I Have To Pay For It

It was amazing to see how radically my life had changed from a simple knock against a door. And to think, it almost didn't happen. My mind briefly drifted back to that moment but was quickly brought back to the present.

My balls ached in anticipation of my coming orgasm. My vision was filled with the white, creamy, bouncing breasts before me. I wanted to reach up and grope them, but I was clutching the sides of the table beneath me to keep from cumming. It squeaked slightly as she rode me. She rocked her hips down onto me over and over. Her head was thrown back, her dark hair cascading down over her shoulders.

The head of my cock throbbed as it slipped along her wet folds, clenched and squeezed by her muscles. My jaw tightened as I strained to fight back the cum that was boiling within my balls. I started to sit up, hoping to have just a taste of her hard, brown nipples. They stuck out like little Jolly Ranchers from her heaving chest. They probably tasted just as sweet.

I shut my eyes and started to mentally divide 1449 by 21.

"Let's see... Unngghh... 21 goes into 144...six times... Unngghh... That leaves... Unngghh... That... Unngghh..."

She settled her pussy all the way down onto my cock. She only stopped for a moment before she started swiveling her hips in a circle, my cock gliding along her slippery walls.

Unngghh...

There was no stopping it now.

I hadn't lasted as long as I wanted, but I knew that from this day forward, I'd be balls deep in pussy whenever I wanted. But I hadn't always been so lucky.

I was never good with girls. From the day I first set my pubescent gaze upon a girl, my thirst went unquenched. No matter how hard I tried, girls weren't interested in me. I was raised by a single mother who taught me everything she knew about what a guy should be. He should be nice. And charming. And funny. And smart. And a whole host of other attributes that I found missing from the guys she brought home. They were never nice. They were never charming. And yet, my mother always went for them.

I took my mother's advice on how to get girls. I was nice to them. I listened to them. It almost got me a girlfriend in high school once.

Clarissa Spelling. Co-captain of the cheerleader squad. Long, golden hair. Flawless emerald green eyes. Pillowy breasts. An ass meant for spanking. And...a refrigerator-shaped guy named Zack who she called her boyfriend.

He was the star running back on the football team. He had college coaches and high school girls drooling. Even though Zack and Clarissa were officially an item, it was an open secret that Zack got around. I don't know why Clarissa put up with him. I mean, if you took away his great hair, movie-star jawline, and muscle shirts, he was just a dumb ape who chased an oblong pigskin ball around a grass field.

Clarissa never showed any interest in me. I was no Channing Tatum, but I also wasn't the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I was smart. I was nice. I was funny. I listened to her whine on Monday mornings about Zack showing up to her house on the weekend already smelling like pussy. And through it all, I got nothing in return. Almost nothing.

Zack's cheating eventually boiled over in a very public breakup outside the cafeteria just before homeroom one morning. One of Zack's football buddies had shot a cellphone video of Zack getting sucked off at a house party by two girls from the science club. The girls weren't hideous, but were obviously well below the "cheerleader rung" on the high school social ladder. Zack's friend shared the video with a friend. That friend shared it with a friend. Pretty soon the video made the rounds through most of the school. The disrespect that followed was that Clarissa must be a horribly frosty bitch to not even be able to keep two science geeks from snatching up Zack.

Clarissa confronted him in the hallway. Zack broke into his usual routine of tilting his head to the side, flashing an "aww shucks grin" and waited for her to calm down. Except...this time she didn't. She stormed off with tears in her eyes, pushing her way through the gathered gawkers.

I caught up with her in the auditorium. She was sitting in the next to last row, hugging her knees.

"Go away Zack! I don't want to talk to you!" her voice was scratchy.

I didn't go away. Instead, I did what a nice guy would do. I eased my way into the last row and slipped into the seat behind her. I leaned forward and placed my hand on her back. She flinched but I didn't remove my hand. I slowly rubbed it in a small circle on her back and patted it twice. I caught myself almost saying "there, there."

Clarissa's sobs became more and more quiet. Eventually she sat up in her seat and turned around.

"Oh! Sean! I didn't know it was you," she said with wide eyes.

I jerked back my hand. "Sorry...I just...," I mentally scrolled through the nice-guy playbook. "You just looked like you needed a friend."

The corners of her mouth curled up slightly.

