The D-Wash

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

*****

My sister was a princess - stuck up, mostly mean to me, yet somehow she always had money.

She said she earned her money from the dog washing service she ran from the basement of our three story Chicago greystone. No one in our family ever went down there, it was just storage, old furniture, a utility sink, and a lone shower head over a drain in the floor. But she had much more money than one would expect from her modest little endeavor.

Still, apparently she took that showerhead, which didn't even have walls, and turned it into a thriving business.

So one day I overheard her on the horn telling her girlfriend that she wanted to go to a big wingding. She'd saved up plenty of money but she was reluctant because she might lose her regular customers.

That night I told her I would take care of her customers for her. Not that I wanted to help my sister, but because I had no money and I was about as doll-dizzy as a beat Joe can get.

How hard could it be? She thought about it all evening, but finally, with an evil grin, she agreed saying, "OK crumb. You can do it."

She explained that I would need to sit out on the front step all Saturday next to her sign and I better not make her clients unhappy - or else!

It was a hot Saturday but I sat in the sun next to her placard which read "D-wash", and had a picture of a happy dog licking a bone. She made it clear I was never to accept less than $2.

Now in those days that was a fortune. I mean, a haircut was twenty-five cents, and a movie was fifteen cents. But it explained how she was always swimming in dough. What I didn't understand was why anyone would pay that much for a dog wash.

The first customer was a huge hulking black man, seven feet tall if he was an inch, with a barrel chest and muscles everywhere.

He was surprised when he first saw me, "Where's Delilah?" He said. (It's not her given name but it's the closest American translation.)

I explained how she took the day off but I would do a good job. Looking me over he drawled, "Wellll, Ah gotta dirty dog. Are you an active duty gent," here he eyed me suspiciously, "or are you hiding a buzzer?"

I answered with my best sales pitch, "We just live here. If your dog needs a wash I'm your man."

He spun on his heels heading around to the back entrance and down our stairs, clearly being familiar with the steps.

I followed, dismayed that he hadn't gone home first since he didn't have his dog with him.

Once in the basement he shocked me by stripping naked and standing under the shower head, "Come here white boy. My D's ready for you." I resented the use of the word 'boy' since I was eighteen and white. But I guess crusting me was the point.

Seeing his nudity, first I was struck by how handsome he was, I bet he was very popular with the dames. Then, I suddenly understood everything - my sister's abundance of wealth and that there was no dog.

Despite his good looks, he looked mean and strong, and his "D" was thick and ugly - I supposed it was dirty too.

There was no way I could refuse to wash his dick as they would both be unhappy with me. I didn't know who I feared more.

I spied a washcloth and a bar of soap in the sink. Steeling myself I worked up a lather in my palms then with shaking hands reached out to hide his nasty member beneath a mass of bubbles.

I was glad not to see the large black log anymore. Only now I actually felt the thickening beast, all slippery and horribly snake-like slithering among my fingers.

His pubic hair was coarse and wiry even when wet. His giblets were like two large orbs which seemed to me to fill both my hands. Only the promise of a whole two dollars made touching it worthwhile.

With a handful of this man's black organs I pictured my sister kneeling there. And just like my shirt was getting wet I imagined her in a wet blouse. She was a prissy bitch but she was also hot and the thought of her doing this gave me an instant throbber.

Really, all I knew was that I wanted to see her knockers. Mary McAvoy had let me touch hers once and I was obsessed with them, all breasts, ever since.

The big black man looked at my embarrassing predicament and chuckled. I think he thought I was hard for him.

Then he added, "You're gonna wanna get under the foreskin. You know, the cheese." I didn't know, but I figured out how to wash in there anyway.

Everything seemed squeaky clean so I guessed it would be time to rinse him off, dry it all, and collect my wages.

After rinsing it I handed him a towel but he kept his hands on his hips making it clear he expected me to do it.

I dried his hard body from head to ankles. I dried it last, swabbing it gently, getting all the moisture from all the nooks and crannies. It poked out much larger and more menacing now. I didn't know pricks got that big - it was only half hard and already the distance from base to tip was the same as from my wrist to my fingertips.

