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Stan laughs and says, “So, you come here often?”
The man with the handlebar mustache says, “I’m not paying you to talk.”
Stan swallows and nods. Fair enough. The man grabs him by the chin, and Stan has to fight back the urge to fight back. He’s not in danger. This is just how this is supposed to go. Have a little sex, make a little money, have some food his stomach and gas for the car, eventually strike it rich, go back to his family and be loved and adored by everyone, including his brother. Simple as that.
The sex part’s not really that simple, fine, but he can get through it.
The man tilts Stan’s head from side to side by the chin. Stan lets him. Eventually, the man asks, “How old are you?”
Nineteen. “Twenty-one. How do you think I got in the bar?”
The man shrugs. “Just checking,” he says, and he lets go of Stan’s chin to grab him by the back of the neck instead and spin him around to face the dirty bathroom mirror. Stan’s reflection is distorted by various smudges and words in marker as he gets pushed forward and has to catch himself on the counter with his hands before his head gets shoved into the glass. His hands slip on the wet, grimy counter, and he still ends up bumping his forehead into the mirror anyway.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man says. He doesn’t sound sorry.
Stan bites back something that would get him not paid and instead says, “No problem.”
The man slides his hand from the back of Stan’s neck down his spine, all the while pressing to keep Stan leaning over the sink. When his hand reaches the waist of Stan’s pants, his hooks his fingers under and tugs sharply. Stan curls one hand into a fist.
“Drop ‘em, Sunshine,” the man says.
Stan presses his forehead against the mirror on purpose and reaches down to undo the fly of his jeans. It’s nothing to worry about. Plenty of guys do this all the time. Stan’s not so much a wimp he can’t take this.
He slides his jeans down, and the man’s hand goes with them. His knuckles rub against Stan’s ass through his boxers on the way. Once the jeans are slouching around his spread knees, the man turns his hand to come back up and give Stan a sharp squeeze. His fingers dig in painfully.
Stan bites the inside of his cheek. The man makes an appreciative noise.
“Not bad,” he says. “I can work with this.” Both hands find the waistband of Stan’s boxers. With no fly to undo, he easily pulls them down under Stan’s ass cheeks without help. The elastic gets pulled sharply so that it snaps against Stan’s skin. He jumps. The man laughs.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he says, and it’s even more of a lie than the last time.
“Don’t sweat it,” Stan says. He wants to punch this jackass in the dick and run. He needs the cash though, and he’s not sure he could just beat the guy unconscious and steal it from him. He’s a big man, easily has half a foot on Stan, and his muscles make Stan feel inadequate in all sorts of ways.
He uses those muscles to grab Stan by the hips and pull his bare ass back against his own clothed cock. He’s rock hard and his metal belt buckle of a steer stings and scrapes. He grinds and the rough jeans make Stan’s skin burn. Stan swallows a whimper.
He can just grit his teeth and bear it. He needs the money. It’s not that different from selling a vacuum or a pitchfork, really.
“God yeah,” the man says. “This is gonna be fun, isn’t it, Sunshine?”
“Yep,” Stan chokes out.
The man leans forward and licks up Stan’s neck. He leaves behind a trail of saliva that he can blow cool air over, making Stan shiver even as his ass is still being rubbed raw with friction from the denim and fleeting bites from the belt buckle. There’s a cock under all that that’s going inside him.
“You ever been fucked, Sunshine?” the man says against Stan’s neck.
Never. “Plenty of times,” Stan says. He can pretend he’s a whore for one night. Doesn’t actually make him one.
“Good. Then you know how this goes,” the man says, and he stops humping Stan like a mutt. Stan listens with his eyes shut tight as the man undoes his belt buckle with a clink and then undoes his zipper.
The next thing Stan feels is a cock between his ass checks, sandwiched between them and feeling like it’s hot enough to burn. Stan braces his legs and pushes against the counter to hold himself steady when the man begins grinding against him that way. He makes harsh, disgusting, panting noises right by Stan’s ear and rubs hard with his hips while his hands hold Stan where he wants him. Stan can feel the precome he’s leaving on his skin.
All this, Stan could probably bear if his own dick wasn’t getting hard. Some of part of him isn’t completely revolted by this. Stan’s eyes water, and his shoves his own face harder against the dirty glass.
“Yeah, Sunshine,” the man says. “I’m gonna fuck you good.” He pulls back. His thumbs slide down and spread Stan’s ass cheeks roughly. Then he spits on Stan’s hole.
Stan jerks, feeling filthy already, but there’s nowhere to go, and the man spits again before rubbing two fingers against Stan. Then he shoves them inside.
Stan shouts. The man laughs. “You’re doing a real good impression of someone who’s never been fucked. Is that extra?”
