ICE​ ​CREAM​ ​WITH​ ​SPRINKLES​ ​by​ ​Throne (Patreon)

ICE​ ​CREAM​ ​WITH​ ​SPRINKLES​ ​

by​ ​Throne (From​ ​an​ ​idea​ ​by​ ​Devin​ ​'bad​ ​boy'​ ​Dickie) 

Matthew​ ​was​ ​a​ ​nice​ ​guy.​ ​​ ​Everybody​ ​said​ ​so.​ ​​ ​A​ ​bit​ ​bland​ ​but​ ​still​ ​nice.​ ​​ ​He was​ ​a​ ​regular​ ​church​ ​goer​ ​and​ ​had​ ​been​ ​accepted​ ​by​ ​a​ ​middle​ ​level college.​ ​​ ​The​ ​day​ ​after​ ​his​ ​eighteenth​ ​birthday​ ​he​ ​got​ ​a​ ​terrific​ ​idea.​ ​​ ​Earlier on​ ​he'd​ ​had​ ​a​ ​newspaper​ ​route,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​bought​ ​and​ ​sold​ ​vintage knickknacks​ ​on-line.​ ​​ ​Something​ ​of​ ​an​ ​entrepreneur​ ​by​ ​then,​ ​he​ ​was especially​ ​proud​ ​of​ ​his​ ​new​ ​plan.​ ​​ ​Taking​ ​his​ ​savings,​ ​he​ ​bought​ ​a​ ​used​ ​ice cream​ ​truck.​ ​​ ​It​ ​took​ ​some​ ​more​ ​money​ ​to​ ​get​ ​everything​ ​working​ ​and​ ​up​ ​to code.​ ​​ ​He​ ​contacted​ ​a​ ​wholesaler,​ ​who​ ​provided​ ​him​ ​with​ ​decals​ ​of​ ​their popular​ ​products,​ ​frozen​ ​treats​ ​that​ ​he​ ​could​ ​buy​ ​at​ ​a​ ​good​ ​price.​ ​​ ​After painting​ ​the​ ​truck​ ​white​ ​he​ ​applied​ ​the​ ​decals,​ ​bought​ ​his​ ​stock,​ ​and​ ​was ready​ ​to​ ​go. 

Next​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​decide​ ​on​ ​a​ ​route.​ ​​ ​Many​ ​neighborhoods​ ​were​ ​already​ ​taken but​ ​he​ ​found​ ​an​ ​area​ ​that​ ​was​ ​being​ ​underserved.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​near​ ​what​ ​could be​ ​called​ ​a​ ​bad​ ​part​ ​of​ ​the​ ​city​ ​but​ ​he​ ​figured,​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was​ ​careful,​ ​that shouldn't​ ​be​ ​a​ ​problem.​ ​​ ​He​ ​told​ ​his​ ​girlfriend​ ​Sherri​ ​and​ ​at​ ​first​ ​she​ ​was uncertain.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​explained​ ​to​ ​the​ ​attractive​ ​blond​ ​that​ ​if​ ​he​ ​worked​ ​the Summer,​ ​it​ ​should​ ​pay​ ​his​ ​expenses​ ​for​ ​the​ ​first​ ​semester​ ​at​ ​college.​ ​​ ​That got​ ​her​ ​attention.​ ​​ ​And​ ​if​ ​he​ ​did​ ​better,​ ​it​ ​might​ ​even​ ​cover​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the year.​ ​​ ​Best​ ​of​ ​all,​ ​once​ ​he​ ​had​ ​proven​ ​how​ ​much​ ​money​ ​there​ ​was​ ​to​ ​be made,​ ​he​ ​could​ ​sell​ ​the​ ​truck​ ​and​ ​the​ ​goodwill​ ​he​ ​had​ ​earned​ i​ n​ ​the community,​ ​and​ ​realize​ ​a​ ​hefty​ ​profit​ ​there​ ​as​ ​well.​ ​​ ​She​ ​was​ ​impressed. 

He​ ​liked​ ​that.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​important​ ​to​ ​have​ ​her​ ​think​ ​highly​ ​of​ ​him.​ ​​ ​She​ ​was shapely,​ ​with​ ​an​ ​overly​ ​full​ ​bust,​ ​and​ ​was​ ​the​ ​first​ ​girl​ ​he​ ​had​ ​dated​ ​steadily. He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​lose​ ​her. 

On​ ​his​ ​first​ ​day​ ​he​ ​wore​ ​a​ ​white​ ​shirt​ ​and​ ​black​ ​slacks,​ ​and​ ​tucked​ ​his​ ​silky blond​ ​hair​ ​under​ ​a​ ​paper​ ​hat.​ ​​ ​He​ ​parked​ ​near​ ​a​ ​playground,​ ​which​ ​he figured​ ​would​ ​be​ ​a​ ​good​ ​location​ ​to​ ​start​ ​at.​ ​​ ​Business​ ​was​ ​brisk​ ​for​ ​a​ ​while 

and​ ​then​ ​slowed​ ​down.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​started​ ​thinking​ ​about​ ​moving​ ​on.​ ​​ ​Then he​ ​spied​ ​three​ ​more​ ​customers​ ​approaching.​ ​​ ​They​ ​were​ ​Black​ ​guys​ ​in their​ ​late​ ​teens,​ ​all​ ​of​ ​them​ ​sporting​ ​head​ ​scarves​ ​or​ ​backwards​ ​caps, sleeveless​ ​undershirts​ ​in​ ​black​ ​or​ ​military​ ​green,​ ​and​ ​camo​ ​pants​ ​tucked into​ ​work​ ​boots.​ ​​ ​They​ ​had​ ​an​ ​intimidating​ ​swagger​ ​in​ ​their​ ​walk​ ​but​ ​he figured,​ ​well,​ ​a​ ​customer​ ​is​ ​a​ ​customer.​ ​​ ​The​ ​trio​ ​came​ ​up​ ​to​ ​his​ ​service window​ ​and​ ​gave​ ​their​ ​orders.​ ​​ ​Each​ ​of​ ​them​ ​wanted​ ​one​ ​of​ ​his top-of-the-menu​ ​items,​ ​the​ ​more​ ​expensive​ ​ones.​ ​​ ​He​ ​handed​ ​over​ ​the​ ​first and​ ​gave​ ​the​ ​price,​ ​but​ ​the​ t​ huggish​ ​young​ ​man​ ​just​ ​pointed​ ​to​ ​the​ ​guy​ ​next to​ ​him​ ​and​ ​said​ ​he's​ ​get​ ​it.​ ​​ ​The​ ​same​ ​thing​ ​happened​ ​with​ ​the​ ​second​ ​one. Matthew​ ​was​ ​feeing​ ​tense.​ ​​ ​The​ ​third​ ​one​ ​pointed​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​first. 

When​ M​ atthew​ ​asked​ ​again​ ​for​ ​payment,​ ​the​ ​tall​ ​athletic​ ​Black​ ​guy​ ​said, "Yo,​ ​if​ ​you're​ ​too​ ​stupid​ ​to​ ​collect​ ​when​ ​you​ ​hand​ ​over​ ​the​ ​goods,​ ​that's your​ ​problem." 

Matthew​ ​said,​ ​"But​ ​you​ ​told​ ​me​ ​he​ ​would​ ​pay.​ ​​ ​And​ ​now​ ​the​ ​last​ ​one​ ​says you'll​ ​pay.​ ​​ ​What's​ ​going​ ​on?" 

"What's​ ​going​ ​on,​ ​fool,​ ​is​ ​that​ ​we're​ ​smart​ ​and​ ​you're​ ​stupid.​ ​​ ​Also,​ ​there's one​ ​of​ ​you​ ​and​ ​three​ ​of​ ​us."​ ​​ ​He​ ​took​ ​a​ ​big​ ​bite​ ​of​ ​his​ ​ice​ ​cream​ ​and chomped​ ​it​ ​without​ ​closing​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​all​ ​the​ ​way,​ ​letting​ ​the​ ​melting​ ​mess show. 

"Okay,"​ ​Matthew​ ​said.​ ​​ ​"Fun's​ ​over.​ ​​ ​If​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​pay,​ ​I'll​ ​have​ ​to​ ​call​ ​the police." 

"And​ ​we'll​ ​tell​ ​them​ ​we​ ​paid.​ ​​ ​Screw​ ​you,​ ​white​ ​boy." 

The​ ​three​ ​of​ ​them​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​him​ ​and​ ​turned​ ​away.​ ​​ ​If​ ​he​ ​had​ ​let​ ​them​ ​go, that​ ​might​ ​have​ ​been​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​it.​ ​​ ​But​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​going​ ​to​ ​stand​ ​for​ ​being cheated. 

"All​ ​right,​ ​you​ ​scumbags,​ ​I'm​ ​calling​ ​911."​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't​ ​usually​ ​use​ ​language like​ ​that,​ ​but​ ​the​ ​term​ ​had​ ​just​ ​popped​ ​into​ ​his​ ​head. 

The​ ​first​ ​guy​ ​turned​ ​around​ ​and​ ​strode​ ​back,​ ​wearing​ ​an​ ​angry​ ​expression. He​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know,​ ​"What​ ​you​ ​call​ ​us,​ ​snowflake?" 

Matthew​ ​didn't​ ​like​ ​his​ ​tone​ ​or​ ​that​ ​term.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​about​ ​to​ ​hit​ ​the​ ​three numbers​ ​but​ ​paused​ ​to​ ​angrily​ ​tell​ ​them,​ ​"You​ ​heard​ ​me.​ ​​ ​I​ ​called​ ​you scumbags.​ ​​ ​Rip-off​ ​scumbags.​ ​​ ​Nothing​ ​but​ ​scum." 

The​ ​Black​ ​youth​ ​swung​ ​around​ ​to​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​the​ ​truck,​ ​yanked​ ​open​ ​the door,​ ​and​ ​stamped​ ​up​ ​the​ ​two​ ​steps.​ ​​ ​In​ ​three​ ​strides​ ​he​ ​was​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of Matthew,​ ​grabbed​ ​him​ ​by​ ​the​ ​arm,​ ​and​ ​twisted​ ​it​ ​up​ ​behind​ ​him. 

He​ ​snarled,​ ​"You​ ​need​ ​to​ ​be​ ​schooled​ ​about​ ​scum." 

He​ ​opened​ ​the​ ​till​ ​and​ ​scooped​ ​out​ ​all​ ​the​ ​bills​ ​with​ ​one​ ​hand.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he walked​ ​Matthew​ ​to​ ​the​ ​exit​ ​and​ ​pushed​ ​him​ ​hard,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​he​ ​stumbled​ ​down the​ ​steps,​ ​couldn't​ ​slow​ ​down​ ​or​ ​regain​ ​his​ ​balance,​ ​and​ ​fell​ ​on​ ​his​ ​face. Matthew​ ​rose​ ​and,​ ​by​ ​instinct,​ ​started​ ​to​ ​flee.​ ​​ ​The​ ​next​ ​thug​ ​raced​ ​at​ ​him and​ ​executed​ ​a​ ​hard​ ​flying​ ​tackle,​ ​slamming​ ​the​ ​white​ ​guy​ ​to​ ​ground​ ​and landing​ ​heavily​ ​atop​ ​him.​ ​​ ​The​ ​third​ ​one​ ​raced​ ​over​ ​to​ ​kick​ ​Matthew​ ​solidly in​ ​the​ ​thigh,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​fish​ ​the​ ​vendor's​ ​wallet​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​pocket.​ ​​ ​He​ ​made​ ​a show​ ​of​ ​taking​ ​the​ ​money.​ ​​ ​​ ​The​ ​his​ ​half​ ​eaten​ ​ice​ ​cream​ ​had​ ​fallen​ ​on​ ​the ground.​ ​​ ​He​ ​picked​ ​it​ ​up​ ​and​ ​smooshed​ ​it​ ​in​ ​Matthew's​ ​face. 

The​ ​first​ ​one​ ​suddenly​ ​had​ ​his​ ​wallet.​ ​​ ​He​ ​checked​ ​through​ ​some​ ​cards​ ​and found​ ​his​ ​driver's​ ​license,​ ​with​ ​the​ ​address​ ​of​ ​Matthew's​ ​complex​ ​and​ ​the number​ ​of​ ​his​ ​apartment.​ ​​ ​He​ ​said,​ ​"Okay,​ ​smart​ ​mouth.​ ​​ ​You​ ​dissed​ ​us​ ​in our​ ​hood.​ ​​ ​Can't​ ​do​ ​that.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​I​ ​know​ ​where​ ​you​ ​live.​ ​​ ​Any​ ​trouble​ ​and​ ​we'll be​ ​visiting​ ​you​ ​at​ ​home.​ ​​ ​Understood?" 

There​ ​was​ ​deep​ ​pain​ ​in​ ​Matthew's​ ​thigh,​ ​and​ ​he​ ​was​ ​sore​ ​from​ ​being tackled.​ ​​ ​His​ ​hat​ ​had​ ​some​ ​off​ ​and​ ​his​ ​hair​ ​had​ ​fallen​ ​across​ ​his​ ​forehead. He​ ​nodded​ ​but​ ​couldn't​ ​speak.​ ​​ ​Finally​ ​he​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​say,​ ​"I​ ​won't​ ​do​ ​it again." 

"Damn​ ​straight​ ​you​ ​won't.​ ​​ ​What​ ​you​ ​will​ ​do​ ​is​ ​show​ ​up​ ​here​ ​tomorrow. Same​ ​time.​ ​​ ​And​ ​make​ ​sure​ ​you​ ​have​ ​them​ ​ice​ ​creams​ ​we​ ​like. Otherwise..."​ ​​ ​​ ​He​ ​smacked​ ​his​ ​fist​ ​into​ ​his​ ​open​ ​palm.​ ​​ ​"And​ ​I​ ​sure​ ​wouldn't want​ ​to​ ​do​ ​a​ ​beat-down​ ​on​ ​a​ ​delicate​ ​little​ ​creampuff​ ​like​ ​you.​ ​​ ​Might​ ​cause some​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​permanent​ ​damage." 

They​ ​walked​ ​away​ ​laughing.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​got​ ​up​ ​and​ ​dusted​ ​himself​ ​off.​ ​​ ​He limped​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​truck,​ ​got​ ​inside,​ ​and​ ​this​ ​time​ ​locked​ ​the​ ​door.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was in​ ​awful​ ​trouble.​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​no​ ​telling​ ​what​ ​else​ ​those​ ​hoodlums​ ​might​ ​do. Or​ ​maybe​ ​they​ ​had​ ​just​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​scare​ ​him.​ ​​ ​And​ ​they​ ​wouldn't​ ​return​ ​the next​ ​day.​ ​​ ​If​ ​they​ ​did,​ ​and​ ​he​ ​gave​ ​them​ ​free​ ​ice​ ​cream,​ ​that​ ​would​ ​be​ ​bad, but​ ​it​ ​would​ ​only​ ​cost​ ​him​ ​a​ ​few​ ​bucks.​ ​​ ​With​ ​the​ ​truck​ ​door​ ​locked​ ​they couldn't​ ​do​ ​much​ ​else​ ​right​ ​there.​ ​​ ​And​ ​he​ ​told​ ​himself​ ​it​ ​was​ ​unlikely​ ​they would​ ​dare​ ​to​ ​come​ ​to​ ​his​ ​apartment.​ ​​ ​He​ ​rationalized​ ​some​ ​more​ ​and spent​ ​the​ ​entire​ ​afternoon​ ​convincing​ ​himself​ ​it​ ​would​ ​work​ ​out​ ​all​ ​right. 

But​ ​the​ ​next​ ​day​ ​it​ ​was​ ​more​ ​of​ ​the​ ​same.​ ​​ ​They​ ​took​ ​their​ ​ice​ ​cream​ ​and didn't​ ​pay.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he​ ​wouldn't​ ​give​ ​them​ ​the​ ​money​ ​he'd​ ​taken​ ​in,​ ​one​ ​of them​ ​grabbed​ ​the​ ​ledge​ ​of​ ​the​ ​window,​ ​hauled​ ​himself​ ​up​ ​effortlessly,​ ​and swung​ ​one​ ​leg​ ​over.​ ​​ ​Before​ ​Matthew​ ​could​ ​fully​ ​react,​ ​the​ ​thief​ ​was​ ​inside and​ ​slamming​ ​his​ ​fist​ ​into​ ​the​ ​startled​ ​merchant's​ ​soft​ ​belly.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​went down​ ​and​ ​lay​ ​there​ ​while​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​guy​ ​emptied​ ​the​ ​register,​ ​unlocked​ ​the back​ ​of​ ​the​ ​truck​ ​and​ ​let​ ​himself​ ​out.​ ​​ ​The​ ​one​ ​who​ ​seemed​ ​to​ ​be​ ​the​ ​leader entered​ ​and​ ​held​ ​out​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​for​ ​the​ ​money​ ​in​ ​Matthew's​ ​wallet.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he reluctantly​ ​handed​ ​it​ ​over,​ ​the​ ​guy​ ​counted​ ​it​ ​and​ ​said​ ​there​ ​had​ ​better​ ​be at​ ​least​ ​that​ ​much​ ​every​ ​day.​ ​​ ​And​ ​the​ ​door​ ​would​ ​never​ ​be​ ​locked​ ​again. Matthew​ ​agreed​ ​in​ ​a​ ​weak​ ​whisper. 

The​ ​guy​ ​said,​ ​"Yo,​ ​my​ ​name​ ​is​ ​Sly​ ​but​ ​you​ ​can​ ​just​ ​call​ ​me​ ​Sir." 

