Sentenced to Glory Ch. 03-06

"Never even touched one... Haven't even seen one in real life. Hell, I don't even watch porn..."

"Wow... You ever have a boyfriend?"

"Nope..."

"How is that possible, Taylor? You're smoking hot!"

I shrug. "I chose not to waste my time with boys. Probably because I grew up extremely sheltered with strict, conservative parents who made me focus on my studies. And growing up like that in a small North Carolinian town where everyone knows each other made me too shy to put myself out there. I dunno..."

Scott snickers for a moment then erupts into laughter. "Fuck! I see now why you considering jail over pleasuring a bunch of random dudes." He laughs again. "This is gonna be one hell of a sexual awakening for you, Taylor! By the end of this weekend, you're finally going to come alive, just you wait and see!"

Groaning, I slouch in my seat and stare up at the ceiling.

Σ Λ Τ

For fifteen or twenty long minutes, I lay across the musty couch in the fetal position with my cuffed hands clutched to my chest, listening to nothing but the sound of Scott typing away at his computer. When the printer starts going, I don't budge, I just stare off into nothing in the direction of his desk.

"Alight," he says, walking over to the printer. "Come on over here..."

Sighing, I sit up and rise from the couch.

"The top paper is the normal gloryhole consent form that I make every booth worker sign. This second page is essentially our agreement that we'll both sign so you have it in writing that I'll delete all the footage of you and your friends and that I'll forget what happened here today after you've worked here at Boudoir Plus as an adult arcade specialist starting from this afternoon until this coming Sunday evening. The third page is what I want you to say on camera. Just fill out the top page and sign it, sign the second one, then I'll take the cuffs off and we can record your consent video, okay?"

I nod.

He slides a pen over to me.

The gloryhole consent form is straightforward. It asks for my name and date of birth, there's a sketchy passage about how I should have no reasonable expectation of privacy while in the booth, and then it basically says that I'm willingly choosing to engage in sex acts with strangers for my own pleasure. The part about privacy worries me a bit, but I assume it's there because I'll literally be in a tiny room with a hole big enough for a penis to fit through—a hole that a guy can peek through if he wants to. Ignoring my concerns, I fill out the page quickly and without question, then I slide it over to him.

"Thank you..." he says, placing it on top of the scanner with my driver's license beneath the part of the page with my signature.

The second page reads:

I Taylor Lawrence agree to work at Boudoir Plus as an adult arcade specialist doing manual labor and performing all physical labor duties required to aid customers with their needs from the afternoon of 9/23/22 to the evening of 9/25/22 in order to pay off losses incurred from products worth >$3,000 that I misplaced/damaged from the store during my visit on 9/23/22 . In return for performing physical labor in the arcade for the store owner/manager Scott Bonham during this period and performing all duties asked of me, the owner agrees to not press charges for the misplaced or damaged products. The owner also agrees to delete all video evidence of me misplacing said products to ensure that it will not be used against me at a later date.

As an adult arcade specialist, I Taylor Lawrence agree to take/execute any action necessary to service any and all customers who request my assistance with their needs during store hours. I understand that this role will include strenuous and repetitive physical labor. During store hours, I will fulfill any and all customer requests to the best of my ability out of my own free will, making sure that the customer is satisfied after I have helped fulfill their needs, whatever they may be. I understand that failure to fulfill every single customer's request and failure to fully service those customers to their satisfaction will result in the termination of my employment and the nullification of this agreement.

Lastly, during my employment, due to issues with my roommate and complications regarding commuting here, I have requested to sleep at the store every night from the day of this signature to the end date documented above. Scott Bonham agrees to allow me to sleep here until the date listed above.

Below that are three lines on the left and three on the right for printed name, signature, and date respectively.

"I've got to say, this is a well-written agreement," I mutter, the handcuffs' chains rattling as I print my name on the top line.

"Things you learn being a business owner," he says, leaning back, crossing his arms.

