Chapter 1
1
T he heart-shaped tassels Sal had pasted over their nipples were peeling a little at the edges. They turned sideways, adjusted their cupless bra, and tried to stick them down subtly. Their burlesque troupe, Magenta Milk, had been hired to perform at Pyramid, a fancy kink bar that hosted slutty events. It had been a good show. No one had fallen over. No one had accidentally kicked anyone else in the tits. The crowd had seemed a little too drunk and horny to really appreciate the dancing, but it was fun anyway. Now the bar’s atmosphere was hotter, darker, the evening morphing toward the all-in sex party that kicked off after midnight.
Sal sipped their mega can of IPA, hoping to drown a couple of the butterflies in their stomach. They didn’t know the rest of the dance troupe as well as the others knew each other. And Ammy, their roommate and best friend, was on the other side of the club, flirting with some middle-aged couple who clearly couldn’t believe their luck. Ammy liked playing unicorn; Sal, not so much. In their heart—though they’d been trying their best to deny it—they wanted something serious—a person to watch movies with. Order takeout beside. Someone to, though merely thinking the word made them cringe, love .
But looking for love at a sex party was pretty damn silly. Sal rarely ran across someone they wanted touching their left ass cheek at these kinds of things, let alone a person to have and to hold for the rest of our lives, so help us God, and so forth.
Sal could have left right after the performance like the dancers who were either monogamous or not into the group thing, but part of them always struggled to cut the cord at events. After all, what if tonight was The Night? What if the stars aligned and they did meet someone cute outside the unisex bathrooms, and it was immediately fireworks and forevermore?
“Highly unlikely, Sal-Sal,” Klaus would have said, but he wasn’t here. He had a new girlfriend, and he and Molly were probably at home, frothing over their honeymoon vibes.
It had been three years since Sal had lived with Klaus, and the relationship had become more ‘best friends’ than ‘partners’ even before they’d split. But it was strange to see the guy who’d taught them so much about non-binary gender identity and self-acceptance fall head over heels for a cis girl. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed, nary a tattoo to be seen, cis girl, at that. Not that Sal wanted Klaus—exactly the opposite. Despite identifying as non-binary for almost a decade, they still wanted to be Molly. Sure of who they were and how to present themselves. Comfortable in the pronouns that got slapped on them every time they left the house.
Other cultures had more flexible terms for gender than the Western binary, but Sal was living in the Western binary world, and they were not a Western binary girl.
They could choreograph a drag performance to Material Girl, Sal mused as they knocked back the last of their IPA. Change the lyrics, and get one of those half-girl, half-boy dress tuxedos. But that wasn’t the right metaphor. They often didn’t feel like they were either of those words. They moved between roles like aliens through different dimensions.
Here I am, a teaching assistant to young children.
Here I am, a queer femme on stage.
Here I am, a sister, a sister-in-law and an aunt to sweet baby boys.
Here I am, a winter bimbo.
Here I am, a warm-weather fuckboy.
Sal thought of a line from Natalie Wynn, the trans YouTuber who’d blown their mind back in 2021. “I look inside and ask, ‘Do I feel like a man or a woman?’ And after all these years, the answer is still that I feel like shit.”
As always, the quote made them snort and instantly feel better. Who gave a fuck why they were non-binary. All Sal knew was that it worked for them, and since that didn’t hurt anyone else, it wasn’t a problem. Even if the dude they’d gone on a date with last week had spent the last twenty minutes of it banging on about DNA.
“Being non-binary isn’t biology,” Bradley had drooled into his pint. “You can believe whatever you want, but it’s not natural.”
“Fuck off,” Sal had snapped, grabbing their purse. “You told me you’re on dick pills.”
“So?”
“So that’s pretty unnatural. If your dick doesn’t work, that’s biology. No pills, no solutions. You got that dead dick.”
They’d walked off without another word, but that didn’t stop Bradley the Binary Gender Biologist from texting the next day to ask for nudes.
