Pickles kneels between his knees. The man is sweaty. His whole crotch area smells like shit from the show, his shifting and jerking over the bar and other concert activities having carried down the plethora of scents usually stored much further back. Pickles does not find it particularly attractive, but his needs are not the ones that needed attending.
Pickles' evening before that point is really a blur. A half decent concert, drinking, and then Pickles was in this man's car, and the man was talking about his reward, his I'll pay you reward, his "I want to come in your hot little mouth" reward. And Pickles was not going to ignore that, no sir. He was a starving kid, on the street, who wanted a hamburger and thought he would welcome a little extra protein.
Pickles remembers agreeing, to no uncertain terms, to suck him off, for the great lump sum of 25 dollars. The man told him to make it good. Pickles agreed.
Pickles runs his fingers up the slightly damp seams of the man's jeans. He presses into his thighs and kneads when he gets to the part usually hidden by loose denim.
Pickles does not want this. This is disgusting. It smells like shit. It smells like shit, it smells unclean, it smells like prostitution and the exploiting of power and money and alcoholism and drug addiction and most of all hunger.
Pickles presses his face in the man's crotch. He breathes out hot and lets out a moan, a long low one like he used to make when he gave blow jobs to people he cared about, for free because he loved them. He smells in hard like it's sexy or something, and licks along the seam of the man's pants. He moans again and tries to imagine that the seam along the man's crotch tastes like a big fat hamburger with the works, extra cheese. Pickles finds the man's balls with his mouth and breathes out hot on them, making sexy noises and thinking of the six billion burgers he's going to get out of this, and how he is going to spend it ALL on burgers, and not booze, he can't fucking take another day of no food because even with the money he made doing this and the money he had from packing up gig bags, like his real job pays him to, he can't fill the pit in his heart with tequila. The man has gotten hard. Pickles wants to cry.
The man digs his fingernails into Pickles' hair, and Pickles moans like he loves it. Pickles kisses up the fly of the man's smelly, disgusting jeans and pushes the button through the hole with his tongue and his teeth, like he's done a million fucking times. He grabs the man's pants at the knees and tugs them down. He suckles onto one of the man's sweaty, disgusting, but surprisingly shaved balls through his underpants. The guy is probably then really vain, a stripper, or gay. Pickles was banking on gay, in the hopes he might not have his nose broken by the end of the fucking night.
The man digs his nails into Pickles' scalp and rocks his hips a little. He's very hard. Pickles moans like he's loving it, like he enjoys gross, sweaty, unexplainably hairless balls in his mouth and the smell of sex and shit overwhelming him.
Pickles cannot tell whether the man's underpants are wet with his saliva or with the man's sweat. Pickles makes a pleasured face for him and licks up the white, sweat stained cotton to suckle on the head of the man's cock, rolling his damp, cotton covered balls in his hand. Pickles looks up at the man with sex in his eyes. The man watches him, and it scares pickles a little.
Pickles notices a little past the shitty brown mullet to sharp hazel eyes. Calculating eyes, eyes that were paying for a blow job, yes, but eyes that could rule the world.
Pickles blinks and shoves the thought out of his mind. He suckles harder around the head, just avoiding his urethra and moaning more, until he gets the reaction he wants. The man moans loudly, closing his frightening eyes and pushing against Pickles face.
Pickles inches down the man's underwear. His cock pops out, and Pickles imagines a comical boinking noise, like in a cartoon. Pickles smiles and starts jerking him a little, swiping his tongue at the man's balls. The man starts pleading for him to lick his cock. Pickles waits just long enough, before he changes his mode.
Pickles swallows his pride and moans again around the man's balls. Then he drags his tongue, flat, up the man's cock, slow, so the great white underside gets touched at every goddamned cell. Pickles then swipes his tongue in little circles around the ridge of the man's cock, barely on the head. He moves his hand down to cup the man's balls. He makes sure to press at his taint too.
Pickles is getting over the smell, little by little, by thinking about his hamburger. Pickles wraps his mouth around the head of the man's cock, licking around slowly and just breaching the man's ass with his middle finger. The man doesn't protest, but looks down at him with those eyes, a little deliriously.
Pickles moves further down the man's cock, swirling his tongue as much as he can and pushing further into the man's ass, searching for his nice spot.
Pickles is a prostitute, and he finds the prostate fairly quickly. He pulls back on the man's cock a little and swirls his tongue more, making sure to press it into the man's urethra. He tasted like salt and pre.
Pickles flutters his fingers against the man's prostate, and moans against the head of his cock. The man thrusts upward, slow, and then just sort of rocks his hips. He's making soft, mewling pleasured noises. Pickles gives him a broken moan, like he can't take it, and then takes the cock into his mouth as hungrily as if it were the hamburger he's dreaming about.
Pickles shoves a second finger into the man and slides down slow on his cock, pressing his nice spots with his tongue. He just keeps going, until his chin is against the man's balls. He pulls back, slow, and suppresses his gag and goes down again. He swallows and moans.
The man is fucking beside himself. He's trying desperately not to thrust, but a couple get through. He's making all kinds of unholy strangled noises.
Pickles moves faster. His jaw hurts, and his neck hurts, and his lungs scream as he times them with just barely enough oxygen so he can take the man deep enough for his money's worth.
The man grabs his head and thrusts hard. Pickles makes more moaning sounds, like a real whore, and the man believes them, because he's telling Pickles oh yeah, you like that? oh yeah, take it whore, all that. Pickles complies and he feels empty and disgusting and the man fills his stomach with semen but it doesn't help his heart.
When the man is finished, Pickles pulls off of him. The man is panting, he is tired and young, and Pickles realizes that was probably his first time with a prostitute. Pickles asks him for his money, and the man gives him a fifty and sends him out.
Pickles spends it all on booze and passes out under a park bench.