by Esmeralda Barrett
(09/17/08)

Sitting in the semi-dark, heart pounding, he was already hard. The drive through the warehouse district always cost him adrenaline. Jet lag didn't help. And legal didn't equal risk-free. He figured, sooner or later, a photo would show up somewhere he'd rather not have emerge. But none of that stopped the hard-on.

Per house rules, he cut the engine within ten seconds after clearing the entrance, and cracked the windows to let in the air conditioning. He heard a chain kick as it engaged to lower the bay door quietly behind him. Before it shut, a hiss of tires and the purr of an expensive motor told him that the bay on his right was filling, cash for entry. Once, in an idle moment on the tarmac, he had done the math and nodded at the business acumen of the proprietress.

The bay dividers on either side were high, solid, and baffled. Voyeurs aren't commonly exhibitionists, and the proprietress understood that. There had to be cameras, and so there were, suspended directly above each vehicle space, the satellite-view from which the car roof shielded the customer...so long as one stayed in the car. Of course, there was the chance that the obvious cameras weren't the only ones.

He liked to rent modernized classic cars for this. When the show lights came up, gently, along with music, and the first bare foot stepped out of the dark onto his unyielding hood, he gave thanks to the corrupt gods of Detroit for their passionate embrace of steel.

That first muscular foot was joined by a second, and then the first made a ghost print on the high-gloss cherry of the hood as it lifted. His eyes traced up a black-clad leg to a rounded ass that elicited a jolt through his cock. The small of the back was bare, deeply indented, and dancer-built. He couldn't see further above, but he wasn't trying yet, still shy, huddled in his seat. He hit the power windows again, all the way down, to let in more air and sound.

The ass swayed in counterpoint to the music, and the feet shifted, bracing against the swing as it lowered into sight.

He was primed. And she was gorgeous. His hand went reflexively to the ridge in his trousers. She smiled in his direction. Her long finger deliberately smudged his wax job. Her partner stepped forward, reached for her pale, silken drape and began to slide it from her body, inch by inch. Through the pristine windshield, the man watched the points of her nipples rise as the cloth slithered over them. Her lashes, black with mascara and liner, bore the only visible makeup, purposefully framing bright green eyes. She wore no jewelry. Naked. Unadorned. Her breasts rested to the side with the authenticity of the real. He bit his lip and shifted his feet apart.

She broke eye contact, shifting to the partner, her smile turning mischievous. "Bring that here," she commanded. Two steps took the black-clad ass closer to her, further from him as he slouched in the car. More ghost-prints. He heard a zipper and held his breath. "I never get tired of seeing it," she said huskily, as a goodly length eased into her waiting palm. She unsheathed and caressed it, but the man in the car couldn't see well yet. He felt something disturbingly like anticipation.

The partner peeled his trousers down over his ass so that they spilled off onto the hood when the curve no longer held them up. He shifted aside, displaying a cock to inspire envy even from the well-endowed, like the man watching. It wasn't sheer size, but the literal juiciness of the shapely head that signaled a man accustomed to passionate blowjobs. He believed that women love to suck the right cock, and when this woman licked her lips, he couldn't attribute it to acting. When she slid her lips over the partner's swollen flesh, he unzipped himself.

Pacing would be important, he reminded himself; his precome was already welling. He reached for the towel in the passenger seat and covered his thighs, unbuttoned his shirt and smoothed it to the side, never taking his eyes off the couple. He noticed, then, that the man had slipped his right hand between the woman's legs, buried in the dark of her hair. They moved together, her mouth, the partner's fingers.

The flex of the partner's thighs and rear became less regular, and the woman smiled through her mouthful. "Mmmmmmm." She hummed as her tongue swirled.

"Ah!" the partner replied, twisting his free hand into her hair to stop her.

In the car, the watcher clasped himself firmly enough to forestall orgasm. He breathed deeply and focused on that first sound the partner had made, his voice resonant.

