The Kissing Booth

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38 can come if he gets one woman off. He has three minutes.
1.8k words
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ironquill
ironquill
133 Followers

One more token, that's all I needed. One more woman, or even a guy, who cares. But there were only fifteen minutes left in my shift in the Kissing Booth.

It had been a good day, though maybe not the same as your definition of 'good.' In ten hours, while chained on my knees inside a wood table with black walls on either side of me, I had brought off nineteen people, sixteen women and three men. Of course I didn't have a counter, but I'd gotten good at keeping count of sound of the tokens sliding into the slot.

It's not like I have a lot else to do.

You only needed ten to not get whipped, but I made that quota on most days now because of my experience. But somehow it's a rare day when I get the twenty I need to be allowed to touch my cock. Just the possibility of getting to touch it has me hard as Differential Equations.

I see a pair of legs come by, encased in a jeweled tight evening dress. They stop in front of the booth and I pray, but then I hear talking and laughing. I recognize the voice, it's Lady Indigo. Her cunt is very salty and her clitoris is impossible to find, but she has an enormous sensitive G-spot that swells up like a pillow, which is a reliable way to push her over the edge.

I have no idea what her face looks like. But she has a spectacular ass, all wrapped up like that. She's talking to a guy. A Lord, a free man. Something I am never going to be. It sounds like they're going to go fuck. Something I am probably never going to do. I shouldn't be thinking about this since I'm probably not going to get my twentieth token today.

There's another five minute beep. Ten minutes left. Usually this time of the day I am praying for them to come, but now I am trying to mentally slow time so that someone, anyone can sit in the chair that my neck is attached to with a two foot chain.

I look down at my erection, so close and so far away. It's not locked up. For one thing cages are expensive and I'm just a stupid slave. Besides, my hands are nearly always chained behind me as they are now, and there's never a moment when someone isn't looking at me or at least might be. As for touching it when I'm not supposed to, well I tried that once. Once is as many times as any sane person will try it. I just survived the punishment, and I don't want to see if I can survive it twice.

I never thought of it as small, but it's not nearly big enough to get me promoted to bedroom duty. There are other things that I could be, but my sex slave career has kind of stalled out at the kissing booth.

It's kind of my fault, since I've gotten so good at it. It's my fault too that I get to jack off so rarely, since I have specialized in servicing women. Of course anyone can sit in my chair, and I have to serve them. I can give a perfectly serviceable blowjob, plenty good enough to get almost any guy off. But that's not exactly rocket science. The people who are really good, mostly women but some men too, can bring a Lord to the edge three or four times before pushing them over, and then they feel the orgasm tingling through them for ten or fifteen minutes afterward.

Or so I'm told.

A small, slender pair of naked white legs covered in purple and red stripes approaches Lady Indigo and says something to her in a tiny voice that I can't hear from under the table. That would be 38217, or seventeen for short. She's a runner. I could be promoted to runner; a few masters that have bothered to look at me have joked that I'm too good looking to be locked under a table.

"Did you deliver the message or not, you titless little lily-white cunt?" snaps Lady Indigo.

A stream of excuses pour out of seventeen, all completely irrelevant. They are cut off by a loud slap, hard enough to make seventeen stagger back a few steps. I'm sure it's not seventeen's fault. Maybe the Lord or Lady she was to deliver the message to wouldn't give her permission to speak so she could deliver it. Maybe a superior door slave wouldn't let her into the chamber that the recipient was in, possibly just for the fun of knowing she'd be whipped. Maybe Lady Indigo had given her a deliberately impossible task just to have a reason to punish her.

It doesn't matter; she's a slave and Lady Indigo is a Lady. It's not supposed to be fair.

Lady Indigo tells seventeen to have herself put down for five with the crop, and her tiny whip-bruised ass disappears from my view. Probably just as well if I never get that promotion. Supposedly sometimes you'll bring someone really good news and they just might fuck you because they're in a good mood. Most of the time people are just pissed off about whatever you tell them and put you down for more whippings.

