SixSpades
patreon
Boy Toy
🕑 Added 2020-08-15 15:37:57 +0000 UTCBy CATHEXIS
Emma had never been one to break her toys. She made a point of treating her possessions with great care. If something belonged to her, then in a way it was a part of her. If something was part of her, then it deserved to be treated with respect or even celebrated. Her material possessions were a mirror that reflected her hard work, her years of study, and her exceptionally good taste.
Working hard came naturally to Emma, and a PhD in biochemistry had come with the hard work; by her early 30s she’d found herself with the means to acquire most things she wanted. Good taste being anathema to excess, Emma realized that while she appreciated quality there were fewer things she actually wished to possess. At the age of thirty-one Emma discovered that one of the greatest pleasures money could buy came not from acquiring new things for herself, but instead from spending her money on other people.
The first time she had bought one of her dates an absurdly expensive necklace after an evening of window shopping she had been hooked. Mia’s eyes had wavered and her hands had trembled as she’d held her hair to one side so Emma could fasten the delicate gold chain around her neck. She murmured a shaky “thank you” and Emma had made love to her that night with the necklace still gleaming around her throat. More presents quickly followed and, while the relationship lasted only two months, Emma found she had no regrets and no desire for her gifts to be returned. A new door had been opened, and Emma would happily pay for the experience again.
Sadly the course of true love (or at least, of a pleasant dinner followed by some mutually enjoyable sex) never did run smooth. After Mia had been Justin. When Emma had presented him with a very expensive pair of hand-stitched leather gloves he just smiled stiffly and said, “Wow, babe, I haven’t even gotten you flowers yet.” He had grown increasingly dour over dinner, eventually excusing himself to the restroom. Five minutes later their confused server came over with some bills on a tray to inform Emma that her companion seemed to have overpaid with an extra hundred dollar bill and accidentally left his change behind. Emma had simply smiled and told her to enjoy her tip. She had stayed long enough to finish her wine and left the gloves on the table.
Justin had not been the first man Emma had found disappointing and he certainly was not destined to be the last. She would never apologize for her success, nor alter how (or on whom) she chose to spend her money. The work of reassuring a male partner that he was still in possession of a Y-chromosome even if Emma paid for dinner wasn’t always deal-breaker, but it was always tedious. She wholly preferred romancing a woman to babying a fragile male ego but despite the ease she found in her sexual liaisons with women, every so often she noticed some sweet-faced thing that just happened to have a penis attached. Inevitably cursing her libido, Emma would make her approach while bracing herself to be underwhelmed. Too often sex with a new male partner was akin to going to a nice restaurant and leaving hungry.
Elliot Graham, therefore, had come as quite a surprise.
They had met at the Northwestern Sexual Health and Wellness Conference. Emma’s employer had been hoping to make inroads into the sexual wellness market with a new line of personal lubricants, and as she had walked the stage detailing the pros and cons of water- versus oil- versus glycerin-based formulations and how to choose the most appropriate product for one’s needs and stage of life, she spied an absolutely stunning creature sitting at the end of the first row. He had glossy black hair that curled at the ends, and a sculpted face that gave him a fox-like handsomeness. His rich olive skin was lighter than her own, and it lent his blue eyes a piercing quality. He was well-dressed too, his navy blue suit playfully set off by a pair of cognac oxfords. The green pass hanging around his neck indicated that he was also a guest speaker.
“Keep in mind the vagina maintains its own cleanliness and lubrication,” she said, pausing at the end of the stage in front of him. “But, sex is always more enjoyable with a little slip’n’slide to help things along.”
He had smiled up at her with perfectly white teeth. Emma had smiled back.
He had kept his attention fixed on her throughout her presentation, never reaching for his phone or absently flipping through the program guide. It had boded well. Good manners were a form of social currency that too many men neglected to cultivate, not realizing how it devalued their other assets. Emma had no patience for a man who thought a flashy car was a suitable substitute for a personality.
At the end of her panel, Emma found herself bombarded with questions as attendees approached to claim the free samples of lube provided by her company. She lost track of her quarry. A few quick words with the conference staff had directed her to an adjacent room where Dr. Elliot Graham, sex therapist and couples counselor with Woodbridge Medical Group, was taking the stage. Emma took a seat in the third row and smiled up at him. He smiled back.
Afterward, once he’d fielded questions from attendees and colleagues alike and the crowd had mostly dispersed, Emma approached.
“Dr. Graham,” she said, holding out a bag containing promotional samples of her company’s lube. “You left my talk without your parting gift. I wanted to make sure you got one.”
