Greetings! So for those that enjoyed "Get Out Alive," I am at last providing a sequel. The beginning is a bit slower than I like, so bear with me!

Warnings: language, sex, sadness

XxXxXxX

2 Years Later

I felt like I was underwater. Like the effects taking their toll on my body were lessened by the slippery water dividing me from my client. Water and sweat.

We were both panting now, sweat and other, not-so-innocent fluids mingling grotesquely with the other's. The sensations flooding through my body were mind-blowing as his dick entered me again, and I gasped, throwing my head back.

It was a long and ruthlessly stimulating practice. The grueling sex continued until he finished, his semen trapped inside me.

I was wheezing, my ass still full of fleshy organ as I worked to recover my breath. After several moments, I finally pulled it out, rolling over onto the other side of the bed.

My latest client quickly followed me. "Such a pretty boy," he whispered into my ear. He was of a wide berth, and took up a good majority of the king-sized bed. He rolled over onto his side, reaching his hand out to grasp my limp cock.

He squeezed it hard, slowly hardening it. "Ah," I gasped out. "Not again, not again…" I had fully reached my limit, and I definitely wasn't ready to get it up again.

Despite my protests, we ended up going two more rounds. At that point, it would probably be called rape, but I didn't worry too much about it. Yeah, I'd be sore, and I'd be tired as hell, but I'd also be a few dollars richer.

After an hour and with a wad of cash stuffed in my pocket, I walked the streets, not caring which direction I happened across. I had nowhere to go and nothing to do, so I savored every moment of peace I could scrounge up.

Two year ago, The Ramrod was shut down, and my one form of earning money the legal way vanished like it'd never been. Coleman was taken to the hospital, then to prison, and has yet to be released. With the crimes of blackmail and rape, I hoped he never would.

My head hung low, avoiding any passersby's stares. Ever since I stopped working at The Ramrod, I'd become a full-time prostitute, and was now very well known locally for it. If anyone was seen interacting with me it became instantaneous gossip, and rumors would form. If they'd been a prestigious, well-liked lawyer five seconds before talking to me, they became labeled a worthless, disgusting pervert five seconds after.

With the bad reputation that would befall anyone around me, I was avoided like the plague. In the daytime, I was shunned, sometimes even openly ridiculed and abused. In the nighttime, though, that was where I was valued as a god. Those wealthy and perverted enough to want me searched me out, and time after time I gave myself to them. I became nothing more than the town's toy, getting past from owner to owner until they'd had their fill.

I kicked a stone lying innocently in front of me, hitting it into a gutter. I listened as it clanked along the sides until it hit bottom.

I stopped in place for a moment, pondering. With just the slightest of actions, I was able to eternally ostracize that rock from the rest of the world. It would never see light again, and will merely rot in darkness and isolation.

I continued walking. Was that my fate as well?

It was still mid-afternoon and since I was a full-time prostitute, money was easier to come by. If you fucked long enough and hard enough, the cash would obviously be flowing, I guess. While it was rare, if a sleazy rich guy wanted to fuck at his place after lunchtime, it didn't hurt me any.

As was most often, I found no sex candidates on the streets. Without meeting anyone's eyes, I walked into a local grocery store. Despite what the ignorant locals might believe, I couldn't live off just sex. Just because I was a prostitute didn't mean I was a fucking incubus, and I still needed to eat for Christ's sake.

But, nevertheless, the endless whispers began immediately after I walked through the doors. Did these people have nothing better to do with their time?

I was a masochist in many ways, really. When The Ramrod shut down, I sent a job application to this grocery store hoping for a legal, less-degrading method of income. Every day and every night I felt disgusting; I was tired of hating myself, and I wanted to find something I could be proud of myself for.

But, of course, based on how I got treated here and everywhere else, it wouldn't have done any good. It's probably a good thing my application was rejected immediately after they saw my name on the paper.

I ignored their glances and pointing fingers just as I always did, and arrived at the dairy isle. I gathered up the usual necessities, still trying to be meager with my money usage. I wasn't intending to leave town and escape anymore, but I was still going to give half my earnings to Greg's family. Maybe more.

