Chapter 4: Trophy Sluts
The bell above the door of the Gas ’n’ Go jangled with a tired, metallic sigh. It was just past noon, the Louisiana sun baking the asphalt outside into a sticky black mirror. Inside, the air conditioning fought a losing war against the humidity and the smell of old motor oil.
Earl didn’t look up from his paperwork, a grease-stained ledger spread across the counter. He knew the scent that came in with them—cheap vanilla body spray overlying something hotter, muskier. A scent that now had memory attached to it.
“Well, hey there, Mister Earl,” Brandy drawled, leading the parade. They were a vision of deliberate provocation: Crystal in a lace top that hid absolutely nothing, Amber’s tiny shorts straining across her rear, Brandy’s tube top looking like it had been painted on. They clustered at the counter, their combined presence making the cluttered space feel even smaller.
“We were in the neighborhood,” Crystal said, her voice a breathy imitation of innocence as she leaned over, letting her cleavage spill onto the glass countertop next to the register.
“Thinkin’ about maybe needin’ some more… private service,” Amber added, licking her lips slowly, her eyes fixed on the prominent bulge that even now tented the front of Earl’s stained apron.
Earl kept writing, the scratch of his pen the only sound for a long moment. “Ain’t got time for tourists today,” he grunted finally. “Store’s got inventory.”
Brandy’s smile didn’t falter; it just got sharper. She turned, her platform heels clicking on the linoleum, and went to the drink coolers. She came back with three longneck bottles of beer, the glass already sweating in the heat. Crystal and Amber followed suit, each snagging a bottle.
They popped the caps off on the edge of the counter with practiced ease and took long, casual swallows. Brandy wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a defiant glint in her eye.
“See, thing is,” Brandy said, her drawl thick as molasses. “We’re minors. Technically. And you just served us alcohol. Without even askin’ for ID.”
Crystal nodded, pouting. “That’s a big no-no. Sheriff Briggs’d have a field day.”
Amber giggled, running her finger around the lip of her bottle. “We’d hate to have to tell him. ‘Bout the beer. And, you know… other stuff.”
Earl finally set his pen down. He looked at each of them slowly, his face an impassive slab of weathered stone. He let the silence stretch until their smirks began to waver.
“You think any cop in this parish is gonna believe three idiot brats drippin’ with slut-juice,” he said, his voice low and flat, “who wandered in here with beer already on their breath? You think they’re gonna take your word over mine? I’ve been pissin’ on these back roads longer than you’ve been drippin’ between your legs.”
The color drained from Brandy’s face, replaced by a flush of anger. Their blackmail plot, so clever in the pickup truck on the way over, withered under the sheer, unimpressed reality of him.
“But—” Crystal whined.
“It ain’t fair!” Amber moaned, her bottom lip quivering.
“We just wanna—” Brandy started.
“Enough.”
The word cut through their protests like a knife. Earl moved with a speed that belied his size. He was around the counter in two strides, his big hand closing around the back of Amber’s neck. She yelped, a sound that was equal parts fear and excitement, as he dragged her behind the counter like a sack of grain.
“You wanna suck so bad?” he growled, shoving her to her knees amidst the dust bunnies and discarded packing slips. “Suck.”
He didn’t even bother with his zipper fully; he just yanked the straining fabric aside and the monstrous thing sprang free, slapping against Amber’s already-open mouth. She choked on it immediately, her recent swallow of beer bubbling back up her throat as he shoved forward. He set a brutal, rhythmic pace, using her head as a handle.
Gagging, wet sounds filled the store. Brandy and Crystal watched, frozen for a second, then scrambled behind the counter to join. They weren’t horrified; they were fascinated.
“Look at her go!” Crystal squealed, peering at Amber’s bulging cheeks and streaming eyes.
“Make her upchuck, granddaddy!” Brandy urged, using the new title with a kind of reverent taunt. “She loves it! C’mon, Amber, show us your beer again!”
As if on command, Amber’s body convulsed. A frothy geyser of half-digested beer and stomach acid erupted from her nose and mouth, coating Earl’s thickness and splattering the floor. The sour, yeasty smell mixed with the scent of sex and sweat.
Brandy and Crystal didn’t hesitate. They dropped to all fours, lapping at the mess on the floor, licking the acidic slop from Earl’s skin, even kissing it from Amber’s convulsing lips as he continued to piston into her throat.
The bell on the door jangled.
All motion stopped. Earl’s hips froze, Amber’s gags were silenced into strangled hiccups. A wiry old man in coveralls, Leroy from the autobody shop, shuffled in, blinking in the dim light.
“Ain’t seen you girls in a spell,” Leroy said, nodding at the trio behind the counter. From his angle, they just looked like they were crouched, maybe looking for a dropped coin.
“Hey, Mister Leroy,” Brandy managed, her voice strangled but sweet. She kept her head down, her hand subtly moving to take Earl from Amber’s ruined mouth. She held him at the base, keeping him out of sight below the counter’s ledge.
Crystal took the other side, her small hands stroking the slick, beer-and-vomit-coated shaft. Amber, trembling, nuzzled her face into his heavy balls, cleaning them with desperate, silent flicks of her tongue.
Earl leaned his elbows on the counter, his breathing steady, as if discussing the weather. “Leroy. Usual?”
“Yessir. Pack of Pall Malls and a lottery scratch-off.” Leroy’s eyes drifted over the girls. “You hirin’ help, Earl?”
“Temporary,” Earl said, his voice even. He rang up the sale, his hands perfectly steady while below the counter, three sets of eager mouths and hands worked him in a frantic, hidden choreography. Brandy took the head, swallowing it deep to muffle her own sounds. Crystal licked the shaft. Amber worshiped his sack, each slurp and pop sounding thunderously loud in the straining quiet.
Leroy took his cigarettes and ticket. “Well, don’t work ‘em too hard.” He chuckled, shuffling back out into the blinding sun.
The bell jangled again. Silence, except for the hum of the coolers.
Then, a wet, drawn-out pop as Brandy released him with a gasp. They were all panting, trembling, looking up at Earl with wild eyes, their faces smeared with the evidence of their secret service.
Earl looked down at them, then out the window at Leroy’s retreating truck. A low, considering grumble echoed in his chest. He hadn’t finished.
He glanced at the “BACK IN 5 MINUTES” sign hanging on a hook, then at the lock on the front door.
A slow, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. It wasn’t friendly. It was the smile of a man who’d just realized he owned the game, the board, and every stupid, greedy little piece on it.
“Y’all want seconds so bad,” he rumbled, his voice a dark promise. “Guess we oughta do this proper.”
He reached for the sign.