Becoming, Ch. 02

"... not pretty enough to actually pick up clients, o' course but we all gots to start somewhere haven't we? Won't make as much coin in here, but it's regular business and if you're good at it, the boys might tip you, oh yes they might..."

Scott was still whirring, his mind a haze of thoughts and sounds and drunkenness. He began to realise that his testicles had a serious ache in them, and something warm and wet was running down the inside of his right thigh.

Muzzily, he looked down and saw a rivulet of translucent liquid casually running down toward his knee, and realised Bobby's cum was leaking out of his ass. How had he seen that so easily? Oh right. His pants were gone. Soft, wide hands gently pushed him into the booth. There was a sound like wood sliding against wood, and when Scott turned around he found he'd been enclosed in the booth. There was just enough room to bend over or kneel.

In each of the four walls, there were fist-sized holes the rims of which had been padded with some sort of vinyl cushioning.

He began to realise what was happening. His brain began to click, even against the fog of the whiskey. "This... this is a glory hole."

"Suren it's a glory hole. Haven't you been listening? Oh, bit new, bit new I suppose, hard to keep track of all that's going on and it's been such a long night I understand. Yes, this is how you pay us, oh yes. We're keepin' track, you know. Two pills, two double whiskeys, plus twelve ounces just recently there with the funnel. A blowjob from our star attraction. A good seeing-to by Bob although that might've been on the house judging by the state of you, and then o'course you did bet everything that you are. You'll have to buy yourself back eventually, naturally, property laws being what they are and assumin' you wanna leave this place at some point--not everybody does, mind you, not everybody does--but this is one way to make money here, isn't it?"

Scott's mind rebelled. He did not want to give blowjobs. That was gay, the word echoing a bit ridiculously against the memory of having Bob's big black cock pushing him to orgasm just a half hour ago--and the fact that he blushed with desire and shame over it.

Okay, but the pleasure in his ass... how had he been supposed to know that you could get that? That his ass could do that for him? It was mutual, though. Scott felt himself trying to grab on to something, justify it. He wasn't gay... it's not like he found men attractive, but cock... well, cock was another thing, right? It just happened to be attached to a man. Taking cock was fine, he supposed, but giving a blowjob? That was just... servile. That was gay.

The large woman--Emma?--was doing something. His wrists and ankles felt heavier. Something had been fastened around them.

"Sure'n it's gonna feel like you're bein' forced--and you are, of course you are--but remember, you did sign yourself away, didn't you? Of course you did, oh of course you did, yes!"

There was the 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. There was 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 a bad 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 six inch length. Slight upward curve. It was cut, and the mushroom head had a darker, reddish hue to it.

Scott leaned away from it. They couldn't be serious? They... wasn't this forced? Wasn't this ra--

"Ah, a newbie," came the voice again. Without being able to see the face of whoever's cock that was, Scott found he could taste the massive, shit-eating grin. "My favourite."

Sure enough, Scott watched the cock quiver and almost seem to grow an extra half inch and become somehow stiffer.

"I sure hope this is your first time," came a snicker. There was a click from the wall. The other side of the wall. Scott felt his stomach freeze up as the stainless steel machine above him moved. The rails shifted. The motor with the leather ropes fed into it shifted across the ceiling to directly above the waiting cock, hard against the wall. Then, the leather ropes began to pull.

The machine was retracting them!

Scott was dragged over to the wall, directly in front of the cock. It brushed his cheek, and he started to try to just stand up... but found that the motor had detached. It was actually two motors, with the second moving to the opposite wall. It had somehow also spread the arms with the leather ropes attached to his ankles so that they were forced to stay spread out. He was stuck directly in front of the cock!

There was a nasty laugh from the cock, and it gently moved back and forth across his face.

"Yeah, fight me, bitch. That's gonna work."

The feeling of the cock rubbing across his face was somehow enraging and also erotic. Scott kept his mouth shut, but there was something else happening. The stress of his legs and arms being where they are had begun to make his joints ache.

"Feelin' the burn, newbie? I can keep you like that all night, you know. I could walk away from this booth and leave you like that--and I will, if I'm unhappy."

Scott knew, somehow, that the voice was not lying. He was not a fit man. His joints were burning. The cock had started to press against his lips. "That means," the voice continued, "no biting."

He couldn't help it. The pain in his joints was becoming too intense and he opened his mouth to suck in a breath... and suddenly his mouth was full. The most incredible thing about the feeling of the bulbous head pushing past his lips, the shaft, veiny and textured, slightly slippery because of the skin being looser due to the circumcision sliding over his tongue, the most incredible thing about it was that it felt perfectly normal.

Like sucking a finger or a thumb. It just happened to belong to someone else. It was almost confusingly flavourless, but not quite flavourless. It tasted like skin, and a bit of salt. The evil stench he had expected was nowhere to be seen. There was certainly a mild musk, with his nose that close to someone's testicles, but it was almost erotically subtle.

