Driving Need
An arrogant rich boy propositions his driver.
Trans M/cis M: Power imbalance, reversal of power imbalance, twink tops bear, anal, daddy kink (but botched and cringe)
Terms and anatomy: Non-op trans man with a dick/cock and pussy (both holes), cis man with a dick/cock
Warnings: Premise includes workplace sexual harassment, brief mentions of being unable to access transition care due to lack of health insurance, DIY HRT, racism against brown people (from SWANA specifically)
The pretty boy stumbled into Murat’s car, swearing at someone on the street like a sailor. Murat peered out through his rear view mirror and saw the club’s bouncer gesturing at the pretty boy, a couple of people with their smartphones out surrounding them. Murat sighed and threw the bouncer a nod. The bouncer looked over and gave him a sympathetic shrug. He knew the man in passing, from smoking in front of clubs waiting for the pretty boy to return.
Harold DeBohun Douglas Edgecumbe Jr slammed the door of the car shut and pouted. He made no effort to buckle his seat belt, and Murat had learned it was not expected of his position to insist on it.
“Where to, Mr Edgecumbe?” he asked.
The pretty boy who swept a hand through his carefully coiffed locks and tsked. Murat knew from taking him to his hair stylist appointments that he wasn’t naturally blond, despite insisting to everyone that he was.
“The penthouse,” the pretty boy said snootily.
No company tonight, then. That was a rare one.
“Very well, sir. We’ll be there in 15 minutes,” Murat said in his most formal voice, and pulled the car out of the parking lot.
They drove down the dark city streets in silence, the pretty boy staring out of the car window sullenly, the street lights and billboards of the night city illuminating his face for brief moments before plunging it back into darkness.
Murat watched him through the mirror, wondering what he was trying to distract himself from today. Maybe his father had made his disappointment known instead of just ignoring him again. Maybe one of the ever-changing array of lovers he insisted he didn’t care about had left him.
“Fuck,” the boy said and rubbed his eyes, “I’m so horny.”
Murat said nothing to that and turned down a dark lane lined with cypress trees, standing out against the night sky like claw marks in the firmament.
The pretty boy had fucked in the backseat of this car while Murat was driving him around plenty of times, so this conversational turn was hardly new. Murat didn’t think he was supposed to acknowledge it. If Mr Edgecumbe wanted Murat to drive him to a sex club or a cruising spot, he’d say so.
The pretty boy made a frustrated noise. “You ever fuck men, Murat?” he asked.
Murat had been wrong about not acknowledging this conversation, it seemed. He looked at the pretty boy through his front mirror. He was peering at Murat from under an arm he’d dramatically draped over his face, the other hand resting just left of his crotch.
“Sometimes,” Murat grunted at the rear view mirror and pulled the car into the dark lane that contained Mr Edgecumbe’s penthouse. He was under no obligation to explain to this kid just why exactly he was in this country, driving rich assholes around instead of using the marine engineering PhD he’d earned at home.
“Hm, didn’t think you were the type,” the pretty boy said, voice full of snooty arrogance.
Murat shrugged at him, not caring if he could even see the motion from the backseat. People had a lot of preconceived notions about big, brown men, and they could have them if they liked.
He heard the rustle of cloth behind him.
“You ever bottom, Murat?” the pretty boy asked solicitously.
Murat rolled his eyes as sneakily as he could. Now this was something people only ever asked Murat to make fun of him. Murat was a large man, tall and wide with both muscle and fat, covered in dark, wiry hair except for his shaved head. He mostly hung around shady gyms in his free time, and looked altogether like most white people’s idea of a terrorist, and not at all like their idea of a bottom.
“Only for a big cock,” Murat growled.
A wicked smile spread across the pretty boy’s face. He leaned forward. “I have a big dick,” he said, proudly.
“You’re not serious,” Murat told him forbiddingly.
“Oh, come on,” the pretty boy whined and threw himself back into his seat, “I really need a hole to cum in, man.”
“Don’t you have Grindr?”
Murat knew for a fact that he did, because the app’s usually so useful proximity filter made the pretty boy pop up every time Murat opened it. He could’ve blocked him, but that would’ve meant acknowledging that he’d looked.
“Too much effort,” the pretty boy said with resignation.
Murat considered the kid on his backseat, sprawled out in a dramatically suffering pose, his legs spread and arm draped on his forehead as if having to jerk off was truly the greatest hardship he’d experienced in his life. Maybe it was.
Murat had been jerking off alone in bed for a long, long time. The prospect of getting fucked sent a spike of need to his cock, and he could feel it chubbing up.
Fuck, it had been too long. The pretty boy wasn’t even his type.
He looked back at the kid through the mirror. He was pretty, obviously. The kind of generic sharp-jawed, six-packed, hairless pretty that everyone everywhere insisted you had to be attracted to. Murat wasn’t, mostly out of principle.
He ground his teeth when he saw the triumphant smirk on the pretty boy’s lips. He knew he had won. Murat pulled into the penthouse garage.
“If you’re under eight inches I’m leaving,” he growled.
The kid’s penthouse was, of course, a penthouse, one like pretty much every rich person’s penthouse. Too professionally cleaned, not a speck of personality evident anywhere, the stink of interior design clinging to every surface. The kid didn’t bother with any niceties, didn’t even take his shoes off before making his way to the bedroom. Murat was raised right, so he untied his dress shoes and neatly pushed them into the corner before following.
In the bedroom, the kid plopped onto the bed and pulled out his phone. “En-suite bathroom,” he said without looking at Murat and pointed to a door to the left, “There’s a shower attachment.”
