The load out

The load-out was done. I am twenty-three. I stood in the gallery storage room in a black button shirt and black pants, bleached crop, dark roots showing, frames wrapped and stacked with nothing on them I would read aloud. Clothed. Finished. The artists whose work I had hung were not in that room with me, and they were not coming to the next room either. I do not fuck artists I am paid to hang. I do not fuck the person who hires me. I left. I changed the address, not the rule.

The club checked ID at the door. I showed mine. Inside, I asked two men for ages before I took them anywhere. Rio said twenty-six and showed me the ID when I asked. Kent said thirty-eight and did the same. Strangers. Not the mailing list. Not the gallery. I told them I wanted to suck Rio's cock and I wanted Kent to fuck my cunt, and that we were done if either of them got strange about the age question. They did not.

In the booth I opened Rio's belt and took his cock out. I sucked his cock slow, then wetter, hand at the base, my cunt aching in my pants. Kent got behind me, pulled my pants down, and rubbed his cock along my cunt until I was slick. I pulled off Rio's cock long enough to say fuck me. Kent fucked his cock into my cunt. I pushed back and sucked Rio's cock again. Kent held my hips and fucked my cunt in even strokes. I liked the hallway on the other side of the wall. I rubbed my clit. Kent's cock filled my cunt. I came with Rio's cock in my mouth, a muffled shout, my cunt squeezing Kent.

I told them to cum on the shirt. I pulled it open. Rio came first, cum on the black cloth and my chest. Kent pulled his cock out of my cunt and came on the same shirt, messier, some of it on my stomach. I balled the shirt and stuffed it in the bag. I had another shirt already planned. I buttoned that one and left the booth without giving my name. The storage room had been a job I finished hours ago. The fuck was mine.