I had talked myself into a job I was in no way qualified for, and, as the first order of business, I got sent halfway across the country and landed in a hotel in downtown Chicago. I looked around my room, a room that teetered on the border between blandness and overwrought luxury, and decided that I should stop watching Sportscenter, and go find some dinner.
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I walk into your darkened room, everyone but you is gone or at work. You don't hear me as I get closer to you. Your stretched out across your bed stroking your cock, watching a big breasted woman sucking dick on the T.V. Silently I move through the dark side of your room until I'm just behind your bed, watching you gently squeeze your balls and continue to jerk off that magnificent prick.
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It was about eleven o'clock on Saturday night when Brian pulled up just down the block from the tall brick building that included the apartment his girl friend, Rachel, shared with her young daughter. They turned to each other while unbuckling their seatbelts, both of them thinking of the good time they had at dinner and the concert and, especially, about the great time they expected to have in her bed. Not wanting to take anything for granted, he waited until she expressly suggested he come inside with her.
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"Ooh, I just have to have those black ones!"
"Yes, Imelda, but don't you already have 18 pairs of black pumps, on top of the 14 pairs of black slides, and the six pairs of black flats?" I offered, trying not to sound overly sarcastic. I knew this because I kept a running count, a count which never decreased.
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Angie awoke, groggy and confused. She felt cold. When she tried to move she realized she was restrained. She tried her best to clear her head and assess her situation. The first thing that Angie realized was that she was naked, vulnerable. The last thing she remembered, she was having a drink at a party. But how did she get here? What happened?
She was bent over some kind of wooden bench. Cold metal dug into her ankles. Her feet were shackled. Her feet and legs were spread wide apart.
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I'm a finish carpenter. No, I'm no guy who wants to "Express his creativity in Wood" or anything like that. Just a guy who didn't quite fit in anywhere else. Not college material and, honestly, fell into my trade by accident.
But it's a good living and if I had no talent for it I would have stumbled out of the business a long time ago like a few guys I've met along the way. I like meeting people and doing a nice job in their home and...and getting paid!
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I held my breath and closed one eye as I slowly drew my arm back, feeling the smooth wood gliding easily over my hand. Keeping my vision intently locked, the pool cue shot forward, striking the white ball sending it rolling across the table.
"Come on!" I muttered to myself as the cue ball just nicked the 8-ball sending it rolling towards the corner pocket.
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"Are you really sure you want to go through with this?" he asked her.
Jennifer smiled. "Relax, I'm sure. This is what a fuck buddy is for, isn't it?"
Mike paced the floor around the bottom of the bed in the cramped little motel room. "Yeah, but it's a lot to ask."
Her auburn curls bouncing, she shook her head. "No it's not, Michael. You and I have been friends since kindergarten and you've always helped me out with anything I wanted."
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"Do you have a club card?"
Suddenly I was snapped out of my trance.
"Huh? Oh, umm yeah."
I fumbled around in my wallet trying to find the card as she smiled at me. I could tell she was amused. I, on the other hand, was embarrassed beyond belief. How long had I been staring at her?
"Here you go," I said passing the card to her.
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I didn't hear the garage door open so I barely had enough time to hide my hard-on and zip up my pants before the Marek's opened the door. What I didn't have time for was to stop the VCR. When they came in, they were greeted by the sounds of fucking coming from their widescreen TV and their "Debbie Does Dallas" video that I had found stashed behind all the other tapes.
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