Torment
A Short Story in the "Lemon Tree" Series
So… I got a lot of anon prompts on my tumblr. Most of them about jealousy, others on having sex anywhere outside the bedroom, from closet-sex to bathtub sex! All in all, if I summarize all these requests, what stood out was that most of them were about depicting sex in a way that's outside of routine, something that brings excitement into sex, and I did my best to warp them all up into something that I felt could work for me, lol. In the process, I tried to depict something where Usagi had a little more agency in sex and got to call the shots, even while working with the prompts I got (and not in her POV.) Mostly because a) someone expressing desire bluntly is very exciting to me and b) because let's face it, girl knows to indulge, and it's what I want to see more in smut, so here I wrote it! I hope you like it, and that all you individual prompt-givers are happy with how this turned out ; )
And, my always thanks to my beta, Uglygreenjacket, who has to put up with a lot of shit I come up with xD
Anyway, remember episode 105, in S? It's the one in the mountains, where Mako trains in the mountains and Usagi suggests to join her because Mamoru has a summer job at this Resort Hotel but then totally has no time for her? Yeah that one, the one with the hilarious Daruma Daimon. If you don't, just remember Mamoru had this silly summer job.
This fic is Post-Stars, set in canon!
Mamoru didn't even notice the way he wrung the towel, the way he stared. Not until Nakamura nudged him, overladen with plates that wobbled slightly in his grasp that brought Mamoru back immediately.
"You like her?" Nakamura asked, eyebrow lifted in jest.
Mamoru straightened, pursed his lips, didn't answer, and turned instead to take some of Nakamura's pile to carry into the kitchen.
He felt the guy's disappointment, and felt a little bad, immediately. He shared a bunk bed with him, down in the staff rooms, and Nakamura had tried and tried to make friends… but Mamoru wasn't Usagi, and he immediately frowned, thinking if he should answer honestly after all…
But he wasn't here to make friends. He was here to work. And it was good money, even when the shifts went all day and the waiter's uniforms were stiff and unyielding, but it was only six weeks. Six weeks with the summer sun beating down at him and his days filled with carrying kitchenware, but it was good money, and it was worth it.
"Relations with guests are strictly prohibited," Nakamura said, and his voice had turned stiff and tense, and Mamoru sighed. Obviously, he'd not reacted all that well, again.
Mamoru nodded – spared a quick glance over his shoulder.
Usagi did look almost edible in that white swimsuit, lounging at the side of the pool. And he really didn't like the way the other, overwhelmingly male, patrons noticed this, too. Even when he knew she was doing this for him.
Well, not for him, really. More to him.
He glanced over again, and this time, she met his eyes, and smirked that way too confident smile, and went to fold long, naked legs one of the other, and he had to quickly look away.
Work. He was here for work.
Well, it was a big resort. There was the pool area, the restaurant, the gender-segregated hot springs on the open-air terraces on the top floors, the bar, the breakfast area, the spas. Every one of those places he was technically able to be placed on for any shift, and Usagi couldn't possibly be everywhere where he was, could she? He could avoid her and those eyes.
Turns out, she could. When he had the pool shift, she lay on one of the deck chairs with her legs dangling one over the other and her skin glistening in the sun. When he had the bar shift she was sitting inside, almost translucent beach wear thrown on over her swimsuits that looked more like lingerie than clothing, fingers twirling against her straw or lips closing around it and he couldn't look, he could not look. When he was called up, he'd find her leaning against a wall in the corridors with those eyes looking up at him, and he was beginning to wonder how the heck she did that when he ran into her again.
"Usako," he hissed, when he turned around with a tray filled with cocktails on his forearm, and there she was, lips glistening with her cherry-scented lip balm, stripping off her robe.
Today's swimsuit went straight to his gut, and was what he'd learned to recognize as a Monokini with a V cleavage so deep it went almost to her belly button. It was held together by a simply tied string on her otherwise completely exposed back, and it made his ears ring, and his blood rush to places he really could not hide that well in this uniform.
"What?" she'd replied with that slow, not so innocent smile. "I'm just enjoying the sun."
And she strode to the pool and away from him, and he wasn't the only person looking after her.
"CHIBA!" came the call from one of the deck bar staff. "Chop, chop!"
He jerked out of his frozen state and spilled his first drink upon delivering it.
"I'll come visit you again," she'd said, running her fingers across his naked chest.
