The Neighbor - Chapter 2 (Patreon)

Chapter 2 – The Streets

Dean didn’t knock the next day.

He just pulled up in front of the house with the engine already running, headlights cutting across the dark lawn. No warning. Just the low growl of the truck waiting for me like it belonged there.

My stomach dropped the second I saw it.

Yesterday had been the garage. Closed doors. Hidden. This felt different. Still, I went. Of course I went.

I crossed the grass and climbed into the passenger seat. The smell hit me hard — hot leather, old oil, sweat, and the sour edge of cigars baked deep into the seats. Dean didn’t look at me once. He just put the truck in gear and pulled away.

“Seatbelt.”

I clicked it. He drove. At first it felt normal. Quiet streets. Familiar turns. Then we kept going. Further than I expected. Out of the clean neighborhoods and into the rough edge of town — the kind of place you only ended up if you meant to. Broken streetlights. Dark corners. The air itself felt dirtier.

Then I saw them.Women. Everywhere. Prostitution…

Standing under the yellow lights. Sitting on the curb with their legs open. Leaning into car windows. Some in tiny dresses that barely covered anything. Others in jeans so tight they looked painted on. All of them watching the traffic. Waiting.

My chest went tight. Dean noticed. A small, ugly smirk pulled at the side of his mouth.

“First time seeing real whores up close, huh, faggot?”

I didn’t answer. He slowed the truck anyway, letting it crawl along the curb like he was shopping. One of the women stepped closer and bent down to look inside. Dean’s eyes dragged over her slowly, cold and assessing.

“Too skinny,” he said flatly. “Nothing on her. You’d feel bone more than cunt. Fucked that one last winter. Dry as fuck. Not worth the twenty bucks.”

We rolled past her. Another one stood further up — thicker, older, hands on her hips like she owned the sidewalk. Dean took his time looking at her.

“Older but better,” he muttered. “At least she’s got some meat on her and can take a good pipe down. Knows how to stand so men actually look. Most of these bitches just stand there like dead fish.”

His hand tapped the steering wheel.

“They all think their pussy is special. Like they’re selling something rare.” A short, humorless breath. “Most of them have been fucked by half the town already. Used-up holes with lipstick on.”

The truck slowed even more. A girl in a tight red dress stepped forward, making direct eye contact, dragging her hand slowly down her thigh. Dean let out a low sound and reached down, adjusting the heavy bulge already forming in his shorts.

“Yeah… that one’s learned how to work it. Look at the way she moves. She knows exactly what she’s selling. Fuck she’s hot, I would tear that pussy apart.”

Then, without looking at me at all he took his dick out of the fly and ordered:

“Open your mouth faggot, now.”

My pulse slammed hard. Out here? With them right outside the windows? But my hands were already moving. Meat. Veins. I shifted across the seat toward him, the reality of it hitting all at once — this wasn’t the closed garage anymore. This was open. Exposed. Anyone could look in if they wanted.

“Don’t overthink it, fag,” Dean said, voice calm and almost bored. “Just put your mouth on it and do what you’re born to do.”

I leaned down and took him in. He was already thick and heavy, still carrying the faint taste of sweat from the day. The second my lips closed around the head he let out a deeper breath — but his eyes never left the street. Not even for a second.

“Look at that one,” he said, watching another woman lean into a different car. “See how she gets right up on the window? Soft voice, little smile, acts like the guy’s special. That’s how they get the money. Make the stupid bastards feel chosen.”

His hand settled on the back of my head. Not pushing yet. Just resting there, heavy, like I was furniture.

“They’re all selling the same shit,” he continued. “The fantasy that you’re getting something worth paying for. Fresh pussy. Attention. A little performance.”

The truck crawled forward a few more feet.

A woman knocked lightly on his window. Dean didn’t even turn his head.

“Not interested,” he muttered, eyes already moving past her. “She’s been out here too long. Face is starting to show it. Used-up whore. Nice tits to cover with cum, but too used.l

I took him deeper. A tighter breath left him, but that was all.

“Yeah… that’s fine. Keep going. Don’t need you to be fancy. Just keep it wet, deep and don’t talk.”

No praise. No real attention. Just the expectation that I would stay there with his cock in my mouth while he kept looking at the whores like they were the only thing that mattered.

“See that skinny one under the light?” He nodded toward a younger girl standing stiff and awkward. I had to take his dick out of my mouth to look. “New meat. Still nervous. Still thinks she’s in control of something.”

His fingers shifted in my hair, pressing a little firmer.

“That won’t last. Give it a few weeks and she’ll be bending over car doors like the rest of them, taking whatever’s offered. Giving her pussy for 20 bucks.”

