Violet Eyes

She knelt there, covered with both our cum, smiling drunkenly. "Happy birthday, honey," I said casually, bending down to give her breasts a fond squeeze. She'd felt good. I left her with one more kiss, a really wet and smoldery one, licking lizardlike at her teeth. I made sure my eyes were open, so that I could check on hers: yep. They were brown, after all.

* * *

We walked back into the seedy office, me with more than the usual soreness and needing a shower, only to see Jerry with his feet back up on the desk. He passed an unreadable glance over me. "Well, Stevie," he said without preamble, "looks like you were right." He held out a flimsy piece of paper, the kind we use to write down landline messages. "Guess that chick was into you."

"What?" I was preoccupied, thinking he might have meant Carmen. "She called already?"

"A week late," Jerry chortled. "The one with the eyes, Steve. Wants to hire us."

"With the eyes?" Shit, my dick was aching. I'd noticed it on the ride home, and made the mistake of bringing it up. Alison had giggled.

"I overheard one of the girls talking to the birthday girl, Juanita. She told her you were doing her so hard you missed on one of the thrusts, and hit her ass." I'd blinked, totally incredulous. "You didn't even realize it; just got back in there and kept on fucking."

"Dude!" Eric had supplemented helpfully. I'd frowned, thought about it, and decided that's probably what had happened. It fit the evidence.

"She seemed to like it," Alison was saying, but I had missed something.

"Wait, wait." I'd shaken my head. "Wasn't her name Carmen?"

Alison had glanced back and shrugged from the passenger seat. "Everyone was calling her Juanita."

Now I forgot all about my sore penis. My hand shot out for the message slip. "Give me her digits," I demanded, and with a sly wink Jerry held it out. I fled the office to his cackle, already dialing as I got to the dusty little foyer.

"Go get 'em, tiger!" he called. "Book it!"

The phone warbled. Click. "Hi?" The voice was rich and vibrant, with laughter hovering just around the corner. I squatted next to the little bucket that held the umbrellas.

"Um, hi! Ashley? This is Steve, from Dirty bASStards? You know, Doctor Steve? From Beth's bachelor party?" I took a deep breath and tried to act professional. "I'm returning your phone call."

"Steeeeve..." She had a very sexy lilt to her voice, all sass and ass. "Is this Steve, the black guy who slept with my aunt? Or Steve, the white guy who spooged all over my dress?"

I smiled. "Steve, the white guy who spooged all over your dress," I sighed. "Sorry about that," I lied, thinking about the sweaty feel of those awesome tits around my cock; I wasn't sorry about any of it. "The black guy is Carlos." My stomach dropped as I made the connection. "Wait. That was your aunt? The little chick who looked like she was twenty?"

The laugh was loud, silvery. "Yes, dumbass. She said the black guy was fantastic, which got me thinking about the party, which made me call you up." I frowned into the phone. "Hope you don't mind?"

"Oh, fuck no!" I felt myself flop-sweating. Christ, what was wrong with me? She was a hot piece of ass, but I was supposed to be a professional. I felt like a kid asking a girl out for Homecoming. "I mean, no, of course not. But my manager led me to believe you wanted to book a job?"

"Aww." It was the voice of a committed and experienced flirt. "And here, I thought you might just have wanted to talk to me. Guess I'm not quite as memorable as I thought, Steve-o."

"Ah, no. That's not it." I'd been thinking of this foxy little bitch for a week. And she knew it. "No, but I was just thinking you'd be busy?"

"Not really." She yawned. "Actually, I did want to hire you. But not all of your friends, Steve. Just you."

I felt my cock lurch. "Well, certainly." My mouth was dry. "Private outcalls are always available, and the price is negotiable. What do you need me for?" Holy Christ, did she actually want to fuck me? A night with her? I'd do it for free!

She laughed again. I got the impression she did that a lot. "Um, were you kidding when you told me you were a dogwalker?"

I scowled at my phone. The fuck? The truth was yes, of course; dogwalking was one of my many side gigs. Barx, an upscale company with nice polo shirts and no idea I stripped, paid me by the dog. "Yes, Ashley," I managed. "Why?"

I could imagine her shrugging, maybe playing with her curly hair. "Why, I was thinking I'd like to use your skills in dog maintenance, Steve."

I wondered whether she could hear me grinding my teeth. "Want me to give you their number? They like us to schedule appointments through their central facility." I swallowed. "We're fully bonded and insured for all your pet-care needs." Shit. Listen to me. Thirty-two years old, back living with my parents, spouting the party line to a violet-eyed flirt. When was I going to grow up?

