Chapter 7: The Iron Rail's Welcome
The bar door creaked open and Charleigh stepped inside, and the smell hit her first. Stale beer, old cigarettes, and something like sweat soaked into wood. It wrapped around her like a familiar coat. She liked it. The dimness felt good too, soft and forgiving, hiding the fact that her blouse strained across her chest in ways that made men stare.
She made her way to the bar, and her hips did that thing now. They swayed on their own, a slow roll that pushed her ass from side to side with every step. Charlie's mind, still trapped somewhere in the back of her skull, tried to scream at her to walk like a man. To stop. To run. But his voice was getting thinner every day, like a rope fraying in water. What came out instead was a warm, pink fog that dimmed everything but the next moment, the next drink, the next pair of eyes on her.
She slid onto a cracked barstool, the vinyl groaning under her weight. Her thighs pressed together, and she felt the slickness between them. She always felt it now. A constant wetness that made her shift in her seat and bite her lip. The bartender, a bald man with a stained apron, came over, and she ordered a vodka cranberry without thinking. Her voice came out soft and breathy. Pitched higher than it had been a week ago. The paste on her throat had seen to that.
He set the drink down, and she wrapped her fingers around the glass. The condensing cold felt good against her palm. She brought it to her lips and sipped, looking around the room with glassy eyes. There were a few men scattered at tables, a couple hunched over a pool table in the back. None of them looked up. None of them mattered.
Then she saw him.
Jed sat in the shadowed corner, half hidden by the curve of the bar. His watery blue eyes were already on her, and she felt them like a touch. He smiled, slow and knowing, like he'd been waiting for her to walk in. Like he'd seen her before, which he had. He was wearing the same faded garage shirt, the same grease-stained hands resting on the table in front of him. His beer sat half empty, the glass ringed with fingerprints.
Charleigh felt her cunt clench. It was a sharp, electric pulse between her legs that made her toes curl in her flats. Charlie's trapped mind lurched, a sudden, desperate flail of panic. No. Not him. Get away. Get out. Run. But his voice was so faint now, barely a whisper against the fog. Charleigh turned on her stool and smiled at Jed, a dizzy, vacant smile that parted her fuller lips and made her chest rise.
He pushed his chair back and rose. He was big up close, broad-shouldered with a belly that strained his shirt, and his hands looked like they could crush a can of beer without thinking. He crossed the short distance to her, and she could smell him. Oil and sweat and something male. It made her mouth water.
"Well now," he said, his voice a low rasp. "I was wondering if I'd see you again. You look different."
Charleigh tilted her head, letting her blonde hair fall over her shoulder. "Do I?" She didn't know how she looked. She didn't much care. Something in her chest felt light and empty, like a balloon. "You're Jed, right? The brake man?"
"That's me." He pulled out the stool next to her and sat down, his knee brushing hers. It sent a little spark through her, and she gasped softly. He noticed. His watery eyes flicked down to her chest, then back up. "You're looking a lot softer than last time, sweetheart. You been taking care of yourself?"
She giggled. It bubbled up out of her throat, high and airy, and she pressed a hand to her chest to steady the movement of her blouse. "I guess so. I've been feeling real good lately."
In the back of her mind, Charlie clawed at the fog. He knew what this was. He'd seen this man before. Jed had seen through him at this very bar, when Charlie had tried to crouch and hide and look like anything but what he was becoming. The man had known. He'd known, and he'd watched, and now he was talking to Charleigh like she was a prize.
Jed leaned closer, resting his elbow on the bar. His breath smelled like whiskey and tobacco. "I've got a brake shop out back, you know. Been in the family for thirty years. I know my way around a set of tools." His hand came to rest on the bar, an inch from hers. "I'm real good with my hands, sweetheart. You want to see what a real man can do?"
Charleigh's giggle was already her answer. It spilled out of her before she could stop it, a breathless, eager sound that made her lean into him. "Oh, I bet you are."
Charlie screamed. He screamed and thrashed and tried to drive his body away, but he was a ghost in his own head. The fog was too thick. The paste had seeped into his thoughts, softening all his edges, rounding out his protests, turning every attempt at resistance into a warm, pleasant sigh. He watched his own hand slide across the bar and cover Jed's. He watched his own fingers stroke the knuckles of that big, oil-stained hand. He wanted to throw up.
Jed's smile widened. He turned his hand over and laced his fingers through hers, his grip warm and solid. "Then let's not waste time." He stood, pulling her gently to her feet. "Come on. I'll show you the place."