You can’t judge me just for having my own opinions , he’d written, whacking a sad face emoji on the end to make it extra pathetic. I still really wanna hook up .
I don’t , Sal had replied. And I wasn’t just judging you for your numpty opinions. I also factored in your dogshit personality. Ya blocked.
A satisfying experience, but not one that was going to lead Sal to have any fun at an increasingly horny-vibed party. There were a lot of people attending tonight, and all of them seemed to be hot.
Cautiously optimistic, Sal took another lap around the place, collecting a fresh beer as they went. Everyone was starting to pair up—sitting together in groups of four or five. If they didn’t catch a crowd soon, they’d be left behind. Luckily, they could see a few people checking them out. The red thigh high boots, matching lingerie and nipple adornments were very much doing their job.
Sal pushed their shoulders back, displaying the goods at their highest possible quality. People sometimes asked how they could be non-binary and rocking a H-cup rack. Sal usually replied with some version of ‘Why does anything do anything? I love my tits.’ Hopefully, they’d be able to find someone who loved them too, at least for about forty-five minutes...
“Sal?”
They turned to find some dude smiling down at them. He looked familiar. That was the first thing they noticed. The second was Jesus H Benjamin Christ . Hot people might be packed to the rafters at Pyramid tonight, but this was action movie shit. Square jaw, massive chest, light brown hair falling into icy blue eyes kind of nonsense.
“Hey,” he said.
“Um, hey.” Sal’s heart hammered in a way that felt vaguely lethal.
The guy leaned in, as though determined to blind her with his sapphire eye-lamps. “It is Sal, right?”
“Do we… know each other?”
The guy laughed. “Kind of? I’m Curt. Curtis Ingram?”
No bells rang in the vicinity of Sal’s brain, but panic wouldn’t let them acknowledge that. They wished phones were allowed in Pyramid, but everyone had to leave them in a cupboard at the front door, for obvious reasons, so Googling the name wasn’t an option. Sal decided to do the only other sensible thing—lie. “Oh yeah! Hi, Curt!”
The guy looked relieved. “Been a while, hey?”
I dunno, is my whole life ‘a while’?
“Yeah, totally,” Sal agreed. “Having fun?”
“For sure,” he said easily. “It’s not my usual scene, but it’s been great.”
“What’s your usual scene?”
He raised a brow. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Curtis Ingram,” Sal said promptly.
“And we met each other…?”
“Once upon a time…?”
He laughed, but it was obvious he felt stung. “At your place. I’m mates with your brother, Byron. At least I was back in the day.”
“Oh.”
That narrowed the margin, but the truth was Byron had a lot of mates ‘back in the day,’ and those footy-beer-Nintendo guys all looked the same.
Still, Sal wanted to believe they’d have remembered Curtis Ingram. There was a chemistry burning between them that Sal hadn’t felt since… Sal didn’t think they’d ever felt it. Not this tight ironclad connection like a train cable yanking them closer and closer.
Then they remembered coming home from a party to find a bunch of guys yahooing on the couch. Byron was off having a fight with his girlfriend, and Sal had wanted to leave, but they’d left their headphones on a shelf. As they’d looked for them, all the dudes had started talking—asking how old they were and whether they liked footy. Sal had been a little bit flattered, a little bit hopeful all these hot dudes were feeling it. But as soon as they accepted a beer, things had gone haywire. They remembered a flash of ice-blue eyes and a smirk. “What bra size you rocking these days, Sally? Triple F?”
“Oh my God!” Sal whacked Curtis on the arm. “You’re the guy who was a complete dick to me about my rack!”
They had never seen anyone go as red faster than Curtis Ingram. It wasn’t just his cheeks; it was his neck, his ears, his chin. He looked like someone had thrown a bucket of paint in his face.
“I am s-so, so fucking s-sorry,” he sputtered. “That was full bad behaviour on my end.”