She mmmed, appearing to take me seriously. "Sure. Give me the number. If I request you specially, they'll send you out? I'm hosting a small party, and there might be more than two dogs to take care of. Female dogs. How many can you handle?"

I tried not to sound discouraged. "I'm fully trained and certified. Shouldn't be a problem." I spat out the phone number.

"Female dogs, Steve." She sounded gleeful. "You know. Bitches. How many bitches can you handle, Steve?"

I wondered whether she had friends listening to her mock me, whether this was all just one big tease. I restrained a growl. "I'm sure you'll be satisfied with my services, Ashley," I replied flatly.

"I sure was last time," she agreed exuberantly. "My cousin was, too. Okay. Well, nice talking to you, Steve. You can expect a call from Barx soon, I guess."

"Sure thing." I thought of adding something else, like, "I'd like to bend you over and plunder your pussy like a pirate digging for fucking doubloons," but no. I was beginning to think I'd misread her.

* * *

I stopped into the gym for a quick shower later that afternoon, just before my monthly appointment for Jennae. She was another trainer at the gym, but she also did all the scheduling. So technically, she was sort of my boss. She gave me 5% off my trainer fees plus $75/hour for my help with her Hour of Inspiration, a class she ran for women only.

Thing was, she and I had hooked up during my first week training, and we'd hit it off after that. She had a thing for tongue play with white guys, and once she found out I was a pro, she decided she could go ahead and lick me all she wanted without any emotional attachment. She usually let me fuck her after she was done, which was nice of her; she was super-fine, a compactly muscular goddess with light-mocha skin and those weird, jade-green eyes some black women have.

She had a wild idea around that time, that women would flock to a yoga/fitness class if she gave them something inspirational to look at while they worked. So she asked around, found out one of the gym members whored at the brothel over at Southside Chiropractic, and headed down there to hire a muscular woman who'd agree to stand there naked and be admired. She'd found Steffi, a tight little package who plucked, oiled, and exercised herself into a perfect female form, and who also didn't mind being looked at.

It had been one of the class members' ideas to add me, the woman's heart and, no doubt, her vagina telling her that a nude man would be just as inspiring as a nude woman. So Steffi and I met, stripped, and posed while the class went on. We'd been doing this for several months now. Steffi was nice and we liked each other, so it was only natural that one thing occasionally led to another.

That's how I found myself balls-deep in her during Jennae's class, fucking her slowly and sensuously so that the assembled women could be inspired by the way our hairless, slithering bodies moved together. I looked out at them, my expression carefully noble, seeing nothing but a thicket of thigh-gapped legs rising toward the ceiling like a winter forest while they did a quad stretch. Most of them stared quite openly at Steffi and me, which suited us fine.

I had Steffi bent into a textbook downward dog, the muscles on her back rigid and sharply defined; her head was toward the audience. I stood easily straddling her lean, oiled thighs and flexed my abs slightly more than I needed to as I drove my dick down into her tight, welcoming vagina. Jennae ignored us, talking her ladies calmly through the moves while Yanni played in the background.

The first time hadn't been like this; Steffi and I had shaken hands, gotten naked, and then strolled into the classroom, where I'd stayed like a Hulk mannequin for the next hour, flexing and posing slightly. The women had looked at me quite unabashed, but I'd been careful not to stare; there was an awful lot of nipple and cameltoe on display, and of course the gloriously shaped Steffi had been posing right beside me. The whole point, according to Jennae, was that the women were supposed to look at Steffi and think of what they could become; they were supposed to look at me and think of who they could fuck.

Things had changed the month after that. I'd been standing there like before, rippling calmly, when I'd caught sight of one of the ladies in the back corner staring at my cock. She'd been a hottie, tall and lithe and just about naked in her boyshorts and her little sports bra, and the twinge in my dick had become a major part of the next few minutes before, shrugging mentally, I'd gone ahead and just let it happen. More and more of the women had begun gawking and whispering as I grew harder and harder, my purple cockhead rising slowly past the horizontal, but I'd been staring at the skinny chick in the back the entire time.

She knew it too, the minx, winking and licking her lips even as she reached sneakily down to touch herself with a hand adorned with a massive, glimmering wedding ring, her eyes bold and cool. My dick had just gone on jutting higher by the second. After a few minutes Steffi had calmly moved beside me, reached between my legs, and cupped my balls, and after that the ice was broken. Both of us made quite a bit of money fucking people we'd just met, so it was no big deal on the third meeting, when I'd popped more wood and, without saying a word, moved behind her, wedged my shaft in her asscrack, reached around to caress her sculpted abs, and given her a smooth, confident handjob.

