Adventures of a London Call Boy by Ben Franckx Read Free Book Online Page B

a perfectly shaved, silky smooth peach beneath. She was obviously well prepared. She undid my fly and reached for my cock. While I played with her with one hand and she massaged me even harder, I pulled out a trusty Trojan from the wallet in my back pocket. She took it from me, opened it, put the teat between her teeth, and bent over to perform a cunning trick that I love, rolling it down my shaft with the roll against her teeth as my cock moved to the back of her pretty little mouth.
    Then she stood up suddenly.
    â€˜From behind,’ she demanded, moving past me toward the wall.
    I followed her round and reached between her legs, pushing her skirt up over her buttocks, spreading her thighs apart and then pushing my cock up and into her. She gasped as I thrust my way further in. She pressed her hands and face against the wall while I held her hips steady with both hands, settling into a steady rhythm. Then I reached round and found her clit, using her moisture to run my index finger up and down it. She came surprisingly quickly, clearly aware of the need for haste, and despite her trembling I managed to control myself, before moving my hands back to her hips to concentrate on my own pleasure.
    At which stage, sadly, the door opened. The movement caught my eye, but not hers.
    It was my deputy manageress. For a moment I wondered whether she might want to join in and prepared to hold on for a while.
    I stopped and the red-haired girl turned too.
    â€˜What the …’ she began.
    â€˜I’m sorry missy, but fucking the staff is not included with the price of a drink. Even as much as you had.’ The girl as good as jumped off me, a horrified look on her face, before hitching her skirt back down. She shook herself down like a riled cat, before huffing her way back inside the bar. I realised that her knickers were tucked into my pocket and briefly thought about offering to return them.
    â€˜And as for you,’ added my deputy boss. ‘You’re fired. Put your fucking cock away and get out.’
    â€˜Are you sure I can’t put it to some good use? It’s like a rock …’
    â€˜You disgust me. Get out.’
    â€˜You can’t fire me. You’re not the landlord.’
    â€˜If I say you’re fired, you’re fired. Now get the fuck out.’
    Shit. I thought. Sacked, and I hadn’t even come.
    I also realised that I’d been stitched up. The new bouncer, as well as being a giant who could barely walk because of his muscle-pumped frame, was also a born-again moralist of one strict religion or another. He saw part of his work as a doorman as making sure as little surreptitious sex took place as possible, starting with me. If only I’d realised that it wasn’t my usual mate I would have left off the wink and probably gotten away with it.
    That evening was the start of a bad run of luck. It’s not fun being out of work, particularly when your last two references have gone up in smoke, in one case quite spectacularly, with me doing my best impression of a randy penguin.
    Celeste saw it as proof of my addiction. Apparently, once a repetitive habit affects your work, that’s a sign of addiction.
    â€˜Crap,’ I said, but it had started to get under my skin.

Chapter Twelve
    In the end, it was clear that it wasn’t an addiction.
    I think there’s a difference between, let’s say, crack, and sex. You can steal enough money to get crack, or you can go on a programme, or you can get worse, cheaper drugs. I’m not sure there are drugs that are much worse than crack, but there must be, a bit like when the Costco on my street was undercut by a worse, cheaper all-night beer and crisps store across the way. Anyway, somehow or another, if you’re addicted, you’ll get high. Maybe that’s what happens with proper sex addiction: you end up doing anything with anyone.
    But it became pretty clear I didn’t have an addiction. I was just