He led her through the bar, past the pool table and the men who looked up with knowing grins, and out the back door into a narrow alley. The air was cool and sharp compared to the smoke inside. A chain-link fence ran along one side, and beyond it, a flat, gravel lot. The brake shop was a squat, windowless building with a roll-up door, its metal surface rusted at the edges. Jed fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the side door, pushing it open.
Lights flickered on. Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead, revealing a garage interior. A lift in the center, a workbench covered in tools, tires stacked against the far wall. The air smelled of oil and rubber and metal. Charleigh stepped inside, and her heels clicked on the concrete floor. She looked around with the same vacant, pleased expression she'd worn at the bar.
Jed shut the door behind them. The lock clicked. He was a big shape in the fluorescent light, and his shadow fell over her. Charlie's mind made one last, desperate lunge for control. A surge of panic that pushed through the fog long enough for his hands to clench, for his jaw to tighten. He tried to speak, tried to say no, tried to say anything, but what came out was a soft, frightened whimper.
Jed heard it. He stepped closer, and his hands found her waist. "Now, that's cute. But we both know why you're here, don't we?"
Charleigh looked up at him, her emerald eyes hazy and pink-rimmed. "Why am I here?" She tilted her head, and her hands came up to rest on his chest. The fabric of his shirt was rough under her palms. She liked the feel of it.
Jed chuckled low in his throat. "Because you need a man to take care of you. You've been looking for one all night. I saw the way you walked in, swaying those hips. The way you look at everything like it's a toy." He slid his hands down her sides, over the curve of her waist, and settled on her hips. "You want to be handled, sweetheart. Treated like the little slut you are."
Charleigh's breath caught. A gasp, high and eager, escaped her lips. "Yes," she breathed. "Oh god, yes."
Charlie's mind retreated. It didn't vanish, not entirely, but it curled up in the farthest dark corner of her skull and wept. He felt the phantom ache in his throat, the raised flesh of the transformation, and he knew his voice was his own. But it wasn't the voice that came out. It was hers. Always hers now.
Jed's hands gripped her ass, squeezing through the thin fabric of her skirt. It was a borrowed skirt, cut high, and he grunted in approval. "Look at this. You've got a real peach back here, don't you?" He squeezed harder, kneading. "Makes a man want to bend you over that workbench and show you what's under the hood."
Charleigh moaned. It was a throaty, grateful sound that rolled out of her with ease. She pressed her body against him, chest to belly, and felt the hardness straining against his jeans. "Please," she whispered, and even Charlie, trapped in his dark corner, could hear the raw, honest desperation in it. She wanted this. His body wanted this. The paste had made sure of that.
Jed stepped back, just enough to unzip his jeans. His cock came out thick and hard, flushed dark at the head, and Charleigh's eyes went wide with hunger. She let out a soft "Oh" and licked her lips without thinking.
"You know what to do with that, don't you, sweetheart?" Jed's hand tangled in her hair, gripping loosely. "Show me."
Charlie's mind screamed one final, faint protest. No. Don't. Please, don't. But his body didn't listen. His body sank to its knees on the gritty concrete, and his hands reached out to take Jed's cock. His fingers wrapped around the shaft, stroking it slowly, feeling the heat of it pulse against his palm.
Charleigh looked up at Jed, her lips wet and parted, and smiled. Then she leaned forward and took him into her mouth.
Jed's head fell back, and he let out a low, satisfied groan. "Fuck, that's a good mouth. That's a real good mouth, sweetheart." His hips rolled, pushing deeper, and Charleigh took him. All of him. She closed her eyes and moaned around him, her tongue working along the underside, and Charlie watched from his corner as his own body performed this act with a skill he'd never possessed. His hands cupped Jed's balls, squeezing gently, and his head bobbed in a rhythm he knew as surely as he knew his own name.
He loved it. The fog made sure of that. Every stroke, every guttural curse from Jed's lips, every warm pulse of saliva running down his chin, it felt right. It felt true. And that was the most horrifying part.
She worked him with her mouth like it was the only thing she'd ever been made for. Her tongue curled around the head, lapping at the slit, tasting the salty pre-cum that beaded there, and a soft, needy moan vibrated through her throat and into his shaft. Jed's fingers tightened in her hair, not pulling, just holding, anchoring her in place while his hips found a slow, grinding rhythm.
"That's it," he rasped, looking down at her. "Look at you. Kneeling on a greasy floor in a garage, sucking cock like a pro. You been practicing, sweetheart? Somebody teach you this?"
Charleigh pulled off just long enough to answer, her lips slick and swollen, a thin string of saliva connecting her mouth to the head of his cock. "Mmm, yes. My Mistress taught me. She said I have to be good for men. That's what I'm for."
