Blurring the Lines

Greg is straight, but makes easy money offering his services to gay men online. He's inexpensive but has a few ground rules: never reveal his real name, never invite a client home, and never, ever, ever agree to more than three appointments with anyone. Ever. RC is handsome, loaded, and lives in a big house in a swanky neighborhood. Greg doesn't understand why such a guy needs to pay for companionship, but RC’s been burned by men who are interested in only his money, and paying someone takes off the pressure of maintaining a relationship. Their first appointment goes well, and they schedule another. But Greg is surprised when RC calls him a few days later just to hang out. Greg doesn’t pal around with his clients; it’s strictly business. But there’s something about the guy that makes him say yes. At dinner, RC introduces himself as Ryan, and Greg breaks his own rule and shares his real name, too. By the end of the evening, the lines between client and friend have begun to blur. Does this count as their second appointment even if they don’t have sex? By the time they meet up again, Greg is half in love with Ryan. Will this next appointment be their last, or will Greg embrace something he didn’t even know he was looking for?

J.M. Snyder · LGBT+

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11 Chs

Chapter 10

All he needs to do is ask. I won’t say no. I can’t.

But he doesn’t speak, and I don’t fill the silence between us. Easing me to the bed, he sort of rolls me over a little, and I know what he wants without him having to say it. I turn over, my hard cock pinned between my body and the mattress. He raises my hips and I oblige, kneeling on the bed with my ass in the air. He spreads my legs apart, then cups my buttocks in both hands and kneads them open. I pucker my asshole, almost in greeting, hoping to draw him in.

I want this. I want him. I do.

The next thing I know, I feel his head between my legs, then his tongue on the back of my balls. Warm and wet, it traces around behind my nuts, then dips down to tickle the underside of my shaft. I moan into the bed sheets and bring a hand between my legs, reaching for my dick. I tug on the tip as his tongue trails spittle down my length. Yes, I sigh, the word lost in the bedding. Yes, God, yes.

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