It​ ​went​ ​on​ ​like​ ​that.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​they​ ​started​ ​having​ ​him​ ​pick​ ​up​ ​items​ ​for​ ​them. Bottles​ ​of​ ​booze.​ ​​ ​Raunchy​ ​magazines.​ ​​ ​Even​ ​gym​ ​socks.​ ​​ ​​ ​They​ ​left​ ​him enough​ ​money​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​the​ ​business​ ​running​ ​but​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​making​ ​a​ ​profit. As​ ​he​ ​drove​ ​once​ ​more​ ​into​ ​the​ ​Bedlam-Sylvester​ ​neighborhood,​ ​Matthew thought​ ​about​ ​how​ ​much​ ​his​ ​life​ ​had​ ​changed.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​looking​ ​forward​ ​to the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​season​ ​and​ ​selling​ ​the​ ​truck.​ ​​ ​He​ ​just​ ​wanted​ ​this​ ​to​ ​be​ ​over with.​ ​​ ​But​ ​he​ ​was​ ​in​ ​for​ ​a​ ​horrible​ ​surprise.​ ​​ ​After​ ​Sly​ ​took​ ​his​ ​early​ ​earnings and​ ​the​ ​usual​ ​amount​ ​from​ ​his​ ​wallet,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​the​ ​frozen​ ​steaks​ ​Matthew had​ ​picked​ ​up​ ​for​ ​them​ ​and​ ​put​ ​in​ ​the​ ​truck's​ ​freezer,​ ​he​ ​still​ ​wasn't​ ​done. 

"Something​ ​else​ ​you​ ​owe​ ​me,​ ​pretty​ ​boy.​ ​​ ​My​ ​girlfriend​ ​wasn't​ ​feeling​ ​good last​ ​night​ ​and​ ​I​ ​didn't​ ​get​ ​to​ ​bust​ ​my​ ​nut.​ ​​ ​So,​ ​since​ ​you​ ​do​ ​whatever​ ​you're told,​ ​I​ ​figure​ ​you​ ​can​ ​do​ ​that​ ​too." 

He​ ​got​ ​into​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​the​ ​truck​ ​and​ ​locked​ ​the​ ​door​ ​behind​ ​him.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he was​ ​alongside​ ​Matthew​ ​he​ ​made​ ​the​ ​owner​ ​drop​ ​the​ ​awning​ ​to​ ​close​ ​the service​ ​window. 

Matthew​ ​said,​ ​"I​ ​don't​ ​understand." 

Sly​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"Ain't​ ​hard​ ​to​ ​figure.​ ​​ ​You​ ​act​ ​like​ ​a​ ​wimp.​ ​​ ​You​ ​look​ ​like​ ​a sissy.​ ​​ ​I​ ​want​ ​my​ ​cock​ ​sucked.​ ​​ ​So​ ​you​ ​get​ ​the​ ​job,​ ​bitch."​ ​​ ​He​ ​displayed​ ​his fist.​ ​​ ​"Now​ ​get​ ​down​ ​on​ ​your​ ​knees​ ​and​ ​open​ ​that​ ​girly​ ​mouth." 

"B...​ ​but,​ ​I'm​ ​not​ ​gay."
"Not​ ​yet.​ ​​ ​We​ ​can​ ​fix​ ​that​ ​quick.​ ​​ ​You​ ​getting​ ​something​ ​in​ ​your​ ​mouth.​ ​​ ​It 

can​ ​a​ ​fist​ ​or​ ​a​ ​cock.​ ​​ ​Your​ ​choice." 

Thinking​ ​that​ ​this​ ​might​ ​just​ ​be​ ​to​ ​unsettle​ ​him,​ ​a​ ​threat​ ​that​ ​wouldn't​ ​be carried​ ​out,​ ​Matthew​ ​sank​ ​to​ ​his​ ​knees.​ ​​ ​When​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​guy​ ​didn't​ ​back 

off,​ ​the​ ​truck​ ​owner​ ​parted​ ​his​ ​lips.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​opened​ ​his​ ​pants​ ​and​ ​produced​ ​an alarmingly​ ​large​ ​penis.​ ​​ ​He​ ​lifted​ ​it​ ​and​ ​put​ ​the​ ​end​ ​into​ ​the​ ​waiting​ ​mouth. Matthew​ ​gave​ ​it​ ​an​ ​experimental​ ​few​ ​sucks,​ ​making​ ​it​ ​grow​ ​even​ ​longer and​ ​thicker,​ ​until​ ​it​ ​was​ ​a​ ​threatening​ ​nine​ ​inches.​ ​​ ​The​ ​Black​ ​youth grabbed​ ​Matthew's​ ​longish​ ​hair​ ​and​ ​pulled​ ​his​ ​head​ ​forward​ ​to​ ​force​ ​half that​ ​man-meat​ ​inside.​ ​​ ​When​ ​the​ ​white​ ​boy​ ​turned​ ​up​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​the fearsome​ ​expression​ ​on​ ​Sly's​ ​features​ ​and​ ​began​ ​mouthing​ ​in​ ​earnest.​ ​​ ​It was​ ​nauseating​ ​but​ ​he​ ​was​ ​too​ ​scared​ ​to​ ​stop.​ ​​ ​His​ ​hair​ ​was​ ​released​ ​and he​ ​got​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​on​ ​Sly's​ ​muscular​ ​legs​ ​to​ ​steady​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​instructed him​ ​to​ ​use​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​on​ ​the​ ​underside​ ​of​ ​the​ ​head​ ​and​ ​shaft,​ ​and​ ​to​ ​swirl​ ​it around​ ​the​ ​thick​ ​ridge​ ​at​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​the​ ​knob.​ ​​ ​The​ ​kneeling​ ​victim​ ​did​ ​as he​ ​was​ ​told,​ ​terrified​ ​of​ ​receiving​ ​a​ ​beating.​ ​​ ​It​ ​went​ ​on​ ​for​ ​another​ ​ten minutes​ ​before​ ​Sly​ ​grunted,​ ​on​ ​the​ ​verge​ ​of​ ​orgasm. 

The​ ​Black​ ​tough​ ​said,​ ​"Once​ ​I​ ​shoot​ ​my​ ​scum​ ​into​ ​your​ ​pansy​ ​mouth,​ ​you gone​ ​be​ ​officially​ ​gay.​ ​​ ​And​ ​instead​ ​of​ ​calling​ ​me​ ​scum,​ ​you​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be swallowing​ ​scum." 

Sly​ ​took​ ​a​ ​deep​ ​breath,​ ​tensed,​ ​and​ ​fired​ ​his​ ​cream​ ​into​ ​Matthew's​ ​mouth. There​ ​was​ ​so​ ​much​ ​that​ ​some​ ​immediately​ ​ran​ ​into​ ​the​ ​white​ ​guy's​ ​throat. He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​gulp​ ​down​ ​more,​ ​but​ ​Sly​ ​kept​ ​his​ ​organ​ ​where​ ​it​ ​was. Sickened​ ​and​ ​dizzy,​ ​Matthew​ ​ingested​ ​as​ ​much​ ​as​ ​he​ ​could,​ ​though​ ​that still​ ​left​ ​a​ ​slimy​ ​salty​ ​coating​ ​all​ ​over​ ​the​ ​inside​ ​of​ ​his​ ​mouth.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​belatedly pulled​ ​out​ ​his​ ​cock,​ ​wiped​ ​it​ ​all​ ​over​ ​Matthew's​ ​upper​ ​face​ ​and​ ​in​ ​his​ ​blond hair,​ ​and​ ​put​ ​it​ ​back​ ​in​ ​his​ ​pants.​ ​​ ​He​ ​stepped​ ​away,​ ​planted​ ​his​ ​foot​ ​in​ ​the middle​ ​of​ ​his​ ​prey's​ ​chest,​ ​and​ ​pushed​ ​him​ ​over​ ​backwards. 

"Now​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​no​ ​more​ ​backtalk​ ​from​ ​you,​ ​boy.​ ​​ ​See​ ​you tomorrow.​ ​​ ​And​ ​be​ ​on​ ​time." 

It​ ​had​ ​been​ ​awful​ ​enough​ ​when​ ​Sly​ ​made​ ​him​ ​perform​ ​oral​ ​sex.​ ​​ ​But​ ​soon he​ ​had​ ​Matthew​ ​selling​ ​those​ ​services,​ ​working​ ​like​ ​some​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​prostitute, and​ ​handing​ ​over​ ​every​ ​dollar​ ​he​ ​earned.​ ​​ ​Black​ ​guys​ ​would​ ​come​ ​to​ ​the 

truck​ ​and​ ​say​ ​they​ ​want​ ​'The​ ​Special'.​ ​​ ​They​ ​would​ ​enter​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​the vehicle​ ​and​ ​Matthew​ ​hang​ ​up​ ​a​ ​sign​ ​that​ ​said​ ​BE​ ​RIGHT​ ​BACK.​ ​​ ​Moving​ ​to one​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​window,​ ​he​ ​would​ ​get​ ​on​ ​his​ ​knees​ ​to​ ​give​ ​them​ ​an unhurried​ ​and​ ​satisfying​ ​blowjob.​ ​​ ​​ ​No​ ​matter​ ​how​ ​many​ ​times​ ​he​ ​told​ ​them he​ ​was​ ​straight​ ​and​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​do​ ​that,​ ​they​ ​refused​ ​to​ ​listen.​ ​​ ​Some​ ​of them​ ​liked​ ​to​ ​have​ ​Matthew​ ​open​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​afterwards​ ​and​ ​show​ ​them​ ​the load​ ​they​ ​had​ ​deposited,​ ​before​ ​he​ ​swallowed​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Others​ ​wanted​ ​him​ ​to​ ​tell them​ ​how​ ​much​ ​he​ ​loved​ ​Black​ ​cock​ ​and​ ​how​ ​grateful​ ​he​ ​was​ ​that​ ​he​ ​could suck​ ​theirs.​ ​​ ​A​ ​lot​ ​liked​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​him​ ​thank​ ​them​ ​afterwards​ ​and​ ​tell​ ​them​ ​he was​ ​an​ ​inferior​ ​white​ ​boy.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​was​ ​so​ ​controlled​ ​that​ ​soon​ ​only​ ​Sly had​ ​to​ ​appear.​ ​​ ​The​ ​other​ ​two​ ​guys​ ​were​ ​off​ ​somewhere,​ ​and​ ​only​ ​showed up​ ​when​ ​they​ ​wanted​ ​a​ ​BJ.​ ​​ ​​ ​At​ ​one​ ​point​ ​Sly​ ​took​ ​Matthew's​ ​phone.​ ​​ ​When he​ ​returned​ ​the​ ​device​ ​there​ ​were​ ​over​ ​a​ ​dozen​ ​photos​ ​stored​ ​in​ ​it,​ ​all​ ​of Black​ ​cocks.​ ​​ ​He​ ​told​ ​Matthew​ ​he​ ​was​ ​forbidden​ ​to​ ​delete​ ​them. 

That​ ​went​ ​on​ ​for​ ​several​ ​weeks.​ ​​ ​Now,​ ​however,​ ​Matthew​ ​had​ ​reached​ ​a new​ ​crisis​ ​point.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​had​ ​instructed​ ​him​ ​to​ ​buy​ ​a​ ​wig,​ ​put​ ​on​ ​make-up,​ ​and dress​ ​as​ ​a​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​That​ ​would​ ​have​ ​been​ ​bad​ ​enough,​ ​but​ ​because​ ​he'd​ ​seen the​ ​photo​ ​of​ ​Matthew's​ ​girlfriend​ ​Sherri​ ​in​ ​his​ ​wallet,​ ​Sly​ ​made​ ​him​ ​begin stealing​ ​HER​ ​clothes​ ​to​ ​wear.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​remembered​ ​how​ ​the​ ​tall,​ ​muscular young​ ​man​ ​had​ ​rationalized​ ​it. 

"Thing​ ​is,​ ​Mattie,​ ​you​ ​so​ ​short​ ​and​ ​fruity​ ​looking​ ​anyway,​ ​with​ ​no​ ​muscles and​ ​a​ ​cute​ ​booty,​ ​stuff​ ​from​ ​her​ ​closet​ ​gone​ ​fit​ ​you​ ​perfect.​ ​​ ​Well,​ ​all​ ​of​ ​it except​ ​the​ ​bras.​ ​​ ​That​ ​girl​ ​got​ ​some​ ​mean​ ​up-fronts​ ​on​ ​her.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​they look​ ​like​ ​they​ ​belong​ ​on​ ​some​ ​thick​ ​Sister.​ ​​ ​Like​ ​my​ ​cousin​ ​Savannah,​ ​who been​ ​taking​ ​about​ ​a​ ​half​ ​dozen​ ​ice​ ​creams​ ​from​ ​you​ ​every​ ​day.​ ​​ ​That​ ​girl does​ ​love​ ​to​ ​eat.​ ​​ ​And​ ​it​ ​shows​ ​in​ ​her​ ​jumbo​ ​knockers​ ​and​ ​big​ ​old​ ​ass​ ​that you​ ​always​ ​sneaking​ ​peeks​ ​at.​ ​​ ​But​ ​anyway,​ ​you​ ​stuff​ ​them​ ​bra​ ​cups​ ​with something,​ ​like​ ​the​ ​napkins​ ​you​ ​got​ ​on​ ​your​ ​truck,​ ​and​ ​they'll​ ​look​ ​just​ ​fine." 

Matthew​ ​had​ ​never​ ​though​ ​of​ ​himself​ ​as​ ​having​ ​a​ ​feminine​ ​appearance,​ ​but the​ ​more​ ​he​ ​checked​ ​himself​ ​in​ ​the​ ​full​ ​length​ ​mirror​ ​at​ ​home​ ​that​ ​night,​ ​the 

more​ ​convinced​ ​he​ ​became​ ​that​ ​Sly​ ​was​ ​right.​ ​​ ​So​ ​the​ ​frightened​ ​white​ ​guy had​ ​started​ ​snatching​ ​items​ ​from​ ​Sherri's​ ​closets​ ​and​ ​drawers.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had began​ ​with​ ​panties​ ​and​ ​stockings,​ ​and​ ​worked​ ​his​ ​way​ ​up​ ​to​ ​belly​ ​shirts and​ ​mini-shorts,​ ​and​ ​even​ ​a​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​shoes​ ​she​ ​had​ ​put​ ​with​ ​some​ ​items​ ​that he​ ​assumed​ ​were​ ​due​ ​to​ ​go​ ​to​ ​the​ ​thrift​ ​store.​ ​​ ​It​ ​scared​ ​him​ ​to​ ​be​ ​taking her​ ​things.​ ​​ ​If​ ​she​ ​caught​ ​him​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​know​ ​what​ ​might​ ​happen.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had never​ ​had​ ​a​ ​real​ ​girlfriend​ ​before​ ​and​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​lose​ ​her.​ ​​ ​In​ ​the​ ​past​ ​he had​ ​never​ ​gotten​ ​beyond​ ​the​ ​first​ ​trip​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bedroom.​ ​​ ​Once​ ​a​ ​girl discovered​ ​that​ ​his​ ​penis​ ​was​ ​uselessly​ ​small,​ ​there​ ​was​ ​no​ ​chance​ ​of them​ ​having​ ​intercourse​ ​with​ ​him.​ ​​ ​In​ ​their​ ​anger,​ ​some​ ​of​ ​them​ ​demanded that​ ​he​ ​compensate​ ​for​ ​their​ ​disappointment​ ​by​ ​using​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​on​ ​their pussies.​ ​​ ​​ ​After​ ​that​ ​he​ ​learned,​ ​even​ ​if​ ​they​ ​didn't​ ​think​ ​to​ ​ask​ ​for​ ​it,​ ​to apologize​ ​and​ ​offer​ ​them​ ​head​ ​.​ ​​ ​Over​ ​time​ ​he​ ​had​ ​become​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​addicted to​ ​satisfying​ ​women​ ​the​ ​only​ ​way​ ​he​ ​could. 

But​ ​it​ ​had​ ​been​ ​different​ ​with​ ​Sherri.​ ​​ ​She​ ​didn't​ ​seem​ ​to​ ​mind​ ​that​ ​his​ ​penis was​ ​so​ ​undersized.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​liked​ ​to​ ​play​ ​with​ ​it​ ​and​ ​call​ ​it​ ​nicknames​ ​like 'Cookie'​ ​and​ ​'Trinket'.​ ​​ ​Of​ ​course,​ ​she​ ​had​ ​never​ ​actually​ ​let​ ​him​ ​put​ ​it​ ​into her.​ ​​ ​Instead,​ ​she​ ​had​ ​taken​ ​advantage​ ​of​ ​his​ ​well-practiced​ ​oral​ ​skills, while​ ​giving​ ​him​ ​an​ ​occasional​ ​hand​ ​job​ ​when​ ​she​ ​felt​ ​like​ ​it.​ ​​ ​He​ ​wasn't entirely​ ​pleased​ ​with​ ​that​ ​but​ ​over​ ​time​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​hooked​ ​on​ ​that situation.​ ​​ ​Also,​ ​he​ ​understood​ ​that​ ​sex​ ​wasn't​ ​easy​ ​for​ ​her.​ ​​ ​She​ ​told​ ​him that​ ​she​ ​had​ ​been​ ​something​ ​of​ ​a​ ​'party​ ​girl'​ ​in​ ​the​ ​past.​ ​​ ​​ ​There​ ​had​ ​been many​ ​guys​ ​involved.​ ​​ ​He​ ​told​ ​her​ ​that​ ​she​ ​didn't​ ​have​ ​to​ ​go​ ​into​ ​detail​ ​about those​ ​painful​ ​experiences​ ​but​ ​she​ ​insisted,​ ​saying​ ​it​ ​would​ ​be​ ​good​ ​for​ ​her to​ ​share​ ​them,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​she​ ​knew​ ​he​ ​was​ ​the​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​guy​ ​who​ ​would​ ​be sympathetic​ ​and​ ​not​ ​make​ ​judgements. 

