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Chapter 1
Shiloh
I feel him inside me. Pressure. Building pressure that makes my abdomen feel tight. Makes bile rise in my throat.
I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes closed. Breathe through the intrusion. Breathe through the splotches of memories playing behind my eyelids.
A burning sensation radiates through my backside, and when I squirm on the finger firmly lodged in my ass, it gives my hookup the wrong idea.
One would think an ass virgin wiggling around would mean discomfort, but not for this pillhead; he thinks it means he’s doing something right and brushes his thumb up my taint, just barely grazing the entrance to my—
“Oh fuck off.” I shove at the other patient’s head where he’s been lapping sloppily at my collarbone. “If you can’t follow the rules, you can’t fuck me.”
The fucker makes a disgruntled noise and snarles. “We’ve been at it for twenty minutes. If you ain’t loose enough for dick now, maybe I could just pop it in your mouth and try again later?”
Ew. Fucking pillhead loser.
“Maybe you just suck at prep, asshat.”
The guy is older than dammit—meaning likely somewhere in his late thirties, early forties—and I don’t think he likes being told off by a snarky little trans kid in a dingy broom closet, but you get what you get and you don’t throw a fit when you’re strapped for sexual gratification in a ninety day rehab clinic.
“Maybe if you’d let me touch the rest of you, this would turn you on enough to get my dick wet.”
Why are men so fucking gross? I sure as hell hope I don’t come across like this when I’m picking up, because I wouldn’t let me fuck me either with this godforsaken attitude.
“Just…” But dammit do I want to get laid before I get out of here. “Fine. You can... use my front hole for lube. But that’s it.”
This time, I turn around so I’m facing the wall, sticking my ass out what little I can in the small space. Two fingers slide through my crease, bypassing my asshole and prodding at the entrance of my front hole.
My heartbeat picks up, and my ribcage clenches like a vice around it. A little bit of pressure and I’m biting down on the inside of my cheek until blood blooms in my mouth. He’s inside me, and I slam my eyes shut to fend off the onslaught of panic choking my windpipe.
There was a hand on my throat, an unnatural ache in my thighs. I couldn’t see but I could feel vaguely like I was under a weighted blanket.
In and out. Dragging along my walls with a vicious rhythm.
Stop.
The man behind me is knuckles deep in my body, and not a single one of my limbs is willing to fight. My legs lock. Arms braced on the wall with my wet face buried in them. A stale breath is trapped in my throat.
The fingers retreat, press between my cheeks to my asshole, and instead of screaming out in terror like I wish I could have back then, all of my muscles respond at once. Leading me to nearly breaking the man’s arm as I shove him off, force him to the ground with his arm pinned behind his back, panting above him like a half crazed, feral canine.
“Dammit.” I let him go and throw myself against the wall. I want this. Dammit to all hell, I want to get this over with.
I don’t have any of my strap-ons or even my damn packer, so topping one of these pray-the-gay-away fuckers hasn’t been an option. I figured getting a little frisky downstairs might curb this ridiculous horny sensation that’s grabbed a hold of me since I walked in on my older brother and best friend fucking in that club bathroom, but all I want is to scream and punch everyone who touches me.
I’m probably just not meant to take it up the ass, because I’ve never been able to get more than one finger in there without the discomfort making me want to physically gag. And like hell am I letting any of these nasty ass addicts fuck my front hole.
It’ll be a cold day in hell.
Instead, I slide down so my bare ass is on the dirty as shit floor and press my knees to my chest.
“Can you at least jerk me off or something?”
I roll my eyes and drop one of my knees, motioning for him to crawl between them. He does, no questions asked, stroking his dick slowly in his hand as he approaches.
I’m mentally checked out by the time he comes all over my bare chest, being the weirdo that he is and focusing his cum-spread mission on tracing the scar lines under my pecs. They’re only a few years old, and they haven’t faded very well, but they’re mine and I’m proud of that shit.
Just wish people like this wouldn’t treat them like some fetish memorabilia.
