Empathica gets help

Shock. Total, utter, and complete shock was what Tony was feeling as the goddess who just sucked him to orgasm under the table walked back to her own place on the other side of the restaurant. The girl had the looks and the clothes of a high-priced escort. That's what she must be, Tony decided, really nothing more than a whore. I mean, come on! No woman just simply does what she did for no reason. That phone number on the napkin--writeen in lipstick, no less!--must be to the agency so that he could hire her "services" again in the future. He shook his head in disgust. There was of course no way he could afford a girl like that...

Then it struck him--what kind of escort service that has girls of that quality recruits new customers by giving away blowjobs under tables in restaurants? He was far from an expert in such things, but the whole situation didn't feel right. Pulling the napkin from his pocket, he smeared some of the lipstick but the number was still clearly readable. It wasn't some 900 number or even a local exchange, and wasn't international but didn't look like any area code he'd ever seen. Now curiosity was getting the better of him, and he was starting to look at the surprise hummer in a new light. It's not like he was a BAD-looking guy, plenty of girls had offered themselves to him, but he had maintained his virginity by choice. Intrigued, he spent the rest of his meal in happy contentment, quite enjoying the residual feeling of cum released from his body other than through his own manual ministrations. He enjoyed a decadent dessert, paid his bill, and enjoyed a nice stroll home.

He had planned to wait until the next morning to try out the phone number, but his inquisitiveness got the best of him. He tapped in the digits and wasn't too surprised when it was answered after the first ring. "Justice League priority line. Who is this, please?" came an authoritative female voice. Tony almost dropped the phone, then regained his composure and answered...