in his pants. I was not too familiar with how those worked, exactly. Maybe it just sort of flattened out when it was not…uh…hard…

  He had already used the dimmer switch to turn down the lights and had selected a CD for background music. It was Michael Bublé, I think. Slow, soft, deep. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he was setting the mood for something more than just a massage. That would be my luck. The first day on the job, the first client of the day, and I got a guy who expected way more than I was prepared to give.

  “So, uh, your back is bothering you?” I asked, rubbing my hands together to warm them.

  “Yes,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, sounding half asleep. “My lower back especially, near the top of my ass.”

  I went to the table and got a bottle of massage oil and set it in the warmer for just a minute. I took the bottle and stood next to the table. When I squeezed the oil into my palm, it was warm and slick. I rubbed my hands together and then slowly massaged the oil into the thick muscles on his back.

  “You’re in knots,” I said, working my fingers hard into the stiff muscles across his shoulders. He moaned and said something I didn’t understand. I filled my hand with oil again and worked my way down the muscles along his spine until I came to the cute dimples above his ass.

  Okay, this was going to sound nuts, but as I rubbed his lower back I felt myself getting wet. And I was not talking about sweat, even through the air in the room seemed to be getting thicker by the moment. I was talking about wet down there, in my…pussy. I could feel warm juices flowing into my panties. I squeezed my thighs together to try to stop the flow.

  My hands went across the top of his ass. His muscles were hard as rocks. I let my fingers go under the towel just a bit so I could hit the top of his glutes where they met the small of his back. That was where a lot of people stored the tension in their bodies. That was why so many people had back problems.

  As my fingers pressed into his flesh, he gave off a low moan that told me my magic fingers were doing the trick. I squirted the oil directly onto his back and worked my way up and across his shoulders, then back down again.

  I felt a heat building in my pussy, heating the juices that were flowing out of me like I had heated the massage oil. As my hands went over his skin, it was as if his body was sending little tingles back into my hands, up my arms, and straight down to my pussy. This must have been what foreplay felt like.

  “Your shoulders are nearly as tight as your back,” I said, making small talk just to break the tension I felt building in my own body. The crotch of my panties was completely drenched now as I dug my fingers into the muscles along the tops of his shoulders and neck.

  I could smell the scent of my aroma mixing with the scent of the rose oil in the air. I wondered if he could smell it, too. I wondered what I would do if he said something. What would I do if he reached out to touch me like I was touching him…

  “God, you have amazing hands,” he said with a sigh. “Have you been doing this long?”

  “Actually, you are my first paying customer,” I said as my palms pressed circles into his back. “I’m going to school to be a physical therapist, so I’ve taken a lot of massage classes.”

  “Well, you get an A plus from me,” he said, smiling up at me. “Would you mind doing my leg muscles? My thighs feel like bricks after all that driving.”

  “Um, sure, I can do that,” I said. I took a step back with my oily hands held up at the elbows.

  “Great. Just let me flip over,” he said, pushing himself up with one hand while the other held the towel in place. He settled in on his back with his hands behind his head.

  And there it was.

  Standing up beneath the towel like a tent rod. He was literally pitching a tent with his penis. Or cock or whatever you called it.

  Was I supposed to massage his thighs with that thing sticking up in the air?

  Surely he didn’t think I was going to touch that, even though the site of it had my pussy flowing like Niagara Falls.

  I didn’t know what to do, so I just stood there with my mouth hanging open and my hands in the air.

  Then he tugged off the towel and, finally, at the ripe old age of twenty-four, I saw my first cock.

  And it was magnificent.

  CHAPTER TEN: Conner

  The look in her eyes almost made me laugh. When I pulled the towel off and she saw my ten-inch cock rising in all its glory, hard as a rock and sticking up in the air like a veiny flag pole, I thought she was gonna faint.

  Her eyes went wide and she moved her lips back and forth, but she didn’t grab my cock with her oily hands, which was exactly what I wanted her to do.

  “What are you waiting for, babe?” I asked. I had my hands behind my head and a shit-eating grin on my face. I tensed my ab muscles and made my cock wiggle for her. “Go on, you know you want it. Take it. It’s all yours.”

  She stared at my cock, blinking like she was coming out of a trance.

  “Go on, my little whore. Use both hands to make daddy come.” I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “You know you want it. I’ve been smelling your pussy juices for ten minutes. I can taste your pussy on the tip of my tongue.”

  I waited for a moment, but her hands did not go around my cock. I opened my eyes and looked up at her. She hadn’t moved. She was standing there like a deer in headlights. I bounced my cock at her and shrugged with my eyebrows.

  “Hey, if you’d rather wiggle your hot ass out of those wet yoga pants and climb on for the ride of your life, that’s okay, too. Just slide your hot little pussy right on there. I don’t care how you do it; just make me come and fast, because I have places to be. You can tug me, suck me, or fuck me. It’s all the same to me.”