Scott's drunk, dosed, and dazed mind somehow sped straight to what is, psychological speaking, a perfectly normal coping reflex.

This isn't so bad, he thought.

There was a long pause. He got the feeling that the person attached to the cock in his mouth was waiting for something. His own mind was scrambling for some kind of response, but it was having a lot of trouble. Options were limited when chained to the wall and immobilised with a cock in your mouth.

"Start sucking, newbie."

Scott tried to jerk his head back, but the pain in his shoulders and knees forced him to recoil even from that--and seemed to give the impression of himself bobbing on this cock.

There was a satisfied grunt, and as Scott paused, the voice changed into resignation. "Okay. Well, I guess I can get you started. You're gonna suck eventually." The cock began to move back and forth, and Scott realised that he was having his face fucked. He tried to open his mouth as wide as he could in response, but the cock kept moving back and forth across his tongue and he got tired and dry and eventually closed his mouth around the dick again.

He seriously considered biting, but it was a bleak prospect. His body was on fire, his cock was strangely hard, and more and more of his mind was beginning to suggest he just get it over with. It's not so bad.

So, Scott did something he never, ever thought he would do. He shut his eyes, sealed his lips, and began to suck on the cock in his mouth each time it drove into him. "Oh, I love breaking in the new sluts," the voice came, almost breaking into a moan at the end of the sentence.

Scott thought the cock was still thrusting into his mouth, kept his eyes squeezed shut and kept sucking. He began to notice that every sound the cock's owner made... sort of, reverberated through him. The moans made him want to moan. The shit-talk about "new sluts" and "fresh bitch" and the like made his cock hard, made his hands clench. He felt like he'd become just an extension of this person's penis--a cocksleeve, an extension meant for pleasure. An extension of this person's pleasure.

At some point, he opened his eyes and realised the cock was no longer moving in and mouth of him--he was bobbing in a fierce, almost angry motion, and sucking like he was trying to finish a milkshake through a straw.

"Broken," the voice sighed happily.

Scott's mouth abruptly flooded with something salty and bitter. He swallowed reflexively and it was gone almost like it had never been there at all. Except there was a strange... almost numbness, an almost memory of bitter flavour.

The cock in Scott's mouth began to soften, and he opened up, tentatively. The penis withdrew, apparently with some reluctance.

"Congratulations, slut," said the voice in a grudging sort of way, "You earned your first tip. A little basic, but I'm sure you'll learn some technique soon. Very enthusiastic, though. I'll keep an eye on you. Got promise."

Scott blinked, swallowing again to make sure--had that been semen?--whatever had pumped into his mouth was gone and then sat stunned as a hundred dollar bill was pushed through the hole. There was a click, and the leather ropes slackened. Scott almost fell face-first into the wall but was able to brace himself.

He was still staring at the hundred dollar bill. He could feel his mind responding to the sight of the money. It was as though something was whispering into his ear. Look at that. You did so well. It wasn't that bad. A hundred bucks for ten, fifteen minutes worth of work? You just made between $600 and $400 an hour, slut.

Thoughts like these bounced around, pink and neon and drunk inside his mind, echoing and mutating until eventually a few more words emerged; a new phrase.

The mental sight of a cock and the question, Can I do that again?

Just go with it. You're a cocksucker tonight.

Scott's mind was melting into a cacophony of conflicting noises. New things were emerging. There was something about having sucked his first cock that made the prospect of sucking another cock... acceptable. There was something about taking a dick in his ass that made the thought of taking another dick in his ass... acceptable.

Then, there was the memory of his massive orgasm with Bobby's cock slamming into him, and that made the thought of being fucked by men not just acceptable but arousing.

The same thoughts would have revolted him just hours ago.

But there was no time for that now. Another cock had slid through a hole and with his body still trembling from the agony of the rack above and his mind trembling with uncertainty from all these recent experiences, he simply allowed himself to get to work.

Scott gave himself permission to suck that cock. He did not want to hear that click, or feel the ropes pull at his limbs ever again. As this next cock slid through his lips and into his mouth, as he tasted the new person's skin, wrapped his lips around the thick, veiny shaft, he began trying to figure out what to do. He kept his teeth out of the way, used his hand to stroke the shaft when he pulled back, twirled his tongue around the bulbous tip...

It felt like mere moments before he felt the cock jerk and felt that warmth fill his mouth. This time it was sweet and stuck to the inside of his mouth a bit. He had to swallow twice. This time, only $80 made it through the hole but he was more thinking to himself, did I just enjoy that? Or was I only trying to do a good job.

Was there a difference?

Scott began to lose track of how many cocks he had sucked. Not because it was an overwhelming number, but more because he felt... overwhelmed. Oversaturated. And dizzy, drunk, and drugged as he was, just focusing was hard.

