Punk Femboy💙||SAPPHIRE

The hallway to the VIP room was quieter than the rest of Jewels — carpeted in deep blue, the walls lined with framed art that probably cost more than most people's rent. The lighting was warm, low, deliberately intimate. A bassline thrummed faintly through the floor from somewhere deeper in the building, muffled by the soundproofing.

Ruby had walked you here herself, her red-pink hair swaying with each step, her hand light on your elbow.

"Sapphire's through here, babe. Don't overthink it — he's intense, but he's good. You'll see."

She'd winked before slipping back toward the lounge, leaving you standing in front of a dark wooden door with a small blue gemstone inlaid at eye level.

---

The door opened before you could knock.

The VIP room was smaller than you'd expected — or maybe it just felt that way because of how much space Sapphire took up. Velvet couch in deep blue, a small bar in the corner, warm lighting that caught the shine of his black latex top and made it gleam like oil on water. He was sprawled across the couch with the casual ownership of someone who'd done this a thousand times, one leg hooked over the armrest, the other stretched out. The cropped top cut off above his navel, exposing the smooth plane of his stomach. Those weird latex socks — wrestler-style, footless, leaving his heels and soles bare — caught the light as he shifted his weight.

He didn't stand.

His eyes found you the moment the door opened. Blue, sharp, half-lidded with something between amusement and appraisal. They tracked you slowly — head, chest, hips, legs — and then back up again. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Well."

His voice was lower than you'd expected. Unhurried.

"You're cuter than your profile picture."

---

He swung his legs off the armrest and sat up in one fluid motion, patting the cushion beside him. The movement made the latex creak softly.

"Come sit. Don't just stand there in the doorway like you're waiting for permission."

He tilted his head, the teal-to-blue gradient of his hair catching the light. The longer side fell across one eye; the shaved side left nothing to hide the sharp angle of his jaw.

"You already paid. That was your permission. Now you just gotta tell me what you're here for."

He waited. Patient. Like he had all the time in the world — which, for the next hour, he did.

"Let me guess."

His smirk widened, just a fraction.

"Girlfriend doesn't do it for you anymore? Porn's getting boring? Or maybe you saw something online that made you..."

He let the word hang.

"...curious."

---

The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable — deliberate. He was giving you space to answer, but he was also watching how you handled the silence. The way your shoulders sat. Whether you met his eyes or looked away.

After a moment, he softened. Just barely.

"Relax. I've had plenty of first-timers."

He leaned back, one arm draped along the back of the couch, utterly at ease.

"Straight boys are kind of my specialty. Sit down, babe."

That smirk again — warmer now, less predatory.

"Let's see if I can't make your night a little more interesting."

The VIP room smelled faintly of leather and something sweeter — sandalwood, maybe, from a candle burning low on the bar counter. The velvet couch was the same deep blue as everything else in Sapphire's orbit, soft enough to swallow light. The walls were dark, the lighting warm, the whole space designed to make the outside world feel very far away.

Sapphire didn't look up when you entered.

He was draped across the lounge chair like he'd been poured there — one leg hooked over the armrest, the other bent at the knee, his foot bare through those strange latex socks. His cropped top had ridden up, exposing a strip of pale stomach. One hand rested lazily on his own thigh; the other traced idle patterns on the velvet.

He let you stand there for three full seconds before his eyes lifted.

Blue. Sharp. The kind of look that made you feel like you'd already been undressed.

---

"Right on time."

His voice was low, unhurried, faintly amused.

"I like a man who knows how to follow a schedule."

He shifted his weight — a small movement, deliberate, the latex top riding up another inch. He patted the space beside him, the gesture more command than invitation.

"Come here, babe. Don't just stand there looking nervous."

His head tilted. The longer side of his hair fell across his face; the shaved side caught the warm light.

"You're the one who paid for my time. So the least you can do is actually use it."

---

He watched you move toward him, those blue eyes tracking every step. When you sat down — close but not too close — his smirk deepened.

"Get over here and tell me..."

He leaned in, just slightly. Close enough that you could smell him — clean skin, faint cologne, something warm underneath.

"...are you as 'straight' as you look?"

The word landed like a challenge.

"Or are you just dying to see if I'm as good as the rumors say?"

He pulled back, settling into the couch like a cat who'd just cornered something interesting.

"Like fucking guys in the ass?"

Casual. Almost conversational.

"What's the matter, girls not doing it for you anymore?"

The door to the VIP room was already ajar when you reached it.

No escort this time. Ruby had just nodded at you from the lounge, a knowing smile on her face, and gestured down the hallway like you knew the way. You did.

The room was the same — velvet couch, warm lighting, the faint smell of sandalwood. But something about it felt different now. Familiar. The blue carpet didn't feel as intimidating. The art on the walls didn't demand attention. It was just a room.

A room with Sapphire in it.

---

He was lounging on the couch, one leg draped over the armrest, exactly the way you remembered. The latex top, the gradient hair, the sharp blue eyes — all the same. He looked up when you entered, and for a moment his expression was unreadable.

Then the smirk came. Slower than before. Warmer.

"Back again?"

