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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Abuse and Addiction: A Tale Of Dale - 8. Chapter 8
I think the full force of my life, of my addiction hit me that night. I needed the heroin to be able to function—not just “normally” but pretty much at all. Without it, aside from the physical reaction—which could get bad, but which I could deal with—I felt less than nothing. While it was in my body, I felt good. I felt like the world had hope. Felt like I was not nothing. It was what made me feel alive and significant. Without it—even early in the stages of withdrawal when it was just beginning to wear off—I was one mass of anxiety, doubt and despair.
And I realized that Dale had given me that. Paul had given me back my life. He had reached behind the walls I had built, behind the scars that had formed and had found me. He had freed that little dying thing from its prison deep inside of me and had held it in his hands, pressed it close against his chest and had given it the beat of his own heart. He had breathed life back into me. When he left, I thought he had taken it all back, had taken my life away with him. But it had really been Dale who had taken it. He took it, used what he wanted, and left me with nothing. He would hit me with one hand and caress me with the other. Tell me I was worthless, then tell me how much I meant to him. He would beat me and comfort me. Push me away and pull me close. I thought Dale was my savior, my heaven, but he was really my hell.
But he was all I had. Without him, without the heroin that I got through him, I had nothing, was nothing.
It’s funny how things seem to happen all at once, how it seems random things all come together at the same time. Again, that demented puppet master at work, I suspect. But maybe not. Maybe we create our own fate—or at least influence it. Maybe we make decisions unconsciously that change the path we are on.
It was nearly dawn by the time I went back to Dale’s bed. After writing my poem, I went to my car and slipped the notebook under the seat. I didn’t want Dale to find it. Didn’t want him to know I had used his notebook, didn’t want him to know I had written a poem. I just didn’t want to hear the words I knew he would say. I didn’t need more reasons to feel like shit. And it was a shit poem, I knew that. But it was mine. My words, from my head. And while a big part of me was feeling the pain and despair behind the words, part of me was just glad I still could find them, my words, was just so glad that I hadn’t completely lost them.
I had downed the rest of the Labatt’s before going back to bed. And I had washed the beer down with 3 shots of vodka. I just wanted to pass out. I wasn’t feeling the physical withdrawal from the heroin yet. I had enough of it in my system to still keep that at bay. But I was feeling the emotional withdrawal. That sense of anxiety and hopelessness was starting to filter through. I knew as I got in bed that Dale would be waking up soon. And he always wanted sex when he woke up. But I didn’t care. I knew I could just give him what he wanted, let him do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t a big deal. And maybe he would give me a fix afterwards. At least enough to get me to Papa Doc’s.
But when I woke up, Dale was already up. I heard him in the kitchen. I looked at the clock. It was just after 11:30. Two hours before I had to go to Papa Doc’s. I sat up and felt like I was going to puke. I tried taking slow, steady breaths, tried to fight that feeling. I knew it was a combination of withdrawal and the alcohol. I had felt it before. But it wasn’t working. I somehow managed to get myself to the bathroom before I heaved. Was going to be a long two hours if Dale wouldn’t give me a hit. I took a quick shower. It seemed to help a bit. Not much, but a bit. I got dressed and went into the kitchen. Dale was drinking coffee. He looked up.
“You look like living shit.” His voice was cold.
“Feel like it, too.” I tried to keep my voice steady, noncommittal.
He got up and got me a cup of coffee. I was surprised, all things considered. “Thanks.” I sat down across from him. I stared at the cup. I was remembering that first morning. It was the same cup he had handed me then. Don’t know why I even noticed that. He had given me that cup many times, I’m sure. Just grabbed whichever one was closest. But I just noticed it this time. I took a sip of coffee, nearly spilling it. My hand was shaking already.
“Used up all Papa Doc’s shit, didn’t you?” There was maybe, just maybe a slight edge of satisfaction in Dale’s voice.
I nodded. I hoped.
“Man, Luc, you gotta plan that better. You know by this time of week I am usually out. You know I would give you some if I had it. But I just took the last hit of mine. I would have shared it with you if you had been up.” There was a hint of accusation in his voice. He knew I had been out of bed. He knew I hadn’t come back to bed until nearly dawn. I could hear it in his voice.