We sat and talked for almost an hour. We were interrupted when the center back door to the auditorium swung open and banged against the wall. Zack. A couple of his football goons were in tow. He raised his hand in an apparent peace offering and opened his mouth to speak. Clarissa got in the first word.

"Get out Zack. I don't want to hear it," Clarissa said.

"Look, I know you're upset, but let's talk about it. I can explain." Zack walked into her row and made his way toward her. His buddies stood in the center aisle.

Clarissa held out her palm toward Zack. "Explain? Explain," her voice rising. "What is there to explain?"

"They were helping me with my chemistry project and things got a little out of hand."

"Chemistry?" Clarissa's eyes squinted almost completely shut, seeming to be momentarily blinded by Zack's nonsense. "I'm not familiar with that chemical equation. How does it go? Dirty dick plus dirty bitches equals...you asshole!"

I wasn't sure her math was correct.

"Clarissa, I didn't mean -"

"You humiliated me Zack. You always humiliate me, and I keep running back. I'm done. Now leave, we were talking."

Zack turned to look at me as if he hadn't noticed me sitting there before. "Who the fuck is this?"

"I'm Sean." I leaned forward, extending my hand.

Zack frowned at it and for a moment I was sure he was going to spit on it. Instead, Clarissa took my hand and stood up, pulling me with her.

"This is Sean, my new boyfriend," she said.

My jaw and Zack's jaw bounced off the floor at the same time.

"Your what? Your b-boyfriend?" He had the look of a guy who had just been told that Santa Claus was not only real, but was producing Taylor Swift's next album.

"You're not the only one who can slum it." Clarissa was pulling me with her away from Zack. I should've been offended, but her hands were so soft, so I kept up with her.

"Seriously? This dude? Don't be ridiculous." He turned his head toward me. "Do you even lift bro?" His cronies laughed from the aisle.

"Yes this guy," Clarissa responded. As if to accentuate her point, she guided my hand to her hip.

Zack's face turned to stone. "So it's like that?"

Clarissa lowered my hand to her round butt. "Yeah it's exactly like that."

Then she turned to me. I barely noticed because I was expecting Zack to charge over and tackle me any second. Clarissa put her finger under my chin and turned my head toward her. My entire body went hot as I gazed into the green glow of her eyes.

"So...boyfriend, pick me up from history on your way to lunch?" Clarissa's voice was breathy.

My mouth felt like the Sahara but I somehow managed to respond, "Yeah, of course."

She brushed her lips against the corner of my mouth. The entire left side of my face went instantly numb, and for a moment I thought I was having a stroke.

Zack's face turned so red, it looked like a blood vessel had burst in his head. He leaned slightly forward and his hands balled into fists.

This was it. My death was imminent.

His henchmen started shuffling into the seats toward us. But instead of charging forward, Zack unclenched his right fist and held up his hand. The henchmen stopped in their tracks. The red faded from Zack's face.

"You know what? That's totally fine. Keep him." A smug smirk formed on Zack's face. "I'll send you a postcard from UCLA." Zack turned and walked away. He snapped his fingers and his buddies followed him out of the auditorium.

I was still watching the door, expecting Zack to change his mind and come racing back in, leaping over the seats to murder me. Clarissa turned her head toward me again.

"I'll see you later." She squeezed my hand with hers which had the effect of me squeezing a handful of her ass cheek. She was definitely no stranger to squats.

When fourth period ended, I practically ran to Clarissa's history class and stood outside the door waiting for her. A minute went by, then another. I poked my head inside. Her teacher Mr. Canfield was the only one in the room. He was sitting at his desk reading over a paper. He gave me a polite nod and went back to reading. Clarissa was nowhere in sight.

I went to the cafeteria thinking maybe I had misunderstood the meeting spot. When I didn't find her outside, I went inside. I didn't see her anywhere. For that matter, I didn't see Zack either. Eventually I gave up and went to buy my lunch. I found an empty spot and ate, all the while with my head on a swivel looking for Clarissa.

I didn't see Clarissa until the end of the school day. I had planned to wait for her by the buses, but as I passed the auditorium, Clarissa and Zack walked out. Zack had his arm around her. Clarissa's cheerleader blouse was ruffled and her hair was moussed. Clarissa looked right through me as the couple walked past to the buses. It didn't take a chemistry whiz to know I'd been played.

