Home    Short Stories    Excerpts    Blog    About     Patreon    Books    Contact

This site contains explicit stories of sexual & kinky fantasies and is not intended for readers under 18.

A Working Man’s Treat

by | excerpt | 0 comments

On holidays, Martin gave himself permission to get a treat. He deserved it, in his opinion. He went most of the year being good, being presentable, being a father and a husband, and an asset to his community. So on the lesser holidays, like Presidents Day or Columbus Day or what have you, he would tell his wife he was going to the club, for racquetball and drinks and maybe a show. Instead, he would go into the city for a treat.

Martin made good money. He worked in commercial real estate development, which, if you had a good sales pitch, could vary in profit margins greatly. He was a confident man and a fast talker, so often he got big commissions. He even occasionally did some off-the-books jobs for certain shady individuals who didn’t like to have invoices and so on with their names on them. Those jobs gave him the freedom to have a little fun once in a while.

He made enough that his wife didn’t have to work much. She did charity work. She worked for political campaigns. She took care of the kids. She kept busy enough that she didn’t question him. He specifically set up his life so that he wasn’t questioned much by anyone.

So that Veterans Day he drove into town and got a train into the city.

At forty-five, he was a reasonably handsome man. Still plenty of pepper along with the spattering of salt in his hair. Not a movie star, but someone tall and broad with a winning smile. He dated a lot in high school and college. He was a bit of a lady’s man, but when he met his wife the summer after he graduated, he decided she was the person he wanted to start a life with. That didn’t mean all of his fun would end, though.

He wore brown slacks and a powder blue short sleeve button-up shirt. He carried a bag with his rackets and a change of clothes, mostly for appearances.

He liked getting away with things. He liked the rush of getting over on people. He liked getting what he wanted. He even liked spending money he’d made doing slightly devious things. It made him giddy, like a kid.

The hotel was only two blocks from Penn Station. A glorious old monster of a building with a huge lobby decked out in red and gold. Walking through the revolving doors he smiled at the army of bellhops and attendants.

He could have gone shopping on his way, but there was a decadence in ordering a bottle of bourbon, a bottle of champagne, and various little snacks from room service.

He got a suite. A huge room with a king-sized bed and a couch and all sorts of accoutrements. He opened the curtains and looked out on the city and sighed contently. It was only a few minutes later that the phone rang.

“Two guests for you, sir. Shall I send them up?” The concierge asked in a cool respectable manner. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

It was through some of his shady clients that he found out about the service. Expensive, reliable, discreet, and professional. With a wide selection. Martin had paged through a little binder of polaroids a few weeks before and picked two beauties. A boy and a girl. In their early twenties, they looked like models and perhaps siblings.

When there was a knock at the door he soon saw them in the flesh.

They looked like they were also going to a pretend racquetball game. He was in a white polo and white shorts. She was in a similar shirt and short white tennis skirt. They were tanned and smiling and could very easily fit in at a country club.

“Please, come in,” Martin said, waving them in. They walked in smiling but cautious.

Read the rest for free on my Patreon!

If you enjoyed any of the stories on this site, you may want to support Jack on Patreon. There you can read his new works, get access to his archive of over 100 short stories, and find all kinds of other treats, like audio versions of his stories, ebooks, and his full-length novels.


Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *