Date: Wed, 06 Jan 2021 15:01:37 +0000 From: 29Oct <29Oct@protonmail.com> Subject: Whore's Holiday The following text is fiction. Fiction means the actions described happened between imagination and a keyboard, not in real life. Nothing written below is intended to encourage unsafe or illegal liaisons or violence. This is a short story about the life of a young prostitute and his clients during the winter holidays. If you enjoy Nifty, make a donation at https://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Whore's Holiday "Don't forget the chocolate." Nolan reminded me, dropped several chocolate bars tied with shiny bows in my backpack and patted my butt as I left. - Walked the last seven blocks, busses on short schedules today. All the condos were tinseled with icicles sparkling in the streetlights. Air crispy-cold, my cheeks were red by the time I rang the doorbell. "Daddy!" Hot gust of a meatloaf and mincemeat pie aromas flew enveloped me; holiday music playing, house decorated. Grabbed me against him, always caught his belt buckle on the ties of my hood. "How's my boy doing?" "School's a bore but soccer team's doing good." Like I was in school and was ever involved in sports. Being short, thin and underdeveloped were my most lucrative assets. This daddy worked night shift most his life, he said. He kept the same schedule now. Always my earliest client. "Sweetie, I know you do your best." He kissed my cheek, roughed up my hair. Didn't mind his usual routine: sit on his lap, grope until I started tonguing him while we kissed. That hotted him up quick, then we'd get down to the business of my butt. Used most of his time trying to stay hard. We used the pump. Rubber ring was worn out. Resorted to a hand-job on his lap. He handed me a tip, "Fred's coming home on leave. Won't see you for a while." Fred was his son, now working abroad. Mantle held photos of a dark-haired boy who looked like me. Left a chocolate by his lounger, headed to the Chik-N-Shak. Saw Jason leaving as I entered, on his way to a threesome with two brothers who owned a used car lot. Those guys got rough. "Good luck." - Quick cleanup, got a soda. The brigade of churlish cabbies knew me, I tried to avoid them but Dub was next; he lived out by the river. Got the same dark, big-nosed driver who always told me god was watching and keeping a permanent record. Chastised me all the way to the big house with the pool. Dub was a swimmer, a nudist and his boy stayed with family on the holidays. Another horny Daddy awaited. "Right on time, angel." One hand on his johnson, the other grabbed me, gave me a big smacking kiss on my eye. Dub hadn't refined his foreplay. "Swim?" Dropped my clothes on my way to the atrium. Air was cool; water was warm. Had to get this show on the road. He had two doubles poured, sitting on the side of the pool. Took a sip and let half of it pour down my chin into the water, turned, "You trying to make me drunk?" He laughed. We chased around in the pool, he pinned me by the steps. Pools aren't accommodating--any kind of lube is diluted and Dub's probe was short and wrist-thick. Gave me several hard pushes, "C'mon, boy. I know you want it." "Ow! That's my only ass, watch it." "You love my cock." He chuckled, grabbing my hips, "Doncha?" Dub was getting to the age when reassurance "enhanced" his experience. "You got it goin' on. Damn you're hard." Had to take a deep breath, he was thick but maybe not so hard as he was twenty years ago. He moved his hips, rubbed my back, grabbing my ribs squeezing and shoving, poking hard. Got in then took his time. Took a few rounds of wheezy stroking, he had to catch his breath, told me his boy was coming back in three days, "Want a stay-over?" "Gotta call Nolan." I grunted; felt like he was splitting me open. Stuck my butt toward him, hole burned, but I tightened up and got him back on track. Time is money, and I had to get across town to one of my favorites after I "checked my work." Dub growled and squeezed my ribs hard when he came. Got out, toweled down and I had to suck him, finger his butt and make sure he was drained. He usually wasn't. Double load doesn't get double time. QC done, I dressed. Left a chocolate bar and I was off to Fred's - Same big-nosed driver picked me up, "Isn't there anyone else working today?" "Devil boy. I know what you're doing--servicing men like a woman. A common street whore, a prostitute. No woman will ever marry you." "C'mon, you're seen a lot worse." I combed my hair, dabbed a little lip gloss. "And I just may want