"You did a really good job wording it so that I have no choice but to do manual labor and physical labor duties in order to service the customer any way they ask me to... Basically, if I sign this, I can't even say no to anything, can I?"

"If you want to avoid jail time, nope."

"And what happens if I do whatever some guy asks me and he decides that he's not leaving the booth a satisfied customer? Do I get screwed out of our deal?"

Scott shakes his head. "So long as you make them cum the way they ask, I'm counting that as a serviced, satisfied customer. Now, if they come out saying that you beat them off to completion instead of sucking them off, or that you stopped stimulating them and moved away right as they start nutting when they asked to finish somewhere specific, those are problems I'd have to address."

"Fuck..." I sigh. Now I stare at the signature line for a long while in silence.

"Taylor, be sure that this is something you wanna do, okay?" he says. "Don't sign this and go in there only to service a couple guys then quit. Because everything you would've done leading up to that point would've been for nothing. And I don't want to have to call the cops after you already endured a few loads. That'd just make me feel horrible. If you're going to commit, commit all the way until the last hour. If you're not gonna, quit now."

I let out a long huff then I sign my name on the line. "There you go..." I scribble the date below it. "Signed and dated."

Smirking, he takes the paper, turns it around, then signs and dates his part. "Alrighty! One last thing, before the consent video..."

I narrow my gaze at him. "What's that?"

"Unlock your phone for me. I need to text one of the sorority sisters who got away that everything is fine and that you'll be home Sunday."

"That wasn't a part of the deal," I grumble.

"Do you want your sorority sisters to worry about you? Because if they get too worried, they might send cops here looking for you in some sort of missing person investigation. If that happens before your sentence is up, that might lead to a premature termination of our agreement, which may force me to turn over certain evidence that'd ruin your life."

I shake my head. "Fine. Gimmie the phone..."

He slides it over to me.

As soon as I unlock it, he snatches the cell out of my hands. "Hey!"

"I said I'm going to text them. No phone for you until your sentence is up."

"Whatever..."

"So... which girl should I text?"

"Uh... Olivia."

"The girl who crawled out through the window with the bag of dildos... you called her Liv, didn't you? Same girl?" he asks, swiping through my messages in search of her name.

Shit, I think, maintaining a poker face.

"Olivia Hartman?" he asks.

I simply nod.

"So... is this Olivia your accomplice or not?"

I say nothing.

"You do realize that, if you don't tell me, I can just search her name on social media and compare it to the security camera footage, right."

"Yes, it was her..."

"Thanks for being cooperative!" he says with a warm smile. "Do your parents live around here?"

"Nope. They're in North Carolina. Why?"

"Right, you did say that... Do you have any family nearby?"

"Umm... I've got an aunt and uncle a few hours from here..."

"Perfect. Where at?"

"Saint Augustine... Mind telling me why you're asking me about my family?"

Scott silently thumbs away at the screen. About two minutes later, he turns the phone to me. "See, just like I said. Can I hit send?"

The message to Liv reads: Hey! Just wanted to let you know that everything's fine and I got out of that jam. Had to call my parents though... They're sending my aunt and uncle from St. Augustine to come pick me up/pay this guy hush money... And as punishment, I'm gonna have to go back to St. Augustine with them and wait for my parents to fly down tomorrow. So... I won't be back till Sunday...

"Okay... You can send it," I say.

"Alrighty, we're good to go!" he says, setting my phone down on the far side of his desk. He then reaches down into a drawer and produces a key. "Let's just get these cuffs off so we can record this consent video. After that, I can show you to your workstation."

"Oh joy..."

Chapter 6:

The Gloryhole Booth

Taylor Lawrence | 18

Friday, September 23 ^rd

The consent video's script was more or less worded similarly to the contract with an additional statement about how I am choosing to play in the gloryhole booth during my time here and not at all being coerced to do so. Recording it felt so much like one of those ransom videos from the movies that it took me five tries for him to decide that I was believable and didn't look and sound like a kidnap victim.

"Damn," he says, looking at the time on his phone while holding the office door open for me, "that took longer than expected... Your first customer is going to be here any minute."