So​ ​it​ ​had​ ​become​ ​part​ ​of​ ​their​ ​bedroom​ ​experience​ ​for​ ​her​ ​to​ ​relate​ ​those 'terrible​ ​episodes'​ ​and​ ​'difficult​ ​memories'​ ​in​ ​vivid​ ​flashbacks.​ ​​ ​Over​ ​time​ ​it started​ ​to​ ​take​ ​place​ ​more​ ​and​ ​more​ ​frequently​ ​while​ ​he​ ​was​ ​using​ ​his mouth​ ​on​ ​her​ ​pussy.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​she​ ​even​ ​told​ ​her​ ​stories​ ​while​ ​she​ ​was​ ​giving him​ ​each​ ​long,​ ​slow​ ​hand-pumping.​ ​​ ​She​ ​would​ ​slip​ ​into​ ​reveries, 

rhapsodizing​ ​about​ ​especially​ ​traumatic​ ​incidents.​ ​​ ​He​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​be supportive​ ​but​ ​it​ ​wasn't​ ​always​ ​easy.​ ​​ ​For​ ​instance,​ ​one​ ​night​ ​while​ ​he​ ​was using​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​to​ ​stimulate​ ​her,​ ​she​ ​recalled​ ​a​ ​guy​ ​named​ ​Marcus. 

Sherri​ ​said,​ ​"Just​ ​don't​ ​stop​ ​licking​ ​down​ ​there,​ ​Mattie.​ ​​ ​That's​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Nice​ ​and slow.​ ​​ ​A​ ​tender,​ ​loving​ ​guy​ ​like​ ​you​ ​makes​ ​it​ ​easier​ ​for​ ​me​ ​to​ ​deal​ ​with​ ​all those​ ​nasty​ ​men​ ​I​ ​knew​ ​before.​ ​​ ​Like​ ​this​ ​one​ ​named​ ​Marcus.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​a real​ ​brute.​ ​​ ​A​ ​big​ ​Black​ ​dude.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​a​ ​shaved​ ​head​ ​and​ ​one​ ​of​ ​those thick​ ​mustaches​ ​that​ ​droops​ ​way​ ​down​ ​on​ ​the​ ​ends.​ ​​ ​And​ ​a​ ​square​ ​patch​ ​of hair​ ​under​ ​his​ ​lower​ ​lip.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​he​ ​looked​ ​so​ ​fierce.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​like​ ​you,​ ​sweetie, with​ ​your​ ​smooth​ ​pink​ ​skin​ ​and​ ​only​ ​a​ ​little​ ​peach​ ​fuzz​ ​above​ ​your​ ​adorable little​ ​dick.​ ​​ ​And​ ​it's​ ​so​ ​unthreatening​ ​when​ ​you​ ​get​ ​naked,​ ​that​ ​you​ ​don't have​ ​all​ ​those​ ​ugly​ ​muscles​ ​and​ ​hair​ ​everywhere.​ ​​ ​Mmmm,​ ​that's​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Suck on​ ​my​ ​clit,​ ​baby.​ ​​ ​Nice​ ​and​ ​gentle.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​like​ ​Marcus.​ ​​ ​All​ ​he​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​do was​ ​ram​ ​me​ ​with​ ​his​ ​cock.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​so​ ​big.​ ​​ ​Huge.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​only​ ​that,​ ​but​ ​he would​ ​keep​ ​going​ ​and​ ​going​ ​and​ ​going.​ ​​ ​Can​ ​you​ ​imagine​ ​what​ ​that​ ​was like,​ ​Mattie?​ ​​ ​No,​ ​no,​ ​don't​ ​say​ ​anything.​ ​​ ​Just​ ​keep​ ​that​ ​tongue​ ​moving. You're​ ​making​ ​it​ ​SO​ ​much​ ​easier​ ​for​ ​me​ ​to​ ​deal​ ​with​ ​my​ ​past.​ ​​ ​Anyway (sigh),​ ​where​ ​was​ ​I?​ ​​ ​Oh,​ ​yes,​ ​Marcus​ ​could​ ​not​ ​only​ ​go​ ​on​ ​for​ ​like​ ​an​ ​hour, but​ ​then​ ​thirty​ ​minutes​ ​later​ ​he​ ​was​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​start​ ​again.​ ​​ ​Sometimes​ ​I​ ​had to​ ​suck​ ​him​ ​off​ ​just​ ​to​ ​let​ ​my​ ​pussy​ ​recover​ ​from​ ​all​ ​that​ ​stretching​ ​and slamming.​ ​​ ​I'm​ ​so​ ​glad​ ​you​ ​understand​ ​and​ ​aren't​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​rush​ ​me​ ​into... going​ ​all​ ​the​ ​way​ ​with​ ​you.​ ​​ ​But​ ​that​ ​WILL​ ​happen,​ ​honeybunch.​ ​​ ​Honest.​ ​​ ​I just​ ​need​ ​more​ ​time.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​do​ ​that​ ​thing​ ​where​ ​you​ ​get​ ​your​ ​lips​ ​pressed​ ​up against​ ​my​ ​mound​ ​like​ ​a​ ​suckerfish,​ ​and​ ​stick​ ​your​ ​tongue​ ​way​ ​up​ ​inside me.​ ​​ ​Yessss.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​so​ ​helpful.​ ​​ ​In​ ​fact,​ ​I'm​ ​even​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​tell​ ​you about​ ​the​ ​time​ ​with​ ​Marcus​ ​and​ ​his​ ​three​ ​buddies,​ ​when​ ​they​ ​came​ ​to​ ​my place​ ​to​ ​play​ ​poker.​ ​​ ​That​ ​bastard​ ​made​ ​my​ ​ass​ ​a​ ​prize​ ​for​ ​his​ ​pals.​ ​​ ​He called​ ​it​ ​a​ ​'poke​ ​her'​ ​night.​ ​​ ​Isn't​ ​that​ ​just​ ​awful.​ ​​ ​I​ ​almost​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​stop​ ​him when​ ​he​ ​made​ ​it​ ​a​ ​weekly​ ​event." 

There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​of​ ​that.​ ​​ ​It​ ​troubled​ ​him​ ​but​ ​he​ ​kept​ ​reminding​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​it was​ ​helpful​ ​and​ ​necessary​ ​therapy​ ​for​ ​her,​ ​for​ ​the​ ​love​ ​of​ ​his​ ​life.​ ​​ ​And​ ​he 

was​ ​heartened​ ​when​ ​she​ ​reminded​ ​him,​ ​as​ ​she​ ​often​ ​did​ ​in​ ​the​ ​middle​ ​of having​ ​her​ ​moving​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​his​ ​penis,​ ​while​ ​she​ ​was​ ​describing​ ​other​ ​men who​ ​had​ ​used​ ​her​ ​like​ ​a​ ​sex​ ​object,​ ​that​ ​their​ ​day​ ​would​ ​come​ ​and​ ​then​ ​she would​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​allow​ ​him​ ​penetration. 

"I​ ​hope​ ​it​ ​will​ ​be​ ​soon,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​one​ ​time.​ ​​ ​"But​ ​I'm​ ​willing​ ​to​ ​work​ ​together with​ ​you​ ​on​ ​this,​ ​no​ ​matter​ ​how​ ​long​ ​it​ ​takes.​ ​​ ​You're​ ​so​ ​understanding, Mattie.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​why​ ​don't​ ​you​ ​give​ ​me​ ​a​ ​nice​ ​foot​ ​rub​ ​and​ ​afterwards​ ​you​ ​can do​ ​more​ ​nice​ ​things​ ​with​ ​that​ ​talented​ ​tongue​ ​of​ ​yours.​ ​​ ​It​ ​will​ ​be​ ​so romantic." 

He​ ​had​ ​sheepishly​ ​asked,​ ​"Do​ ​you​ ​think​ ​that,​ ​sometime​ ​soon,​ ​maybe​ ​I could,​ ​you​ ​know,​ ​touch​ ​your​ ​breasts?​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​even...​ ​kiss​ ​them?" 

She​ ​had​ ​suddenly​ ​looked​ ​troubled.​ ​​ ​"Oh,​ ​no.​ ​​ ​I​ ​wish​ ​you​ ​hadn't​ ​said​ ​that. There​ ​were​ ​so​ ​many​ ​guys​ ​who​ ​pawed​ ​my​ ​breasts,​ ​sucked​ ​on​ ​them,​ ​and even​ ​--​ ​and​ ​this​ ​is​ ​difficult​ ​to​ ​admit​ ​--​ ​put​ ​their​ ​long​ ​hard​ ​cocks​ ​between them,​ ​to​ ​tit​ ​fuck​ ​me,​ ​or​ ​just​ ​to​ ​have​ ​me​ ​squeeze​ ​my​ ​boobs​ ​against​ ​their shaft​ ​while​ ​I​ ​sucked​ ​the​ ​head.​ ​​ ​I​ ​had​ ​to​ ​suck​ ​so​ ​hard.​ ​​ ​Suck​ ​and​ ​suck​ ​and suck.​ ​​ ​Whew.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​you'd​ ​better​ ​start​ ​kissing​ ​my​ ​puss​ ​again,​ ​lover​ ​boy.​ ​​ ​I really​ ​need​ ​some​ ​relief​ ​from​ ​those​ ​terrible​ ​memories​ ​you​ ​brought​ ​back." 

"I'm​ ​so​ ​sorry.​ ​​ ​I​ ​didn't​ ​mean​ ​to​ ​upset​ ​you.​ ​​ ​I...​ ​I'll​ ​never​ ​ask​ ​to​ ​do​ ​anything​ ​to your​ ​breasts​ ​again." 

"No,​ ​no.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​better​ ​if​ ​you​ ​keep​ ​asking.​ ​​ ​It​ ​hurts​ ​me​ ​to​ ​have​ ​to​ ​refuse​ ​you. And​ ​it​ ​will​ ​hurt​ ​just​ ​as​ ​much​ ​each​ ​time​ ​I​ ​tell​ ​you​ ​'no'.​ ​​ ​But​ ​it​ ​will​ ​be​ ​good​ ​for me​ ​in​ ​the​ ​long​ ​run.​ ​​ ​It​ ​will​ ​help​ ​me​ ​recover.​ ​​ ​So​ ​you​ ​ask​ ​as​ ​often​ ​as​ ​you have​ ​to,​ ​Squishy."​ ​​ ​She​ ​sometimes​ ​surprised​ ​him​ ​with​ ​nicknames​ ​like​ ​that. "Everything​ ​we're​ ​going​ ​through​ ​will​ ​make​ ​both​ ​of​ ​us​ ​stronger." 

All​ ​those​ ​thoughts​ ​and​ ​plenty​ ​more​ ​swirled​ ​through​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​as​ ​he​ ​got​ ​into some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​clothes​ ​he​ ​had​ ​purloined​ ​from​ ​Sherri's​ ​apartment.​ ​​ ​He​ ​put​ ​on​ ​a 

thong.​ ​​ ​The​ ​small​ ​front​ ​easily​ ​held​ ​his​ ​immature​ ​genitals.​ ​​ ​His​ ​junk​ ​made only​ ​a​ ​small​ ​bump.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​pulled​ ​up​ ​a​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​tiny​ ​shorts​ ​that​ ​rode​ ​up​ ​into the​ ​crack​ ​of​ ​his​ ​ass.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​washed​ ​them​ ​and​ ​done​ ​something​ ​wrong,​ ​so that​ ​they​ ​had​ ​shrunk.​ ​​ ​Next​ ​came​ ​a​ ​bra,​ ​which​ ​Sly​ ​had​ ​said​ ​there​ ​was​ ​no choice​ ​about.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​got​ ​it​ ​on​ ​and​ ​began​ ​filling​ ​the​ ​cups​ ​with​ ​pairs​ ​of​ ​his socks.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​decided​ ​that​ ​it​ ​would​ ​be​ ​wasteful​ ​and​ ​bad​ ​for​ ​the environment​ ​to​ ​use​ ​napkins,​ ​especially​ ​because​ ​it​ ​would​ ​take​ ​so​ ​many​ ​to fill​ ​those​ ​spacious​ ​hooter-holders.​ ​​ ​He​ ​got​ ​a​ ​sufficient​ ​number​ ​of​ ​pairs​ ​into each​ ​side​ ​and​ ​checked​ ​his​ ​reflection.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​admit​ ​that,​ ​even​ ​though​ ​he didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​be​ ​doing​ ​this,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​truly​ ​good​ ​at​ ​it.​ ​​ ​And​ ​his​ ​dick,​ ​pressed down​ ​and​ ​held​ ​in​ ​place​ ​by​ ​the​ ​thong,​ ​was​ ​tingling​ ​for​ ​some​ ​reason.​ ​​ ​He​ ​put that​ ​unsettling​ ​observation​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​as​ ​he​ ​pulled​ ​on​ ​a​ ​snug​ ​top,​ ​a cropped​ ​one​ ​that​ ​left​ ​his​ ​flat​ ​hairless​ ​midsection​ ​exposed.​ ​​ ​The​ ​shorts​ ​were white​ ​with​ ​red​ ​trim.​ ​​ ​But​ ​the​ ​top​ ​was​ ​bright​ ​pink.​ ​​ ​And​ ​it​ ​had​ ​the​ ​word SWEET​ ​across​ ​the​ ​front​ ​in​ ​swirling​ ​letters,​ ​red​ ​ones​ ​to​ ​match​ ​the​ ​highlights on​ ​the​ ​shorts.​ ​​ ​He​ ​told​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​chosen​ ​that​ ​top​ ​because​ ​the word​ ​emblazoned​ ​on​ ​it​ ​matched​ ​the​ ​products​ ​advertised​ ​on​ ​the​ ​sides​ ​of​ ​his truck.​ ​​ ​But​ ​it​ ​could​ ​also​ ​be​ ​interpreted​ ​another​ ​way.​ ​​ ​Again,​ ​as​ ​he​ ​did​ ​with the​ ​unexpected​ ​sensations​ ​in​ ​his​ ​penis,​ ​he​ ​made​ ​himself​ ​stop​ ​thinking about​ ​it.​ ​​ ​After​ ​all,​ ​it​ ​wasn't​ ​as​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was​ ​starting​ ​to​ ​be​ ​seduced​ ​by​ ​his​ ​new role.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​worse,​ ​beginning​ ​to​ ​like​ ​it. 

Next​ ​Matthew​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​dresser,​ ​where​ ​he​ ​had​ ​spread​ ​out​ ​a​ ​selection​ ​of cosmetics​ ​he​ ​had​ ​bought,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​few​ ​he​ ​had​ ​pocketed​ ​from​ ​Sherri's apartment.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​hadn't​ ​allowed​ ​him​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​any​ ​extra​ ​profits​ ​from​ ​selling​ ​ice cream​ ​to​ ​buy​ ​them.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​even​ ​when​ ​the​ ​white​ ​guy​ ​explained​ ​that​ ​he​ ​wanted to​ ​get​ ​top-of-the-line​ ​products.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​had​ ​gone​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bank​ ​and​ ​taken out​ ​money​ ​for​ ​that,​ ​and​ ​for​ ​the​ ​other​ ​purchase​ ​he​ ​was​ ​required​ ​to​ ​make. He​ ​started​ ​on​ ​his​ ​face,​ ​first​ ​outlining​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​with​ ​dark​ ​make-up​ ​pencil, then​ ​coloring​ ​the​ ​lids​ ​with​ ​smoky​ ​shades.​ ​​ ​He​ ​applied​ ​mascara​ ​to​ ​his naturally​ ​long​ ​lashes.​ ​​ ​His​ ​eyes​ ​looked​ ​surprisingly​ ​well​ ​done.​ ​​ ​​ ​The​ ​word 'alluring'​ ​came​ ​to​ ​mind.​ ​​ ​It​ ​helped​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​practiced.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​a​ ​lot,​ ​he reminded​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​Just​ ​a​ ​few​ ​times​ ​to​ ​make​ ​sure​ ​he​ ​could​ ​get​ ​it​ ​right.​ ​​ ​He 

was​ ​generous​ ​with​ ​blush​ ​on​ ​his​ ​cheeks.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​had​ ​cautioned​ ​him​ ​not​ ​to skimp.​ ​​ ​There​ ​had​ ​even​ ​been​ ​mention​ ​of​ ​a​ ​possible​ ​spanking​ ​if​ ​Matthew underdid​ ​it.​ ​​ ​So​ ​when​ ​it​ ​came​ ​to​ ​his​ ​lips,​ ​he​ ​not​ ​only​ ​used​ ​liner​ ​to​ ​make​ ​his mouth​ ​appear​ ​larger,​ ​but​ ​filled​ ​the​ ​outline​ ​in​ ​with​ ​glaringly​ ​bright​ ​scarlet, and​ ​covered​ ​everything​ ​with​ ​shiny​ ​clear​ ​gloss.​ ​​ ​No​ ​one​ ​could​ ​accuse​ ​him​ ​of restraining​ ​himself​ ​now.​ ​​ ​He​ ​even​ ​smiled​ ​at​ ​the​ ​new,​ ​almost​ ​unrecognizable face​ ​in​ ​the​ ​mirror.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​quickly​ ​vanquished​ ​that​ ​expression.​ ​​ ​It​ ​wasn't as​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was​ ​happy​ ​about​ ​any​ ​of​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​doing.​ ​​ ​Certainly​ ​not. 