a man to marry." "Burn in hell, evil child." He just lost his tip with that comment--tossed him a chocolate bar instead. - Jumped out and met Mike at Fred's door. This wasn't the usual job; Fred was a heavyweight. A five-hundred pound (227 kg) man. Mike carried the biggest part of the load; I did the detail. Mike and I stepped in the hallway and began stripping as Fred's hulking form shuffled down the hallway whistling a Broadway tune, reeking. Had to get his enema first, poop; that took ninety minutes. I prepped the bathroom. Everything in his house was huge, chairs, bed, bath, shower. Wasn't sure about his trouser trout; formidable overhang hid it. In the shower we started washing, joking and playing around. Mike shaved, I shampooed, did Fred's feet, legs, arms. While Mike lifted the rolls of Fred, I scrubbed and rinsed. Drying took six towels plus the hair dryer under the heavy bags of flesh. Lotion and powder. All the while he told us of his times on the beach at the holidays, partying, sex for days. Didn't believe anything though it was entertaining. Dressing took effort on everyone's part, but Fred was having company that night. Hard to get him into his sweats, that's all he could find in his size. Laying down, Fred was dead weight on the bed but we got him upright with the sling and pullbar. I cleaned the bath. Mike started the laundry and we were done. I left a chocolate after we got a great tip and we were off, every ass happily intact. Mike had a car, we sped past the traffic at the mall and made it back to Nolan's in time for late lunch. - Hot dogs?" We looked at the naked weenies laying on cold buns on Nolan's kitchen table. Catsup and mustard stood at attention in front of the microwave. "Where's the holiday dinner, tightwad?" Mike got up and left for the burger joint. "Money, honey. You know this is our busiest season; didn't have time." Novak was dollar-centered, gave us a decent place to stay. "Hurry, you gotta make one more call tonight--Waheed. He wants bacha' bazi. Wear your elf hat and remember the chocolate." "Waheed? Woo-hoo." I moaned, looked across the empty counters for something else to eat. Nothing. "That's a damn cheap gift. One little chocolate bar." "There's a discount coupon for January calls inside the wrapper. Took me almost an hour to unwrap, stamp, then tie the labels back on. Next month's slow; it's an inducement." "How bigga discount?" "Five-percent on thirty minutes, ten on the rest." "Cheapskate." I went to shower. Those were measly discounts; they'd reduce my tips. - Sun went down early, few people on the streets. I caught the 113A down to the south side, passed a number of small, older homes, following directions on my phone. "Probably some cuboid perving while the family's away." I thought. Found the address painted on the curb, no porch light. Knocked, waited, heard someone inside. The door swung open, dimly lit interior, but the most enticing smell of food. Curry? I jumped into the warm, steamy air of the entry, looked up to see the big-nosed cabbie who chastised me. I'm a professional: "Interesting that you'd call me, glad to be here." I grunted, struggling to get my backpack off. "I asked specifically for the dark-haired boy." He gestured to his living area, rugs, cushions, a few candles lit, then went down the hallway. Took my coat and boots of, found that damn elf hat and sat, waiting for him. Waheed brought a tray, sat it down, "Come. Take tea." He leaned over and flipped a switch on his sound system. Wiggly notes of foreign music came on with someone caterwauling in another language. He pulled my elf hat off me, "You don't need to be anything but yourself tonight." He touched my cheek, smiling. "Dance for me." Handed me several pale pink scarves with fancy trim, lay back on his cushions and watched me undress. "Beautiful bacha'." Pointing my toes, fluttering my eyelashes, I swayed to the music, smiling, swirling the sheer cloths near him, keeping my dick half-covered. Through half-closed eyes, he watched, rubbing his rod through his jeans. Sometimes he sighed and closed his eyes; lips moved, no words came out. The room warmed with whatever was cooking, I began perspiring and kinda getting into the droning and drumming. When the music stopped, my stomach made a long, empty growl. "You're hungry?" He asked, pulling me by my wrist toward him. "He wants a blow." I thought, but Waheed stood, took me into his kitchen and pulled out a roaster. Lamb, hot rice pilaf and sliced vegetables, "Help yourself, I haven't eaten