Get intimate

"Yes," you say, grinning despite yourself at her peculiar phrasing, "please do."

With maddening lightness, Chryssie glides a furry digit down your upper shaft. A bead of precum oozes out. Her other paw lovingly cups your balls, working your testicles between her pads. Soon she's giving you more of what you want, solidly squeezing your cocks and pumping up and down with pleasurably intense pressure. You stifle a groan, but Chryssie says "Make whatever sounds come naturally. Don't bottle it up!" You oblige, and let out a shameless moan, your forked tongue flickering rapidly just beyond your mouth.

After a good deal of two-fisted vigorous, wonderful stroking, Chryssie gives your glans a little pat and says "All right, ready for your turn?"

"My turn?" you say, blinking in surprise.

"To touch me, of course." says Chryssie. "By engaging in a mutual process of intimate touch, you will become alive to the interconnectedness of life."

Whoa. Even when she was straight-up masturbating you, you didn't think you'd get to do this. "Er…" You sit up. "I mean… I'd love to, but wouldn't that basically be prostitution?" You grimace and reach for your wallet at your side, which isn't there, because you're naked; a glance at least confirms there's a familiar bump in your discarded pants. "You're not a cop, right?" You know that the thing about cops being legally required to say they're cops is an urban legend, but you couldn't help asking.

"I understand your concern." says Chryssie, playing with the soles of your feet. "But no, Tony. I won't charge you a fee. I'm partly a sexual healer, but I never promise sexual services for money. Only when I believe it's truly helpful for the client, and my own body responds with a concordant affection for his—or hers—do I offer this kind of intimacy. To do something like masturbate you for mercenary reasons, without a genuine desire on my own part, would be, to my mind, a kind of deception and betrayal."