Seasonal Work

Charlie stood over the radiator and let pain return to his body. He'd stumbled through rain, sleet and hail for two hours, wind whipping the rain against him in sheets, in nothing but jeans and a thin shirt. Rain sapped the heat from his body, sleet seeping through his flesh, the hail going through to his bones. Indoors now, heat returned, sensation returned, pain returned, and he knew soon that fear would return.

His saviour threw a towel at him. "Take your clothes off and leave them by the washing machine, you're dripping all over the carpet."

He dried his face and hair before stripping off, no feeling in his hands, grasping at hems and zippers. Once the clothes were in the machine he dried the rest of his skin, or tried to. It was a hand towel. It was an inch too short to wrap around his waist, he held it in place with a hand to preserve his modesty.

"Hurry up, I'm in the living room."

The world tilted as he turned, lightheaded. He was weak. It was the hunger as much as the cold. He'd eaten his last granola bar yesterday. He could smell soup and grilled cheese and followed the smell, almost delirious.

Ash was on the couch. She'd taken off her dressing gown and now wore grey boxer briefs and a tank top. She was big. Even sitting down she still looked big. She had five inches on him and must have weighed twice as much, mostly in muscle. Her thighs were chubby and she had something of a beer belly, but you didn't get shoulders like hers without a lot of deadlifts and overhead presses. The free weights in the corner and the sheen of sweat on her skin said that she'd been doing exactly that before Charlie rang her doorbell.

"Take a seat," she said. She took up most of the couch, and even without touching him she radiated heat. On the coffee table were two bowls of tomato soup and a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches. He stared at them. "Eyes over here pal. I haven't decided what to do with you yet, and that includes whether I should feed you before I send you packing."

He looked her in the eye, swallowed, nodded. "Yeah."

"So, Cindy Wainwright told you to go see me, is that right?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah." He swallowed again. "I mean, no, I guess. I told her I'd got a bus ticket to the city, and she told me she'd stayed with you and did some work for you. Then I ran out of calling credit. I wanted to look around the city first and see if I could call her again from somewhere, or call you, and then the storm started..."

"We're on a headland," she said, staring at him. "It's November." She spoke slowly. "We have storms." She drew out every syllable. "You didn't bring a coat?"

"I didn't have time. Didn't think to stop and grab one."

"Why the rush?"

"My stepdad tried to kill me again."

"Shit." Her face softened, for a second. She picked up a can of light beer, cracked it open, swigged it, and put it down. "Classic teenage runaway huh? That's rough."

"Yeah."

"So what did you want to do?"

Charlie shrugged. "Find some work and a place to stay, save some money, and move on with my life."

"You got any qualifications? Got a credit history and references for renting?"

He shook his head.

"That sucks. There's the YMCA and shelters I guess. They get a lot of use around here." She swept a lock of dirty-blond hair off her forehead and re-tied her ponytail.

He looked at her, scared and pleading, not wanting to put into words what he knew he needed to ask for. "Cindy, uh, she said that you and her did—that you got some kind of work..."

"Cindy mostly did bartending at a dive, I got her the job because I knew the owner. He sold the place last year and moved to Montreal."

"Oh..." His guts tied up into a knot. Over Ash's shoulder he could see the sleet battering against the windows. He had no money, no shelter, and no food. It was going to get colder. "Was that enough to pay the rent? Doing bar work, I mean?"

"Not really. Wasn't enough to save up for the deposit on that nice place she's got down in New Mexico now, either."

Charlie blinked. She was dragging this out. She was taunting him. His eyes kept darting back and forth between Ash, the food, and the storm outside.

She grinned at him. She had hard features: a sharp jawline, a brow made for scowling, cold blue eyes and a predator's teeth. "Did she tell you how she made that extra money?"

She had told him. He shook his head anyway.

"The same way any pretty young thing without qualifications can make a bunch of money. She turned tricks for me. She got out of paying her rent that way too."

He said nothing. His head was empty, his stomach was empty, and he felt like he'd black out if he moved an inch in any direction.

Ash cleared her throat. "Well, you're young and pretty, so I'll give you two choices. First choice is that I give you a clean change of clothes and a Snickers bar and drop you off at the YMCA. You can wait around until someone sees you to put you on a bunch of waiting lists. They might get you picking litter for food, and shit, maybe you can parlay that into a real job. There's no soup and grilled cheese in that choice 'cause I need to get you out of here before the YMCA shuts, so keep that in mind."

