Vincent Simone sank his thick 8-inch cock deep into the ass of his client and shot his load in his condom. The client, a chubby balding businessman around 60 years old, untensed, sighed with satisfaction and reached a hand back to stroke Vincent's balls in gratitude. Vincent withdrew, cleaned himself up in the bathroom then dressed. He accepted the £200 the still naked client gave him, gave his balls and dick a final friendly squeeze, then made his way out of the hotel room. As he opened the door the client called softly "see you again next month?"
Vincent mouthed a kiss and murmured "of course darling", then made his way to the lift. On leaving the building he grinned to himself as two teenage girls very obviously checked him out and whispered to each other, giggling. Slim and good looking with thick curly black hair, playful eyes, a prominent nose and a firm jaw, he loved playing up to the Italian stallion cliché, favouring tight chinos and silk shirts cut almost to the waist, revealing his muscular lightly haired chest or, as today, skin-tight T-shirts which emphasised his powerful shoulders and biceps. Now he had to get back to his apartment and change, before travelling to Bedford for a duty dinner engagement with his family.
They knew he was gay of course; there hadn't seemed much point in denying it after his mother had caught him naked in bed at 18 going head to tail with his best friend. That had been seven years ago, but only his sister, Sofia, knew that since the age of 20 he had been working as a professional stud in London. He had a few female clients of course, but it was still a cute male ass that really floated his boat. He loved fucking married men, especially first-timers, knowing he gave them a pleasure that their wives couldn't match, or even understand, watching them go down on him for the first time, and being told by them that he was a more skilful cocksucker than any woman they'd ever been with.
The evening was going to be awkward. His parents, the conservative offspring of Italian immigrants, always felt stiff and uncomfortable around him -- he hoped his mama wouldn't cry again. Sofia was fine of course, and had even been known to suck the odd cock for a small consideration herself, on a purely amateur basis. There was nothing amateur about Vincent though: he was bloody good at what he did, and was able to command premium fees as a result. He had standards too: he knew at least two of his regulars were prominent public figures, and he could probably earn a pretty penny from selling them out to the press, but integrity and discretion were his bywords.
Dinner actually went okay -- mama was in a cheerful mood, and did a beautiful chicken cacciatore. Papa was his usual taciturn self though, and despite the generally happy family setting Vincent found it difficult to relax throughout the evening. After coffee they watched TV for a while then, as mama and Sofia excused themselves to go to bed, Vincent went to the conservatory at the back of the house for a ciggy. His folks didn't like him smoking anywhere in the house but sod them, he only had about five a week, and he needed one tonight to relax before bedtime.
He was about to light up when, to his irritation, papa appeared from nowhere, forcing Vincent to hurriedly stuff his fags in his pocket. Vincent was sitting on the old sofa which dominated the conservatory, and it surprised him slightly when his father sat down right beside him, rather than in the comfy wicker chair opposite. In fact, it surprised Vincent that papa had chosen to be alone with him at all, and for a moment he wondered if he was about to hear some terrible news about his mother's health or something.