He'd pursed his lips. "I won't have time for you this time, either, you know that. I'm there to work. It's a very intense six weeks."
She shrugged, all the whatever in her soft, naked shoulders. Her eyebrows had lowered in determination, and he'd chuckled, before he left the warmth of her body to step out of his bed, to her grunted protest.
"I have a goal, you know? I'm willing to put in some work for it to convince you," she'd said, rolling onto her stomach, the soft curve of her naked bum underneath the thin sheets distracting him as he made his way to his drawers, to get some fresh underwear, and clean clothes to wear after his shower.
"Oh, yeah?" he said, trying not to glance back at her and failing. She'd propped her chin into her hands, looked at him in that way that caused his mouth to go dry.
Her hair had been spread out across his pillow, and the way she lay there, soft pink skin and golden hair against the white of his sheets, the sunlight filtering through his white curtains bathing her in this soft glow, she looked like an angel.
"Yeah," she said, the sides of her mouth lifting into the sweetest, most adorable smile, nose wrinkling and eyes shining. "My goal is to fuck you in that crisp and starched waiter outfit at least once."
Mamoru stumbled, dropped his clothes, felt the tips of his ears turn pink, immediately.
"Usa!" He'd admonished. She just looked at him as if she's informed him the weather was nice, not said something all so scandalous.
She'd booked her room two days later.
As a matter of fact, this was the third time she'd done this to him.
The first time was the summer he'd turned 18, and she 15, and she'd come here pretending it was all for Makoto's training session, when really, she'd missed him, and wanted a date, by which she'd meant stolen kisses at a romantic hotel, forgetting altogether what the word "working" even meant. She'd stayed behind even when the girls had gone their way, and looked at him sullenly from afar while he'd waited on tables that weren't hers.
Once he'd been back home, he'd explained that such things were frowned upon – you didn't bring your girlfriend to work, and that, really, it was distracting.
It was the kind of information he should never have disclosed.
By the time she'd started speaking about his waiter's uniform from 'that summer' with that particular look, and had that glint in her eye when she did, he knew he was fucked.
Of course, it was a couple years until he had the chance to work there again. The summer after that he'd been busy fighting abominable circus creatures, being abducted, and then, well…
It was only the summer after Galaxia, when things had calmed down, and they'd all recovered from the shock, that he'd decided the extra money was worth six weeks of constant labor, and to his surprise, Usagi had not disagreed.
But she'd showed up. Several times. It was the summer that she had turned 17, in her penultimate high school year, and this time, it wasn't stolen kisses that she'd wanted. That summer, she'd gotten him in trouble.
By the time he'd started his first shift this year – one year later, and two weeks ago – the rest of the hotel staff had regarded him either with snickering smiles or avoided eye contact with flushed faces.
Apparently, he had a reputation now. Of making out with guests behind the pool house. Guests that were in swimsuits. Swimsuits that had very flexible fabric one's hands could freely roam beneath.
Guests, obviously, had been singular, and particularly blonde and particularly irresistible, especially when she had such persistent intentions, and he'd been so sure nobody could have seen them there, but turns out the security cameras didn't miss that spot.
He'd been hired again only with very strong admonitions and warnings of 'no third chances'.
But turns out, at 18, this somehow seemed to have turned into his girlfriend's number one sexual fantasy, saying things like, 'but next year we'll live together, and the hotel thing won't be so exciting, then,' with peculiarly intense pouts, and she'd saved up a year to afford a whole week of renting a room in this particular hotel, stocked up on revealing swimwear, and was now obviously out to torture him.
And he'd been fully prepared to stay strong and endure her ogly eyes, again, salivating after him, waiting for him to say the word. At least, that's what it had been like before. And that had already been hard, because six weeks away was nothing he did terribly easily, no matter how it looked on the outside.
But this? This new tactic of hers he couldn't stand, and it was slowly chipping away at every last ounce of self-control he had.
And he had a lot of self-control. Usually.
What he wasn't prepared for was the temptress who had arrived, who had replaced his sweet, puckered-lips girlfriend by sheer determination and conviction, and even when he felt her eyes on him constantly, she was either not looking when he finally turned to catch her eye, or she was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and that knowing smirk he couldn't place at first, until it came to him at night when he stared at the ceiling and wanted nothing more than to sneak out and into her hotel room (305, he'd checked immediately), that it was the kind of look HE regarded her with, usually, and definitely when she'd been here last year, and he'd shown her intentions the cold shoulder for the majority of the time.