She shifted on the couch, splaying out her legs and pushing her hips up. There was an obvious, enormous bulge in the front of her boxer briefs, growing more by the second. Cindy had mentioned that.

Charlie swallowed, breathing hard. Sensation had returned to his ears; he could feel his own heartbeat in them. He tried not to stare at her groin.

"Second choice is that you suck my cock," she said, matter-of-factly. "You'll get to eat grilled cheese sandwiches, you'll get to sleep in my bed tonight, and if you're a good little boy I'll let you continue to do so on a nightly basis. I'll set you up with some clients, you can turn a few tricks, and you can work as my maid to keep your rent low."

Charlie stared anyway. He could only think of sensations. Hot soup. Warm bed. Hard cock.

Ash stretched out. "So what'll it be, kiddo? Out of my house, or into your mouth?"

He looked at the door, heard the rain thudding against the windows. He tried to imagine walking back outside but his mind refused it as if he was telling himself to walk into a bonfire. He let his hand drop away from the towel around his waist. Quietly, he said, "I think I'd prefer the second choice."

"Show me."

Haltingly, hesitatingly, he shuffled towards her, out of exhaustion and clumsiness rather than reticence. When he reached a hand out towards her briefs, she pushed it away.

"Hold up, pretty boy, your fingers are icicles. Use your lips."

He got on all fours and tried to lean over her without his hands touching her. It put a strain on his tired shoulders and as he touched his lips to the waistband of her briefs he lost his balance, falling face-first against her navel. His face sunk into her pudge, her warmth flooding into his skin. She was the warmest thing he'd felt all week, driving out the cold, melting the band of pain that had been tightening around his temples since he'd left home. He realized how tired he was, how it had been three days since he'd slept longer than an hour, how hard he was working to keep his eyes open and how hot they burned when he shut them.

But he had work to do first.

He pushed forward, mouthing at the waistband to take it between his lips. He didn't try to bite at it, she'd told him to use his lips after all and she might take exception to having her clothes bitten. She giggled as he rooted for a grip, working his tongue and lips with all the grace of a dog cleaning out a jar of peanut butter. The elasticated fabric dug a half-inch into her flesh and was noticeably damp with the clean, milk-smelling sweat that comes from hard exercise.

A minute later he had the fabric bunched up between his lips, gumming onto it tightly, having half-smothered himself to do so. He dragged the fabric downwards and took in a desperately-needed breath. The smell almost sent him reeling: dried piss, sweaty balls, and the overwhelming stink of cum. She had a little thatch of pubic hair, damp with sweat and matted with jizz. It tickled his nose as he pulled the briefs down further. Finally, he pulled the waistband down past the tip of her cock. It sprang upwards, slapping him lightly across the temple. She reached down and slid her briefs down to her knees.

He looked at her cock and then looked up at her face, panting, cheeks flushed, head swimming. She stroked his cheek and cooed at him. "You're doing great so far, pretty boy, keep going..."

He looked back down at her cock and steeled himself. It was imposing. Nine inches long, as thick as a can of Red Bull, a hint of red peeking out of the tip of the foreskin, and a heavy pair of balls to match. It had a sheen of sweat, light glistening off the veins bulging out along the skin. He leaned forward and kissed the tip, registering nothing but the smell of cum and musk and the giggle of praise that came from above. He stuck out his tongue and licked the shaft, or tried to at least. He tried to wet his tongue in his mouth but he couldn't, and as he tried he only ended up coughing. His mouth was bone-dry and the last place he'd drank any water was in a different state.

"Dry mouth?"

"Mhmm."

"This'll help." She pressed her open can of Miller to his lips and poured. He'd never liked the taste of beer but he guzzled it down greedily nevertheless. The tense little barbs of thirst were washed away, and his mouth no longer felt like he'd been chewing paper towels.

"Thank you," he murmured..

She pointed to the tip of her cock. "Thank me with a kiss."

