Tease Summary: Tale of truth in advertising.
Disclaimer: The following text is fiction. Fiction describes activities happening between imagination and a keyboard, not in real life. Nothing below is intended to encourage unsafe, illegal or violent liaisons.
Tease
Reduced to dancing to gosh-awful rock music in the window of a street-level sex shop, enticing passersby--disgusting work. Oglers note my appendectomy scar, my g string; assess my endowment. Senior guys tap on the glass and give me a thumbs-up. Most sneer, seldom get a second look--I need an acre of electrolysis.
Lick my lips, grind my hips to the parade of potential buyers. Steely, intent gazes, muscular poses aren't attractive enough. It's my body hair. I know it is. No one asks for me till after ten when all the Nordic gods are sweating off their fines in a perky butt.
Plate glass condenses from my body heat; wipe it down and wipe my face, lean over and flinch my glutes with the heavy beat of the bass. Maybe I need a nose reduction, a little upturned affair in the middle of my face--nah, that'd look ridiculous on the "Arabian Stallion" as I'm dubbed.
Wasn't long ago I held a respected corporate position, well-compensated for my pecuniary acumen. Then I visited a low country boasting sensual tourism in a sexually liberal atmosphere. Got caught with an alderman's son and they threw the book at me. The alderman was saving the boy for himself, he said.
Tried to convince the court the alderman wouldn't have gotten a virgin any more than I had. My ploy failed. Judge gave me a choice: fifteen years in the clinker or work off my fine in the national service. Harsh--so harsh. No free lunch in the lowlands no matter how much that meal named Heinrich begged me to devour him.
Unfortunately, I chose to work my fine off.
National Service. Ugh. Forced into a profession as old as time to pay down my fine. I figured it would take two years. Didn't consider it at the time I made the deal with the judge, I'd slipped past my sexual apex; two years could turn into twenty. I'd need that ol' blue crutch to get through my shift.
Got a few older clients who wanted a "little brother" action. Gritted my teeth and let them hump away, applying their pensioner's euros toward my freedom. It was the boys I hoped for.
Most young men wanted a Slavic teen, not an old badger to service them. So, I had to get the boys' attention with flashy dance moves, then charm them with "come-hither" looks. To be honest, around nine-thirty, my expression was "numb and dumb."
An idea to lure younger clientele came as I observed a family deciding between me, or Champ in the next observation booth. Champ was a heavy-set guy from a nation famous for smelly cheese; he got caught with a prized ewe. On the side of his dick, he'd tattooed the name of a popular candy. He'd slip it out and the teen would giggle and point, "I want that one."
Cheap trick. Not about to get a tattoo on my precious rod so I gathered candy wrappers and carefully selected the most popular brand and smoothed it flat. Tucked one in the front of my g string leaving a hint of the brightly colored logo visible.
Foot traffic started, street lights came on, the parade of gawkers began. A suave gentleman in an expensive Italian suit strolled by with his equally well-styled son of about ten. Looked like he wanted to give his boy a "first."
They discussed the matter quietly. The boy pointed back at me; older gent nodded and they came inside. The kid brushed past me into my "service cubicle," the man paid.
"Blow job." Was all the fellow said as he leaned against the wall. "There's a fifty in it if he's satisfied." He pulled out his phone and dropped his eyes.
Kid stood on the narrow cot where I performed my work, unzipping.
"Don't you want to take your shoes and slacks off?"
"No." He looked up at me from under a tangle of blondish waves, "I can't tie laces and Froman won't bend down. He can be a bitch."
"Froman, a bitch? I thought he was your father."
"He's my manny--you know, a male nanny."
I put on Bach, smiled and slinked around, poking a finger in the boy's ribs occasionally, he laughed, squealed and we played cat and mouse for a minute. Wiggly little devil until Froman cleared his throat loudly outside.
Shirt tail flapped over the most delicately pink package. Delightful smile as the boy reached to my skimpy attire tugged out the corner of the candy wrapper and looked horrified that it was empty. "Where's the chocolate?"
