I think about good sex. Hard sex. Deep sex. Rough sex!

Clicking on the Affection Multiplier you bring up Christine’s profile:

Christine Amanda Anderson

Age: 33

Relationship: Half-Sister

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Bio: Not Yet Unlocked

Skills: Dancer (Professional grade, exotic and classical) Others not yet unlocked.

Current Status: Desperately trying to get off while thinking of you in the bathroom before going on stage.

Statistics:

Affection: 20 (You rescued me from that thug.)

Trust: 15 (I barely know you.)

Love: 50 (You make me feel so... desirable and protected. SOFT CAP REACHED*)

Lust: 285* (I’m so hot for you I think I might die. I want your cock in me more than anything I’ve ever wanted)

(*Lust has a permanent minimum score of 20.)

(*Love score is capped at 50. This cap may be exceeded in time if it is truly reciprocated. Love needs love to grow.)

That ‘soft cap’ is interesting. It really does make sense. You shelve the thought for now, certain that when it becomes important you’ll rise to the occasion. Speaking of rising, you feel like there’s an iron bar in your pants. You’re feeling impatient and there’s at least two hours to go before Christine gets off work (and a lot longer til she gets off, know what I’m sayin?). You need relief and you need it soon, otherwise you won’t be able to give a full performance later, even with your improved refractory time.

You fire off a text to Beth, “Met your sister. Not quite what I expected. This may get... intense.”

Her reply is immediate: “Is she hot?”

You could easily lie and say no, possibly spare Beth’s feelings, but you’ve decided to try to be a better person, and you realize that what Beth thinks of you matters. A lot. You decide on the truth. “She’s... hot. Yeah.”

“Does she look like me?”

“She looks like she works out and has had quite a bit of medical assistance in fighting age. But yeah. She looks like you”

“Gonna share that big beautiful cock of yours with her?”

You’re not really sure why everyone keeps saying you have a big cock. Seven inches isn’t all that big, not that you’ve ever been self conscious about it. It’s your favorite part of your body, and has been for about three decades. “It’s already been in her mouth.”

“You work fast Big Brother. And I’m a little jealous.”

Shit. That’s what you were worried about. You start to type a reply when she sends another text. “I wish I could have seen it. Is she any good?”

With a sigh of relief you send back, “Very.”

She replies with a thumbs up emoji (you’ve personally always thought they were a little stupid and took more effort to find than just typing stuff out). “Have fun my love. I want all the details. And I can’t wait to meet her. Send pics!”

You grin at this and slip your phone back in your pocket, then exit the car and head back to the door. Kitten lets you back in with a knowing nod, and you once more find yourself surrounded by flesh and fantasy. You quickly pick a girl from the crowd and approach her.

She’s clearly one of the working girls, wearing a men’s button down and little else, as tall as you are with raven dark hair and a slightly aquiline nose. Her features mark her as Native but her build is a fair deal more trim than the average Ojibwe. A quick conversation, $200 changing hands, and she’s leading you back to the Champagne Room again.

If she told you her name you don’t remember it, and she begins to grind on you almost as soon as you’re seated. Her whole body is tight, and she’s extremely flexible. The performance she’s putting on causes quite a bit of strain in your pants. After two of the four song block you purchased , you’re about ready to blow. Time to take the risk. Worst thing that can happen is that Kitten pounds you senseless.

“How much for you to help me finish?”

“Your not a cop, are you Mister Man?” Crystal. She said her name was Crystal. It’s probably really Theresa or something.

“Far from it darlin’. Will fifty do the trick?”

‘Crystal’ looks you up and down. “Fifty gets you off, and you wear a raincoat.”

“And if I don’t want one?”

“Seventy-five it is then. You don’t touch. I do all the touching.”

Money changes hands, and about five minutes later you’re filling Crystal’s mouth with cum. She spits, produces some mouthwash from somewhere, and rinses before swallowing.

You sit and chat with her through the remaining two songs you paid for, learning that you’ve just supplemented her grocery budget for her two kids. She’s working her way through nursing school. Within ten minutes the two of you have become fast friends, and you exchange numbers as you leave, again exiting the club, now relieved of a sizable load of semen and quite a bit of cash, and drive to the nearby Perkin’s family restaurant to wait out the remaining time.