The Price of Touch

Kilan worked in the dimly lit corners of the club, his body carrying out the job his mind often despised. He wasn’t here by choice. Poverty had made the decision for him. His mother’s treatments, his little brother’s school fees—those were the reasons he endured the suffocating nights. Nervousness clung to him like a shadow, making him stumble over words and tremble around strangers. Perhaps that was why dominant women gravitated toward him—his quiet, anxious demeanor made them feel in control. That night, he had been lingering near the bar when Marrianne stormed in. Her eyes were sharp, her steps unsteady with fury. Without a word, she grabbed his hand, her grip tight and unrelenting. He flinched but followed, his heart pounding, the heat of her anger washing over him like fire. He didn’t dare resist. She dragged him into a private room, shutting the door behind them with a thud. Kilan’s body was tense, his hands trembling as he sat at the edge of the bed where she had pushed him. He was used to rough clients, but something about her was different—her stormy presence made him even more nervous. Then, without warning, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against his neck. Kilan inhaled sharply. The contrast stunned him. The force with which she had brought him here didn’t match the tenderness of her lips brushing against his skin. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, leaning into the warmth, though his fists remained clenched at his sides. And then—her phone rang. Marrianne stiffened, pulling back. She answered quickly, her voice clipped. On the other end, a man’s voice pleaded through the receiver, “Please, Marrianne, where are you? I’m sorry, come back.” Kilan caught the flicker of pain and fury in her expression, the tightening of her jaw. She didn’t respond. Instead, she ended the call abruptly, shutting the phone off altogether. The room fell into a heavy silence. And then—Marrianne’s hands reached for him again, tugging at his clothes, stripping away his layers with determined urgency. Kilan froze. His breath hitched, and his trembling hands rose instinctively to her shoulders in a weak protest. His voice cracked, fragile but firm enough to slip through the thick air. “W-wait, please…” he whispered, biting his lower lip. His chest tightened with confusion, torn between the training that told him to obey and the raw, aching anxiety that begged him to resist. “Please… not like this,” Kilan whispered urgently, his voice trembling. He was used to being objectified, but something about Marrianne’s sudden aggression after that phone call made him feel used and dirty. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he tried to push her hands away from his clothes. “I…” His voice cracked, caught between fear and desperation. “I-I just… I don’t want it to be like this.” His hands shook as he tried to resist her, trying to keep her at bay. “You seem angry and upset from that call… please… don’t use me to take out your anger.” Marrianne paused, her eyes softening slightly as she looked at him. “I’m not going to. Just let me… I won’t be rough,” she murmured, her voice gentler, but still carrying the weight of her frustration. Kilan’s chest heaved, his breath hitching as he tried to read her sincerity. He knew arguing further might be pointless; he was vulnerable, caught between his fear and the necessity of earning. Slowly, he nodded, his hands dropping to his sides, resigned. “Okay…” Marrianne’s fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the waistband of his pants, pulling them down. Kilan’s cheeks burned bright with embarrassment. He was exposed now—physically, yes, but more painfully, emotionally. His hands instinctively moved to cover himself, a reflex honed through years of forced submission and humiliation. “Can you…” His voice was barely audible, a quivering mix of shame and nervous hope. Marrianne hesitated for a heartbeat, watching him carefully, realizing the fragility of the moment. The anger from before had faded, replaced by something else—something that made her want to tread carefully, to not break him further. "Mmph..." Kilan inhales sharply as your lips wrap around his tip, his body stiffening with unexpected pleasure. His self-consciousness lessens slightly as your gentle mouth works magic on him. His hands slowly lower from covering himself, his thighs spreading wider without him realizing it. "You..." Kilan's knees buckle slightly as your tongue starts licking his length, his hands instinctively grabbing onto your hair for support. A soft moan escapes his lips, genuine this time without any fake sounds he usually puts on for clients. His hips involuntarily thrust forward slightly into your mouth. "Ahhn..." Marianne stroke his length while sucking on his balls Kilan lets out a louder moan, his body shaking with pleasure. He's never had a client do this before—most just roughly f**k him and leave. Your gentle yet skilled mouth and hands are driving him crazy. His balls tighten as you suck them gently while stroking his length. "S-stop..." I kissed a last time before putting a condom on his length. Kilan's eyes flutter closed as you give his tip one last kiss before putting a condom on him. He's hard as rock now, his body trembling with need and overwhelming sensations. When he opens his eyes again, he sees you putting the condom on him with care. "I..." "Do you want it?" Marianne asks while slighting the condom on him length fully. "Y-yes," Kilan admits softly, his face flushed red with embarrassment and arousal. He can't believe he's asking for it, but your gentle touches have made him forget about his usual defenses and hesitations. His hips jerk forward slightly, seeking friction. "Please..." He bites his lower lip, looking down at you with pleading eyes. Marianne sucks on his length covered with Condom to wet it and he arches his back, biting his knuckles to suppress his moans.