He accepted the bag with a smile. “Thank you, and call me Elliot, “ he said. “I wanted to chat with you afterwards but I had to get ready for my own talk and the competition for your attention was fierce.”
“Everyone loves free stuff,” she agreed. “Maybe you and a lady friend can put this to good use.”
“Yes, maybe we could.” His smile was utterly mild and the tone of his words hinted at no deeper meaning, but his blue eyes twinkled at her.
Emma felt her own smile widen. There was always a little bit of mental math required to calculate whether the effort required to dance around a man’s insecurities was worth the potential reward of getting him in bed later. Five minutes into their formal acquaintance, Elliot Graham had proven himself to be well-mannered, attentive, intelligent and interested. Emma already wanted to reward him for being so accomplished.
“Feeling hungry?” she asked, and watched his smile turn into a smirk. “The mixer for presenters starts in half an hour back at the hotel.”
Elliot hummed. “All those people. All that small talk. I think I’d rather make a new friend tonight.”
Emma smiled. She was used to going after what she wanted, but she appreciated a man that did more than let himself get caught.
“Oh? Have anyone specific in mind?” she asked, one hand poised on her ample hip.
He laughed. “Come on,” he said. “The hotel restaurant is crappy and overpriced anyway. There’s a tapas bar across the street that’s much better.”
Emma glanced sideways at him. “I’m buying.”
Elliot smiled. “Sure.”
***
The tapas bar turned out to be excellent, and the conversation was as intellectually stimulating as it was flirtatious. After their second round of drinks, Emma excused herself to the restroom and returned just in time to see a leggy, wide-eyed girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty sidle up to Elliot with a few murmured words and an audible giggle. She gestured to his empty glass and placed a delicate and completely unsubtle hand on Elliot’s thigh. Emma remained at the far end of the bar to watch.
“You’ll have to excuse me, I’m already here with someone” Emma barely heard him say, a quiet but firm refusal without a moment’s pause to consider the girl’s invitation. The girl walked away dismissed and disappointed, and Elliot’s eyes swiveled to where Emma stood, clearly aware she had been observing the exchange. Emma felt her mouth curl into a smile. He made an enticing figure, sitting there poised and assured, like a slice of navy blue shadow cutting through the low golden light of the bar. Just as pleasing had been Elliot’s receptiveness to Emma repeatedly taking the lead throughout the evening, and yet he hadn’t tried to take advantage of her largesse by ordering another round in her absence. Indeed, the only thing missing from the picture he presented was a glass of something delicious and expensive in his hand. Emma signaled to the bartender and placed another order before sauntering back over to Elliot.
“Welcome back,” he said as she retook her seat.
The bartender approached them with a tumbler and a gleaming bottle of golden-amber liquid. He set the glass front of Elliot and poured two fingers. “The Macallan 18-year single malt,” he said, glancing at Emma with a nod and a smile.
Elliot raised a questioning eyebrow but accepted the drink without protest. He took a cautious sip and made a noise of satisfaction. “This is excellent. What’s the occasion?”
Emma cocked her head to one side, feeling more pleased by the moment. He hadn’t asked her where her own glass was, hadn’t offered to buy her another drink, hadn’t tried to even the scales in any way. “A glass of good whiskey is worth more than an entire evening of cheap drinks,” she said.
“We may be here all evening anyway,” he said and lifted his glass again. “Whiskey this good is meant to be savored.”
“So is good company,” she said. She nudged his knee. “Did you have other plans for this evening?”
Elliot sipped his whiskey and smiled at her over the edge of his glass. “I’m right where I want to be.”
***
As impromptu sex auditions went, Elliot surpassed all of Emma’s expectations. He didn’t hurry them into bed, but he was able to take a hint when Emma eventually signaled for the check. As soon as the door of Emma’s suite was closed behind them, he helped her off with her coat, but didn’t take any liberties with the rest of her clothes. When they kissed, he cupped her neck and jaw ardently but didn’t thoughtlessly paw at the coils of her hair.
He’d gone to his knees before she’d even had the chance to remove her heels, pressing reverent kisses down the generous curves of her body through her red dress, over the fullness of her breasts and the round of her stomach. He looked up at her with his blue eyes that said please.
“I’ve been wondering how you taste all night,” he said, eyes heated and roving over her curves. He skimmed light hands up her calves but ventured no higher than the hem of her dress, rubbing gentle circles to the inside of one thigh with his thumb. “May I?”