The truck slowed almost to a stop. Two women stood together now, laughing, watching the traffic. Dean’s gaze dragged over them slowly, openly.

“Those two would put on a whole fucking lesbian show if I rolled the window down and called them,” he said. “Noise. Eye contact. Acting like they can’t wait to get fucked. That’s what men pay for, a live porn show.”

His grip tightened.

“You don’t need any of that. You just open your mouth when I tell you to and take what’s given. You’re desperate for real men cock, not money.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

He still wasn’t looking at me. Not once.

“Take more,” he ordered, voice lower now.

I pushed down until my nose pressed against the rough hair at the base of his cock and held myself there, throat working around the thick length of him. This time he reacted properly — a sharper breath, his hand locking tighter in my hair.

“Yeah… like that. Stay down. All the way down.”

But even then his eyes stayed outside. On the women. Always the women.

“They stand out here all night in the heat,” he went on, voice rougher, tension starting to build in his thighs under my hands. “Let any drunk with cash pick them. Talk big. Act like their cunts are made of gold…”

His grip flexed hard.

“…and I’ve got a quiet little faggot hole right here in my truck. No talking. No price. No performance. Just a mouth that knows its place to drain my balls.” His breathing deepened. “Just taking it.”

The truck idled at the end of the block. Everything outside blurred into dirty yellow light and shadow. Dean’s focus never left the sidewalk, like I wasn’t even part of the equation — just a warm, obedient throat that happened to be convenient.

Then the woman in the red dress stepped closer again and leaned toward the open passenger window, clearly still hoping.

Dean finally turned his head a fraction.

“Not tonight, bitch.” he told her, voice flat and dismissive. “Already got something working on it.”

She frowned and started to say something. Dean’s hand shoved my head all the way down until my throat was stretched tight around him and my nose was crushed against his body. He held me there, completely still, while he spoke to her like I was nothing more than a hole attached to his cock.

“Maybe another night. Right now I’m busy. Move along.”

I choked hard around him. Thick spit ran down his shaft and over my chin, dripping onto the seat of his truck. He kept me pinned deep while the woman muttered something ugly and finally walked off.

Only then did he ease the pressure enough for me to drag in a wet, desperate breath.

“Fuck…” he exhaled under his breath. “Yeah. Don’t stop now. Take it all the way down and keep it there.”

I did. I sucked him hard and deep, the wet, filthy sounds loud in the truck while he watched the street like it was better than any porn. His hand stayed locked in my hair, controlling every movement, forcing me down every time I tried to pull up for air. Spit and precum ran down my chin in thick strings. My jaw ached. My throat burned. He didn’t care.

“Look at them,” he muttered, voice strained now, thighs tight under my hands. “All that effort… standing around half-naked, waiting for some loser to open his wallet…”

A pause. His cock throbbed hard against my tongue.

“…and I don’t even have to get out of the fucking truck.”

That was when it broke.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a low, controlled, animal sound as his cock pulsed heavily and he started coming. Thick, hot spurts flooded my throat in long pulses. He held my head down through every single one, forcing me to swallow, his hips giving short, sharp thrusts like he was making sure nothing escaped.

“Swallow it fag. Yeah… that’s it… take every drop, faggot… fucking take it…”

He stayed still for several long seconds afterward, breathing hard through his nose, eyes still fixed on the empty stretch of sidewalk like the orgasm had nothing to do with me. Then his hand finally slipped out of my hair.

“Alright.”

Just like that. I sat back slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, heart slamming so hard it hurt. The thick taste of him coated my tongue and the back of my throat. Outside, the women were still there under the lights, still waiting, still watching cars that weren’t us.

Dean adjusted himself, zipped up, and put the truck back in gear without looking at me. Only when we were already moving did he glance over — quick, cold, measuring.

“Now you’ve seen it,” he said, nodding toward the street behind us as the lights faded. “They sell attention. That’s what men are really paying for. The show. The noise. The eye contact.”

A short pause.

“You?” Another brief look, flatter this time. “You don’t need any of that. You just open your mouth when I tell you and take my cock, right, boy?”

“Yes, Mr. Dean.”

“Good fucking fag.”

The truck left the dirty stretch of road and the women and the whole ugly scene behind like none of it had meant a thing.

But my body still felt all of it — the stretch in my throat, the taste of him, the way he had looked straight to the street sluts the entire time.

And as we drove back in silence, one thing settled heavy and certain in my chest:

This was only the first time he had taken me out there.

And next time, I already knew I would get in the truck without hesitation.

All characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the characters.