“Yeah, it was,” Sal said, whacking him again. “You said, ‘Has anyone ever told you your jugs are like high credit loans?’ And I was like, ‘What do you mean?’ and you said, ‘They just keep gaining interest,’ and everyone laughed at me !”
“Fuuuuck, I’m so fucking sorry. You musta thought I was such a cunt…”
“Yeah! You were a right bastard!” Sal smacked him a third time for good measure. “If Byron ever found out you said that…”
“He’d have killed me, and I’d have deserved it.”
“You sure would have, you S-tier creepo!”
“I dunno what that means, but I get the picture.” Curtis pressed the back of his hand to his still-burning face. “I am seriously so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
His fingers were massive, twisted in a way Sal had only seen on guys who played football. The sizzle of attraction that ran through them was as unexpected as it was scary. Without making the conscious decision to do so, Sal found themselves moving closer to Curtis Ingram, looking up into his face like they were a little, lost puppy. “At least you feel bad. Plenty of guys who bullied me didn’t.”
Curtis blinked down at her, and his face somehow grew redder. “I dunno how to say this without sounding like I’m making excuses, but, uh, I was into you back then.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. Massive crush.”
He looked away, bashful as a baby lamb, and heat bloomed through Sal’s middle like a tropical flower. Despite everything, ‘meeting someone hot and banging it out’ might actually be happening. With an ex-bully no less. Because Sal loved subby dudes who knew how to take a beating, and despite Curtis Ingram’s height and history of mad cuntery, he was one hundred percent giving that vibe. They smiled up at their brother’s old friend, subtly tucking their elbows in tight to create maximum titty tunnel. “I can’t believe you were only mean to me because you were pulling my pigtails...”
“Sorry,” Curtis said again. “I was a stupid teenager, but I still shouldn’t have done that.”
“I can handle a little rough stuff. But how am I supposed to know you’re being honest about having feelings for baby-Sal, Curtis Ingram?”
He huffed out a laugh. “Hot little thing who doesn’t take shit from anyone? What’s not to love?”
It occurred to Sal that he hadn’t used female pronouns once, and they felt a rush of optimism. If Curtis was this hot and they didn’t have to have The Conversation, this was shaping up to be the best night they’d had in a long time.
“So, my massive tits didn’t factor into your mean crush at all?” Sal teased.
His face flushed again, and Sal would have bet every dollar to their name—around twenty or so—that they were holding off staring directly at their rack by a thread.
“Sorry,” he said, for what felt like the dozenth time. “I know I probably came off like some cocky asshole, but it was all a front. I had no idea how to talk to girls. Still don’t, as you can probably tell.”
Shiiiiiit.
The disappointment Sal felt must have shown on their face, because Curtis frowned. “What’s up?”
This was the problem with meeting someone in person—no bios to list pronouns in. Sal often wondered if they should invest in a they/them face tattoo. They opened their mouth to correct him, and nothing came out.
What the fuck? Sal thought. I do this every day. Why is this so fucking hard?
“Sal? You ‘right?”
They tore their gaze from Curtis Ingram’s bright blue eyes and summoned up all their non-binary courage. “It’s fine…” they began. “But I’m not… I don’t… I’m not a girl.”
Curtis’s forehead scrunched. “Sorry?”
His confusion was understandable. It was one of the sloppiest comeouts Sal had ever executed. “I mean, I don’t identify as a girl anymore. I’m non-binary. One of those they/thems, ya know?”
“Non-binary?”
He said it like it was French or something. Like he had no idea how to use the phrase properly. But he wasn’t walking away, and he wasn’t being a dick. Again, Sal fought back a wave of insecurity that shocked them. They were out to everyone; at home, at dancing, at work. Everyone who taught at Sunshine Primary called them ‘them’, including the kids. How was giving this spiel to one hot dude rocking their shit so hard?
“Yeah, I’m not really a man or a woman,” Sal forced themselves to say. “It’s, like… somewhere outside of all that.”
