Daniel Gettinby

Author's Note: Hiya! This story features a tad bit of non-con content; if that's not up your avenue, please don't continue past this disclaimer. Thanks, and happy reading! (:

I groaned, cursing Toby's stupid alarm clock. 'Turn that thing off,' I hissed. He didn't answer, not even the drunken babbling of a half-asleep bum. 'Dude....' It took tremendous effort, the stuff of legends, really, to pry open my eyes with the force of will alone. The will to strangle this bastard with his alarm's power cord. Nonetheless, I managed to restrain that most logical urge and settled the problem with means more condoned by society: sheer physical violence instead of downright murder. Against the clock, to be exact. Not Toby. Not Today.

My fist came down on it, pushing that big, white button and shaking the entire nightstand. 'This will cost you extra next time, buddy.' My dry throat produced every word in that croaky, undefined manner you'd expect after a night of heavy drinking and, looking at my passed-out Friend, maybe a tinge more.

While I curiously watched a spit bubble grow and shrink rhythmically around his mouth--that god-awful adorable mouth of his--I grabbed my black plaid skirt and the white tee from the foot of the bed, put on both, grunted a couple of times when I staggered left and right putting on my socks and noticed an item of interest: Toby's wallet. 'Know what?' I quarrelled with my consciousness for a second. 'Yeah, put me in a pencil skirt and call me collections 'cause your fee's due early.' My dainty fingers retrieved fifty quid and flung the bill's former home onto that snoring waste of space.

Of course, I only slept with him because he paid me, and still, I couldn't just leave it like that. My tiny figure arched the bed, bent down, inched closer to his face and pecked his cheek, pressing light pink lips together. 'Call me,' I hushed.

'Love you too, Dany,' he murmured. I smiled.

Bright rays penetrated the blinds of his living room, causing beautifully warm blotches next to deep, dark shadows to be scattered throughout the unkempt room. One of those light spots hit my face as I was crossing by his coffee table; the distraction caused me to crash it with my lower leg, and I muttered several slurs, hopping on crouched and coming to a standstill in front of his not-yet-and-maybe-not-ever hung wall mirror. Straightening my back, I used the opportunity to regard myself for a second and thought: 'Holy hell.'

'I suppose this is what I deserve for coming here without my purse.' Smudged lipstick and smeared eyeliner--and not a single wet wipe or cotton swab at my disposal. 'Fuck it,' I said after running a hand through my brunette bangs and headed for the door. Right as I opened it, Toby tumbled through his bedroom. The lovey-dovey conversation would've been too much for my strained nerves; I bolted out, closed the door behind me, and hurried down three flights of stairs.

My grip left the railing as I swung, right bound, towards the door and clutched its handle with both hands--struggling as I always did--to force it to budge. The forsaken lead Gods answered my prayer, offering a teensy gap I wedged through and squinted, bathed in the sun. Its radiating heat felt surprisingly refreshing, yet I was on the lookout for shadier lodging. 'Uh...,' I murmured while my forefinger spanned from one street to the next, 'the Backdrop's...that way?'

Sure enough of my estimation, my feet kicked into gear and traipsed past rundown apartment blocks standing shoulder-to-shoulder with desolate hotels and sleazy drugstores. 'I've never walked from Toby's to the pub, but it can't be that far. Just him living here means there must be enough places to quench my thirst nearby.'

It appeared I was right when I turned a corner, and a sign read, well, 'Backdrop'. Scant few cars and several smoking folks stood out front, the former withering in the heat. At the same time, the latter enjoyed the crude canopy's shade. The first dozen times I strutted through the front door, dragged along by customers, I'd be peeking over my shoulder religiously; every loud noise and low grunt sent shudders down my spine. But as they say: Never judge a book by its cover. I soon learned three universal truths applied to every regular of this particular establishment: They enjoyed (1) honest work, (2) tight holes and (3) discounts. And you know what? I happened to exemplify them all. What a lucky coincidence.

So when my brisk pace carted me right past the coughers and into what had, as of then, turned into a pretty familiar milieu, I noticed my voice boasting a full-on naturalness when I asked for a beer. 'Quick, yeah?'

'Got somewhere to be, or are you stressing me for no reason?' Denton asked, looking as though it'd be outlandish for his dear patron to be in a hurry.

'I'm literally burning up right now; I wouldn't call that no reason, would you?'

'Does it look like I'm any cooler?'

'Well, grab yourself a beer. It's on me...well, technically, it's on Toby.' I still carried his money, clutched between my slightly perspiring fingers and nowhere better to put it--except for Denton's cash register, of course.

He passed me a bottle, dousing my palm in condensation, and said, 'It's 10 a.m., and I'm working.' The way he delivered his declination reminded one of livelier places with good clientele, and I couldn't quite believe his words until he continued: 'What are you doing with Toby's money, anyway?'

He'd never asked because I'd never referred to my hard-earned money as somebody else's; he knew I hadn't worked for it. 'Let's call it a service fee. Every once in a while, you must pay a little extra...for the continued rendering of excellent service. Sounds plausible, doesn't it?'

'If you say so. Just don't have me shoo him off when he comes looking for it.'

'He won't. He'll know it was me and see it as a gift; he likes giving me gifts.' My thoughts wandered a bit while I took a sip, thinking of the rose-covered summer dress he'd presented me earlier this month. His eyes glimmered, and he looked all accomplished--I didn't even charge him that time, kind of: I found the usual fee tucked into my panties when I woke up the following morning. 'Hell, I bet he'll be glad I took it. He's always going on about how much more I should charge not only him but all my clients.'