“I know you would, Dale.” I wanted to believe that still. Didn’t want to think he didn’t care at all.
He stood up and went into the bedroom. He came back with the usual envelope and tossed it on the table. “Well, here’s the money. Why don’t you head out a little earlier. I can see you are hurting. You wait 2 hours and you won’t be able to drive and it’s too late for me to make other arrangements.” He put on his jacket and went out the door.
I just stared after him. There had been no concern for me in his voice. Before he would have covered my hand with his or would have put his arm around me and given me a quick kiss and asked me to be careful—because he needed me, cared about me. Right up until yesterday he would have at least pretended to care. But he hadn’t even bothered to pretend today. Or maybe I was just seeing through him. Maybe he was starting to wear off just like the heroin was. I remember looking down and staring at that coffee cup for the longest time after he left. I wanted things to be back the way they were then. Wanted to feel his turquoise eyes staring at me, burning into my skin. I wanted to feel that desire, that feeling of being wanted. I just wanted someone to love me. And that was stupid, because I knew Dale didn’t love me. I knew he had never loved me. But he had cared. I knew he had cared.
I closed my eyes because I could feel tears stinging at the back of them. I didn’t want them to fall. I hadn’t cried in a long time. I had no reason to be crying now. As I sat there I let my mind drift a bit. Well, I had no choice, it was going to drift whether I let it or not. One of the odder reactions I had to coming off heroin. My head would drift a bit, lose track of itself. As I sat there, I started to remember good times with Dale, times when he had been there for me. I could feel him sitting with me when I had a nightmare, remembered his hand rubbing my back, remembered his voice, so soft, so soothing as he held me close, telling me he was there, that he would always be there, that he loved me… And then I realized it wasn’t Dale who had said those words. It wasn’t Dale I was remembering. It was Mark.
I stood up, grabbed my jacket, grabbed the envelope and left as quickly as Dale had. I drove the hour drive to Papa Doc’s in 45 minutes. Told myself I was just in a hurry because I really needed a fix. But I knew I was just running, running from my thoughts. But I really did need a fix. And by the time I got to Papa Doc’s, I knew that if Papa Doc had told me to fuck his dog to get it, I would have. As it turned out, the dog would have been a hell of a lot better than what I got.
Ramon and Tyrell met me at the door. “What you doin’ here so early for?” Tyrell demanded. He didn’t give me a chance to answer, just grabbed my arm and pulled me inside, slamming the door behind me. “Papa Doc ain’t here just now.” His voice sounded odd to me. But I was coming off so I wasn’t sure what I heard.
“I know. I was just hoping I could—“
“I know what you was hopin’, white boy. I see the way you shakin’.” He pushed me against the wall. “Like I said, Papa Doc ain’t here just now. You gonna have to wait for Papa Doc to get what you want.”
He leaned up against me, held me against the wall with his chest and reached down and rubbed his hand over my cock. “But that just means we gots some time to ourself.” He kept rubbing his hand over my cock and started rubbing his cock against my leg. “Now I knows you just let Papa Doc fuck you ass for the shit. We both know Papa Doc is one ugly mother fucker. But I see how you lookin at me. I knows you gots you eye on my fine ass, I saw you lick those pretty lips when I waved my big black dick at you.”
He ran his tongue over my lips. I pushed at him, trying to push him away. Tyrell was a lot taller than I was. I had about as much chance of fighting him off as I had with Papa Doc. Probably a hell of a lot LESS chance. Tyrell was as lean and as muscled out as a middleweight boxer. It made no sense at all to try to fight him. I should have just let him do whatever he wanted. Not like I hadn’t been fucked before. Not like I hadn’t come here with the expectation of getting fucked. Had counted on it, really. Had counted on sucking Papa Doc off and the letting him fuck me—letting, like I had a choice!—so I could get a hit and a nice bag of the good shit to take home. God knows what the fuck was in my head.
