Unstated

It was 3 a.m., Emily realized dimly, waking up another night in the same armchair, in Beau's place. He ritualistically and masochistically prepared for each trial with a relentless precision that left Emily exhausted assisting him. And when she fell asleep in that armchair and woke up, Beau was facing his demons -- his deep obsession with interracial porn.

Emily had let it go on for quite a few sessions now, pretending to be asleep while he whacked off. But this time, she went over to him. Startled to see her awake, he started to make excuses, his face deeply flushed, but she simply placed her finger over her lips.

He didn't want a blowjob or pussy or ass, Emily was quite confident of that. He didn't want to want it. She knew his type. He wanted to not want what he could have, and to give what he had to those who hadn't earned it.

She took Beau's six inch cock into her hand, stroking it. She didn't bother to use lube, using the friction of her hand to drive Beau crazy. That, coupled with the imagery on screen, ensured he wouldn't last, shooting thick wads of cum onto his chest. Was he a cuckold? Was he a stag or a wannabe? Did Emily want him in any form? He was sweet and dutiful, but meek. He had earnings potential, to be sure ... but love with him would always be a duality. Being what he wanted, and what he didn't want but needed.