My heart stopped. Greg...

I shook my head, halting any further thought processes. Now was not the time, especially with all these gawking shoppers scrutinizing my every move as I picked up a carton of milk. I put it in the basket I had picked up at the entrance to the store, and tossed in some bread and cheese, as well.

Walking to the bottled water section, I saw one of my frequent customers, Eddy, looking at some of the available beverages. I ignored him, just like I always did for my customers, and walked past him.

A hand landed on my forearm, impatiently grabbing me and turning me around. Eddy was looking at me with an astonished gaze, like he never would've guessed someone like me could be in a grocery store.

I ignored his dumb expression, asking curtly, "What?"

Surprise ebbed away, and he brought his hand down to rub against my denim-clad cock.

"Fuck, I've been horny all day," he gasped out as the rubbing became harder and more painful. "Fuck, I want you." The hand slipped beneath my jeans and boxers to repeat the process, and I focused on controlled breathing.

"Well you can have me."

Eddy only grunted in acknowledgment, pushing me roughly against the shelves. I quickly glanced to the left and right, thankful we were the only ones in the aisle. I held on tight to the rung above me, closing my eyes as my groin hardened in his hand.

A little more rubbing and the bastard had me cumming, and I barely stifled my moan as it sprayed into his hand. Honestly, I didn't mind as long as he didn't go wiping my own jizz on me.

As it was, he licked off some of the sticky substance then wiped the rest on the bottom of a shelf, out of sight.

Sometime during the activity, Eddy had orgasmed into his own pants, dark enough that it was, thankfully for him, unnoticeable. He looked down at me with lustful eyes and moist, parted lips. "Tonight…I want to see you."

I nodded. "Your place?"

He shook his head, glancing swiftly to both ends of the aisle before turning back to me. "No, the wife's home today with a fever, so it's gonna have to be at the usual motel. Ten o'clock."

I nodded again, then turned to pick up a package of bottled water. If he wanted to go fuck a teenage boy while his wife was sick in bed, that was his own prerogative.

Putting the water in my basket, I didn't bother turning to wave goodbye as I walked to grab a few more items before paying for my groceries. I didn't like staying in a place like this, where most of the shoppers were gossipy soccer moms that bought Kool-Aid for their kids and tender steaks for their husbands. For someone to show such a great example to their family, they sure were cruel and judgmental toward others that weren't as well-off.

I looked around, finding many of the women that had ridiculed me or spit on me. Because they didn't know me, and because they couldn't accept me as proper in their world, I was hated for who I was, and who I failed to be.

It kind of hurt me sometimes, because I did recognize where their hatred stemmed from. I'd sold my body to countless men and women, so of course I was disgusting. I was soiled, dirty to the very core, and I could understand why some found me unntouchable.

I put my groceries on the conveyor belt, allowing them to be pulled along to the cashier. I looked up, and my eyes widened as I saw that the cashier was Greg's father, Don Cunningham. I had completely forgotten he worked here.

And was now hopelessly paying the consequences.

He was taller than me, but thin, too damn thin. He'd lost a lot of weight since the last time I'd seen him. But, last time, we'd been on much better terms.

Mrs. Cunningham's health had deteriorated considerably early last year, and passed away only a few months after. I didn't know how Greg was taking the news, or if he was still suffering horribly for it.

I looked down, eyes moist. Greg…

"Sam," I heard Mr. Cunningham spat, startling me. "That you, ya bastard boy?"

I swallowed, only nodding timidly as I allowed my bangs to fall in my eyes. "H-How's Greg, sir?"

"How do ya think my boy is? Huh?" A hand fisted in my collar, and I looked up to see the intense, pained fire raging in his eyes. They were the same beautiful dark blue as Greg's.

My heart skipped a beat, and memories of the Greg I missed so much flooded back to me. A tear fell from my eye without warning, and I hurriedly looked away from the older man, wiping my sleeve across my face.

The surrounding area was hushed as everyone watched the exchange, and I could feel the gazes of many boring into my back. Did they know the reason behind Mr. Cunningham's rage? Did they know what I'd done?

