Two Men in a Dungeon

"Would you go with him overnight?"

"Sure, if the money was good and the hotel had strong beds. God, he could fuck. And his body was magnificent—much better than trying to pull the cum out of some of the ugly old men who come in here. So, can I call it a day?"

The pimp pursed his lips. "Gee I don't know. You're down for another one in an hour. Same plan."

"What is it with the business now?"

"The fleet's in. Another couple of days and it will be dead again."

They both looked up, sensing that something overpowering had just moved into the reception area. It was a big black bruiser, and even with what had already walked through the doors that day, he qualified as big. And he looked mad at the world and ready to kill something—and fully capable of doing so just with his hands.

"That the next appointment for the dungeon?" Rab asked.

"Yes. Early, probably anxious, but he looks bad. If you don't want to—"

"Naw, it'll be a piece of cake," Rab said. "If it's the last one I have to take today, of course. A piece of cake. All you have to do is cower for them and then make them think they're the world's greatest lover. Some of them are actually pretty good. That last one was hung and could fuck forever. I was having trouble not enjoying it from the beginning and was thinking of taking him home."