tagMatureThe Mentor

The Mentor


Author's note: This is a contest story for summer 2015. A big thank you to legerdemer for editing this on such short notice, turning it around so fast, and offering such brilliant edits. I put this in Mature, but it could have gone in noncon. My obsession with dark and edgy characters continues.


The sponsor meets his charge


She was cute, a real looker.

Thin brown hair, parted on the side. She wore it cut like a boy's, but there was no mistaking her for a boy. Slim hips. Dark tights. Long, slender legs. She slipped into the Tuesday night AA meeting a few minutes after it started and then shuffled to the back of the room, head down. The walk of shame. Don Manley had seen it many times before. When a girl her age came into an AA meeting, looking like that, it could only mean one thing. She'd gone out for drinks over the weekend and done something she now regretted.

Don smiled and sipped his coffee.

He wanted another look but played it cool. He could still see her shapely legs in his mind. He liked the way her leggings picked up the light, showing off the muscles in her thighs, her bony knees. He imagined her kneeling in the bathroom of one of the local bars, a group of boisterous young men standing around her, their cocks in hand. With the designer drugs available these days, the girls came into AA with the most delightfully sordid stories. Sometimes they woke up with no memory of the night before, but found their phones littered with images. Those pictures told the story their minds had discarded. He imagined this girl grinning into her phone, her cheeks decorated with semen of a boy whose name she'd never recall.

Don shifted in his seat, resisting the urge to turn and check out her legs.

A lot of these girls weren't really alcoholics. They were good girls, from good families, suppressing their own natural desires. They did it to accommodate their parents, their teachers, and sometimes priests or rabbis. Get a little alcohol in them and they just did the thing they really wanted to do anyhow. Maybe they'd woken up in the arms of a black man, or sucked the pussy of one of their best friends. Soon after they parted from alcohol, girls like these found themselves in a relationship with a black guy or dating another woman. There was a certain beauty in it, the way a thing that at first seemed like a horrible tragedy suddenly transformed itself into the most important and liberating experience of a young girl's life.

Don stole a glance at her.

Not much makeup, eyes red-ringed and swollen from tears. Crossing her ankles under her chair, she held onto the seat with both her hands. When it came her turn to speak, she said her name was Denver and that she was using heroin. She talked about getting thrown out of college, fired from her job at Hardee's, and being on shaky terms with her new boyfriend, the guy who gave her the heroin.

A silence descended on the room.

Denver's voice choked and she dabbed a tear from her eye.

Everyone waited for her to resume. She lifted her shoulders and bit her lip. Glancing around the room, she shook her head once, and then cast her eyes to a spot on the floor. The room stayed quiet for a few seconds before erupting into a hearty welcome, including a chorus of cheers, lots of loud clapping, and even a war whoop.

Denver's head popped up, her cheeks bright red.

She wore a big grin.

One of the young men jumped out of his chair and handed her a tissue. She bit her lip again, taking the tissue and dabbing at her eyes. A few of the other young guys raced over to the coffee pot. Soon one of the boys stepped up with a paper cup filled with hot coffee, which he offered to her with a goofy grin. She smiled at him, accepting the drink. Suddenly there was a raw, palpable, sexual energy in the room. The young guys were trying to be discreet about it, but it was clear they all wanted to bang her. They whispered amongst themselves, giving Denver hungry looks. A young Latino with tattoos on his arms and a gold chain around his neck slouched in his seat with his legs spread wide, feasting on her with his eyes. After a few minutes one of the other young men slapped him on the shoulder, and the Latino boy grinned, but he wouldn't stop staring, wouldn't close his legs.

Denver didn't seem to mind the attention.

She fidgeted in her seat, pumping her knees open and closed a mile a minute.

At the closing prayer, there was a little stampede of men competing to stand on either side of her. Don grinned, holding out his hands to the person on either side of him, completing the circle.

In the parking lot, it was more of the same.

The young men surrounded Denver, growing boisterous, loud. She wore a big grin, holding her own in the middle of them. Finally, Margie, one of the women who'd been coming to the Tuesday night AA group a few years, marched into the pack, took Denver by the elbow, and steered her to the other side of the parking lot, where Don and a few of the others stood.

