(no subject)
Original fiction, NC17, um...not loving at all.
A friend prompted me to write some original random gay fiction tonight. It isn't porn; and it isn't to my own taste at all, but he wanted to read something with...
male prostitution and violence.
*
He'd been in love, once. Sometimes, with the touch of a wall against his cheek and the hard pump of a cock in his ass, he imagined it was that guy. It even got him a little hard, sometimes, and had men fondly calling him cum slut when they shoved him off their cocks. After a trick, exhausted and numb, he'd huddle in his diner with a bummed cigarette, thoughts as idle as the smoke filling his head.
That guy drew. He'd kept one picture of him. When that picture came out, his hand reached up to hide his eye with a fist, cigarette shaking as he blew out smoke into overly warm air. Then, feeling the cold sting his heart like an ice shard, he felt ready to go out again. He had enough money in his pants pocket -- always did, his tongue could coax any cock into erupting -- but that wasn't why he did it. He needed the moment, the heat, the harsh use, anything to make him feel … something.
Shoving his cash into a metal locker at the train station, full of coffee, he'd stumble out looking for more. The way he walked, easing around his chaffed asshole like he took it too much, or maybe the hard line of his lips above the dark stubble, both of those things sold well, even in the middle of a workday like this one.
The picture this morning looked so old and worn in the grey light that something inside of him had broken. He knew, with a hard, aching certainty, that time wasn't going to magically bring that guy back. The paper would get greyer and more worn, and resemble him less and less. Time would only take him farther away from those few humble moments…
Warm room, warm touch. Colors of wood washing over him, almost an illusion of home. A gentle hand on his ass, gathering him near -- no, no sex. Just let me touch you like this. Sit still, I'm going to draw you. Don't move...
"Fuck it." Hoarse voice. Too much coffee, too little food or water. Scratching the aching abs he wandered where he knew he shouldn't go, the construction site near the city center. The men there were horny and homophobic both at once, and none of them could say no to a piece of ass for hire. He went to the edge of the building site and stood, hands down the back of his jeans, pushing them down until the scrawny curve of his lower abs flashed in the swift fade of the winter afternoon. "Any of you got a cigarette?" He drawled.
A dozen heads poked up from their occupations, laying pipe, laying a floor. A few voices muttered fuckin' faggot, a few took interest. The foreman snorted and turned away, rolling his eyes. There was a room for that. The one finished basement room in the building. Two guys came near, each eyeing the other, coming close. "…WE got a cigarette." Husky. Big guys. Fucked-up looking, harsh of face and body.
He looked from man to man, feeling his blood race, feeling a stupid grin ease across his face. "Yeah? Well come on, shitheads. Don't make me fuckin' wait for a… cigarette."
They almost shoved him to the room, ignoring the catcalls and jeers from the other men. The cold air was all around them, and he half-turned, wondering if they'd give him a smoke first, or --
The answer came without warning, a shove to his knees from one guy, who went down on his knees too and gripped his wrists in hard fists. "Now, little faggot, suck off my friend nice and good while I watch," a voice purred, holding him steady. It sounded dark with need, and already he felt the thick heat of cock pressing against his ass.
"So gimme a dick," he growled, and then there was one, in his face, springing up like a flag out of dirt-smelling pants. It touched his lips, tasting of piss, and he grimmaced. "Clean off first you f--nnnnnnk"
"Don't be a little bitch."
Ow. Slap to the ear. Then, cock down the throat, and falling into the harsh push of it, gagging at the taste, he took it in. NNh, down the tongue, almost to gagging, then he felt the hand in his hair roughly gripping his head in place while the man above him groaned.
"That's right. Fucking your mouth like a pussy," the man panted, and he felt the gag reflex clamp down and almost sobbed as the cock went deeper still, all the way back, back until it hurt. Fuck --
Tears rolling down his cheeks he remembered to breath through his mouth as he got fucked, hard and deep, obliging by tugging and sucking as hard as he could when he could, the sooner the better for this one. Sounds in his ear, the breath of the guy behind him, still bracing his head by the hair. The moans and grunts of the guy above him, fucking him with hard strokes until he was nothing but a crying tunnel… then, filled so deep, he felt the thick slither down his throat as the come came, on and on and…the body grunting above him as the man roared.
"He's hard, the little bitch," the man behind him said, amused.
Hand down his pants. Cock out of it, but his voice wasn't trustworthy as he choked down the come. "Nnnnnnnnnnh, nnno." Elbow back. He didn't like guys touching his --
"Shut the fuck up, whore."
The other guy got to his knees, cock still out and dripping with saliva, with come, half-mast. Gripped his arms so that the man behind him could get his fill, which was apparently to jerk off the little prostitute. Looked down over his shoulder and watched, breathing on his neck with sour breath as a hand touched and tugged and gripped and (feeling the sting of shame) he turned his head and came silently after far too short a time.
"Pants down. I'm gonna fuck you."
"No," He finally managed, husky, spitting at the guy's face over his shoulder. "Shitbag. I don't like guys touching me."
"You liked it well enough to shoot. We have money."
He stood, zipping up silently, turning to go.
"Little shit, come get my friend off."
"No."
He felt the hands on his arms, knew, with a deep sinking in his stomach, that it was about to get Very Bad.
Or would have, but the foreman poked his head in.
"Your fifteen is over. Get back to work, fucking perverts."
Saved.
But not paid.
Cursing over his shoulder he almost ran away from the site. Walked fast until his breath was a cum-scented pant…then…slowed down.
Felt the paper press into his chest.
He was over a bridge.
It was a small thing to remove the drawing….
It floated on top of the water until a bend in the canal took the paper out of sight.
