The Suitcase

Ryan Interrupts

Ryan Interrupts

“Why would an orphanage... even for troubled boys... be a source of embarrassment?”

“Methods, Ryan. The government conveniently looked the other way... the regimen and protocols at the institute... were... well... rather... unconventional. But effective. The training was strict. Absolute obedience demanded. And indeed... there would come a use... for the boys. Again the government looking the other way... with some officials I am sure finding their convenient nearsightedness to be lucrative.”

“Lucrative?”

“Bribes... in cash... yet I am sure some were paid in kind... acquiring a servant.”

“So these orphan boys were trained to be servants?”

“Indoctrinated into servitude. There’s a difference. A servant would suggest... guess I would say a willingness to acquire a specific skill with some degree of limit as to their role. Like an aspiring butler. At the institute the training was harsh... no restrictions. Inculcated that they were to be used as desired.”

Becky smiles, her concluding words bringing a dreamily pleasant smile, sipping more wine in letting her narrative sink inward. In leaving me in thought, her free hand once again goes to my leg, fingers rubbing my inner thigh, slowly working higher to renew her palpations. She has indicated that she expects me to perform. A curious choice of words. And as she again tantalizes, it requires little imagination concerning the nature of her expectations.

“Fellatio, Ryan,” the blunt word whispered, thankfully imbuing some degree of decorum.

I nod, repressing a smile of my own, remaining silent in assuming such was not posed as a question... perhaps an offer?

“All guys like it, Ryan. And you know the old joke... what are the two things a guy can never get at home... eggs benedict and a blow job.”

Becky giggles, the professional facade of her office persona completely melting away. And I join her in smiling, my own decorum remaining reserved as I still do not fully understand the inference.

Becky finishes her wine, placing the glass on the bar with a degree of finality and signaling the bartender for the tab.

“I think it’s time for your place, Ryan. Maybe you’ll get some eggs benedict.”

Guess I’m supposed to inquire about the blow job. Yet I refrain. But there’s no question concerning the inference... and no question that all guys enjoy it.

Where’s this leading?

I pay the tab. Becky suggests leaving my car and she driving.

“Think the steering wheel will be an impediment for you,” nodding to my lap and tented trousers. “We’ll come back and pick up your car... in the morning.”