Slippery Sloping

He did me well. He'd always done me well. But there was no variety, no fire, with Jared. He'd always done me in a missionary. At the beginning it had been taxing and exciting. Now, it was just sex with Jared again.

I lay there on my back, head turned to his wall of glass overlooking Hong Kong harbor from the heavens. I felt him deep inside, moving, in and out, in and out. I moved with him, rocking my hips in the cadence of his thrusts, panting and moaning, whispering "Yes, yes, like that. Deeper. Fuck me, screw me," while moving my hands from clutching his buttocks to his shoulder blades, to his biceps, and then under to stroking my cock, searching for the rhythm and for the time that would bring us off together--the Nirvana of gay male sex.

With an "Oh, shit, here it comes!" I tensed and jerked and shot my load, with him joining me quickly thereafter, filling the bulb of his condom with cum. Jared always had been one to have a big load. He jerked and tensed and grunted his release three times before going quiet and rolling off to the side.

"I've missed you," he murmured, as I reached down, possessed his cock, and stroked him. He was paying a lot. He deserved good service.

"Maybe we could meet more often," he whispered. "You could come here when you had time."

That was a change. Before, I came to him whenever he beckoned.

"Whenever you wanted to arrange it through the escort service," I said. I could tell that wasn't what he meant, what he wanted. He didn't want to pay for it.

"Haashim Singh wouldn't like me working off the books," I said.

He contemplated this, but I could tell that this definitely wasn't what he had in mind. He had initiated me. He had started me on this road. He thought he deserved free service.

That wasn't going to happen. But I'd take his mind off of it. He had paid out the nose for this date. I licked down his chest, into his pubic bush, opened my mouth over his cock, and slid down the pole.

"Oh, fuck," he murmured, lying back, arching his back, taking my head between his hands, and luxuriating in the attention I was giving him. All part of the high-end escort service treatment.

Later, as I took a taxi across the city to Wan Chai, I reflected on not being honest with him or with Haashim Singh. I did give it away to someone.

I climbed the stairs to Trung's room. I knew he was there. I had checked already.

When I entered, he was sitting, cross-legged on the quilt in the middle of his room.

"Come in, strip, lie on your back, show me your hole," he growled.

Shivering and shimmery, I stripped, lay on my back before him, spread and bent my legs, and raised my pelvis for him, my hole still gaping from Jared's missionary fuck.