He hit me. Hit me with one solid uppercut that sent my head back against the wall so hard I saw stars. “I not good enough for you, white boy?” He slammed his knee into my groin. I instinctively leaned forward—and took another uppercut that sent my head back against the wall again. Had he let me go, I know I would have just slipped right to the floor. But I wasn’t going to be so lucky.
“You think you better than me, bitch?” He was inches away from my face. His breath smelled like peppermint, like he had been eating a candy cane. “You nothin, bitch. You nothin but a piece of ass with a mouth. That all you good for—fuckin and suckin.”
I saw Ramon behind him now. He was smirking. Reminded me of Rob.
“I woulda treated you right, bitch. Woulda fucked you good. You woulda liked my big black dick up you ass, woulda liked my sweet lips on you little white dick. But no…” He punched me in the stomach. “You gotta push my ass away. You gotta make like you don’t want Tyrell to fuck you ass.”
He let go of me suddenly and I fell forward to my knees…right into his raised knee. I fell sprawling back onto the floor, the back of my head hitting the wall again. He kicked me over onto my stomach. My head was swimming, every noise in the room echoing. The ticking of the clock on the wall sounded like the pounding of a hammer. Tyrell’s heavy breathing sounded like the roar of a tornado. I acted completely on instinct. I had no thoughts in my head. But I knew I had to get up. I had to get out of there. I tried to bring my knees under me, tried to get off the floor. Another mistake. Should have just lain still. Ramon kicked me hard in the ass, sent me to the floor on my face. I knew it was Ramon because I could see Tyrell’s feet.
Seconds later Ramon was holding my shoulders down. He could have left them alone. I couldn’t have gotten up anyway. But he probably enjoyed that. Had I looked up I probably would have seen that smirk on his face—so like Rob’s—but I didn’t. I had already started to shut off. There was no question in my mind what was coming next. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” The words echoed in my head, but they weren’t from Tyrell or from Ramon. They were from an earlier time.
“Now I ain’t gonna be so nice, bitch!” Tyrell was pulling my jeans down, pulling them all the way off. “Damn! You got one fine white ass, bitch! You coulda had my fine black dick take good care of that ass.” He shoved my legs apart. I moved a little and was rewarded by Ramon’s shoving my face against the floor. “Now I ain’t gonna be so nice.” He shoved that fine black dick in my ass. Shoved it hard. I winced and bit my tongue. No way I was going to cry out. No way I was going to give him that satisfaction. Wasn’t much I could do to stop him, but I wasn’t going to give him that.
I shut off completely. I could feel Tyrell fucking me. He fucked me hard. I heard his voice, heard the hatred in it. But I didn’t hear his words. But I heard that clock ticking. Heard it ticking like a hammer pounding. I felt him get off me when he was done. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t unconscious. And he was done.
Then it was Ramon’s turn. He didn’t say anything. Never heard his voice once. He just shoved my face down against the floor—just hard enough to make my head spin—in case I had any thoughts of trying to get up. But Tyrell wasn’t going to let that happen anyway. He put his foot on the back of my neck and forced my face against the floor. And I knew he could have just stepped a little harder and snapped my neck. And I knew he knew that also.
Ramon was fucking me when Papa Doc came in. “What the fuck you boys doing?” His voice wasn’t loud, wasn’t angry. But Ramon sprang up like he had been picked up. Tyrell took his foot off the back of my neck and I heard him start to explain to Papa Doc.
“This bitch come early, Papa Doc. He say he wanna score some shit for hisself but didn’t wanna take care of Papa Doc this time.”
“That’s right, Papa Doc. And when we told him you wasn’t here he started beggin’ us for some shit.” Ramon jumped in. “We told him he had to wait for you, Papa Doc, but he started to get crazy, man. Started to pull down Tyrell’s pants, tried to suck his dick. Kept sayin’ he didn’t want to wait for Papa Doc.”
“Yeah, Papa Doc. And what I gonna do, this boy suckin’ my dick? He one fine piece of white ass, Papa Doc. But then he change his mind. He just wanted to go. Told him Papa Doc was expectin’ him. Told him he didn’t wanna disappoint Papa Doc.” Tyrell was doing a fine job.
“And he said he didn’t give a shit about Papa Doc.” Ramon put in.
