Rent Relief Pt. 01

The sun had set by the time Jason pulled up into Mr Hartley's drive, so cold outside that his cheap coat and polyester uniform might as well have been made of gauze. It would be next year before the days got any warmer and it had a whole ways colder to go before then. The breeze already stripped him to the bone, sandblasting his exposed cheeks and nose, cutting through the seams in his clothes as he walked.

He hunched over, shivering, arms tucked into his pockets, willing his teeth to stop chattering. Every step he'd taken up to the door had been a careful one to avoid any slush or puddles, and he'd kicked off the fine dusting of snow on top of them as he'd stepped onto the porch, knowing full well that his cheap shoes would freeze his toes clean off if they got wet. After ten minutes standing there, he began to stamp his feet, the thin layer of sweat in his socks sapping his body heat from his knees on down. Mr Hartley was making him wait.

"Hello, Jason." The door swung open. Ron Hartley stood in the doorway, six-foot-something, balding, heavy muscles under heavier fat, squashed nose, a smile full of nicotine stains. "I told you to come see me at seven on the dot, your car pulled up at six minutes past. That is a concerning lack of respect for my time."

"I'm sorry, Mr Hartley," said Jason, trying to hold back his chattering. "I had to stay on an extra fifteen minutes at work. I should have called ahead."

"Yeah, you should have. You work at Taco Bell, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll call them later to confirm that it's true."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

Mr Hartley turned. "Come in."

The living room was a mess, the floor littered with takeout containers and beer cans. Jason felt a twinge of irritation under the fear. Mr Hartley had once screamed at him and his mother for leaving their rental unit in much a cleaner state than this pigsty. He buried the feeling. There were different rules for people like him.

Mr Hartley sat down on the black leather couch, without offering him a seat. He donned a pair of reading glasses, took out a notebook, looked it over, and looked back up at Jason.

"I need six hundred in back rent by two PM tomorrow or you and your mom are both gone by three PM tomorrow."

There was a strange distance to the drop that Jason felt inside him. He felt himself sway as he opened his mouth, his head woozy. "I, d-duh," he stuttered, "I don't have that money, yet, sir."

"Taco Bell pays every two weeks on Thursdays, you've been working there for at least a month. I'd advise you to think very carefully whether it's a smart idea to pretend like you haven't been paid."

"I have been paid, but-"

"Oh, so you do have money?"

"No, I-"

"So you spent my money?"

"Mom's car broke, I had to get it fixed to get to work!" He saw the flash of anger in his eyes, and lowered his voice. "Sir, they took the money for my uniform out of my first paycheck, and my first two shifts were unpaid training sessions."

"How much money do you have?"

"Forty dollars, sir. It's our food money for the next two weeks."

He laughed. "Forty dollars! Christ, kid, you and your mom owe me two and a half grand in back rent and late fees. I'm offering to let you pay me six hundred as a gesture of good faith so that I don't just cut my losses, forty dollars is an insult. Do you think I invited you into my home to insult me?"

"No, sir."

"You'd better come up with the other five hundred and sixty dollars in the next twenty hours if you want me to believe that."

He nodded dumbly. "I'll take out a payday loan first thing in the morning, sir."

This time, Mr Hartley openly hooted at him. "Not a chance in hell, kid. Your mom's credit score is so bad that yours will be in the toilet just from sharing an address."

"I'll go to the pawn shop-"

"Oh, the pawn shop! You've got receipts and proof of ownership for everything in your house, right? They're not taking anything from you without that."

Jason thought of some friends with drug problems he knew. "That's not true, I know-"

"Oh, they'll take anything from junkies, but they can smell an eviction case like you a mile off. They're waiting for me to set up a lawn sale with all your stuff that's too heavy to carry as soon as you've been kicked out."

"Please, sir, I can get money together, you can't do this," he begged.

"I can and I will. Here's how it's going to happen. At ten in the morning tomorrow, when it looks like you've dropped the ball, I'm going to call my repo guy and an old friend at the sheriff's department. At three PM on the dot they'll tell you to leave with nothing more than the clothes on your backs and whatever you've already loaded into your car. If either of you so much as mean-mug at them, the sheriff will take one look at your mom's arthritis meds and arrest you both on suspicion of opioid distribution. You'll stay in the county jail until someone feels like bailing you out or until your court date sometime next year."

Jason felt sweat trickle down his neck, his feet and fingers tingling, knees ready to give out.

"Hah, you know if you take a plea bargain or get convicted, they charge you rent for your cell? Anyway once you're out of the unit and I've changed the locks, the bailiffs will move all of your belongings out onto the lawn. You and your mom are welcome to buy your possessions back, but you'll have to be quick before the pawn shops and your neighbors pick it over. I'll be in touch with you at your workplace because I'll still be taking you to civil court over the remaining back rent, and of course, you won't be getting a reference from me any time soon."

