The Price of Everything

"How much for a blowjob?" Simon asked.

We were sitting at a crowded, noisy bar on K Street. I'd known Simon for all of forty-five minutes, both of us having decided to stop at the same happy-hour spot after work. The conversation had started out innocently enough, a comment about something on the evening news -- amazing what people will do for enough money. This led to some open speculation about how much money we'd accept to do certain things: have a limb amputated, eat a live scorpion, play Russian Roulette, break up with a spouse, that kind of thing. Horrible, but innocent.

"I said a blowjob," he repeated now, raising his voice to be heard above the bar noise.

"I know what you said," I answered. "You mean how much to give someone a blowjob?"

"Sure," he said.

"I'm not gay," I pointed out.

"Wouldn't be as interesting a proposition if you were."

I finished my drink and thought about it. If you treated it as something completely mechanical, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Kind of like giving someone a therapeutic massage, except the limb you're focusing on is a cock. And instead of using your hands, you're using your--

"Sorry, can't do it."

He laughed. "So you're willing to have your left arm amputated for, what, ten million dollars, but you won't let another guy place his cock in your mouth for any amount?"

"Tell you want," I said. "I'd do it if the alternative was having my left arm amputated."

"Now we're getting somewhere. Let's take it a little farther. How about if the alternative was losing just one finger? Think about it. Maybe you've been kidnapped by some crazy guy who gives you a choice. Lose a finger, or suck my dick. Nothing else will happen, just those two choices."

"Well," I said. Then I stopped. When he put it that way, it seemed... almost easy. "Okay, I'd do it then," I said.

"So you're putting a price on it already -- the price of one finger. A finger's worth less than an arm, and an arm is worth ten million to you, right? Finger can't be worth more than a million -- probably a hundred thousand at the most. And that's for a thumb."

I laughed, but then found myself looking around a little nervously. I hoped that anyone who was listening in on our conversation knew that it was a joke. The bartender looked my way and I ordered another drink.

"Now let's look at it another way," Simon was saying. "Let's say we're talking about a hundred thousand. Okay?"

"Sure," I said. It didn't mean anything anyway, and he was obviously enjoying the line of questioning. I wasn't completely comfortable with it all of a sudden, but I wasn't stopping it, either.

"Great," said Simon. "Now the thing is, that's probably never going to really happen outside of a movie -- no one is going to offer that much money for a blowjob. It's crazy. But in real life, you could be offered something. And we're not talking about losing a limb or playing Russian roulette here, so it's not like you're taking some huge risk. A thousand dollars is still a lot of money in the real world, isn't it?"

The phrase real world shocked me a little, but I didn't know why. I drank half my gin and tonic in one gulp, and felt better.

"Well," said Simon, "isn't it?"

"What?" Feeling a little woozy, now.

"A thousand dollars?"

"Sure," I agreed. "But..."

"But what?"

"Well," I reasoned, "it's still Russian roulette, kinda. Could get a disease. Could get murdered. Still a risk."

Simon took a long swallow from his glass of Scotch, then set down the glass and turned to me. "Let's assume, for our hypothetical situation, that there's no risk at all. Nice clean, disease-free guy. Someone you trust."

Maybe it was the liquor, but I blurted the words out before I could stop myself. "Someone like you?"

His smile was there and gone in an instant. "Like me," he said, "yeah."

"A thousand dollars," I repeated. I could almost see that, if I needed the money, maybe. Suddenly I wondered just how wealthy Simon was. "How big is the cock?"

"Seven and a half," he said immediately.

"Would I have to deep-throat it?"

"You'd have to try."

As ridiculous as it all was, I realized I was starting to get hard. I had to resist the half-drunken urge to put my hand over the bulge in my jeans. Even so, Simon smiled as if he knew.

One last question, then, so I asked it.

"Absolutely," Simon said. "Every drop."

"Twelve hundred," I said, and then I got up from the barstool and walked to the restroom.

* * *

I was still standing at the urinal when Simon came in and took the spot beside me. One other guy was in the restroom, washing his hands behind us.

I hadn't realized it when we were sitting at the bar, but Simon was a good four inches taller than me. He unzipped his pants without saying a word, and pulled out a very thick cock, even soft. I pretended not to see it.

The other guy left the room, and then Simon spoke, without ever looking at me. "Twelve hundred," he said. "There's a back door at the end of the hallway right out there. I'll be out there. Wait a few minutes and then meet me." He finished up, but didn't zip up his pants. Instead he held his cock in his hand and turned toward me. I was hypnotized. It already looked enormous.

When I looked up, he was grinning. "Think maybe I could've swung a better deal. But I'll keep my word. Will you?"