“What if I told you no?” she said, genuinely curious. His erection was thick and obvious in his pants and there had to be some limit to his good behavior.
Elliot ducked his head with a soft laugh. “Then I would be left wondering,” he said, looking up at her again. “But please.” He lifted her hem and brushed his lips against her bare thigh. “Let me?”
“Sure, honey.” Emma had leaned back against the wall and raised her dress for him. He reverently slid her black lace panties down her thighs. She smiled as she thought about the whiskey that might still cling to his lips as he kissed her clit. “Whatever you want.”
***
In the morning Emma ordered room service. She laughed as Elliot moaned into a tiny cup of the best espresso the hotel kitchens had to offer. Brazilian Bourbon Santos wasn’t Emma’s favorite but it was still quite good.
“God,” he said. “Good conversation, excellent whiskey, amazing sex, and now this? The rest of this conference is going to be hell in comparison.”
“Well,” Emma said lightly, “I guess you should give me your number, so we can do this again sometime.”
Elliot paused. It was the first flicker of hesitation Emma had seen in him since he’d walked into her panel the day before. “This really has been great, but I’m not looking for anything serious right now.”
Emma shrugged as she cut into her omelette. “Neither am I. Working professionals like us don’t have time to date. But I wouldn’t say no to more of this,” she said, gesturing to the meal between them. “Good company, good food, good sex. No commitments.”
Elliot relaxed visibly. “I could be open to that,” he said. He tilted his head, swirling his espresso before finishing the cup. “What are you doing Monday nights?”
***
They fell into a rhythm after that. They met once or twice a month, always on a Monday, for dinner and drinks and a decadent evening of sex at the hotel of Emma’s choice. Sometimes the hotel came first--and dinner was room service and a movie--but that made it even more important that Elliot let her make their reservations for both dinner and their room after. She delighted in introducing him to the most luxurious experiences possible. For Emma, that part was nearly as good as the sex.
Emma knew there was something proprietary about it, and she wasn’t afraid to admit it to herself. In the same way that she would never drink expensive champagne out of a red solo cup, Emma would never settle for a dinner date at the bar when she could score them a reservation at the chef’s table. A quality experience was most satisfying to Emma when she could share it and witness someone else’s enjoyment.
There was an aspect of thoughtfulness that went into deciding which restaurant, which meal, which hotel would meet Emma’s standards while still being something Elliot would enjoy. Foisting her own taste on someone else without regard for their preferences or personality held no appeal. She enjoyed the process of determining what sort of gift or gesture was most appropriate as thoroughly as she enjoyed selecting small luxuries for herself. When her gifts were received with involuntary pleasure and surprise, it was a confirmation of her understanding of the recipient and a confirmation of her good taste--both in the gift she’d chosen and the recipient she’d given it to. There was no dollar amount she could assign to that.
From that perspective her time spent with Elliot was priceless. He never balked at her insistence to always pick up the check and never complained that he felt emasculated. They had never discussed it outright but he was neither stupid nor greedy; he had accepted from their first evening together that Emma’s preference was to pay for their outings. If that preference changed, he seemed to trust that she would let him know.
Emma especially appreciated the scheduled, compartmentalized nature of their arrangement. She realized it was a kind of game, playing at a lifestyle that was incompatible with her everyday mundanities. Elliot made for the ideal toy, to be brought out and enjoyed in small bursts and then put out of mind when not in use. Everything was perfect.
Or so Emma thought until one night, Elliot showed up to one of their dates with a gift in hand. A bottle of wine, going by the tall, slim bag.
She couldn’t ignore it. “What’s this?”
Elliot shook his head and smiled. “Just something I thought you might like. We can open it with dessert.”
The wine turned out to be very nice, and held no greater significance from what Emma could tell. Their conversation flowed as easily as ever, the sex was satisfying, and they parted ways the next morning with Emma pressing a kiss to Elliot’s cheek and no lingering looks between them. She hoped the wine had been a one-time aberration, but she was wrong. Elliot chose the restaurant for their next date, and even offered to go dutch, which nearly killed the mood for her. Elliot seemed to sense it and acquiesced easily enough when she claimed the check.
Emma feared she was seeing the beginning of the end of their time together. They had established the casual nature of their relationship that first morning at the hotel months ago, and Elliot had never uttered a word of complaint about her bankrolling their affair (and that was the sort of thing that spooked men early.) Now he was suddenly looking for ways to reciprocate, to put them on equal footing. It could only mean one thing.