Don nodded and smiled at Denver.

He was a good-looking man, with a rugged face and a well-built body. Sober a long time, he was one of the old-timers at the Tuesday night AA meeting.

He was married. Trusted.

It didn't take much to get her talking. She lived with her mother in a dodgy part of town. Her father had abandoned them. She was on probation for shoplifting. Had been expelled from school. Her biggest fear was that she might lose her boyfriend.

Don cut his eyes to Margie. The two traded a look. Margie squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

There was an awkward silence.

"Wait," Denver said, ignoring Margie. "I want to stop using drugs."

Don smiled at Denver.

"I want to get my life together," she said, her voice rising.

She shook her head. She launched into a story about a time she was at a party, smoking crack. She said one of her classmates, a good-looking and very popular boy invited her to go upstairs. Looking at her feet, Denver worked the toe of her boot into the macadam. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, huddled with shame. She said she'd been too interested in the pipe to get up off the couch. Looking up at Don, she smiled sadly at him.

"Upstairs?" Don asked. He had no idea what she meant.

Denver raised her brows, a surprised look on her face. Slowly her expression transformed into a mischievous grin. "Yeah," she said. "You know. Upstairs."

Don gave her a curious look.

Denver glanced toward the crowd of young men only now beginning to disperse. She twisted her hands. "All the girls like to go upstairs every once in a while," she said.

She was telling him she had turned down an invitation for sex.

Margie averted her eyes.

Don snorted softly.

His cheeks went hot and he looked at his shoes.

He chuckled.

Some of the girls who came to the Tuesday night AA meeting weren't really alcoholics, but Denver wasn't one of them. She wasn't suppressing anything. She had no one to accommodate. All she had was a girl-size hole in the middle of her heart, and she was trying to fill it with whatever she could find: booze, drugs. Men.


Margie cooed a few words of comfort.

The street light gleamed off Denver's tights, accentuating her narrow hips and firm round ass. She was Gucci on the outside, Kmart on the inside. Discarded by her father, dating a drug dealer, fine-tuned to male attention. Girls like her imagined a guy would help them reclaim some lost piece of their soul, but in reality a man was never the solution. If Denver were lucky, she'd figure that out. Meanwhile, she'd tear through all the young men at the Tuesday night AA meeting like a gas-powered mower driving through a field of tall grass.

Denver traded phone numbers with Margie.

Don crushed his cigarette with the toe of his boot. Denver was more like him than he cared to admit. His cock swelled in his jeans.


It was early Saturday afternoon and Don stood at the urinal in the Cross Creek Mall.

His cock was hard, but he didn't want to jack off into the urinal. He didn't have time. He had only come here to purchase a three-quarter-inch drill bit and some wood screws. He wanted his erection to pass so that he could relieve himself.

Get on with his chores.

He just couldn't get the image of Marley Adams and her new tongue piercing out of his mind.

It was a little silver stud in the middle of her tongue.

She was still getting used to pronouncing words around it. Little pools of saliva would form at the corners of her mouth and she would open her jaw and use her fingers to clear her lips. She had the most perfect white teeth. Occasionally he saw little flashes of sliver as she spoke, or heard the soft clatter of jewelry on tooth.

The thought of that cold steel ball rubbing against his flesh made his cock throb.

Don sighed and glanced around the empty bathroom.

He knew way more than he should have about Marley's sex life. She'd gone through school with his son and was always the tallest student in the class. Pretty soon she grew into an attractive young woman with wide hips and a big meaty ass. For as long as he could remember, he'd always told her what a big girl she was, and then one day her father pulled Don aside and said Marley felt self-conscious about her size. It made perfect sense. She was the biggest girl, and always a bit uncoordinated. Once she'd fallen off her starting block at a championship swim event, even as all the other swimmers stood tensed at the ready. Marley wasn't always in control of that big, beautiful body of hers, but she was doing her best to meet its demands. What Don knew about her sex life, he could never share with her father.

Don knew, for example, that last summer she had begun sleeping with girls.

He knew that she had all but declared herself lesbian, and then one night had a threesome with two boys. It happened in the back seat of an old Chevy Nomad he was restoring and was the main reason he knew so much about her sexual activities.