Of course I knew pricks got hard, and I knew they made wives pregnant, and I knew they gave you wet dreams. But that's about all I knew. Blame it on my only being in the country for a couple years now.

Satisfied that it was all dry I started to rise from my kneeling position only to be held there by huge paws on my shoulders, and arms that were as strong as iron bars.

Looking up to see what he was thinking, I was met by cold dark eyes. "You're not going anywhere until the blow job's done."

I had no clue what he meant. Believe it or not, at that time I didn't even know what a blowjob was. Again, probably due to my broken English. It's not like actual blowing is in any way related to felatio.

Staring down at me he commanded, "Open your mouth." Of course, I did. I just didn't know why.

Moving his hands from my shoulders to my head he took hold of it like it was a small basketball in the star players gargantuan grip.

I didn't know to be scared or repulsed or even what he intended. But without warning he drew me in until that half-hard black hose plugged my mouth.

If it looked and felt large in my hands it felt enormous inside me. I held my jaw wide open afraid to close my lips upon his skin. We stayed there for a few moments, with nothing happening until he said, "You gotta suck it." Then added, "And no teeth."

His words barely registered, but I sucked at it inexpertly, like a straw in a malt.

"Shit! Boy. You're doing it all wrong." Taking my hand he brought it to his lips and sucked one of my fingers, "Like this! When you suck a cock you gotta do it this way." You're a horrible cocksucker!

"Cocksucker". Now that was a word I knew, even if I didn't understand the full meaning. It was a vile, disgusting word used to describe despicable hateful people. I certainly didn't want to be a cocksucker. And was being a horrible cocksucker worse or better?

But now that I knew what a cock was - and that I was sucking one right now - well now all was clear and all was lost since there was no way to remove the cock from my mouth or refuse to suck it.

Not only was he much stronger than I, but my evil sister would make my life hell if she ever heard I'd made him unhappy. The same wicked sister who was right now half-way to Cincinnati, was probably laughing at the situation she put me in.

Or maybe this man was only doing this to me? Was there something about me that asked for it?

Also, I still wanted my money.

I copied his sucking, nursing his cock like he was nursing my finger. He pursed his lips and sucked my finger all the way in, "Ok, now you keep doing that."

I wondered if his cock had been in my sister's mouth too. It was hard to imagine since she was so finicky about anything she put in her mouth.

If he did it to my sister that would be totally tops and I would have to hide down here to watch sometime.

I sucked the way he wanted me to and he rewarded me by groaning out, "Your mouth is way better than that prissy fuss, spit-in-the-bucket gill. You aren't going to be a wasteful green molly, are you?"

I didn't understand half his words except to figure out that he didn't want me to be wasteful. And that he had just confirmed that my sister had sucked him.

I couldn't talk but I answered "no" with my eyes. Which caused him to grip my head even tighter and try to work his semi-soft log into my throat.

It never did get fully hard but he did jam it in and out of my throat multiple times. At first I was at a loss for how to breathe, but after awhile I figured out to gasp through the corners of my mouth when he was on the backstroke.

Actually, the outstroke was the only time I could exhale too, so he would pull back until just the end of the dark sausage was between my lips and I would breathe in, then after he pushed and pulled another time I would breath out on the next cycle.

It felt like forever and I was feeling a little woozy. In my mind I figured it would take about twenty minutes to wash a dog so from start to finish my time should be up twenty minutes after we started.

Boy was I wrong - and NOT because it took longer than that.

What I failed to consider was that he had an end goal in mind. He didn't plan to jackhammer my face for a certain time limit and then be done.

The huge black goon stepped closer so his feet landed by my sides, about where my calves were. His knees straddled my body, pinning my elbows to my flanks. Then with little effort on his part he tilted my head back, digging his fingers into my neck to reposition my jaw.

This allowed his banger to burrow deeper, pressing his spit soaked balls to my chin. He stopped thrusting back and forth and stayed that way engulfing the entire lower half of my face in the great mass of bushy dense black wool.

I'd stopped thinking of his cock in my mouth as gross but this new situation renewed my feelings of disgust. It actually seemed like a good thing not to be able to breathe.

He humped at my face pounding his pubic bone into my upper lip. Then just when I thought I was going to black out he pulled all the way out.

