Colby, a caterer, is working New Year’s Eve at the Crestview Hills Country Club, a place full of rich, uppity people, promising a boring night. The night becomes a lot more interesting when he starts receiving erotic messages on Unzipped, a hook-up app, from someone who happens to be at that very party.
I suspected that Sylvester saw my scowl or had heard my comment, because he assigned me the happy task of patrolling the ballroom and gathering any abandoned plates or glasses. Busted down to busboy. Just fucking great.
I made my way along the eastern portion of the ballroom, where the tables were lined up for the dinner, stopping at tables that looked like their occupants hadn’t been there in a while and clearing away the dirty dishes and utensils. Every table seemed empty; everyone was now far more concerned with mingling with high society than anything else.
As I was clearing my third table, my phone vibrated in my pocket again. I kept cleaning, eyes darting around to see if anyone was looking at me. I took the black towel hanging on the handle of the cart I was pushing and wiped away smudges of dressing from my fingers before pulling my phone out of my pocket. Another message from Mystery Man.
I see you right now. Damn that ass looks good.
I straightened, looking around for any signs of this guy. I couldn’t spot anyone who seemed to be paying attention to me.
Where are you? I sent.
The reply came back twenty seconds later.
Don’t worry about it. Touch yourself. Let me see you be a dirty boy.
I gaped at the message. Was this guy serious? He wanted me to touch myself in the middle of a room crowded with at least three hundred stuck-up rich, Republican-voting idiots?
The phone vibrated in my hand again. Another message.
No one’s paying attention to you. Just put your hands on yourself. Imagine me taking your hard cock, moving it up and down in my hand, playing with your balls. Better yet, think of my mouth, tongue sliding along the length, lips wrapping around you, wet and hot.
God damn, this guy was good with the dirty talk. He knew just what to say to get my motor running. In one message, my cock was aching hard again, still angled uncomfortably down my leg. Seeing how no one was looking at me, I reached into my pants long enough to adjust it so the head was pointing toward my naval. Just the small touch made me shiver, sending goose bumps up my arms.
I took my hand out of my pants. There was a thrill that came with touching myself in a room where a massive crowd of people milled nearby. I bit my lower lip and hesitantly cupped my hard-on through the front of my tuxedo pants. I ground my palm hard against it, biting my lip to hold back a moan.
Still no one was looking, so I took it a step further, applying more pressure, massaging the length of my cock through the pants. As I did so, the phone notified me of yet another message, as I was sure it would.
That’s right, you naughty boy. Play with that hard cock. You’re so fucking sexy standing there touching yourself. Put your hand back in your pants.
So, at least one person in the room was watching me. That knowledge brought me spiraling back to earth a little bit. Holy fucking fuck, Colby, you can could lose your job if someone sees you! And yet that thought didn’t cause my cock to flag in the slightest. There was something wrong with me, to be turned on by that. But I was.
If I kept playing with myself like this, I was going to end up jizzing right there in my expensive tuxedo pants. I didn’t need to add dry-cleaning costs to my already high stack of bills.
I turned my focus back to my actual job—the reason I was in this hellhole on New Year’s Eve. I moved to clean off a few more tables, walking with my elbows propped on the handles of the cart and bent over to conceal my rather obvious erection. Every now and then, I stretched to pick up more plates and empty glasses from a table, my cock sliding against the cart handles.
I had to admit I was enjoying the thrill of the situation, made all the more acute by the potential of being seen and the knowledge that someone out there saw me doing what I was doing. How could I not?
“Are you still doing these tables?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin at Jerome’s sudden appearance behind me. “For fuck’s sake, Jerome! Don’t sneak up on people like that.”
“Someone’s all distracted,” Jerome teased. “Can’t keep your mind off that big white daddy cock, huh?”
“No, that’s not it,” I said, my face flushing.
Jerome pointed at the bulge in my pants. “Uh-huh. Sure. You better get back to the kitchen. Sylvester’s got another assignment for you.”
J. C. Long is an American expat living in Japan, though he’s also lived stints in Seoul, South Korea—no, he’s not an army brat; he’s an English teacher. He is also quite passionate about Welsh corgis and is convinced that anyone who does not like them is evil incarnate. His dramatic streak comes from his lifelong involvement in theater. After living in several countries aside from the United States, J. C. is convinced that love is love, no matter where you are, and he is determined to write stories that demonstrate exactly that. J. C. Long’s favorite things in the world are pictures of corgis, writing, and Korean food (not in that order…okay, in that order). J. C. spends his time when not writing by thinking about writing, coming up with new characters, attending Big Bang concerts, and wishing he was writing. The best way to get him to write faster is to motivate him with corgi pictures. Yes, that is a veiled hint.
Smashwords Author Page: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jclong1
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