That was the furthest I got with a girl throughout my entire time in high school. I wasn't even that heartbroken over Clarissa. My mother kept reassuring me that if I kept being a nice guy, the right girl would come along. It was the youthful optimism that kept me going.

High school came to a close with me still girlfriend-less. I had jacked off to almost every girl in the school, but never received so much as an actual kiss. Every time I got depressed about it, I'd remember my mother's words. Surely she wouldn't steer me wrong. Additionally, I had every reason to be optimistic. In the fall, I was headed to the greatest fuckfest known to man: college. Not every guy got laid before he graduated high school, but no one left college a virgin.

It didn't take long for the fuckfest to begin. One night during the first week of class I was awoken by muffled voices from across the room. It was too dark to make out much of anything, but one voice was my roommate's and the other was definitely a female voice.

"No, we can't, he'll hear us," the female voice said. There was a shuffling sound from the bed followed by giggles from her.

I heard what sounded like two people kissing and then my roommate said something too low for me to hear. There was more shuffling on the bed.

"Just a little bit," the girl said. I could barely hear her. The bed squeaked slightly and I heard a moan escape her lips. My cock immediately sprang to life.

I strained my eyes through the darkness and as my eyes adjusted to the moonlight filtering through the blinds, I was able to make out my roommate's naked back. The rest of his body was covered with a sheet. There were two large protrusions around him beneath the sheet. I could only assume those were the girl's knees. I could barely see the side of her arm and the side of her head. Fire red hair spilled out onto the pillow beneath her.

The girl moaned again as my roommate's body began to move back and forth. He placed his lips over hers and picked up speed. My heart raced as I watched them fuck in the dark. The bed whined in protest with every thrust. Even as disappointed as I was not to be between her legs, I was glad that at least my roommate was enjoying himself. I could only imagine what it must feel like.

I shifted my hips on my bed as quietly as I could and slipped down my boxers. I took my cock in my hand and imagined I was on the other side of the room pushing myself into the redhead under the sheet. I imagined that it was me pushing those soft whimpers out of her mouth.

My roommate's back began to arch as he slid in and out of her. His back curled like there were no bones in it. He was breathing harder now. The deep sound of his breath began to overtake the redhead's delicate moans.

I slowly slid my hand up and down my cock, letting the skin draw against my palm. My sheet rose and fell as I stroked myself. I was grateful neither of them was looking in my direction.

After another moment, my roommate stopped moving and rolled over, pulling the girl with him. I could tell from the shapes under the sheet that she was straddling him now. She sat up and the sheet fell away, long red hair falling down her back. Her bare tits swayed before me as she began to ride my roommate. They were huge and glowed white in the moonlight. Large, pink areolas covered the center of each and were capped with thick nipples. They bounced each time she slid down his cock, and bobbed each time she slid back up.

I couldn't take my eyes off of them. My first real life tits! I had jacked myself raw a hundred times before to videos on Pornhub but there was nothing like seeing them in person. I wanted to leap from my bed and plant my mouth over her nipple. I wouldn't even care if she didn't let me fuck her. If she just let me feel the soft skin of her tits against my face I'd be happy.

My roommate's breathing became faster as the girl picked up speed. She was moaning more loudly now, seeming to no longer be concerned if I woke up. The bed squealed mercilessly beneath them. I stroked my dick in time with her, imagining her pussy wrapped around me. My roommate reached up and grabbed both of her breasts, squeezing and kneading them. When he pinched her nipples, it was all I could take.

My dick went off under the sheets. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out as I drenched myself and my covers in cum. It took me a few moments to come back down but when I did, my roommate and the girl were in full romp. She sounded like she was crying as she bounced on him. My roommate was now gripping her around the hips, guiding her up and down his pole. He growled at her as the skin of their bodies smacked against each other.

A steady stream of "Oh God," was repeated over and over from the girl's lips. It started low and grew louder. Just before it reached a crescendo, my roommate slammed her down onto his lap and cried out. His whole body shook and I figured he was doing to her what I had just done to my sheets. When he finished, the girl started riding again. My roommate must've been going soft because eventually she gave up and fell forward, mashing those incredible tits against his chest.

