Work Text:
Shane was hoping he could just wash dishes or something to pay for his meal. But maybe it’s a good thing that the restaurant already had a dishwasher. He’d been more than happy to give Shane a way to work off his tab.
The man takes off his food-stained apron and tosses it on the couch. From his back pocket, he pulls out a damp white washcloth and throws it next to it. “Get on your knees.”
Shane’s knees hit the tile.
The man stares down at him with a grin. “Good boy.”
The restaurant’s idea of a break room was more of a storage closet than anything. If Shane tried, he’s pretty sure he could touch either side of the room just by reaching out his arms.
The room boasted a single ratty, moth-eaten couch crammed into one corner, with metal shelves filled with extra stock on the other end. On the wall by the door, there was a clipboard hung from a hook equipped with a list labeled “Inventory.” A red sharpie dangles next to it from a string.
The door, Shane notices, does not have a lock.
Fuck, he hopes no one’s scheduled for a break any time soon.
The man takes Shane by the face and firmly presses his thumb against Shane’s bottom lip. On instinct, he opens his mouth to suckle at it, and the man smiles at him.
“Very good boy,” he praises. “You like sucking, yes?”
It sends a flash of heat through him.
Shane quickly nods and sucks the thumb harder. He pulls back just long enough to say, “Yes, sir.”
The man’s grin turns feral. His black slacks are already tented.
The man pops his finger free of Shane’s mouth. Shane briefly chases it, but the man ignores him in favor of unbuckling his belt.
“My name is Ilya,” he tells Shane. He shuffles his pants down to his thighs, freeing his already-hard cock. “You will need to know it so that you can moan it later.” Without warning, he slaps his cock across Shane’s face. “When your mouth is not busy, that is. Open.”
Shane opens his mouth obediently as Ilya takes his jaw back in hand, tilting it up at his leisure. He drags his thumb along Shane’s jawline, almost reverent, then takes himself in his free hand.
Ilya drags the tip of his cock along Shane’s tongue before he feeds it into his waiting mouth. “Suck.”
Shane quickly seals his mouth around his cock, swirling his tongue around its tip. He starts to bob along its length, taking first only an inch or so, then half his length. Its head quickly hits the back of Shane’s throat.
Ilya threads his hands in Shane’s hair and groans low in his throat. “Such a good little mouth.”
It goes straight to his groin.
Shane forces his throat to relax and pushes deeper on the next bob. He can be a good boy with a good mouth for Ilya. He wants to be a good boy with a good mouth for Ilya. He can make him feel so good that it pays his bill and then some.
He feels the tip of Ilya’s dick breach the tight, wet heat of his throat before he has to pull back. He draws all the way back, then dips in again, taking in two-thirds of Ilya’s throbbing cock. This time, Shane hollows his cheeks around his length while he’s still in his throat.
Beneath his breath, Ilya mutters, “Gospodi.”
Shane tries to pull back again. The hands in his hair tighten to hold him in place.
Ilya sounds bored. “Going to fuck your throat now.”
He fucks the rest of his length down Shane’s throat in a single harsh thrust.
Tears start to escape Shane’s eyes as Ilya pulls out again, only to immediately slam himself back into the hilt. His balls slap wetly against Shane’s chin as Ilya quickly sets a brutal pace, holding Shane’s head steady as he uses his throat like a cocksleeve.
Shane’s nose brushes against Ilya’s unwashed crotch as the man pistons into him. The smell cloys in his nostrils and mixes with the taste of his cock, sweaty and hot and thick as it slides against Shane’s tongue.
“I must be the luckiest man alive, huh?” Ilya sounds conversational. He fucks into Shane hard enough to draw tears. “Someone forgot their fuck toy in the breakroom. Makes it easy to blow off steam.”
Shane’s cock, painfully hard, throbs against his zipper. He gags around the dick in his throat.
“Wish it was closing time,” Ilya continues, thrusting harder. “I’d send everyone home and keep my new toy on my cock while I finished the dishes. Tuck it under the sink and have it keep me warm until I was done.” He pulls Shane’s hair sharply as he drags him off his cock. “Maybe I will do that anyway, huh? Keep my nice little fuck toy busy through the entire dinner rush. I’m sure no one would mind as long as I let them have a turn.”
He fucks back into Shane’s mouth with a groan.
After two more thrusts, Ilya pulls Shane off by his hair. A long strand of saliva connects Ilya’s cock to Shane’s abused, swollen lips.
“Get up,” Ilya orders. He tugs his hair upwards once before releasing. “I’m going to fuck your ass now. Go bend over the couch.”
Oh fuck.
Shane’s knees nearly buckle when he tries to stand. He lurches over to the couch in two steps, then dumps himself over the curve of the armrest. His neglected dick presses painfully into the cheap polyester of the couch arm.
Shane lets his face loll against the upholstery. The cushions smell like cigarettes and cheap vodka. There’s a stain next to his head that looks suspiciously like a cum stain. Shane wonders just how many other fuck toys have been forgotten in this breakroom.
However many there were, he hopes he was the best.
Ilya whistles softly to himself as he peruses the stock shelf. Casually, he picks up a bottle of olive oil and turns back to Shane, flipping it once in his hand before he cracks open the lid.
He dunks three thick fingers into the mouth of the bottle, one at a time. Each comes out glistening.
Shane moans pitifully into the couch cushions at the sight.
“No lube,” says Ilya, as he walks up behind him. He kicks Shane’s feet further apart, then sets the bottle of oil on the ground next to the couch. “No condom either. My fuck toy doesn’t mind though, does he?”
Shane shakes his head weakly. Ilya kneads the meat of Shane’s ass with appreciation, then slaps it sharply.
“Did not think so.” Ilya reaches around his waist and pops open the front of Shane’s trousers with one hand. “You are just a cum dump, aren’t you? Just an empty hole waiting for a big cock to come fill it up.”
He drags the back of Shane’s trousers down roughly, jerking his underwear with it. The cool air of the room hits Shane’s ass as the friction drags torturously against Shane’s dick, dragging another moan out of him.
Ilya cracks his hand against Shane’s ass again, harder this time. “I asked question.”
Shane tries to grind his hips backwards, desperate for friction. “Yes, sir. Just a hole.”
One of Ilya’s broad hands grips him by the back of his neck. He uses it to grind Shane’s face against the cum stain.
“Good hole,” he purrs.
The first finger forces its way in without warning.
Shane shouts into the cushions. Ilya pays him no mind, bending his greased finger a few times before he starts to work in the second.
“Have to be quick,” Ilya tells him. He sinks his second finger up its second joint and starts to scissor Shane open. “Your pretty wife will be wondering where you are soon.”
More tears burn at the corner of Shane’s vision.
Ilya works in a third finger. “Does she know she married such a cheap whore?” He sounds amused. “Selling ass to cover fifty-dollar bill. Should have at least bought her dessert with your hole.”
Abruptly, he pulls his fingers out, then bends over to dunk them back into the open bottle. He pushes quickly back in, coating Shane’s insides with more oil.
“Dick is wet enough, don’t you think?” Ilya says, as he pulls his fingers free again. Shane feels him line up at his entrance. “You were drooling on it long enough.”
He doesn’t wait for Shane’s answer. He fucks into Shane with a single, agonizing thrust.
Shane’s scream is muffled by the cushions.
“Such a loud toy,” scolds Ilya. He pulls out until only his tip remains, then slams back into his hilt. “Maybe you are broken. Maybe this is why you were left out for anyone to use.”
He sets a brutal pace, his hips slapping wetly against the curve of Shane’s ass. Shane moans helplessly into the cushions as Ilya pounds into him, his neglected dick caught between him and the armrest beneath. His cock grinds into the coarse fabric with each thrust, sending maddening sparks of pleasure through him.
It isn’t enough.
“Ilya,” Shane gasps, as Ilya fucks back into him. “I, I need--”
“You need nothing.” Ilya slams into him and stays there, unmoving, buried in Shane to the hilt. “You are just a hole, remember? Holes do not need anything.”
Shane nearly sobs into the couch. “Please, please move--”
Ilya sighs as if he were inconvenienced. He bends his body across Shane’s, reaching over him to retrieve the damp dish cloth he’d tossed aside earlier. He forces Shane’s head to turn until his cheek presses into the cushions and holds the rag up to Shane’s available mouth.
“Open,” he orders.
Shane obeys. Ilya crams the rag in roughly, until the cloth presses against his tongue.
Ilya resumes his punishing pace as Shane whimpers around his gag.
“You are a bad boy in debt,” he lectures, without breaking his pace. His balls slap harshly against the curve of Shane’s ass. “This is not for you. You do not make requests. You just lie there and let me use you until debt is paid.”
He fucks in. He fucks back out.
“Maybe I should charge you extra if you come.” Ilya’s hand grips Shane’s hip hard enough to bruise. “Bill you for damages. For staining the couch.”
His cock slams into Shane’s prostate hard enough to make him see stars. A shudder wracks through him.
“I think I will,” muses Ilya. He targets Shane’s prostate with another merciless thrust. “I think that if you come, I will keep you here with your ass out until everyone takes their break. You would like that, wouldn’t you? To be cum dump for the whole staff. Tip out the host with your mouth, hm?”
The thought of it nearly pushes him over the edge. Shane bites into the cloth as he tries to hold his orgasm back.
“Dinner rush would be a disaster.” Another thrust. “Wouldn’t be able to get cooks to climb off you.” Another. “They’d keep all your pretty holes full until after the restaurant closed.”
Another.
“Busboy is just a horny teenager.” Ilya chuckles, kneading the flesh of Shane’s ass with his hand. “Eighteen. Wants to stick his dick in everything. Like a dog in rut. Maybe I call him in here next. Let him hump your ass like a puppy until you are dripping from it. You are such a slut, you would want his dick too, wouldn’t you? You would beg for it.”
Shane nods weakly against his hand.
Ilya quickens his pace. “I would come back too. Five, ten times in one night. Fuck my toy instead of taking cigarette break. Use your mouth instead of toilet--”
Shane comes with a sob.
Ilya pounds him through his orgasm. “Now I have to charge you extra, huh? So greedy. You wanted that. Wanted me to leave you here for whole kitchen to use, ruin dinner service for everyone else--”
Shane shudders beneath him.
“I have better idea,” Ilya growls. His thrusts pick up speed again. Shane feels as Ilya’s dick starts to kick inside of him. “Maybe we add you to the menu. Discount dining option. Already know it only costs fifty dollars to fuck you raw--”
Ilya cuts himself off with a groan, burying his cock into its base as he spills into Shane’s ass. He keeps himself hilted there as he grows soft, panting and heaving above him.
When all of his spend has emptied into Shane, he pulls out.
“Maybe I will give you freebie after all,” he says breezily, with a satisfied pat to Shane’s ass. “Because I am so nice.”
He leans over Shane again to tug the washcloth from his mouth. Shane splutters as it leaves him, coughing weakly into the couch.
Ilya ignores him in favor of wiping down his own dick. He pulls back up his slacks and buckles his belt, tucking his shirt back in with a hum.
“You should get back to your table soon,” Ilya tells him, conversational. He plucks the red sharpie from its place on the wall. “Busboy goes on break next. I think if he finds you bent over in here, he will not even ask your name before sticking his dick in you.”
That’s not special. Ilya hadn’t exactly asked either.
Shane tries to get his feet under him.
Ilya uncaps the sharpie with another hum. Without asking, he shoves Shane flat again and holds him still with one hand.
Humiliation pools in his stomach as Ilya starts to write something on his ass cheek, as if he was making a note on the stock list. It goes straight to his dick.
“Maybe you do not let wife see what I wrote on you.” Ilya finishes his scribbling and gives Shane’s ass a final pat. “I do not think she will like it so much.”
He steps out from behind Shane and walks around him to retrieve his apron. He ties it back on without so much as a glance in Shane's direction.
Ilya pauses at the door. “Come back again sometime, yeah?” He laughs. “Forget your wallet then too.”
Later, in the privacy of his own bathroom, Shane pulls down his pants and cranes to catch a glimpse of his ass in the mirror. Next to a hand-shaped bruise, he finds a phone number scrawled in red ink.
Beneath it are the words: If you ever want to earn another $50.
Shane reaches for his phone with a smile.