Finally​ ​it​ ​was​ ​time​ ​for​ ​the​ ​other​ ​item​ ​he​ ​had​ ​used​ ​money​ ​from​ ​his​ ​bank withdrawal​ ​to​ ​buy.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​had​ ​sent​ ​him​ ​to​ ​a​ ​costume​ ​shop​ ​to​ ​buy​ ​a​ ​wig​ ​fit​ ​for​ ​a clown.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​bright​ ​orange,​ ​an​ ​explosion​ ​of​ ​short​ ​tight​ ​curls.​ ​​ ​When Matthew​ ​donned​ ​it,​ ​snugging​ ​the​ ​thing​ ​down​ ​over​ ​his​ ​scalp,​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​what Sly​ ​intended.​ ​​ ​Together​ ​with​ ​the​ ​brassy​ ​make-up,​ ​it​ ​actually​ ​did​ ​make​ ​him appear​ ​clownish.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​only​ ​would​ ​he​ ​be​ ​humiliatingly​ ​feminine,​ ​but​ ​his appearance​ ​would​ ​suggest​ ​a​ ​circus​ ​buffoon​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time.​ ​​ ​For​ ​the​ ​past two​ ​weeks,​ ​on​ ​orders​ ​from​ ​Sly,​ ​Matthew​ ​had​ ​been​ ​letting​ ​young​ ​Black​ ​men come​ ​into​ ​his​ ​truck​ ​so​ ​he​ ​could​ ​suck​ ​their​ ​overgrown​ ​cocks.​ ​​ ​​ ​There​ ​had been​ ​a​ ​few​ ​not-so-young​ ​ones​ ​as​ ​well,​ ​with​ ​beer​ ​bellies​ ​and​ ​BO.​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't appreciate​ ​them​ ​as​ ​much​ ​as​ ​the​ ​more​ ​fit​ ​ones.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​that​ ​he​ ​liked​ ​any​ ​of them.​ ​​ ​Of​ ​course​ ​not.​ ​​ ​But​ ​he​ ​disliked​ ​the​ ​more​ ​athletic​ ​ones​ ​less.​ ​​ ​In​ ​his mind​ ​it​ ​was​ ​a​ ​fair​ ​distinction.​ ​​ ​And​ ​he​ ​definitely​ ​was​ ​not​ ​developing​ ​a​ ​taste for​ ​any​ ​of​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​being​ ​made​ ​to​ ​do.​ ​​ ​Of​ ​course​ ​he​ ​wasn't.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was straight.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​a​ ​lovely​ ​girlfriend.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​was​ ​more​ ​important​ ​to​ ​him​ ​now than​ ​ever​ ​before.​ ​​ ​She​ ​was​ ​proof​ ​of​ ​who​ ​he​ ​really​ ​was.​ ​​ ​A​ ​virile​ ​man.​ ​​ ​Sort of.​ ​​ ​And​ ​he​ ​would​ ​be​ ​much​ ​more​ ​so​ ​after​ ​she​ ​got​ ​over​ ​her​ ​fears​ ​and​ ​they were​ ​able​ ​to​ ​have​ ​real​ ​sex.​ ​​ ​If​ ​he​ ​ever​ ​lost​ ​her,​ ​he​ ​knew,​ ​his​ ​self-image would​ ​be​ ​destroyed,​ ​perhaps​ ​forever.​ ​​ ​But​ ​there​ ​was​ ​no​ ​way​ ​that​ ​could happen. 

He​ ​left​ ​his​ ​place​ ​via​ ​the​ ​back​ ​door​ ​and​ ​got​ ​into​ ​his​ ​truck​ ​without​ ​being​ ​seen by​ ​anyone.​ ​​ ​That​ ​was​ ​a​ ​small​ ​victory.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​drove​ ​to​ ​the​ ​starting​ ​point​ ​of his​ ​route.​ ​​ ​There​ ​were​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​customers.​ ​​ ​Most​ ​of​ ​them​ ​paid​ ​for​ ​what 

they​ ​got.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​allowed​ ​that​ ​because​ ​it​ ​provided​ ​cash​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​take​ ​from Matthew.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​Savannah​ ​appeared.​ ​​ ​She​ ​was​ ​tall​ ​and​ ​overly​ ​full​ ​figured, with​ ​soccer​ ​ball​ ​tits​ ​and​ ​a​ ​supersize​ ​ass.​ ​​ ​She​ ​had​ ​generous​ ​thighs​ ​and​ ​big firm​ ​calves.​ ​​ ​All​ ​her​ ​curves​ ​were​ ​shown​ ​off​ ​by​ ​close-fitting​ ​clothes.​ ​​ ​When she​ ​came​ ​up​ ​to​ ​the​ ​truck's​ ​serving​ ​window​ ​Matthew​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​appear​ ​cool, despite​ ​her​ ​overblown​ ​contours.​ ​​ ​And​ ​it​ ​wasn't​ ​easy​ ​to​ ​stay​ ​calm​ ​with​ ​his new​ ​image.​ ​​ ​She​ ​peered​ ​hard​ ​at​ ​him​ ​and​ ​laughed. 

"Day-freaking-am,"​ ​she​ ​expostulated.​ ​​ ​"That's​ ​you,​ ​Mattie​ ​boy.​ ​​ ​Except​ ​now it's​ ​more​ ​like​ ​Mattie​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​Haw!​ ​​ ​Finally​ ​getting​ ​in​ ​touch​ ​with​ ​your​ ​wussy side.​ ​​ ​I​ ​always​ ​figured​ ​you​ ​for​ ​a​ ​secret​ ​faggot.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​give​ ​me​ ​a​ ​couple​ ​of them​ ​cones​ ​with​ ​the​ ​sprinkles​ ​on​ ​them." 

He​ ​handed​ ​over​ ​two​ ​of​ ​the​ ​wrapped​ ​items.​ ​​ ​She​ ​peeled​ ​the​ ​paper​ ​off​ ​the first​ ​one,​ ​revealing​ ​the​ ​rainbow​ ​sprinkles​ ​all​ ​over​ ​the​ ​top​ ​of​ ​frozen​ ​vanilla ice​ ​cream.​ ​​ ​Savannah​ ​shoved​ ​it​ ​into​ ​her​ ​wide,​ ​pillow-lipped​ ​mouth. 

Matthew​ ​said,​ ​"If​ ​that's​ ​everything,​ ​I​ ​have​ ​to​ ​get​ ​going." 

She​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"You​ ​stay​ ​right​ ​there,​ ​sissy.​ ​​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​want​ ​at​ ​least​ ​one more.​ ​​ ​These​ ​things​ ​are​ ​yummy.​ ​​ ​Like​ ​you.​ ​​ ​And​ ​I​ ​love​ ​them​ ​sprinkles.
Hey,​ ​that'd​ ​be​ ​a​ ​good​ ​name​ ​for​ ​you,​ ​with​ ​that​ ​clown​ ​look​ ​you​ ​got.​ ​​ ​Sprinkles the​ ​Clown.​ ​​ ​Huh!" 

"I'm​ ​not​ ​a​ ​sissy,"​ ​he​ ​said​ ​sulkily.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​have​ ​a​ ​girlfriend." 

"Yeah,​ ​right.​ ​​ ​And​ ​she​ ​likes​ ​you​ ​cause​ ​you're​ ​so​ ​macho.​ ​​ ​About​ ​the​ ​only thing​ ​you​ ​got​ ​that​ ​says​ ​you're​ ​not​ ​a​ ​total​ ​pansy​ ​is​ ​how​ ​you​ ​always​ ​drooling over​ ​my​ ​jugs.​ ​​ ​And​ ​when​ ​I'm​ ​walking​ ​away,​ ​I​ ​bet​ ​you're​ ​getting​ ​a​ ​stiffy​ ​over my​ ​queen-size​ ​ass.​ ​​ ​Right?" 

Wanting​ ​to​ ​defend​ ​his​ ​manhood,​ ​he​ ​told​ ​her,​ ​"Well,​ ​yes.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​you're... you​ ​have..." 

"I​ ​got​ ​more​ ​curves​ ​than​ ​you'd​ ​know​ ​what​ ​to​ ​do​ ​with.​ ​​ ​I've​ ​seen​ ​you​ ​out​ ​of that​ ​truck​ ​and​ ​what's​ ​between​ ​your​ ​weak​ ​little​ ​legs​ ​don't​ ​make​ ​no​ ​bump​ ​in your​ ​pants.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​take​ ​a​ ​look​ ​at​ ​the​ ​real​ ​men​ ​around​ ​here.​ ​​ ​Every​ ​one got​ ​a​ ​bulge.​ ​​ ​A​ ​bitch​ ​can​ ​pick​ ​and​ ​choose​ ​without​ ​them​ ​even​ ​opening​ ​their fly.​ ​​ ​And​ ​you​ ​ain't​ ​getting​ ​picked​ ​by​ ​no​ ​one,​ ​except​ ​maybe​ ​some​ ​dude​ ​who wants​ ​his​ ​tool​ ​sucked.​ ​​ ​Yeah,​ ​Sly​ ​told​ ​me​ ​about​ ​your​ ​side​ ​hustle."​ ​​ ​She​ ​had a​ ​sudden​ ​inspiration.​ ​​ ​"Get​ ​on​ ​around​ ​to​ ​the​ ​back​ ​door​ ​of​ ​your​ ​truck,​ ​clown boy." 

He​ ​reluctantly​ ​went​ ​where​ ​she​ ​told​ ​him​ ​and​ ​opened​ ​the​ ​door.​ ​​ ​Matthew stood​ ​on​ ​the​ ​exit​ ​step.​ ​​ ​Where​ ​he​ ​was​ ​parked,​ ​no​ ​one​ ​had​ ​a​ ​clear​ ​line​ ​of sight​ ​to​ ​the​ ​rear​ ​of​ ​the​ ​vehicle.​ ​​ ​Savannah​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to​ ​get​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​down halfway.​ ​​ ​He​ ​cringed​ ​inwardly​ ​but​ ​did​ ​as​ ​he​ ​was​ ​told,​ ​knowing​ ​that​ ​Sly would​ ​hear​ ​about​ ​it​ ​if​ ​he​ ​disobeyed.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​she​ ​might​ ​just​ ​haul​ ​him​ ​out​ ​herself and​ ​knock​ ​him​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​ground. 

"Please,"​ ​he​ ​said​ ​in​ ​a​ ​strained​ ​whisper.​ ​​ ​"This​ ​is​ ​mortifying." 

"More​ ​to​ ​what?​ ​​ ​It​ ​for​ ​sure​ ​ain't​ ​good.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​for​ ​you.​ ​​ ​Look​ ​at​ ​that​ ​baby​ ​dingle there.​ ​​ ​A​ ​puppy​ ​got​ ​more​ ​than​ ​that.​ ​​ ​You​ ​ain't​ ​no​ ​dog.​ ​​ ​You​ ​just​ ​a​ ​pup.​ ​​ ​Heh! A​ ​sissy​ ​clown​ ​pup."​ ​​ ​She​ ​grabbed​ ​his​ ​small​ ​balls​ ​and​ ​held​ ​them​ ​firmly​ ​in​ ​her pudgy​ ​hand.​ ​​ ​"And​ ​if​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​me​ ​to​ ​damage​ ​the​ ​little​ ​bit​ ​you​ ​got,​ ​get me​ ​two​ ​more​ ​of​ ​them​ ​sprinkle​ ​cones,​ ​Sprinkles."​ ​​ ​She​ ​gave​ ​a​ ​squeeze​ ​that made​ ​him​ ​howl.​ ​​ ​"And​ ​don't​ ​waste​ ​time​ ​pulling​ ​them​ ​cute​ ​shorts​ ​up." 

When​ ​she​ ​released​ ​her​ ​hold​ ​he​ ​limped​ ​back​ ​into​ ​the​ ​truck,​ ​got​ ​not​ ​two​ ​but three​ ​cones,​ ​and​ ​put​ ​them​ ​into​ ​a​ ​white​ ​paper​ ​bag.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he​ ​returned​ ​to​ ​the rear​ ​of​ ​the​ ​truck​ ​she​ ​was​ ​grinning​ ​with​ ​malicious​ ​triumph.​ ​​ ​He​ ​stretched​ ​out his​ ​arm,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was​ ​afraid​ ​she​ ​would​ ​seize​ ​him​ ​again,​ ​given​ ​the opportunity.​ ​​ ​​ ​Savannah​ ​snatched​ ​away​ ​the​ ​bag​ ​and​ ​left​ ​him​ ​with​ ​a​ ​final insulting​ ​laugh​ ​that​ ​summed​ ​up​ ​her​ ​complete​ ​lack​ ​of​ ​respect​ ​for​ ​him.​ ​​ ​He checked​ ​the​ ​time​ ​and​ ​saw​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​make​ ​more​ ​money​ ​before​ ​he 

arrived​ ​on​ ​Sly's​ ​street​ ​at​ ​noon,​ ​to​ ​begin​ ​his​ ​other​ ​job​ ​as​ ​a​ ​sex​ ​worker​ ​for Black​ ​customers.​ ​​ ​He​ ​tugged​ ​up​ ​his​ ​snug​ ​shorts,​ ​feeling​ ​the​ ​seam​ ​go between​ ​his​ ​buttocks.​ ​​ ​He​ ​knew​ ​how​ ​that​ ​showed​ ​off​ ​his​ ​bottom.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had checked​ ​it​ ​repeatedly​ ​in​ ​the​ ​mirror​ ​at​ ​home. 

The​ ​next​ ​hour​ ​was​ ​at​ ​least​ ​profitable,​ ​not​ ​that​ ​he​ ​would​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​any of​ ​the​ ​money.​ ​​ ​Then,​ ​unfortunately,​ ​it​ ​was​ ​time​ ​to​ ​report​ ​to​ ​Sly.​ ​​ ​How​ ​was Matthew​ ​ever​ ​going​ ​to​ ​proceed​ ​with​ ​his​ ​college​ ​plans​ ​if​ ​this​ ​kept​ u​ p?​ ​​ ​He desperately​ ​needed​ ​to​ ​find​ ​some​ ​escape.​ ​​ ​At​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​season​ ​he could​ ​sell​ ​the​ ​truck​ ​and​ ​at​ ​least​ ​have​ ​some​ ​funds​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​him​ ​going​ ​until​ ​he came​ ​up​ ​with​ ​another​ ​plan.​ ​​ ​Thinking​ ​about​ ​all​ ​that,​ ​he​ ​moved​ ​his​ ​rolling business​ ​ahead​ ​to​ ​the​ ​corner​ ​where​ ​his​ ​tormentor​ ​always​ ​met​ ​him. 

Sly​ ​came​ ​strutting​ ​up​ ​with​ ​an​ ​especially​ ​nasty​ ​look​ ​on​ ​his​ ​dark​ ​face.​ ​​ ​"Yo, Matthew.​ ​​ ​You​ ​looking​ ​awful​ ​fly​ ​for​ ​a​ ​white​ ​guy.​ ​​ ​Sissy​ ​fly.​ ​​ ​Super​ ​sissy​ ​fly." He​​chuckled​​at​​his​​own​​wordplay.​​​​"And​​I​​hear​​you​​beat​​me​​to​​the​​punch. Already​ ​got​ ​yourself​ ​a​ ​faggot​ ​name​ ​to​ ​use.​ ​​ ​Ain't​ ​that​ ​right...​ ​Sprinkles?" 

"I..."​ ​​ ​Obviously,​ ​Savannah​ ​had​ ​phoned​ ​him.​ ​​ ​She​ ​had​ ​probably​ ​related​ ​the entire​ ​shameful​ ​incident.​ ​​ ​Matthew's​ ​narrow​ ​shoulders​ ​slumped​ ​as​ ​he admitted,​ ​"Yes,​ ​Sir.​ ​​ ​Savannah​ ​gave​ ​me​ ​that​ ​name." 

Sly​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"Well,​ ​let's​ ​see​ ​what​ ​you​ ​brought​ ​me​ ​from​ ​selling​ ​your​ ​vanilla ass.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean​ ​your​ ​vanilla​ ​ice​ ​cream.​ ​​ ​Hand​ ​it​ ​over,​ ​Tits​ ​Martinez." 

Matthew​ ​silently​ ​emptied​ ​the​ ​till​ ​of​ ​everything​ ​except​ ​loose​ ​change​ ​and​ ​a few​ ​singles.​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't​ ​know​ ​who​ ​Tits​ ​Martinez​ ​was,​ ​but​ ​any​ ​reference​ ​to the​ ​thrusting​ ​fake​ ​bust​ ​he'd​ ​given​ ​himself​ ​was​ ​insulting.​ ​​ ​He​ ​sighed​ ​as​ ​he handed​ ​over​ ​his​ ​profits.​ ​​ ​Lately,​ ​Sly​ ​didn't​ ​even​ ​leave​ ​him​ ​money​ ​to​ ​pay​ ​for his​ ​stock,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​Matthew​ ​was​ ​tapping​ ​into​ ​his​ ​savings​ ​to​ ​pay​ ​for merchandise.​ ​​ ​Hopes​ ​of​ ​getting​ ​a​ ​higher​ ​education​ ​kept​ ​receding​ ​further​ ​all the​ ​time.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to​ ​get​ ​out,​ ​lock​ ​up​ ​the​ ​truck,​ ​and​ ​hand​ ​over​ ​the​ ​keys. 

He​ ​said​ ​he​ ​had​ ​a​ ​special​ ​job​ ​for​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​just​ ​giving​ ​head​ ​in​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​the truck. 

More​ ​upset​ ​than​ ​ever,​ ​Matthew​ ​listened​ ​as​ ​Sly​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​directions​ ​for​ ​a location​ ​several​ ​blocks​ ​distant.​ ​​ ​Why​ ​couldn't​ ​the​ ​demanding​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​at least​ ​have​ ​let​ ​him​ ​drive​ ​there?​ ​​ ​But​ ​that​ ​wasn't​ ​how​ ​Sly​ ​did​ ​things.​ ​​ ​He preferred​ ​to​ ​milk​ ​every​ ​drop​ ​of​ ​discomfort​ ​from​ ​Matthew's​ ​weakening​ ​ego. As​ ​he​ ​started​ ​walking,​ ​the​ ​dressed​ ​up​ ​white​ ​guy​ ​had​ ​to​ ​pay​ ​attention​ ​to each​ ​step;​ ​those​ ​shoes​ ​he'd​ ​snagged​ ​from​ ​what​ ​he​ ​believed​ ​were​ ​Sherri's thrift​ ​store​ ​rejects,​ ​had​ ​two​ ​inch​ ​chunky​ ​heels.​ ​​ ​They​ ​were​ ​black​ ​booties with​ ​pointy​ ​toes.​ ​​ ​And​ ​they​ ​weren't​ ​even​ ​leather,​ ​just​ ​some​ ​sort​ ​of inexpensive​ ​look-like​ ​material.​ ​​ ​It​ ​didn't​ ​help​ ​his​ ​progress​ ​that​ ​the​ ​heels shaped​ ​his​ ​legs​ ​in​ ​an​ ​unmanly​ ​way​ ​and​ ​added​ ​a​ ​sway​ ​to​ ​the​ ​movement​ ​of his​ ​hips.​ ​​ ​There​ ​were​ ​guys​ ​standing​ ​on​ ​every​ ​corner​ ​and​ ​Matthew​ ​was painfully​ ​aware​ ​how​ ​he​ ​looked​ ​to​ ​them.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​uncomfortably​ ​conscious of​ ​the​ ​rear​ ​seam​ ​of​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​--​ ​Sherri's​ ​shorts​ ​--​ ​digging​ ​in​ ​between​ ​his unmuscular​ ​buttocks.​ ​​ ​Lifting,​ ​separating​ ​and​ ​shaping​ ​them.​ ​​ ​As​ ​if​ ​he​ ​wasn't already​ ​cognizant​ ​enough​ ​of​ ​the​ ​picture​ ​he​ ​made,​ ​several​ ​of​ ​the​ ​idle​ ​Black men​ ​contributed​ ​loud​ ​comments. 

