Becoming, Ch. 02 - Sex Stories

Becoming, Ch. 02

... unmistakeable sound of a padlock being clicked into place. "Oi, don' worry too much love it's just a trainin' shift. I'll be back in an hour or so to see how you're getting along. Remember, if you do a good job, sometimes they'll tip you. Remember to make sure they know if they want yer arse it's four times the money. We do have cameras--of course we do--and so even if they use the buttons, they're still billable. Well, like I's said, I shall be back in a few hours."

The affable, cheerful woman plodded off. Somewhere in the hall, a door shut. Scott began to realise there were people in the room around the booth he was stuck in. In fact, if he focused, he found he could hear... slurping? Wet sounds, cloth against cloth. The odd moan. Somewhere off through the wall to his right, flesh on flesh slapping sounds began to sound. There was a loud gasp of delight. Therewas a hole in that wall and Scott was morbidly curious. He pressed an eye to the padded hole in the right wall and caught a glimpse of a large, well-muscled man with a sleeve of skull tattoos absolutely railing one of the holes in the next booth over.

The cock that flashed in and out of sight as it entered and re-entered the hole in the next booth over was...

Scott shook his head and tried to look away but found himself draw back to the sight of the man fucking the booth over and over again. His mind was fuzzy and pink, the whiskey was starting to hit him and he found himself staring at the drops of sweat ...

... rolling down the man's back. As those droplets rolled down the hypnotising bunching and relaxing of muscle in the man's back, Scott felt his cock beginning to harden.

Felt his gaze drawn back to what was--even to a straight mind--a truly majestic cock railing the booth. There was a building, constant moan becoming louder and louder from inside the booth--a masculine moan. The muscled man was gasping, his large hands stuck through two additional holes in the booth, black leather pants clenched around the midpoint of his buttocks as the man fed his cock into the booth faster and faster and faster--and paused.

There were long, low gasps from both sides of the booth in unison. Scott realised his hand was straining toward his own cock--but couldn't quite reach. Something was cuffed around his wrist, the leather rope trailing up into the top of the booth where some stainless steel hooks and braces were set up with a series of leather straps around them. Scott blinked and found that four of them were attached to him. Both wrists. Both ankles.

The stainless steel rails fed the ropes upward through something that looked a lot like a motor.

Scott only had time to examine the contraption for a few seconds before a muffled voice said, "C'mon, slut. I don't have all day."

Scott turned to find his nightmare waiting. His first customer.

It wasn't abad cock, a detached part of his mind immediately started to ramble in the silent shock that was the rest of him. It had a solid ...