He will give you something alright

The man’s grin widened, his tongue flicking over his teeth as he stepped closer, crowding you against the doorframe. "What’re you givin’ me for that two bucks, huh?" His breath reeked of cheap beer and cigarettes, his calloused fingers already tracing the curve of your hip.

You shivered, the sticky remnants of the last man’s cum still cooling on your thighs. "I—I don’t have anything," you stammered, but his hand slid lower, cupping your ass with a possessive squeeze.

"Bullshit," he chuckled, thumb pressing against your sore hole, smearing the mess leaking from it. "This looks like a down payment."

"Please," you whispered, lips trembling, "I—I can suck you off instead."

The man barked a laugh, fingers digging into your hip as he jerked you closer. "Nah, sweetheart. That pretty little ass is beggin’ for it." His free hand shoved between your legs, knuckles grinding against your tender hole. You gasped, legs shaking—still loose and wet from the last pounding.

He didn’t wait. One rough spin and your chest hit the doorframe, his knee forcing your thighs apart. The denim of his jeans scraped your skin as he yanked his zipper down.

The thick head of his cock pressed against your loosened entrance, slick with the last man’s spend. He didn’t bother pushing in slow—just rocked his hips forward with a grunt, splitting you open in one brutal shove. Your choked cry echoed against the grimy storefront glass as he bottomed out, his balls slapping against your thighs.

"Fuck, still warm," he groaned, fingers biting into your hips as he pulled back and slammed home again. The stretch burned, your body too raw to clench around him, but he didn’t care. His rhythm was punishing, each thrust jolting you forward, your nipples scraping the rough metal doorframe.

The Indian clerk leaned against the counter, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as he watched you get railed against the doorframe. He licked his lips, lazily palming the fresh bulge in his pants while the scarred man behind you grunted like an animal, his calloused hands bruising your hips with each brutal thrust.

The scarred man’s hips pistoned into you with brutal efficiency, his cock dragging raw against your overused hole. Every thrust punched a choked whimper from your throat, your fingers scrambling for purchase on the greasy glass door. His breath was hot and ragged against your neck, teeth grazing your shoulder as he fucked you like he owned you—like you were nothing but a warm, willing hole.

Your fingers crept down your trembling stomach, **** for any scrap of pleasure to dull the brutal invasion. But before you could touch yourself, the scarred man snarled and wrenched your wrist away, pinning it against the glass door with crushing ****. "None of that," he growled, his hips never slowing their punishing rhythm. His other hand clamped around your throat, forcing your back to arch as he fucked you deeper, his cockhead grinding against your raw inner walls.

The clerk behind the counter chuckled, his fingers now working openly over his hardened length beneath his pants. "She likes it rough," he called out, grinning as your toes curled against the filthy floor, your body jolting with every brutal thrust.

You stared back at the Indian man, your eyes burning with helpless fury as the clerk smirked and gave his cock a slow stroke through his pants. The scarred man noticed your distraction and laughed—a rough, mean sound—before slamming into you harder, his hips snapping forward with enough **** to make your teeth rattle.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he growled, tightening his grip on your throat just enough to make your vision swim. His other hand left your wrist to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back against his shoulder. "You ain't done earnin’ yet."

The scarred man’s thrusts grew erratic, his breath ragged in your ear as his grip on your hair tightened. “Gonna fill you up nice,” he grunted, hips stuttering as his cock pulsed deep inside you. You felt the hot spill of his release, thick and unwanted, joining the mess already leaking down your thighs.

He didn’t pull out right away—just kept you pinned there, his softening length still wedged inside as he chuckled against your neck. “Good little slut,” he murmured, giving your ass a rough slap before finally stepping back. The scarred man stepped back with a wet pop, leaving you shuddering as his spend dribbled down your trembling thighs. Your legs nearly buckled. His cum dripped onto the floor as he tucked himself away, zipping up with a satisfied smirk.

"The money," you gasped, your voice raw and shaking as the scarred man turned to leave. Your thighs were slick with his release, your muscles still trembling from the brutal treatment.

The scarred man chuckled darkly, reaching into his pocket— pulling out two crumpled dollar bills.

Your trembling fingers closed around the two crumpled bills, the paper damp with sweat as you staggered toward the counter.

The clerk snorted from behind the counter, still lazily stroking himself through his pants as he cracked open the register with one hand. His smirk widened when he saw your shaking fingers clutch the damp bills—your knuckles white with the effort of staying upright.

"Here’s your change, sweetheart," he drawled, flicking a single tarnished dime onto the counter with a mocking ping. It skittered to a stop just beyond your reach, spinning lazily before wobbling flat. His other hand kept working his cock in slow, deliberate strokes, the fabric of his pants tented obscenely.

“Forgot something, sweetheart?” he taunted, nodding toward the heap of discarded clothes behind him. Your stomach twisted—you’d have to step around the counter, into his space, where his free hand could grab, pinch, claim.