They watched Curtis digest the news, braced for annoyance or outright hostility, but he just nodded, his forehead still scrunched like he was trying to solve a tricky math problem. “Okay, so you’re not a girl, and you’re not a guy, you’re… in between?”
“Not really. It’s hard to explain, but I sometimes feel like both or neither. It’s fluid, you know? Not just one thing. It's more like, whatever feels right in the moment. Not having to define myself by what I’m not .”
Curtis’s eyebrows lifted so high it was like they were trying to escape his face.
“Does that make zero sense?” Sal asked. They tried to make it sound like an off-the-cuff comment, but it came out well insecure.
His eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I can tell you mean it, but it’s hard to get my head around.”
“I get that,” Sal said, feeling stupidly, embarrassingly, reassured. Someone behind them let out a feminine shout of laughter, and for the first time since they’d clapped eyes on Curtis, Sal wondered if they should have just pretended to not know him and run away. This was turning into way too much. Then, Curtis raised the rum and coke he’d been holding to his mouth, and they reacknowledged his full, beautiful lips.
Fuck it, I can handle this , Sal thought, taking a mega chug of beer. I need mints, though. Mints and condoms and…
“So, how long have you…?” Curtis trailed off as though he was too scared to say ‘non-binary’ wrong.
“Identified this way? Ages. Everyone knows. Byron knows.”
Sal could have kicked themselves. They’d evolved beyond using their big brother’s support to validate their choices. At least, they were supposed to have done that.
“That’s cool,” Curtis said. “Byron being supportive and stuff. And I’ve got no issues; I’m just trying to work everything out in my brain.”
“That’s fair. Especially if I’m the first enbie you’ve ever met.”
“You are.”
He said it like it was something special, something interesting and new. They smiled at each other, and again, Sal felt the flicking heat of attraction.
He moved closer, bowing his head to ask quietly. “Am I, uh, still allowed to think you’re beautiful?”
Woah, Nelly. Sal was a little dazed by both the question and the sincerity in his voice. “I… Yes. I like that.”
“Cool.”
Curtis held their gaze for a beat too long, and they both looked away, smirking into their drinks. Sal was about to suggest they head somewhere a little more private, then the thought struck them: what was Curtis Ingram doing at Pyramid? It was a Melbourne institution but only in certain circles, and Curtis vibed about as queer as a kitchen chair.
“Did you come here with someone?” Sal asked. “A… partner or…?”
He stopped smiling, the nervous lamb look returning to his face. “Honestly?”
Shit.
“Sure.” Sal tensed for whatever fucked up answer Curtis Ingram was about to give. Probably that he was married to some girl who also bullied Sal in high school, or had shown up specifically to punch someone in the back of the head. “Always go with honesty.”
He looked away, blinking hard. “Well, if we’re being honest… I follow you on Instagram and I saw you were dancing here tonight and I, uh, thought that, uh, like I said, I always had a crush on you and, uh… fuck, I told you I’m not good at this stuff…”
Sal gaped at Curtis. The blindsided feeling was back, strong as a strike across the face. If they’d recognised Curtis, they would have been shocked he was following them, let alone that he’d come to a horny party to watch their performance. “I… That’s kind of… Did you like the show?”
He rocked back on his heels and let out a little whistle. “Oh yeah. You’re fucking amazing. So sexy.”
I like him.
The clarity of the thought was almost as shocking as the fact he’d come to Pyramid. But they didn’t want to analyse it. Didn’t want to think through the implications beyond the fact they were at a horny party with the hottest dude they’d seen in a long time and he thought they were beautiful. Sal grabbed Curtis’ hand, and his eyes went wide.
“Are you fine with me being non-binary?” they demanded. “Like, you’ll call me by my pronouns? “They’ instead of ‘her’ and all that?”
“Of course!”
“Great. Wanna hook up?”
Curtis looked like he could hardly believe his eyes. “Here, you mean?”
“Yup. Right here.”