Mamoru really didn't like when the tables turned on him.
He'd taken out his phone, typed his message quickly.
'You're acting like you think I act, aren't you?' he texted.
His phone blinked up the second he'd placed it back by his pillow.
Usako, 1:03 am.
Maybe.
He frowned at the screen, froze when Nakamura moved in his sleep in the bunk bed above him, and then typed his reply.
'It's not gonna work,' he texted.
He internally listed every argument she could make, and every possible reply for them, until his phone lit up again.
But it wasn't a text this time. It was a photo.
He groaned audibly, clamped his mouth shut when the bunk bed moved and Nakamura growled at him to shut the fuck up.
It was a selfie. Golden hair and pink, naked skin looked irresistible on Room 305's crisp white sheets, too.
She kept at it. Sat at the pool with her manga and her legs long and exposed and creamy – and at some point, when he was waiting on tables near her, she'd not brushed off the douche of the day that tried to hit on her, and who was shamelessly flirting with her. She wasn't flirting back, mind you. But when Mamoru was called to her side by a loud 'WAITER!', boomed by the guy currently attempting to charm her, he was there in a flash, and she met his eyes with that amused little lingering smile, but didn't say anything, not even when he came back with their drinks and his fingers flexed against hers, when he handed her her sparkling lime-mint quencher with an extra pink umbrella in it, because she smiled a little wider when he did that.
"On the house," he growled, and turned away. He didn't want any random guy paying for her drinks.
He did try to ignore her studiously, though.
It sometimes didn't work all that much.
Like that night she stayed by the pool past nightfall, until his shift was almost done and the kitchen had closed and his job was to wipe everything down and to tip all the chairs against the tables on the pool deck so the cleaners would have an easier time during the night, and when he was done, she was still there.
"I'm about to head in, Usako," he mumbled, his back turned to her.
"Hm," she said, smiling a small, adorable Usagi-smile when he did turn back to her. "What if I want another drink?"
He sighed. "What do you want?"
She cocked her head, surprised. She'd probably expected a little more bickering on his side, but her swimsuit was too dangerous for him to rile her up and stay sane through it.
Instead, her nose wrinkled into the cutest of all smiles, and it turned out to be worse than if he'd riled her up, and why the hell was she doing this to him, anyway.
There were two security cameras just behind his back.
"Milkshake!" she beamed.
He didn't have to ask which one, of course. Just went inside and had it made by the guy currently manning the bar, who looked at him with exasperated eyes saying he'd already cleaned the mixer, and Mamoru pretended to have forgotten that tidbit and made him do it anyway, and put it on his own tab.
When he returned, Usagi was swimming lazy laps in the pool, and floated to her back once he stepped foot on the deck.
He swallowed.
The pool was illuminated from down below and mirrored its ripples all around the area in waving, blue and turquoise and white light across his skin and the glass and the whole deck as he approached, and Usagi in the middle of it in her pale swimsuit for the day that had frigging cutouts on the side looked like she was a frigging goddess in the water, and she knew how he felt about seeing her wet, with her bangs sticking damp against her forehead in small, enticing curls and tiny water droplets glistening in her eyelashes, and he groaned out loud at the strain of his sudden erection against the too tight confinement of his pants.
"Please," he said dumbly, and cursed himself both for the fact that his voice broke when he said it, as well as his side eye at the camera to note that the spot where she swam right now was not in its range.
She inclined her head, smiling that angelic smile of hers, her arms moving softly against the water as she made herself stay afloat and move just slightly closer to him and the edge of the water, and he could not take his eyes off her, standing frozen with her milkshake dumbly raised.
"Can I have my drink?" she said sweetly, and moved one elbow up to the edge of the pool, looking up at him.
He swallowed once more, approaching the side of the pool with a too dry mouth. And when he lowered himself down on one knee to place her glass beside her, she reached up, grasped his shoulder, and pulled him, waiter's uniform and all, into the water.
He fell with a surprised shout that got quickly muffled by the water as he dove beneath the surface, and it took a split second longer than usual for him to float back up, weighted down by soaked formal wear. He gasped when he resurfaced, throwing his head back and pushing his hands into his hair to wipe the wet, long strands back across his scalp as he did, and glared at her cheeky smile and the rippling water glowing ethereal across her skin.