At least what happens to me depends on my own skill. Pleasing a woman is so much harder. There are so many different places to lick, so many different ways. Some want your tongue deep inside, some want you licking up and down the whole slit, some want you flicking their clit like a hummingbird's wing. Even if you get it right it takes a lot longer than for a man. But I have developed a sixth sense, a combination of reading the sound of their moans, the way they twist their thighs, the clenching and unclenching of their fists. I can taste the difference in their cunt juice when they're getting into it.

I guess I take pride in being good at what I do, at least. Stupid to think that that's the only thing I'll ever be proud of. There was a time when I had reason to hope I would be so much more, back when I was free.

I could have a wife now, a house, a child. I could even be a Lord up in the Great Lounge, sitting on a couch flirting with a Lady while I used one hand to torture the nipple of a naked twenty-year old kneeling below me hoping for the privilege of getting my dick up her ass.

But why do I torture myself? There's the five minute bell. Five minutes and it's off to Exercise. That should calm my tortured dick down the first time I get a strap for not moving the treadmill fast enough. Then a dinner that won't fill me, then watch the punishments. At least I'll just be an audience for that, unlike seventeen.

Then for the next two hours before bed I will just stand there. Literally. Assuming no one needs me, and no one ever does, I'll stand naked in a room full of other naked standing slaves with our arms at our sides looking at the wall. Somehow that's the most degrading punishment of all, that they can make you just stand there and do nothing because no one has anything for you to do. And it's not an accident that you stand in a room right next to the Great Lounge where you can hear them laughing, eating, drinking, dancing and fucking. It's another way to turn the screw, another way to remind you of the difference between a slave and a Lord or Lady.

There's the next five minute bell. Lady Indigo walks away with the Lord she'd been talking to. Oh well.

Aught-nine to the left to me is getting some business. I can hear her slurping away at someone's cock. Why the hell couldn't he have come to me? I'm not the best cocksucker in the world but I'm better than she is.

I shouldn't take that attitude, God knows she needs it more than I do. But boredom leads me to count other slaves' coins too, and I know that even with this one she'll only make eight. This will be her third night of whippings, and they get worse every time. There was a time when I would have felt bad watching her suffer up there. But this life strips you of compassion.

And suddenly Lady Indigo reappears and slides herself into my seat. Her dusky brown cunt fills my view, her dark legs entrap my head.

"You've got three minutes and twenty seconds, thirty-eight," she says up above me. "I know you're at nineteen tokens. You'd better hurry."

Aside from getting more business, another advantage good cocksuckers have is that men don't usually talk to you.

I dive into her cunt, thrusting my tongue as far back as I can to reach her whole G-spot. My tongue is strong as iron, as you might imagine, but as much as I practice an exercise it by this time of day it's exhausted and painful to move. My neck feels like there are knives going through it. But I force the pain from my mind.

"Less than three minutes now, better hurry up," she adds. "If you get your twenty, I'm going to sit in the audience when you pull your pud. You'd like that, I bet."

Of course you don't get privacy to play with yourself. There was a time I couldn't bring myself off in front of a bunch of Lords and Ladies staring at me, but at this point I could probably make myself cum while I was running a fifty-yard sprint. As a guy I get a smaller audience than a girl, and they're mostly men. If Lady Indigo's in the crowd I expect I'll probably last about fifteen seconds.

"Mmm, you're getting warmer," she says. "But it's coming up on two minutes, I don't know if you're going to make it."

If I don't get her off in time I'll still have to finish the job, I just won't get a token for my trouble. No doubt that's why she sat down now.

"Or maybe, just maybe, I'll have you give me a private show. Not that it matters. You've got a minute a half and I don't think you...oh. Okay, keep doing that."

Well, I shut her up, anyway. A slave has to take his satisfaction where he can get it. That doesn't mean I'll make it.

But I'm going to try. I push my whole head forward, sliding my tongue in and out of her beautiful pussy.

After all, this is all I really exist for.

ironquill
ironquill
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HereAgainReadingHereAgainReadingover 6 years ago

really nice to see a good one about male slaves. would love to see more like this, or this expanded

justincbenedictjustincbenedictover 6 years ago
that is FABULOUS writing

You could get paid for this...very good

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