Charlie's mind shuddered in its corner. His Mistress. He'd said it without a flicker of shame, without a single stab of resistance. The words had come out as naturally as his own heartbeat. He tried to remember the man he'd been, the one who'd laughed at Selena's act, who'd called her a fraud and a hack in front of a room full of people. That man felt like a photograph from someone else's life, faded and foreign.
Jed grunted, his hips speeding up. "Your Mistress sounds like a smart woman. You listen to her?"
"Always," Charleigh breathed, and then she took him back into her mouth, all the way down, until her nose brushed the coarse hair at the base of his cock. She held there, her throat working around him, swallowing, and Jed let out a guttural groan.
"Fuck. Fuck, that's deep. Where'd you learn to deepthroat like that, girl?"
Charleigh pulled back, gasping for air, her eyes watering but her smile wide and proud. "I practiced on a dildo. My Mistress made me. She said a good slut needs to be able to take a cock all the way down."
Jed laughed, a rough, pleased sound. He pulled her up by the hair, and she rose on unsteady legs, her knees aching from the concrete. Before she could steady herself, he spun her around and bent her over the workbench.
The metal was cold against her bare stomach, and the tools scattered across it dug into her palms. Charleigh gasped, then moaned as Jed's hand landed on her ass with a sharp slap that echoed off the garage walls.
"That's for making me wait," he said, and he slapped her other cheek, harder. "You been teasing me since the last time you were in my bar. Walking around with that swish in your step, those tits bouncing under your shirt. You knew exactly what you were doing."
Charlie's mind tried to surface. He felt the cold bench under his belly, the gritty texture of grease and metal filings against his skin. He felt Jed's heavy hand on his ass, the sting of the slap still throbbing. And he felt the wetness between his legs, the aching emptiness that made his hips press back against the man behind him.
No, he thought. No, I don't want this. I'm a man. I'm Charlie. I have a job and an apartment and a life. I'm not this. I'm not a slut. I'm not a girl.
But his hips rocked back anyway. His mouth opened, and what came out was a high, breathy plea.
"Please, Jed. Please fuck me. I need it so bad. I need a big cock inside me, I've been so empty, please—"
Jed's rough hands tore at the hem of her skirt, bunching the thin fabric up around her waist. Her panties were a scrap of pink lace, soaked through. He hooked his fingers under the elastic and pulled them down her thighs, letting them fall to her ankles.
"Look at that," he muttered, spreading her ass cheeks with his thumbs. "Dripping wet. You're like a faucet, girl. You been saving this up for me?"
"Yes," Charleigh sobbed. "Yes, yes, I've been saving it, I knew you'd want me, I knew you'd fuck me—"
Jed spat on his fingers and rubbed them over her cunt, coating her slick, swollen lips. Then he pressed two fingers inside her, and Charleigh cried out, her back arching, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the greasy bench.
"Oh god, oh god, yes—"
Charlie felt the fingers inside him. He felt the stretch, the unfamiliar fullness, and somewhere beneath the fog, a part of him recoiled. This wasn't supposed to be him. He was supposed to have a cock, not a cunt. He was supposed to fuck, not be fucked. But the body he was trapped in arched into the touch, and the voice that came out of his throat was Charleigh's, and Charleigh loved every second of it.
Jed worked his fingers in and out, crooking them, finding that spot that made Charleigh's vision go white. She bucked against his hand, moaning incoherently, and he laughed, low and dark.
"Easy, girl. I'm not gonna finger you till you come. I got something better in mind."
He pulled his fingers out, and Charleigh whined at the emptiness. The sound was pathetic, high and needy, and she didn't care. She pressed her ass back against him, grinding against the rough denim of his jeans, trying to find friction.
Jed grabbed her hips with both hands and aligned himself. The head of his cock pressed against her slick entrance, and Charleigh held her breath, trembling.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, Jed, please, I need it, I need you inside me—"
He shoved in.
It was a thick, full stretch that made Charleigh's mouth fall open in a silent scream. Her body seized, her walls clenching around him, and Jed groaned, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
"Goddamn," he breathed. "You're tight. Tight and wet and hot as fuck. You feel that, girl? You feel how deep I am?"
Charleigh couldn't answer. Her mind was white static, her body nothing but sensation. She felt him slide out almost all the way, then slam back in, and the impact drove her forward, her palms scraping against the metal bench. She barely registered the sting.