The next day, my roommate apologized to me for waking me up. I played dumb and pretended I didn't know anything. He said he was sorry anyway and insisted it would never happen again. Unknown to him, I wanted it to happen again. I wouldn't mind if it happened every night. But it didn't. It never happened again. Little did I know at the time, but that would be the closest I would come to the great fuckfest. Just as in high school, I continued to strike out with girls throughout college. Everyone around me was having sex but my dick was bone dry.

And so, I went into the work world as the only guy to ever leave college a virgin. I didn't know what I was doing wrong. I had poured over websites and read books giving advice on how to talk to girls and women.

At one point I thought I had struck paydirt after discovering a book about pick-up artists. Supposedly, my nice-guy routine was the problem. According to the pick-up artists, women responded to negativity in men, not the positives. It sounded absolutely ludicrous, but I was willing to try anything. I tried creating a bad boy persona, but the only thing it accomplished was me getting slapped and getting drinks splashed in my face.

I bought cologne that was supposed to attract women. I joined a gym. I did everything I could think of to try to get with a girl. Finally, I swore that if I didn't have sex by the time I was 25, I'd just go onto Backpage or Craigslist and buy an escort.

But I lost my nerve. My 25th birthday came and went. My hand was still the only one to ever touch my dick. All sorts of "what if" scenarios had started popping into my head. What if I agree to meet her and she turns out to be a man and kills me? What if she turns out to be a cop and I get arrested? What if she has HIV? What if...?

So I resigned myself to my fate. I would be a sexless shell of a man for my entire life. I slowly sank into depression. I became less productive at work. I became surly with people in my apartment building. I glared at couples who engaged in public displays of affection. I began to hate the world.

I was at work one day when I decided to have an early lunch. I'd had my entire morning wasted in some dumb meeting and figured that since I hadn't gotten anything done all day, there was no reason to start now. I stomped toward the refrigerator praying no one had stolen my lunch again. If they had, there'd be hell to pay for sure. I passed Jerry and Edward outside the door to the break room. They were a couple of slack-jawed fools from marketing. They stood aside as I stormed past. I made a mental note to name them prime suspects if my lunch was missing.

I swung the refrigerator door open and peered in. My blue tupperware container marked, "Keep Your Fucking Hands Off!" was still sitting on the top shelf. I pulled it out and slammed the refrigerator door shut. I peeled off the lid and took a whiff of the lasagna. I stuck it into the microwave and set the timer, then leaned back against the counter and contemplated calling out sick for the rest of the day.

"No there are different girls there almost every time I go." It was Jerry. He was no doubt talking about a club or bar where women threw themselves at guys. Every guy. Any guy. As long as you weren't a guy named Sean Arnold.

I felt my blood starting to warm, right along with the lasagna.

"And they all give handjobs?" Edward said.

Handjobs in a club? I was definitely missing out.

"Absolutely! It's part of the package. I mean, you tip them a little extra for the handjob, but it's worth it," replied Jerry.

My ears perked up. Package? Tip? This didn't sound like any bar or club I'd ever heard of.

"And the massages are damned good," Jerry said. "You won't have an ounce of stress left in your body."

I was intrigued. I walked across the break room to hear the conversation more clearly.

"Ok so, walk me through it again. How do you knock on the door?" Edward said.

"No, it's not the knock. It's the password," Jerry said. "You knock on the door just like you would any other door. But when they ask who it is, you gotta say, 'I'm Richard. I made an appointment.' If you don't say that, they'll treat you like a regular customer, you'll just get a regular massage, and they'll act like the place is totally legit. If you ask about handjobs, they'll throw you out."

"Why 'Richard'? Why not 'Tyler', or 'Phillip'?" Edward asked.

"Why not 'Dickface'? Look, do you want to get your pecker stroked or not?" Jerry said.

"Well, Carol gives me handjobs all the time. And blowjobs. And she fucks me too. And I don't have to pay for it." Edward said.

Jerry clapped Edward on the shoulder. "She might be your girlfriend, but believe me, you're paying for it." He paused for a moment. "Besides, Carol isn't an exotic Asian temptress."

"Touche," Edward chuckled. "Alright fine, give me the address again so I can put it into my phone. You said it was called 'Jade Road Spa'?"