I couldn't say anything. I had no idea what I was doing.

With his free hand he reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. He placed a hundred dollar bill on top of the urinal. "I don't want to go outside and stand there like an idiot," he said. "I think you should show me you're going to keep your word." When he could tell that I didn't follow, he said, "Just get down and put it in your mouth for a second. Right now."

"Someone--"

"Someone might come in, I know. So make it quick and show me you're serious."

I felt drunker than I really was. He had a way of making it seem so natural, almost as if I was already obligated...

I got down on the men's room floor on one knee.

"Good," he said. He stepped forward and took my head in one of his hands, and with his other hand he brought the head of his cock, still slightly wet, up to my mouth. I opened my lips and let him slide his dick inside. My mind was racing.

When my mouth was pressed against his balls, he held my head there for three or four more seconds, until I could feel the head of his cock start to swell and press against the back of my throat. Just before I started to gag, he pulled himself free, and I watched in amazement as another man's cock reappeared out of my mouth.

He zipped up and I got to my feet. "Five minutes," he said. "Go get some water. You'll need it." And then he was gone.

I stood there for a minute, breathing hard, still tasting his salty meat in my mouth. I stared at the bill on top of the urinal. After a few more seconds, I put it in my back pocket and went to wash my hands.

***

I waited at the bar, drinking water as he'd suggested (ordered?). I wasn't thinking straight. But every time I thought about just taking off and disappearing, I remembered kneeling in front of him in the men's room. I'd already sucked his cock. The tough part, the part that it was hard to get past in my mind when we were talking about it in the first place, was already over. And Simon knew that. Once you step over the line, you can't go back and pretend it never happened. It was -- what had Simon called it? It was real life now.

So if it was part of real life now... then what did I have to lose by going outside and meeting him? Nothing. In fact I had another eleven hundred dollars to gain.

I finished the glass of water, checked my watch, and got off the barstool.

***

The back door led to a dimly lit alleyway behind the bar. I stepped outside but didn't see anyone. I walked toward the corner and came to a narrower, darker alleyway that ran along the side of the building. At the end of the alley was K Street, busy with cars and pedestrian traffic now. Halfway down on the left, almost hidden in shadows, I could see a person standing up against the brick wall a few feet away from a dumpster that shielded him from the street.

A ghost of a hand waved me over. My heart thumping in my chest, I started moving.

"True to your word," Simon said. "And so am I." He handed me a thick wad of bills, which I tried to stuff in my back pocket, hands shaking. "That's half," he went on. "You'll get the other half at the end. Sound fair?"

"Yes," I said. I wondered exactly how many laws I was breaking by doing this. It didn't matter. Twelve hundred dollars. That's how much it was worth, to take a chance.

"I'll keep an eye on things," Simon said. "You just get to work." It was so dark I couldn't read his expression at all.

I got down on my knees, trying to keep myself steady. I unzipped his khakis and slid them down. Though I couldn't see much, I could feel his cock behind the boxers, almost smell it. I pulled them down too. Then his cock was hanging there in front of my face.

Pretend it's just a mechanical thing, I thought. Like sucking a lollipop. I took his cock in my hand and put the head inside my mouth. It was fat and salty, and I ran my tongue along the underside the way my girlfriend does for me. Simon groaned and pushed himself in further, and then I started to suck, letting myself salivate to keep my mouth as wet as possible.

It wasn't difficult at first. I even found myself liking it in some strange way. Maybe I'm just a very oral person. But after a minute, Simon's dick was so big that I couldn't take more than half of it inside me.

He wasn't happy. "Take it or I'll make you take it," he said. I tried harder but couldn't relax my throat, and the gag reflex was too strong. I pulled it out and said, "Wait, I can't--" and instead of waiting he grabbed my head and thrust his cock back inside my mouth, burying it in my throat.

I gagged but he held me there in place for another second, then he pulled all the way out. I had tears in my eyes.

"And one more," he said, and then he did it again, only this time he actually fucked my throat, pumping all the way in and out three times. I tried to stay upright on my knees.

"Good," he said. "Now your mouth will be nice and wet. Suck me for real, not like you're trying to get it over with. Make me cum."

It was crazy to feel guilty, but I did, because I had been trying to get it over with. But it occurred to me now that the fastest way to get it over with was to do the best job I could on him, so he couldn't last very long.

I thought about everything I liked in a blowjob, every trick my girlfriend knew, every porn movie I'd ever watched. What made a great blowjob? Technique was a lot of it, but some of it was just the idea that the person sucking your cock really, really wanted it, that they couldn't get enough of it. I didn't have any technique, but I could pretend that I wanted it, couldn't I?

