Warning: this one's a bit self-indulgent. It took me ages to write, as I couldn't stop rubbing--a difficult task while typing. However, I also couldn't resist turning this into a love story. It's not quite over yet - an epilogue awaits!
After having reluctantly accepted to go on a blind date, more than anything to get his sister off his back, Aaron sits at the table of the small Italian restaurant, picking at his pasta, lost in the depths of his own thoughts, barely noticing the beautiful girl sitting across from him. She's smart--even funny, and most would ask, "What more could one possibly want?"
For Aaron, the answer is simple: Rose.
From the moment he first laid eyes on her, he knew she was going to be his downfall. She was sweet and vulnerable. And, god, does he have a soft spot for shy girls. That's why they always put them with him at The Factory. He's the best at working with them. He's patient and compassionate. He loves to gradually break down their walls until they give in to their hidden desires.
Still, Rose was extraordinarily timid. He hasn't even scratched the surface with her yet, and who knows if he'll ever see her again. It's been two and a half months, and she hasn't come back to The Factory. He'd slipped another gift card into her bag, hoping to entice her return, but there's been no sign of her.
His perfectly nice date continues to natter on about something or other, but his head is elsewhere. Memories of Rose flood his thoughts. He's remembering what it was like to hold her in his arms while he devoured her pretty pussy. How he nearly came in his pants when she finally let go and fucked his mouth with abandon. The amount of time he spends fantasising about her and all the things he'd like to do to her is practically unhealthy at this point.
The other day, while he was drilling a dildo into one of his usual clients, he thought about how, if it were Rose at his mercy, he would fuck it in slowly. How he would gently suckle on her clit with barely-there pressure--just as she likes. Or maybe he'd ask her to fuck his mouth again, only this time with her asshole. Ugh, the thought of her holding his head while rimming herself on his tongue makes his dick twinge.
Fuck, he's desperate.
His date extends an invitation to her apartment for 'dessert' later that evening. Aaron kindly declines.
"Dude!" Aaron's younger, and rather boisterous, colleague, Ben, startles him, interrupting his daydream, "Are you in or not?"
They've been invited to a company party at an uptown club. It's an annual thing, and Aaron usually enjoys it, if he's honest. He has a few drinks while listening to the others swap stories about their clients and try to outdo each other by telling how many times they've cum that day. More often than not, Aaron doesn't cum during his sessions. It's not about him unless his partners want it to be.
With a sigh, he agrees, "Yeah, I'm in."
Ben gives him a side-eyed look. "What's gotten into you lately?"
Of course, Aaron can't tell him that he's fallen for a client. "Just a bit tired." He replies.
Ben's hand lands on his shoulder with an exaggerated force. "Well, snap out of it and go get your dick sucked." He turns to walk away before shouting over his shoulder, "You'll feel better after shooting your load."
Aaron chuckles and rolls his eyes.
The club is one of those up-market places. Posh and pristine, bathrooms riddled with cocaine, and dark corners where humping and grinding is to be expected. A place Aaron would never normally choose to spend his time. However, this is the place where his company has reserved a booth: on the balcony, overlooking the dance floor. Even with all the posh amenities, Aaron intends to sit at the bar. He's not one for being the centre of attention, and tonight that booth will certainly be the focal point of the place.
"Hi," a girl says, pulling out the seat next to him.
He smiles kindly and nods his head in her direction, but doesn't engage by responding verbally. He despises being impolite, but whenever his company hosts a party and word gets around, flirtatious girls swarm in search of a one-night stand with an infamous "Factory-Worker."
She'll probably get what she wants from one of the others anyway. Insatiable bastards.
It's not that Aaron doesn't like sex. He does. He's just so used to it as his job that he doesn't know how to be spontaneous anymore. It's been so long since he's even had real sex. He cums at least once a day from some other form of stimulation. Also, it's a rule of his. No penetrative sex with clients, and absolutely no kissing on the mouth--a little detail he borrowed from Pretty Woman.
That being said, would he break his own rules for Rose? Would she be the Richard Gere to his Julia Roberts? The last time she stood so close before him, he could feel her breath on his lips, her big brown eyes deep like he'd never seen, and her eyelids heavy. It took every single fibre of his being to resist wrapping his arms around her, caging her beautiful body in his own, and gently pressing his lips to hers.
He won't allow himself to actually imagine what it would be like to have sex with her. He must, at least, try to be professional. Picture her as any other girl whom he's pleasured over the years.
Does she even remotely feel the same? She could be married and have a family, for all he knows. More than anything, Aaron tries to convince himself that she did not return his desire when she looked back at him.
She did, though. Deep down, he knows it.
His beer bottle drips with condensation as he scans the ocean of people dancing and having alcohol-induced fun. Aaron likes to observe people. It's always been something he finds fascinating. That's probably why he's good at his job. He knows how to read people.
Thankfully, the girl sitting next to him has found someone else to try her luck with; she is currently laughing at everything her suitor of choice says while flicking her hair.
"Aaron," one of his colleagues calls to him and beckons him to join the rest of them at the company-reserved booth, where bottles of champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries litter the luxurious glass table.
Sliding off his stool, he walks towards them with the most authentic smile he can manage. Ben has one of those sparklers that they bring with the booze, and he's holding it between his legs and pretending it's his dick as it shoots out a fountain of flares and sparks. Aaron can't help but chuckle and shake his head in amusement at his silly yet somehow endearing co-worker.