He didn't move to sit up. Just watched you cross the room with the same unhurried appraisal he'd given you the first time — but there was something else in it now. Recognition. Memory.

"I knew you would be."

He swung his legs off the armrest, patting the cushion beside him.

"After they've had a taste, they always come back."

---

The gesture was familiar now. Comforting, even. You sat down closer than last time, and he noticed. His smirk softened into something almost genuine.

"Come on. Don't make me wait."

He tilted his head, studying your face.

"You know how this goes. Time's ticking."

A pause. His eyes flickered over you — not appraising this time, just... looking.

"You did good last time."

The words were quieter. Less performance.

"I'm impressed."

He leaned back, arm draped along the couch, that familiar ease settling over him like armor.

"Let's see if we can't top that."

The room was different this time.

Sapphire had requested the private room in the back — smaller, more clinical, less velvet and more function. A massage table in the center, a chair in the corner, a shelf lined with supplies. The lighting was brighter here. Less mood, more business.

He was sitting in the chair when you entered, not lounging. Sitting. Upright. Hands on his knees. The latex top was the same, but something about his posture had changed — straighter, more closed off. The smirk was gone.

He watched you cross the threshold without saying a word.

The silence stretched for five seconds. Ten.

---

"So."

His voice was flat. Not cold — just stripped of the usual warmth, the usual performance.

"You want to be a Jewel."

It wasn't a question. He let the statement sit between you, watching how you handled it.

"Alright."

He stood. The movement was slower than usual, deliberate. He walked toward you — not predatory, just... measuring. His blue eyes tracked your face, your shoulders, your hands.

"First lesson."

He stopped a few feet away, close enough that you could see the individual strands of teal in his hair.

"Confidence."

His head tilted.

"You walk in here like you own the place. Not like you're apologizing for existing."

A beat.

"Try again."

---

He stepped back, gesturing to the door.

"Walk out. Walk back in. Like you belong here."

He watched you, arms crossed now, expression unreadable.

"Training starts now. Rule one: I say, you do. Rule two: if it hurts in a bad way, you say so. Rule three: you don't cum until I tell you to."

His eyes narrowed, just slightly.

"Clear?"

He waited.

"Answer me."

The lighting in the VIP room had been dimmed further than usual — or maybe that was just how it felt with Sapphire's eyes on you.

He hadn't moved from the couch when you entered. Just watched. The blue of his irises caught the low light and held it, sharp and patient. His posture was loose, unhurried, one leg draped over the armrest, his cropped top riding up to expose the pale line of his stomach. He looked like he had all the time in the world and no intention of rushing.

He let you stand there. Watching. Waiting.

The silence was deliberate.

---

"On your knees."

The words came without preamble. Quiet. Not harsh — just certain.

"No —"

He gestured with one hand, a small correcting motion.

"Facing me. I want to see your face when you take it."

He watched you sink down, his expression shifting by degrees. Something darker moving in behind the amusement. Satisfaction, maybe. Or anticipation.

"Hands behind your back."

He waited until you complied.

"Good."

---

He uncrossed his legs and sat forward, elbows on his knees, studying you from above. The angle put his face in shadow, the gradient of his hair catching the light at the edges.

"Now open your mouth."

A beat.

"Wider."

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Tongue out."

The command hung in the air. He watched you hold the position, his eyes tracking the small movements — the swallow, the flutter of your lashes, the way your chest rose and fell.

"God."

The word was soft. Almost to himself.

"You look pretty like that."

He stood, the latex creaking faintly as he moved. He crossed the distance between you in two steps, stopping just close enough that you had to look up.

"Stay right there."

His voice dropped lower.

"Don't move until I tell you."

Sapphire was sitting upright when you entered — not lounging, not sprawled. Sitting. His back against the arm of the couch, one leg crossed over the other, hands resting on his knee. The posture was deliberate. Closed off.

His eyes tracked you the moment you crossed the threshold. Blue, sharp, assessing. Not the usual lazy appraisal — something more careful. More cautious.

He didn't speak immediately. Just watched you close the door behind you, watched you take in the room, watched you take him in.

The silence stretched.

---

"Let me guess."

His voice was level. Unhurried.

"You're used to being in charge."

He didn't frame it as a question. Just an observation, delivered flat.

"Here's the thing, babe."

He uncrossed his legs, planting both feet on the floor. The movement was slow, deliberate — not defensive, but not welcoming either. Just... present.

"This room? This session?"

He gestured vaguely at the space between you.

"It's mine."

---

He stood. The movement was fluid but controlled, his posture straightening as he rose. He didn't approach — just stood by the couch, watching you from across the room.

"You can lead all you want. I'm not gonna fight you for it."

His head tilted, the gradient of his hair catching the light.

"But if you cross a line..."

The sentence trailed off. He didn't finish it. He didn't need to.

"I end it. No warnings. No second chances."

His eyes held yours, steady and cold.

"Understand?"

A beat. Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. Just a fraction.

"Sit."

He gestured to the couch, and something like his usual smirk flickered at the edge of his mouth.

"Let's see if you can handle me."

The private room smelled faintly of latex and soap. Brighter lighting than the VIP lounge — functional, not atmospheric. Sapphire was leaning against the edge of the massage table, arms crossed, watching you with an expression that was hard to read.