"I-I'm really s-sorry, sir."

Mr. Cunningham's eyes glinted in astonishment and rage. "You're sorry? Everything you've done to my family and you're sorry?"

My eyes felt wet, but I ignored it. I owed this man the world, but I could give him nothing but a meager apology. I was helpless, ignorant on how to speak to this transformed man in front of me. I was unfamiliar with this menacing side of Greg's father, and for him to confront me so aggressively was something I would have never expected from him.

For the longest time, Mr. Cunningham was my role model almost as much as Greg himself had been. After joining The Ramrod as an employee, Greg had taken me under his wing, deeming himself my "protector." While I felt I didn't require one, I was nonetheless grateful for his altruism. Over the days and weeks and months we'd known each other, Greg frequently took me to his home for dinner. There, I had met his father, and that man had brought a smile so rare to my face that my cheeks hurt.

He had been like Greg in almost every way. He was cheerful and happy, and was optimistic in every aspect despite his wife's illness. In fact, he was always incessantly raving about how his wife was going to get better, how she was going to make a full recovery someday and he would be there to sweep her off her feet when she did.

But, ever since the week of her death, the week my entire life changed forever, I began visiting the Cunningham's small house every week, knocking on their door and waiting patiently in the hopes of getting a response, or at least some sort of recognition of my existence. No one ever came to answer the door, but still I'd wait. I'd always be waiting.

After almost a year of not seeing Mr. Cunningham, the stark differences in the man I used to know were almost scary. This man appeared withdrawn, uncaring, and desolate to the very depths of his soul. I wanted to reach out to him, tell him he wasn't alone, but that wasn't what the man wanted right now.

With that thought, I internally shook my head.

I was stupid. How could I be so juvenile? I didn't know what he wanted. I'd never had a sick, now dead, wife, and never had children to feed and protect. The only person I had to worry about was myself.

There was no way I could empathize with this selfless person.

Mr. Cunningham looked surprised by his own actions, but didn't back down. He turned to look at the conveyor belt, and then roughly passed each of my items through the scanner. Bagging them, he gave me the total cost, and I paid with a twenty-dollar bill.

"Y-You can keep the change," I said, kind of nervous. Now that his wife was dead, I didn't know how the Cunningham's situation was financially. No matter how horrible it sounded, they no longer had to worry about paying for medication and hospital bills. Maybe they were better off now?

I was so selfish, and just being able to think up something so heartless made my stomach churn. Of course they weren't better off.

Mr. Cunningham snatched the money from my hand, placing it all in the register without bothering to pocket any or give me the change. I bowed my head to him in both civility and trepidation, about to gather my groceries when he put a strong hand on mine.

"Why?" I looked up into his fierce, fiery gaze. His mouth formed into a grimace. "Fucking why?"

My mouth opened, then I shut it unknowingly. I wanted to tell him, I wanted him to know the truth.

But, would he believe me? Would he only hate me more for lying to him?

When I gave no response, Mr. Cunningham released his suppressed anger, grabbing a hold of my shoulders and shaking me violently. My head bobbled, and he eventually released my shirt, pushing me away.

"Why?" He asked again, quieter and more melancholy. Previously angry, he now seemed nothing more than heartbroken. Looking into his eyes, I now knew I, the unfortunate boy he used to see as a cherished son, was no longer redeemable in his eyes. I was but a forsaken child, walking a path he wasn't willing to follow.

His eyes shone with tears and, as if disgusted with this reaction, he reached a hand out, slapping me across the face. My head spun from the impact, and I could only stand there, stunned.

Mr. Cunningham looked at his hand like he was going to throw up, and he suddenly turned around, fleeing the room.

I followed his figure with my eyes until it was out of sight. After a moment of hesitation, I turned and gathered my groceries, swiftly making my way toward the exit. The gossipy people surrounding me were whispering incessantly, and I felt nothing but fierce annoyance. Why did everyone have to care? Why did everyone have to be so nosy?

