Tell Me You Love Me Ch. 01

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Mister_Shy
Mister_Shy
2,686 Followers

Our gym is a big structure in the middle of a shopping mall. It's a little ways out from the mall so the parking lot surrounds it. He rounded the corner, near the street where there were fewer cars parked. I jogged up behind him and said hey.

He turned to me and said hey back.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Going home," he said pleasantly.

"You want to buy me a smoothie?"

He stopped. He pivoted on his heel. "What's up?"

"Nothing," I said. "You heard me."

He smiled. "Allison talked to you, didn't she?"

"Yeah."

He sighed. "I've told her I'm sorry - it was the wrong thing to ask."

"She was the wrong person to ask."

Tom is not dumb and he didn't say what. He just nodded and frowned. "I should go home," he said.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure. You want a smoothie?"

"I hate smoothies."

We grabbed a cup of coffee at the place just next to the smoothies and moved away from the crowd and found a deserted table nearby. I had told him I was interested. He blew on his cup and shook his head.

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why?"

"Many reasons. But the two biggest are, one, I don't know you very well. Allison and I have known each other for years. Two, and probably more importantly, you're with Bobby."

"Would you tell him?"

He stifled a laugh. "Of course I wouldn't tell him."

"You wouldn't tell him you paid to fuck me? You'd tell somebody."

He nodded without smiling, not nodding to agree but nodding at the sentiment. "Do you think I would?"

"I don't know you, Tom."

"That's why this isn't a good idea." He stood up to go. "Thanks, though."

"So you don't want to?" I surprised myself saying it, but I can say in all honesty I was thinking of the money.

He stared at me from above. He was tall. He wasn't as tall as Bobby, he was just under six feet. But he was so present. He didn't break eye contact with me. "Catherine, I think you're absolutely beautiful."

"Thanks."

"You want to know something? You're actually what got me to thinking about it in the first place. When I'd come to see Allison at the gym, I'd watch you doing sit ups or running and realize that I've never had a girlfriend who took care of herself the way you do. I've dated lots of pretty girls, most of whom went to the gym. But you, you're pretty much the definition of beautiful."

I didn't know what to say to that so I just said, "Thanks."

"It wouldn't work."

"Why is that?"

"Because I'm kinky, and at least I have the good grace to say so. If we did this, I'd need to feel comfortable that it could go off smoothly. You don't-"

"I don't what?"

"You don't strike me as the type who likes being told what to do."

"I'm not."

"So you agree."

"There's a difference between being told what to do and doing what you want."

I was glad to see that that puzzled him, that it had made him think. He was thinking now, and he hadn't expected that at all. "Go on," he said.

"I'll do what you want, or say what you want me to say, within limits. But I'm not going to be your fuck buddy or your slut or your slave or-"

He held up his hand. "That is definitely not what this is about." He pulled the chair out and sat back down. "If you mean that, then, I mean, that's exactly what I'm talking about." He set his coffee cup aside and moved his hands out in front of him, and he began to explain. "This is one hour of your time in the week. I want you, your body, and that means sex. I pay you the money up front. If we settle on twice a month, I'll give you five hundred. If we settle on once a week, it's two-fifty."

"Why those amounts?"

"It's what I can afford, and it seems like a deal to me. I mean, I'm not entirely hideous."

"You said you're kinky. What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking about this and there are things I want to do to..." He turned it over in his mind. "I don't masturbate, did I tell you that?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, I don't think it came up."

"Well, interesting choice of words because that's just the problem. This thing," he indicated his lap, "keeps me up nights. I lie awake on my back because I can't turn over. Jerking off just isn't what this is about. But I've got these fantasies I'd like to fulfill."

"Yeah, I got that."

He smiled. "You wouldn't need to do much at all, actually. But the reason I bring up the masturbating is that this, what we'd be doing, is my only sexual outlet."

"Why don't you masturbate?"

"I think it distracts from my work."

"What do you mean?"

"When you have a hard on, especially one after not touching yourself or cumming or anything, it is tough to think of anything else. But, if I divert the energy I would spend on my lust, I channel it into other areas."

"Does it work?"

He half smiled and sighed. "To a point. I hope I'm not alone in this so I'll generalize: men are like steam engines. Intense pressure equals lots of power. But you need a safety valve to make sure the whole thing doesn't burst. Part of the pressure comes from not knowing the next time I'm going to have sex, or ending up with some girl I only half like just to get into her pants after three dates. Not worth it to me and not worth it to her."