With some effort, Jason didn't vomit. "Sir, it's the middle of winter," he said quietly.

"Yeah, you better hope you've got a good heater in the car." He laughed. "Try stuffing newspapers under your clothes, I hear that helps."

"I-I can get some money together from my friends at work, just one more week, there's gotta be something I can do."

A wide, yellow grin crossed Mr Hartley's face. "Oh, there is. I wouldn't have called you over just to tell you I was kicking you out, I'd have done it when you were both at work." He drank in the look of wariness and hope on Jason's face. "See, your mom's been struggling with bills for a while now, she's done some work for me to keep things ticking over. She's getting on in the years though, and she's tired all the time, so I'd like someone with a little more vigor."

Jason's mouth was bone-dry. "For what?"

There was a bag on top of the mess on top of the coffee table. Mr Hartley nudged it. "Pick it up and open it."

Women's clothes. A pair of fishnet tights, matching fishnet gloves, a dark blue rayon micro skirt, a midriff top with a bright red lollipop on it, and a pair of Walmart-brand lace panties.

"What are these?"

"Put them on."

He hesitated. "Over my clothes?"

"Don't be fucking stupid. If you're not out of your old clothes and into your new ones in sixty seconds I'm kicking you out of my house and then I'm kicking you out of your house."

He stared at him in terror.

"Fifty seconds."

He hesitated for only a moment more before he began to strip. Hartley leered at him openly, cracking open a beer and swigging it as he watched Jason's fast food uniform fall to the floor. Jason put on the skirt, top, and underwear as fast as he could, more out of an attempt to preserve his modesty than out of obedience, but the fishnets were tight and finicky, and he was aware that his sixty seconds were almost through. He let out a whimper of panic as one of the gloves snagged on his thumb, ripping.

Mr Hartley laughed. "Slow down, kid, I'm enjoying the view."

His heartbeat ran through his jaw and he swallowed with a dry mouth, but he calmed himself enough to put on the gloves and stockings without damaging them further. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, again out of an unconscious attempt for modesty rather than any kind of defiance. When Mr Hartley patted a spot on the couch next to him, he flinched.

"Why don't you sit down next to me for a minute?"

Though he was barefoot, he tottered over to the couch as if he was wearing seven-inch heels. A meaty hand grabbed his hip and yanked him down onto the cushions. Warm breath buffeted his face, smelling of day-old milk and cigarette smoke. His hands were all over him, calloused, sausage-link fingers stained orange with nicotine, somehow both rough and clammy, crawling over his thighs and shoulders. Jason stopped thinking for a moment, and didn't realize the hands had moved until he cried out from his nipple being pinched between thumb and forefinger.

"These won't do, they'll need some jewelry," muttered Mr Hartley, paying no mind to his terrified guest. "Light hair, you'll need to start shaving it, smooth face, soft hips, you've got your mom's lips, yeah, real good lips..."

Out of sheer terror, he tried to reply 'thank you.' It came out as a nod.

"Okay, I see what I'm getting into. Jason, lean over and give me a kiss."

Without thinking, Jason opened his mouth. "I'm straight," he said, and for the most part it was true.

"I don't know where you got the idea that I give a fuck what you want."

Before Jason could apologize, Hartley grabbed his hair, pulled his head towards him, and pressed him into a deep kiss. He yelped as their front teeth bumped together, any harder and his tooth would have chipped, but it didn't slow the older man for a second. His chapped lips pushed Jason's mouth open and he all but shoved his tongue down his throat, tainting the boy's mouth with tobacco spit. He kissed greedily, bending Jason backwards with one hand on the small of his back, the other hand groping and caressing him. Jason squealed from a vicious pinch to his inner thigh, and tried to push the hand away.

"That won't do, that won't do at all." He grabbed Jason's wrist and squeezed, mashing muscle against tendon against bone, and yanked it behind his back.

"What the fuck?" Something cold bit into his skin, clicking and jangling, and before he could react the same thing happened to his other wrist. As Hartley let go, Jason tried to bring his hands in front of him. He couldn't.

"Those are sheriff's department issue handcuffs, if you get on my nerves you'll spend a lot of time wearing them one way or another."

Immediately he began struggling, claustrophobia overcoming him. "Take them off me!"

"Keys are by the door, kid. Locked cuffs tonight or changed locks tomorrow, your choice."

Jason struggled for a few more moments before freezing stiff, too scared to move. He whimpered as the old man grabbed his hair and pulled him into another kiss. With his hands bound, he could no longer defend himself from the barrage of slapping, pinching and groping. When Hartley told him to use more tongue or he'd pull his nipples off, it didn't seem like an idle threat.

The kiss broke, a strand of cigarette-spit bridging their lips. Wiping his mouth, he said, "Enough of that, time for you to give me some throat-love," and pushed him off the couch. Jason landed on his knees, cushioned by a mess of candy wrappers and old takeout boxes. He looked up to see Hartley pointing to the bulge in his stained grey sweatpants. "I'm not here to do your work, kid, pull them down and take my cock out."