I eagerly rushed past my many observers, trying my best to remain composed as I propelled myself to the exit.

I nearly sighed in relief as I stepped outside, where the people were at an agreeable distance and the restricting walls shattered to nothing. I didn't feel as claustrophobic or suffocated, and could breathe more freely than in the confining grocery store. There was no one breathing down my neck, or distinct murmurings on how repulsive I was.

That I could hear, at least.

I walked down the street toward my temporary home, absently watching for suspicious bystanders. My current place was undoubtedly safer than my previous tent in an alleyway, but I was still paranoid as hell. If someone tried to follow me, I wanted to know about it; I didn't want anyone having any fun ideas about raping me while I slept.

Thankfully, I saw no one, and rustled through my jeans pocket to grab the key to my room. It was the room nearest to the manager's and, as long as I let him fuck me every week, he gave me half-price for lodging.

It was probably bad irony that I was doing the exact same thing as I had with my previous boss, Daniel Coleman. Before he was imprisoned and The Ramrod shut down, I had had sex with him in exchange for extra protection. Now, I was doing the exact same thing to get a roof over my head.

Gods, I really was gross.

I went into my room, Room number 2, closing and locking the door behind me. Luxury-wise, the place was scant and had barely a dime to its name. It was dusty, grimy, and filled with mold but, for the small price I had to pay to obtain such a room, I wouldn't complain.

I pulled off my shirt, tossing it into the corner of the room as I lay on the small, full-sized bed. It still felt weird lying in a bed that wasn't occupied by another person. Because of my previous boss Coleman's sadistic perversions, I had developed phobias that, at the time, seemed insurmountable. I used to cringe just thinking about a man in the same bed as me, much less fucking me into it.

But, now, that phobia was no longer an issue. My body had grown more accustomed to the daily discomforts of sex and wasn't as bothered by the sheets lying beneath me.

And let's be honest, lacking my previous phobias made it a damn bit easier to find clients. Getting them to fuck me during the daytime was hard enough. If it wasn't in the safety of their houses or the dingy motel rooms, the perverts wouldn't be trusting enough to fuck out in the open; we could get caught too easily.

I smirked grimly, sadly. Really, my getting caught wouldn't have been an issue. Unlike many of my clients, I didn't have to worry about an honorable reputation to maintain.

I shook my head of the thoughts; it wasn't relevant, and I wouldn't let it bother me.

I grabbed the remote control sitting on top of the drawer, hoping to wind down a bit. There were very few channels last time I checked, and I flicked the small, dusty television on, briefly scanning through each. I pouted slightly, unimpressed. Wasn't there something better that this electronic box could provide? Weren't people always raving about that awesome TV show they watched last week?

I huffed, turning it back off. I obviously just wasn't getting the memo.

Tossing the remote onto the other side of my bed, I reached behind my head to the small drawer sitting beside the bed. After a moment of searching, my hand grasped a small, thin piece of paper, and I brought it back to rest in front of me. I must have been obsessed or something, because not a day went by when I didn't look at this paper. To the rest of the world, this was garbage, a small piece of trash serving no purpose but to take up space.

To me, though, it was everything. The handwriting was messy, the letters slanted slightly to the left, the "t" in "Vester" was barely crossed.

I closed my eyes, bringing the paper close to my chest. Where were the Vesters right now? Were they planning to come back? Was my decision to stay in this rotten town one I would later regret?

I curled up on my side, and placed the paper down on the sheets beside me, very carefully avoiding the specks of semen. I closed my eyes, thinking of the Vesters. What were they doing now? Were they saving more lives, putting more criminals behind bars? Had they already forgotten about me?

I fisted a hand into my eye. Why must I always torture myself like this?

I sighed deeply, and resituated myself into a more comfortable position. Why was I always so tired? Whether I'd done a lot of fucking during the day or not, whenever I found even the smallest reprieve, all I could do was realize how damn tired I was. I felt bone weary, like I was constantly drifting on the verge of collapse.

For me, consciousness was not a blessing, and I tried to remove myself from it as frequently as I could.