He licked his lips, embarrassed at how chapped they'd gotten in the cold, and planted a peck on the very tip of it. A longer, firmer kiss followed the first, then a slow lick across the hole, a third kiss, a fourth kiss opening his lips ever so slightly, and a fifth parting his lips and applying the smallest amount of careful, teasing suction. The very tip of his tongue slipped under her foreskin as he kissed again, tasting something overwhelmingly salty.

As he broke that kiss off, she grasped her cock by the base and peeled back the foreskin. The smell of cum and musk increased tenfold, her entire glans was covered in a thick layer of jizz. She'd clearly beaten off earlier, stuffed it back in her pants without cleaning off, and gone about her day until he'd arrived at her door.

He looked up at her, unsure of what to do. She just rubbed the slick tip over his mouth, nose and chin. Obviously, it was his job to clean it.

He felt buzzed, woozy, a little nauseous. He couldn't tell what was nerves, what was the smell, and what was the can of beer he'd just been fed. He knew he had to clean her cock, so he did, licking up the cum that coated the tip, running his tongue behind the ridge to lap it all up, taking the head into his mouth. Salty, pungent, a sharp metallic aftertaste. For the first time in months, he felt useful again.

Once the strongest taste had been licked away, he started to suck it properly. He let it slide into his mouth until the tip hit the back of his throat and his cheeks bulged out from the girth, then he pulled back up, sucking and slurping. His head gave a little twist every time he bobbed up and down, drooling freely until spit ran down to her balls. She groaned, low and contented, and stroked his damp hair.

"You've done this before, haven't you?"

"Mhm-hmm," he mumbled around her. It was true, although last time he'd been able to use his hands, and he hadn't been working from such an uncomfortable angle. He pulled his mouth off of her, kissed the tip, and lowered his head to lap at her balls where at least he could rest his neck. She seemed to appreciate the attention, but he didn't risk her ire by staying down there too long, and returned to sucking cock.

A few minutes of cocksucking later, she cleared her throat and sat up straight. "You can use your hands now, you'll need them to brace yourself," she said, putting both of her hands on the back of his head. "You're not bad, but I need to feel my dick deep inside your neck, understand?"

"Mhmph!"

She pushed, he gagged. She pushed, he gurgled, She pushed, he squealed. She sighed. She relented, loosening her grip. He wasn't allowed far enough up for the cock to leave his mouth, so he stayed in place, coughing and groaning around the tip, taking in deep breaths through his nose. Eight fingers and two thumbs were digging into his scalp, and each one utterly unyielding.

Her hands bore down, his head followed. The tip hit the back of his throat, cheeks bulging out from the girth, his jaw burning from the effort of keeping his teeth off of it. It wouldn't go any further, it couldn't, it was just too thick. Drooling and breathing through his nose, he tried to pull up an inch to bob on it. Her hands wouldn't let him.

"Nuh-uh," she said, "you don't come up until I say so, you only go down."

He tried to swallow it as she shoved his head down, but it was like trying to swallow a baseball. He gagged as it battered his throat, spit spewing from his lips, his eyes watering. She responded by grinding down until he coughed, retched and gasped for air all at once. He made a noise like a car turning over on a flat battery. When it was clear that it would go no further she relented, but only enough for him to take a breath through his nose.

"C'mon, back in," she said, bearing down again, "your throat is a one-way street, lemme through..."

She did that a few more times, the results remained the same. His face was streaked with tears, his nose dripping spit and snot, and he could taste beer and backwash in his mouth, but he hadn't taken the dick any deeper. He felt a little fear, the animal fear of suffocating, but it was at the back of his mind. What gripped him was shame, shame at his inability to please his host.

"I think I know what's up," she said, "you're trying to swallow, right?"

He gurgled around her cock in response.

"Stop doing that. Try to yawn around it, like you're trying to pop your ears, and when I push in, try stick your tongue out as far as it'll go, okay?"

He tried to nod.

Unfortunately, her advice worked. The head slipped past his tonsils, taking him by surprise. He tried to breathe, couldn't, and tensed up, sending waves of pain through his throat. He thought his Adam's apple was going to crack. His fists beat against her thighs as he tried to pull away, her hands holding him firmly in place, letting him up slowly until only the tip remained in his mouth.

"No. No. No. No. No!" She gripped his hair in one hand and punctuated her nos with short, sharp slaps to his cheek while he spluttered around the head. "What did I tell you? What's the only direction you go on my dick?"

She took his garbled reply to mean "downwards."