His cock glistened with my saliva. It was thick and had bumpy veins running up and down its length.

I was sucking air as hard as I could, my chest heaving and my clarity of thought returning moment by moment. Somewhere I heard his voice, "Nice fuck!" He said.

I thought it was over. I'd done it! I'd earned my pay.

When the stars faded and my vision fully returned his cock was still pointing at me and he was still holding my head - which was good because I would have fallen over if he had let go.

There on the end of his cock, there where that hole was, a tiny rivulet of something else besides spit appeared.

I felt my face screw up as I pondered what it was, then my eyes must have gone buggy when I figured it out - it was dream juice.

I'd woken up many mornings to find it in my nightclothes or on my sheets. It was unmistakable except that there was so little of it.

Just when my breathing was returning to normal, just when I was learning that dream juice could escape, at least tiny drops of it, when you were awake, just then, he impaled me again.

He pushed it down my throat, then pulled back till just the crown was in me, demanding with a veiled threat that I suck like my life depended on it.

He really liked when I sucked hard on the knob, moaning loud enough that I feared someone on the floor above might hear.

He did this a few times only, then holding me stock still with his cock only halfway in, he unleashed a torrent of slimy liquid yelling, "Harder! Suck fucking harder boy, cause its coming."

I didn't know what the "it" was that was coming but I was to learn real fast.

And boy did I. The stuff shot out, hot like lava, landing on my tongue. It filled the spaces between my cheeks and teeth. It permeated everywhere all bleachy and acrid.

When his cock was done jerking and pulsing this great strong man pushed me off roughly. I fell back landing on my bum.

I was coughing and sputtering and the goo was even up in my sinuses, then I remembered what he expected: not to be wasteful.

My mind raced. How should I not be wasteful? The bucket was wasteful. Would the floor be wasteful? How about the sink?

Spunk was pooling everywhere in my mouth. Thick and thin simultaneously, worst of all the stuff had come from a bloke's balls. Spitting really would be best and I didn't fault my sister at all. In fact, if she did this regularly then she must be a whole lot less finicky than I thought.

And all the time I was thinking that the taste and texture turned me permanently into something I wasn't before. I needed to get rid of it. I looked up at him confused and he answered my unasked question, "Swallow the crap. You know you want to, wooded up like you is."

So I did. It took two or three tries but I got it down. And forever I became a real cocksucker, never able to undo what had been done to me.

He put his clothes back on, then, dropping a Lincoln on me said, "I really needed that. Now I gotta gets back to the bag of rags."

I picked up the bill and jammed it into my pocket. I felt rich!

We walked up the stairs. I was first and he squeezed my ass talking all the while, "You're a kippy pip. Will you be my regular flirt? There's no better whoopee than you."

I felt proud: I was better than my sister. In fact, I was enough better that a man would choose me - a skinny 19 year old over a sweet tootsie like Delilah. And I could get paid regularly.

But she would be back tomorrow to spoil everything.

Blinking in the glaring sun I saw a hep cat leaning on the wall by my front steps where I'd left the sign - another customer. Best of all was that he had a dog with him.

The guy whose cock I'd just secretly and shamefully sucked nodded to him, "He's better than the looker - a lot better." Glancing at me he said, "I hope the tomato takes more days off."

I thought about it: after ten more of these I'd have twenty dollars or more. Three days of this and I could pay my mom's rent for the whole month. Not that She expected it. But it would be a happy gift and I'd be a hero in the family.

The hep cat was a thin bloke and he turned to me, "How much?"

I looked him in the eyes and it was a guy I'd gone to school with. He was a year ahead of me - Howard something. Luckily he didn't seem to recognize me. He asked again, "How much?"

I opened my mouth to speak but the black guy was still there and he answered for me, "I paid him three for the blow job then tipped one for swallowing and one for letting me have my way. Worth every cent."

There! It was out in the open. He'd just told Howard in no uncertain terms that I was a cocksucker. There could be no pretending we were negotiating for the cost of a dog wash.

Howard blurted out, "Three is fair enough. You'll earn your tip though." He motioned for me to lead the way and I led him down to the basement.