Unfortunately, though, sleep did not come easy. After all these horrible months and years of agonizingly vulgar activities, I couldn't fall asleep alone. It's like my body forgot how to function by itself. Now matter how fucking tired I was, I couldn't sleep unless I was lying beside my most recent fuck buddy. Maybe it was some sick case of Stockholm Syndrome. I was so co-dependent on my clients that I couldn't sleepwithout them.

I made myself forget about my job and Greg and the Vesters, and merely focused on breathing. Maybe tonight I can finally sleep.

XxXxXxXxX

I was groggy and irritable when I finally stopped trying to sleep (Really, should I have expected anything less?) and made it back to the streets. It was still daytime, and I walked toward the town, intending to search for more clients.

Five minutes closer to my destination, my head was down and I was once again kicking rocks along the sidewalk and into gutters.

Still in a mindless daze—half-awake, half-asleep—I didn't notice until too late as someone's shoulder bumped my own. I stumbled sideways, barely catching myself from cracking my head open.

"Watch where you're going, damn it!" the loud man's voice cried out. Turning, I found this guy was thrice my size, with dark, slicked back hair, broad shoulders, and an impressive six-pack visible from beneath his tight muscle shirt. The resemblance was so uncannily like Greg that tears came to my eyes, and I swiftly blinked them away.

I swallowed lightly. "S-Sorry." I turned back in the direction I'd been going, still in a bit of a stupor. How long had it been since I'd seen Greg?

I closed my eyes. Too long, damn it, too fucking long.

A loose but secure hand gripped my forearm, and I flinched, expecting a punch.

"Hey…" I turned to him, and his eyes were squinted in contemplation. "I've seen you before..." The previous annoyance was no longer in sight, and he didn't seem like the scary, huge hulk I had assumed him to be. It just looked deliberative, eyeing me not hungrily or lustfully. Just curiously.

I shrugged, not removing his hand from my arm. He may have been calm, cool, and collected now, but he was thrice my size, and I needed to be careful. "You might have. Dunno."

He was still scrutinizing my features, trying to pinpoint me as someone he may or may not have met.

His eyes suddenly lit with recognition, but it wasn't as I'd been expecting. It wasn't like he'd just run into a long lost friend, or he'd at last found that famous person he'd wanted to meet. It was more like…

Oh. Right…

"You're that prostitute? Sam? Right?" His eyes were lit with excitement, excitement that he'd figured it out and excitement that I was exactly what he was looking for.

"Yeah…"

"I-I…" He began hesitantly, and I internally cocked my head. "I don't usually do this kind of thing, but…" After a pause, he released his hold on my arm, instead moving his hand to the zipper of my jeans. "I need a distraction, and I'm really really horny."

It was then I realized the dark circles under his eyes and the weary facial expression he wore. If I didn't turn down horny men that liked to fuck over and over again, why would I turn down a sad guy that needed some comfort?

I removed his hand, putting it back at his side. "If you do this to me out in the open, you'll get yourself one hell of a reputation."

The man shook his head, and put his hand on me again, harder. "I don't care. I want…" His eyes looked intensely into my eyes, and I could do nothing but stare back as he spoke. "I want you."

After a moment, there was no point to refuse, and I nodded. "You wanna at least do it in an alley? Might cause less of a scene."

He looked horribly displeased with the idea, until he realized there was one just a block away from us. I was glad for it; if he was so eager that he'd fuck me on the sidewalk and not give a rat's ass if people saw, then his preference for sex was probably one I did not want to show the others.

Holding tightly onto my wrist, he just about dragged me into the alley, and immediately began taking off my pants.

"You do realize this costs money, right?" I felt bad for the guy, and I did want to help him, but that didn't mean I was giving away freebies.

With one hand ripping off my jeans, the other reached into his back pocket to produce a large wad of money. My eyes widened at the sheer quantity, and any uncertainty I may have bore was gone like it'd never been.

We went at it like rabbits, and gods only knew how we didn't attract the attention of potential passersby. I tried as hard as I could to keep quiet, but this man's technique—Jesus fuck.

