Jan. Week 3: A Long Weekend-Monday...Lunch with Jonathan: Leah takes her "Kimchi Arancini" without gusto...

She bared her teeth in a fake smile, then wrapped her lips around him, letting the stretch and thickness fill her mouth. He tasted like shame—with the faintest trace of salt and skin. At least he did keep pretty good hygiene—even on a day off. He cooed as Leah’s lips wrapped around his cock’s head, and she began to work his manhood methodically.

Leah let herself become machine, become nothing but suction and tongue, working the shaft with bitter efficiency. Avoiding eye contact, no extra flourish, just the rote mechanics of a woman who considered this a tax she had to pay to keep breathing air outside a poor house or Salvation Army homless shelter.

He didn’t touch her, didn’t even bother to tangle his hand in her hair. Howard just watched her, arms folded, eyes narrowed in lazy satisfaction. It was like the world’s worst performance review.

“Mhmmmmm this certainly was a nice surprise,” he moaned in pleasure as Leah’s mouth worked his cock “grabbing some take out for me and the wife…God…this is the best way to wait for some carry out…SHIT…Mhmmmmm.”

The comment about his wife made Leah sick, he was married—she knew that of course but she wasn’t sure why he would comment on that like an absolute pig.

She counted seconds, then minutes, in her head—anything to keep from thinking about how sick it was that she was spending her rare Monday off with her fiancé only maybe twenty feet away, probably still butchering the pronunciation of miso-glazed something, just waiting for her to return with a smile.

“See, this is what I love about you,” Howard drawled, voice echoing slightly off the tile. “You adapt. No matter how strange the environment, you always rise—or, in this case, kneel—to the occasion.” He punctuated the last bit with a throaty chuckle, the kind that would have killed at a fraternity reunion but here just made Leah’s skin crawl.

She forced herself to breathe through her nose, jaw already starting to ache. She’d learned, long ago, that the less she “reacted,” the quicker men like Howard would just focus on the pleasure. Mostly. She tried to go mindless to focus on getting the filthy deed finished. Howard, of course, wasn’t about to let her slip into oblivion.

“You know,” he mused, “I never thought I’d see the day when you would be opening her mouth for some sausage in the middle of an Asian-Italian fusion spot. Life is full of surprises, isn’t it?”

Leah wanted to just bite down on him, but she stopped herself. Not worth the aftermath of course. Instead, she worked him harder, cheeks hollowing with each bob, the wet sounds of her labor filling the small bathroom. She wondered, briefly, if the servers could hear. If the girl with the pink hair would be able to tell what happened when she went in for a mid-shift pee. Hopefully they had an employee-only bathroom.

“Shitttttt….That feels so fucking good…” Howard continued through his moans of pleasure “I hope this tastes half as good as what you are gonna be ordering.” He smiled at himself as he looked down and saw Leah servicing his cock with her hand and mouth.

She wanted to spit, to scowl, to stand up and leave him high and dry, but the rules of the game were set, and it was her job to play along, at least until he was finished. The sooner she got him off, the sooner she could go back to pretending to be a normal human being.

She switched to the trick she both loved and hated most: a tight, sucking spiral with her mouth and hand working in unison that made most men unravel in seconds. Howard shuddered.

"Going to make me cum already...fuck!" He groaned out, his voice's excited tone adding to the degenerate sounds which swirled around the bathroom.