"Whoa!​ ​​ ​Check​ ​out​ ​the​ ​gabba-gabbas​ ​on​ ​that​ ​bitch.​ ​​ ​Too​ ​bad​ ​they​ ​ain't real." 

"Looks​ ​like​ ​the​ ​hoe​ ​put​ ​on​ ​her​ ​face​ ​in​ ​the​ ​dark.​ ​​ ​Ha!"
"Them​ ​lips​ ​make​ ​a​ ​real​ ​good​ ​target​ ​for​ ​my​ ​dick.​ ​​ ​Bust​ ​a​ ​nut​ ​fast​ ​in​ ​that 

mouth."
"Maybe​ ​make​ ​her​ ​stick​ ​that​ ​ass​ ​up​ ​high​ ​for​ ​a​ ​good​ ​plugging." 

There​ ​was​ ​even​ ​a​ ​young​ ​Black​ ​woman​ ​who​ ​hollered,​ ​"Love​ ​what​ ​you​ ​done with​ ​your​ ​hair,​ ​white​ ​bitch.​ ​​ ​Walk​ ​that​ ​walk,​ ​girl." 

He​ ​finally​ ​reached​ ​his​ ​destination.​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​one​ ​Black​ ​guy,​ ​tall​ ​and​ ​rail thin,​ ​leaning​ ​against​ ​the​ ​wall.​ ​​ ​Next​ ​to​ ​him​ ​was​ ​a​ ​wide​ ​alley,​ ​where​ ​the shadows​ ​grew​ ​deeper​ ​as​ ​it​ ​extended. 

The​ ​guy​ ​sneered​ ​at​ ​him​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"You​ ​a​ ​bigger​ ​sissy​ ​than​ ​Sly​ ​said.​ ​​ ​Look at​ ​them​ ​fake​ ​knockers."​ ​​ ​He​ ​spit​ ​near​ ​Matthew's​ ​feet,​ ​making​ ​the involuntary​ ​TV​ ​cringe.​ ​​ ​"But​ ​you'll​ ​do.​ ​​ ​We​ ​been​ ​putting​ ​the​ ​word​ ​out​ ​since last​ ​night.​ ​​ ​Got​ ​a​ ​bunch​ ​of​ ​dudes​ w​ ant​ ​to​ ​find​ ​out​ ​if​ ​you​ ​as​ ​good​ ​as​ ​we​ ​been hearing." 

Matthew​ ​froze​ ​up​ ​inside.​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​enter​ ​that​ ​alley.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​face​ ​a​ ​group of​ ​horny​ ​young​ ​Black​ ​men.​ ​​ ​Especially​ ​not​ ​ones​ ​with​ ​high​ ​expectations. What​ ​if​ ​he​ ​disappointed​ ​them?​ ​​ ​What​ ​if​ ​they​ ​refused​ ​to​ ​pay​ ​and​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to face​ ​Sly​ ​with​ ​no​ ​money​ ​to​ ​show​ ​for​ ​his​ ​efforts?​ ​​ ​He​ ​stepped​ ​into​ ​the claustrophobic​ ​space​ ​with​ ​his​ ​knees​ ​quivering,​ ​and​ ​proceeded​ ​with​ ​his​ ​ass rolling​ ​thanks​ ​to​ ​Sherri's​ ​shoes.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​tugged​ ​down​ ​uselessly​ ​on​ ​the bottom​ ​of​ ​his​ ​abbreviated​ ​top.​ ​​ ​All​ ​he​ ​succeeded​ ​in​ ​doing​ ​was​ ​to​ ​reposition the​ ​cups​ ​of​ ​his​ ​bra,​ ​somehow​ ​making​ ​his​ ​faux​ ​bosom​ ​seem​ ​even​ ​larger. 

As​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​adjusted​ t​ o​ ​the​ ​dimness​ ​he​ ​made​ ​out​ ​a​ ​half​ ​dozen​ ​figures.​ ​​ ​The one​ ​behind​ ​him​ ​gave​ ​a​ ​push​ ​against​ ​the​ ​middle​ ​of​ ​his​ ​back.​ ​​ ​Matthew staggered​ ​forward,​ ​almost​ ​into​ ​those​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​him.​ ​​ ​The​ ​nearest​ ​one grabbed​ ​his​ ​slender​ ​upper​ ​arms​ ​and​ ​held​ ​him​ ​in​ ​an​ ​unbreakable​ ​grip.​ ​​ ​He exerted​ ​downward​ ​pressure​ ​and​ ​Matthew's​ ​legs​ ​buckled.​ ​​ ​He​ ​dropped​ ​to his​ ​knees​ ​and​ ​looked​ ​up​ ​at​ ​a​ ​leering​ ​smile​ ​that​ ​was​ ​mostly​ ​gold​ ​teeth.​ ​​ ​That 'grill'​ ​vanished​ ​as​ ​the​ ​man​ ​closed​ ​his​ ​lips,​ ​suddenly​ ​very​ ​serious. 

He​ ​told​ ​the​ ​kneeling​ ​victim,​ ​"Open​ ​up,​ ​snowflake."
"Yeah,​ ​white​ ​bread.​ ​​ ​Let's​ ​find​ ​out​ ​how​ ​them​ ​red​ ​lips​ ​look,​ ​all​ ​covered​ ​with 

our​ ​cream."
"You​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​be​ ​our​ ​cum​ ​dump,​ ​paleface?" 

Someone​ ​said,​ ​"Looks​ ​like​ ​you​ ​going​ ​first,​ ​Buster." 

He​ ​haltingly​ ​widened​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​until​ ​his​ ​jaw​ ​felt​ ​the​ ​strain.​ ​​ ​​ ​The​ ​man​ ​in front​ ​of​ ​him​ ​snapped​ ​his​ ​fingers​ ​and​ ​pointed​ ​to​ ​the​ ​obvious​ ​fullness​ ​in​ ​the crotch​ ​of​ ​his​ ​pants.​ ​​ ​With​ ​quivering​ ​fingers​ ​Matthew​ ​undid​ ​Buster's​ ​belt, unfastened​ ​his​ ​jeans,​ ​and​ ​lowered​ ​his​ ​fly.​ ​​ ​The​ ​looming​ ​figure​ ​shoved​ ​his pants​ ​and​ ​shorts​ ​down​ ​far​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​free​ ​his​ ​cock.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​long​ ​and​ ​thick, like​ ​every​ ​other​ ​one​ ​Matthew​ ​had​ ​serviced.​ ​​ ​The​ ​helpless​ ​victim​ ​took​ ​it gingerly​ ​between​ ​his​ ​fingers.​ ​​ ​Early​ ​on​ ​he​ ​had​ ​learned​ ​that​ ​any​ ​form​ ​of mishandling,​ ​or​ ​even​ ​something​ ​that​ ​was​ ​mistaken​ ​for​ ​that,​ ​could​ ​earn​ ​him a​ ​face​ ​slapping.​ ​​ ​He​ ​manipulated​ ​it​ ​gently​ ​and,​ ​as​ ​it​ ​quickly​ ​engorged,​ ​held it​ ​firmly.​ ​​ ​The​ ​head​ ​was​ ​especially​ ​large.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​been​ ​learning​ ​to deep-throat,​ ​until​ ​now​ ​he​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​handle​ ​six​ ​inches​ ​without​ ​much trouble,​ ​and​ ​eight​ ​if​ ​he​ ​made​ ​a​ ​special​ ​effort.​ ​​ ​As​ ​big​ ​as​ ​the​ ​tools​ ​he'd​ ​been confronted​ ​with​ ​were,​ ​there​ ​were​ ​always​ ​a​ ​few​ ​inches​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​swallow, so​ ​he​ ​learned​ ​to​ ​use​ ​his​ ​fingertips​ ​on​ ​those.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​also​ ​gaining​ ​skills​ ​in massaging​ ​heavy​ ​balls.​ ​​ ​But​ ​this​ ​one​ ​would​ ​require​ ​added​ ​finesse.​ ​​ ​He decided​ ​to​ ​give​ ​the​ ​knob​ ​a​ ​spirited​ ​sucking​ ​while​ ​stroking​ ​the​ ​shaft.​ ​​ ​If​ ​that kept​ ​the​ ​owner​ ​happy,​ ​he​ ​might​ ​coax​ ​a​ ​quick​ ​ejaculation​ ​and​ ​move​ ​onto​ ​the next​ ​one​ ​unscathed.​ ​​ ​But​ ​there​ ​was​ ​always​ ​tension​ ​and​ ​the​ ​possibility​ ​that he​ ​was​ ​accommodating​ ​someone​ ​with​ ​a​ ​short​ ​temper. 

Matthew​ ​was​ ​fortunate.​ ​​ ​He​ ​sucked​ ​and​ ​swirled​ ​the​ ​fat​ ​end​ ​of​ ​that​ ​cock, producing​ ​satisfied​ ​grunts​ ​from​ ​the​ ​man.​ ​​ ​At​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time​ ​he​ ​worked​ ​the rod​ ​with​ ​one​ ​hand​ ​and​ ​fondled​ ​the​ ​scrotum​ ​with​ ​the​ ​other.​ ​​ ​When​ ​the​ ​Black stud​ ​blasted​ ​out​ ​a​ ​huge​ ​load​ ​onto​ ​Matthew's​ ​tongue,​ ​the​ ​recipient​ ​was relieved​ ​to​ ​have​ ​not​ ​provoked​ ​any​ ​displeasure.​ ​​ ​He​ ​gulped​ ​down​ ​the​ ​heavy output,​ ​tasting​ ​the​ ​unappetizing​ ​saltiness.​ ​​ ​He​ ​reflected​ ​on​ ​the​ ​nightmarish situation,​ ​in​ ​which​ ​he​ ​was​ ​less​ ​concerned​ ​with​ ​avoiding​ ​these​ ​encounters, which​ ​seemed​ ​impossible,​ ​than​ ​he​ ​was​ ​with​ ​having​ ​them​ ​go​ ​well.​ ​​ ​His dilemma​ ​was​ ​that​ ​hopeless. 

As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​Buster​ ​yanked​ ​up​ ​his​ ​pants​ ​and​ ​stepped​ ​to​ ​the​ ​side,​ ​another man​ ​was​ ​taking​ ​his​ ​place.​ ​​ ​Matthew's​ ​knees​ ​were​ ​beginning​ ​to​ ​hurt,​ ​but that​ ​was​ ​one​ ​of​ ​his​ ​lesser​ ​worries.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​mentally​ ​doing​ ​the​ ​math, figuring​ ​how​ ​long​ ​this​ ​would​ ​take​ ​and​ ​how​ ​much​ ​they​ ​might​ ​pay,​ ​if​ ​they remunerated​ ​him​ ​at​ ​all.​ ​​ ​The​ ​second​ ​customer​ ​called​ ​him​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​of​ ​filthy names,​ ​the​ ​least​ ​of​ ​which​ ​were​ ​tramp​ ​and​ ​slut.​ ​​ ​His​ ​cock​ ​was​ ​extra​ ​thick. The​ ​others​ ​taunted​ ​Matthew​ ​about​ ​accommodating​ ​its​ ​girth.​ ​​ ​Their​ ​prey gagged​ ​as​ ​he​ ​began​ ​his​ ​difficult​ ​task.​ ​​ ​Everyone​ ​laughed​ ​and​ ​joked​ ​as​ ​his lips​ ​were​ ​stretched​ ​wide,​ ​his​ ​throat​ ​invaded,​ ​and​ ​a​ ​second​ ​load​ ​entered him,​ ​this​ ​time​ ​being​ ​sent​ ​straight​ ​down​ ​his​ ​gullet. 

It​ ​went​ ​on​ ​until​ ​he​ ​lost​ ​track​ ​of​ ​how​ ​many​ ​loads​ ​he​ ​had​ ​swallowed.​ ​​ ​Had some​ ​of​ ​them​ ​gone​ ​twice?​ ​​ ​​ ​Did​ ​a​ ​few​ ​others​ ​show​ ​up?​ ​​ ​How​ ​many​ ​had recently​ ​had​ ​sex​ ​and​ ​were​ ​making​ ​him​ ​clean​ ​dried​ ​spunk​ ​and​ ​pussy​ ​juices off​ ​their​ ​rods?​ ​​ ​And​ ​why​ ​did​ ​a​ ​few​ ​of​ ​them​ ​have​ ​him​ ​lick​ ​their​ ​balls,​ ​as​ ​well? Probably​ ​just​ ​to​ ​add​ ​to​ ​his​ ​humiliation.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​hang​ ​onto​ ​a​ ​few scraps​ ​of​ ​his​ ​shredded​ ​dignity.​ ​​ ​One​ ​of​ ​them​ ​stepped​ ​away​ ​after​ ​he​ ​had spurted​ ​and​ ​no​ ​one​ ​took​ ​his​ ​place.​ ​​ ​At​ ​last​ ​it​ ​was​ ​over.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​got painfully​ ​to​ ​his​ ​feet.​ ​​ ​His​ ​knees​ ​were​ ​throbbing.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​cum​ ​all​ ​over​ ​his lower​ ​face​ ​and​ ​down​ ​his​ ​front,​ ​as​ ​well​ ​as​ ​on​ ​this​ ​bare​ ​thighs.​ ​​ ​The​ ​guy​ ​who had​ ​met​ ​him​ ​at​ ​the​ ​mouth​ ​of​ ​the​ ​alley​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​giving​ ​him​ ​a​ ​disapproving stare.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​had​ ​to​ ​get​ ​paid.​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​risk​ ​Sly's​ ​wrath. 

"I​ ​need...​ ​want...​ ​am​ ​asking​ ​for..."​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​was​ ​terrified​ ​of​ ​saying something​ ​wrong. 

"You​ ​want​ ​what,​ ​boy-bitch?​ ​​ ​You​ ​want​ ​to​ ​get​ ​paid?​ ​​ ​Hell​ ​no.​ ​​ ​That​ ​was​ ​just you​ ​giving​ ​out​ ​samples​ ​to​ ​get​ ​new​ ​Johns.​ ​​ ​Hoes​ ​like​ ​you​ ​do​ ​that​ ​all​ ​the time.​ ​​ ​You​ ​want​ ​the​ ​green,​ ​better​ ​get​ ​your​ ​ass​ ​on​ ​the​ ​scene.​ ​​ ​Don't​ ​get​ ​paid till​ ​your​ ​tail​ ​gets​ ​made.​ ​​ ​Understand?" 

"You​ ​mean...​ ​anal​ ​sex?" 

"I​ ​mean​ ​getting​ ​them​ ​Black​ ​cocks​ ​up​ ​that​ ​white​ ​tailpipe.​ ​​ ​You​ ​need​ ​that​ ​tight cherry​ ​popped.​ ​​ ​​ ​Want​ ​me​ ​to​ ​do​ ​it​ ​for​ ​you?​ ​​ ​Like​ ​right​ ​now?" 

"No,​ ​please."​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​collapsed​ ​back​ ​onto​ ​his​ ​sore​ ​knees​ ​and​ ​clasped​ ​his hands​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​him.​ ​​ ​"I'm​ ​begging​ ​you.​ ​​ ​Don't​ ​rape​ ​me." 

"Holy​ ​crap.​ ​​ ​You​ ​stupid​ ​even​ ​for​ ​a​ ​stupid​ ​sissy.​ ​​ ​Don't​ ​you​ ​know​ ​getting​ ​all weepy​ ​make​ ​a​ ​man​ ​want​ ​to​ ​do​ ​it​ ​even​ ​more?​ ​​ ​Or​ ​maybe​ ​that's​ ​what​ ​you looking​ ​for.​ ​​ ​Sure,​ ​that's​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Your​ ​game​ ​is​ ​being​ ​all​ ​like​ ​'don't​ ​hurt​ ​me'​ ​and 'please​ ​don't​ ​shove​ ​that​ ​meat​ ​into​ ​my​ ​seat'.​ ​​ ​I​ ​get​ ​it​ ​now."​ ​​ ​He​ ​swore​ ​softly. "You​ ​ought​ ​to​ ​be​ ​paying​ ​us,​ ​freak.​ ​​ ​But​ ​that​ ​was​ ​a​ ​pretty​ ​fine​ ​BJ​ ​you​ ​give me.​ ​​ ​So​ ​I​ ​be​ ​cool​ ​and​ ​send​ ​you​ ​back​ ​to​ ​Sly​ ​like​ ​we​ ​didn't​ ​figure​ ​out​ ​you really​ ​a​ ​pussy​ ​boy.​ ​​ ​That'll​ ​be​ ​our​ ​little​ ​secret,​ ​you​ ​and​ ​me.​ ​​ ​But​ ​come around​ ​when​ ​you​ ​want​ ​that​ ​butthole​ ​widened.​ ​​ ​I'm​ ​always​ ​around.​ ​​ ​Name's 2​ ​Deep.​ ​​ ​Cause​ ​that's​ ​how​ ​far​ ​inside​ ​I'll​ ​go.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​get​ ​back​ ​to​ ​your​ ​pimp, hoe." 