"Yes," she managed, her voice broken. "Yes, I feel it, I feel you so deep, oh god, it's so big—"
Jed fucked her hard. There was no gentleness to it, no care, just the rhythm of a man taking what he wanted from a body that offered itself freely. Charlie's mind watched from its dark corner, and he felt every stroke. He felt the way his inner walls gripped the cock, the way his hips matched Jed's rhythm without being told, the way his own voice moaned and begged and praised.
And worse, he felt the pleasure. It was unmistakable, a hot, building pressure that coiled in his core and spread through his limbs. His cunt was clenching, fluttering, and he heard himself gasp, "I'm close, I'm so close, please let me come—"
Jed laughed breathlessly. "Yeah? You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? You gonna soak me?"
"Yes, yes, yes—"
Jed reached around and found her clit with two rough fingers, rubbing in tight circles. Charleigh's whole body convulsed. She screamed, a high, keening sound that bounced off the concrete walls, and she came harder than she'd ever come before. Her walls milked his cock, clenching in waves, and she sobbed through it, her body trembling on the bench.
Jed didn't stop. He kept fucking her through the orgasm, driving into her oversensitive flesh, and Charleigh's screams turned into whimpers, then into soft, broken moans. Her body was limp now, draped over the bench, and he held her hips in place as he chased his own release.
"Where do you want it?" he grunted. "In your mouth or on your face?"
Charleigh's mind was too far gone to answer. But her body knew. She pushed herself up, turning to face him, and sank to her knees again in one fluid motion. She opened her mouth and looked up at him, eyes glassy and pleading.
Jed's hand tangled in her hair again, and he came with a groan, thick ropes of semen hitting her tongue, her cheek, her lips. She swallowed greedily, licking the head of his cock clean, and when he pulled out, she stayed there on her knees, looking up at him with a sated, adoring smile.
"That's a good girl," Jed said, his voice rough and satisfied. He tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped up. He looked down at her, at the mess on her face, at the wetness dripping down her thighs, and he shook his head with a grin. "You're something else, you know that? You got any idea how many men are gonna want a piece of that?"
Charleigh's smile widened. She wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, then licked it clean. "I hope a lot," she said, and her voice was soft, eager, utterly without shame. "My Mistress says I should be shared. That I'm too good to keep to myself."
Jed laughed, a long, rolling sound. He crouched down and cupped her chin, tilting her face up. "Yeah, I bet she does. You listen to everything she says, don't you?"
"Of course." Charleigh blinked up at him, the fog thick and warm in her head. "She knows what's best for me. She always knows."
In the back of her skull, Charlie was screaming. But the sound was tiny, no louder than a whisper, and it faded quickly into the comforting pink darkness. He was still there. He was always there. But he was learning to be quiet. He was learning to watch and feel and not fight it, because fighting only made it hurt more.
Jed helped her to her feet, his big hands steadying her when her knees wobbled. He looked her over, appraising, and nodded to himself.
"Come on. I'll walk you back to your car." He paused, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You think you can drive in that skirt? It's hiked up to your ass."
Charleigh looked down at herself and giggled. The hem of the skirt was still bunched around her waist, her slick thighs bare. She reached down and smoothed it, tugging it back into place with a wriggle of her hips.
"I'll manage," she said, and she flashed him a smile that was all teeth and vacant, eager charm. "But maybe you could give me a ride next time? I get so lonely driving by myself."
Jed's grin widened. "Yeah. Yeah, I bet you do. Get your panties out of your ass and I'll think about it."
Charleigh laughed, a high, musical sound, and she bent down to retrieve the scrap of pink lace from the floor. She pulled them up her thighs, wincing at the wetness, and smoothed them into place. Then she followed Jed out the side door, into the cool night air, and her hips swayed with every step.
The car door shut behind her, and she sat in the dark for a long moment, the engine ticking as it cooled. Her body was still trembling, her thighs slick and sore, and she could feel Jed's semen drying on her skin. She should have felt disgust. She should have felt horror. But the fog had wrapped itself around her thoughts, and all she felt was a warm, drowsy satisfaction.
Her phone buzzed in her purse.
She fumbled for it, her fingers clumsy, and the screen lit up with a text from Selena.
How was your evening, sweetheart? I hope you were a good girl for Jed. Report to the studio tomorrow morning. We have more work to do.
Charleigh's smile was automatic, her thumb tapping out a reply before the thought even formed.
Yes, Mistress. I was very good. He said I was the best he's ever had. I can't wait to see you tomorrow. Good night. I love you.
She hit send and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. The engine started with a low rumble, and she pulled out of the gravel lot, the streetlights washing over her face in a lazy rhythm. Her mind was quiet, soft, content. And in the far, far back of her skull, a man's voice sobbed one last, faint time.
Then it, too, was silent.