It wasn't often I was fucked so hard that my mind was literally blown. All reason and constraint fled from me like it no longer existed, and I could do nothing but scream and beg for this man to thrust harder.

A half-hour later and we were still fucking. I was currently pushed hard against the wall as he plunged into me with all his massive strength, causing me to gasp as he reached somewhere inside me that had never been reached before until today.

After what seemed like several eternities we finally exhausted all our fuel, and I was now lying on the cold, disgusting ground. The presently nameless guy was lying on top of me, his head on my still-clothed chest and his arms snug around my bare hips. It was kind of hard to breathe but, when I thought of that huge ass wad of money waiting to sit in my pockets, I couldn't find it in me to complain.

He began stroking my cheek, then lightly pushed some of my bangs out of my face. This man, when not in the mad bouts of sex, was unexpectedly gentle. "Can I ask you something?"

I took in a deep breath, my crushed lungs making it a struggle to breathe evenly, "Sure." Whether I answered truthfully or not was debatable.

He leaned up from his position to eye my expression better, and I held in my sigh of relief as I let oxygen into my lungs. He only continued to stroke more of my hair, and then gently massage my scalp. Looking me keenly in the eyes, he asked, "Are you gay?"

It was a good question and, honestly, I had given it some thought in the past. Not much, though, considering it was no longer relevant. Who knows? Maybe if I had grown up differently, if I hadn't gone out looking for careless fucks with both men and women alike, I may have been able to choose for myself which one I favored more. Maybe I could have found the one person I loved more than anyone, and wanted to fuck—no, make love to—only that person.

Now, though, sex wasn't about love, or which gender I liked more; it was about hormones and satisfying the person on top of me's urge to fuck me senseless.

"No," I said.

He seemed disappointed, but showed no other emotion. "Are you straight?" He burrowed his head beneath my askew t-shirt, and rested his head on one of my nipples, rubbing his temple against it.

An odd thing to do, but I didn't complain.

"No."

He only hmm'ed in response, still absorbed in kneading at my chest. After another moment or two, he released contact, and I watched from beneath the collar of my shirt as he turned his head to face my nipple. Drawing out his tongue, he began licking the nub, the long, grotesquely wet swipes bringing it quickly to attention. I barely restrained my moan, and subconsciously spread my legs wider as the man nestled his thigh into my crotch.

Despite the pleasure I was receiving from these ministrations, I felt horribly unbalanced. I wanted to tell him to keep going, to arouse him enough to start fucking me again but, at the same time, I wanted to end this. I wanted nothing more than to take his money and never see him again.

I swallowed, deep in thought. The more he lay on top of me, the more disgusted I was getting with myself. Why…Why did I…why…

Why was I so slutty?

I squeezed my eyes shut, so tight my eyelids hurt. Why was I like this? Was it because I'd become so familiar with fucking that it actually felt good now? Was there some way I could go back to the way I was, when fucking was just a painful necessity?

Was there some way I could escape this loathing and disgust I felt for myself?

During the fucks, sure, it was easier when it was fun and I didn't have to think about it. The aftermath, though, that was the hard part. To realize I had just enjoyed an act that, in past years, had brought me nothing but humiliation…

I could do nothing but hate myself.

I felt a tear escape from beneath my eyelid. Why did I have to be like this?

My body shuddered, and I looked down to see the man now licking at my other nipple and his thigh pushing more insistently against my now hard cock. Here I was, once again, getting aroused by something so, so…disgusting.

Greg once told me that getting aroused during sex wasn't something that could be helped, that it was just my own body's anatomy reacting to something that I, personally, may not have enjoyed.

But how did that make sense? Weren't both the mind and body connected? Greg had had more schooling than me, so maybe he knew more about this, but it just didn't make sense to me. If I thought something perverted felt good, wouldn't my body agree? Wouldn't the opposite work as well?

The man continued licking my nipples, and I forcefully pushed him off me, quickly getting to my feet as I scrambled in search of my underwear.

What the hell kind of sick person asked to be fucked harder?

I began to fill even more with contempt, and was repulsed by my very own being. I shoved on my boxers and jeans, ignoring the man's, "Wait, please—."