I tried to figure Tom out. I tried to decide if he was being eloquent about this or describing what sounded like a dangerous position to put myself in.

"So why sex? Why not just jerk off?"

"Masturbation is masturbatory," he said. "It doesn't accomplish anything. Plus, I love women." For a moment, and for the first time, he actually looked sheepish. "I love the way a girl feels, love the way her skin feels, love the way they smell, love the way they laugh, love the way they cum, love the way they sit when they're thinking about something." He drifted off. "But I don't have the time to find the woman I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. Masturbation isn't sex, and I want to have sex, to put it as plainly as I can."

I sighed. This still seemed far off, like we were talking about the stock market.

I heard myself say, "You need to wear a condom."

"Obviously."

"Not obviously. And you bring your own. Don't show up and say you forgot."

He gave a wry smile and nodded without saying anything. Now I know that Tom would never blame somebody else for something like that. Back then I thought he was just being a smartass. "Do you have a preference?" he said.

I ignored that. "I'm not on the pill."

"Why not?"

"When Bobby went to Michigan I didn't see the point in keeping up with it. I've never reacted well to the pill, and I've tried a lot of them - almost all of them. And I don't like the way it makes me feel." I didn't tell Tom that I felt more like a woman. I don't know why. I know why I didn't tell him but I didn't know why I felt that way. The hormones in my body, the way I bled, the changes my body went through, having that was sometimes worth the discomfort.

I quizzed him: "Do you have any STDs?"

"No," he said.

"No hitting."

"I would never hit you." Then he paused. "Does spanking count?"

"You want to spank me?"

Judging by his smile, the question amused him. I think it was more the deadpan way I asked it. "Suppose I did," he said.

I didn't mind being spanked. I liked it when it was the right time. But I let Bobby spank me because we'd been together for years and I trusted him. I didn't like the idea of getting spanked by a stranger. But then again, how were we defining stranger at this point?

"That could be extra. Maybe."

"So an extra fifty for the privilege or fifty for each smack?"

I was still trying to figure out if he was being serious or if he was playing with me. That feeling would never go away.

"Fifty overall," I said. "But I get to say when to stop."

"Of course. But I have to tell you this now, if I'm paying for this, I'm going to be making some requests. Not demands, requests."

"If I say no, that means no."

"No means no," he repeated.

He sat in silence for a brief moment. Neither of us had touched the coffee. He shook his head. "Are you really up for this?"

My heart was beating in my chest. "Yes," I said.

"Catherine..." He started to say something and he stopped. "Okay," he said finally. "Okay, when?"

"When?"

"When do you want to start?"

My heart raced. This was really happening. I was going to let him pay me to fuck him. He was going to - we were going to - "I want the five hundred up front. When could you have that?"

"In cash?" he said. "Right, obviously. Now."

"What?"

He looked at me seriously. "I have it now."

I could feel my calf muscles strain in my leg. I wanted to stretch them out. It was now or never. "Now," I said.

"Are you sure? Maybe you should sleep on it."

I shook my head. I wasn't going to let him take me to his place. That seemed like the start of a cautionary tale, and I didn't know where he lived. That meant we had to go to my house. At least there there would be witnesses, a familiar place, but... "Take me to my house," I said. He seemed to understand the reason. "One hour, right?"

"That's right."

"Okay."

I excused myself and went to the restroom. Inside, I dialed Allison and ignored my shaking fingers. When she picked up I tried to control my voice. "Hey, Alli?"

"What's up?"

"Can you call me in an hour?"

"Sure, why?"

I lied like a professional. "I'm gonna take a nap and I want to make sure I get up."

She laughed. "Okay, honey. Everything alright?"

"Yep," I said.

We hung up. If Tom turned out to be a crazy person, Allison would call and call until she got me. If she didn't, I knew she'd call my parents or Bobby or someone. I walked back out of the coffee shop and sat down across from Tom. It was like he hadn't moved. He just watched me intently.

I decided to take charge. "Once you give me the money, we can go."

He nodded. And just like that he pulled open his wallet, slid out five one hundred dollar bills, and slipped it under my coffee cup.

Five hundred dollars. Just like that.

I was his now.