But she was wet, and he'd gone through this torture for days now, and when she got close and whispered her little, "Hi," almost against his lips with that happy shine in her eyes, he suddenly didn't remember why he was even fighting this in the first place. And even when he wasn't the one who started the kiss, he was the one who opened wide and shoved his tongue into her mouth at the same time that he shoved his hands into her wet, glorious hair, and she moaned against his lips and wrapped her thighs tightly against the cummerbund of his silly, stupid waiter's uniform, underwater.
It wasn't long before he had his hands in her swimsuit and groaned into the weightlessness with his boner against her ass.
But then the lights at the side of the deck turned on, and someone talked – the cleaners! And he was all Tuxedo Mask for a second, whisking her out of the water and away before they got seen, by either the cleaning crew or the cameras, and remembered that no, this was really not a good idea, however enticing it might be.
He felt like banging his head in frustration when she slipped from his grasp and went back for her milkshake, slurping noisily through the straw as she greeted the cleaners cheerfully, throwing him a wink into the trees when she hopped back through the glass doors into the hotel.
He'd had some trouble that night to explain to Nakamura why he looked as if he'd taken a shower fully clothed.
And he'd had even more trouble sleeping, the image of her in that pool and her legs around him driving him insane, not to mention that final wink, and it wasn't any better the next day, either. In fact, if he'd had any trouble ignoring her swimsuits the day before, the next day was pure undiluted torture, and instead of ignoring her, he couldn't look away, stumbled into guests, and was so preoccupied one of his superiors ordered him to the dishes in the kitchens, instead.
He went immediately, and the warm water and the soap and the dishes almost managed to calm him down as he cleaned plate after plate and glass after glass for the next hours, but when she passed him by in the corridors in that little white dress after his shift with that look on her face, and brushed, just barely, almost but quite not touching, her hand across his front, he almost whimpered, and obviously then she knew he was still hard and he grit his teeth and she smirked, fucking smirked up at him, and gave him that little twirl before she disappeared into the elevator, beckoning him with one curled index finger.
He didn't follow. He wouldn't let her win this. Even if he might burst up in flames before the week was over.
Yet, that night, when he got more photos from the inside of her room, it took all his willpower to not jump through the overhead window and scale the building, until he could slip through the small balcony attached to hers and fuck her into next week. Her window would be three rooms and three floors to the left, seen from the water pipes along the exterior wall of the west side of the hotel – he hadn't even needed to actively figure that out, it was just something that his mind had done all on its own.
He didn't do it.
The next night, however, it was even worse, the sight of her almost immobilizing him he was pulled so taught. He was so relieved when he got called where she couldn't follow.
"Chiba," Hasegawa, one of his superiors, had yelled across the staff room. "Washoku order for terrace number four!"
He'd exhaled, pushed the metal cart into the service elevator, laden with the smaller boiled, marinated, and pickled side dishes, the plates of sashimi, the steaming iron bowl with the broth, covered with its thick wooden lid, the bowl of rice.
Terrace number four was one of the hot spring areas reserved for men, and serving washoku with all its courses would take about two hours.
He almost dropped the first tray, when he found her naked in the tiled tub, her chin resting on her crossed arms over the rim of it, when he stepped through the curtains, her hair piled atop her head in a single, messy, thick bun, ringlets of hair framing her face that escaped it and curled against her face.
She was illuminated by the nightfall, and the vapor that rose from the scalding water and sat like clouds in the thick, humid air, and he almost choked, because it was the single most enticing sight he'd ever seen.
"This is the men's area, Usako," he groaned.
She shrugged one way too attractive, way too wet, way too naked shoulder at him. "I was a man when I came in here," she said, and at his frown, unlaced one hand from their crossed position, and held up a pink pen topped with a thick, red jewel.
He sighed, puffed his breath into the steamy air, felt his brow pool with sweat from the humidity.
She'll use that transformation pen for anything.
"How could you have known it would be me?!" he hissed, and she shrugged again.
Again, with that infuriating smile. "What if I didn't?" she replied, cocking her head.
His eyes widened, and then flashed.
He dropped the first tray of entrés before her on the matte stone tiles and turned to leave with the cart.
"Hey!" Usagi shrieked. "I paid for two hours!"
He set his jaw, studiously looked into her eyes and not the swell of her breasts where it peaked from the surface of the water. "I'm supposed to wait behind the curtain until you're finished with the first course," he growled out. "Or rather, until Murata-san, room 512, is finished with the first course."