He knew that during the threesome both boys came in her mouth.

He knew Marley swallowed both "deposits."

He knew she liked the taste of cum.

Don stroked his cock. It was fully erect now and already had a little bit of pre-cum welling at the tip. Marley had told him she'd just started working at her father's hardware store. Don pictured her small breasts under the little green vest all the employees wore.

Her nameplate read: "Hi! My name is Marley. How can I help you?"

He stepped closer to the urinal.

You can let me come in your pretty little mouth.

He pictured her dabbing the moisture from the corners of her mouth. He liked the way she grinned, sticking out her pink tongue, touching it to her upper lip. He liked catching the glint of wet metal in her mouth.

Suddenly the bathroom door burst open.

Don gripped his cock, feeling the hot sting of shame. He stepped even closer to the urinal, the head of his hard dick mashing into the back of the porcelain fixture. It was wet and cold. He instantly drew his hips back, using his hand to shield his erection.

Denver stood at the door.

Her eyes were wide, her back against the door. Her chest heaved once. Their eyes met and she recognized him. She broke eye contact, glanced over her shoulder, then bit her lip and marched past him into one of the stalls.

The stall lock rattled into place.

Don exhaled.

He'd been holding his breath.

His cock had softened, and he used his palm to wipe the moisture from the head, wincing at the thought of his beautiful penis touching the wet fixture. He looked over his shoulder at the closed stall door. He looked at his cock.

The door burst open again.

Standing in the doorway was a young woman with a round face and a bulky utility belt strapped to her waist. She wore a mall security uniform and huffed with exertion. Averting her eyes, she held her position in the door.

"Excuse me, sir," she said.

Don gripped the valve atop the urinal, looking into the basin.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, taking a deep breath.

Don did not look up.

"Did someone just come in here?"

A faucet dripped.

"A young girl?"

Don silently spat into the urinal.

"Sir," she said.

He took a deep breath, then looked toward the door.

"This is the men's room," he hissed.

He blew the air from his lungs.

He did not break eye contact.

His urine came.

He took a step back.

It was a heavy, satisfying stream.

It rang into the tiled quiet of the room.

The guard backed into the mall, holding the door open. Her eyes darted about, her cheeks reddening.

Don narrowed his eyes, his cock growing thick and heavy in his hand.

"What?" he snapped.

The heavy door swung close with a soft hydraulic sigh.


Half an hour later Denver ordered the breakfast special. Don got coffee for himself and then called his wife to say he'd be late. Denver wore no makeup. Her fingernails were bitten to the quick. When the food arrived, she tore into the bacon as if she hadn't eaten in a long time. Wiping grease from her lips with the back of her hand, she said she'd given up on the Tuesday night AA meeting because Margie and the others were just a bunch of cranky old women.

Don chuckled.

A waitress appeared and filled his cup. He smiled at her. He came here a lot.

Denver finished her meal. She pushed her plate forward, sank back into the booth, and sighed. She ordered tea.

The waitress left them alone.

"So what'd you get?" Don asked.

She raised her brows, acting coy.

He smiled, raising his chin.

She cut her eyes away from him and smirked. Reaching into the waistband of her jeans, she pulled out a phone. A mischievous smile spread across her face. Don made his eyes go big. She pulled two more phones from places secreted in her pants and clattered them all into a small pile on the table.

"Damn," Don said. He sipped his coffee.

Denver grinned.

"You got talent," he said. Her face glowed with satisfaction just as he knew it would. Girls like Denver thrived on approval, especially from a man. "You still with your boyfriend?"

The question caught her off guard and she squirmed.

The waitress returned with hot tea.

Denver stirred her drink, the spoon softly clanging the sides of the ceramic mug. When the waitress retreated, Denver whispered that she'd done heroin with a syringe for the first time. She meant to shock him. Don dutifully widened his eyes, nodded his head.

"Do you have a sexual relationship with him?" Don asked. He looked right into her face and she turned her head. She was guarding something, but it was hard to say what.

There was only the sound of the busy restaurant all around them.

"No," she finally whispered. She hung her head. "I steal for him because I'm good at it."

Don took a deep breath. "How old are you?" he asked.

She stopped stirring her tea. "Twenty-two," she said.