Murat rolled his eyes but didn’t argue and decamped to the bathroom. Typical of boys like that to be afraid to get a little dirty.
The bathroom was predictably spotless and large, with gaudy golden armatures and a marble top. Murat took off his suit and folded it carefully. This job thankfully included a clothing allowance, but he didn’t have enough suits to treat them carelessly.
Then he stepped into the large shower and allowed himself to luxuriate in the warm water and the gentle stream for a little bit. He grabbed the fanciest looking body wash and soaped himself thoroughly, because the little shit probably thought smelling sweat on a man was disgusting.
He took extra care with cleaning himself out, and then fingered himself a little because he was fairly certain the pretty boy didn’t want to have to bother with prep.
It got him in the mood. His dick was aching to be touched, and god, it had been so long since he’d been filled. If the pretty boy was disappointing, he’d have to drive himself straight to the nearest filthy public restroom after this.
He toweled off, feeling his dick heavy between his legs, and decided to emerge fully naked. No time to lose.
The pretty boy was still lying on the bed scrolling on his phone, fully clothed except he had taken his dick out and was stroking it lazily. He hadn’t been lying about his piece, at least. It was thick, and definitely over eight inches, and disturbingly well-groomed, not a wrinkle or hair in sight.
When Murat emerged, the pretty boy looked up from his phone and gave him a lazy one-over, then paused, a momentary surprise on his face.
“Never seen a man with a pussy before?” Murat asked and gave his dick a little two-fingered stroke. He’d been lucky that his tits had always been so small that they had more or less disappeared into his pecs, but there hadn’t been a lot he could do about what was between his legs without health insurance. Thank God for the roiders at his gym, at least.
“Usually they only have one,” the pretty boy murmured and climbed off the bed. “Go get on the bed, head down ass up.”
“You can’t pull that one off, kid,” Murat said but complied, positioning himself on his stomach, with his ass hanging off the bed, then grabbed one of the expensive looking pillows and shoved it under his hips, pushing a corner between his legs so his dick could rub against it.
“Fuck,” the pretty boy said, and Murat could feel a hand pulling his ass cheeks apart. Then followed a bit of swearing and the sound of a drunk person fumbling a condom on.
Murat had been right that the pretty boy wasn’t going to bother with prep, because immediately after, he could feel the head of his cock push against his asshole. He took a breath and pushed out, and the pretty boy’s dick slid into him with one delicious, long slide. Murat let out a grunt as the pleasure hit him, that indescribable satisfaction of being filled, and fuck, that was worth letting the little asshole fuck him.
“Ah fuck, exactly what I needed,” the pretty boy groaned and gripped Murat’s hips hard. Murat ground his hips into the pillow, chasing the pleasure, and then the pretty boy was fucking him hard with quick, inconsiderate strokes, pursuing his own pleasure and nothing else, and it shouldn’t have felt this good.
Murat was glad he wasn’t a moaner, because he probably would’ve moaned otherwise. The pretty boy’s cock hit his most sensitive spots just right, and he felt himself pushing back against him, wanting him deeper, harder. The stretch was just a tiny bit painful, and so, so good.
“God, you have such a good hole, come on, beg daddy for his cum,” the pretty boy moaned.
Murat almost laughed out loud at that pathetic attempt at dirty talk, but he did very much want the pretty boy’s cum inside of him.
“Give it to me,” he growled, “Come inside me.”
The pretty boy let out a high pitched whine and grabbed Murat by the hips, flipping him over more with Murat’s than his own strength, and entered his ass again, furiously fucking him. He had his eyes closed, and Murat could see the sweat drip down from his forehead where his hair clung to his skin. He looked transfixed, lost in pleasure, using Murat.
The boy looked fucking good, fuck, slim hips bracketed by Murat’s thick, furry thighs. He reached out for his own nipples and pinched them. The pain and pleasure shot directly to his cock, which was now completely without stimulation, flapping wildly with the boy’s thrusts.
“Come on,” Murat urged.
“Shut up,” the pretty boy whined and blindly moved his hand to Murat’s mouth, fingers combing through and tugging at his long beard. “Shut up, hole,” he said again, and his voice didn’t quite hit the commanding tone he was going for, sounding whiny and petulant instead.
Murat opened his mouth and sucked the pretty boy’s fingers into it, and the pretty boy came with a long, pained shout, staying still on top of Murat as he pumped his cum into him, rope after rope, face contorted like he was in pain.
“Fuck,” the pretty boy grunted out and doubled over, breathing heavily onto Murat’s chest. They stayed like that for just a few seconds, and just when Murat was about to ask if he was going to get some turnabout, the pretty boy pulled out unceremoniously and rolled over. Murat saw he’d immediately fallen asleep.
“God dammit,” Murat mumbled. He was still keyed up, his hole aching to be filled again, and his cock throbbing with need. He figured under the circumstances it was probably all right for him to finish himself off, so he put his hand to his cock and pushed hard, thinking about the way the pretty boy had used him, how he’d moaned, and grinding his hips up until he felt the pleasure rip through him like a tidal wave.
He took a few moments to catch his breath. The pretty boy had not woken up, still sleeping with his face mashed into the comforter. He’d be awfully sticky tomorrow, but Murat was a driver, not a housemaid. He levered himself off the bed, went to the bathroom to give himself a cursory wash, and put on his suit.
When he came out, the pretty boy was still asleep. Murat wondered if he’d even acknowledge this happened tomorrow. Probably not.
He let himself out and drove off into the night.