Sal had no intention of going back to their share house with Curtis Ingram, or going with him to his. They wanted to burn this up as quickly as possible, before something went wrong. Before he said something dumb. Before he revealed himself to be privately okay with their pronouns and totally unwilling to back it up in public. Before it all fucked up the way it had for Sal with straight-presenting guys so many times before.
“Jesus,” Curtis ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, of course I want... as long as you…”
“I’m one hundred percent down,” Sal said, tugging his hand toward the back of the club. “Let’s get a place.”
Sal eyed Curtis. He was standing in the middle of the mirrored room, looking as out of place as a fully dressed dude could at a sex party. It was one of the furthest areas from the main drag of the party and completely empty. At least on this level. Above were glass booths; observation rooms, though by what Sal could see, a lot of them were watching and playing at once. The low pink and blue lights meant the mirrored room wasn’t too tractor-beamy or unflattering, but anyone inside was one hundred percent able to be seen. A pair of twenty-somethings walked up to the glass, and Sal felt themselves expand under the eyes of the new spectators. They’d always been a slut for attention. A shameless lover of exhibitionism and dominance. They loved playing publicly in safe places, and there were few places safer than this. And they were ready. They had ducked into the bathroom to suck three mints, put their underwear outside their garter belt, and collect a condom from the bowl in the sink. They felt sexy and sleek and ready to make a big old mess of Curtis Ingram—if they could.
Sal watched him take a closer look at a low velvet couch. It had built-in Velcro leg and arm shackles, and from the way Curtis was staring, he was definitely keen. He was wearing a perfectly fitted shirt and perfectly fitted jeans, all in perfectly masculine blues and greys. A nice boy, eager to be something he wasn’t. A jock type who probably couldn’t communicate except through alpha bloke behaviour. Sal felt a smile curl the corner of their mouth. If a walk on the wild side was going to happen—and lord, they wanted it to happen—Sal would have to take charge.
“What do you think?” they asked. “Is this room okay?”
He jolted like he’d just been busted touching himself. “I… If you’re okay with it…?”
“I am. How do you wanna do this?”
“What, um, what do you mean?”
Sal put their hands on their hips, and struck the cuntiest pose they knew. “Can I be in charge?”
Curtis gripped one of his sleeves, tugging at the plaid. “I… Yeah. You can do whatever—whatever the fuck you want.”
That was exactly what Sal wanted to hear. Even better than what they wanted to hear, because the way his voice caught was so sweetly submissive it made them a little lightheaded. Acting on instinct, they reached behind themselves and removed their cupless bra. Everything God had given them bounced free, and they peeled off the nipple tassels, revealing the tight, raspberry-coloured beads that had always been Sal’s favourite part of their body.
Curtis’s mouth dropped. “Jesus…”
They stepped closer, the movements feeling fluid as the heat running through them. “Feeling a little out of your depth, huh?”
He gave a strangled laugh. “When it comes to you, I always am.”
“What if I told you I liked you that way? Lost and looking for direction from me?”
He glanced up at where more people had gathered, no doubt intrigued by the match they made—the six-foot-three normie and the five-foot-two enbie in the red lingerie and drag boots. Sal waited for him to run for the hills, but despite the red blazing a path across his neck, he looked strangely determined. He pushed back his shoulders, and Sal noticed how big he was. Not just tall, but broad and muscly. A proper gym bro, probably. Their smile grew wider. “You like being controlled, don’t you, Curtis?”
“I, uh, I dunno.”
“That’s okay.” Sal pointed to the bed. “Take your clothes off and lie down.”
“All of them? Like you want me naked?”
“Is that a problem?”
He shook his head, a smile contradicting his flush. There was desire burning hot in his eyes and a noticeable bulge forming in his jeans, but he tugged harder at his shirt sleeve, not taking it off. Sal decided he needed a push. “I see you, Curtis Ingram. You want to let someone else take the lead.”
He nodded, then shook his head, both motions so miniscule Sal could hardly see them.
