Stranded at Mr. Peeps

[twistedfukka]

"Motherfucker!"

That was the moment I realized that what's his name had not left the video booth to go get poppers, lube, Molly and coke.  In fact, I was almost 100% sure that if I walked out the side exit and around towards where he had parked his car, it would be gone.  This sucked for a few reasons.  First, I had just electronically sent him $160 to fuck me.  Second, I was staying in North Portland and he had just ditched me at Mr. Peeps in Beaverton with no way home.  Third, he had left three cheap torches, a sack of meth, two cheap glass pipes that had seen better days but were full of melted shards, and another bag of powder on top of the video console.  I was in gym shorts with no underwear, and a tank top.  If I tried to walk out with most of this stuff, I'd be clinking and clanking and far too obvious, unless I got the least judgmental Uber driver in the universe.  It had to be done - I lifted the cheap plastic garbage can that smelled faintly of cum on the inside up to the level of the top of the console and swept all of paraphernalia and drugs into it, then tucked it back under the video console.  Time to leave and figure out how to get home and I can't risk being distracted right now.  Now that was taken care of, I grabbed my hoodie and stepped out of the booth into the main video store.

[twistedfukka]

"Excuse me, Sir"

There were three clerks working the adult bookstore, that I could see.  A skinny, tatted up Latino guy who looked like a gangbanger trying to go straight, a chubby kid with acne who had to be fresh out of high school, and a tall, broad, athletic black kid.  It was the kid with acne whose voice stopped me in my tracks as I attempted to walk out of the video store.

"Uh, excuse me, Sir, is there a problem with the booth or the video you selected?"

"No, it's just..." I started to explain.

"Because you can switch to another video if you aren't finding that one to your standards, Sir.  Maybe something more kinky?"  The acne faced 18 year old blushed, saying the word "kinky" to a guy old enough to be his dad.

"Thank you - it's all fine.  It's just my...friend had to leave unexpectedly and so I don't really need the booth anymore."  I replied, aware that both the other employees and the early morning customers were all looking now.  The Latino kid went into the booth, probably glad he didn't have to scrub jizz off of the walls.  I thanked the ginger teen with the bad skin and started to walk out again. 
"Uh uh - stop him Daschell" shouted the Latino kid as he walked out of the booth with the garbage can.  "He ain't going nowhere."

Suddenly the 6'2" 20 something black kid made of pure muscle was between me and the door.  Me, I'm 43 and almost 400lbs.  There's no way I'm getting past him.  He grabs my arm and pulls me back to the register counter.  The ginger teen and the Latino are standing there with the small garbage can from video booth 4 on the counter.  Inside, two full meth pipes, three torches and a sack of something I couldn't identify, and a partial sack of meth.  I put it all into the garbage can because I couldn't walk out carrying it all. 

"So, faggot" the Latino said when Daschell brought me to them, "looks like you and your friend planned a little party today.  Suddenly he takes off like the place is on fire, then your fat faggot ass tries to slip out quietly, and I find all these drugs in our store.  What do you think it all means, faggot."

Every time this tatted up Latino adult video store employee called me a faggot, I tried not to show how much I enjoyed it.  This was a very delicate moment.  There were three of them, but I was twice their age.  They had some serious shit I had left behind, but as long as I didn't show any weakness, I could talk my way out of it.  But I hadn't counted on Daschell, all 6'2 and 200lbs of him, who pressed his 20 year old hard body up against my flabby 43 year old ass, and said "I recognize that old nigger who went running out of here.  He deals some quality shit.  Looks like they were doing a sale and he got spooked and ran.  What would a voluptuous slut like you," here his hands reached around and grabbed my fat bitch tits and squeezed, "be doing meeting someone like him in a place like this at 7:00am on a Thursday morning?"  I gave a short, sharp gasp as his fingers found my large nipples and twisted.  I was losing ground here and needed to establish dominance before things spiraled out of control.  As strange hands massage and grope my man breasts and tweak my nipples, I struggle to maintain coherent thought.  Before I could say anything, I was interrupted by the Latino kid.

"Hey Milo, you watch up here's. Me and Daschell and this junkie faggot are gonna go to the back room to talk," he grumbled, picking up the plastic bin and walking towards a door labeled Employees Only.  Daschell somehow kept his hands busy on my body while dragging me back there.  I knew whatever was about to happen would not be good.

[twistedfukka]

"So, I see two stories here, faggot" said the Latino clerk, possibly shift manager, who had yet to offer a name, "story number one - my buddy Daschelle here ID'ed that guy who went running out of here as a middle of the road plug, so from what I see, you two meet here to do a deal, he gets spooked, runs out of here leaving you with all this shit," he gestures at the drugs and paraphernalia on the table in the little stock room, "and you panic and dump it in the trash."  
"That's not..." I tried to clarify.

"Shut up, homo cunt.  Real men are still talking.  So second story is you are his supplier, and he ran off with the shit and without paying you jack.  No way that your fat fucking bitchass could catch him.  So which is it, slut?"

I knew I was in trouble.  My piss would be almost pure meth if the cops were to take me in and U/A me.  I couldn't risk any word of this getting back to the state licensing board.  And I was still high from earlier and the musky smell from the Latino guy was doing weird things to my brain.

"Findom" I blurted out.  Then I realized how fucked I was now. 
 

"What was that?" Latino clerk asked, puzzled.  They didn't hear, that's good.

"Findom" I said again, "Financial domination.  I'm a submissive, I get off paying Dominant guys to control and abuse me and humiliate me, and that guy I came in with was supposed to fuck me in public in exchange for $160."  Why was I explaining this, you might ask?  Because I wanted to pick up the pipes from the table and smoke them so badly and maybe they would let me if I cooperated.

Daschell the clerk and the Latino clerk looked at each other and started laughing.  It was an evil laugh, full of bad things to come.  "So, cunt, you had to pay some guy $160 to fuck your fatass, and he takes the money and runs before he has to stick his dick in that fat cunt.  If that loser was work $160, me and my buddy here are easily worth $500...apiece.  It's your lucky day, cashpig.  Now, strip."