"That's a felony," Don said, indicating the stack of phones. "And you got priors? Five to seven years in Dawson."

She lowered her eyes.

"My boyfriend wants me to stop stealing, too."

Don narrowed his eyes. "And you're not in a sexual relationship with him?" he asked.

She looked uncomfortable. Putting her elbows on the table, she hunched forward and held her head in her hands. She darted her eyes around the room, then looked in his face. With her limbs all twisted around her head, she didn't look twenty-two.

"We do some stuff," she whispered. "But it's not sex."

Don smiled.

Her face reddened.

Raising his brows, he shrugged and made a gesture with his hands for more information.

She sat up in the booth and toyed with her cuticles. Hunching forward, she crushed her small breasts against the table. He could see down her shirt.

She silently mouthed the words "blow job".

Don laughed.

Her face was completely red but she was grinning and looked relieved.

"It's not sex," she whispered, sitting back in her seat, "so it doesn't count."

She was in over her head. She'd been sucking this guy's cock for who knew how long, and he was filling her head with nonsense even as he was filling her with semen. Who knew what he was after? Certainly nothing good. Any reasonable adult would've advised her to drop the man. Surely Margie suggested it.

"Did he tell you to say that?" Don asked.

"No," Denver said.

Don put his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, and grinned. She was a bad liar.

"Yes," she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

She hung her head.

"He's just showing me how to do it, so even if it is sex, it's not like it really counts."

Her voice was just a squeak and filled with shame, her eyes welling with tears. This was the thing she was hiding. She was blowing him, but it wasn't an intimate relationship. Her boyfriend refused to fuck her.

"Has he asked you to give his friends head?"

Her head shot up, her mouth open.

Her whole demeanor suddenly changed: the shame disappeared, replaced with something else, something harder to describe, an earthy rawness. Closing her mouth, she squirmed in her seat and looked around the diner. Her nipples poked into the fabric of her shirt, and her neck and ears flushed red. She took a deep breath and then blew it out in a long shuddery exhale.

"He . . ." she said. Her voice was thick and she had to pause and clear her throat. She covered her mouth, then let her fingers wander down over her shallow cleavage. "He wouldn't do that," she said.

"He wouldn't?" Don asked, incredulous.

She made a nervous laugh, avoiding his eyes. He absolutely would. Her hand played over the front of her shirt.

The booth began to tremble. She was rocking her hips. She wanted to suck those boys' cocks.

Don leaned his head toward hers.

He used his finger to raise her chin and looked her right in the eyes. "You," he said, lowering his voice. "Have a hungry pussy."

Her eyes widened.

"And you have to learn how to feed your pussy, so your pussy doesn't get you in trouble."

She closed her mouth and averted her eyes.

"He's grooming you to be his whore."

Denver made a little mewling sound in her throat at the word whore. The booth stopped moving and she removed her hands from the table and put them in her lap.

"What?" Her tone said shock, but her expression said otherwise. She was absolutely beaming.

"First he'll ask you to suck his friends' cocks," Don said. "Doesn't count, right?"

Her grin dried up. "It doesn't," she mumbled.

"Then he'll put you on a street in a nearby city," he said. "Those won't count either."

"No," she laughed. "He wouldn't do that."

Don pursed his lips.

"That's why he wants you to stop stealing." Don nodded to the small stack of phones. "Your pussy is worth more."

Denver toyed with her hair, hiding her face.

The booth started to quiver again. Fucking kid was incorrigible.

Don glanced around the diner, then slipped into the opposite bench next to the young girl. He put his hand on the back of her neck, his lips near her ear. Slipping his hand into her lap, he cupped her pussy, and gave it a lusty squeeze. Her crotch was hot, moist.

Denver sucked in her breath. She closed her thighs on his hand and rocked her hips.

"There are safer ways to feed your pussy," he whispered.

She quietly groaned.

He looked around the diner, then slipped the tip of his tongue into her ear.

Her hips stopped churning, her thighs clamped hard. She made soft whimpering noises.

He gave her a minute to finish, then let go of her neck.

He pulled his hand from her cunt.

She was flushed, breathing hard. Picking up her spoon, her hand shook. The utensil made a weak tapping noise on the ceramic mug.

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