“You’re freaked out,” they said, stepping closer. “Super cute, really, but I like anyone who doesn’t know what they want if they’re willing to let me show them what I want. So take off your clothes, Curtis. Give in.”
They saw the instant he decided to go there. He undressed slowly, like a proper fucking tease. Toeing off his Docs and socks, slowly unbuttoning his shirt from the top to the bottom. His body was divine. Michelangelo shit. But he avoided meeting their eyes as he dropped his jeans. Sal felt the intoxicating rush of power, that sense that their presence was pulling everything into alignment with their wants and needs. It wasn’t something they felt much in everyday life, and they loved Domming for that reason. Control. Power.
As Curtis stepped out of his jeans, his tight briefs made it clear his cock was at straining point, and there was a lot to work with. Sal’s mouth went dry. “You should think about doing drag. Stripping.”
He looked away, grinning. “I can’t really dance.”
“Well, you can sure take your clothes off. Underwear too, please.”
He yanked down his briefs with a smirk, and Sal understood why he was back to acting like a jock-boy. He had a fantastic dick, thick with an upward curve that had Sal’s pussy clenching.
Curtis reached down and took himself in his hand. “You like that?”
“You’ll find out,” Sal shot back. “Get on the bed.”
Curtis hesitated a second before letting go of himself and lying on the velvet couch.
Sal strutted closer, feeling taller than they had on stage. “We need a safe word. How’s ‘brick’?”
Curtis nodded.
“Say it.”
“Brick.”
“Good. You’re sexier when you pay attention. Now, show me you can keep up and slide your hands into the straps.”
Curtis did what he was told, and Sal moved around him, trying to ignore the heat coming off his insane body, all tanned muscle and heavy bone—Masc with a capital M.
I’m in charge , they chanted in their mind. He’s just some guy, and I’m in charge.
They pulled the Velcro straps tight around Curtis’s heavy wrists. “You okay? Not too tight?”
“Nope.”
“And you’re sure you’re into this?”
Curtis nodded again, but the question was only a formality. His cock was heavy, leaking slightly on his tanned eight pack. Definitely a gym rat. Maybe a personal trainer or something terminally heterosexual like that. It occurred to Sal that they didn’t even know what Curtis did, but that was a good thing. It was bad enough he’d been friends with Byron. Looking down at their willing prisoner, Sal felt a rush of time pressure: to strap this lug of a dude down, bang him hard, then dash into the night. A quick fuck and an even quicker escape. They moved around the bed and urged Curtis’ ankles into the foot straps, taping them over. The Velcro was too strong for Sal to shift when they were in place, but they doubted Curtis would have that problem. Still, due diligence was due.
Sal put two fingers under Curtis’ chin, forcing him to meet their eyes. “Trust me to make this good?”
“I do, I’m just... not used to this,” he said quietly.
“I can tell.” Sal brushed their free hand down the hard ridges of his chest. He shuddered like they’d taken his cock into their mouth. “But you don’t need to pretend you’re something you’re not with me. This is different. I’m different. You like that, right?”
He nodded, shifting Sal’s fingers with his chin.
“So let go. Let me do what you want and use you however I want.”
Curtis stiffened for a second, then his body relaxed, and he pressed his head back into the velvet couch and closed his eyes.
“Okay.” The lone word sounded exactly like surrender. Sal smiled. Dominating was all about balance; letting your sub breathe and understand everything was on their terms, but keeping the leash tight enough to make it fun for everyone involved. They pulled the condom from their garter and tore it open.
“I’m gonna be honest with you, Curt,” they said conversationally. “Usually, I’d play with anyone I had strapped down for a good long while, but I’m horny and still angry you talked mad shit about my incredible body.”
He grinned, eyes still closed. “Thought you forgave me for that, babe?”
Babe. It was such a simple gender-neutral term, but it was how he said it so quickly and possessively that felt like a punch to Sal’s gut. They were supposed to be in charge, and it felt like he was trying to top them even with all his limbs pinned down.
