A Stranger's Touch

...Slim fingers began to massage my skull. To my surprise, I groaned and my cock tightened in my jeans, straining against the zip. I thrust up toward the man. Our legs rubbed together. I shifted to keep the contact.

Another sound like laughter. “Are you hard? Already?”

Mesmerised by the slow and regular stroke of his hand through my hair—back and forth, back and forth—I nodded before I realised he couldn’t see the gesture, though, of course, he could feel it. “Yes.”

“Are you always so easily turned on?”

“Yes. I like my job very much. I enjoy sex.”

“But I don’t intend to touch your genitals today, or allow you to touch mine.”

A throb of disappointment powered through me. “Can I touch you anywhere else? Please?”

This time his laughter was obvious. “A prostitute begging to touch a client? You are already doing so in any case, though not with your hands, so your question is unnecessary. You’re an unusual man, Red. Robbie was right about you.”

“What did he say?”

The man didn’t answer at first. Instead, he simply continued to massage my head. I felt the tension begin to drift away, and breathed in the scent of him once more.

“Oh, Robbie said many things,” he answered, when I’d all but given up hope of hearing his voice again. “Both in his words and in the silence of his thoughts. He said you were special, perfect for what I wanted to do with you. He said how much he enjoyed your body, touching your penis, entering your mouth and anus, and making you reach orgasm. He seemed to take a particular pleasure in that.”

“You talked about it?” I had no right to feel betrayed, of course I didn’t. I was Robbie’s property—he could talk about me to whomever he wanted to. Still, it felt private. And it was unusual to share so much with any client, especially a new one.

“Oh, yes,” the man replied. “I wanted him to tell me everything about your body, and he did.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to heal you.”

“But I’m clean. I’m not sick.”

“Hush,” he said, as if he was soothing a tired child. “There are more diseases in the world than merely physical ones. Can you not feel them inside you when I stroke you like this?”

His hands continued to work their magic on my scalp. From ranging over the whole surface of my hair, his fingers began to concentrate on one area alone—the right side of my head, toward the front. I gasped and my cock leapt once more in my jeans. Unable to help myself, I rubbed my crotch more powerfully against his leg. I was panting, desperate for him to touch me there...