“That’s when I figure he need a lesson. So I give him one. And then Ramon give him one, too.” Tyrell was convincing as hell.
I hadn’t raised my head, hadn’t looked up. Didn’t want to see what I knew was going to come. Papa Doc came over to me and reached down and picked me up by the back of my collar. When my feet touched the floor, turned me around, held the front of my shirt with his left hand and backhanded me across the face with his right. “That true, boy? You trying to get in and out before taking care of your Papa Doc?”
I shook my head. It swam.
“Now who am I gonna believe, boy? Over here I got my boys.” He looked at Tyrell and Ramon. “They MY boys. I trust them with my business. I trust them with my life.” He switched hands and backhanded me with his left hand. “Here in front of me I got a pretty piece of white ass that would fuck his own mother for a hit of shit. Now who you think I gonna believe?” He dragged me over to the couch and shoved me against it. “Hasn’t Papa Doc always taken care of you, boy? Hasn’t Papa Doc always given you what you want? And all Papa Doc ever ask for in return is a piece of your tight little white ass.” I could hear the zipper on his pants.
“Who you think you are, boy?” He shoved his cock in my ass. I cried out in spite of myself. Papa Doc could hurt like no one could hurt. “You ain’t nothin’, boy.” He pulled out and slammed his cock in me again. I cried out again. “Papa Doc don’t give a shit about you.” He pulled out of me again. I bit my lip hard. I didn’t want to cry out again, didn’t want to give him that. He slammed into me again and kept doing it over and over and over. I wanted to shut off, but that switch seemed stuck on. I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t get inside myself.
When he was done, he threw me to the floor. “You ain’t nothin’ to no one, boy. Ain’t no one give a shit about you.” Someone, no clue who, threw the usual package at me. “Now get your ass outa here before Papa Doc forgets how good you give head and shoots your white ass.”
I managed to get to my feet and get my pants back on. No clue how I managed that. I felt like I had been run over by a truck. I picked up the package and stumbled toward the door.
“You tell Da-bo next week I want a hundred more for the same shit. You piss Papa Doc off, boy. Don’t know how long it’s gonna be before Papa Doc gonna feel right again.”
My stomach clenched, sending a wave of nausea through me. As I got into my car, as I started driving back to Dale’s, I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that the best part of my day was over—and the worst was yet to come. I was so right.
Copyright © 2011 Luc; All Rights Reserved.
And I realized that Dale had given me that. Paul had given me back my life. He had reached behind the walls I had built, behind the scars that had formed and had found me. He had freed that little dying thing from its prison deep inside of me and had held it in his hands, pressed it close against his chest and had given it the beat of his own heart. He had breathed life back into me. When he left, I thought he had taken it all back, had taken my life away with him. But it had really been Dale who had taken it. He took it, used what he wanted, and left me with nothing. He would hit me with one hand and caress me with the other. Tell me I was worthless, then tell me how much I meant to him. He would beat me and comfort me. Push me away and pull me close. I thought Dale was my savior, my heaven, but he was really my hell.
But he was all I had. Without him, without the heroin that I got through him, I had nothing, was nothing.
It’s funny how things seem to happen all at once, how it seems random things all come together at the same time. Again, that demented puppet master at work, I suspect. But maybe not. Maybe we create our own fate—or at least influence it. Maybe we make decisions unconsciously that change the path we are on.
It was nearly dawn by the time I went back to Dale’s bed. After writing my poem, I went to my car and slipped the notebook under the seat. I didn’t want Dale to find it. Didn’t want him to know I had used his notebook, didn’t want him to know I had written a poem. I just didn’t want to hear the words I knew he would say. I didn’t need more reasons to feel like shit. And it was a shit poem, I knew that. But it was mine. My words, from my head. And while a big part of me was feeling the pain and despair behind the words, part of me was just glad I still could find them, my words, was just so glad that I hadn’t completely lost them.
