stared back at those stunning eyes and heat infused my groin. I could feel his warm breath against my mouth, practically taste the mix of blueberry, banana, and coffee. I moved my cup to my lap, hoping to hide my growing arousal as he continued to stare at me. Neither of us said a word and a voice in my head started screaming, kiss me, touch me, anything , but he did no such thing.
“Do you remember our conversation last night?”
“Which part?” I asked, my voice a little breathy.
“The part where you asked me about whether or not I’d ever been attracted to a guy?”
Lance being so close, feeling his heat, I could only nod. I didn’t trust my voice.
“And how turned on I got from the lap dance my buddies got for me?”
Again, I could only nod. My cock had gone from pleasantly aroused to throbbing, and I pressed the bottom of my cup against it to keep the linens from tenting.
He was silent for long moments. His eyes wandered from my face to my rapidly rising and falling chest then down farther, and I hoped the Styrofoam and cotton barrier was enough to hide how he was affecting me. I don’t know what he was searching for, or maybe he was building up some courage to say what he was thinking, but whatever it was, he must have found it. He leaned in closer still until I felt his sweet breath against my neck, just below my ear, and I shuddered with the tingling sensation.
“That stripper ground against me.” He pressed a kiss to the side of my neck and I had to stifle a moan. A moan that caught in my throat when he said, “His dick was nearly as hard as my own.”
I sat there, mouth open wide, shaft throbbing, as Lance straightened and walked to the door. Without a backward glance, he opened the door and stepped out. I heard his deep rumbling chuckle as he closed the door behind him. Bastard somehow knew exactly how that revelation would affect me.
I don’t know how long I sat there staring at that closed door because it wasn’t wood and metal I was seeing. An image of Lance gripping that stripper’s hips, rubbing their cocks against one another, played through my mind until I was on the verge of coming, and I hadn’t even touched myself.
It explained so much. The heated looks he’d given me, why he’d been going out of his way to get to know me, why he’d kissed me while I slept.
“Oh, fuck!”
The memory of those soft lips against mine combined with the images in my head and I set the cup I’d been gripping on the desk. My heart was hammering in my chest as I shoved the covers and my sweats down and wrapped my fist around my cock. I stroked my entire length from base to tip, teasing at the flared head with my thumb before moving back down. Behind my closed eyes, I could envision Lance thrusting up out of his chair, denim-encased cock rubbing against the stripper’s silk-covered prick. My cock swelled further when the stripper morphed and it was me who was giving Lance a lap dance, rubbing my prick against his as his big hands held my hips in a bruising grip.
His scent was still strong in the air and the flesh below my ear still tingled from his warm lips as I continued to pleasure myself. It didn’t take long, hips working, pushing my pulsing cock into my tight fist, and I had to bite down on my lip to keep from shouting out my pleasure as I came.
Then I began to laugh. The whole story of Lance and the stripper was just frickin’ hilarious to me. Even more gut-busting was putting myself in that stripper’s high-heeled shoes and giving him a lap dance. That would not have been jerk-worthy, not with my two left feet.
I DON ’ T , nor have I ever, thought of myself as a drag queen. Never wanted to be. Not that I have anything against those who do, I just never really thought of trying to intentionally pass myself off as a woman. I loved painting my eyes and lips, had enough hair products, straighteners, styling tools, and barrettes to make most girls green with envy. Still, I never
“Do you remember our conversation last night?”
“Which part?” I asked, my voice a little breathy.
“The part where you asked me about whether or not I’d ever been attracted to a guy?”
Lance being so close, feeling his heat, I could only nod. I didn’t trust my voice.
“And how turned on I got from the lap dance my buddies got for me?”
Again, I could only nod. My cock had gone from pleasantly aroused to throbbing, and I pressed the bottom of my cup against it to keep the linens from tenting.
He was silent for long moments. His eyes wandered from my face to my rapidly rising and falling chest then down farther, and I hoped the Styrofoam and cotton barrier was enough to hide how he was affecting me. I don’t know what he was searching for, or maybe he was building up some courage to say what he was thinking, but whatever it was, he must have found it. He leaned in closer still until I felt his sweet breath against my neck, just below my ear, and I shuddered with the tingling sensation.
“That stripper ground against me.” He pressed a kiss to the side of my neck and I had to stifle a moan. A moan that caught in my throat when he said, “His dick was nearly as hard as my own.”
I sat there, mouth open wide, shaft throbbing, as Lance straightened and walked to the door. Without a backward glance, he opened the door and stepped out. I heard his deep rumbling chuckle as he closed the door behind him. Bastard somehow knew exactly how that revelation would affect me.
I don’t know how long I sat there staring at that closed door because it wasn’t wood and metal I was seeing. An image of Lance gripping that stripper’s hips, rubbing their cocks against one another, played through my mind until I was on the verge of coming, and I hadn’t even touched myself.
It explained so much. The heated looks he’d given me, why he’d been going out of his way to get to know me, why he’d kissed me while I slept.
“Oh, fuck!”
The memory of those soft lips against mine combined with the images in my head and I set the cup I’d been gripping on the desk. My heart was hammering in my chest as I shoved the covers and my sweats down and wrapped my fist around my cock. I stroked my entire length from base to tip, teasing at the flared head with my thumb before moving back down. Behind my closed eyes, I could envision Lance thrusting up out of his chair, denim-encased cock rubbing against the stripper’s silk-covered prick. My cock swelled further when the stripper morphed and it was me who was giving Lance a lap dance, rubbing my prick against his as his big hands held my hips in a bruising grip.
His scent was still strong in the air and the flesh below my ear still tingled from his warm lips as I continued to pleasure myself. It didn’t take long, hips working, pushing my pulsing cock into my tight fist, and I had to bite down on my lip to keep from shouting out my pleasure as I came.
Then I began to laugh. The whole story of Lance and the stripper was just frickin’ hilarious to me. Even more gut-busting was putting myself in that stripper’s high-heeled shoes and giving him a lap dance. That would not have been jerk-worthy, not with my two left feet.
I DON ’ T , nor have I ever, thought of myself as a drag queen. Never wanted to be. Not that I have anything against those who do, I just never really thought of trying to intentionally pass myself off as a woman. I loved painting my eyes and lips, had enough hair products, straighteners, styling tools, and barrettes to make most girls green with envy. Still, I never
Similar Books