Matthew​ ​went​ ​limping​ ​away​ ​in​ ​the​ ​direction​ ​he​ ​had​ ​come.​ ​​ ​As​ ​he​ ​hobbled along,​ ​his​ ​muscles​ ​gradually​ ​unstiffening,​ ​he​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​straighten​ ​his​ ​clothes and​ ​wig.​ ​​ ​He​ ​could​ ​only​ ​wonder​ ​how​ ​badly​ ​his​ ​make-up​ ​was​ ​messed.​ ​​ ​What must​ ​his​ ​lipstick​ ​look​ ​like​ ​after​ ​all​ ​those​ ​Black​ ​jawbreakers​ ​had​ ​been​ ​in​ ​his mouth?​ ​​ ​He​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​onto​ ​some​ ​dignity,​ ​but​ ​everyone​ ​he​ ​passed sensed​ ​what​ ​his​ ​status​ ​was​ ​and​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​taking​ ​a​ ​devastating​ ​walk​ ​of shame. 

He​ ​at​ ​last​ ​got​ ​back​ ​to​ ​his​ ​truck.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​still​ ​locked​ ​and​ ​Sly​ ​had​ ​the​ ​keys. Matthew​ ​sat​ ​on​ ​the​ ​metal​ ​step​ ​below​ ​the​ ​back​ ​door.​ ​​ ​He​ ​couldn't​ ​believe what​ ​he​ ​had​ ​just​ ​been​ ​through.​ ​​ ​Every​ ​time​ ​he​ ​thought​ ​he​ ​had​ ​gone​ ​as​ ​low as​ ​he​ ​possibly​ ​could,​ ​it​ ​got​ ​worse.​ ​​ ​And​ ​now​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​answer​ ​to​ ​Sly​ ​about not​ ​getting​ ​the​ ​money​ ​he​ ​had​ ​expected​ ​to​ ​earn.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​was​ ​miserable. When​ ​Sly​ ​reappeared​ ​a​ ​half​ ​hour​ ​later,​ ​wearing​ ​a​ ​wide​ ​grin,​ ​there​ ​was​ ​at least​ ​a​ ​glimmer​ ​of​ ​hope.​ ​​ ​Why​ ​was​ ​he​ ​smiling?​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​had​ ​on​ ​a​ ​new​ ​outfit, dark​ ​and​ ​dignified,​ ​with​ ​some​ ​gold​ ​jewelry​ ​to​ ​maintain​ ​his​ ​street​ ​cred. 

Matthew​ ​wondered​ ​if​ ​his​ ​efforts​ ​had​ ​paid​ ​for​ ​any​ ​of​ ​that.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​all​ ​of​ ​it.​ ​​ ​The idea​ ​made​ ​his​ ​lack​ ​of​ ​cash​ ​now​ ​even​ ​more​ ​awkward.​ ​​ ​The​ ​defeated​ ​white guy​ ​stumbled​ ​over​ ​his​ ​words​ ​as​ ​he​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​explain​ ​what​ ​had​ ​happened.​ ​​ ​He could​ ​almost​ ​feel​ ​Sly​ ​swatting​ ​his​ ​face.​ ​​ ​But​ ​the​ ​big​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​didn't​ ​do that. 

He​ ​said,​ ​"It's​ ​okay,​ ​Sprinkles.​ ​​ ​Them​ ​dogs​ ​will​ ​pay​ ​me​ ​later.​ ​​ ​My​ ​man​ ​was just​ ​having​ ​fun,​ ​telling​ ​you​ ​there​ ​wasn't​ ​no​ ​money​ ​coming​ ​your​ ​way.​ ​​ ​That​ ​2 Deep,​ ​he​ ​got​ ​a​ ​real​ ​def​ ​sense​ ​of​ ​humor.​ ​​ ​Don't​ ​he?" 

"Yes,​ ​I​ ​suppose."​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​wished​ ​he​ ​could​ ​get​ ​cleaned​ ​up.
"And​ ​I​ ​knew​ ​you​ ​did​ ​the​ ​deed,"​ ​Sly​ ​went​ ​on.​ ​​ ​He​ ​held​ ​out​ ​his​ ​expensive 

phone.​ ​​ ​"Take​ ​a​ ​look." 

Oh​ ​no.​ ​​ ​There​ ​were​ ​pictures​ ​documenting​ ​every​ ​disgraceful​ ​part​ ​of Matthew's​ ​shameful​ ​ordeal.​ ​​ ​Despite​ ​the​ p​ oor​ ​lighting​ ​of​ ​the​ ​location,​ ​they were​ ​quite​ ​clear.​ ​​ ​The​ ​only​ ​face​ ​in​ ​the​ ​images,​ ​Matthew's,​ ​was recognizable,​ ​even​ ​with​ ​the​ ​cosmetics​ ​and​ ​wig.​ ​​ ​And​ ​as​ ​he​ ​had​ ​supposed, his​ ​make-up​ ​was​ ​a​ ​disaster​ ​by​ ​the​ ​end.​ ​​ ​Worse,​ ​seeing​ ​those​ ​pictures stirred​ ​something​ ​inside​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Within​ ​the​ ​tight​ ​shorts​ ​he​ ​wore,​ ​his​ ​penis stirred​ ​again.​ ​​ ​What​ ​was​ ​happening?​ ​​ ​Why​ ​was​ ​he​ ​responding​ ​to​ ​being reminded​ ​of​ ​his​ ​traumatic​ ​experience?​ ​​ ​He​ ​told​ ​himself​ ​it​ ​was​ ​a​ ​reaction​ ​to stress.​ ​​ ​Sure,​ ​that​ ​was​ ​it.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​undergone​ ​sexually​ ​related​ ​anxiety​ ​and that​ ​resulted​ ​in​ ​a​ ​sexually​ ​related​ ​physical​ ​response.​ ​​ ​It​ ​made​ ​sense.​ ​​ ​Didn't it? 

"Now​ ​here's​ ​the​ ​deal,"​ ​Sly​ ​said​ ​as​ ​he​ ​scrolled​ ​through​ ​more​ ​scenes.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​got a​ ​date​ ​later​ ​on.​ ​​ ​Need​ ​you​ ​to​ ​straighten​ ​up​ ​my​ ​crib.​ ​​ ​Wash​ ​up​ ​the​ ​dishes. Vacuum​ ​​ ​all​ ​the​ ​carpets.​ ​​ ​I​ ​got​ ​some​ ​money​ ​invested​ ​in​ ​them​ ​rugs.​ ​​ ​Clean the​ ​bathroom.​ ​​ ​Got​ ​to​ ​get​ ​everything​ ​spick​ ​and​ ​span​ ​in​ ​the​ ​john.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​you gone​ ​to​ ​get​ ​the​ ​bedroom​ ​ready​ ​for​ ​us​ ​to​ ​do​ ​the​ ​deed.​ ​​ ​Make​ ​the​ ​bed​ ​and 

then​ ​turn​ ​down​ ​the​ ​covers.​ ​​ ​Fluff​ ​up​ ​them​ ​pillows.​ ​​ ​I​ ​want​ ​it​ ​all​ ​pretty​ ​and ready​ ​for​ ​love.​ ​​ ​You​ ​got​ ​me?" 

"Yes,​ ​but​ ​I'm...​ ​​ ​I​ ​need​ ​to..." 

"It's​ ​okay,​ ​Sprinkles.​ ​​ ​I​ ​let​ ​you​ ​use​ ​my​ ​shower​ ​before​ ​you​ ​get​ ​started.​ ​​ ​Even have​ ​something​ ​fresh​ ​for​ ​you​ ​to​ ​wear​ ​while​ ​you​ ​playing​ ​housekeeper. Come​ ​on.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​right​ ​nearby.​ ​​ ​We​ ​walk​ ​over​ ​there." 

"What​ ​about​ ​my​ ​truck?​ ​​ ​It​ ​cost​ ​me​ ​a​ ​lot,​ ​including​ ​all​ ​the​ ​work​ ​I​ ​had​ ​done​ ​on it.​ ​​ ​And​ ​it's​ ​full​ ​of​ ​stock." 

"Not​ ​a​ ​problem.​ ​​ ​You​ ​just​ ​trust​ ​your​ ​buddy​ ​Sly." 

Trust?​ ​​ ​Buddy?​ ​​ ​Well,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​relaxed​ ​and​ ​hadn't​ ​slapped​ ​him.​ ​​ ​And​ ​doing housecleaning​ ​wasn't​ ​so​ ​bad.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​this​ ​represented​ ​a​ ​turning​ ​point. Matthew​ ​hoped​ ​so,​ ​because​ ​he​ ​needed​ ​to​ ​get​ ​back​ ​to​ ​Sherri​ ​without​ ​any new​ ​problems.​ ​​ ​He​ ​felt​ ​that,​ ​with​ ​her​ ​and​ ​him​ ​working​ ​together,​ ​being​ ​open and​ ​understanding,​ ​she​ ​would​ ​move​ ​beyond​ ​her​ ​past​ ​problems​ ​and​ ​he could​ ​finally​ ​know​ ​the​ ​joys​ ​of​ ​a​ ​fully​ ​committed​ ​relationship.​ ​​ ​Besides,​ ​he was​ ​still​ ​eager​ ​to​ ​lose​ ​his​ ​virginity. 

Sly​ ​made​ ​him​ ​walk​ ​a​ ​half​ ​block​ ​behind.​ ​​ ​Again​ ​Matthew​ ​was​ ​aware​ ​of​ ​how Sherri's​ ​shoes​ ​altered​ ​his​ ​gait.​ ​​ ​There​ ​were​ ​more​ ​stares​ ​and​ ​some​ ​whistles. They​ ​reached​ ​Sly's​ ​building​ ​and​ ​went​ ​up​ ​to​ ​the​ ​top​ ​floor​ ​by​ ​the​ ​elevator. The​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​guided​ ​his​ ​white​ ​charge​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bathroom.​ ​​ ​He​ ​watched Matthew​ ​get​ ​naked,​ ​looking​ ​him​ ​up​ ​and​ ​down​ ​with​ ​a​ ​critical​ ​eye.​ ​​ ​As​ ​the frazzled​ ​ice​ ​cream​ ​seller​ ​got​ ​into​ ​the​ ​tub,​ ​his​ ​host​ ​handed​ ​him​ ​a​ ​big​ ​tube​ ​of hair​ ​remover.​ ​​ ​He​ ​said​ ​to​ ​use​ ​the​ ​depilatory​ ​wherever​ ​there​ ​was​ ​hair​ ​below his​ ​eyebrows.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​used​ ​it​ ​on​ ​his​ ​scant​ ​body​ ​hair.​ ​​ ​The​ ​stuff​ ​burned slightly​ ​and​ ​the​ ​user​ ​had​ ​to​ ​stand​ ​there​ ​for​ ​five​ ​uncomfortable​ ​minutes while​ ​it​ ​did​ ​its​ ​work.​ ​​ ​At​ ​last​ ​he​ ​was​ ​given​ ​permission​ ​to​ ​proceed​ ​and​ ​pulled closed​ ​the​ ​shower​ ​curtain,​ ​but​ ​was​ ​unpleasantly​ ​surprised​ ​to​ ​find​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was 

transparent.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​sat​ ​on​ ​the​ ​toilet​ ​lid​ ​and​ ​watched​ ​him​ ​wash​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​When Matthew​ ​was​ ​done​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​handed​ ​him​ ​a​ ​large​ ​fluffy​ ​towel​ ​and observed​ ​him​ ​drying.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​was​ ​startled​ ​to​ ​see​ ​how​ ​much​ ​more unmanly​ ​he​ ​appeared​ ​with​ ​his​ ​skin​ ​silky​ ​smooth,​ ​denuded​ ​of​ ​hair.​ ​​ ​Sly showed​ ​him​ ​some​ ​cosmetics​ ​in​ ​the​ ​wall​ ​cabinet,​ ​left​ ​by​ ​a​ ​visiting​ ​girlfriend, he​ ​said.​ ​​ ​He​ ​instructed​ ​Matthew​ ​to​ ​use​ ​just​ ​a​ ​little​ ​lipstick​ ​and​ ​some eyeshadow,​ ​and​ ​to​ ​touch​ ​up​ ​his​ ​pale​ ​blond​ ​eyebrows.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​didn't​ ​like the​ ​shade​ ​of​ ​lipstick,​ ​something​ ​called​ ​Magenta​ ​Madness,​ ​but​ ​said​ ​nothing. After​ ​the​ ​naked​ ​figure​ ​was​ ​made​ ​up,​ ​Sly​ ​led​ ​him​ ​to​ ​the​ ​kitchen. 

"Here​ ​you​ ​go,"​ ​said​ ​Sly​ ​as​ ​he​ ​tossed​ ​him​ ​something.​ ​​ ​"This'll​ ​be​ ​plenty." 

It​ ​was​ ​an​ ​apron.​ ​​ ​A​ ​pink​ ​one.​ ​​ ​With​ ​ruffles​ ​around​ ​the​ ​edges.​ ​​ ​And​ ​big​ ​ties​ ​in the​ ​back.​ ​​ ​The​ ​protective​ ​garment​ ​wasn't​ ​even​ ​long​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​cover Matthew's​ ​genitals.​ ​​ ​And​ ​of​ ​course​ ​it​ ​was​ ​completely​ ​inadequate​ ​to​ ​hide​ ​his bottom.​ ​​ ​Even​ ​so,​ ​he​ ​put​ ​it​ ​on​ ​and​ ​tied​ ​it,​ ​making​ ​a​ ​big​ ​bow​ ​behind​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Sly gave​ ​him​ ​a​ ​hard​ ​swat​ ​on​ ​the​ ​rump​ ​and​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to​ ​get​ ​busy. 

As​ ​Matthew​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​sink​ ​to​ ​start​ ​on​ ​the​ ​big​ ​accumulation​ ​of​ ​dirty​ ​dishes, Sly​ ​announced,​ ​"I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​take​ ​my​ ​white​ ​bitch​ ​to​ ​dinner.​ ​​ ​That​ ​girl​ ​is going​ ​to​ ​spend​ ​the​ ​whole​ ​meal​ ​thinking​ ​about​ ​coming​ ​back​ ​here​ ​and getting​ ​what​ ​she​ ​really​ ​wants.​ ​​ ​This​ ​one​ ​is​ ​a​ ​total​ ​whore​ ​for​ ​Black​ ​cock.​ ​​ ​So you​ ​make​ ​sure​ ​that​ ​bedroom​ ​is​ ​all​ ​romantic​ ​and​ ​shit​ ​like​ ​that.​ ​​ ​Have​ ​it​ ​ready by​ ​nine,​ ​or​ ​I'll​ ​put​ ​you​ ​out​ ​on​ ​the​ ​corner​ ​and​ ​spread​ ​the​ ​word​ ​that​ ​you're​ ​a super​ ​freak​ ​who'll​ ​do​ ​all​ ​the​ ​tricks​ ​none​ ​of​ ​the​ ​other​ ​working​ ​girls​ ​will​ ​do. Guys​ ​don't​ ​care​ ​if​ ​you're​ ​really​ ​a​ ​sissy​ ​dude,​ ​so​ ​long​ ​as​ ​you'll​ ​play​ ​some way-screwed-up​ ​games​ ​with​ ​them." 

"I'll​ ​make​ ​everything​ ​perfect​ ​for​ ​you,​ ​Sir.​ ​​ ​For​ ​you​ ​and​ ​your​ ​date." "Word."​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​nodded.​ ​​ ​"Bet."​ ​​ ​And​ ​then​ ​he​ ​left. 

Hours​ ​later,​ ​Matthew​ ​had​ ​done​ ​all​ ​his​ ​jobs.​ ​​ ​The​ ​bedroom​ ​was​ ​spotless,​ ​the bed​ ​neatly​ ​made,​ ​covers​ ​folded​ ​down​ ​partway​ ​and​ ​pillows​ ​fluffed​ ​to perfection.​ ​​ ​If​ ​he​ ​could​ ​please​ ​Sly​ ​on​ ​this​ ​occasion,​ ​matters​ ​might​ ​progress more​ ​smoothly​ ​from​ ​now​ ​on.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​would​ ​allow​ ​him​ ​to​ ​stop selling​ ​his​ ​services​ ​and​ ​go​ ​back​ ​to​ ​selling​ ​ice​ ​cream​ ​only.​ ​​ ​Sure​ ​he​ ​would. The​ ​situation​ ​had​ ​to​ ​improve.​ ​​ ​It​ ​just​ ​couldn't​ ​take​ ​another​ ​turn​ ​for​ ​the​ ​worst. 

Shortly​ ​after​ ​nine,​ ​Matthew​ ​heard​ ​someone​ ​approaching​ ​the​ ​door.​ ​​ ​He fussed​ ​with​ ​his​ ​apron,​ ​wishing​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​something​ ​more​ ​to​ ​cover himself,​ ​hoping​ ​that​ ​once​ ​Sly​ ​and​ ​his​ ​date​ ​were​ ​inside​ ​they​ ​would​ ​want​ ​to be​ ​alone.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​would​ ​get​ ​dressed​ ​and​ ​leave​ ​quietly.​ ​​ ​Which​ ​brought​ ​up the​ ​question​ ​of​ ​where​ ​his​ ​clothes​ ​were,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​his​ ​wallet,​ ​ID​ ​and​ ​keys. The​ ​doorknob​ ​turned​ ​and​ ​in​ ​walked​ ​Sly,​ ​looking​ ​casually​ ​confident.​ ​​ ​With him​ ​was​ ​Sherri.​ ​​ ​Matthew's​ ​girlfriend.​ ​​ ​The​ ​love​ ​of​ ​his​ ​young​ ​life.​ ​​ ​The​ ​only woman​ ​who​ ​hadn't​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​his​ ​puny​ ​dick.​ ​​ ​The​ ​one​ ​in​ ​whose​ ​body​ ​he was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​lose​ ​his​ ​virginity. 

