Page 13 of Rise of a Fallen Man

Chapter 4

Salas

Eight years later

“And that’s how it’s done!” I smirked triumphantly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’re on fire tonight, my lady.”

Madam Edirp, the banker from Main Street, moaned one last time, then closed her legs, and rolled to her side.

“Did I beat my last record, Salas?”

“Close, madam. If we count from before the dinner tonight, this was your orgasm number seven.”

“Really?” she murmured, raking her fingers through the hair on my chest. “You’re simply magnificent tonight, sweetie.”

“You flatter me, my lady.” I caught her hand and removed it from my chest.

At times, I felt worn out to the point when physical contact irritated me. I placed a kiss on her hand to make it look like a caress rather than what it really was—a rejection.

She giggled like a girl half her age. “It certainly felt like you sent me all the way to the afterlife a time or two. Come here, handsome.” She hooked her arm around my neck to pull me closer. “You deserve a kiss.”

Kisses were not necessary. I worked for money, not kisses. My job was to give Madam Edirp as many orgasms as she could handle. In exchange, she paid Traeh handsomely, and Traeh provided me with room and board, as well as put some money aside for when I’d be too old or too sick to work.

But of course, I couldn’t pull away from Madam Edirp, not without risking to offend her. So, I let her guide me down to her puckered mouth and parted my lips when her tongue prodded against them.

“Hmm,” she hummed in pleasure, breaking the kiss after a moment or two. “I love tasting me on you. It’s so deliciously wicked.”

Wicked boys grew into wicked men.

I’d been working at Traeh’s fun house for eight years now and had grown rather comfortable here. Most clients treated us kindly. There were a few who preferred to dominate. Some were even aroused by cruelty, just like Lady Lana. But unlike before, I was never left to deal with them on my own. Traeh and Erif had rules to protect the men working for them and tried not to let any situation get out of control.

By the age of twenty-five, I had a solid base of regular customers. Most, like Madam Edirp, paid for an evening and the entire night after. For many, sex wasn’t the most important or even the most requested activity. Madam Edirp, for example, went through this type of multi-orgasmic indulgence only about once a month. If she visited me on any other night in between, she usually just ordered me to make her tea and spoon her as she slept. She claimed that my tea improved her digestion and the spooning was good for her backache.

I had one client who only requested a massage of her legs and feet. While I delivered it, she liked to complain out loud about her neighbors, her store’s customers, and her in-laws. Our conversation rarely required any input on my part.

Another one liked to recount to me all the dreams and night terrors she’d had since the last time she saw me. I’d serve her tea and listen patiently as she talked. Some nights, she’d allow me to make her come on my fingers. Other nights, she wouldn’t let me touch her at all.

I tried to make sure my clients enjoyed the time spent with me, but there was one thing I couldn’t give them, no matter how much they offered to pay me. It was love.

Most women understood that their money bought them only my time and access to my body. But some had the love fantasy in mind. They demanded an emotional involvement, too, and that was impossible to feel for me and very hard to fake. Despite my extensive experience with sex and pleasure, I still knew nothing about love.

Regardless of whether it was sex or love they searched for in a fun house, loneliness was the main reason that brought many of my clients into my arms. And in that, we were similar. Despite falling asleep while hugging a woman almost every night, I often felt alone.

Madam Edirp stretched in bed, her eyelids drooping.

“Oh, I’ll sleep so well tonight,” she murmured, relaxing into the bedding.

I pulled the covers over her bare shoulders. The old house sometimes got drafty at night.

“I’ll be right back,” I said and padded into the adjacent bathroom to brush my teeth.

I changed from my pants into a pair of long underwear that I liked to sleep in. During the entire night so far, my pants had never come off. For a man of my occupation, I didn’t have nearly as much sex as the general population might think.

Like Traeh had warned me back when I’d first crossed the threshold of this establishment, our work here was all about the clients’ pleasure. Women paid me for their orgasms, not mine. Some enjoyed the actual fucking, but not everyone requested it and not for every visit. Even when a penetration was requested, my climax was never the goal. If I came, it often happened as a side effect.

The visits when I was required to be inside a woman were when the clients brought their daughters to me to help them get rid of their virginity.

These visits were often shorter. The daughters acted uneasily around me, looking like they couldn’t wait for it to be over with. Some focused too much on the process, as if I were giving them a lesson in class. They clearly were educating themselves on what to do with their virginal husbands afterwards.

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