The Client
The Client
by sutreaux
Tags: MMM, light domination/control, sex work, bj, anal
It was only my third time seeing this client, but I’d had a good feeling about him — even before he’d confessed “low key” threesome fantasies. Whatever the fuck he meant by low key, didn’t care. That was our second date. As delightful as his post orgasm shivers and twitches were, I couldn’t wait to get home to tell you. Couldn’t wait, literally, so I started to tell him instead, starting to warm him up to my plan while warming him up for a second round — my words dirty in his ear, my hands gently massaging his obliques, hips, upper thighs.
By the time my fingers made it to the base of his dick, I was reassuring him that you would be into it too. He was pulsing in my hand, imagining watching you watching my asshole stretch around his cock. It was me describing how you’d lick him clean after that made him come for the second time that evening. He tipped me extra because I jacked off for him with what I’d caught in my hand and scooped off his belly. The fantasy had gotten to me too.
You nearly creamed your y-fronts as soon as I told you.
All I’d had to say was, “You’ll join for my next date with him.” Maybe it was my tone, or maybe you’d been fantasizing about me finally finding the right guy every time I’d been out on a date for months. However you knew, you knew immediately, and you melted.
I laughed in that booming, loving more than teasing way, and you grinned. Your grin turned pouty as I flipped our vibe again, jerked you towards me by your waistband, and dug my fingers into the front of your briefs, roughly groping you through the suspiciously dry cotton.
“Hmm — not wet enough to have messed your panties—” I could feel your belly clench, flushing with humiliation— “but also not damp enough for how horny I know you’ve been for the last 5, maybe 6 hours.” Your eyes widened just enough to give you away. “Why did you change your undies, baby?”
Your voice went so small as you say, “You know why. Sir.” You didn’t quite bat your eyelashes, but game knows game.
I may push you around, but you more than pull me along too. Your bashfulness earned you one of your favorite treats — bent over the bed, burying your dick in the pair of creamed briefs you’d tried hiding in the hamper, my fingers stretching your rim to my best guess at the circumference of his cock. You lasted minutes at best before overflowing into the already messy underwear.
I’d expect you to do better with my client, so I leave your little plastic cage on the counter while you shower before my — our — date. We hadn’t agreed on that, even through all our “working sessions” to “pound out” the details. But the cage always bulged so beautifully through the white briefs, and you know no is always welcome. It didn’t mean I didn’t reward your yes, kissing you long and deep after you joined me in the living room, massaging some of the anticipatory tension out of your hips.
We were in the apartment I shared with a few other working girls — most of whom were boys of course. You’d been here before, to help me clean or drop off supplies, for a quickie when we happened to be in the neighborhood, but never for this. Deep kisses, my fingers twined between yours, and a long hug helped settle you before we got you arranged.
When the client arrived, I took his coat and offered him something to drink. He declined, sitting on the couch before he noticed you. I had you on your knees, on the floor on the far side of the couch, bound and naked except for the white briefs stretching over your caged cock. I’m particularly proud of the impressive but not fussy chest harness I tied on you. It was partially for the show, for him, but it was also for us, grounding and connecting us, before this. Your hair was mussed out of its usual neat part, hinting at how well it works as a handhold.
In our previous dates, he’d been slow to warm up, but at the sight of you, he was sprung. A soft “shit” escaped with his exhale, his shoulders tensed and loosened, and he adjusted himself in his hoochie daddy short shorts. I was delighted and I could tell you were starting to swell in your cock cage too.
I came up behind him slowly as he spoke to me, but he was looking at you. “This is… cool. Yes. This is cool, right?”
I splayed my hands over his shoulders, rubbing gently and simultaneously reassuring him with my words, my touch, and my calmness. “Everyone is here willingly, eagerly. And, we can pause or stop whenever one of us needs. Red and yellow work for stop and pause, and three knocks against the nearest surface if words are too hard in the moment.” You look back at him steadily, intently, and dip your head in a not-quite-nod.
Not interrupting the eye contact between you, I invited him to take off his shirt, and continued roaming my hands over the skin as he revealed it. I could feel him relaxing, but I don’t know if he was even consciously aware of my touch. “Doesn’t he mind that he can’t join in — or even walk out if he wants to?”
