Chapter 46

Arriving at the tool shop, there were two dishevelled-looking figures waiting for you; either side of the counter.

Katie was leaning on her elbows, wearing nothing but a loose set of denim dungarees. One of the straps had fallen from her shoulder, completely baring a small, round breast to the world at large. Perhaps somewhere in the world it would be considered suspicious or at the very least, unprofessional, to have a barely-dressed teenager manning your business's front of house. You'd lost all fears for the need of subtlety around here though… if a visitor didn't already know what your shop actually sold, they'd find no-one to complain to who'd care.

Across from her, waiting patiently, stood a familiar, gaunt figure… albeit looking more out of sorts than ever. His once-fine suit looked like it hadn't seen a dry cleaner in months. Great bags were showing under his eyes and his hair stuck out at all angles, grey stubble lining sharp cheekbones.

"There you are, Jo…" Breathed an exasperated sounding Katie. "This one's been waiting for an hour. Wouldn't even leave and come back…"

The second part was stated with a needling sideways glance at the man in question, not that he seemed to notice at all. He simply stared at you with pitiably hungry eyes, like a puppy waiting for the can to be opened. You sighed heavily, but passed your bags of newly purchased lingerie over to Terry; indicating that he should take them up to the flat.

"You sure you don't want some… help?" Asked the taller, younger crossdresser, eyeing the customer with something between suspicion and jealousy. The overprotectiveness of this boy you were leading astray was… cute. But this was a weekly chore you had to face alone. Even Jenny called you an idiot for putting up with it.

You assuaged his worries with a kiss and a slight rummage beneath the hemline of his skirt, then led the way toward the back room.

Your step-father stood over you, staring into the middle distance, as you freed his cock from its zipper and confines. He still barely even looked at you in any of these sessions, despite coming back every single week like clockwork. You tried to concentrate on the task of sucking and stroking, rather than listening to the usual spiel of self-pitying misery.

"Marie's moving in with her personal trainer… her lawyer says she's pushing for half the house."

Throughout all these interactions since he'd first found you, your step-parent had never referred to his wife as 'your mother'. Never acknowledged that the pretty, little whore he kept a date with every week was his own step-son. Yet he'd tell you all the comings and goings in their failing marriage. The nose-dive that his career had taken. Let you know just how much everything had fallen apart since you and your step-sister had ran away.

As you bent forward over the bed and presented your ass enticingly you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something in this weekly exchange which affected you both. Some draining of spirit from one vessel into another when he buried that thick phallus, deep into your well-practised rectum. For you had only ever become more comfortable and confident in this life you were leading, every time you received this donation of incestuous flesh. Every time he paid for the pleasure of screwing the step-child that he'd spent so many years trying to shape into someone else. The house and home you had abandoned was falling apart… and you felt nothing for them anymore. You were done with that life. All you could offer was a nice, warm hole for your parent to bury all his sorrows in.

After five minutes or so of heaving and grunting, your step-father came inside you once again. You supposed you could keep track of how many times that had happened by now, just by counting back the weeks since he'd first appeared in the shop. But why bother? It was just another bellyful of ejaculate among the many others you'd receive: each and every day. You were a cumbucket for all such lost and prideful men. Those who could not feel fulfilled in themselves without creeping down to this dirty, old tool shop and ploughing themselves into the little drops of sweetness that resided here. You were a receptacle for all their pent up inadequacies, that was what had slowly become clear. Squeaking and panting and gasping as the pleasure of their rude entries overcame you. You provided some short pretence that they were worth what they imagined they should be.

That was a charity you were happy to grant, as your parent pulled himself free of you. But your relationship ended in that small transaction. He would clean himself up and disappear off to one high-class bar or another. You would lie there for a moment longer, and feel his seed cooling inside your colon. Another week passed. Another step away from your childhood.