I had downed the rest of the Labatt’s before going back to bed. And I had washed the beer down with 3 shots of vodka. I just wanted to pass out. I wasn’t feeling the physical withdrawal from the heroin yet. I had enough of it in my system to still keep that at bay. But I was feeling the emotional withdrawal. That sense of anxiety and hopelessness was starting to filter through. I knew as I got in bed that Dale would be waking up soon. And he always wanted sex when he woke up. But I didn’t care. I knew I could just give him what he wanted, let him do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t a big deal. And maybe he would give me a fix afterwards. At least enough to get me to Papa Doc’s.
But when I woke up, Dale was already up. I heard him in the kitchen. I looked at the clock. It was just after 11:30. Two hours before I had to go to Papa Doc’s. I sat up and felt like I was going to puke. I tried taking slow, steady breaths, tried to fight that feeling. I knew it was a combination of withdrawal and the alcohol. I had felt it before. But it wasn’t working. I somehow managed to get myself to the bathroom before I heaved. Was going to be a long two hours if Dale wouldn’t give me a hit. I took a quick shower. It seemed to help a bit. Not much, but a bit. I got dressed and went into the kitchen. Dale was drinking coffee. He looked up.
“You look like living shit.” His voice was cold.
“Feel like it, too.” I tried to keep my voice steady, noncommittal.
He got up and got me a cup of coffee. I was surprised, all things considered. “Thanks.” I sat down across from him. I stared at the cup. I was remembering that first morning. It was the same cup he had handed me then. Don’t know why I even noticed that. He had given me that cup many times, I’m sure. Just grabbed whichever one was closest. But I just noticed it this time. I took a sip of coffee, nearly spilling it. My hand was shaking already.
“Used up all Papa Doc’s shit, didn’t you?” There was maybe, just maybe a slight edge of satisfaction in Dale’s voice.
I nodded. I hoped.
“Man, Luc, you gotta plan that better. You know by this time of week I am usually out. You know I would give you some if I had it. But I just took the last hit of mine. I would have shared it with you if you had been up.” There was a hint of accusation in his voice. He knew I had been out of bed. He knew I hadn’t come back to bed until nearly dawn. I could hear it in his voice.
“I know you would, Dale.” I wanted to believe that still. Didn’t want to think he didn’t care at all.
He stood up and went into the bedroom. He came back with the usual envelope and tossed it on the table. “Well, here’s the money. Why don’t you head out a little earlier. I can see you are hurting. You wait 2 hours and you won’t be able to drive and it’s too late for me to make other arrangements.” He put on his jacket and went out the door.
I just stared after him. There had been no concern for me in his voice. Before he would have covered my hand with his or would have put his arm around me and given me a quick kiss and asked me to be careful—because he needed me, cared about me. Right up until yesterday he would have at least pretended to care. But he hadn’t even bothered to pretend today. Or maybe I was just seeing through him. Maybe he was starting to wear off just like the heroin was. I remember looking down and staring at that coffee cup for the longest time after he left. I wanted things to be back the way they were then. Wanted to feel his turquoise eyes staring at me, burning into my skin. I wanted to feel that desire, that feeling of being wanted. I just wanted someone to love me. And that was stupid, because I knew Dale didn’t love me. I knew he had never loved me. But he had cared. I knew he had cared.
I closed my eyes because I could feel tears stinging at the back of them. I didn’t want them to fall. I hadn’t cried in a long time. I had no reason to be crying now. As I sat there I let my mind drift a bit. Well, I had no choice, it was going to drift whether I let it or not. One of the odder reactions I had to coming off heroin. My head would drift a bit, lose track of itself. As I sat there, I started to remember good times with Dale, times when he had been there for me. I could feel him sitting with me when I had a nightmare, remembered his hand rubbing my back, remembered his voice, so soft, so soothing as he held me close, telling me he was there, that he would always be there, that he loved me… And then I realized it wasn’t Dale who had said those words. It wasn’t Dale I was remembering. It was Mark.
I stood up, grabbed my jacket, grabbed the envelope and left as quickly as Dale had. I drove the hour drive to Papa Doc’s in 45 minutes. Told myself I was just in a hurry because I really needed a fix. But I knew I was just running, running from my thoughts. But I really did need a fix. And by the time I got to Papa Doc’s, I knew that if Papa Doc had told me to fuck his dog to get it, I would have. As it turned out, the dog would have been a hell of a lot better than what I got.