“Complimentary,” Stan grits out, though he’s still clenching hard around those fingers and he can’t stop the way his hips and trying to wriggle away. He’s not hard anymore. The fingers thrust sharply inside, and Stan whimpers.
“You’re tight, Sunshine. Think you can make yourself relax for ol’ Bud?” Apparently-Bud asks. He’s got a smug, shit-eating tone going on, and Stan hates him.
“Tight’s good though. Part of the StanCo experience,” Stan says with a laugh he doesn’t feel at all.
“Not if I gotta clean blood off my dick, Sunshine,” Bud says. Stan groans, and Bud slows his fingers down. “You gonna make work for it?”
“Sure,” Stan says. He doesn’t know what else to do or say. There are two large fingers up his ass, and he’s panting into the mirror. Bud hums thoughtfully, and then he reaches around to grab Stan’s soft cock in a harsh grip and jerk it. Stan inhales loudly.
It doesn’t feel good. It’s feels too rough and too dry, but it’s more attention than Stan’s had from anyone since Carla left him. He finds himself getting hard again, even with the fingers still thrusting in and out. Bud spits again and the fingers move a little easier.
Stan squirms on them. He’s hard now, and his hips are trying to thrust into the hand around him without actually moving on the fingers in him. It’s a lost cause, though. Bud’s moving harder in him again, rough stabs inside that Stan can’t see the appeal of.
Then Bud says, “Let’s see what you do when I make it good for you, Sunshine,” and he tilts his fingers sharply in. The next few jabs are only notable for being invasive at a new angle, but then--
“Fuck!” Stan cries out. Something there feels good, so fucking good, and Bud’s fingers keep aiming for it.
“There we go, Sunshine,” he says. He spits again, and then there’s three fingers shoving inside. Stan jerks and comes with a high moan. It’s almost a scream.
Stan whimpers and squirms as his cock spills into the hand around him. He’s got his head tilted back and there’s tears on his cheeks. Bud laughs.
“Getting there, Sunshine,” he says. He pulls his now-sticky hand away from Stan’s dick and pulls his three massive, awful fingers free from Stan’s hole. Stan already feels raw and used, and he’s not even out of this yet.
There’s small, slick noises, and then the fingers come back, stickier than before. Stan’s getting fucked with his own come, it seems.
“Should carry around slick if this is your job,” Bud says mildly. He thrusts into Stan with his fingers a few more harsh times. Then he pulls them out and lines his cock up to Stan’s hole. “Feel free to shout if it feels good, Sunshine,” he says in that smug voice again.
Stan does shout as he’s speared open on a sharp thrust, the head of Bud’s cock forcing into him. It hurts like hell. Stan can’t stop himself as he tries to jerk away, even though it just crashes his thighs into the countertop. Bud doesn’t seem to mind. He’s got an iron grip on Stan’s hip with one hand, and that’s all he seems to need to hold him steady enough as he humps his way into Stan’s ass.
Stan’s sobbing now. He feels his nails digging into his palms, and he digs them in harder to distract from the pain in of being stretched open. In boxing, they taught him how to make a fist that wouldn’t tear his palms open or break his thumb. Stan would rather feel his palms tearing than his hole.
“Oh fuck yeah, Sunshine,” Bud moans as his pelvis presses hard against Stan. He’s all the way inside. “Your ass is so good. You never been fucked before, don’t lie. No one can fake getting their cherry popped that good.”
Stan wriggles uselessly on the cock inside him and says nothing. Nothing he does makes it stop hurting but he can’t stop trying.
“Yeah, you keep that up for me. Keep squirming with your little hole stretched tight on my cock. I like the way that feels.” Bud says this into Stan’s ear before sticking his tongue inside. Stan jerks his head away, and Bud laughs. “Come on. If you’re gonna be a whore, you should try to enjoy it.”
Stan says, “Fuck you.” That gets him a fist yanking his head back by the hair.
“Naw, but I guess it’s time to fuck you, Sunshine,” Bud says, and he pulls his cock almost all the way out. He holds it there to say, “Gonna make you scream,” the he thrusts back in hard.
Stan screams. He keeps screaming as the thrusts keep coming, pounding away inside him like he’s being remade into a new shape. He is, isn’t he? He’s getting turned into a fucking whore. Whatever distant chance he has of getting taken back by his family, by Dad, by Ford would be gone forever if they could see him now.
When the man comes, Stan feels the difference in the thrusts. Slicker and shorter. Bud moans and jerks in him for what feels like ages, but eventually, he stops and pulls out. Come drips out of Stan and down his taint to his balls.
“Look at that. Didn’t even bleed,” Bud says with a content voice. “You’ll be good at this yet, Sunshine.” He pats Stan’s ass in a friendly way.
Stan slumps over onto the counter and cries into his fists. Bud leaves the cash tucked into the waistband of Stan’s underwear where they’re still pulled tight around his thighs.