Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
***
A key turned clumsily in the lock. I could hear it over my blaring tunes, could hear it over the whirring-fan sound of the portable ionizer machine there to mitigate the paint fumes, although it was merely a high-grade interior latex I was using.
Dr. Fell must be between patients again, I assumed. I looked over my bare shoulder as the rather short, thick midriffed man in the white coat scraped sideways through the opening, before shutting and hastily locking the door. He was smiling. He always smiled when entering an exam room, force of habit. I put on a show for him, bending from the waist to lower roller to pan's milky aqua paint, thereby spreading my slender ass for him, baring the darkness of my crack, revealing my dangling balls. The only thing I wore was a disposable painter's cap to spare my thick crop of brown hair from the flying aqua specks.
"How are we doing?"
I came back from lowering the volume of my tunes and was met by Dr. Fell at the roller pan. My back was to him again. "Good," I replied.
He glanced around the four stripped walls of the exam room, one and a half of which were painted, although I'd "cut in" all four, at the ceiling and baseboards. The problem with painting is not the painting itself but all the fucking prep work. Rollering on latex afterwards is the easy part, it goes quickly. According to Dr. Fell's gold Rolex it was pushing twelve o'clock, lunchtime was approaching, my stomach growling. I'd brought a sandwich, chips, a water and a 16 oz can of energy drink. I would eat in the room, sitting atop the cushioned exam table that, along with all the other moveable furniture, had been moved to room's center and covered with clear plastic.
"I think my office manager made a good decision with this paint color, don't you?" Fell was now kneading the firm flesh of my ass, both cheeks. "Nice and soothing. A big improvement over the old grey."
I shrugged. I was just the painter, it was all the same to me. I took a more technical tack: "It's good paint. Goes on real smooth."
Fell laughed softly. His hand had now reached from behind, between my legs, which I instinctively spread. He was fondling my balls, his thick fingers chilly, cringingly so, like the room, until you set to work in it, started burning calories. Fell liked the fact that I kept my balls shaved. He'd commented on this approvingly several times already. He also liked how low they hung, when relaxed.
"At twentyfour dollars a gallon it should!" Fell said, about the paint. "It covers in one coat?"
"Oh, yeah. Absolutely."
"There's a lesson in that," Dr. Fell declared, his hand now reaching around my slender waist to grasp my penis, which dangled. He gave it a limp stroke anyway. "I wish I could get you hard."
"Well, it's a little cold in here, doc."
"Maybe after five, when we're alone? That reminds me," Fell said, removing his hand, patting a wide waistpocket with it. "I have to remember to set my phone's timer. For four-thirty."
At four-thirty Fell would pop a self-prescribed pill. By a few minutes after five, if everything went according to plan and we had the whole of the practice to ourselves, the run of the place, his stout but short cock would be ready, vertical. All he would need is lube, out of any of the seven exam room drawers, along, of course, with my wide-parted cheeks. I was used to Fell's thick cock by now. It was an easy fuck from a bottom's standpoint; fairly quick. Even in my brief experience I'd had bigger, longer ones in other words, possessed of far more stamina.
Fell patted his side-pocket again, one wide enough to hold the hollow metal Y of a stethoscope, in vain. "I must've left it in my office," he said absently, of his iPhone. "At any rate we'll see," presumably referring back to my erection, the possibility of it.
I said nothing, promised nothing. My job was to paint for him, paint each of his exam rooms in turn, then the hallways, then, finally, his reception area. And to offer him my ass, my hole at the end of every work day. There was nothing in our mutual agreement about me getting aroused by it—by any of it. If I did I did.
Fell's hand returned to my ass, a circling, caressing motion now. Light touch. I kept my cheeks and lower back smooth as well. Used my mom's Nair. One time she'd found it in my bathroom, on the sink. "Why is my depilatory in here?"
"Your...?"
"My thing of Nair. I don't understand what you're doing to yourself."
"Nothing. I'm not doing anything."
"You're doing SOMETHING."
My mom was recovering well. She was going to make it thanks, in large part, to Dr. Fell. Her beauty was returning—though, in a strained, less youthful-looking way.
"So...what kind of schedule do you see yourself on at this point?"
It was my fourth day on the job, as Fell's personal painter and, well, sex worker I guess you'd call it. Mom had no health insurance coverage and her bills numbered in the tens of thousands of dollars. I couldn't paint the hospital's vast walls as compensation but I could paint Dr. Fell's. I could paint and paint—and then offer my ass to him at day's end. My "sweet ass" as he invariably called it, while guiding his cock in. With the exception of that first time, in his wood-paneled office, when we sealed the deal, he'd always fucked me in the standing position, with me leaning on my elbows against one of his freshly painted exam room walls. Because of the height disparity I'd always had to spread my legs. Wide. Wider. It seemed I could never spread them wide enough for the height-challenged doctor. Perhaps an overturned box to stand on would've been good?
My schedule. "Well, I'm getting almost one room a day done. So...let's say about nine days total for the exam rooms..."
"That's nine working days."
"What?"
"Monday through Friday."