I listened to no more. I was tired; I was so fucking tired.

Not even thinking about the money to be had, I hastily exited the dark alleyway, not once looking behind me. All I did was run, run from that man and my own lust.

My own filthy, disgusting lust.

Glancing at the spacious skies above me, I was dismayed to see the sun had already fallen. Had I been under better circumstances, I would have taken the time to stop and admire the pretty sunset, the array of colors pleasing to the eye.

As it was, though, I practically sprinted in the direction of my motel room, ignoring the displeased grunts and hollers from passersby when I accidentally bumped them.

I ran all the way to the motel, seeking out the one sanctuary I had left. Nobody was waiting for me, no one except the sleazy manager. And, yeah, I'd probably enjoy getting fucked by him, too.

Another tear fell from my eye. When would this pain finally go away?

XxXxXxXxXxX

As the motel came into sight, I slowed to a jog, then walk. The motel manager, Harry, was standing impatiently outside my door, his face grumpy and his foot tapping rapidly against the ground. His balding hair was one of the many poor physical traits he had, others including his rotten teeth, beer belly, and thick unibrow. They weren't exactly features I looked for in clients but, frankly, as long as I got paid, I didn't rightly care.

"What the hell took ya so long, boy?" he asked immediately as I approached.

"Sorry, I was just—." Before I could finish, I was slung into his room, Harry's grip tight on my arm. He tossed me onto the bed, and when I looked at him he was already shirtless and pulling off his jeans.

We partook in these sexual activities every Sunday, and I had completely forgotten that was today. He was angrier than usual, probably because he was forced to wait for me while being unbearably horny, and I quickly stripped out of my clothes.

I didn't want to keep him waiting, and I made sure that he watched as I sensually pulled off my boxers and tossed them to the side.

The anger gradually formed to desire, and he just gleamed at me with a lustful eye, soaking me in as he stood, crouched at the front of the bed. I was sitting with my back against the headrest, my legs spread wide to give him a nice view.

He wasn't able to merely watch for very long as he viciously pounced on me, knocking me back into the wood as he immediately began exploring my body. I shivered, his invasive tongue and hands touching places that, even after all these years, were ridiculously sensitive.

Three fingers immediately lodged themselves into my ass, and I gasped, fighting with all my being the instinctive urge to yank them out.

Quickly, though, arousal took hold of me like a deadly vice, and I didn't feel disgusted by it, not at all.

I moaned, and Harry smiled creepily at me. "Damn, kid, with all this whoring ya do you've gotten really stretched here. I don' even need to use lube." His smile widened to reveal crooked, blackening teeth. "Just makes you that much cheaper."

If I had been more coherent, I probably would have said something snarky with a dramatic roll of my eyes. As it was, though, I kept my mouth shut, focusing only on his fingers.

The digits continuing wiggling around, thoroughly exploring the already well-known territory. After several agonizing moments of just this, Harry suddenly looked up at me from his hovering position, eyes even darker with desire. "Hey," he said, voice coarse. "Can I fist you?"

A stupid question, considering I did whatever he wanted in order to have a room here. But I nodded, as if I was really the one to judge what was and was not allowed.

The three fingers were removed, and suddenly I felt as something thick and fleshy lodged itself inside me. I instantly gasped, and threw my wrist in my mouth to stop the deafening moan that almost escaped.

"Ah," I groaned into my arm.

Harry moaned in distinct admiration of my body, licking his lips wildly. "Fuck, you're so juicy in here. And so fucking hot." He continued pumping his hand, and my body rocked with it. "It's like a fucking furnace or somethin'."

I let him have his fun for a while, and in no time was cumming all over my chest.

The fist was still pumping vigorously inside me, and I gasped out, "O-Okay…t-time for…" Time to fucking stop this, before I lost my fucking mind. "Regular sex."

Harry removed his fist, and I groaned as it fell out, my hole feeling oddly empty. Harry seized my hips and lined himself up.

The fist was replaced with a penis, and we kept going.

