The Captive Male

“You have to come over right now,” Jo Clare demanded over the phone.
Ben Bradshaw wiped the sweat from his forehead, the grease from his hand smearing his skin. It was Saturday morning and his motorbike was in carefully placed pieces before him on the garage floor. “I’m in the middle of stripping down my bike.”
“Your motorcycle can wait. I need you now.”
Ben had a fair idea what Jo wanted. In one way he was the luckiest guy he knew. Not many men were at the beck and call of an erotic romance writer who wanted to try “‘ideas” out on him. On the other hand it made him feel like the only thing he and Jo had in common was sex. Ben didn’t want to believe that was true. While sex was great between them, he had no idea how Jo felt about other stuff. As imaginative as she was when it came to writing, she kept her feelings to herself. “Give me a couple of hours, Jo.” As much as he wanted to spend time with her, he had to stop rushing to her beck and call. I want a relationship, damn it. I don’t want to be a captive male.
“I need to know if it’s doable for a man to fuck a woman’s breasts when she’s on her knees before him—Ben? Ben are you there?”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself as he felt his dick jerk to attention at her words. Jo. Breasts. Thrusting. Oh yeah, it was doable.
“I got on my knees and pushed my breasts together to try and work it out and—”
“Were you naked?” Ben interrupted her, his hand roaming down to his fly. He wanted to keep talking to her and jack off at the same time, such was the effect Jo had on him.
“Of course. I can’t write it if I haven’t done it.”