He stood up and motioned for me to follow. I folded the bills and slipped them into my purse, dropped it in my gym bag. We walked silently back around the gym, walked around to where he'd parked his Honda. It was a motorcycle, I'm not sure what kind, but it was a fast thing and it was all in black, deep black, like his hair, with deep blue trim. He wrangled the helmet off the handle bar and handed it to me. Only after I'd put it on did I realize it was the only helmet he had. He swung onto the seat and held out his hand.

"Have you ridden behind before?" he said.

I shook my helmet. I took his hand and let him guide me up behind him.

"You need to hold on tight, alright? Don't worry about it being too tight. It's more important that you stay on than I breathe."

I hugged his hips with my thighs and wrapped my hands around his chest. When he kicked the engine alive I suddenly understood the attraction for biker babes. The thing vibrated up through my yoga pants, which meant it vibrated through practically nothing at all. This could be a problem, I thought. I was nervous as hell, my stomach fluttered like mad, but my vagina, and clit, were suddenly being massaged ferociously by Tom's motorcycle.

He asked me where I lived and I told him. I told him the cross streets, how to get there in under fifteen. He nodded his head and pulled the throttle. I hugged him tighter and we were out of the parking lot and speeding down the street.

I wonder what he was thinking about while I squashed my breasts into his back, hugged his body with my legs, and my arms. Was he thinking he owned me? Did he think I'd back down? Did he wonder why I didn't care about Bobby? Was he wishing I was Allison instead? He never asked me why I said yes.

I didn't think I had an answer.

* * *

We got into my parents' house at about two in the afternoon. It was overcast and the few shafts of sunlight sunk into the parlor like they were looking for us. Tom parked his motorcycle on the street and I took him up the front walk.

My parents have a little house near Lakeview. It's a one story with a big brown door and once you're inside there's the living room, the staircase on the right, and the hall to the kitchen in front. To your left when you walk in there's a small end table that comes up to my waist and a large mirror that reaches almost to the ceiling. I slid my purse, keys and phone over the table. There's a fireplace in the living room and the sofa. And just before you get to the kitchen there's a bathroom with a shower. I thought he'd want to go up to the bedroom.

As soon as the door was closed behind him he set his bag down by the staircase and looked at me.

"Are you ready?" he said.

I was still in my gym clothes: bright orange T, black sports bra underneath, skin tight black yoga pants, and sneakers. My hair was a mess, especially after the motorcycle and his helmet, and I was sweaty. "I'm just going to take a shower. You can grab a drink or-"

He shook his head. "I want you like this."

"What?"

"I'll ask you once more and then that's it." He watched me, with those eyes of his, always watching. It was different from being checked out, different from the loving way Bobby looked at me. Tom was taking me in, everything. Measuring me.

My heart started to thud in my chest even harder. The whole way here I'd gone back and forth thinking this wasn't a big deal, that it was a big deal. I hadn't even asked if he'd brought condoms. He wanted to fuck me now? Like this?

"Where?" I said.

He surveyed the room. "Here. Are your parents coming home?"

"Not for a few hours." I swallowed. "Do you have condoms?"

He nodded.

"Let me see them."

He pulled a packet of them from his gym bag.

I drew my fingers over my temples and swept my hair back from my cheeks and forehead. "I smell like sweat," I said.

"You smell like you."

"Okay, whatever." He waited. Finally I blinked hard and threw up my hands. "Okay, yes, yes, what do I - what do you want me to do?"

He breathed deeply. He seemed so absolutely calm. I was bewildered. I was scared. My vagina was buzzing, not because of him but because it knew what might be coming, and his motorcycle had just set me to active. Tom glanced at the table and the mirror and the drawer inside. "Is there a hair brush in the drawer?"

"Yes," I said.

He stepped forward. He came forward, to me, until he was right up against me. He looked down at me, into my eyes, and the skin of my forehead. He reached his fingers to me and drew them through my hair. "That was the last time I asked. I won't ask again. If you want to stop you have to tell me no."

"Okay," I said. I wasn't sure if I could breathe.

He stepped back. "I want you to take your clothes off. I want you to go over to the table and I want you to brush your hair."

I would have said what except I knew what he'd asked and I knew that he was completely serious. So, I did it. I slid off my sneakers.

I reached down and pulled off my socks.