'Found yourself a real sponsor there, huh?' He scrubbed some glasses, eyeing my beer. 'But don't abuse that, will you?'

My eyes widened, and I felt a smidge of actual insult. 'How could you say that? I'd never. I actually like Toby quite a bit, to be honest.'

The self-defence-fuelled riposte and its genuine delivery appeared to redirect the affront, and Denton apologised. 'Just...you know what I mean. Don't let that poor guy become all infatuated without any payoff, right?'

'Oh, there's plenty payoff.'

'You know what kind of payoff I'm talking about.'

I gulped down the remainder of my beverage and said, 'Yeah, I know. I--'

Thrown off by the arm suddenly slung around my shoulders, I left the rest of my newly begun sentence open for interpretation. Instead, I turned my neck left and inspected who'd decided to become friendly early in the day. Yet ere I could even spot a face, his monotone voice answered all my questions.

'Up and at it already, Dany?'

'Uh, not really. Just having a drink, Sidd,' I answered. He was right up in my face, and the mouthbreather's breath smelled of alcohol and garlic. He readjusted his arm when I tried to shift away and pulled me closer.

'Listen, you workin' or not? How about you answer me in the stalls, back there?'

My hand twirled the empty beer bottle on the counter while I stalled for a second, not really thinking about anything or weighing whether I'd be down this early in the day...and with Sidd. He'd only want a blowjob, anyway. When he uttered another 'How 'bout it?' I said, 'Fuck it,' and got up.

We strolled off to the right, with his arm firmly attached to guide me. The bathroom door swung open to a few urinals and two stalls; Sidd half-stumbled into the second one, holding it open until I joined him. Then I realised I should've ensured something beforehand and said, 'Wait, do you even have any money on you?'

His nonchalant way of standing leaning against the stall's dividing wall gave no impression of him trying to play an act. He said, 'O'course, I got it; here you go, boy.' His dry and brittle hand surrendered thirty-five pounds, quickly disappearing between my bare skin and the hem of my black panties. 'Thanks, all right.' All the while, I noticed his half-lidded eyes feeling me up. They scanned me from head to toe, slowing in the middle. I was used to it.

'Why are you even drunk already? Little ahead of schedule, isn't it?' I found myself asking. It was a stupid question; it wasn't extraordinary for Sidd. I should've stayed at Toby's if I wanted to talk, but he'd be all mushy and romantic. I just wanted to chat a little. 'Right?'

'Listen,' Sidd began again, 'you gettin' to work or what?'

My eyes rolled to the back of my head; I puffed my cheeks and got to my knees. His hands had already started fumbling around his fly. I brushed them aside without much resistance. The zip offered more, getting caught in the fabric, jaggedly opening. My light brown eyes glanced up and met his pale, unshaven visage, as did my fingers meet with his slightly stained black boxers and, one layer further down, a dirty cock at half-mast.

Hoping to get some distance between the walls of my mouth and his manhood, I pooled all the spit I could muster whilst grabbing his shaft. A gentle rowing motion did the trick, and I felt him stiffen inside my grasp. After another subdued grunt of his, I said, 'Let's make this quick, yeah?'

And I choked.

His ratty jeans pressed against my upper body; they pinned me against the stall. The musky scent of his dick filled my nose as he forced himself between my parted lips, deep into my mouth. My helpless yelp drowned in a gurgle as drool dribbled down my throat while he gave it another shove, stretching my left cheek.

'Quick, yeah? Fucking slut; don't get to tell me how quick I oughta be,' Sidd snapped in an agitated growl.

His hands slid through my hair, at the sides of my face, and tightened into fists. I shrieked at that but found something else to cry about when the back of my head hit the wooden wall, driven by his hips. They left off and rammed back against my body with this asshole's drunken rhythm. 'That quick enough for you?' he muttered, looking down into my glossy eyes.

He kept pounding; the impact, transferring from his hips to my face and ultimately the stall, caused a hollow thumping sound to echo through the bathroom. I joined with my muffled breathing, trying to catch air each time his cock gilded out briefly. Then came the forced groan and the intermittent moans when he pushed himself up against my body again, fucking my face as spit ran down my chin.

After a couple more thrusts, his rhythm grew irregular; he humped me and stayed buried inside my mouth for slowly stacking seconds. His lower body jittered slightly, tensed when his lock on my hair fastened and held me in close. I couldn't breathe with my nose right against his body, my mouth right at the base of his shaft. And he unloaded himself right down my throat, pumping several spurts into my shaking body. 'That quick enough, yeah?' He chuckled.

Only when he backed off did I realise how drained I felt; I slumped down, planted on my ass. I stared at the tiled floor while he fixed his fly and staggered out of the stall. Right before the bathroom door fell shut behind him, he said, 'Till the next time, Dany.'

I needed another minute.

My hands trembled in my spit-soaked lap. I wrapped toilet paper around my left palm, wadded it against my skirt and chin, and got to my feet. Before throwing it into the bowl, I felt another unwanted wetness. My hand vanished inside my panties and dabbed it against the fabric and the tip of my cock. And with one flush, it could just as well not have happened.

'Fucking hell,' I whispered, fixing my bangs, leaving the bathroom, ready to close my tab.