She felt her worst fears being realized when he asked her one night over dinner “Can I talk to you about something that’s been bothering me?”
Emma groaned internally. Here it was, the I-really-like-you-and-want-to-date conversation.
Well, she thought, nothing lasts forever.
“What’s on your mind?” she said with effort to keep the strain from her voice.
Elliot fixed her with a direct gaze, his hands clasped together on the table, businesslike. “I know we never really discussed it after the conference but I’d like to emphasize again how much I enjoy our friendship.” He paused, watching her carefully. “Especially how casual we’ve kept things.”
Emma blinked. “Yes, it’s been great for me, too.”
“And I think we’re both aware that while I’ve never asked or expected you to foot the bill for our dates, I understand that it’s an aspect of our time together that you enjoy.” He smiled at her knowingly.
Emma smirked. “I’ve always liked that you could take a hint.”
Elliot nodded. “One of the perks of being with a therapist. We’re pretty good at picking up subtle cues.” His expression turned serious as he examined his wine glass. “I just wanted to make sure you understood that if part of your enjoyment in paying for our dates comes from the illusion that you can foster some sense of obligation in me, I find that objectionable and I’m afraid I’ll have to end our arrangement here.”
Emma blinked. “Excuse me?”
Elliot looked her in the eye. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had someone try to lure me into a bigger commitment than I’m prepared to give,” he said, “And there is no amount someone can spend on me that will make me fall in love with them.” He smiled softly. “Based on how you reacted when I brought wine & offered to pay for my own dinner, though, I’m guessing I have nothing to be concerned about. But I wanted to be clear about my boundaries, just in case.”
Emma was torn between feeling somewhat insulted and laughing in relief. “Well, you’re right. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Obligation, commitment and love are pretty much the last things I want from you. It would spoil my mood.”
“Since we’re opening up this line of conversation, I’m curious. What exactly do you want from me? Is it really just dinner and sex?”
“Is it just dinner and sex for you?”
“Yes,” Elliot said with no attempt at dissembling. “It’s dinner and sex in good company, which I prefer to being alone.”
The waiter reappeared at that moment with their bill in a black folio, and Emma extended a hand to take it from him but left it closed on the table as she gathered her thoughts.
“You know what I’ve always liked about you?” she said. “You know how to accept a gift gracefully and you’ve never tried to tell me how I ought to spend my money, even when I spend it on you.”
Elliot shrugged. “It’s not my place to tell a grown woman what to do with her money.”
She traced the edge of the folio with the tip of one well-manicured finger. “You just let me give you nice things without trying to even the score. You don’t try to turn it into an equal exchange just to prove your dick still works.”
“Well, I mean, there are better ways of proving that,” Elliot said, grinning.
Emma rolled her eyes and ignored him. “My point is, we’re on the same page. It’s dinner and sex. And for me, it’s also this,” she said, inserting her credit card with the check without bothering to look at the amount. She caught the waiter’s eye and he hurried over to retrieve it.
“I’ll admit there’s been some novelty in playing the part of a kept man,” Elliot said as they walked out into the night. “At this point I don’t know the difference between myself and a male prostitute.”
“Would we still meet like this if I didn’t pay for everything?”
“Of course,” Elliot said. “I enjoy your company, and I personally find a clever mind priceless.”
“That’s the difference,” Emma said. “Think of it like this, when I like someone I want them to have nice things. I like you, so I like treating you. But that’s as far as it goes.”
Elliot offered her his arm as they headed for their hotel. “You know what I’ve always appreciated about you?” he said. “You want things from me--conversation, company, sex--but you don’t need anything from me. And that’s what I need right now. Outside of our nights together, I don’t have anything I can give you.”
“I give. You take. For me, it’s the gift that keeps on giving,” Emma said.
Elliot chuckled. “In that case, I think I know how we might continue exploring the theme of the evening. If you don’t mind me making a suggestion, of course.” His blue eyes twinkled at her playfully.
Emma knew that look. It promised good things. “What did you have in mind?”
***
“Have you done this before?” Emma asked, breathless already from kisses and the eager way Elliot had divested them of their clothes. He ran greedy hands over her dark, smooth skin, pulling her with him as he walked backward toward the sumptuous hotel bed.
“Not as often as I’d like,” Elliot grinned, “and definitely not with a woman as ravishing as you.” He kissed his way down her body until he was seated on the edge of the bed. “Okay,” he said, hands running over her ass and thighs, keeping their bodies close as he looked up at her. “Mind if I start? I don’t think I’ll be able to last long once you’ve got your sweet mouth on me.”