  I chuckled at myself and closed my eyes. I flexed my muscles again to wiggle my cock, which felt like it was about to burst.

  Then, nothing…

  I opened my eyes to see her standing at the lotion table rubbing her hands together on a towel. She did not look amused. Or horny. She looked disgusted. She was looking at me like I was a bad smell, like I was a lump of dog shit on the bottom of her shoe.

  What the hell?

  Didn’t this bitch didn’t know who I was?

  I was her fucking employer.

  And she was gonna look at me like that?

  I didn’t fucking think so.

  She finished wiping her hands on the towel and then casually draped it over my withering cock and opened the door. She stood with her arms crossed, glaring at me with a look of disgust in her eyes.

  I was ready to come unglued.

  Nobody looked at Conner Blackstone like that.

  That was how my old man had looked at me most of the time.

  I’d taken it from him, but I wasn’t going to take it from this bitch, no matter how beautiful I thought she was.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: Miranda

  I stood there with my mouth hanging open and my oily hands in the air, staring at that huge thing protruding into the air like a power pole on a Texas highway.

  It was nearly a foot long, thick and veiny, with a bulbous, crimson head that looked like it was going to just pop open at any minute and spray the air with his seed.

  I didn’t know whether to scream or run away or wrap my fingers around it so
it wouldn’t get away until I could scream for help. I didn’t do any of those things. I just stood there like a dog watching a ceiling fan while he lay on the table somehow making the thing bounce around without even touching it.

  Then he started talking shit to me, like I was some cheap whore he’d paid to do his bidding. Some of his comments were just downright vile, and others were a little funny. Then they just got ugly.

  I shook myself back to reality and picked up a towel to clean the oil from my hands. Once that was done, I draped the towel over his thing and opened the door in case I had to run.

  He sat up and started ranting, yelling about didn’t I know who he was and who did I think I was and how I should be honored to suck his dick. Really? Honored? I didn’t think so, cowboy. If this was his first rodeo, he was about to be trampled by the bull, because Miranda Carson did not play those kinds of games.

  I folded my arms over my chest and gave him the stony look I gave the twins whenever they did something bad.

  “Has that move ever worked for you?” I asked calmly. “I mean really, tug me, suck me, fuck me? You sound like one of those terrible porno movies I caught my brother watching online.”

  He stopped ranting and pushed himself up to sit cross-legged on the table. He was gawking at me like I was speaking a foreign language. It was if his brain was resetting.

  “Well?”

  He blinked at me. “Well what?”

  “I asked if that move has ever worked for you. Have you ever whipped that thing out like that and invited a girl to tug and suck and fuck and she jumped to it?” I smirked at him. “Because if that worked, cowboy, you need to go find that poor girl and try it on her again, because that shit does not fly with me.”

  He stared at me for a moment, and then the anger seemed to ebb from his handsome face and he gave me an embarrassed smile.

  “Maybe I misread the signals,” he said quietly.

  “I wasn’t giving you any signals,” I said, knowing that probably wasn’t entirely true. I may not have been giving him signals, but I’d been signaling like crazy to myself. The fact that I was standing there with the crotch of my cotton pants as wet as a sea sponge was proof of that.

  He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he just gave me a nod and said, “You’re right. I apologize.”

  His unexpected apology caught me a little off guard. He looked truly sorry, and he was so damn good looking it was hard to stay mad at him for long.

  A little bell sounded in the hallway, signaling that someone had just come through the lobby doors. I could hear multiple voices coming from the other end of the hall. It sounded like Carla was back and had other people with her.

  I said, “Apology accepted, but I think you need to reel that thing in and get dressed before my manager comes back here and sees you…it…”

  He covered his crotch with the towel and gave me the apologetic smile once more for good measure. I put my hand on the doorframe and started to leave but then turned back to say, “I won’t say anything that would get you tossed out of the lodge. Just charge the massage to your room and we’ll be square.”

  He gave me a grateful look. “Thanks. I will.”

  “And just to make yourself feel better,” I said, “make sure you leave me a generous tip. You nearly scared me to death with that thing.”

  He said, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.”

  He smiled at me and all was forgiven.

  CHAPTER TWELVE: Conner

  I didn’t mention the disastrous massage to Wesley. He would have gotten a kick out of the famous Conner Blackstone getting shot down by the lowly masseuse with a hot-tempered Texas drawl.

  I’d given Wesley more than enough ammunition to use against me over the years with my cocky, arrogant behavior with women. I didn’t see the need to add to his stockpile with this one.

  Wesley used to ask me why I shot my mouth off like I did when I was having sex with a woman—or trying to have sex with her.

  We’d known each other all our lives. There were no secrets between Wesley and me.

  He’d heard me through the walls on more than one occasion and had been in the room with me and the girls a time or two for a good old-fashioned Texas gangbang. He says my alpha male bullshit is almost comical, that I sound like a character out of a porno movie. And I reckon he’s right, but I could never just close my eyes and fuck a woman like Wesley does. Jesus, what would be the fun in that?