"Can I make a request?" I said, looking up at Simon. When he nodded, I said, "Can I do this naked?"

I think I finally managed to surprise him. When he recovered, he warned, "No extra money for this."

I said I understood. I stepped out of my shoes, took off my shirt -- thankful for the mild temperatures this March -- and finally unzipped my pants. Then I slid off my underwear and put everything in a pile beside the dumpster. I could feel him watching every move.

"Thank you," I said. I got back down on my knees. The ground was hard and dirty beneath me.

I took his cock back in my mouth, and gripped its base with one of my hands. I held onto his balls with the other. And then I started to really suck him, the way I like to be sucked. While I slowly jerked him off, I started using short, slow, wet strokes with my mouth, swirling the head and the underside with my tongue. Every few seconds I took him deep and held his cock there, deep down inside, taking a little more each time I did it. Then I would go back to shorter, powerful sucking, and stroking him with my hand at the same time. I fondled his large shaved balls, and reached between his legs to lightly finger his asshole.

He was groaning loudly now, so I knew I was doing the right things. And then I realized that the sounds weren't coming from him. I was the one who was groaning, with my mouth full of his dick. But every time I groaned I felt him shudder a little. And I wanted to groan. I wanted him inside my mouth. I wanted him getting harder and harder, and wanting to explode, because I was his cocksucker.

When I felt his balls start to tighten, I suddenly pulled my head back all the way. He gasped, and I said quickly, "Fuck my mouth, Simon. Please."

All part of the act. Except that just saying the words turned me on at least as much as it turned Simon on. And he responded. He grabbed my head in both hands and started thrusting his dick into me with slow, deep, powerful strokes. I felt myself gagging again but I tried to ignore it. I just kept moaning, whimpering by now, sending vibrations all through the meat that was filling my mouth. I reached around his hips to grab hold of his ass so I could pull him into my face harder. I pictured how we looked right now, him standing above me in an alley beside a dumpster, my naked ass showing, my head being forced up and down as he fucked my throat, and I almost wanted to cum myself. I sucked him harder and harder, and screamed around his dick.

The scream was what did it. A huge blast of cum exploded straight down my throat. I pulled back enough so I could take the rest more easily, still sucking Simon's dick as he came, wave after wave, the cum mixing with my saliva and building into a foam, which I slurped down my throat as I tried to draw every last ounce of fluid out of his meat.

I only slowed down when I felt him start to go soft. I stayed in place, though, letting him enjoy my warm mouth a little longer.

"God fucking damn," he said, breathing hard. He finally pulled his dick free from my mouth, and slowly pulled his pants back up.

I was still on my knees, and I didn't move. We'd both gotten used to the darkness by now, so I knew he could see me clearly.

"Oh, yeah," he said. He reached for his wallet.

"How much?" I asked.

He stopped, and waited a beat before responding. "What do you mean?"

I went down on my hands and knees on the ground. I reached back and felt my asshole, warm and moist, and let Simon watch me do it. I slipped one finger inside, and dropped my head down and moaned.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"How much would you pay," I said, looking up, "to do whatever you wanted?"

Again, he seemed startled for a second, but he recovered quickly enough. "Whatever I want?"

I slipped a second finger inside my asshole, and started moving my ass around in a circle, slow and easy.

"So one price for everything," he said. "And you'd have to do it."

Again, I didn't answer.

"I can fuck you. Piss on you. Piss down your throat." He waited. I groaned and kept fucking myself. "Anything is big. Dressing you up like a little bitch. Making you blow me in a restaurant. Cumming on your face. Fuck, it's more than that. Anything is raping you with a baseball bat. Making you take my dog's cock up your ass, then making you suck it clean. You don't know what anything really means."

"How much," was all I said. I kept moving my ass.

He just stared at me for another ten seconds. Then he unzipped his pants. When he took out his cock, I could see that he was amazingly, completely hard again. He started walking toward me... "How much," I said, louder. I dropped my head again, fucking my ass hard with my fingers.

"Ten thousand," he breathed, getting behind me.

"Every day for a month," I said. I was breathing hard too, now. "A month... anything you want. Everything you said... and more."

He knelt down on the ground. Lined up the head of his cock with my asshole, and dragged it around the edge.

"I'll cum in your mouth when I'm done," he said. "And I want you to beg for it."

"Tell me," I said.

"A hundred thousand," he said.

I felt his cock pushing against me. "Simon," I said, arching my back and getting ready for him. "Please... fuck my ass, Simon... Fuck my little asshole..."

He put both hands around my ass, and pushed open my legs violently with one of his knees. "Let's get started," he said.

His cock slid inside me, tearing me open. I closed my eyes, and fucked. It was going to be a long, bruising month.