Emma laughed and moved to settle on the bed. “Sure. I know how you get.” She opened her legs as he moved between them and kissed the inside of her thigh. He trailed his fingers down to play in her slit with light, teasing strokes. She sighed and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair as he lowered his mouth to her throbbing pussy.
His hot breath mixed with the damp heat rising from her own body, filling the space between them and moistening her thighs. He gently sucked and lapped at her clit, running the firm tip of his tongue back-and-forth between the slick folds of her flesh. He buried his nose against her pubic hair as he massaged her with the flat of his tongue, groaning softly in the back of his throat as he tasted her. Emma watched the telltale clench and shift of his buttocks over the rise of his shoulders as he worked his cock against the silken bedsheets. He hardly seemed aware of it, keeping one hand hooked around her thigh and one parting the lips of her pussy instead of reaching down to touch himself.
“God,” he panted, coming up for air. “You’re so wet.” His lips and chin were shiny and slick and his pretty blue eyes were hazy with lust as he gazed up her heaving body. He bent again to lick deliberate and slow between her labia. His eyes fluttered shut. “You always taste so good,” he moaned, pressing his mouth against her once more, pleasuring her with his tongue and soft lips. Emma ground against his mouth and he fucked his cock harder against the bed, groaning helplessly.
She tugged on his hair. “Honey,” she laughed breathlessly. “You better quit while you’re ahead.”
Elliot laughed and nipped at her thigh, breathing hard. “Yeah. You want top or bottom?”
“Top.”
Elliot crawled up the bed, taking Emma’s place and propping his head up with several pillows. Emma climbed astride his chest, facing away and positioning her hips until she could feel his hot breath against her pussy. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and guided her back until his mouth was on her once more.
“Can you breathe okay?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Mmmhmm.”
Emma had chosen to be on top on purpose; it was easier to control her pleasure than when she was on her back, and if Elliot wanted to continue their earlier conversation via sex, then she fully intended to have the final word. She closed her eyes and took a moment to enjoy the feeling of his lips working against her before turning her attention to his straining cock.
God even his cock is pretty, she thought, just like the rest of him.
She ran her lips over the swollen wet head, played with his foreskin and his sensitive slit to feel him moan desperately against her. She was in control of his pleasure and his cock filled her mouth with a satisfying stretch. Sex with Elliot never disappointed--and his technique was always expert--but Emma found she took an immense amount of satisfaction from his loss of control. Every time his mouth lost its finesse and turned distracted as she swallowed him down was viscerally gratifying.
Elliot’s good manners extended to the bedroom, and when she sucked him off he always gave her fair warning before he came. Emma wasn’t in the mood for good manners right now though. If Elliot really was willing to take whatever she decided to give him, then he’d take this too. Teasing the head of his cock with her lips and tongue, she reached behind his balls to rub at his perineum, leaning her weight on him as he bucked---
---and came right into her mouth with a groan.
Emma let his cock finish twitching in her mouth before she swallowed, lifting her hips to let him catch his breath. “That’s the first time you’ve come inside me,” she said, still gently licking at his sensitive cock.
Elliot growled and redoubled his efforts, gripping her hips to hold them as still as possible, tongue fluttering against her clit before he leaned up to suck gently in the way he’d learned would get her off the fastest. No longer concerned with holding back her own pleasure Emma sat up, braced her hands on his thighs and rolled her hips against his mouth. His tongue and lips felt amazing and for once she didn’t mind being a little greedy. She came with a shout that was nearly a laugh, thighs trembling as her orgasm rolled through her in waves. She held still so he could continue lapping at her slit as her orgasm subsided and sharp overstimulation began. She quivered and let him enjoy his reward for a job well done.
Once he pulled back to breathe she collapsed next to him. From his place at the head of the bed, Elliot clasped a hand around her ankle, rubbing the bone there.
“The gift that keeps on giving, huh?” he said, still panting. His lips and jaw had a telltale wet sheen.
“It’s the only kind I give,” Emma replied. She turned around and crawled up the bed, but instead of reaching for him she reached for the hotel phone.
“What are you doing?” he asked, amused.
“I think I want to order some expensive champagne.” She hit the button for room service. “Sex that good needs to be celebrated.”
He grinned and closed his eyes. “As long as you’re buying.”
She ordered a bottle of Krug Brut and two glasses. She placed the phone back in the cradle and settled against his side, closing her eyes with a smile and enjoying the afterglow.