  Sometimes I did sound ridiculous, I guess, though I’d never had a woman complain after the fact. To the contrary, I had never had sex with a woman who didn’t want to do it again and again and again, so I guess my alpha attitude works with women, or at least some women. It didn’t do me much good in that massage room this afternoon.

  I must admit, sometimes I wondered where the alpha attitude came from. I mean, it was not a switch that I just turned on and off. When my dick got hard, it just seemed to come out of me. I figured it was engrained in my DNA because my old man was the same way. Maybe that was where I got it. Maybe that apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Or maybe it never even let go of the branch.

  My old man had been married four times, but he’d probably fucked four thousand women over the course of his long, debauched life.

  I could remember being a little boy, crouched down in the hallway outside his bedroom door late at night, listening to him fuck a different woman every night.

  Most of them were Texas road whores he’d picked up at some bar or off a street corner earlier in the night. Some were “escorts” that he kept on call just to come in and fuck him before he went to sleep and to wake him up in the morning with a blow job.

  He used to say, “Fuck alarm clocks. I wanna wake up with a woman’s lips on my pecker!”

  Hell, I’d said the same thing myself many times. Wesley just shook his head at me, but he knew I was right. A good blow job beat an alarm clock any day of the week.

  Sometimes the woman the old man was fucking would be an actual girlfriend or some socialite that he’d met at a charity event or a business meeting. The old man was a good-looking son of a bitch in his prime and always had money to burn. It was a combination a lot of women found hard to resist.

  But most of the time, the women I heard moaning on the other side of that bedroom door were just good old-fashioned Texas road whores, the kind of gal that could fuck an entire bunkhouse full of cowboys and suck the leather off their saddles. That was the kind of women they were, and that was how the old man treated them and every other woman he screwed.

  “All women like to be treated like whores,” he’d say. “You gotta talk dirty to them. Tell them what to do and how to do it. You also gotta tell them how they make you feel. If a woman thinks she’s got your dick so hard it’s gonna pop like a weasel, it’s a complement to her. She made your dick hard. Now you’re gonna take that hard dick and do things to her that are gonna make wax shoot out of her ears. Women love that shit, boy. Trust your old man on this one.”

  I not only trusted him, but in this regard, I tried to be just like him. I’d never met a woman who’d had a problem with it.

  Until today.

  * * *

  I took a quick shower and dressed in black jeans, snakeskin boots, and a fitted black polo shirt that had the Big Sky logo on the left side of my chest. I strapped a gold Rolex Submariner around my wrist and stood checking my reflection in the mirror over the dresser.

  I saw myself, but I was thinking about her. That face, those eyes, those lips, the aroma of that sweet pussy filling the tiny massage room like the sweetest incense on earth. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I could still smell her. My tongue went across my lips. I could taste the tang of her on the tip of my tongue.

  Never—NEVER—had a woman gotten me so hard without so much as touching me. I had to have her. I had to have…shit…what the fuck was her name?

  Wesley tapped on the bedroom door and stuck his head in. “Hey, you ready to go to the employee orientation?” />
  “I am,” I said brightly.

  “You’re sure in a good mood,” Wesley said, leaning against the doorway and cutting his eyes at me. “Good massage?”

  “It was a very good massage,” I said, leaning into the mirror and brushing back the hair from my forehead with my fingertips.

  Wesley grinned at me. “Did you have a happy ending?”

  I chuckled. “Let’s just say that I had a very promising ending.”

  His grin became a confused look. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means we need to go,” I said, tapping a fingernail to the Rolex. “Can’t keep our employees waiting, now can we?”

  “I guess not,” he said as I brushed past him to head down the hall.

  Good old Wesley. I loved it when he didn’t have a clue what was going on with me.

  Come to think of it, I didn’t have a clue what was going on with me either.

  I just knew that I couldn’t wait to see her again.

  Whatever her name was.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Miranda

  The Big Sky employee orientation was set for three o’clock in the lodge’s grand dining room. The entire staff that would be working for the next month, keeping guests happy and the place running, were on hand. There were probably fifty or sixty people there, seated at circular tables that held six chairs each. I checked my watch. It was two minutes till three.

  I leaned over to Wanda Jean, who was seated to my right, and whispered. “What’s about to happen?”

  She whispered back. “Max, the general manager, will greet everybody, talk about hospitality and customer service, read off a few rules, and then tell you all the things that will get you fired. That sort of thing.”

  “I heard someone say that the owner was here,” I said, craning my neck to look around the room. I didn’t see anyone who looked like a billionaire. Not that I’d know what a billionaire even looked like.

  “I heard that, too,” she said, her eyes going dreamy. “Conner Blackstone himself. He’s like this cowboy god; handsome, sexy, supposedly hung like a horse. What I wouldn’t give to have him drill my well this weekend.”