Yanni had moved on to Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells as I kept on fucking Steffi slickly, she and I both comfortable and confident and not needing to say a word; it's so nice to work with fellow professionals. By the third song, with just five minutes left in the session, I'd been shooting a casual splatter of my sperm across her smooth, naked flesh as she lay on her back at my feet, her splendid body arched and with me towering over her like some Roman statue, and a bashfully grinning sigh had gone through the whole class when they'd seen me spurt.

Hour of Inspiration, indeed.

* * *

I pulled up in my tight, powder-blue Barx & Co polo shirt and a roomy pair of cargo shorts, parking well away from the address I'd been given. I didn't mind being seen, actually; no, there were simply too many cars lined up outside the house in this ritzy neighborhood with its lazily looping streets. I saw nothing but clean sidewalks, eucalyptus trees, and wealth. Heaps of it, all scattered around in the form of overdone lawns, front doors with too many windows, and burglar alarm warning signs on every house.

And, of course, the professional dogwalkers. I was the third one I'd seen on my way through the neighborhood.

The note from Barx had mentioned this was a baby shower, which had confused me; I'd cum all over Ashley's belly, and I felt certain I'd have noticed if she was pregnant. But the home address listed someone named Norah Kleinman, and the credit card came from Ashley Gallo, and Beth's last name had been Gallo too, but when I looked the whole thing up online, it said the shower was for some chick named Meagan McCarthy.

Jesus. Didn't people just have these things at the local rectory or something?

Too much. So I sighed and meandered up the long, sloping brick walk to a richly varnished arched front door, and when I pressed the bell I heard actual fucking chimes inside, not the usual battery-powered shit.

Barking from behind the door. Motherfucker, it was high pitched and irritating; I'm not very good with the smaller breeds, which had been a source of tension between me and my boss at Barx. So I had to force myself to smile widely as the door swiveled open on oiled hinges, revealing a pleasant-looking woman of about sixty or so and, more to the point, a pair of yapping little puffballs at her feet.

Shih tzus.

I knelt at once, angling for a hefty tip, and pretended I wanted to do anything other than wrench the annoying little mutts' heads off. They sensed my hatred, obviously, and hung back by their mistress, who seemed oblivious. "Oh, hi!" Her hands fluttered as though she was shooing a fly. "Ashley mentioned she'd called a dogsitter."

I straightened, unsurprised when her eyes widened at my size; my shoulders were about three times wider than hers. I held out my hand. "I'm Steve. It's a pleasure to meet you. Who are these two lovely little guys?" I forced a smile, the two dogs shrinking back from me as though my hands were smeared with cat. I wanted to boot them across the room. "They're beautiful dogs."

"Oh, thanks!" With another glance at my arms, she stepped aside to let me in. "The brown one is Mopsy, and the brindled one is Cottontail." I did not ask about Flopsy; I'd gotten into trouble over that kind of thing before, with a client whose Larry and Moe had lost their Curly to a delivery truck. The owner had still been crying when I left.

I stepped into a gorgeous room, museumlike, with shining hardwood floors and paintings mounted way up high. "Hi, Cottontail," I cooed, cursing myself for my falsetto. "They're cuties. Uh, is Ms Gallo here? I've got a contract for her to sign." I held up my clipboard.

"She's on her way. She left to pick up more champagne." I glanced out a set of glass doors, seeing pastels and long hair over sleek feminine shoulders, a grassy backyard. "You'll be staying inside, of course. There's a cocker spaniel as well, but I don't think any of the dogs will give you any trouble."

"With such a calm human, I'm not surprised they're so well-behaved." I smiled at Mopsy, who looked like he/she wanted to leap up and eat my throat.

"Oh, aren't you sweet!" That calm human beamed up at me, her eyes flickering again to my arms. "Well. I'll leave you to it. I'm Mrs Kleinman. I'm one of Emma's aunts."

It meant nothing to me. I knew nobody here. I smiled benignly, then watched as Mrs Kleinman made her way through the museum to the glass doors leading out to the backyard. I wasted no time herding Mopsy and Cottontail into a nearby bathroom, shutting the door before I went to find the spaniel.

It was sleeping in the kitchen. Sweet!

So I settled onto the couch next to the bathroom door, figuring I'd hear any scratching if the shih tzus were in any real distress. I fished out my tablet and opened a book on the Norman conquest; I was just nine credits short of a history degree.

