CH.06: Two pills left. Withdrawal building. Amanda visits an old contact who has what she needs and knows it. The transaction has a defined conclusion. She assesses the category correctly before she walks through the door and walks through it anyway.
The days that followed passed within the pharmacokinetic windows the Dilaudid established. She sent three job applications from the shared computer, entry-level data entry and admin roles, the kind of work that required nothing from her she was not currently capable of giving. The data entry role confirmed for January. The numbers worked.
On the day of the appointment she sat across from Dr. Harper and delivered her account accurately on the symptoms and ***********ively on the cause and omitting the Dilaudid entirely. Dr. Harper was direct. The Valium had been a temporary intervention. The dependency risk was too high. She would not prescribe it further.
Amanda confirmed she understood. She understood it with the full precision of someone three years into a pre-med degree who had spent the past eleven days managing an opioid dependence while narrating its neurological mechanism to herself each time she split a pill and felt the warmth settle low in her pelvis at the interval she had come to anticipate.
She left with no pre***********ion and two pills remaining.
She emailed Rich from the shared computer. She had a shift that evening and the withdrawal symptoms returned during the second hour and by the time her supervisor sent her home her shirt was damp and her hands were not entirely steady and the muscle ache had the specific quality she could identify precisely and had been identifying for two weeks.
Rich's reply was in her inbox when she got back. He would help. He would come by that evening.
She arrived at his apartment forty minutes later. She noted the layout and the exit and the small bag on the counter before Rich said anything. He looked at her with the particular quality of attention she recognised. Not the systematic trajectory Chris used, face to chest to waist to hips with the hold at the widest point, but something more casual and equally legible. He smiled with the patience of someone who has already calculated the outcome.
"There's just one thing," he said. "I need a favour from you."
Amanda stood in the middle of the apartment with the withdrawal symptoms building under the fading opioid suppression and assessed the sentence the way she assessed everything.
She already knew the category. She had known before she walked through the door, the way she had known what the rack meant by the third set and what the bodysuit meant when she held it to the bulb light and what the void clause meant when she read it correctly and signed anyway. The favour would involve her body. She mapped the likely range with the same clinical precision she had brought to every assessment since the first phone call from a man whose voice dropped a register when she gave him her measurements. Rich would want access to some part of her, her mouth or her hands or more likely both, and the specific architecture of what he would ask for would be less elaborate than what Chris and Mark had produced across two sessions in the basement on Eastbrook Lane but the category was identical and she had arrived at this apartment knowing that.
She had two pills left and a withdrawal profile that had sent her home sick from a market shift and a body still registering the memory of the dildo sliding through her slick outer pussy lips every time she lay in the dark, still carrying the specific throbbing quality of the denied orgasm in a way that had not fully resolved in the weeks since the stop command arrived three strokes too early.
She had known what the favour would cost her and she had come anyway.
She held her expression exactly where she wanted it, the same neutral precision she had held on the studio floor while her hips moved forward without her permission, and waited for him to continue.
"What's your favour, Rich?"
She asked it the way she asked everything, evenly and without inflection, standing in the middle of his living room with the withdrawal symptoms building under the last of the opioid suppression and the small bag visible on the counter behind him.
Rich looked at her for a moment before he answered.
"You disappeared for five years," he said. "No word. Nothing. Now you come back because you need something." He paused. "So I want something. You want those pills, you suck my cock and swallow."
Amanda stood with that sentence.
The demand was specific and its category was familiar. She had been on the studio floor in a sheer pink bodysuit soaked through at the front panel with a leather collar tight at her throat and a dildo parting her slick outer pussy lips through the wet sheer fabric while the warmth built and her hips moved forward without her permission and Chris said stop three strokes before the conclusion. She understood the architecture of a transaction involving her body and something she needed.
The withdrawal symptoms were measurable and present. Muscle ache across her shoulders and lower back. Sweat gathering along her spine. The anxiety behind her sternum at the load-bearing register she could not manage without intervention. The low craving in her pelvis that had been worsening in direct proportion to the time since the last dose.
"You're serious," she said.
He did not answer. He waited.
She had calculated the category of the favour before she walked through the door. She had walked through it anyway.
"I've helped you," he said. "Now you return it."
She crossed the room. Rich looked her up and down with open hunger. "Take off the coat. Then the t-shirt. Then those jeans. Let me see that fat body."
She stripped each piece while he watched, folding them neatly out of habit. When she stood in her bra and underwear he gave a low laugh. "Turn around slowly, fat girl. Yeah, just like that. Look at those heavy tits swinging and that wide fat ass. A big soft girl like you knows exactly how to parade when she owes payment, doesn't she?"
She turned in a slow circle, holding each position as ordered. His eyes stayed locked on her chest and hips without restraint. "Again. Even slower. God, you really let yourself get this soft and thick. Good thing that greedy mouth of yours can still be useful. Get on your knees and work off every pill you begged for with those lips stretched around my cock. That is your payment tonight, understand?"