A few tense moments later, the partner slid his glistening cock from the woman's mouth. "Thanks, babe," he said to her just before he went to his knees. Her eyes lit up as though she hadn't expected this. The partner smiled. With sure hands, he maneuvered the swing so that he was between her legs, her near leg lower, her far leg bent high. She relaxed, leaned back. The partner, as he faced the space between the woman's legs, had big shoulders, a strong jaw, a Roman nose, dark brown hair.

It was the way the partner touched the woman which surprised the man in the car: as though kissing, deeply. He judged from her reaction that he might learn a thing or three here. The partner's fingers were slow and steady, not stabbing or thrusting; his jutting cock lifted higher as he tasted.

The woman touched her own breasts, cupping and thumbing the nipples. "I want to come twice," she announced roughly, and the man felt his balls tighten. The partner nodded once, intent on his task. "Oh," she said a minute later. A long pause. "Oh yeah." Her thighs tightened. "Ohh, oh, ohhhh yeah," she intoned, her hips rocking. "Yessss!" she hissed. There was no screaming, no theatrical thrashing: he was watching the real thing.

"Oh," he said himself, plaintively, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, feeling his cock jerk, abandoned, against the air.

Time passed, with the partner resting his cheek on the woman's inner thigh, and then standing, reaching into a pocket of the swing. A condom. He cracked the wrapper and unrolled it. The woman watched intently. At that moment, a string of wet descended from her and pooled on the hood.

The watcher went light-headed. "Jesus," he said softly.

The partner took himself in hand and slid into the woman with a groan of relief. He gripped her ass and fucked -- no other word for it. Unlike her, he was noisy. The man in the car could plainly see that the partner was watching the woman's breasts roll in response to his thrusts, getting off on it. Occasionally, the partner glanced at his cock as it plunged in and out, groaning and biting his lip. The man in the car could relate to that.

The partner had stamina, and even so had to check himself twice. The second time, the woman used the pause, gasping, to reach into another swing pocket and extract a wand. She flicked it on, applying it to herself with enthusiasm. When she came again, this time loudly, so did the man in the car, helplessly, his hand slick with his pleasure even before his body shot hard and he called out.

He slumped back, in time to see the partner withdraw, still massively hard. It was puzzling to his befuddled brain. The partner kissed the woman and whispered something in her ear. She glanced at the car, a flash of green eye, and blew a smiling kiss before she pressed a button and the swing moved up out of sight. Unhurriedly, the partner, now alone and still standing on the hood, stripped off the condom. Thighs flexing, he delved into the pocket of his discarded pants and pulled out another packet and a small tube, then gracefully leapt to the floor.

He was tall, standing there. He spoke for the first time using words, his accent lightly French. "It's a rare thing that a customer comes with her and doesn't wait for me."

"Have I done something wrong?" the man in the car asked, his heart pounding anew. He hastily finished toweling off the steering wheel, feeling exposed despite the thick cloth across his lap.

To his shock, the partner took a step back and touched himself, teasing his cock, dark and tortured with blood and waiting. "I might be dead wrong about this, in which case, simply say 'no thanks,' but I'd like to offer you something not for sale."

The man's mouth went dry. "Camera," was all he found himself saying.

The brown-haired fellow shook his head. "Do you fathom how much cash Meliana clears here in a week?"

He stepped in and leaned down, forearms on the window ledge.

"People get greedy."

"Mmm, true," the man whispered right against his ear. "But not always for money." The left hand came into view holding a hanging remote, click, and the lights went down in the bay to near-darkness.

A woman's voice intruded softly from the remote, "Alan? What are you doing?"

Another button pressed. "Taking my break, Boss," he replied, deadpan.

Laughter from the woman. "Well...you have a half hour to clear out for a fresh setup."

"Understood." Alan rose, a close shadow in the dim light. "Might I interest you in stepping out of the car?"

The man took brief inventory. He hadn't come twice in an evening since his twenties. But his cock was hardening, and he felt desire for something that was, for him, unspeakable. "Do you need to think about men to be with her?" he asked abruptly, hands still gripping the wheel.

Alan laughed lightly. "My world isn't either-or."