"Here he is!!" The manager greets Aaron with a one-arm hug and a glass of champagne.
Aaron tips his head in thanks. He takes a sip of the bubbly drink, discreetly places it back on the table, and goes back to his beer, eager to wash away the sharp taste.
"Aaron!" his manager shouts, even though they're standing less than a metre apart. "One of our number-one guys!"
Aaron squints as the stench of alcohol fills his nostrils.
"How do you do it??" The man continues, boldly and far too loud, shaking him in his embrace, "I daren't send my wife to you, or she'll never suck me off again." He bursts into a roar of laughter and glances around the booth to see if anyone else thinks he's funny.
Aaron half frowns and half smiles, knowing that the man probably won't remember any of this in the morning. Thank goodness.
He grabs Aaron again and starts to tell him some seedy story about an encounter he had with one of the girls at The Factory when he was younger. Aaron stumbles slightly as he's pulled closer, trying his best to turn away from the stench of the man's breath. Then he sees her.
Rose.
She's there. In the middle of the dance floor, she's facing the other direction, but Aaron knows. Her body, her hair, and the way she moves. It's definitely her.
She's with a group of friends, possibly for a bachelorette party or a birthday. Her hips sway in time to the beat while she holds her hands above her head, letting her long hair cascade down her back.
His heart thumps harder in his chest. He's powerless to stop it. He can't look away or even attempt to listen to his boss's crass story.
"Uhm, I'm sorry, sir," he says, wriggling out of the man's grasp. "I...I need some air," he stammers, and it's not exactly a lie either.
Rose continues to dance; her body is the most beautiful Aaron has ever seen. Her curves are womanly and ooze sensuality. He's reminded of how smooth her skin is and how her body is firm but still soft and luscious. How he felt when he ran his hands over her and how she tensed at his touch.
It's a somewhat strange feeling, knowing that he's already been with her. So to speak. It's odd to put the two people together. The shy girl who sought assistance in self-discovery at The Factory and this stunning young woman who is dancing with an air of self-assurance and ease that he knows very little about.
He reaches the edge of the dance floor without even realising he'd made it that far. His body is on autopilot, searching and wanting.
He halts before taking another step. What is he supposed to do? Walk up to her and say, "Hi Rose, remember me?" He can't. He has to respect her privacy and keep their encounters to himself. He'd already risked getting a bollocking at work for giving her two gift cards.
He stands there. Like a fucking creep. He watches her turn to her friend and laugh in response to something one of them said. He realises he's never heard her laugh before, and all of a sudden the need to know what she sounds like is unbearable. What is she drinking? He wonders, noticing a brightly coloured cocktail in her hand. Probably something sweet, he thinks, desperately wishing he could base his guess on something real.
Ultimately, he decides to go back to the bar. He can watch her pathetically from there and imagine what it would be like to walk over and slide his hand around her waist. How wonderful it would be if he could hold her as close as humanly possible and kiss her neck as she dances.
'Boyfriend thoughts,' he scolds himself with a roll of the eyes.
He orders another beer after having disregarded the last one at the company table and goes to lean against the railing of the balcony overlooking the dance floor. He feels uneasy, self-conscious almost, scanning the room in search of only one person. The bass line pumps through his body as he surveys the sea of people. He easily locates the crowd of friends she was with not only ten minutes ago, but he can't seem to see her anymore. He can't possibly have just lost her. His heart begins to beat faster, and sweat beads form in his palms. What if she's gone and he never sees her again? Did he really miss his one and only chance?
Somehow, faith is on his side tonight, and when he turns around to go and look from a different angle, she is standing there facing him, with her back to the bar, looking as frozen as he feels. They simply stare at one another for a moment. Seeming somewhat uncertain as to how the other will react.
Aaron smiles first, tentatively, and when she answers with that bashful grin that he recognises all too well, he pushes away from the railing and closes the gap between them. Suddenly, their bodies press against each other, enveloped in an embrace.
"Hi!" he breathes in her ear, almost a sigh of relief, like having her in his arms is the thing he's been missing his whole life.
She responds with a quiet "Hello," doing that cute little thing where her shoulders rise, and he can just imagine her blushing.
At the bar, he sees an edgy-looking girl with bleached blonde hair, whom he imagines must be a friend of Rose's, looking at them with a confused look on her face. He pretends not to see her and continues to hold Rose tight to his chest. The girl takes a seat and watches them with a smirk while sipping her bright pink cocktail.
"How are you?" he asks, begrudgingly loosening his grip and taking a small step back.
Rose glances up at him, smiling in a way that makes his knees weak. "I'm good," she answers. "You?"
He chuckles. "Yeah, good."
It's ridiculous how awkward he feels. He's literally watched her cum and rubbed his cockhead on her tongue. She's fucked his mouth and screamed his name. Yet here they are, looking like two shy teenagers with a crush.
Aaron shakes his head and giggles.
"What?" she asks, squinting through her grin.
He runs his fingers through his hair. "It's just funny," he chuckles.
Rose blushes a little more and giggles, too. "I suppose it is," she answers.
"Can I get you a drink?" he asks, feeling slightly more confident.
"Oh, uhm, yeah, I was with..." she turns to the bar where her friend was, but the spot is now empty. "A drink sounds great," she sighs.
"What can I get you?" The bartender asks.