Ramon and Tyrell met me at the door. “What you doin’ here so early for?” Tyrell demanded. He didn’t give me a chance to answer, just grabbed my arm and pulled me inside, slamming the door behind me. “Papa Doc ain’t here just now.” His voice sounded odd to me. But I was coming off so I wasn’t sure what I heard.
“I know. I was just hoping I could—“
“I know what you was hopin’, white boy. I see the way you shakin’.” He pushed me against the wall. “Like I said, Papa Doc ain’t here just now. You gonna have to wait for Papa Doc to get what you want.”
He leaned up against me, held me against the wall with his chest and reached down and rubbed his hand over my cock. “But that just means we gots some time to ourself.” He kept rubbing his hand over my cock and started rubbing his cock against my leg. “Now I knows you just let Papa Doc fuck you ass for the shit. We both know Papa Doc is one ugly mother fucker. But I see how you lookin at me. I knows you gots you eye on my fine ass, I saw you lick those pretty lips when I waved my big black dick at you.”
He ran his tongue over my lips. I pushed at him, trying to push him away. Tyrell was a lot taller than I was. I had about as much chance of fighting him off as I had with Papa Doc. Probably a hell of a lot LESS chance. Tyrell was as lean and as muscled out as a middleweight boxer. It made no sense at all to try to fight him. I should have just let him do whatever he wanted. Not like I hadn’t been fucked before. Not like I hadn’t come here with the expectation of getting fucked. Had counted on it, really. Had counted on sucking Papa Doc off and the letting him fuck me—letting, like I had a choice!—so I could get a hit and a nice bag of the good shit to take home. God knows what the fuck was in my head.
He hit me. Hit me with one solid uppercut that sent my head back against the wall so hard I saw stars. “I not good enough for you, white boy?” He slammed his knee into my groin. I instinctively leaned forward—and took another uppercut that sent my head back against the wall again. Had he let me go, I know I would have just slipped right to the floor. But I wasn’t going to be so lucky.
“You think you better than me, bitch?” He was inches away from my face. His breath smelled like peppermint, like he had been eating a candy cane. “You nothin, bitch. You nothin but a piece of ass with a mouth. That all you good for—fuckin and suckin.”
I saw Ramon behind him now. He was smirking. Reminded me of Rob.
“I woulda treated you right, bitch. Woulda fucked you good. You woulda liked my big black dick up you ass, woulda liked my sweet lips on you little white dick. But no…” He punched me in the stomach. “You gotta push my ass away. You gotta make like you don’t want Tyrell to fuck you ass.”
He let go of me suddenly and I fell forward to my knees…right into his raised knee. I fell sprawling back onto the floor, the back of my head hitting the wall again. He kicked me over onto my stomach. My head was swimming, every noise in the room echoing. The ticking of the clock on the wall sounded like the pounding of a hammer. Tyrell’s heavy breathing sounded like the roar of a tornado. I acted completely on instinct. I had no thoughts in my head. But I knew I had to get up. I had to get out of there. I tried to bring my knees under me, tried to get off the floor. Another mistake. Should have just lain still. Ramon kicked me hard in the ass, sent me to the floor on my face. I knew it was Ramon because I could see Tyrell’s feet.
Seconds later Ramon was holding my shoulders down. He could have left them alone. I couldn’t have gotten up anyway. But he probably enjoyed that. Had I looked up I probably would have seen that smirk on his face—so like Rob’s—but I didn’t. I had already started to shut off. There was no question in my mind what was coming next. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” The words echoed in my head, but they weren’t from Tyrell or from Ramon. They were from an earlier time.
“Now I ain’t gonna be so nice, bitch!” Tyrell was pulling my jeans down, pulling them all the way off. “Damn! You got one fine white ass, bitch! You coulda had my fine black dick take good care of that ass.” He shoved my legs apart. I moved a little and was rewarded by Ramon’s shoving my face against the floor. “Now I ain’t gonna be so nice.” He shoved that fine black dick in my ass. Shoved it hard. I winced and bit my tongue. No way I was going to cry out. No way I was going to give him that satisfaction. Wasn’t much I could do to stop him, but I wasn’t going to give him that.