“God forgives,” they said. “I don’t.”
It was a great line, but the condom was trembling between Sal’s fingers. They fought hard to conceal it as they brought their shaking hands to Curtis’s shaft.
He let out a low grunt as Sal gripped him.
"We're going right to it, huh?”
Sal rolled the condom down his cock, as wetness soaked between their legs. “Got a problem with that, Curt?”
He shook his head, but his teeth were clenched tight. Sal felt his cock pulse in their hand and knew he was as pent-up and frustrated as they were.
“You better not come before I do,” Sal warned. “Or I’ll leave you all tied up here and see what the others feel like doing to you.”
Curtis gave a tight moan, like he didn’t want that but couldn’t help the way it turned him on. His eyes were still shut fast, and Sal had a bright idea. They stepped out of their G-string and draped the red material over his eyes. “Hold tight. Don’t make my panties move or I won’t fuck you.”
Curtis grunted, his nostrils flaring. “You smell amazing.”
And you seem like trouble , Sal thought, but there’s no way we’re not doing this .
They looked up, drawing strength from the semi-anonymous faces watching.
I am Sal Thomas . Cower before me.
Holding their breath, they put a knee onto the couch and straddled Curtis’ naked stomach. It was as hard as the cock between his legs, and Sal stroked their pussy along the muscle. Curtis snorted, jerking hard against his Velcro bonds. “Sal…”
“What?” they asked, sliding a little faster. “You want more?”
“I want you to sit on my face,” he panted. “I wanna make you come or kiss you or?—”
“Shut up. This is about what I want, remember?”
He must have, because he stopped talking and let Sal grind, their tits swaying into his face, their cunt contracting as they spread silken wetness across his abdomen.
“You like that people are watching us?” Sal whispered. “You like them looking?”
“I wanna look at you. I wanna see your body before we f?—”
Sal gripped his cock and sank down. They’d intended to stay silent, but they couldn’t help gasping at the thickness pushing them apart. The curve went to some insane place inside them, seated as though this former mean boy’s dick had been made for them.
Curtis bucked like an angry bull. “Fucking hell, babe. Shit. ”
Sal wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, but they couldn’t. It was too good. They were already rocking, pumping, rotating their hips like they were working a pole. “God, you’re so big.”
“Fuck off,” Curtis spat. “You can’t say that when you’re on my cock. You’re gonna make me?—”
Sal reached forward and pinched his lower lip, twisting it a little as they fucked him. “You come first, and I’ll end you. Now, be a good boy and let me get what I need, and if you let my thong fall off your face, I’ll smother you with it.”
A tortured moan as Curtis tried to thrust upward. He was flexible, because he managed more than Sal could have in his place, and the motion made them scream. Sal had never needed much to get off, but this was bringing them there in zero time. They pinched Curtis’s lip harder. “I didn’t know you could work so well tied up, babe . Do it faster. Help me come all over you.”
Curtis snarled, battering them from below, and as more people began to collect in the observation windows, Sal felt a strange sense of levitation. Like they could see themself from the outside, watch themself ride Curtis Ingram in their red boots. It wasn’t always easy for Sal to look at themself having sex; their tits bouncing, their pussy a symbol of something that didn’t always match how they felt inside. But at that moment, it was perfect. Perfect and so fucking hot. As Curtis pounded deep inside them, Sal came, wetness gushing down and over both of them. Sal moaned, twisting Curtis’s lip hard enough to make him bleed. “Oh my Lord…”
“Fuck yeah,” Curtis hissed. “Tell me I can, too, babe. Lemme get there.”
Sal didn’t know if they’d ever wanted anything more. “Get there. Fucking do it.”
He worked faster, and Sal watched everyone watching them, clearly admiring Curtis’ body. Or maybe, they thought in a daze, all those people were admiring Sal Thomas for being the one to take his body. Suddenly, they wanted Curtis to have the same view. They let go of his lip and grabbed their panties, revealing themself to him. Curtis’ pupils went black as he took in Sal’s naked form. “Shit…”
“Come for me,” Sal said. “Do what I fucking say.”