I grinned behind him, and stilled my hands, pressing in a little more firmly. “He more than doesn’t mind. Not being able to touch, not being able to leave, it lets him let go and be fully present.”
“Can I touch him?”
“Probably. Ask him.”
He was heart wrenchingly adorable, bashful, when he asked. “Can I touch you?”
You nodded frantically. My slut has no cool.
He walked cautiously to you, in just his cropped shorts and sneakers. Your eyes followed, holding the eye contact. In any other circumstance, I might’ve punished you for your impertinence, but the rules for how you show deference to a top and how you show deference to a client who likes to think of himself as a top are somewhat different, and murky.
His first touch was sliding his fingers into your hair, taking the invitation I’d so precisely coiffed for him. His second was even sweeter, gently cupping your jaw with his palm. I took the opportunity to undress down to my high-waisted thong. When it seemed like the tender moment had gone on long enough — as cute as it was, it wasn’t what any of us was here for — I pressed my naked front up against his back, gratified when his hand tightened in your hair.
I dug my fingers into his hips, my palms must’ve been hot even through his shorts, and smoothed them down to finger at the skin of his thighs just where it disappeared into fabric. You whispered “green” and his eyes widened just slightly, before his face and shoulders relaxed a fraction. I let him explore you, cupping your jaw and dragging his thumb over your top lip, then pressing a little harder as he continued over your bottom lip. With the characteristic impatience I’ve punished you for many times, you darted your tongue out, flicking over the tip of his thumb just as it reached the corner of your mouth. His thighs tightened slightly under my fingers, still teasing the skin at the seam of his shorts, and his thumb caught the corner of your mouth, dragging your mouth open obscenely before you could turn your head to follow his lead. When you did start to rotate your neck, he pushed his thumb into your mouth and pressed the full length of his thumb down into your tongue. You were caught, by his thick thumb pressing down and his fingertips pressing up underneath your chin.
He untangled the fingers of his other hand from your hair, and flicked open his button fly. I understood the slight tilt of his head towards me, and slowly undid the rest of the buttons, pressing the pad of my thumb into his hardening bulge as I worked my way down. I splayed my hands into his shorts, framing his cock through the widening v and his boxer briefs. You gamely sucked his thumb without control of your tongue or jaw, as if proving that you’d take whatever he gave you.
With his shorts down to his knees, he slipped one leg out, steadying himself with a hand back in your hair. My fingers kept playing, digging in, teasing. As the pressure built, he dragged your face to his crotch and slipped his thumb out of your mouth, drawing his arm back around me to pull my hips more firmly against his ass. Together we mashed your face into him, his hand in your hair and one of mine tugging you by the ear the way you love, and hate.
Finally I decided to give both of you a break, and slid my hand flat down his belly, into his briefs, fingers wrapping around his dick for one, two, three smooth pumps, wrist levering his waistband down.
I barely had his briefs off when you dove onto him again, curling your tongue around his cockhead, swirling around it, pressing the flat of your tongue against the tip. He groaned beautifully and clenched one hand in your hair, the other digging into my ass. You give fantastic blowjobs, both highly skilled and highly enthusiastic. The way you savor dick in your mouth would feel like teasing if you weren’t always escalating. You sucked, you licked, you hummed, you moaned, you even gagged gracefully on him.
Even though I fully trust your ability to drag an incredible orgasm out of him, I wanted to join in too, so I took a half step back to give myself some space to maneuver, free my cock, and lube up. He was holding back, not quite pressing into your mouth, asserting control with his hand in your hair but letting you drive the momentum. I slid my dick under the curve of his ass, pressing into the tender spot behind his balls, not quite managing to spread his ass cheeks. His body responded quickly, and I don’t know if he was conscious of widening his stance, giving me room to press my shaft up into his ass crack.
