Sing for Your Supper

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

Sing For Your Supper

ISBN #–-

©Copyright Jaime Samms

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright August

Edited by Stacey Birkel

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN FL, United Kingdom.

Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Total-e-burning
and a
sexometer
of
.

SING FOR YOUR SUPPER

Jaime Samms

Dedication

For anyone looking for acceptance and the safety to be who they are without fear.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Jeep: Chrysler Group LLC

Irish Spring: Colgate-Palmolive Co.

Nike: Nike, Inc.

Stetston: John B. Stetson Company

Durango: Chrysler Group LLC

Ikea: INGKA Holding B.V.

Chapter One

According to my map, there should have been a town here. I’d passed a closed gas station five minutes back, and a general store with a curling, paper “out to lunch” sign taped to the window. The crumbling, yellowed tape holding it in place looked like it hadn’t been taken down in months. The doors had been locked up tight.

I glanced at my gas gauge and felt the tension in the back of my neck crawl up towards that spot behind my left eye. I made a point of rolling my shoulders over in a useless attempt to ease the stress. The old Jeep I was driving wasn’t exactly a stellar gas saver, and the needle edged towards the big red ‘E’ awfully fast. I didn’t have to look in my wallet to know filling the tank was going to be problematic.

“Where the hell is ‘Redcliff’?” I glanced again at the map lying on the seat beside me. There was a tiny black dot about the point on the map I was driving through, but the gas station and store seemed to have been plunked down in the middle of nowhere, like tornado casualties deposited on the side of the road.

I rubbed a hand through my hair, trying to ignore the tightening in my gut. The gas tank wasn’t the only tank needing refilling. I was going to have to find a place to stop soon then make the decision—feed myself or fill the tank. I wasn’t going to be able to do both.

And it was Pete’s fault. Bastard. He was supposed to be my brother, was supposed to look out for me, not be the one holding me down…

Don’t. Don’t remember.

I still fell asleep with that image of the red-hot metal coming at me, Pete’s hands vice-like around my upper arms, Luke Driscoll’s leering face. I couldn’t remember what they’d been babbling about. The branding iron seeking my flesh, and the nasty taste of Luke’s spunk still in my mouth, had been about all I could focus on at the time.

“Fuck.”

Just the memory made my hands shake. Sweat trickled down my back and under the waist band of my jeans. Luke had been the one to lure me into that trap, swaying his tight ass and offering…

“Shithead.”

The highway blurred before me. It took a minute to clear my vision enough to reveal I was on the wrong side of the tarmac. I eased back to my own side of the road.

The guy had been my friend. Or so I’d thought. He’d certainly acted the part for months, and had no compunction about shoving his dick down my throat. In fact, he’d acted like it was us against the narrow-minded idiots I called family. But no. None of it had meant anything. He’d been bait. Willing bait, eager to take any opportunity I’d offer to get off, but bait, just the same.

“Fucker.”

I yanked on the wheel, veering off the highway onto the shoulder. Six months, and I couldn’t get the asshole’s betrayal out of my head. Couldn’t think past it.

Clouds of dust billowed past me on a warm breeze. The highway stretched out, straight and empty in both directions. I’d learned days ago that emptiness was an illusion in this heat. The shimmering waves of air above the pavement concealed oncoming cars pretty effectively. I sat for another minute, staring off into the desert of wheat fields, but I couldn’t sit there long. I had to get my ass somewhere, or who the hell knew how far I’d have to walk with empty pockets and an empty gas can.

I shut off the Jeep’s engine. I couldn’t stop shaking as the memory played through. It always played through, whether I wanted to remember or not. It was funny the little details that stood out…

Luke was younger than me by a few years, but a lot bigger. I remember taunting him that one day, he’d want me up his ass, and it had seemed that day had come. I had already counted it another conquest when he turned on me. I remember the rust-coloured cloud of dust lifting up around him when he spun, landing a roundhouse to my jaw and a wicked left into my gut.

Splayed out on the barn floor, the next thing I remembered was the scent of Irish Spring soap and not being able to breathe around his cock. It hadn’t been anything but violent, and he’d said as he spewed down my throat, that it served me right for trying to corrupt him. Getting his kicks was one thing, he’d said, but he wasn’t a fag. It’d be a cold day in hell before I ever
got
near his ass. I’d pretty much lost the desire for it at that point.

He’d sat back to zip himself up, the sound loud in the still barn, and was still sitting on my chest when Pete had come in.

That was another detail. Pete in Nike trainers. It was all I saw of him—his feet in Nike trainers.

I’ll never know how Pete reconciled Luke pining me and raping my mouth constituted me assaulting the younger man, but that was the excuse he’d used to justify his actions that night. The only thing that saved me gaining a permanent reminder how much Pete hated me was our middle brother, calling from the barn yard, wondering where he was.

Alan. Pete’s shadow. Pete’s echo. My unwitting saviour. I never did find out if he knew what he’d saved me from, or if he would have tried to defend me from it himself. I only know Pete was quick to tell him what a degenerate I was, and he was quick to go to our father for mediation.

Next morning, I’d got to watch the fiasco as Pete turned as viciously on his co-conspirator as he had on me. Luke got his ass fired for being a fag, and every word of
that
conversation stuck in my head like a bad screen play.

“We don’t entertain that sort of behaviour around here,” my father was telling him, as Like’s face turned progressively redder and redder. “You can just pack your bags, and best not be looking for a recommendation from anyone here.”

“That’s discrimination!” Luke, it turned out, was a screamer. He was in my father’s face with his accusations, and I watched, maybe a little smugly, as his tirade had absolutely no effect. “You can’t fire me for this! You can’t—”

“I can, and I have. You can pack your bags and you and your…friends can be down the road inside an hour, or find yourselves in custody for trespassing.”

The two men backing Luke shrank back from that icy glare my father was so good at, grabbed Luke by the arm and hauled him off. For about a minute and a half, I actually had a warm, almost cosy feeling in my gut, thinking my father had at last stood up for me. Then he spoke again.

“That goes for you, too, Taylor. Pete, see your brother off my property.”

And he turned and walked away, never once even looking at me.

Luke got his kicks from that, and his last words to me were to let me know he wasn’t going to let me get away with it, as though any of this had been my doing. At the time, I hadn’t taken his words very seriously.

You gotta stop this, Taylor. You gotta move on.

Moving on would have been a lot easier if I didn’t keep running into Luke Driscoll every time I stopped for more than a few days at a time. The bastard had developed a fucking vendetta. A dog with a bone didn’t even begin to describe what he’d turned into, and I couldn’t seem to shake him.

Fuck.

I started up the Jeep again and pulled back onto the highway. Someplace around here, there was a town named Redcliff, and somewhere in that town was someone who needed something I could give in exchange for a burger and a beer, at least.