"Yo,​ ​Sprinkles,"​ ​Sly​ ​said​ ​with​ ​a​ ​smirk.​ ​​ ​"This​ ​is​ ​my​ ​woman." 

The​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​must​ ​have​ ​contacted​ ​her​ ​with​ ​Matthew's​ ​phone,​ ​when​ ​he'd taken​ ​it​ ​to​ ​put​ ​all​ ​those​ ​obscene​ ​'cock​ ​shots'​ ​on​ ​it.​ ​​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​had​ ​started​ ​a relationship​ ​with​ ​the​ ​attractive​ ​blond,​ ​and​ ​it​ ​was​ ​obviously​ ​successful. 

Sherri​ ​blinked.​ ​​ ​Her​ ​mild​ ​expression​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​one​ ​of​ ​sneering​ ​disgust.​ ​​ ​She said,​ ​"Mattie?​ ​​ ​OMG,​ ​it's​ ​you.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​told​ ​me​ ​he​ ​had​ ​some​ ​sissy​ ​cleaning house​ ​for​ ​him,​ ​who​ ​he​ ​was​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​help​ ​stop​ ​the​ ​streets.​ ​​ ​But​ ​I​ ​never expected​ ​the​ ​faggot​ ​to​ ​be​ ​you.​ ​​ ​I​ ​can't​ ​believe​ ​this.​ ​​ ​I​ ​was​ ​dating​ ​a​ ​queer.​ ​​ ​A cocksucker.​ ​​ ​Who​ ​does​ ​it​ ​for​ ​money." 

"For​ ​money​ ​and​ ​cause​ ​she​ ​loves​ ​it,"​ ​Sly​ ​clarified.​ ​​ ​"A​ ​real​ ​sad​ ​case.​ ​​ ​Wish​ ​I could​ ​have​ ​done​ ​more​ ​to​ ​help​ ​her." 

"But​ ​I​ ​know​ ​this​ ​pervert.​ ​​ ​I​ ​was​ ​dating​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​anymore.​ ​​ ​Never​ ​again.​ ​​ ​I almost​ ​let​ ​the​ ​little​ ​runt​ ​sleep​ ​with​ ​me.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​his​ ​dick​ ​is​ ​nearly nonexistent.​ ​​ ​Look​ ​at​ ​that​ ​pathetic​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​skin​ ​between​ ​his​ ​thighs.​ ​​ ​And where's​ ​his​ ​body​ ​hair?​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​there​ ​wasn't​ ​much,​ ​but​ ​now​ ​he​ ​got​ ​rid​ ​of what​ ​there​ ​was."​ ​​ ​Her​ ​initial​ ​shock​ ​gave​ ​way​ ​to​ ​rapidly​ ​mounting​ ​anger.​ ​​ ​In a​ ​sudden​ ​fury​ ​she​ ​rushed​ ​at​ ​Matthew​ ​and​ ​grabbed​ ​him​ ​by​ ​the​ ​ears.​ ​​ ​"You lied​ ​to​ ​me,​ ​you​ ​freak.​ ​​ ​You​ ​acted​ ​like​ ​you​ ​were​ ​just​ ​the​ ​innocent​ ​ice​ ​cream man." 

"The​ ​thing​ ​is,"​ ​Sly​ ​offered,​ ​"his​ ​ice​ ​cream​ ​business​ ​was​ ​just​ ​a​ ​front​ ​for​ ​how he​ ​was​ ​selling​ ​himself​ ​to​ ​any​ ​guy​ ​with​ ​a​ ​few​ ​bucks.​ ​​ ​The​ ​cops​ ​were​ ​getting suspicious.​ ​​ ​I​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​help​ ​him​ ​before​ ​he​ ​ended​ ​up​ ​in​ ​jail." 

"That's​ ​not​ ​true!"​ ​was​ ​as​ ​far​ ​as​ ​Matthew​ ​got. 

Sherri​ ​kept​ ​hold​ ​of​ ​his​ ​ears​ ​as​ ​she​ ​brought​ ​her​ ​knee​ ​up​ ​hard​ ​and​ ​slammed it​ ​into​ ​his​ ​balls.​ ​​ ​He​ ​gagged​ ​on​ ​pain,​ ​went​ ​red-faced,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​curl into​ ​a​ ​ball.​ ​​ ​She​ ​let​ ​go​ ​of​ ​his​ ​ears​ ​and​ ​he​ ​slumped​ ​to​ ​the​ ​floor,​ ​ending​ ​up​ ​on his​ ​side​ ​in​ ​a​ ​fetal​ ​position.​ ​​ ​She​ ​kicked​ ​him​ ​in​ ​the​ ​thigh​ ​and​ ​launched​ ​back into​ ​her​ ​fiery​ ​tirade,​ ​circling​ ​him​ ​as​ ​she​ ​spoke. 

"You​ ​worthless,​ ​lying​ ​sissy.​ ​​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​ever​ ​want​ ​to​ ​see​ ​your​ ​stupid​ ​face​ ​again. Letting​ ​me​ ​date​ ​you​ ​even​ ​though​ ​you​ ​preferred​ ​men.​ ​​ ​Leading​ ​me​ ​on​ ​like you​ ​were​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​help​ ​me.​ ​​ ​Bastard!​ ​​ ​Creep!​ ​​ ​Pansy!"​ ​​ ​She​ ​kicked​ ​him again,​ ​right​ ​between​ ​the​ ​butt​ ​cheeks.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​should​ ​be​ ​with​ ​men.​ ​​ ​On​ ​your knees,​ ​sucking​ ​their​ ​cocks.​ ​​ ​You​ ​definitely​ ​don't​ ​have​ ​enough​ ​in​ ​the​ ​dick department​ ​to​ ​ever​ ​satisfy​ ​any​ ​woman.​ ​​ ​I​ ​felt​ ​sorry​ ​for​ ​you.​ ​​ ​I​ ​was​ ​nice enough​ ​to​ ​give​ ​you​ ​hand​ ​jobs.​ ​​ ​And​ ​to​ ​let​ ​you​ ​eat​ ​my​ ​pussy.​ ​​ ​I​ ​wish​ ​I​ ​had never​ ​let​ ​you​ ​see​ ​me​ ​naked.​ ​​ ​I​ ​hope​ ​you​ ​get​ ​jabbed​ ​in​ ​the​ ​ass​ ​by​ ​some goon​ ​with​ ​a​ ​monster​ ​cock,​ ​and​ ​he​ ​leaves​ ​you​ ​sore​ ​for​ ​a​ ​week.​ ​​ ​But​ ​you'd probably​ ​like​ ​that.​ ​​ ​You...​ ​you..." 

When​ ​she​ ​couldn't​ ​find​ ​another​ ​insult,​ ​Sly​ ​provided​ ​her​ ​with,​ ​"Two-faced freak-job?" 

"Yes,"​ ​she​ ​agreed.​ ​​ ​"What​ ​he​ ​said." 

"That's​ ​good,"​ ​Sly​ ​encouraged.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​need​ ​to​ ​get​ ​it​ ​out​ ​of​ ​your​ ​system. Now​ ​that​ ​I​ ​see​ ​how​ ​awful​ ​this​ ​person​ ​really​ ​is,​ ​I​ ​won't​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​help​ ​him​ ​-- or​ ​her​ ​--​ ​any​ ​more.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​you​ ​should​ ​give​ ​her​ ​one​ ​more​ ​kick."​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​did it​ ​again​ ​in​ ​the​ ​same​ ​spot.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​helpfully​ ​mentioned,​ ​"And​ ​she​ ​prefers​ ​to​ ​be called​ ​Sprinkles." 

"Well,"​ ​Sherri​ ​said,​ ​her​ ​outrage​ ​finally​ ​subsiding​ ​somewhat.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​should leave​ ​before​ ​I​ ​kick​ ​you​ ​again,​ ​in​ ​the​ ​same​ ​place​ ​I​ ​put​ ​my​ ​knee." 

Matthew​ ​got​ ​achingly​ ​to​ ​his​ ​feet.​ ​​ ​He​ ​couldn't​ ​straighten​ ​up​ ​all​ ​the​ ​way.​ ​​ ​He was​ ​just​ ​starting​ ​to​ ​regain​ ​his​ ​breath.​ ​​ ​Between​ ​gasps​ ​he​ ​managed​ ​to​ ​ask Sly,​ ​"May​ ​I​ ​please​ ​have​ ​my​ ​clothes?" 

"Here's​ ​what​ ​you​ ​had​ ​on​ ​when​ ​you​ ​got​ ​here,"​ ​Sly​ ​said​ ​smoothly,​ ​almost​ ​as if​ ​his​ ​response​ ​had​ ​been​ ​planned.​ ​​ ​He​ ​opened​ ​a​ ​lidded​ ​hassock​ ​and​ ​pulled out​ ​the​ ​top,​ ​shorts,​ ​shoes​ ​and​ ​all,​ ​which​ ​were​ ​in​ ​a​ ​plastic​ ​bag​ ​because​ ​of​ ​all the​ ​spunk​ ​on​ ​them.​ ​​ ​As​ ​he​ ​turned​ ​the​ ​bag​ ​upside​ ​down,​ ​Matthew​ ​had​ ​to catch​ ​everything​ ​that​ ​fell​ ​out.​ ​​ ​He​ ​started​ ​to​ ​protest,​ ​"But​ ​my​ ​male​ ​clothes. My​ ​wallet​ ​and​ ​phone​ ​and..." 

That​ ​was​ ​when​ ​Sherri​ ​realized​ ​what​ ​she​ ​was​ ​seeing​ ​and​ ​exploded​ ​again. "That's​ ​my​ ​stuff.​ ​​ ​My​ ​shorts.​ ​​ ​And​ ​my​ ​favorite​ ​top.​ ​​ ​The​ ​shoes​ ​I​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to give​ ​to​ ​my​ ​sister." 

Matthew​ ​managed​ ​to​ ​say,​ ​"I​ ​thought​ ​the​ ​shoes​ ​were​ ​for​ ​the​ ​thrift​ ​store." 

In​ ​a​ ​spontaneous​ ​rage,​ ​Sherri​ ​slammed​ ​both​ ​open​ ​hands​ ​against​ ​the​ ​top​ ​of his​ ​apron​ ​and​ ​sent​ ​him​ ​toppling​ ​over.​ ​​ ​He​ ​landed​ ​hard​ ​on​ ​his​ ​back,​ ​with​ ​the soiled​ ​clothes​ ​atop​ ​him. 

She​ ​said​ ​in​ ​disbelief,​ ​"Is​ ​that​ ​cum​ ​all​ ​over​ ​my​ ​clothes?​ ​​ ​OMG.​ ​​ ​What​ ​was​ ​he doing?" 

"He​ ​was​ ​doing​ ​just​ ​what​ ​you​ ​think,"​ ​Sly​ ​soothed,​ ​adopting​ ​a​ ​more​ ​formal tone.​ ​​ ​"I'm​ ​sorry,​ ​dear.​ ​​ ​​ ​I​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​help​ ​him​ ​get​ ​his​ ​urges​ ​under​ ​control​ ​but..." He​ ​sighed​ ​theatrically. 

Sherri​ ​was​ ​not​ ​mollified.​ ​​ ​She​ ​stormed​ ​at​ ​Matthew,​ ​"You​ ​were​ ​frigging stealing​ ​my​ ​clothes.​ ​​ ​From​ ​my​ ​apartment.​ ​​ ​When​ ​I​ ​invited​ ​you​ ​over.​ ​​ ​This​ ​is incredible.​ ​​ ​You​ ​are​ ​such​ ​an​ ​utter​ ​slime​ ​ball.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​you​ ​shouldn't​ ​be allowed​ ​near​ ​decent​ ​girls." 

"But..."​ ​he​ ​said​ ​uncertainly.​ ​​ ​"...​ ​you're​ ​with​ ​Sly." 

"We​ ​were​ ​just​ ​seeing​ ​each​ ​other​ ​as​ ​friends.​ ​​ ​He​ ​tries​ ​to​ ​help​ ​hopeless cases​​like​​you,​​but​​he​​also​​offered​​to​​chat​​with​​me.​​​​About​​my​​issues.​​​S​ ly is​ ​very​ ​easy​ ​to​ ​talk​ ​to.​ ​​ ​I​ ​had​ ​no​ ​intention​ ​of​ ​it​ ​turning​ ​into​ ​anything​ ​else​ ​but, now​ ​that​ ​there's​ ​no​ ​chance​ ​of​ ​me​ ​ever​ ​dating​ ​you​ ​again,​ ​you​ ​and​ ​your pathetic​ ​excuse​ ​for​ ​a​ ​prick,​ ​I​ ​can​ ​see​ ​him.​ ​​ ​He​ ​is​ ​a​ ​much​ ​nicer​ ​person​ ​and --​ ​"​ ​​ ​She​ ​looked​ ​Sly​ ​up​ ​and​ ​down,​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​a​ ​smile.​ ​​ ​"​ ​--​ ​a​ ​much​ ​more impressive​ ​physical​ ​specimen.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​that​ ​I​ ​judge​ ​guys​ ​by​ ​their​ ​looks​ ​but..." She​ ​eyed​ ​his​ ​obvious​ ​and​ ​impressive​ ​package.​ ​​ ​"In​ ​the​ ​past​ ​I​ ​was​ ​attracted to​ ​real​ ​men​ ​with​ ​real​ ​attributes​ ​and,​ ​after​ ​trying​ ​something​ ​different,​ ​I​ ​can see​ ​that​ ​there​ ​were​ ​definite​ ​advantages​ ​to​ ​the​ ​old​ ​way." 

She​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​Sly​ ​and​ ​opened​ ​her​ ​arms.​ ​​ ​He​ ​embraced​ ​her​ ​tenderly,​ ​then with​ ​more​ ​passion.​ ​​ ​They​ ​kissed,​ ​at​ ​first​ ​gently,​ ​but​ ​in​ ​seconds​ ​with authentic​ ​feeling.​ ​​ ​Her​ ​hands​ ​went​ ​up​ ​and​ ​down​ ​his​ ​back​ ​and​ ​his​ ​did​ ​the same​ ​to​ ​her,​ ​except​ ​that​ ​his​ ​kept​ ​descending​ ​until​ ​they​ ​were​ ​on​ ​her​ ​shapely 

buttocks.​ ​​ ​Instead​ ​of​ ​being​ ​put​ ​off​ ​by​ ​his​ ​familiarity,​ ​she​ ​ground​ ​herself against​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Sherri's​ ​overly​ ​full​ ​boobs​ ​were​ ​mashed​ ​against​ ​his​ ​strong chest.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​was​ ​stunned.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​watching​ ​his​ ​future​ ​being​ ​taken away​ ​from​ ​him.​ ​​ ​He​ ​still​ ​had​ ​hope​ ​for​ ​a​ ​new​ ​understanding​ ​with​ ​Sherri​ ​until he​ ​saw​ ​her​ ​hand​ ​go​ ​to​ ​Sly's​ ​cock​ ​and​ ​grip​ ​it​ ​through​ ​his​ ​tight​ ​pants. 

In​ ​a​ ​last​ ​ditch​ ​effort,​ ​Matthew​ ​said,​ ​"It's​ ​not​ ​that​ ​bad.​ ​​ ​You​ ​have​ ​to​ ​see​ ​the big​ ​picture.​ ​​ ​Sly​ ​was​ ​making​ ​me​ ​dress​ ​like​ ​this.​ ​​ ​And​ ​take​ ​your​ ​clothes. And...​ ​do​ ​other​ ​things." 

She​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know,​ ​"And​ ​did​ ​he​ ​put​ ​that​ ​apron​ ​on​ ​you?​ ​​ ​And​ ​do​ ​that make-up​ ​job?" 

"Not​ ​exactly.​ ​​ ​I​ ​put​ ​on​ ​the​ ​apron.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​he​ ​gave​ ​it​ ​to​ ​me​ ​and...​ ​and..."​ ​​ ​He saw​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​guy​ ​holding​ ​up​ ​his​ ​phone,​ ​the​ ​one​ ​that​ ​held​ ​all​ ​those incriminating​ ​shots​ ​of​ ​Matthew,​ ​for​ ​her​ ​to​ ​see. 

"Sorry,​ ​Sherri.​ ​​ ​I​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​show​ ​you​ ​these.​ ​​ ​They​ ​were​ ​sent​ ​to​ ​me while​ ​I​ ​was​ ​on​ ​my​ ​way​ ​to​ ​meet​ ​you​ ​and,​ ​well,​ ​if​ ​I'd​ ​known​ ​he'd​ ​gotten​ ​so​ ​far out​ ​of​ ​control,​ ​I​ ​wouldn't​ ​have​ ​brought​ ​you​ ​here​ ​while​ ​he​ ​was​ ​around." 

She​ ​goggled​ ​at​ ​the​ ​startling​ ​images​ ​of​ ​her​ ​ex-boyfriend​ ​in​ ​his​ ​orange​ ​wig with​ ​Black​ ​cocks​ ​stuffed​ ​in​ ​his​ ​mouth.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​was​ ​stroking​ ​them​ ​and caressing​ ​ball​ ​sacs.​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't​ ​look​ ​like​ ​he​ ​was​ ​fighting​ ​it. 

Sherri​ ​glowered​ ​at​ ​Matthew.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​don't​ ​believe​ ​you.​ ​​ ​And​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​you here.​ ​​ ​You​ ​should​ ​go." 

"L...​ ​like​ ​this?"​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​quaking. 