"Geez, already?"

"Yeah, I told you, I have a list of regulars who come here every time I notify them when a girl is working the holes. Pretty much sent out the email and text blast as soon as you signed the contract." He chuckles.

"Can I use the bathroom quick?" I ask.

"Of course. Right this way," he says, gesturing to the door across from his office.

After I'm done tinkling in the windowless bathroom, I wash my hands then I stand in front of the mirror staring into my topaz eyes, shaking my head. Yesterday you got captured and forced to ride a vibrating mount, now today you got 'arrested' only to be forced to suck who knows how many dicks through a hole in the wall... What the fuck even is my life? Sighing, I splash some water on my face.

Right as I'm stepping out into the hallway, Scott emerges from his office. "These are for you!" he says, extending two water bottles to me.

"Thanks," I say with a faint smile, taking the cold bottles.

"I'll be coming back to check on you after each customer visit to make sure you're okay and willing to keep going," he says while leading me down the hallway toward the storefront, "so if you need more water or anything like that, just let me know."

"Thank you. So very thoughtful," I sass, glancing from the even-numbered black doors on my left to the odd-numbered rooms along the right side of the hall.

Scott smirks. "Listen, I'm not an asshole. You got yourself into this mess by being a criminal, I'm just makin' sure you're properly taken care of while you pay your dues the way you agreed to. That's all."

"I suppose you're right. Thanks for being somewhat decent."

"You're welcome," he says, stopping and turning to a black door on our left with a metallic '8' on it. It's the fourth door from the front of the store and also the fourth from his office, meaning there are seven booths on each side of the hallway. The hinges squeal as he pulls open door number 8. "Well, here's your office!"

I peer into the closet-sized room that's as long as my body and nearly as wide across as my wingspan. The walls are a glossy black with a smooth yet lumpy texture, the floor is black too, and there's a white fluorescent bulb shining brightly in the middle of the ceiling. Both walls between this booth and the arcade rooms on either side of it have oval holes that are oriented longways in an up and down position, situated at about butt-level. Each gloryhole is lined with black rubber that's folded around into the other side. At the far end of the booth, there's a skinny, black leather ottoman-like bench. Suspended on the wall above it is a small flat-screen TV.

"Cozy," I mutter sarcastically, stepping into the tiny room.

"You're not claustrophobic, are ya?"

I flop down onto the cushioned bench. "Nope. But I might be after this weekend."

Scott chuckles. "Alright, so these booths have a lock on the inside. Until I come to get you for a food or bathroom break, keep this door locked at all times for your safety and to keep your identity protected. Even if you have to pee really bad, do not leave this room unless I'm back here with you, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Also, I forgot to mention this earlier, but there are three customer requests you're allowed to deny. The first is anal. Because fecal matter is a biohazard, which is why butt stuff is never allowed here. The second is you're allowed to turn down a patron if he asks if it's okay to stuff food in your vagina."

My eyes go wide as my face scrunches up. "Um... That's a thing guys request?"

He snickers. "Oddly enough, yeah. Sometimes. Ever hear of Tijuana Burger Girl?"

I nod. "Umm... That's the girl who tried to smuggle a burger across the US-Mexico border in her vagina only to forget she stuffed it inside of her by the time she got home, right?"

"Yup... Surprise you even knew about that, Miss Innocent."

I roll my eyes. "My sorority sisters were talking about it the other day... Otherwise, I wouldn't have known..."

"Ah, gotcha. Well, ever since Tijuana Burger Girl came out with that OnlyFoods.com porn site where she posts videos of herself stuffing her pussy with meats and rotten food, there's been an uptick of dudes inquiring if the girl working the booth is into food play. I know there's no way in hell you'd be into that, but since it's a health hazard for you, feel free to say no on the off chance someone asks."

"Trust me, I will..." I huff. "Glad that's on the list of things I can turn down."

