didn’t know whether to run or stand his ground.
“I see the way you look at him, like you’re some damned stray dog and he’s going to save you from the dog catcher. He’s not. He doesn’t know you’re alive.”
The man stepped out of the hall into the light. The boy’s heart nearly stopped. Fear slithered along his skin. He didn’t like the way the man looked at him. Plenty of men looked at him with lust in their eyes. He knew how to use that to get what he wanted. This wasn’t lust.
“Climbing in and out of truckers’ pants. Bet you love it when they tell you they love you. Bet you get off on having them stick it to you. Piece of shit. Not fit to wipe his boots. Yeah, I know all about you, Creed.”
He didn’t move when the man got too close. He didn’t move when he reached behind him, he didn’t dare utter a sound when he grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back. “You’re a whore. Your daddy is a junkie. Shoots all of your winnings in his veins and then sends you out to trick for your supper.”
He stumbled over his feet, moving now. Not because he wanted to; the hand holding his braid like a leash forced him to move. Into the dark cave beside the broken ice machine. Two soda machines gave off dim light at the end of the little space. The sharp brick wall scraped his cheek when the man shoved him against it.
The boy didn’t whimper. He knew what was coming. He’d been there enough. “You like it, don’t you? Little cocksucker. Getting on your knees for truckers. How many do you do a night? How many did you do tonight, Creed?”
The brick was hard when he was shoved into it. Harder the second time. “Two,” he answered. He hadn’t wanted to. A big hand slipped under his shirt, grazing his belly. His jeans dropped low over his hips.
“Did you bend over for them?” His breath reeked of beer, his body of horse and cologne. He was hot. Rough. He didn’t touch him anywhere except for his hair, which he pulled until the braid disintegrated, leaving his hair hanging loose to his waist. “You look like a damned girl from the back.” Something in his voice scared the boy. “Did they fuck you?”
“One.” He whimpered when the wall dug deeper into his face. “Just one.”
“You blew the other one?” The man’s hands turned gentle in his hair. “Yeah, you would, with those pretty cocksucker lips. Little fucking whore. Your ass is slick. Did he use a rubber?” The wall slammed into him again.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The boy braced himself against the wall. Rough hands spread him. He closed his eyes at the grunt that came from behind him. The tight feeling inside him wasn’t unpleasant.
“Tight cunt. I like that. You look like a girl. Tell me how this feels, you little cunt. Moan for me.” The man pulled his hair so hard that tears prickled behind his eyes. He moaned. “Tell me this feels good.”
“Feels good,” he moaned again. He held his body off the wall with one hand and found his dick with the other. “Harder. I like it harder.” He grunted when the man slammed into him. His words were dark, guttural. He twisted the boy’s hair in his hand like it was a set of reins. Jerking his head back with each thrust.
“Nice, tight cunt. Yeah, feels good, pretty cunt. You like my big dick in your pussy, you little fucking cunt. You like the way it feels, don’t you.”
“Yes.” He didn’t lie. Exactly. “Fuck me harder.”
“What’s my name?”
“Mr. Mason. Feels good. Mr. Mason. Harder.” The man held his shoulders and pounded into him. He could hear the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the little cave, his whispered pleas coming back to him. He pulled at his dick, needing to feel something. There was nothing to feel.
“Eli doesn’t want your boy cunt. You stay away from Eli.” He could smell the hate and the lust on the man. His nephew’s name enough to make the boy feel something. He could see the startling strawberry blond hair
“I see the way you look at him, like you’re some damned stray dog and he’s going to save you from the dog catcher. He’s not. He doesn’t know you’re alive.”
The man stepped out of the hall into the light. The boy’s heart nearly stopped. Fear slithered along his skin. He didn’t like the way the man looked at him. Plenty of men looked at him with lust in their eyes. He knew how to use that to get what he wanted. This wasn’t lust.
“Climbing in and out of truckers’ pants. Bet you love it when they tell you they love you. Bet you get off on having them stick it to you. Piece of shit. Not fit to wipe his boots. Yeah, I know all about you, Creed.”
He didn’t move when the man got too close. He didn’t move when he reached behind him, he didn’t dare utter a sound when he grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back. “You’re a whore. Your daddy is a junkie. Shoots all of your winnings in his veins and then sends you out to trick for your supper.”
He stumbled over his feet, moving now. Not because he wanted to; the hand holding his braid like a leash forced him to move. Into the dark cave beside the broken ice machine. Two soda machines gave off dim light at the end of the little space. The sharp brick wall scraped his cheek when the man shoved him against it.
The boy didn’t whimper. He knew what was coming. He’d been there enough. “You like it, don’t you? Little cocksucker. Getting on your knees for truckers. How many do you do a night? How many did you do tonight, Creed?”
The brick was hard when he was shoved into it. Harder the second time. “Two,” he answered. He hadn’t wanted to. A big hand slipped under his shirt, grazing his belly. His jeans dropped low over his hips.
“Did you bend over for them?” His breath reeked of beer, his body of horse and cologne. He was hot. Rough. He didn’t touch him anywhere except for his hair, which he pulled until the braid disintegrated, leaving his hair hanging loose to his waist. “You look like a damned girl from the back.” Something in his voice scared the boy. “Did they fuck you?”
“One.” He whimpered when the wall dug deeper into his face. “Just one.”
“You blew the other one?” The man’s hands turned gentle in his hair. “Yeah, you would, with those pretty cocksucker lips. Little fucking whore. Your ass is slick. Did he use a rubber?” The wall slammed into him again.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The boy braced himself against the wall. Rough hands spread him. He closed his eyes at the grunt that came from behind him. The tight feeling inside him wasn’t unpleasant.
“Tight cunt. I like that. You look like a girl. Tell me how this feels, you little cunt. Moan for me.” The man pulled his hair so hard that tears prickled behind his eyes. He moaned. “Tell me this feels good.”
“Feels good,” he moaned again. He held his body off the wall with one hand and found his dick with the other. “Harder. I like it harder.” He grunted when the man slammed into him. His words were dark, guttural. He twisted the boy’s hair in his hand like it was a set of reins. Jerking his head back with each thrust.
“Nice, tight cunt. Yeah, feels good, pretty cunt. You like my big dick in your pussy, you little fucking cunt. You like the way it feels, don’t you.”
“Yes.” He didn’t lie. Exactly. “Fuck me harder.”
“What’s my name?”
“Mr. Mason. Feels good. Mr. Mason. Harder.” The man held his shoulders and pounded into him. He could hear the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the little cave, his whispered pleas coming back to him. He pulled at his dick, needing to feel something. There was nothing to feel.
“Eli doesn’t want your boy cunt. You stay away from Eli.” He could smell the hate and the lust on the man. His nephew’s name enough to make the boy feel something. He could see the startling strawberry blond hair
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