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THE SILENT PARTNER
A Short Story
by
Yungie Boi
2026
Copyright
The Silent Partner
Copyright © 2026 by Yungie Boi
All rights reserved.
Disclaimer
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This work contains explicit sexual content and is intended for mature readers aged 18 and older only. By purchasing and reading this story, you acknowledge that you are a consenting adult of legal age, fully aware of the graphic depictions of consensual power exchange, dominance and submission, older/younger dynamics, and intense erotic acts contained herein. All characters are fictional and above 18 years old. This is adult erotic fiction.
THE SILENT PARTNER
The brick wall is cold against my cheek. Rough. The mortar lines scrape my skin when I shift, and I shift because his hand is on the back of my neck—heavy, calloused, the fingers thick with rings—and he's pushing me forward, bending me over, and my palms slap the wall. The bricks are damp. November damp. The kind that seeps into everything—my jacket, my jeans, my skin—and the alley smells like wet garbage and cigarette smoke and him.
Him. The dealer. The silent one.
I don't know his name. Never asked. He never offered. The first time I came to this alley—three months ago, September, still warm enough to sweat—he was leaning against the dumpster with his arms crossed, and he looked at me, and I looked at him, and he pointed at the brick wall. That was it. No words. No negotiation. He pointed, I walked, he followed, and he fucked me against the wall with my jeans around my thighs and his hand over my mouth.
Every Friday since. Same time. Same alley. Same wall. He points. I walk. He fucks me. I leave forty dollars lighter and walking funny.
Tonight is different.
Tonight I brought someone.
* * *
The kid is nervous. I can see it—the way he's standing, shifting his weight, his hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes darting from me to the alley mouth to the street behind us. He's twenty-two, maybe twenty-three. College, probably. Or was. He's got that look—soft hands, clean nails, the kind of face that's never been hit. He's here because I told him about the dealer, and he wanted to see.