If Howard was just a year older than me where did he get that kind of money? I told him, "I need to see the cash first."

He pulled out a handful of dimes and quarters. He must've been saving for a while to do it with Delilah but now he was settling for me. So, I guess thanks to the black guy who gave me such good reviews.

I could get a reputation, which might be a bad thing given that Howard could recognize me at any time. Would he care that I was only doing it for the money? I mean, I liked dames.

I was wondering if I would be both washing the dog and sucking his cock, but he tied the dog in the corner and asked me if he should undress, as if I were the expert.

I tried to sound authoritative, "Put your clothes on that sofa over there, your Fedora on the table, and stand under the shower." I adjusted the water and got some suds ready. I only needed to wash his penis, but washing all of him helped me to put it off.

When I got to his D it was standing upright, taut, and harder than a bowstring. Soaping it seemed like no big deal after what I'd done with the previous guy. He had hardly any hair on his body and even less on his privates, for which I was thankful.

He wasn't as big and muscular as the first guy and while I wasn't attracted to guys, if I was gonna do this I'd rather do it with a real man.

When everything was clean I knelt before him ready to take a second penis in my mouth. "No use delaying any longer." I thought, so I took the plunge.

Howard said I was an eager beaver. I wasn't, but since he seemed to like that, I would play along.

He touched my hair lightly then let his hands hang by his side like he was afraid to take charge. I kinda missed being "told" what to do. It had been easier to let the black man control the action than to think about it.

His D was thin and hard, about six inches long, and still wet since I'd forgotten to dry it. Seeing two other men's cocks in such a short amount of time I started to see differences.

First, there was the obvious difference. The first was black and the second was white. Not really black, like coal, but blackish. And Howard's wasn't really white. More of a pale cream with a pink head.

Howard didn't have any foreskin so the shape reminded me of...a mushroom? It curved upward slightly and bounced jauntily whenever he moved. The black cock had hung there heavily, not bouncing at all.

When I pushed my lips over his wet dick Howard's knees shook and I wondered if he was going to have his waking wet dream right then. But he didn't and I kept sucking.

Every time I vacuumed the knob like the black guy had taught me to, his knees buckled. Eventually he said he had to sit down.

We stopped long enough to find a crate and an old worn out red blanket for him to sit upon. The blanket had a hole in it but it worked well enough. Now instead of kneeling before him I crouched, bending over to get his cock into me.

Having only given one blowjob I thought there was only one way to do it. So I impaled myself as deeply as I could, trying to drive it down my throat and breathing between fucks.

It had worked well enough with the big soft black log, but this smaller cock was just too hard to bend and squeeze itself into my throat. Nevertheless, Howard loved the attempts.

I rocked up and down thrusting the hard D as deeply as I could. On every downstroke the head butted against the back of my mouth giving him great shuddering quakes in his hips.

I think I only sucked it for, like five minutes, when he grabbed the sides of the crate with both hands and shook violently as he unloaded streams onto my tongue. All the while he hush-shouted, "I'm coming. I'm coming."

The last guy had said something about "coming" so now I knew "coming" is what to call wet-dreaming.

His cum was sweet and there wasn't anywhere near as much. I could've just spit it out right then but my curiosity got the best of me. Swishing it around in my mouth I compared the two loads in terms of texture and viscosity.

This, of course, gave Howard enough time to compose himself. Looking down at me he asked, "Are you really going to swallow it?" Why did these guys have such a fixation on swallowing?

I couldn't bear to let him down. And it wasn't so bad. He smiled at me and I smiled back. "Mmmm, delicious." I lied.

He was sitting there spent and sprawled out on that red blanket with remnants of spit and seed on his cock.

Impulsively I picked up the washcloth and gently bathed his organ clean. He sighed, "That's very nice. You must like your work."

Leaning over I kissed the tip lovingly, "You're just so manly and your cock is so amazing." Another lie.

I had him right where I wanted him and he ate it all up. "Really? No one's ever...well thanks Joe." (not my name. Just what guys called each other in those days."

Howard dumped all his change out onto an old tray, then fishing around for something more he dropped some green stamps in too, "I wish I had more to give you. It was really the cat's meow!"