Jason tried to glance behind his back. "But my hands..."

"Use your mouth, dumbfuck."

He leaned forward, his stomach turning over as he breathed in the smell of unwashed cotton, stale grease, ball sweat, and dried cum. The smell intensified tenfold as he gripped the waistband in his teeth and pulled downwards, with new scents added with every half-inch he moved: dried piss, fresh sweat, drying cum, night sweat, and musk. He held his breath as he moved down, eyes scrunched shut, cringing as something warm and sticky brushed against his cheek. Wiry pubes scratched his skin, struggling to pull any further on the fabric until Hartley took mercy on him and pulled his pants the rest of the way down.

His cock was viscerally unpleasant. It wasn't huge, shorter than most but plenty thick, jutting out from a thick tangle of pubic hair, with an oily sheen as if it had been rubbed down with lard. The tip of the angry-red glans glistened with precum, peeking out from his foreskin, which seemed dry and almost chapped in comparison to the rest of his cock. Jason began to approach it, struggling to remain balanced with his arms bound behind him, and Hartley took that as the perfect moment to reach down and pull back his foreskin. The head was flecked with dots of pale grey smegma, a thin ring of the stuff running between the glans and foreskin. As the sour, fishy stink hit Jason, he turned pale and dry heaved.

"Yeah, your mom made the same face," said Hartley, picking a stray pube off of the tip.

He tried to ignore him. "I need a minute." He tried to raise his hand, but they remained cuffed. "I just-mmph!"

Hartley rubbed the tip of his cock over the boy's lips and nose. "Do you tell your boss at Taco Bell that you need a minute? You're on the clock, you little whore, so open up already." He pinched Jason's nostrils until he opened his mouth to breathe, then stuffed his cock inside, grabbed his hair, and pushed in as deep as possible. Jason spluttered pathetically, sending a mouthful of spit running down onto the older man's balls. He didn't get a second to adjust before Hartley began thrusting violently, each stroke ramming into his tonsils. Every breath he could steal carried the stink of unwashed cock, and the breaths were far and few between. "This is a punishment fuck," he grunted, breathing hard from exertion as he continued the painful and degrading treatment. "It's punishment for being late with your rent, for being late to my house, and being an insufficiently enthusiastic cocksucker, so if you don't want this treatment on a daily basis from now on, I suggest you improve your fucking attitude."

"Glrk!"

"I'm about to take my hands off your head. You're not going to back away, you're going to keep sucking and licking my cock until I tell you otherwise."

Jason nodded, hot tears running down his cheeks. Hartley let go of the vice grip on his hair and he remained in place, his lips trembling around the old man's cock. He took it deeper into his mouth and pulled back up, gently sucking, in his best imitation of amateur porn. Hartley abruptly pulled out of his mouth with a pop, and began slapping his spit-slicked cock on the boy's cheeks.

"Christ, kid, you suck cock worse than your mom, I didn't even know that was possible." He started giving pointers and detailed instructions for licking, sucking, cleaning, and worshipping his cock and balls, punctuating his tutoring with slaps and insults when Jason failed to follow instructions to his satisfaction. His cock was short enough that Jason was able to deep throat him, much to the boy's chagrin. The smegma felt mealy and slimy on his tongue, he could feel stray pubic hairs in his teeth, and for every two seconds he spent ten seconds with his nose buried in Hartley's saliva-slicked pubes.

"Hold the tip on your mouth, don't move an inch, I'm gonna cum," he said, breath ragged as he stroked his cock. A few moments later, Jason's cheeks bulged out, his mouth filled with thick, ropey sperm. It wasn't bitter but it was overwhelmingly salty, and there was so much that a few stray slugs spilled from his lips and ran down the old man's shaft.

"Swallow it, you little fuck, swallow it all!"

He tried to obey but the thick fluid stuck to his mouth and gums and seemed to cohere into a single slimy mass that wouldn't go all the way down his throat. As he struggled for breath it went down his airway and he coughed, spilling much of it back out onto Hartley's groin. He slapped Jason hard enough that his ears rang, and barked at him to lick it up.

He looked down at the old man's crotch, his cock and balls wet with cum, spit and backwash, a web of silvery liquid stretching over his pubes. Stifling a sob, he lowered his head again and started licking. As he took one of Mr Hartley's balls into his mouth, he looked up to see the man making a phone call. He kept licking as he listened to him order takeout, and didn't stop licking even as the call ended.

A calloused hand ruffled his hair. "One whole hour for some orange chicken and chow mein, can you believe that? That's what I get for living out in the sticks I guess." He stretched out, blew his nose into a tissue, and clicked his neck. "Anyway, hurry up and finish cleaning me. Now that I'm warmed up, it's time for some real fun..."