Tom's Appointment

Vicky sat on the side of the bed, breathing heavily and wiping sweat off her forehead.

"That was great, Tom. Thank you," she said. She bent down and kissed his cheek, then removed his gag. His eyes drooped with fatigue, hair plastered to his scalp with sweat.

She stood and carefully untied him, letting his aching limbs rest in more natural positions. He laid there in an aching, exhausted stupor as she stripped and showered, and only came to a bit of awareness as she returned and ran several warm washcloths over his tortured frame.

"Like I said," she said, "I'm happy to accept any tips you think I earned. I don't always do repeat customers, but if you ever feel like getting yourself all worn out again, I'll give you a discount. I don't get to cum that hard very often."

Tom somehow managed to get out of the bed and get dressed. He dug the handful of bills that had been set aside for a tip out of his pocket and dropped them in front of her, and stumbled out of the apartment.

He had taken a ride service from his place; he took one back as well. His apartment was empty when he got there, and he collapsed fully-clothed onto his bed and slept for a day.

He was awakened by a phone call from Sam.

"So, was it Totally Satisfying?" asked Sam, a chuckle in his voice.

"You owe me a hundred bucks, fucker," said Tom. His mouth tasted like death and his lower body felt like someone had driven over it. He thought back to the event, remembering the helplessness, the pain, and the pleasure.

His cock twitched a little bit, and started to rise.

"Yeah, we do," admitted Sam. "We'll come over tonight and pay it off, no worries."

Tom reached down and randomly stroked his length through his wrinkled pants, mind going back to Vicky's beautiful rack.

"Ok. But... how about double or nothing?"