Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final - Sex Stories

Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final

... and hips, but don't hide them, either. That's another key giveaway. He doesn't have even a hint of that hourglass curve. It's all very blocky.

I'm right on the line: I don't like the way he looks, but that could just be my own shit.

I try to focus on his face and his eyes. There should be common ground there, right? He loops around the fancy business desk and approaches the two of us. He's doing his best to radiate friendliness. Again, I can feel my fucked-up head messing with my perception. He's probably a good-looking guy; there's probably nothing seriously wrong with him. Who can look good, though, when they're wading through a pile of somebody else's forehead-deep mental shit just to get close enough to them to shake their hand?

His eyes are a warm brown. His skin is completely smooth -- no trace of stubble anywhere. His sandy hair is well-cut; it's basic, but it wouldn't be totally out of place on a butch dickgirl. His lips aren't nearly as full as what I'm used to. As they slip into a smile, they reveal perfect teeth, which is much more familiar. 'Science is awesome' and all that.

He reaches out his hand -- no deep meaning this time around. I reach out and grasp it. We shake firmly and politely. He clearly doesn't do manual labor; he might even moisturize. Still, his skin lacks that ineffable extra softness. I can tell he's not a girl or a dickgirl just by touch.

He nods with half his body. I find myself doing the same. "Corin," he says. "It's good to ...

... finally meet you. You know, I spent two hours dithering over what I was going to wear. I honestly can't remember the last time that happened -- maybe never."

His voice spins me right the fuck out. Yeah, of course I've heard a man's voice before; I'm not a fucking hermit who swore off the holonet. My whole life is girls and dickgirls, though. That's the city, to me; that's one of its perpetual sounds. Every real-life sex noise I've ever heard has been feminine. Even when they're deep and rough, they're not like this. This is male. It doesn't just hit differently on the ear. It hits differently in the bones.

The handshake concludes. Ms. Used-to-be-Serious unloops her arm from mine and takes three steps over to her man -- her master? Her owner? I don't even know. She whispers something in his ear. He nods, smiles, and turns to peck her cheek. He whispers something back. Whatever he said, she's even happier for hearing it than she was when he kissed her. Was it"Good girl?" Maybe it was.

"Come," he says, motioning to more soft-looking furniture. "Sit."

I follow his vague arm motions and sit down on... well, holy fuck balls, the most comfortable fucking chair I've ever sat on in my entire life. The only bad thing I could possibly say about it is that it's not a giant girl's giant titties.

"Pretty good, right?" he asks. He takes the chair opposite mine. It's an intimate interview setup. There's no table between us. Instead, there are surfaces to both sides of each seat. ...