*
A friend prompted me to write some original random gay fiction tonight. It isn't porn; and it isn't to my own taste at all, but he wanted to read something with...
male prostitution and violence.
*
He'd been in love, once. Sometimes, with the touch of a wall against his cheek and the hard pump of a cock in his ass, he imagined it was that guy. It even got him a little hard, sometimes, and had men fondly calling him cum slut when they shoved him off their cocks. After a trick, exhausted and numb, he'd huddle in his diner with a bummed cigarette, thoughts as idle as the smoke filling his head.
That guy drew. He'd kept one picture of him. When that picture came out, his hand reached up to hide his eye with a fist, cigarette shaking as he blew out smoke into overly warm air. Then, feeling the cold sting his heart like an ice shard, he felt ready to go out again. He had enough money in his pants pocket -- always did, his tongue could coax any cock into erupting -- but that wasn't why he did it. He needed the moment, the heat, the harsh use, anything to make him feel … something.
Shoving his cash into a metal locker at the train station, full of coffee, he'd stumble out looking for more. The way he walked, easing around his chaffed asshole like he took it too much, or maybe the hard line of his lips above the dark stubble, both of those things sold well, even in the middle of a workday like this one.
The picture this morning looked so old and worn in the grey light that something inside of him had broken. He knew, with a hard, aching certainty, that time wasn't going to magically bring that guy back. The paper would get greyer and more worn, and resemble him less and less. Time would only take him farther away from those few humble moments…
Warm room, warm touch. Colors of wood washing over him, almost an illusion of home. A gentle hand on his ass, gathering him near -- no, no sex. Just let me touch you like this. Sit still, I'm going to draw you. Don't move...
"Fuck it." Hoarse voice. Too much coffee, too little food or water. Scratching the aching abs he wandered where he knew he shouldn't go, the construction site near the city center. The men there were horny and homophobic both at once, and none of them could say no to a piece of ass for hire. He went to the edge of the building site and stood, hands down the back of his jeans, pushing them down until the scrawny curve of his lower abs flashed in the swift fade of the winter afternoon. "Any of you got a cigarette?" He drawled.
A dozen heads poked up from their occupations, laying pipe, laying a floor. A few voices muttered fuckin' faggot, a few took interest. The foreman snorted and turned away, rolling his eyes. There was a room for that. The one finished basement room in the building. Two guys came near, each eyeing the other, coming close. "…WE got a cigarette." Husky. Big guys. Fucked-up looking, harsh of face and body.
He looked from man to man, feeling his blood race, feeling a stupid grin ease across his face. "Yeah? Well come on, shitheads. Don't make me fuckin' wait for a… cigarette."
They almost shoved him to the room, ignoring the catcalls and jeers from the other men. The cold air was all around them, and he half-turned, wondering if they'd give him a smoke first, or --
The answer came without warning, a shove to his knees from one guy, who went down on his knees too and gripped his wrists in hard fists. "Now, little faggot, suck off my friend nice and good while I watch," a voice purred, holding him steady. It sounded dark with need, and already he felt the thick heat of cock pressing against his ass.
"So gimme a dick," he growled, and then there was one, in his face, springing up like a flag out of dirt-smelling pants. It touched his lips, tasting of piss, and he grimmaced. "Clean off first you f--nnnnnnk"
"Don't be a little bitch."
Ow. Slap to the ear. Then, cock down the throat, and falling into the harsh push of it, gagging at the taste, he took it in. NNh, down the tongue, almost to gagging, then he felt the hand in his hair roughly gripping his head in place while the man above him groaned.
"That's right. Fucking your mouth like a pussy," the man panted, and he felt the gag reflex clamp down and almost sobbed as the cock went deeper still, all the way back, back until it hurt. Fuck --
Tears rolling down his cheeks he remembered to breath through his mouth as he got fucked, hard and deep, obliging by tugging and sucking as hard as he could when he could, the sooner the better for this one. Sounds in his ear, the breath of the guy behind him, still bracing his head by the hair. The moans and grunts of the guy above him, fucking him with hard strokes until he was nothing but a crying tunnel… then, filled so deep, he felt the thick slither down his throat as the come came, on and on and…the body grunting above him as the man roared.
"He's hard, the little bitch," the man behind him said, amused.
Hand down his pants. Cock out of it, but his voice wasn't trustworthy as he choked down the come. "Nnnnnnnnnnh, nnno." Elbow back. He didn't like guys touching his --
"Shut the fuck up, whore."
The other guy got to his knees, cock still out and dripping with saliva, with come, half-mast. Gripped his arms so that the man behind him could get his fill, which was apparently to jerk off the little prostitute. Looked down over his shoulder and watched, breathing on his neck with sour breath as a hand touched and tugged and gripped and (feeling the sting of shame) he turned his head and came silently after far too short a time.
"Pants down. I'm gonna fuck you."
"No," He finally managed, husky, spitting at the guy's face over his shoulder. "Shitbag. I don't like guys touching me."
"You liked it well enough to shoot. We have money."
He stood, zipping up silently, turning to go.
"Little shit, come get my friend off."
"No."
He felt the hands on his arms, knew, with a deep sinking in his stomach, that it was about to get Very Bad.
Or would have, but the foreman poked his head in.
"Your fifteen is over. Get back to work, fucking perverts."
Saved.
But not paid.
Cursing over his shoulder he almost ran away from the site. Walked fast until his breath was a cum-scented pant…then…slowed down.
Felt the paper press into his chest.
He was over a bridge.
It was a small thing to remove the drawing….
It floated on top of the water until a bend in the canal took the paper out of sight.
*