She completed the second turn. Her face stayed exactly where she wanted it. The flush across her cheeks and chest was not something she could stop. Her nipples had hardened against the thin bra and a low unwanted heat was already building between her thighs. Rich smirked wider.
She moved to the chair without being told. She undid his belt and pulled his jeans down and knelt between his knees.
She thought about the studio floor. The sheer pink soaked through. Her outer pussy lips visible through the front panel. Chris's voice dropping to say more. Three strokes from the conclusion and the stop command arriving before any of them. She returned to the task.
She worked with the efficiency she brought to anything requiring execution rather than decision. Her tongue on the head first, one slow deliberate pass, feeling his weight against it before taking him deeper. Her hand followed on the shaft, rhythm controlled, her mouth taking more as he thickened against her tongue.
"That's it," Rich said from above her. Not encouraging. Observational. "Get your mouth wet on it. You know how this works."
She kept the pace. The saliva built along his shaft and ran down to his balls and she did not manage it. Her chin was wet inside the first minute. The transaction had a defined conclusion and efficiency was the objective.
"Look at those fat tits hanging," he said. Her chest was swaying with the rhythm of her work, the weight of her 40F breasts brushing against the inside of his thighs with each forward stroke. She was aware of the contact and could not stop it. "Whole body shaking just from sucking cock. That what they see on the site?"
She kept the pace.
The slickness arrived between her outer pussy lips before she had been kneeling for two minutes. She had not invited it. The outer labia and clit hood were still registering at the elevated sensitivity the shoots had produced, and the act of working him in her mouth was generating a response between her legs that had nothing to do with wanting to be here. Her clit registered a low pulse in time with the rhythm of her hand. She noted it and kept the pace.
"You going to earn these pills or just drool on me?" He gripped her hair, not forcing yet, just directing. "Deeper. You've had worse in that throat."
She took him deeper. Her throat worked around the head and she applied the controlled breathing and suppressed the reflex and held the depth until he loosened his grip.
She worked her way down, lips loose, suction building at the head on each upward stroke, the wet sounds of it filling the room. He made a sound above her. Low. Sustained. His hips shifted forward in the chair.
"Tell me what you're doing this for," he said.
She pulled back far enough to speak. "The pills."
"Say it properly."
"I'm sucking your cock for the pills."
"Good girl." He pushed her back down. "Now finish it."
Her outer pussy lips were soaked now, the slickness running between the bare skin, her clit throbbing in a low persistent pulse she could not stop and was not going to examine. Her heavy breasts swayed against his thighs with each stroke, the contact shameful and specific and continuous, her soft belly pressing forward on each deepest take. Her body was generating the same wet heat it had produced on the studio floor and she was on her knees on Rich's floor and she kept the rhythm and the saliva ran freely down her chin and his breathing had become uneven and the sounds he was making had stripped the controlled quality from his voice entirely.
Then the pressure came on the back of her head.
He pushed down hard and without warning and held her there. Her nose reached his navel, coarse hair against her face, his full length seated in her throat, the walls of her throat convulsing in a reflex she suppressed through force and controlled breathing. She held it. She breathed through her nose. Her throat worked around him in involuntary pulses she could not stop.
He came.
Thick and sustained, each pulse hitting the back of her throat directly, the volume arriving faster than she could manage it cleanly, the taste dense and total, coating her mouth and the back of her throat simultaneously as she worked to swallow each pulse before the next one arrived. Her eyes watered hard, tears tracking down her face, her vision blurring. She kept swallowing.
He released the pressure. She pulled back. She coughed twice, controlled the third, and breathed through her nose until her throat cleared and her eyes stopped watering.
"Open," he said.
She opened her mouth and showed him.
The taste remained. The slickness between her outer pussy lips remained. She stood, dressed, and crossed to the counter without comment.
"They're on the counter," Rich said.
Something in his voice made her stop before she reached for them.
"They were there the whole time." He let that sit. "Even without that, I would have given them to you. I just wanted to see how far you'd go." The pause had the particular quality of someone enjoying the space it creates. "I put an extra one in because I knew you'd say yes."
Amanda stood in the middle of Rich's apartment and held what she had just been told.
She had walked through his door having already calculated the category of the favour. She had complied with the transaction in full. She had knelt and worked and swallowed and managed her reflex and her throat and the involuntary slickness between her outer pussy lips the entire time, and she had done all of it for pills that had been sitting on the counter available to her without any of it, the same way she had signed both contracts and bent for the pen and fastened the collar at her own throat and rubbed the dildo against her soaked clit through the sheer pink fabric for a fashion magazine that had never existed.
The instrument she had been using to make decisions since October had produced this result twice now from different starting conditions. She picked up the pills. She put her coat on.
"See you on payday, beautiful," Rich said, just before she closed the door.
She walked to the bus stop. She had assessed the category correctly before she entered the apartment. She had entered anyway. The transaction had concluded exactly as predicted and the thing she had traded for had been available without the trade the entire time.