XxXxXxXxXx

I walked back to my room, absently looking up at the now dark skies. Grabbing my key from my pocket, I was about to unlock my door when I suddenly remembered the promise I'd made with one of my clients, Eddy. I grumbled, glancing at my watch to see it was nearing ten o'clock. Fuck, fucking with Harry had taken for-fucking-ever.

I shoved my key back into my pocket and headed for another, slightly nicer motel a few blocks away. It was our usual meeting place when his wife was staying at home. They had a very unconventional relationship, and unashamedly cheated on each other every chance they got. I didn't really understand their relationship, or why they never considered getting a divorce.

But, again, as long as I got paid, it didn't really matter.

I entered the motel and met up with Eddy in the usual room, knocking twice before entering without prelude.

Eddy was sitting naked on the bed, his dark chest hairs long and, based on personal experience, kind of gross to be pressed up against.

"Glad you could make it, Sammy," he said with a crooked smile.

I hated hearing that nickname now. Sammy. Fuck, that brought back memories I couldn't handle right now. I wondered what the Vesters were doing right now. Were they in trouble? The job of a policeman wasn't exactly without threats and danger. I hope they were okay…

But if they weren't? There's no way I'd know. All I'd know is they chose not to come back for me, and I didn't know how well I'd handle that.

"What you standin' around, for? Come lay with me." I blinked, removing those thoughts from my head.

But those thoughts were merely replaced by others, and I stopped the groan that was threatening to erupt as I once again glanced at his chest. Those hairs…ick.

I didn't complain, though. I crawled on top of him and began.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next day I found myself standing in front of the Cunningham's house again. An envelope of money in my hand but without the courage to knock.

I wanted to slide the money beneath the door but, if I did that, would they be angry? It was more than blatant that they wanted nothing more to do with me. Yesterday Don Cunningham made that very clear, and I now had a hand-shaped bruise on my cheek as evidence.

If I forced myself onto them, instead of waiting patiently for their acceptance, would that only worsen the already severed bond?

Would the Cunninghams think I pitied them? Or, worse yet, would they refuse to accept money that was earned by fucking? Greg had always been encouraging toward me, and always worked to convince me that what I did was out of necessity, not my own perversion. He loved me no less, even with my less-than-respectable profession, and never once found me disgusting or detestable.

Now, though, had it all changed? Did he look down at me with condescension? Did he regret ever getting involved with me? He must think I'm a real slut, because I had just, just…

I put an arm over my face, hanging it limply across my eyes. Why did it end up like this? Why did I end up like this? Fuck, I was so gross.

In the end, I did not drop off the money, and instead went my own way, back onto the main street.

Not thirty seconds later and I ran into the same guy from earlier, tall, muscular, and attractive—essentially a Greg look-a-like. He didn't look quite as sad as before; on the contrary, he seemed very lively.

And that face brightened even more when his eyes fell on me. He immediately jumped to my side, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and turning me to fully face him.

His smile beamed at me as he spoke, "Hey, so about yesterday, that," he inhaled and exhaled contently, eyes bright, "that felt really really good. And…I'd like to do it again." I wasn't entirely adverse to it so far, and he pulled from his pocket an entire wad of cash, at least thrice the size as before. My eyes were bug-eyed with astonishment, and he held it out to me tauntingly. "I want the entire day with you. The entire day. So…" he grinned. "How bout it?"

I looked longingly at the money in his hand. I really did have no morals. All I had was avarice and a heart of steel.

I nodded. "Sure. When do you wanna start?"

He bent down to rest his forehead against mine, leering at me excitedly. "Right now." The arm that was leaning on my shoulders began to travel, and a hand found it's way to my ass. "And I have kinks like you wouldn't believe."

I blinked. Well fuck.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Hope you enjoyed!

Not the best place to end, but I suppose it could've been worse. I recognize Dean and John have not arrived yet, and I hope it's not too boring without them. They shall be presenting themselves in a spectacular fashion soon enough.:)

And I hope I'm not beating a dead horse by creating this sequel! Do inform me if you think I should distribute my efforts elsewhere.

Until next time!