I hesitated when I crossed my arms but then I had the shirt off. I was now just in my sports bra and my yoga pants. The last person to see me naked was Allison. The last person who I'd slept with was Bobby. And Tom was watching me. He'd paid me, so I hooked my fingers into my waistband and pulled them down.

I was in my g-string and my sports bra, and I could see that Tom liked it. I could already see his erection from his shorts.

"Are you getting naked?" I asked.

"I will," he said.

"You don't want to do this?" I indicated my bra.

"No," he said.

I pulled it off in one motion. My breasts thanked me by falling happily down my chest. Then, without looking at him, I bent over and slid my g-string down my legs.

I was naked in my living room with Tom.

I didn't ask him if he wanted me at the table. I knew he did. As I walked past him, not looking at him, I thought of Bobby. What would he think? Would he call me slut? Would he be mad, upset? I pulled the drawer open. There were a few sets of keys, loose change, some maps, and that old hairbrush. Brush my hair? I pulled the hairbrush out and slid the drawer closed. I glanced behind me.

Tom had taken off his shirt. I watched him pull down his shorts.

There it was. His dick stood straight up like a javelin and at a hard angle. It was long, I thought, not as thick as Bobby's, but I realized that it might have been weeks since Tom had been with somebody. It was red and angry looking. And if he really didn't masturbate, I wonder what that would do to it. It looked insistent, very insistent, smooth and circumcised, not like Bobby's.

"Brush your hair."

I turned back to the mirror and started to brush my hair. I looked at myself in the mirror. We hadn't turned the lights on so the only light came from the shafts of sunlight outside. It was enough to see myself, to see my full breasts in the mirror, the line of my abdominals, and to see Tom come to me from behind.

I actually expected him to grab me, to push it in me, to fuck me. He didn't do that. I continued to brush my hair and Tom, softly, put his hands on my shoulders. I stopped brushing.

"Keep going," he said.

I continued to brush my hair.

The whole time I could watch Tom. He bent down and kissed the back of my neck. He slid his left hand over my left elbow; he didn't tell me to stop brushing so I continued to use it to hold my hair back as I brushed with my right.

His right hand slid down my side, glided up into my armpit and roved down my body, down my ribs. I felt his fingers feel each rib, felt them play over my stomach, felt them in my bellybutton. His left hand snaked over my chest and down the line of my abdomen. He didn't touch my breasts. And he kissed the back of my neck, moving around to where my neck met my shoulder. And he breathed deeply. He was inhaling me, my scent, my sweat.

He kissed lower, kissing over my shoulder. I realized he was tracing the muscles in my back, kissing them. I felt his dick slide down my ass, slide down my leg as he bent lower, going lower, kissing the small of my back, rolling his lips over the high slope of my ass. My body continued to shake and I strained my legs to make them stop. His hands came around my front and gripped my thighs, ran down to my knees. I kept brushing my hair while Tom kissed my body, smelled me.

Then he slid his nose into the top of my crack.

"Don't-" I said automatically.

"Are you saying no?" he said.

I had frozen in the mirror.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to kiss you."

"I haven't showered."

"I know."

"Tom-" I started.

"What?" He kissed between my cheeks, the sweaty area at the top of my buttocks. He bit into the flesh. My legs wobbled a bit.

"Nothing," I breathed. I didn't think it would be like this.

He continued to kiss lower until he reached where my cheeks met my thighs. He pulled the skin up and bit into the soft flesh under my ass. Then he put his head between my legs and started to kiss up. His mouth was buried in my bush before I knew he was there.

"Tom-" I started. He didn't say anything. I hadn't showered and his lips were suckling at my vulva. He buried his mouth in my pubic hair. Then he breathed, very, deeply. I started to get wet. I stopped brushing my hair.

"Don't stop," Tom said.

"Okay."

He kept licking, kept kissing. I watched him reach down and wrap his fingers around his shaft. Was he going to fuck me? Was he going to jerk off? He left off my wet vagina and kissed lower. He was kneeling in front of me now, kissing my legs, planting little kisses on my knees, moving down to my feet. "You're perfect," he said.

He got up. He slid the shaft of his dick from my ankle all the way up to my butt.

"Don't forget the condom," I whispered.

"I won't."

"What are you waiting for?"

My phone rang. He smiled at it and shook his head. He sidled over to his gym bag and tore a condom from the packet.

Mister_Shy
Mister_Shy
2,686 Followers