He thought he was going to get a chocolate bar to munch during my quickie-lickie? "I ate it." Grabbed his Jordan almond-sized testicles and thrummed lightly, "Ready for a good time?"
"I want my chocolate. Rochera is my favorite!" Angelic face contorted, he snorted and stomped.
Froman abruptly shoved the curtain aside, "Where's the boy's candy?" Flimsy walls shook with his booming voice. "Deceptive advertising. I'll have to report you."
"Don't do that! I'm in national service, reducing your taxes."
He gave me a mean look from deep set eyes; I trembled. Took his jacket off, "I'll show you how this is done correctly." He glanced at the tearful boy.
Carefully unzipping, he pulled out a rod like I'd never seen before. It hung in a sophisticated angle to his sac. What a tool; slightly bulbous shape in the middle, and huge. He wasn't erect yet. The head of his shaft reminded me of a gearshift knob on my old VW. His schlong was at least one credit card longer than mine.
Long, thick and leaking too soon, his snicker warned me he was going to test my professionalism. Balls like cocoanuts in a deep red pouch--not a hair in sight. I was impressed as well as nervous.
"On your knees." He shoved me down roughly, grabbed my hair, "Fondle me while you enjoy this Rochera." That was followed by a nasal snicker as his pee slit rose to my lips.
"Watch me closely, boy." Froman turned the boy's face to us and started a sing-song rhythm while he humped against me, his monster stiffened sliding across my tongue, "Don't-tease-the-boy-a-gain." He shoved me hard with each word, "Watch your hips, he's has to supply the action."
Pulling a handful of my hair, Froman pressed my face into his groin, I noticed a small tattoo--a religious symbol. My mind recalled the Inquisitional procedures. This was going to get rough; thought about hitting the abuse alarm, but I'd lose that fifty.
Pressed my face hard against his skin while he told the boy that it felt really good, but I'd faint if he didn't let me take a breath, "...and that's no fun. Watch for his eyelids to twitch before he passes out. Back off for a stroke or two. And his color--when his face turns red, count to three before you let him gasp. Get him back at work, so he remembers what he's doing."
Moving my head back and forth on his rod was tough, I think he split my lip yet continued his instruction, "Get in deep, catch your ridge on his uvula, the little thing that hangs down in the back of his throat. Stretch out as much of his larynx as you can reach--aim for the upper glottis; get your money's worth." I could see his veins jumping near his hip joints, Froman's heart was beating fast. How much longer could I take his glans bruising my gullet?
I was past being concerned about a gag reflex, we were way beyond that, though I was queasy with fear. My jaw felt dislocated and my psyche pulverized.
"When you feel roughness on your frenulum," He began yet another instruction, "Tonsils--you're in the right place." Froman thumped my head, "Suck harder and hum the national anthem when you exhale."
My eyes shut trying to keep his heavy shaft excited--I hummed a few wavering notes. Had to focus on survival. This couldn't go on forever, could it?
Eyes jerked open when I felt fingers holding my nostrils shut. The boy was giggling, "Let's see what he does now, Fro."
They mocked me trying to breath around the log in my mouth and half my throat. Light-headed as I was, I pulled back and took the first of Froman's blasts in my nostrils. Quickly, he brought me back, "Keep sucking, sucker." Mid-ejaculate I vacuumed his stinging slime that felt like it was shot from a grenade launcher.
"Don't swallow." He warned as he cuffed my ear. He was poking his shotgun so far down my throat--I had to swallow. A yellow caution light came on in my head; trouble if I didn't show him a full load, I was sure I'd get slapped.
When he'd had enough, he pulled me up by my hair, "Open."
I opened my mouth, he told the boy to look inside, "Enough sperm in there to repopulate Asia. My chromosome-cream down in his gut, boring into through his stomach, invading his bloodstream. I own this cum-can." He let go; I fell back.
Sickening phraseology, but I held firm, hoping beyond hope for that fifty.
They finally zipped, laughed and left. I didn't get the tip but a palmful of hair Froman had pulled out and his promise to return, ask for me.
My supervisor came by and told me he was taking the video of my last clients, "Didn't know you were so talented. We'll make an advert for your specialty, run it above your observation booth."
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