The suburban street was a maze of shadows under the dim glow of flickering streetlights. Kya pedaled hard, her beat-up bike rattling with every bump in the asphalt. The pizza bag strapped to her back was down to its last order of the night—a large pepperoni, extra cheese, still warm against her spine. Her backwards baseball cap kept her wild, sweaty hair in check, and her worn t-shirt and shorts clung to her wiry frame. At fourteen, she was all elbows and knees, a scrappy little hustler in runners and Mickey Mouse knickers hidden beneath, with a training bra that barely had a job to do. She didn’t care about looks; she cared about tips. Get in, get out, get paid—that was the motto.
She skidded to a stop outside a nondescript house at the end of the cul-de-sac. The porch light was off, but a faint blue flicker of a TV screen bled through the curtains. Kya hopped off her bike, propped it against a rusted mailbox, and slung the pizza bag off her shoulder. She rang the doorbell, shifting her weight from foot to foot, itching to be done with this shift.
The door creaked open, revealing a guy in his late twenties. Scruffy, unshaven, with a mop of dark hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a week, he was kinda cute in a rough-around-the-edges way. He wore a faded band tee and sweatpants, one hand already digging into a pocket for cash. His eyes flicked over her, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.
“Pizza’s here,” Kya announced, holding out the box like a trophy. “That’ll be fifteen bucks.”
He handed over a crumpled twenty, waving off the change with a grunt. “Keep it. Looks like you could use it, kid.”
Kya arched a brow, shoving the bill into her pocket. “Gee, thanks, big spender. I’ll buy myself a yacht with the leftovers.”
He chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, pizza box now tucked under his arm. His gaze lingered a little too long, sizing her up in a way that made her skin prickle—not with fear, but with a weird kind of curiosity. “Got a minute? I’ve got a proposition for ya.”
She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “I’m on the clock, dude. Make it quick.”
He scratched the back of his neck, that smirk growing sharper. “How ‘bout an extra twenty bucks if you come inside and… help me out with somethin’ while I eat this? Just a quick favor. Easy money.”
Kya blinked, her naive mind not quite catching the full weight of his words. A favor? Sounded like babysitting or moving a couch. “What kinda favor?”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “Somethin’ personal. You know, a little… mouth action. I eat my pizza, watch some TV, you take care of business. Win-win.”
Her brow furrowed, then smoothed as the penny dropped. Oh. *That* kind of favor. She’d heard whispers about this stuff from older girls at school, but the mechanics were fuzzy at best. Still, twenty bucks was twenty bucks. Hell, she’d have done it for a crumpled five and a stick of gum. Easy money for what, a few minutes of awkwardness? She shrugged, all nonchalant bravado. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be some kinda pro. I’m just here for the cash.”
His smirk widened into a full grin. “Deal. Come on in, champ.”
Inside, the bachelor pad was a cluttered mess—empty beer cans on the coffee table, a sagging couch littered with chip crumbs, and a blaring sitcom on the TV. The laugh track echoed off the walls as he plopped down, pizza box on his lap, and gestured vaguely to the floor in front of him. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Kya dropped to her knees, the carpet rough against her skin, and eyed him with a mix of determination and cluelessness. She had no idea what she was doing, but how hard could it be? Unzip, do the thing, get paid. Simple. She fumbled with his sweatpants, her fingers clumsy, while he took a big bite of pepperoni and barely glanced her way.
“First time, huh?” he mumbled through a mouthful of pizza, his tone more amused than encouraging.
She shot him a glare, cheeks flushing. “What, you want a resume? I’m figurin’ it out, okay? Keep eatin’ your damn pizza and let me work.”
He snorted, leaning back with a slice in hand. “Feisty. I like that. Just don’t bite, kid. I ain’t into that kinda pain.”
“Ha ha, real funny,” she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe if you’d shower once in a while, this’d be easier.”
He laughed outright, wiping grease on his shirt. “Sassy little thing, aren’t ya? Keep talkin’. Makes it hotter.”
Kya rolled her eyes but focused on the task at hand—or rather, at mouth. It was awkward as hell. She didn’t know where to put her hands, how much pressure to use, or what the hell she was even aiming for. Her jaw ached almost instantly, and her rhythm was nonexistent. He barely reacted, more engrossed in the sitcom’s punchlines than her fumbling efforts. Minutes dragged on, her frustration mounting as she realized she was getting nowhere.
“Christ, kid, you gonna take all night?” he grumbled, finishing the last slice and tossing the box aside. His patience snapped, and before she could snap back, his hand clamped down on the back of her head. “Lemme help you out.”
“Hey, what the—” Her protest was cut off as he took control, his grip firm and unyielding. His thrusts were rough, careless, driving into her mouth with a brutal rhythm that made her gasp and choke. Her eyes watered, her throat burned, and panic clawed at her chest as she struggled for air. She slapped at his thigh, desperate for a reprieve, but he didn’t let up, grunting with a mix of irritation and need.
“Almost there, just hang on,” he muttered, oblivious to her distress.
For a terrifying moment, Kya thought she might actually suffocate, her lungs screaming as she fought to breathe around him. Then, with a final harsh thrust, he finished, releasing her with a satisfied sigh. She pulled back, coughing and gasping, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gulped down air. Her hands shook, her jaw throbbed, and her pride stung worse than her throat.
He reached for his wallet on the coffee table, pulling out a crumpled twenty and tossing it at her like it was pocket change. “There ya go. Good effort for a first-timer.”
Kya snatched the bill off the floor, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her voice was hoarse, but she forced a smirk, refusing to let him see her rattled. “Thanks, Romeo. Real romantic. Next time, tip better.”
He chuckled, already turning his attention back to the TV. “Get outta here, kid. Don’t spend it all in one place.”
She didn’t bother with a comeback, just shoved the money into her pocket with her pizza earnings and stumbled to her feet. Her legs felt like jelly as she made her way to the door, the cool night air hitting her like a slap when she stepped outside. She grabbed her bike, her breath still uneven, and pedaled off into the dark, the ache in her jaw and the sting in her chest lingering like a bad aftertaste.
Back home, the house was quiet, her mom already passed out after a double shift. Kya kicked off her runners, peeled off her sweaty clothes, and stepped into a scalding shower. The hot water washed away the grime of the day, the weirdness of the night, and the lingering taste of humiliation. She didn’t dwell on it—couldn’t afford to. Easy money, she told herself, even if it left her shaken. Twenty bucks was twenty bucks.
Wrapped in a threadbare towel, she crashed into bed, the mattress creaking under her slight weight. Her mind was already shutting down, the rough encounter slipping away like a bad dream. Just another delivery, she figured. Just another night. By morning, it’d be nothing but a blip, buried under the grind of the next shift.
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