either." Plates piled high, we went back to the cushions. Succulent meat, yoghurt-dill sauce, lemon and bright yellow rice. Over dinner, he told me of immigrating when he was a boy, being adopted into a family. "Have to escape the war?" "I was sent by the man who loved me--an officer." He explained having a family in the Middle East, big family. Their compound was safe for years, then the bombing started. Soldiers came though and one of them took Waheed with him. "I looked like you, a few years younger when he found me. My captain had dark hair and eyes like yours. So handsome, my Captain Tony. Kept me with him, and every year at this time, we'd celebrate with traditional food, candies. Saved my life sending me here. I would have been killed." "Why?" "I'm homosexual, like you. Never had to work the streets, but almost...." "You're always telling me I'll go to hell..." Waheed laughed, "Self-defense, old habits die hard." - When our stomachs were full, "Thanks." He heated the tea and brought cookies, pulled me aside him. "Sexy boy." He took a bite of an anise cookie, and fed me the other half, smiling warmly. Snuggled me beside him, rubbed my hair, along my arm, "Smooth, your skin..." He touched my sides, my ribs. Fingers went to my groin, "Not bad, but not there yet." He chuckled, fondling my balls. "'In the old days' sex--it always comes with a narrative." I thought to myself and took a deep whiff of him; peppery with acrid pits. Rubbing his expanding rod, and placing my hand over his zipper, he started his remembering: "My Captain Ruiz. He loved me. Showed me everything, kissing, every kind of fucking. Taught me how to love another man, love him the way he liked...." He mumbled. Waheed was more than hard as I sneaked my hand inside his pants, pulled it out. Huge rod, dark, streaked with veins, like rivers on a map; dusty-pink head leaking. Rubbed my face against his erection; he gasped but touched my hair. "Suck like you need it." He looked down with heavily-lidded eyes, dreamily. He was with his captain somewhere on the desert, rutting in a tent on a cold night, knowing nothing but warm skin, dark eyes and spilling fluids of pleasure on each other. Got between his legs, his warm hands came to my shoulders. Whispered foreign words as I began licking. Had to get up on my elbows, he opened his legs and grabbed his stem at its base. Gripped hard, then relaxed, then again, again. I began sucking along with his rhythm, he was humming, hips moving. "Suck like you need it." Up on my hands I aimed my mouth downward full of Waheed's shaft and took a deep breath. "Madre de dios." I thought I heard him whisper. Waheed's fist kept tightening around the base of his shaft, I didn't have to deep throat, but I was getting sleepy after a big meal. Shoved his hand aside and took him deep, so deep I couldn't breathe. "Yes, bacha' you need me..." He gasped, hips hunching and his hands pressed my head down hard. Rough few moments without breath, my nose dripped, eyes teared, saliva pumped. The head of his tool plugged my throat completely. He moaned, I tried to swallow, coaxing him to cum. His body shook, I kept going, pulled back, sucked, stuck my tongue in his slit. He grabbed my head by my ears and for a few moments, pressed my head back down. I thought I'd pass out, but I'd be back at Nolan's soon. Then, he began wailing, not the good kind of wail. He was crying, dick went soft, only a trace of cum. Had to stare up at him. His eyes covered his face, he was sobbing. Pulled out his handkerchief, blew his big nose, sounding like a distant fog horn. "Sorry. Memories. You know." I didn't know. Never loved anyone as much as he loved his Captain Tony. "S'okay." I caressed his cheek, not sure what to do. Well, a few drops of cum counted; the taste was still on my tongue. I went to my backpack and started dressing. "Snowing out, stay over?" His voice was high, tinny--still in fading memories. "I better get back." He offered to drive me to the metro. - Took a while to warm the engine. Slow going through the slush and ice; streets were empty. At the station, "Let me give you something." His eyes filled with tears. He turned on the dome light, I grabbed the door handle. When he opened his wallet, an old photo filled the space where his driver's license would be. The familiar face of a man in uniform, I glanced and chuckled. That was his lover. "Here. Thank you, sorry about, you know." Handed me a fifty. "De nada." I winked. One foot out the door, he asked, "What's your name?" "Anthony Ruiz--Junior." --