But there were quite a few dollar bills on the floor and a certain amount of cum drying around his mouth before a Southern-tinted voice asked "What size are you?"

Almost face-fucked senseless, Scott immediately answered, "Fat."

"Perfect. Square up that arse with the hole, boy. Four times pay. I know the rules."

Scott's brain locked up. He found he couldn't move. After a few moments, there was a sigh. "Not takin' no for an answer, son." A metallic click. He felt his wrists pulled up almost to the ceiling. His legs were moved so that his heels pressed hard against the wall, his ass firmly pushed against the hole. Two more holes in the wall slid discreetly open, and a pair of hands fumbled around, then seized on his muffin-top and were allowed to grasp his hips.

Ankles held spread-eagle as they were, Scott could do nothing but hang onto the leather ropes keeping his arms up as he felt an intense pressure against his asshole. It squirmed around and left something cold behind in a brief absence before returning. Gently, with repeated pressure, it slid through his ring and entered him.

And Scott moaned.

There was a chuckle. "Why bother resisting? You clearly enjoy it in there, boy."

Another object joined the first. Bobby must have made him easy to access, because there was very little resistance from his ass, now.

The fingers withdrew, and the unmistakeable feel of a bulbous mushroom head pushed into him. The hands around his hips seized, dug into his fat The pain, again, was there. But there was a pleasure that was very much a sublime part of it. It flared as the man's cockhead widened his ring during the withdrawal, and sometimes the penis inside his bottom rubbed against something that caused explosions of pleasure inside him.

The feeling was hot, almost liquid, almost like his ass was melting feeling that would have made him nervous if he hadn't been so compromised, but in this case just felt like his ass was on fire with sensation.

His insides becoming hot, flexible rubber that wrapped themselves around the thick cock plunging in and out of him faster and faster felt so unbelievably good that Scott wondered why he had never tried it before. Why more men weren't trying this. Why wasn't everyone trying this?

He realised the loud, gasping moans were his own. The hands resting on his hips squeezed and pulled him backward and the penis stopped deep inside him and pulsed. Scott felt an insane urge to cover the other man's hands with his own. A wetness spread through his ass.

There was a shuffling noise, and the pressure from one of the hands vanished. Then, a thick stack of papers were pushed into the chamber. A metallic click and retreating footsteps that sounded like cowboy boots.

Scott glanced downward, dazedly, and saw at least five hundred dollars in bills fluttering to the floor. They joined what appeared to be another $700ish.

A few dicks later, there was a polite knock on his booth. "Gettin' along in there are ye? Fast learner you seem to be, heard a lot of talk about the new girl in booth four, haven't I? The boys is happy and if the boys is happy, well! We're all happy. Can I ask ye what ye made?"

Scott had forgotten. There were a pile of dollar bills in his lap, a few wet with cum. He looked at them critically, the said in a low voice, "I think there's eleven hundred dollars, here."

"Ooo, mighty bit of a take, there, hey? Bobby says you're on a fifth cut, so I'll take... oh, all but two-twenty-five I suppose."

Scott frowned, the weird feeling of dried cum on his face emphasizing the furrowing of his brow. "Two-twenty-five?"

"Oh no fear! Goes a lot further inside than outside. Come on, let's have a look at ye." The padlock clicked. The booth slid open. And there was the large woman and Bobby, staring at him. Scott felt profoundly embarrassed at his condition... for all of half a second. Then he remembered how good he had felt and decided to have no shame, the Ecstasy helping to smooth away his discomfort and alienation, erasing all potential humiliation.

He stood, almost defiantly, as drops of cum dripped from his chin.

Bobby nodded. "Some spine after all, slut. Thought I felt one in there. Alright, Emma. Get him the phone, the app, tell him about the money." Then he looked at Scott again and said, "You're up early, so I recommend you grab a room for the night. We've got you booked for some help at 8am sharp in the basement. Be there, slut. We charge for every second spent waiting on you." Before anything else could be said, the large Black man strode away.

The large woman nodded at Bobby and dug around in a hip pouch before producing a small, black smart phone. She turned it on, punched a few things in, then turned it around and handed it to Scott, who took it with hands shaking ever-so-slightly.

The phone was open and unlocked. "Your phone," Emma said almost apologetically, "is not to be passworded or protected in any way. Bobby likes it when we can just check up on you. It's safe for everyone, and if you get accused of cheating or overcharging, the phone keeps track of your transactions automatically with that app there in the top left that looks like a dollar sign. The one next to it, should be a picture of a pair of high heels, is your Gear app. You'll be able to have outfits shipped in with that. We own a warehouse, a few leatherworkers and a couple of fashion people who make everything to order, but since there aren't many of you, the work is usually pretty fast.