"That's right! The more you struggle the more it will hurt, not because I'm going to hurt you, but because relaxing makes it easy. Now, get your hands off my thighs, take a few breaths, and try again."

His hands shook as he moved them either side of her legs. He now had even less leverage and his head was entirely supported by the calloused pair of hands gripping it. It wasn't any easier knowing what was going to happen; his stomach felt even more ready to turn over, his mind too fogged to relax. The cock slipped into his throat and he fought back the urge to fight back. He heard his jaw click and crunch from being forced even wider as inch after inch disappeared down his neck. Halfway down he got stuck in place, his throat no longer pulling him downwards.

Stifling a groan, Ash whispered, "R-right, that's real good, just stay there for a few more seconds and I'll pull you back up..."

He felt himself being pulled upwards, almost fighting against his esophagus as it tried to keep swallowing. Just before the tip slid out past his tonsils, she pushed him back down and thrust her hips up, two-thirds of her cock past his lips. He whined in protest, desperate to breathe.

"You can have some air next time, just stay there, stay right there..."

She pulled out into his mouth, he tried to breathe, couldn't, nose blocked up. He snorted, clearing out just enough spit and mucus to pull in a little air, took half a breath, and was forced back down. His lungs felt like they'd been stuffed full of crumpled-up sandpaper. It took two more thrusts before she let him take a proper breath, and by then there was a gauzy haze over his vision. Two thrusts, breath, two thrusts, breath, two thrusts, breath, breath, breath. He wasn't sure if he'd passed out.

He braced himself to be pushed down again but it didn't happen, so he stayed in place and breathed. It took him a minute to realize he was crying, whimpering around the tip of her cock, each sob becoming a gentle suckle. A rough hand was stroking his hair.

"Such a good boy, you're doing so well," she crooned, "you just need to do one more thrust and then it's finished, okay?"

She didn't wait for a nod or even a murmur of acceptance, she simply re-gripped his head and pushed. Her cock slid into his throat with minimal resistance, all but the last inch sliding past his lips. He did his best to remain limp, the few spasms of resistance only serving to milk her shaft.

"Okay that's pretty far, I don't think you can go any deeper than that—"

Charlie felt a dull sense of relief. The sooner she was done the sooner he could eat, though the pain in his jaw and his topsy-turvy stomach had tamped down his appetite. She might let him take a shower or sleep in a bed. Maybe even her bed. Just a few seconds more of throat-fucking and she'd probably let him finish her with his hands.

Then her weight shifted. "—not without help!"

Her muscular thighs clamped over his ears as she wrapped her legs around his head in a figure-four lock, squeezing from all sides. For a split-second it felt as though his head would pop open, and then the last inch of her cock pushed inside him. Her wiry pubic hair pressed against his chin, his nose sank into her balls, and his lips were wrapped around the base of her shaft. She somehow thrust in even farther, his face sinking into her soft skin as she ground her hips back and forth, letting out a low, animalistic groan from using his throat to warm her cock.

His legs kicked and his arms flailed but it was pointless, pitting his strength against hers was like trying to knock down a granite wall by licking it. Still, he couldn't stop himself, he was too tired and too fragile to tell himself to just let it happen. His non-stop gagging only served to make his throat massage the very cock it was trying to expel, his vision darkened at the corners, she was going to keep him there until he blacked out.

Maybe she'd keep him there longer than that. Too long.

It didn't even register when she untangled her legs and let him up. One moment he was blacking out, the next moment the tip was in his mouth, his ears were on fire, one hand was grabbing his hair, the other had wrapped around her shaft and was jack-hammering up and down, the side of her fist battering his lips on every other stroke. A particularly hard stroke cut his lip on his teeth, the taste of iron mixing with the taste of beer backwash and cock-sweat. She twitched and writhed as she masturbated, groaning and whining, as desperate now as Charlie had been on her doorstep almost an hour ago.

She came. The first rope filled his mouth, he barely contained the second, the third spilled past his lips. He tried to swallow but it seemed to resist, sticking to the sides of his mouth and coating everything in a thick layer of goo. He gulped to keep it from spilling out but was unprepared for more spurts, filling his sinuses and dripping out from his nose. It burned but he kept swallowing, thick and salty and musky, upsetting his already-upset stomach.