Chapter 9

The apartment reeked of sweat, stale coffee, and last night’s spunk, a single bulb flickering over the sagging couch in the pre-dawn gloom. Jamie sprawled in Reese’s bed, trunks slung low on his wiry hips, knee-high socks bunched at his skinny calves, his breath heavy from a night of “assisting” Reese—guiding his piss in the dark, a Tuesday kink since the shakes took hold. The kid slept like a needy pup, oblivious to the July heat oozing through the cracked window. Reese, buck-naked and rock-hard, his 6’1” bulk throbbing with morning wood, lay beside him, hazel eyes slitted, thumbing through Tara’s nudes on his phone—her fat tits bursting from red lace, pussy glistening, thighs spread wide, that filthy smirk begging for his cock. His dick pulsed, leaking against his thick thigh, the skull tattoo on his scarred forearm slick with sweat.

At 7 AM, Tara’s key scraped the lock, the door groaning open. Reese’s balls tightened, and he growled, “Pup, keep your ass down,” voice a gravelly rasp. Jamie stirred, eyes half-lidded, but dropped below the bed’s edge, cloaked by tangled, cum-stained sheets. Tara strutted in, fresh off her 10 PM–6 AM shift as the Wolf’s Howl Motel’s overnight manager, dishwater-blonde hair loose, her sobriety chip glinting between her heaving tits. Her navy blazer, frayed at the cuffs, draped over a creased blouse, two buttons popped, flashing deep cleavage. Her tight skirt, smudged with motel dust and a coffee stain, gripped her hips, barely containing her ass. She kicked off scuffed loafers, eyes raking Reese’s chiseled bulk—broad pecs, thick thighs, abs cut like fucking granite. “Goddamn, babe,” she purred, voice dripping with lust, “heard some trucker gruntin’ through the motel wall, fuckin’ his bitch raw. Got my cunt so wet I could barely stand.” Her fingers hiked her skirt, flashing soaked panties, the fabric clinging to her dripping slit.

Reese’s grin was feral, tossing the phone, his cock jutting like a steel pipe, pre-cum beading. Time was short—Vince’s strip mall job loomed, the crew due at the site by 8. He yanked Tara onto the bed, her moan a dirty hymn as she spread wide, missionary, her thighs clamping his hips. “Gonna pound that pussy quick, darlin’,” he snarled, slamming into her, her cunt hot and greedy, sucking him deep. Tara’s nails clawed his back, her gasps ragged against the apartment’s paper-thin walls. “Fuck me stupid, Reese,” she begged, hips bucking, “fill my hole.” Reese pistoned hard, the bedframe screeching, his heavy balls slapping her ass, grazing the sheets where Jamie lurked.

He flicked his eyes down, catching Jamie’s hungry stare, the kid crouched low, shakes fueling a feral glint. Reese nodded, a sharp order. Jamie slithered beneath him, wiry body writhing under the bed’s edge, his hot breath teasing Reese’s skin. The kid’s tongue darted out, lapping at Reese’s swinging balls, slurping the salty weight like a starved dog. Reese growled, hips slamming Tara harder, her tits bouncing under the open blouse. Jamie’s tongue turned nasty, sliding up, circling Reese’s tight asshole before plunging in, wet and deep, tonguing his rim like a fucking pro. The shakes had turned the kid into a beast—his hustle now a raw, cock-hungry edge.

“Fuck, yeah, eat it,” Reese grunted, hazel eyes blazing, Tara’s pussy and Jamie’s tongue setting his nerves on fire. Tara’s head thrashed, oblivious to the kid below, her body quaking. “Ram it, babe, wreck my cunt,” she moaned, legs shaking, sobriety chip swinging wild. Reese’s balls churned, Jamie’s tongue relentless, drilling his ass, pushing him past the edge. He roared, “Take it, slut,” unloading a thick flood into Tara’s pulsing pussy, her own orgasm ripping through, her body arching, then collapsing, fucked-out by 7:45 AM. She panted, half-dozed, “Shit, you broke me,” her voice slurring as sleep claimed her, her noon–8 PM crash kicking in.

Jamie crawled out, lips glossy, licking them slow, a dirty craving burning in his eyes, the shakes stoking a need that’d explode by evening. He slipped to the door, throwing Reese a look—his gaze locked on Reese’s slick cock, promising a nastier encore. Reese caught his breath, Tara’s heat still gripping him, his mind snagging on the cherry cola shake on the counter, Mickey’s voice purring in his head—perfect toy. He dragged himself up, cock dripping, the site calling, July’s heat a chokehold, a darker hunger coiling in the apartment’s rank air.

The strip mall site roasted under the July sun, a jagged sprawl of concrete and rebar baking on Wolferton’s dusty fringe. Saws screamed, diesel fumes choked the air, and the crew’s curses sliced through the 6 AM haze. Jamie strutted in, a far cry from the scrawny kid who started months ago. His micro-shorts clung tight, frayed denim riding high, flashing the curve of his pert ass. A belly-baring crop top, ripped and snug, showed off his freckled torso, flat abs peeking through, cut just enough to look cute and sexy as hell. Knee-high socks, dusted with site grit, hugged his calves. He slammed his morning shake—caramel-spiced, thick and sweet, his sixth day on Mickey’s mix. The shakes lit him up, his freckled face flushed, hips fuller, eyes sparking with a needy heat, his small frame humming with new strength and a limber bend that made his every move a fucking tease.

Jamie vaulted onto a scaffold, wrench in hand, spinning it like a pro for his latest TikTok, one of Vince’s publicity vids hyping the strip mall job. The shakes had juiced his short frame—stronger, more flexible, no bulk, just lean power. He swung between beams, legs bending fluid, abs flexing as he landed light, his phone, propped on a cinderblock, catching every slick move. The video was blowing up, thousands of views pouring in, fans creaming over his sexy sway. Vince, the boss, leaned on a cement mixer, grinning like a shark. “Jokes, you’re fuckin’ gold! Fans are losin’ it—flash more skin, kid!” he barked, voice rough over the site’s grind. Jamie smirked, tossing his hair, and bent low, crop top riding up to bare his tight, flat abs, his flexibility making the crew’s jaws drop, the shakes weaving something they didn’t clock.