I shut off completely. I could feel Tyrell fucking me. He fucked me hard. I heard his voice, heard the hatred in it. But I didn’t hear his words. But I heard that clock ticking. Heard it ticking like a hammer pounding. I felt him get off me when he was done. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t unconscious. And he was done.
Then it was Ramon’s turn. He didn’t say anything. Never heard his voice once. He just shoved my face down against the floor—just hard enough to make my head spin—in case I had any thoughts of trying to get up. But Tyrell wasn’t going to let that happen anyway. He put his foot on the back of my neck and forced my face against the floor. And I knew he could have just stepped a little harder and snapped my neck. And I knew he knew that also.
Ramon was fucking me when Papa Doc came in. “What the fuck you boys doing?” His voice wasn’t loud, wasn’t angry. But Ramon sprang up like he had been picked up. Tyrell took his foot off the back of my neck and I heard him start to explain to Papa Doc.
“This bitch come early, Papa Doc. He say he wanna score some shit for hisself but didn’t wanna take care of Papa Doc this time.”
“That’s right, Papa Doc. And when we told him you wasn’t here he started beggin’ us for some shit.” Ramon jumped in. “We told him he had to wait for you, Papa Doc, but he started to get crazy, man. Started to pull down Tyrell’s pants, tried to suck his dick. Kept sayin’ he didn’t want to wait for Papa Doc.”
“Yeah, Papa Doc. And what I gonna do, this boy suckin’ my dick? He one fine piece of white ass, Papa Doc. But then he change his mind. He just wanted to go. Told him Papa Doc was expectin’ him. Told him he didn’t wanna disappoint Papa Doc.” Tyrell was doing a fine job.
“And he said he didn’t give a shit about Papa Doc.” Ramon put in.
“That’s when I figure he need a lesson. So I give him one. And then Ramon give him one, too.” Tyrell was convincing as hell.
I hadn’t raised my head, hadn’t looked up. Didn’t want to see what I knew was going to come. Papa Doc came over to me and reached down and picked me up by the back of my collar. When my feet touched the floor, turned me around, held the front of my shirt with his left hand and backhanded me across the face with his right. “That true, boy? You trying to get in and out before taking care of your Papa Doc?”
I shook my head. It swam.
“Now who am I gonna believe, boy? Over here I got my boys.” He looked at Tyrell and Ramon. “They MY boys. I trust them with my business. I trust them with my life.” He switched hands and backhanded me with his left hand. “Here in front of me I got a pretty piece of white ass that would fuck his own mother for a hit of shit. Now who you think I gonna believe?” He dragged me over to the couch and shoved me against it. “Hasn’t Papa Doc always taken care of you, boy? Hasn’t Papa Doc always given you what you want? And all Papa Doc ever ask for in return is a piece of your tight little white ass.” I could hear the zipper on his pants.
“Who you think you are, boy?” He shoved his cock in my ass. I cried out in spite of myself. Papa Doc could hurt like no one could hurt. “You ain’t nothin’, boy.” He pulled out and slammed his cock in me again. I cried out again. “Papa Doc don’t give a shit about you.” He pulled out of me again. I bit my lip hard. I didn’t want to cry out again, didn’t want to give him that. He slammed into me again and kept doing it over and over and over. I wanted to shut off, but that switch seemed stuck on. I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t get inside myself.
When he was done, he threw me to the floor. “You ain’t nothin’ to no one, boy. Ain’t no one give a shit about you.” Someone, no clue who, threw the usual package at me. “Now get your ass outa here before Papa Doc forgets how good you give head and shoots your white ass.”
I managed to get to my feet and get my pants back on. No clue how I managed that. I felt like I had been run over by a truck. I picked up the package and stumbled toward the door.
“You tell Da-bo next week I want a hundred more for the same shit. You piss Papa Doc off, boy. Don’t know how long it’s gonna be before Papa Doc gonna feel right again.”
My stomach clenched, sending a wave of nausea through me. As I got into my car, as I started driving back to Dale’s, I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that the best part of my day was over—and the worst was yet to come. I was so right.
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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