"Well, we're not having that," she said, one side of her lips pulling into a half-smile, and he had half a mind to call Minako and yell at her for giving her the kind of advice in looks that could only come from her, because Usagi had never done this before, had never tormented him like this before.
She waved her hand towards the small, ornate, wicker stool at the side of the tiled tub, motioning for him to sit.
"It's not how this works," he ground out, and had to shift, because upon moving, her chest had lifted and one nipple hovered exactly on the surface of the water, erect and stiff and he groaned in frustration.
He looked over his shoulder, checking that no one was here, even when he knew there couldn't be, but just to make sure.
"Well, what if I need more tea?" she asked innocently.
"You're in a hot tub, Usako," he countered.
"Well, I need tea," she said, and he rolled his eyes, but moved to the cart and filled one small, ceramic cup with green tea, and this time, he knew better than to come close to the water, instead, he set it a little farther away from her place with his arm reaching out far, keeping as much distance between them as possible.
She pouted. And as always, that pout did more to him than any sexy smile ever could.
He groaned, throwing his frustrated hands into the air, but settled down onto the wicker stool, and told himself it was only so he could act in case someone came to check on Murata-san that he stayed, and nothing else.
She beamed at him in triumph and leaned over the rim of the tub to pick up her chopsticks.
Tsukino Usagi never ate so slowly, or sensually, as she had that night, and at one point, Mamoru had started fixating on that one crack in the wall studiously and humming to himself in his mind to distract himself from the way it went straight to his groin.
Not that it helped. Usagi had made sure, all week, that his boner was a painful, constant staple while she was here.
"It's not gonna work," he said again, sometime during her third course, and she only hummed the kind of amused, 'Uh huh,' that he usually gave her, and not the other way around.
It was dessert that did him in, or rather, the fact that for it, she suddenly stepped from the water, stark naked, and he nearly fell off his stool when she reached behind him, dripping wet, her warm skin almost glowing against the cooled night air, and peeled the macha ice cream from the small cooler on the cart.
And the way she'd flashed that grin at him, when he'd shuddered as she reached across him, and he'd leant forward, not away.
Usagi had never had any shame or qualms about being naked. She'd saved the world being naked.
But he still became a fumbling, flushed, aroused mess whenever she so unashamedly was. And she was very much aware of that fact.
And so, she sat across from him, nude, ringlets of hair tumbling down her wet skin, flushed from the heat of the tub, and started licking at her little cone, legs crossed one over the other while she was surrounded in thick steam from the hot water, eyes never leaving his, and his pants fucking hurt him, because this was too much.
He sat frozen, eyes at her tongue, the stiff peaks of her nipples, the curve of her hips, the little droplet of water that ran from her collarbone down between the valley of her breasts, and she held his gaze, smirking through his fucking heart attack.
He'd pretty much been there already, but this was exciting in a way that made him painfully hard at a speed that must be entirely unhealthy.
And then the cone was gone, and she still held his gaze, and brought a hand to the messy bun atop her head, and with a flick of her wrist, golden hair tumbled down her back and shoulders and chest and he felt like he needed to scream because how could she use her hair against him.
He crossed his arms, clenched his fists so hard his fingernails were digging painfully into the skin of his palms, held his breath and clenched his eyes shut, in order to keep himself rooted to the spot, because he was not going to let her win this one.
But his eyes flew open in a gasp, when her weight pressed onto his lap, and her eyes were suddenly so close now and her breath puffed against his lips, and he dug his fingers into her bum as if in reflex, groaning pitifully. His groan died and choked, when she snaked her hand into his pants and drew him out, and the air hit hardened skin and glistening, weeping tip and he was about to die.
And then he did fall off the stool, because she got off his knees and onto her own before him, and he did something close to howling, maybe shrieking, maybe crying, when her lips touched the tip of him, and he fell painfully when someone inside and behind the curtains opened the door and asked if he needed anything else.
This time, it had been Usagi who'd reacted faster. She zipped him up, and with a flick of her pen she was dressed and had hopped over the low stone wall and made her way to what he assumed was the women's terraces, and he was left behind to shout across the room in a shaky voice that he was only cleaning up, and that yes, Murata-san had enjoyed the meal very much.
