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Ice Cream With Sprinkles! By Throne (41 Pages)
🕑 Added 2020-04-22 23:04:21 +0000 UTCIce Cream With Sprinkles!
By Throne
© 2019-2020 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to Devinwhitegurl@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
SPOILER ALERT!
IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS FOR "HOLD THE SPRINKLES" DO NOT READ THIS STORY!! There are some things different, but A LOT is the same.
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 in 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 thuggish 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 Matthew 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 cum 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 up? 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 want 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 to 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 poor 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. Sly 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 over 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 make 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 had 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 the 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.