"Oh." It hadn't really occurred to him that one didn't have to choose. And then, "What made you think I would? Want to."

Alan shrugged. "Wrong question. You made me hotter, looking good like you do, and then shooting with her, God, I almost came. Worth taking a risk to ask the question."

He got out of the car. Trembling. Left the towel on the seat. His trousers were open, his rediscovered erection curving out, giving him away. Alan stepped close, clasped the other's aching hardness in a careful grip, then leaned in and took his mouth. The man could taste the woman, smell her, and he groaned.

"I want to fuck you, up against this glossy, pornographic cherry baby," Alan husked, "fuck your fearful ass right past being uptight and into bliss."

The man felt a spasm in response to the words that somehow involved his prostate.

"You could fuck me instead if you'd rather," Alan said against his mouth, as though it were of equal interest, steering one of the man's hands to a sumptuous ass-cheek.

"No, no, fuck me," he whispered, turning to brace himself on the back door, forcing Alan to let go for a moment. He felt frightened, and too vulnerable, and aroused beyond belief. He heard the wrapper.

"This is lubed," Alan said. "Have you ever?"

He shook his head.

There was a considered pause. "Might hurt."

"I don't care," he replied, meaning it. His whole life was about topping, and this was an excruciating contradiction.

"Oh, fuck, that's hot." Alan's hand returned to his cock and started jacking him, the other hand going to a spot behind his balls that made things go white. A minute or two of that and he felt the hand leave, then the solid nudge of something else against his ass, but Alan didn't push in, he slid through the crack, over and over, the trimmed hair of his balls tickling below the condom. There was a little snap, and then the addition of a chilly goo, which quickly warmed.

The man heard Alan's breath going ragged and figured he was going to lose the fucking after all. While he contemplated both relief and a sense of sorrow, Alan bit the join of his neck and thrust home. The dual pain jarred him into a yelp, and then Alan was moving like he did with the woman, his hips working a fast rhythm. "Tight," he growled into the man's ear, and no matter how clichéd the word, it almost brought the man off right there.

"Ohh, oh," he said, hoping somehow he didn't sound like the woman, and then not giving a shit.

Alan used the hand not busy with cock to turn the man's face so he could suck his tongue. Pulling away again, he said savagely, "Fucking you," and then bit into another kiss.

Another barrage of thrusts and the man groaned into an orgasm that seemed to start deep in his ass, blaze up his spine, hit the top of his skull, and shoot back down and out his cock, all over the cherry red. Somewhere in the middle, he felt the extra kick of Alan's pulses pushing him along, pulses that lasted into his own return to conscious thought.

His legs began shaking. Immediately, the man dreaded the withdrawal and all the reminders that ass is not clean. He reached awkwardly in the open door for the towel, "borrowed" from a hotel too expensive to bother counting towels.

"Hey," Alan said from behind him, brushing their faces together and accepting the towel, "no worries. I believe I signed up for this." Alan pulled free, then startled the hell out of the man by swiping the towel gently across his bruised flesh. Dropping the condom and towel to the floor, Alan knelt to pull the man's shorts and trousers back into place and held them while zipping and buckling were accomplished.

Their eyes met. "That was a brilliant come," Alan said as he stood.

The man smiled wryly. "You might have ruined voyeurism for me." He touched Alan's shoulder, shuddered with some unnamable emotion, and then slid gingerly behind the wheel.

Alan shut the door for him. "If not, you know where to find Lily and me. I only work with her. Remember, trained professionals, closed course. Don't try anything you saw here -- including oral -- without latex or pedigree." He smiled, a lazy, sated grin.

The man suddenly wondered whether he should...tip. He looked into the warm brown eyes close in the near-dark and tried to think of a polite way to ask.

"Not wearing roller skates and carrying a tray, am I? It was for kicks." Alan hit the remote, and the bay door began to rise. He didn't seem insulted.

The man switched on the ignition. He could feel exactly how deep Alan had gone, and it made him flush.

He backed out into the night and put the cherry baby into the wind.

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