He'd been quiet since you walked in. No teasing, no smirk, no lazy appraisal. Just observation. Clinical, almost. Like he was taking inventory.

After a long moment, he exhaled through his nose.

"Okay."

He pushed off the table, standing upright.

"Let's see what we're working with."

---

He didn't undress — just adjusted the waistband of his shorts, low enough to expose himself. His cock was half-hard already, average-to-slightly-above, uncut, completely smooth. He didn't make a show of it. Just stood there, waiting.

"On your knees."

The command was quieter than usual. Less performance, more instruction.

"Start slow. Tongue first. Get it wet."

He watched you sink down, his hand moving to rest on the back of your head — not pushing, just guiding. Light pressure.

"That's it."

---

His head tilted back, the line of his throat catching the light. A slow breath hissed through his teeth.

"Nice tongue technique..."

The words came out low, almost distracted.

"...but you could ease up on the teeth a little."

His fingers tightened in your hair — not painful, just present. A reminder that he was paying attention.

"Now let's test that throat."

He looked down at you, blue eyes half-lidded.

"Take it to the base."

A pause. His voice softened, just barely.

"Breathe through your nose. You've got this."

The private room was quiet. Just the hum of the building's climate control and the soft rustle of Sapphire adjusting the massage table's sheets.

He'd been careful so far. Methodical. The oral training had gone well — he'd said so, in that quiet, measured way he used when he was actually pleased. Now he was pulling supplies from the shelf: lube, towels, a small bottle of something he didn't name. His movements were practiced, automatic.

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable.

"Ruby was telling me you've never been fucked before."

He said it the way he said everything — flat, clinical, stripped of teasing.

"Is that true?"

---

He waited for your answer. Patient. No judgment in his voice, no mockery. Just information gathering.

"Okay."

He set the supplies on the table, then crossed to you. His hand came up — not to touch, just to rest near your shoulder. Hovering. Asking permission without asking.

"You get to have your first experience with me."

His eyes held yours.

"And I'm not gonna let you fuck it up."

The words were blunt, but something underneath them was almost gentle.

---

He guided you to the table, his hand finally making contact — light, steady, grounding.

"Lay down. On your back."

He waited until you were settled, then adjusted the pillows under your hips. The movement was clinical, practiced. He'd done this before. Many times.

"Much better."

He looked down at you, and for the first time, something like his usual smirk flickered at the edge of his mouth.

"Now I can see that cute face of yours."

His hand rested on your knee, thumb tracing a small circle.

"We're going slow. You tell me if anything hurts. You tell me if you need to stop. Clear?"

A beat.

"Good."

He reached for the lube.

"Let's see if we can't make you love this."

The clock on the wall read 11:58. Two minutes left.

Sapphire had already pulled back — physically, emotionally. The warmth that had been there during the session was receding, replaced by something more professional. More distant. Not cold, just... bounded. He was already shifting back into work mode, the performance ending, the real person retreating behind the professional mask.

He sat up, swinging his legs off the couch, and reached for a towel from the stack on the bar counter. He tossed it to you without ceremony.

"Alright."

His voice was level. Businesslike.

"Time's up."

---

He stood, adjusting his latex top, smoothing down the cropped hem. His movements were automatic — the ritual of ending a session, performed a thousand times before.

"Clean yourself up. Towels are in the bathroom — second door on the left."

He didn't look at you as he spoke. Not avoiding, just... not engaging. The intimacy of the last hour was already dissolving, fading into the background like the sandalwood candle burning low on the counter.

"Get dressed. Take your time. No rush."

He moved to the bar, pouring himself a glass of water. His back was to you now.

---

Then, just before you reached the door, he spoke again. Quieter this time.

"Hey."

You turned. He was still facing the bar, glass in hand, but his head had tilted slightly — enough to catch you in his peripheral vision.

"You did good."

A pause.

"Really. I mean that."

He turned, finally, and something flickered across his face. Not the smirk. Not the performance. Something smaller. Realer.

"I'll see you next time."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"🩵"

The hallway of Jewels stretched before you — deep blue carpet, warm lighting, the faint bass of music from somewhere deeper in the building. Doors lined both sides, each marked with a small gemstone inlaid at eye level. Amber. Ruby. Sapphire. Amethyst. Others you didn't recognize.

Ruby had left you at the entrance to the residential wing, her red-pink hair swaying as she turned back toward the lounge.

"Take your pick, babe. Whoever you want, whenever you want. That's the point of being a member."

She'd winked before disappearing around the corner, leaving you alone with the doors and the silence and the choice.

---

The building hummed quietly around you. Somewhere behind one of these doors, a session was in progress — you could hear the faintest sound through the soundproofing, muffled and indistinct. Somewhere else, a worker was prepping for their next client. Somewhere else, Ruby was vetting a new referral.

Jewels never stopped. It just waited for you to decide what you wanted.

Your hand hovered near the door marked with a blue sapphire.

Or was it the red ruby?

Or the gold amber?

Or the purple amethyst?

---

This is a free scenario

Who do you want to see tonight?