- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Slice-of-Life, Gothic, Horror, Fantasy
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BLAINE
"Ah, that's good, Rosie —"
Mr. Richmond's gentle pushing at his head urges Blaine to pull off his cock with a wet pop, eyeing the thick string of saliva connecting his tongue to the swollen, reddened tip through half-lidded eyes. The lewd sight is enough to make his own cock twitch where it's still painfully caged in his tight work pants, his ass twinging with anticipation for what comes next. "You don't want me to finish you off?" he asks, releasing his testicles that he'd been massaging as he sucked him off, the question more of a courtesy than a genuine question.
Mr. Richmond is enough of a regular for him to know exactly how a session with him will play out. It always starts with a regular massage, and then Mr. Richmond tips him to massage his dick once it gets hard, and then sometimes he'll tip him more to use his mouth. Every time, though, it'll end with him giving him even more money to ride him.
While he'd initially burned with shame going along with it, chasing the vast amounts of money his clients offer him, he can't deny that a part of him has started burning with an entirely different feeling. He's even started keeping condoms and lube in one of his drawers, his mother's lecture about safe sex haunting him, and has begun adopting habits that he knows they'll appreciate. For Mr. Richmond, for example, he wears the tightest dress shirt that he owns, keeping it unbuttoned more than he usually would, aware that the other man has taken a liking to his chest.
"I'd like you to ride me," Mr. Richmond instructs, aggressively yanking at his shirt to tuck more bills between his breasts.
"Okay," he smiles, though Mr. Richmond is too busy fishing out a pre-lubricated condom from his wallet and rolling it over his cock to notice. He pulls his pants and underwear down, the cold shock of air against his feverish skin drawing a hiss from him. He wastes no time crawling onto the massage table and up Mr. Richmond's now supine body.
Spreading his legs around his hips, he takes a steadying breath, bunching up the hem of the other man's shirt in his fists as he slowly impales himself on that throbbing cock beneath him. A strangled noise escapes him, partially pained from a lack of preparation, but mostly at the familiar and increasingly pleasant sensation of being stuffed full. His eyes flutter shut as he adjusts to the burning stretch, shooting open a moment later when Mr. Richmond's hands begin rubbing his nipples through his shirt. They have already long since emerged from inside him, hardened and pimpled, but now they stand at stark attention, shape obscured only by the dark color of his black shirt. Mr. Richmond's hands are skilled, or perhaps Blaine is too sensitive, as the stimulation already starts his hips moving of their own volition.
He moans obscenely, slapping one of his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. He's not the only one weak to money in this place; the faint moaning he can sometimes hear from the other rooms tells him as much. Still, he doesn't want people to see him like this, bouncing eagerly on another man's lap while his cock leaks profusely, squealing like a schoolgirl while he gets his tits played with. Mr. Richmond's cock isn't the biggest of his clients, but it still drags across his sweet spot on nearly every thrust, making his eyes roll back into his head. The room is heady with the scent of sex and the vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin, a circumstance the room must be used to.
"Good boy," "Pretty thing," "Sweetheart," "Baby." The endearments fall unreservedly from Mr. Richmond's loose lips, and each one serves to hurl Blaine deeper into his euphoria.
It doesn't take long before Blaine is coming with a cry, blocking his release with his hand as much as he can to avoid dirtying Mr. Richmond's shirt, his hips continuing to grind down until his client has also tumbled over the edge.
Mr. Richmond's gentle pushing at his head urges Blaine to pull off his cock with a wet pop, eyeing the thick string of saliva connecting his tongue to the swollen, reddened tip through half-lidded eyes. The lewd sight is enough to make his own cock twitch where it's still painfully caged in his tight work pants, his ass twinging with anticipation for what comes next. "You don't want me to finish you off?" he asks, releasing his testicles that he'd been massaging as he sucked him off, the question more of a courtesy than a genuine question.
Mr. Richmond is enough of a regular for him to know exactly how a session with him will play out. It always starts with a regular massage, and then Mr. Richmond tips him to massage his dick once it gets hard, and then sometimes he'll tip him more to use his mouth. Every time, though, it'll end with him giving him even more money to ride him.
While he'd initially burned with shame going along with it, chasing the vast amounts of money his clients offer him, he can't deny that a part of him has started burning with an entirely different feeling. He's even started keeping condoms and lube in one of his drawers, his mother's lecture about safe sex haunting him, and has begun adopting habits that he knows they'll appreciate. For Mr. Richmond, for example, he wears the tightest dress shirt that he owns, keeping it unbuttoned more than he usually would, aware that the other man has taken a liking to his chest.
"I'd like you to ride me," Mr. Richmond instructs, aggressively yanking at his shirt to tuck more bills between his breasts.
"Okay," he smiles, though Mr. Richmond is too busy fishing out a pre-lubricated condom from his wallet and rolling it over his cock to notice. He pulls his pants and underwear down, the cold shock of air against his feverish skin drawing a hiss from him. He wastes no time crawling onto the massage table and up Mr. Richmond's now supine body.
Spreading his legs around his hips, he takes a steadying breath, bunching up the hem of the other man's shirt in his fists as he slowly impales himself on that throbbing cock beneath him. A strangled noise escapes him, partially pained from a lack of preparation, but mostly at the familiar and increasingly pleasant sensation of being stuffed full. His eyes flutter shut as he adjusts to the burning stretch, shooting open a moment later when Mr. Richmond's hands begin rubbing his nipples through his shirt. They have already long since emerged from inside him, hardened and pimpled, but now they stand at stark attention, shape obscured only by the dark color of his black shirt. Mr. Richmond's hands are skilled, or perhaps Blaine is too sensitive, as the stimulation already starts his hips moving of their own volition.
He moans obscenely, slapping one of his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. He's not the only one weak to money in this place; the faint moaning he can sometimes hear from the other rooms tells him as much. Still, he doesn't want people to see him like this, bouncing eagerly on another man's lap while his cock leaks profusely, squealing like a schoolgirl while he gets his tits played with. Mr. Richmond's cock isn't the biggest of his clients, but it still drags across his sweet spot on nearly every thrust, making his eyes roll back into his head. The room is heady with the scent of sex and the vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin, a circumstance the room must be used to.
"Good boy," "Pretty thing," "Sweetheart," "Baby." The endearments fall unreservedly from Mr. Richmond's loose lips, and each one serves to hurl Blaine deeper into his euphoria.
It doesn't take long before Blaine is coming with a cry, blocking his release with his hand as much as he can to avoid dirtying Mr. Richmond's shirt, his hips continuing to grind down until his client has also tumbled over the edge.
「 N/A 」
LOCATION | INTERACTIONS | MENTIONS
code by wren.