I slid and pressed into him, then pulled back slowly. On my third or fourth stroke, my dickhead caught briefly on the knot of his asshole, and he shivered all over. I’d thought I’d wait until the fourth, maybe fifth date to penetrate him — he’d admitted he liked it sometimes, but usually topped — but I was more turned on than is probably strictly professional. You must’ve gotten some kind of signal from his body or mine, because you sank down on him, finally deep throating him after hinting at it several times but never quite letting him in. As if we’d planned it — okay, maybe we had — I adjusted my stroke so my dickhead pressed against his asshole. He keened, I pulled back, and his fingers tightened into my hip. You pulled back too. I grinned in a way I was glad neither of you could see, and pushed against him again, a little firmer this time, but still not pushing inside.
He panted and pushed his dickhead into your throat again, his first real attempt at control of the blow job. I loved the mix of consternation and submission on your face, that release and resistance that you crave in sub space.
I’m pretty proud of our rhythm, my head slipping past his sphincter as his made it past yours. I’m pretty sure he would’ve lost his nut in you right then if you hadn’t so kindly grabbed his balls in your hand, gently pulling them down and away from their tightening.
For my next several strokes, I stayed shallow, not pushing enough to force him deeper into you, just creating some pressure inside him; and as I pulled back each time, stretching the outer ring of his tight asshole back towards me, he followed, whether chasing the pressure or preventing me from popping back out through his tightest point.
I slowly sunk myself deeper in him, and you took him for longer and longer seconds, as he worked himself between us: hot and stretching behind him, wet and constricting before him. His enthusiasm for my dicking was exactly what I’d hoped for, and I told him so.
He loved my gruff and nasty affirmations, so I kept them up — telling him what a gift he was giving me, and you; praising his luscious, oh-so-fuckable ass; taunting him just a little bit for taking this dicking so readily after claiming to “mostly top”; instructing him to fuck your mouth how he’d thought he was going to get to fuck my ass. That last bit set him off, and I knew your jaw would be sore after he started screwing his dick into your throat, pulling your hair to the side, countering his thrust and extending the twist of his hips. You managed to adjust, and fully let him into your throat. I took the opportunity to bury myself in his ass, enjoying the friction of his twisting thrusts pulling against my sensitive cock skin. I brushed into his prostate the best I could.
All of us were teetering on the edge of coming, maybe not quite ready to end this but aching to let go. I checked on you and saw your hands curled under your ass. I initially thought you sat on them to resist touching without permission, but then I noticed you’d pushed your tight white y-fronts down, and the small muscles in the front of your shoulders were twitching, and I realized you were fingering your ass. You saw me seeing you, and plead with your eyes. Ever merciful, I gave you a nod to let you flip open your cock cage. Just barely holding back, you hollowed your cheeks against his next withdrawal.
Your suction triggered his orgasm, which started the chain reaction. His asshole clenched and sucked my dick. His knees weakened, letting me slide just a tiny bit deeper, and I wrapped an arm around his waist and bit his shoulder hard as I came, pulling him against me. I shook and arched and joined his deep groans with my own. I couldn’t help but slam into him with my contractions, hammering him forward into your throat. You eased back off his dick, sinking down onto your fingers and triggering your own orgasm, spurting out of your cage and into your thin white briefs.
I let us all soften and come down for a few moments until it seemed like we might just collectively crumple to the ground. You seemed the most stable, or least likely to be hurt if you slumped, so I hauled his weight back onto me and sort of dragged, sort of supported him over to the tasteful and easily wiped down couch. You looked at me pleading, and I dropped a few cushions onto the floor for you to crawl onto. You ended up sandwiched between our legs, his torso and head leaned into my side, your head on his thigh and my leg pressing into the length of your back. Water, already poured for each of us. Gentle, rhythmic strokes of his chest, your hair, my arm. A few long breaths and satisfied sighs, a short but catching burst of laughter, eye contact that only broke when our lips met.
I think even then we knew it wasn’t going to be a one-time thing. I sometimes wonder who figured it out first, but I’m pretty confident our getting cleaned up and saying goodbye that night had a tone of ease, calm, confidence we’d get to explore each other more very soon. I wrote down as many details as I could as soon as we were home, more thoroughly cleaned up, and rested, and have since play-tortured both of you to give up anything I might’ve missed. What can I say, I’m an artist and a scholar, and a pervy one at that.
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