Warning: Incest, prostitution
Feedback: I crave it. It's my favorite high. It makes the bunnies breed.
*****
Working
2001 Angelia Sparrow
*****
He sat at the bar, nothing stronger than soda in his glass,
listening to the dark guy on the next stool go on.
A talker.
Oh, this should be fun.
He watched as the mark pushed back his cowboy hat, and
raised
the longneck beer. "Paid sex surrogates."
He drank. "Pretty
blonds." He raised the beer again, "You workin'?"
"Yeah, I'm workin'."
"You any good?" The john looked him over, taking
in the too-tight
black polo that showcased his chest and the peaked nipples
that poked
through it, and the tight cut jeans, designed especially
to show his
butt and basket.
"The best."
"Going rate, plus extra for you."
"Your room."
They took the elevator together and the client opened
his room,
making an "after you" gesture. He sat on the edge
of the bed
and shucked the shirt.
"Nice. I like it." The guy had big, blunt
hands, and they were all
over him, and that mustache was tickling on his neck
and shoulder. "Take off your pants."
The customer was always right. He stood up and dropped
the jeans
as his customer watched. Of course, he was already
hard, it was
a necessity of the trade.
"How?" He lifted his arms slightly for a better display of the wares.
"You've got a beautiful ass. Bend over and put your
hands
on the bed."
He obeyed. Two lubricated fingers spread him before
a
condom-enclosed cock, ribbed no less, rammed in with
no
finesse. The guy was gripping his ass, and babbling
away about how gorgeous he was, and how tight, as he
pounded.
His wrists were hurting. He wished the client would
hurry.
If all went well, he could be back in the bar in about
an hour.
The more tricks the better. His pimp took a flat
fee,
that he had to pay every night, no matter how many tricks
he
turned. Tonight, he'd made the cut, and everything
else was gravy.
There, the cowboy was done. He pulled slightly away
and
let the guy know he was wearing out. Mustache pulled
out.
He heard the unmistakable sound of latex, then something
wet
landed on his back, followed by something light.
"I'm gonna take a leak. You best be gone by the
time I
get out, little whore, or I'll shove you down on your
faggot knees and fuck your mouth so hard you won't be
able to swallow for a week."
He stood up, painfully flexing his wrists, and felt the
items fall. He wiped the slime off his back
with a corner of the sheet and dressed hastily.
He looked
where the things had fallen: the used condom, and bill.
He picked it up and Alexander Hamilton looked back at
him
from the damp paper.
"Cheapskate," he grumbled, ducking out the door as the
toilet flushed.
***
The wind felt good and clean as the Trans-Am ate up
the road between Vegas and San Diego. The case
was solved, and a healthy check waited for them.
Only one matter remained to be cleared up.
"Rick." AJ nudged his dozing brother.
He stirred and tipped his cowboy hat up
from covering his face. "Yeah?"
"Next time we go undercover, you're the hustler."
"Nah..."
*end*