"You​ ​know,"​ ​Sly​ ​said,​ ​maintaining​ ​his​ ​non-ghetto​ ​voice​ ​and​ ​sounding reasonable,​ ​"if​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​deal​ ​with​ ​what​ ​you're​ ​feeling​ ​right​ ​now,​ ​it​ ​could damage​ ​your​ ​emotional​ ​health​ ​for​ ​years​ ​to​ ​come.​ ​​ ​I​ ​suggest​ ​that​ ​we​ ​let​ ​him 

stay​ ​and,​ ​well,​ ​if​ ​it's​ ​all​ ​right​ ​with​ ​you,​ ​witness​ ​what​ ​happens​ ​next​ ​between us."​ ​​ ​He​ ​drew​ ​her​ ​close​ ​for​ ​another​ ​burning​ ​kiss.​ ​​ ​She​ ​melted​ ​in​ ​his​ ​arms. 

Then​ ​she​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​Matthew,​ ​standing​ ​there​ ​looking​ ​shaken​ ​up,​ ​in​ ​just​ ​that apron​ ​that​ ​didn't​ ​cover​ ​enough.​ ​​ ​A​ ​devilish​ ​look​ ​spread​ ​across​ ​her​ ​face. "You​ ​know,​ ​Sly,​ ​you​ ​might​ ​just​ ​be​ ​right.​ ​​ ​It​ ​could​ ​be​ ​beneficial​ ​for​ ​--​ ​what​ ​is it​ ​he​ ​likes​ ​to​ ​be​ ​called?​ ​--​ ​Sprinkles?​ ​--​ ​for​ ​Sprinkles​ ​to​ ​see​ ​how​ ​close​ ​I​ ​all of​ ​a​ ​sudden​ ​feel​ ​to​ ​you.​ ​​ ​Otherwise​ ​he​ ​might​ ​torture​ ​himself,​ ​trying​ ​to rebuild​ ​a​ ​relationship​ ​that's​ ​obviously​ ​gone​ ​forever."​ ​​ ​Her​ ​eyes​ ​glinted​ ​with the​ ​lust​ ​for​ ​revenge.​ ​​ ​"Let's​ ​make​ ​the​ ​sissy​ ​watch.​ ​​ ​Everything." 

"Now​ ​that's​ ​my​ ​girl,"​ ​Sly​ ​congratulated,​ ​sounding​ ​less​ ​studied​ ​and​ ​more urban​ ​all​ ​at​ ​once.​ ​​ ​"We​ ​got​ ​to​ ​show​ ​him​ ​what​ ​time​ ​it​ ​is.​ ​​ ​Know​ ​what​ ​I mean?" 

"How​ ​about​ ​if​ ​you​ ​show​ ​me​ ​what​ ​you​ ​mean,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​teasingly,​ ​her​ ​fingers again​ ​finding​ ​his​ ​cock​ ​and​ ​diddling​ ​it. 

He​ ​ran​ ​his​ ​hands​ o​ ver​ ​her​ ​stunning​ ​breasts​ ​and​ ​then​ ​put​ ​his​ ​arm​ ​around her​ ​waist.​ ​​ ​Taking​ ​her​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​bedroom​ ​he​ ​called​ ​to​ ​Matthew,​ ​"Come​ ​on, Sprinkles.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​we​ ​can​ ​find​ ​something​ ​for​ ​you​ ​to​ ​do.​ ​​ ​Make​ ​you​ ​feel included." 

The​ ​apron​ ​wearing​ ​white​ ​guy​ ​followed,​ ​feeling​ ​disoriented​ ​by​ ​everything that​ ​had​ ​just​ ​happened.​ ​​ ​He​ ​could​ ​barely​ ​believe​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​lost​ ​Sherri​ ​so abruptly​ ​and​ ​completely.​ ​​ ​There​ ​had​ ​to​ ​be​ ​some​ ​way​ ​to​ ​get​ ​her​ ​back.​ ​​ ​But as​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​they​ ​reached​ ​the​ ​bedroom,​ ​the​ ​happy​ ​pair​ ​began​ ​to​ ​undress each​ ​other.​ ​​ ​Soon​ ​they​ ​were​ ​naked​ ​and​ ​she​ ​was​ ​openly​ ​admiring​ ​Sly's cock. 

"OMG,"​ ​Sherri​ ​exclaimed.​ ​​ ​"It's​ ​so​ ​much​ ​bigger​ ​than​ ​Mattie's."​ ​​ ​She​ ​giggled. "I​ ​mean​ ​Sprinkle's.​ ​​ ​So​ ​thick.​ ​​ ​It​ ​feels​ ​so​ ​good​ ​in​ ​my​ ​hands.​ ​​ ​His​ ​was​ ​like​ ​a two​ ​finger​ ​job." 

"I​ ​can​ ​see.​ ​​ ​And​ ​it​ ​looks​ ​like​ ​he​ ​should​ ​be​ ​getting​ ​two​ ​fingers​ ​on​ ​it​ ​right about​ ​now.​ ​​ ​Seems​ ​like​ ​the​ ​tiny​ ​thing's​ ​growing." 

"Jeez."​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​shook​ ​her​ ​head.​ ​​ ​"He's​ ​getting​ ​excited​ ​seeing​ ​me​ ​get​ ​it​ ​on with​ ​you.​ ​​ ​How​ ​sick​ ​is​ ​that?" 

"Damn​ ​sick,"​ ​Sly​ ​answered.​ ​​ ​"Just​ ​think​ ​how​ ​bad​ ​it'll​ ​get​ ​for​ ​him​ ​when​ ​we​ ​hit the​ ​sheets." 

"Right,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​with​ ​a​ ​toothy​ ​smile.​ ​​ ​"It'll​ m​ ake​ ​the​ ​jerk​ ​go​ ​crazy.​ ​​ ​Let's​ ​do it." 

Sly​ ​gave​ ​Matthew​ ​a​ ​hard​ ​look.​ ​​ ​​ ​"You​ ​stand​ ​there​ ​and​ ​be​ ​quite,​ ​apron​ ​boy. In​ ​fact,​ ​stick​ ​your​ ​thumb​ ​in​ ​your​ ​mouth​ ​to​ ​remind​ ​you​ ​not​ ​to​ ​talk.​ ​​ ​And​ ​get your​ ​other​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​that​ ​joke​ ​you​ ​got​ ​where​ ​a​ ​cock​ ​should​ ​be." 

"And​ ​play​ ​with​ ​yourself,"​ ​Sherri​ ​added.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​might​ ​as​ ​well​ ​get​ ​used​ ​to​ ​that because​ ​it's​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​your​ ​sex​ ​life​ ​from​ ​now​ ​on.​ ​​ ​The​ ​only​ ​hand​ ​jobs Matthew​ ​will​ ​get​ ​will​ ​be​ ​from​ ​Sprinkles."​ ​​ ​She​ ​cackled​ ​at​ ​her​ ​cleverness. Then​ ​her​ ​attention​ ​turned​ ​completely​ ​to​ ​Sly. 

The​ ​lovers​ ​were​ ​soon​ ​entwined​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed,​ ​kissing​ ​and​ ​getting​ ​into foreplay,​ ​hands​ ​all​ ​over​ ​each​ ​other.​ ​​ ​Soon​ ​she​ ​was​ ​on​ ​her​ ​back,​ ​knees​ ​up and​ ​well​ ​apart,​ ​begging​ ​for​ ​his​ ​cock.​ ​​ ​All​ ​that​ ​Matthew​ ​could​ ​think​ ​was​ ​that she​ h​ ad​ ​relapsed​ ​into​ ​her​ ​former​ ​condition.​ ​​ ​The​ ​poor​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​She​ ​could​ ​have had​ ​him.​ ​​ ​He​ ​watched​ ​in​ ​mental​ ​agony​ ​as​ ​Sly​ ​eased​ ​his​ ​nine​ ​thick​ ​inches into​ ​her​ ​moist​ ​slit.​ ​​ ​The​ ​superior​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​began​ ​pumping,​ ​working​ ​up from​ ​slow​ ​to​ ​furious.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​responded​ ​with​ ​purring​ ​and​ ​then​ ​moaning. She​ ​wrapped​ ​her​ ​legs​ ​around​ ​his​ ​middle​ ​and​ ​answered​ ​his​ ​thrusts​ ​with jabs​ ​of​ ​her​ ​hips. 

Sherri​ ​said,​ ​"Show​ ​him,​ ​Sly.​ ​​ ​Show​ ​that​ ​panty-assed​ ​sissy​ ​how​ ​a​ ​real​ ​man does​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Let​ ​him​ ​see​ ​what​ ​a​ ​real​ ​cock​ ​does​ ​to​ ​a​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​Oh,​ ​jeez.​ ​​ ​This​ ​is incredible.​ ​​ ​Make​ ​me​ ​your​ ​bitch.​ ​​ ​Make​ ​me​ ​forget​ ​those​ ​nights​ ​with​ ​that loser​ ​and​ ​his​ ​miniature​ ​dick." 

Matthew​ ​couldn't​ ​help​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​He​ ​started​ ​stroking​ ​and​ ​wasn't​ ​able​ ​to​ ​stop. He​ ​even​ ​matched​ ​Sly's​ ​runaway​ ​rhythm.​ ​​ ​In​ ​the​ ​end​ ​it​ ​was​ ​too​ ​much​ ​for him.​ ​​ ​With​ ​his​ ​thumb​ ​still​ ​foolishly​ ​in​ ​his​ ​mouth,​ ​he​ ​made​ ​himself​ ​spurt​ ​onto the​ ​floor.​ ​​ ​As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​he​ ​was​ ​done​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​huge​ ​letdown​ ​and​ ​wave after​ ​wave​ ​of​ ​shame.​ ​​ ​Sheri​ ​had​ ​a​ ​quaking​ ​orgasm​ ​and,​ ​when​ ​it​ ​was​ ​at​ ​its peak,​ ​Sly​ ​came​ ​inside​ ​her.​ ​​ ​A​ ​minute​ ​later,​ ​she​ ​was​ ​coming​ ​down​ ​from​ ​the heights​ ​of​ ​sexual​ ​abandon​ ​and​ ​saw​ ​Matthew​ ​standing​ ​there​ ​with​ ​cum​ ​on his​ ​hand.​ ​​ ​She​ ​told​ ​Sly. 

"The​ ​chump​ ​blew​ ​his​ ​load,"​ ​Sly​ ​observed.​ ​​ ​"And​ ​now​ ​he​ ​has​ ​to​ ​clean​ ​it​ ​up. Go​ ​on,​ ​Sprinkles.​ ​​ ​Lick​ ​that​ ​hand​ ​and​ ​then​ ​get​ ​down​ ​and​ ​do​ t​ he​ ​floor.​ ​​ ​We'll be​ ​watching." 

Utterly​ ​demeaned,​ ​Matthew​ ​did​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​told.​ ​​ ​He​ ​took​ ​his​ ​thumb​ ​out​ ​of his​ ​mouth​ ​and​ ​lapped​ ​cream​ ​from​ ​his​ ​hand.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​got​ ​slowly​ ​down​ ​onto his​ ​knees,​ ​lowered​ ​his​ ​head,​ ​and​ ​licked​ ​up​ ​the​ ​spatters​ ​on​ ​the​ ​wood​ ​floor, just​ ​beyond​ ​the​ ​border​ ​of​ ​the​ ​area​ ​rug.​ ​​ ​How​ ​could​ ​he​ ​ever​ ​regain​ ​Sherri after​ ​she​ ​had​ ​seen​ ​him​ ​do​ ​that? 

"There's​ ​one​ ​more​ ​mess,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​boldly.​ ​​ ​"But​ ​it​ ​was​ ​Sly​ ​who​ ​made​ ​this one.​ ​​ ​And​ ​it's​ ​in​ ​my​ ​pussy.​ ​​ ​Get​ ​your​ ​lipstick​ ​wearing​ ​mouth​ ​up​ ​here​ ​and start​ ​cleaning​ ​it​ ​up,​ ​Sprinkles.​ ​​ ​I​ ​want​ ​to​ ​be​ ​positive​ ​that​ ​you​ ​understand how​ ​I​ ​feel​ ​about​ ​you​ ​and​ ​your​ ​miniature​ ​dick​ ​now." 

He​ ​hesitated​ ​but​ ​when​ ​Sly​ ​brandished​ ​a​ ​fist​ ​at​ ​him,​ ​that​ ​set​ ​Matthew​ ​into motion.​ ​​ ​He​ ​got​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​foot​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bed,​ ​moved​ ​forward,​ ​got​ ​his​ ​face​ ​right in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​her​ ​well​ ​creamed​ ​notch,​ ​extended​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​and,​ ​with​ ​mixed feelings​ ​of​ ​desire​ ​and​ ​distaste,​ ​went​ ​to​ ​work.​ ​​ ​The​ ​desire​ ​he​ ​had​ ​developed 

while​ ​dating,​ ​to​ ​accommodate​ ​females​ ​with​ ​his​ ​mouth,​ ​drove​ ​him.​ ​​ ​He slurped​ ​noisily​ ​until​ ​the​ ​job​ ​was​ ​done.​ ​​ ​By​ ​then​ ​she​ ​was​ ​warmed​ ​up​ ​again and​ ​so​ ​she​ ​kept​ ​him​ ​down​ ​there​ ​until​ ​he​ ​made​ ​her​ ​finish.​ ​​ ​That​ ​started​ ​the lovers​ ​laughing​ ​at​ ​him​ ​again. 

"Well,"​ ​she​ ​stated,​ ​"the​ ​wimp​ ​is​ ​still​ ​good​ ​for​ ​that,​ ​at​ ​least." 

"Looks​ ​like​ ​you​ ​better​ ​keep​ ​him​ ​around.​ ​​ ​And​ ​you​ ​know,​ ​since​ ​he's​ ​starving for​ ​cock​ ​anyway,​ ​I​ ​might​ ​as​ ​well​ ​pimp​ ​him​ ​out​ ​and​ ​make​ ​us​ ​some​ ​money from​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Besides​ ​which,​ ​I​ ​can​ ​sell​ ​that​ ​ice​ ​cream​ ​truck​ ​of​ ​his​ ​for​ ​some​ ​heavy cash.​ ​​ ​And​ ​he'll​ ​be​ ​available​ ​anytime​ ​you​ ​need​ ​to​ ​get​ ​rid​ ​of​ ​that​ ​anger​ ​I know​ ​you're​ ​still​ ​going​ ​to​ ​have​ ​for​ ​him." 

"Mmm."​ ​​ ​She​ ​squeezed​ ​Sly's​ ​muscular​ ​arm.​ ​​ ​"Sounds​ ​good.​ ​​ ​And​ ​I​ ​think​ ​I'm going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​venting​ ​that​ ​anger​ ​for​ ​a​ ​long​ ​time.​ ​​ ​Often​ ​and​ ​hard.​ ​​ ​Taking​ ​it out​ ​on​ ​his​ ​lily​ ​white​ ​ass." 

"I​ ​know​ ​something​ ​else​ ​my​ ​boys​ ​can​ ​do​ ​to​ ​his​ ​ass.​ ​​ ​Since​ ​he​ ​going​ ​to​ ​sell himself​ ​anyway,​ ​it's​ ​about​ ​time​ ​he​ ​started​ ​earning​ ​money​ ​from​ ​both​ ​ends. And​ ​he​ ​should​ ​turn​ ​it​ ​over​ ​to​ ​us,​ ​to​ ​make​ ​up​ ​for​ ​how​ ​he​ ​lied​ ​to​ ​you​ ​while you​ ​were​ ​hooked​ ​up." 

"Oh,​ ​Sly,​ ​you're​ ​so​ ​smart​ ​and​ ​have​ ​such​ ​a​ ​strong​ ​sense​ ​of​ ​justice.​ ​​ ​You​ ​do whatever​ ​you​ ​want​ ​to​ ​the​ ​stinking​ ​faggot." 

"You​ ​know​ ​I​ ​will." 

As​ ​they​ ​went​ ​back​ ​to​ ​kissing​ ​and​ ​then​ ​snuggled​ ​together,​ ​Matthew​ ​saw​ ​his future​ ​dimming.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​only​ ​was​ ​Sheri​ ​gone,​ ​but​ ​so​ ​was​ ​his​ ​business,​ ​for which​ ​he'd​ ​had​ ​such​ ​high​ ​hopes.​ ​​ ​And​ ​with​ ​the​ ​two​ ​of​ ​them​ ​controlling​ ​his life​ ​and​ ​finances,​ ​he​ ​would​ ​have​ ​to​ ​postpone​ ​college​ ​for​ ​at​ ​least​ ​a semester.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​a​ ​year.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​longer.​ ​​ ​Matthew​ ​silently​ ​retreated​ ​off​ ​the bed​ ​and​ ​went​ ​back​ ​to​ ​where​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​standing​ ​while​ ​he​ ​watched​ ​those 

two​ ​have​ ​uninhibited​ ​sex.​ ​​ ​He​ ​sank​ ​down​ ​onto​ ​his​ ​haunches.​ ​​ ​Somehow​ ​he felt​ ​that​ ​was​ ​the​ ​right​ ​posture​ ​to​ ​assume.​ ​​ ​He​ ​crouched​ ​there,​ ​tasting​ ​Sly's semen​ ​on​ ​his​ ​tongue,​ ​as​ ​the​ ​pair​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed​ ​drifted​ ​off​ ​to​ ​sleep.​ ​​ ​Even though​ ​his​ ​dick​ ​was​ ​still​ ​flaccid,​ ​Matthew​ ​felt​ ​it​ ​tingle.​ ​​ ​Oh​ ​no.​ ​​ ​What​ ​was happening​ ​to​ ​him?​ ​​ ​Was​ ​he​ ​as​ ​kinky​ ​as​ ​they​ ​thought?​ ​​ ​This​ ​was​ ​worse​ ​than he​ ​had​ ​imagined. 

********* 

(There​ ​are​ ​lots​ ​of​ ​Throne​ ​stories​ ​on​​ ​​fictionmania.tv​.​ ​​ ​​ ​I​ ​hope​ ​you'll​ ​read some​ ​and,​ ​if​ ​you'd​ ​like​ ​to,​ ​leave​ ​reviews​ ​there.​ ​​ ​THANKS.)