The Painter (A Good Son)

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."

"Oh, right."

"So let's be generous and round it up to two weeks for you to finish painting all my exam rooms."

"Then your hallways."

"Which'll have to be done on weekends. When I'm in town, of course. I'll want to be here."

"Then all the other rooms..."

"Forget the other rooms. Except for labs my patients never go in there..."

Fell was back to kneading my ass flesh again. This was a long stint by his standards, during business hours. Apparently there was a lull; apparently he had no patients between now, a few minutes before noon, and the hour-long lunch break he and his staff took, during which the office was closed, shut off from patients. Fell wasn't so much squeezing my flesh now as pinching it. Thick firm pinches.

"But there's the reception area," I mentioned, "behind the counter."

"That, yes. You'll to need to paint that."

"And then the whole reception area."

"How long will that take?"

"Well to do it right? With all the doors and stuff? Two full days. Saturdays. Or a Saturday and Sunday."

"That won't work, son. My wife insists that I accompany her to Mass on Sundays. Consecutive Saturdays would work. I'll just have my office manager put out a sign. 'Excuse our mess' or whatever. I could feel your ass all day. A young boy's ass."

"I'm nineteen."

"Young by my standards. Youth: its firmness. Its...freshness. Its...Did I ever tell you my story?"

My back was still turned to Fell. I rolled my eyes. "About...?"

"How I got here?" Fell replied, almost in whisper. His hand had pulled back. He was opening his white coat before undoing his slacks.

"Your father?" He'd told me something about it the second time he fucked me. Not in his office but...with me standing in exam room #7 that first day, leaning on my arms against the freshly painted aqua wall.

"My grandfather!" Fell corrected, rather severely.

"Oh, yeah, right."

"From the old country?"

"Yessir, I remember."

Fell wasn't hard, his pants and boxers falling to the floor. His stubby cock was engorged, somewhat, but not hard. Not vertical. In fact he had to lift it with his thick-fingered hand to press against my buttock, my right one. "Spread your legs. Wider. Wider!"

"Yessir."

Fell was rubbing against me now, his flabby penis like an eraser against a chalked blackboard. Meanwhile my forearms, my forearms were pressed against wet paint, a soothing milky aqua. "My grandfather, though he rarely admitted to this, was a great man in his day. Important. A high-ranking officer in the war."

"I remember you telling me this," I lied.

"He too was a doctor. Eminent. A practitioner par excellence. The medical advances he was responsible for...well young man, they would take your breath away."

And in fact Dr. Fell sounded...a little breathless.

"My father, god bless his heart...He worked hard. But...," Fell laughed as he rubbed off on me, "...he ran a dry-cleaning business. Successful, a small chain, but..."

Fell's small hands descended to my waist. He held me there, gripped me as he...what's the expression, dry-humped me? On the outside? "But it was my grandfather!" Fell exclaimed, left hand rising clenched, in fist. "He was the man, my inspiration. I have pictures of him," Fell whispered in my left ear, my cheek turned that way, against the paint. "If you'd like to see them some day..."

"I..."

"They're in the safe. In my office. I shouldn't be telling you this. I..."

"Um...so, altogether I'd say about...four weeks..."

"What?"

"The painting, sir."

"Oh. Fuck the painting..." Both Fell's hands were back on my waist. Which was barely narrower than my bony hips. From there they rose slowly to my chest, in the paint. "I wish you had tits," the doctor said. "That could be arranged, you know."

"I—"

"Tits and a cock and balls? Imagine. Imagine the possibilities. Anything is possible today, with the advances in medical science. My grandfather, Herr Doctor Hauptsturmfuhrer Fellman..."

Fell, his pants and boxers down around his ankles, his plump if pliable cock against my reddening ass, looked over his right shoulder. "Now what?"

There had been a timid knock. At the door. And what about the doors? I'd forgotten to include them in my time equation. Every exam room had a door. Every door would need to be painted aqua. Preferably in a matching enamel. On weekends. Fuck, this painting/sex gig with Fell could go on for months. Months! Would they never end? Mom's medical bills? In France it is said—

There had been a timid knock on exam room #5's door. Hesitant. Despite the secrecy how could Fell's otherwise indifferent staff NOT know what was going on? A little bit. Rumors. A naked boy...

"What!" Fell replied, to the knock.

"Um...Doctor Fell," the overweight woman's voice muted by the door's wood I would soon have to gloss with latex enamel, taping off the door's number, its knob. "One of the pharmaceutical reps is here...She's brought us lunch. I thought—"

"Be right there."

Lunch. I was starving. Mom had packed for me the ham sandwich she'd made, a little bag of chips, a water...On the way to Fell's practice I'd picked up a tallboy energy drink at a nearby 24/7, the convenience store. A national chain which recently had been sued by a cable news network which claimed they'd copyrighted the designation "24/7." As well as "Forever," "Endless," "Eternity," "Breaking News," and "Our Panel of Experts (on any given subject)." Not that I gave a shit. I just wanted a fucking energy drink so I could complete my tasks as a painter and sextoy as compensation for my mother's astronomical medical bills.

A good son.

Mom said to me upon my arrival, her brow furrowed: "You've got paint all over your arms, honey. And cheek. What happened?"

"Nothing happened. It's paint."

"I know, but..."

"It'll wash off in the shower, no problem."

"Well after we shower off and all...your dinner's in the fridge. Just stick it in the microwave for three minutes."

"I will."

Mom smiled, her luminous beauty coming back, if briefly, bravely. Less than before. Darker. "How's Dr. Fell?"

I shrugged. I was covered in latex paint. Aqua. "He's..."

"I don't mind you doing this. Over the summer? For now? But come fall I want you back in school...the community college...You..."

Mom had come over. I put my arm around her waist, slender like mine. She had small breasts, quarter-sized pink-brown nipples (I was a painter now; attuned to colors). I loved to suck them.

"Let's take our shower," she said, "then I'm gonna lay down."

"You OK?" kissing the top of her head, her brown greying at the roots.

"Just a little tired, that's all," forcing another smile. "Why so much paint on you today?"

"Um...I lost my balance. I..."

"We'll wash it off," mom said hopefully. I was hard. I'd saved my erection for her. It was not Fell's to have.

I would fuck mom in the shower, standing, her slight, frail, failing cheerleader's body above mine, or equal to mine, her legs wrapped around my back, her ecstasy, mine, audible, hallucinogenic almost, as the warm water streamed down, peeling some but not all of the paint away.