His mouth curled into a snarl “You’re. So. Fuckin’ —”
But what they were, Sal would never find out. His body went rigid, and he clenched his jaw as he came, hips bucking against theirs. They watched, fascinated by his tortured expression, the muscles leaping in his face and chest. Then he slackened, looking them right in the face. His light blue irises hit with the same tractor-beam brightness they’d had when Sal had first seen him.
“I thought it’d be good between us,” he said. “I was right.”
Sal had never wanted to teleport out of a place more. And they’d grown up in a seriously cooked household.
“Thanks,” they mumbled. “You were really… that was?—”
“Fucking incredible?”
“Super good,” they agreed, scrambling off Curtis as quickly as possible without nicking him with their boots. They pulled the Velcro straps away from his arms and feet, touching his skin as little as possible. Curtis sat up, his cock still hard inside the condom. Sal’s cunt clenched, and they knew they were about four seconds away from pouncing on him and demanding more.
They backed away to the corner of the room and yanked on their panties and bra. Curtis tossed the condom into a nearby wastebasket and dressed as slowly as he’d undressed, his gaze fixed on Sal’s in a way that made them want to throw a boot at his head.
“That was super good,” Sal repeated. “I might go get a drink. You want one?”
“Yeah, gimme a sec and I’ll come?—”
“I’ll go and come back,” they interrupted. “Is that okay?”
Curtis tilted his head to the side. “You tryna run away, babe?”
Yes.
“No!”
He flashed them a grin. “Well, in case you do, I’d like to see you again. Is a date out of the question?”
Sal wouldn’t have been more surprised if he’d offered to take them to hell. “I… You want to go on a date with me?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
Their vision swam. “I… I don’t know if that’s such a hot idea, my guy.”
“Because of Byron?”
Sal frowned. “Are you two still friends?”
“Kinda. Not really. But you know we work together, yeah?”
All the air seemed to vanish from the mirrored room. “Huh?”
Curtis looked as alarmed as Sal felt. “I thought you knew? I thought I said… I didn’t say?”
He hadn’t. But Sal was still the silliest non-binary fuckbag on the planet, because the answer to ‘What does Curtis Ingram do for a job?’ was so obvious, a kid could have called it. His big hands, his muscles, his height. He wasn’t a personal trainer. He worked with Byron because?—
“You still play AFL. That’s your job. You’re a footy player.”
“Um,” he looked around the room. “Yeah?”
“You work with Byron. So, Byron’s your coach. Like your assistant coach, but still your coach. Because you play for the Sharks.”
“Ah.” Curtis scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Yeah?”
The mess Sal had felt coming from the second they’d locked eyes on this dude had officially arrived. What was Byron going to say if he found out his little sister had not only fucked one of his old mates, but one of his players? A dude as straight as the day was long. “I need to go,” they told Curtis. “I can’t be here.”
“Okay,” he said, but he started walking toward them with his hands up, like it was a hostage negotiation. “Can I just… can I message you on Instagram?”
“Legally? Sure. Morally?—”
“I really like you, Sal. I think we might have something here. Do you?”
And as much as Sal wanted to deny it, they couldn’t, because the smell of him, all sweat, and cologne, and a trace of their own pussy, stalled their brain. “I do, but we can’t…”
“Okay,” Curtis said again. And then he grabbed their shoulders and kissed them on the lips. The hard press of his mouth made Sal ache in a way that was more offensive than him playing AFL.
“Sorry,” he muttered when they broke apart. “You’re just so fuckin’ pretty.”
Sal’s face went hotter than Satan’s ass-crack. “That’s okay.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I just… I should go.”
“Right,” Curtis said, looking pained. “I’ll message you, though? Is that cool?”
“Sure.”
But as they barrelled out of the bar, Sal vowed to never, ever, never, ever speak to Curtis Ingram again.