That's how Ashley found me about ten minutes later, bustling in with a paper shopping bag that clinked with deep, full notes. I glanced up as she turned to kick the door closed, and the sunlight coming in through the doorway highlighted a thin, flowy skirt over her stupendous legs, a simple silk tanktop, and her ropy curls piled high in a messy bun. She turned around and stopped short when she saw me through her big sunglasses, and I felt my mouth fall open.

Good Lord, she was sexy. Effortlessly sexy.

Dark red lips curled into a slow, easy grin. "Well, hello stranger," she sang quietly. "Have you cooked and eaten the shit-zoos yet?"

I shrugged and set my tablet down. She was padding over on nice brown leather sandals, her toenails an impeccable shade of dark pink. "I'm just heating the oil, for the sautee," I replied quietly. I wasn't sure if I should stand up, maybe offer a hug, possibly drop my shorts and bone her right here over the back of the couch. I shook that off. "You look fucking gorgeous."

"Thank you," she beamed. "It's nice to see you, but you looked hotter with your dick out."

I smiled, feeling high as a kite just from being in the same room with her. "I admire your honesty." I'd laid the contract on the cushion next to me. "I'll need you to sign this, and then the check..."

"What kind of underwear do you have on?" she interrupted coolly, raising her shades onto her forehead. The violet eyes left my mouth dry, and I felt my balls tighten just slightly. I cocked my head.

"Why?"

Ashley glanced at the paperwork, then out into the backyard for a moment. "Want to earn a few extra bucks, Stevie?" She nodded toward all the long hair and pastels. "I'm sure some of the ladies out there would admire your various skills. And I'm in charge of the entertainment, so... yeah." She smiled, her lower lip trapped just inside her teeth. "How about it?"

"Shit." I really was just here to watch the damn dogs, and I'd never done any kind of entertaining without Justin and his contracts. I frowned. "What kind of skills are you looking for, Ashley?"

She shrugged, setting her glorious boobs jiggling inside the flowing tanktop. So, so sexy. "It's a small event. Just six of us and Norah Kleinman, but that old hag's got a surprise appointment this afternoon to get her fucking muppet dogs groomed. Then you can drag out Amy's spaniel for a piss in the backyard and, well..." She arched an eyebrow and let me see her look at the front of my shorts. "Why, then you can just follow my lead." She waited while I thought about it. "You game?"

I sighed. "How much?"

She nodded toward her purse. "Two hundred. Cash."

"For what?" I raised my eyes hopefully. "Did you want to pick up where we left off?"

She gave out her rich, thick laugh. "Oh no, Stevie. I'd actually love to, but I can't." She gnawed more firmly on her lower lip, smirking playfully, and then thrust her hand in my face. "I'm engaged now, see."

Motherfucking fucking shit. It was no impediment, really; strippers do plenty of fun things with taken chicks. That's kind of the point. But I didn't like that she was shoving it in my face, literally. She knew I didn't like it, too, which made it much worse. I looked at the little fragment of diamond on her finger. "Congratulations," I said dryly. "Who's the lucky fella?"

She cocked her head. "Why, Steve," she murmured. "You almost don't sound happy for me." I waited her out, and she shrugged. "His name's Chad. We've been dating almost two years; it's time. He's really good in bed, he makes me laugh, and I want a kid." She shrugged. "He loves me, too, so that's a plus."

"I'm sure." I smiled. Mopsy or Cottontail was scratching a little; I wanted nothing else, suddenly, than to send them the way of Flopsy. "Really, congratulations." I frowned. "Can I be honest?" I asked suddenly, for of course I was going to do this; two hundred in cash? A bunch of young, drunk rich women? It was a no-brainer. "I've never really done things with a pregnant woman, and usually she'd be the one who'd get, you know, the main activity. I wouldn't want to, like, hurt anything..."

Ashley rolled her eyes. "You're sweet to worry, but trust me: Meagan is probably hornier now than she was before. And it's not like she's not experienced: she did manage to get herself knocked up, after all." She shrugged again. "A couple of the others are moms too, if that skeeves you out."

"No, actually." I'd done plenty of things with plenty of MILFs in the course of my job, and there was only one time it had been weird. I'd been an aide for the Central Adams schools at the time, picking up extra bucks babysitting high schoolers, and one day I'd been outside standing around directing traffic during pickup. One of the sophomores had gone diving into a nearby car and I'd glanced in at the driver, wishing her my usual "Drive safe," when I'd been totally shocked by the deep blue eyes staring back at me.