His reputation, however, took another blow that night, because Mamoru returned that night drenched entirely in steam and sweat and with a giant boner that wouldn't go away that Nakamura couldn't help but notice that night in the bunk bed. And hadn't Chiba waited on that older dude from Room 512 all night?
But Mamoru had somehow, along the way, started to stop caring. Instead, he kept frowning at the underside of Nakamura's mattress.
'You did know it would be me, didn't you?' he texted, a little while later, concerned.
Her reply came immediately.
Usako, 11:03 pm.
Of course, I did.
He exhaled in relief.
The beginning of his downfall was a different run in, in a different corridor, on the next day. It had obviously been planned by her, but he didn't end up caring in the least, because he hadn't seen her all morning, and even though it was simply because she'd decided to sleep in, not having her tormenting him in her swimsuit was even worse than having her tormenting him in her swimsuit.
He didn't even put up a fight this time. Instead, when her lips connected with his before either of them had even said as much as a hushed greeting, and her teeth pulled on his lower lip in that way he knew she knew drove him wild, he jabbed his elbow against the handle of the nearest door and pulled her into the supply cabinet before anyone could see, and pushed his hands into the cheap hotel yukata which she wore absolutely nothing beneath, and his lips and teeth against her neck, and had her keening even way before he'd grasped one nipple between his thumb and index finger, the one that had taunted him so last night in the water, rolling it until she trembled and arched her neck even further.
He could feel the smug victory in her every push and pull, in the way one of her hands clawed into his hair and the other into his crisp, stuffy shirt and pulled him closer, even when he pressed her back against the door and wedged his leg into her yukata and in between her thighs, as he kissed the side of her face, her neck, her mouth, her shoulders, her arms in open-mouthed, frantic kisses.
And when she bucked against his leg, moving against the expensive, black trousers of his waiter's uniform in erratic movements and with those almost desperate, mewling little moans of hers, the kind she only ever made when she was as turned on as he currently felt, he didn't even remember what the problem with this situation ever was, and she got him. One hand at the back of her neck as he crushed his lips to hers, his other hand was already fumbling with his zipper, to the low, triumphant 'Yesss', that she hissed almost soundlessly right into his ear.
... And then the door opened forcefully and his ears turned red and he fell, clutching at her so she fell on top of him and he could both cushion her fall and hide the open front of her yukata from view - and his colleague's face – one of the youngest ones, from the room next to his – flushed a deep crimson and he mumbled and apologized.
But Mamoru saw the wide-eyed, lingering look at him as his hands flew to fix his fly, before the boy scurried off.
That's it, he'll lose his job.
…And yet, somehow, it turned even worse, because his colleague didn't snitch, instead, by the time he'd gotten midway through his shift, the rumor went around that Chiba Mamoru fucks guests in the utility closet, and doesn't he have a girlfriend at home? And Usagi fucking GLOATED in it.
It was, however, the same night that he broke. If they were all saying it, anyway, well then… Plus, he wasn't going to get a third chance anyway. Boss had said that already. And fuck that money.
He didn't even try to change out of his work wardrobe. After all, his girlfriend had announced she wanted to fuck him in it, and who was he to deny her?
And so, after one particularly racy sneer by one of his colleagues, he simply walked off.
He could see the blushing glances of his colleagues, when he walked into the guest elevator where he didn't belong, instead of into the basement where the staff rooming was located, pushed the elevator to the third floor of the guest rooms, and this time, didn't even blush. Walked down the corridor and knocked on the door.
Her smirk was still gloating, when she opened.
So, I call this one: Sexual Frustration: The Fic ; ) And, yes, I'm totally mean ending it there xD
And, because consent is important to me, and this is exactly my real life line of work, a note on it: There is a fine line between sexy coaxing and coercion, and I tried to walk it while staying on the positive side of it. What Usagi tried to do here was chip away at his inhibitions, mostly by tempting him, but at no time did she try to force sexual desire or willingness in him that wasn't already there. It was the context for him, not the desire – he was a big walking boner of willingness, just, y'know, didn't wanna lose his job for it. And while this side of coaxing can be very thrilling between two people, it's always important to make sure both partners are sexually consenting while this happens ; )
And now I leave you to imagine what happened after that door closed behind them, and I hope you had only half as much fun reading this as I had writing it ; ) Please let me know what you thought! (And if you're uncomfortable commenting on smut, there is the anonymous guest review option ; ) ) You'll make my day in reviews!