He smiles. "I bet. Alright, lastly, if they ask to come into the booth with you, you're allowed to say no. It's up to you if you want that to happen, but I highly recommend against it. Because your safety takes priority, and I can't get here quick enough if someone in here with you is harming you in some way."

"Oh, yeah... Understood. Thanks for letting me there are things I can object to."

"You got it! Oh, and even though no one is allowed back with you without healthy bloodwork results from the last few days, just double-check that no one has any sores, and keep an eye out for dicks leaking any odd-colored discharge. Obviously, if you see anything like that, turn them away and call for me so I can reluctantly come into the booth and confirm."

I wince. "Um... Eww... I'll definitely make sure to check..."

"Good. A few more things since you're all sweet and innocent... Gloryhole 101: Customers almost always knock before they cum as a courtesy to the pleasurer. That way, you don't get surprised and choke from jizz hitting the back of your throat, or get blasted in the eyes. Also, if a customer sticks his cock through the hole with a condom for a blowjob or whatever, always pull the condom off and beat him off to completion once he starts grunting and moaning. Unless he provides other instructions. For some, finishing on a woman's face is more of a turn-on than finishing in their mouth. It's a domination fetish thing."

"Oh... kay..." I say through a wince.

"Alright, I think that's it. I'm heading up front now to unlock the doors, so you lock up and get ready." He starts to turn to walk away then spins back around. "And, Taylor?"

"Yeah?"

"Relax and try to have fun, okay? I promise this will be a great experience if you let go of your reservations and just give in to your sexual urges. Now is the time when girls your age should be experimenting, and there's no better place to experiment than a gloryhole booth where visitors are only allowed admission if they're STD-free. Especially when no one will ever know what you do during your time here."

"Alright, I'll try, Scott."

"Good girl," he says, giving me a genuine smile before heading down the hallway.

As I'm closing the door, I hear what sounds like someone banging on the glass of the storefront's door.

"Hold on! I'm coming!" Scott shouts to the customer.

Fuck... Here we go, I think, sliding the latch into place and turning the doorknob lock.

On the way back to the bench, curiosity compels me to squat in front of the gloryhole to my left. Now that I'm right up on the rubber-rimmed hole, I realize that it's about the width of my face and as long as the distance between the top of my forehead and the tip of my chin. Beyond the oval opening is a booth like mine that's bathed in a red glow instead of the bright white light radiating above me. Also, instead of a crappy little bench like my booth has, the arcade room next door has a leather armchair against the wall right across from the gloryhole. Right beside the chair, there's a narrow end table with a box of tissues and a bottle of lube in the center of it...

I can't believe this, I think, shuffling over to the small bench, my heart pounding harder and faster than it ever has. A moment after I sit down, I begin hyperventilating. In the seconds that follow, the panic gets so bad that I begin shaking and flailing my hands like I'm trying to panic-shake water off of them. Why me? Why couldn't Faith get caught and sentenced to working these gloryholes instead? She would've loved this! Or why couldn't Holly have been on the sex shop heist team instead of me? Being trapped in a gloryhole booth for three days would literally be heaven for her!

A minute or so later, a deep, gruff voice says something that I can't make out, then he laughs and footfalls clomp down the hallway toward me.

"Oh fuckity-fuck!" I shout in a whisper. "This is really about to happen.

A doorknob turns to my left, prompting me to look at that gloryhole. Hinges squeal. A door slams. A lock clicks.

"Ugh," a man groans as the distinct sound of a belt rattles just on the other side of the gloryhole.

Zip! As soon as the sound of his fly going down stops, all I hear is fabric sliding against flesh before his belt clatters against the floor.

A moment later, a partially erect white cock pokes through the hole with saggy balls dangling beneath them. "Ready when you are, sweetheart," the gruff man says, breathing heavily afterward.

I reach for the cock as I kneel on the floor before the gloryhole. What do I say? Do I say anything? No words come out. I simply stroke his penis with my pointer, middle finger, and thumb in silence.

"Ugh," he grunts. "Oh yeah... Work the balls too, baby."

My left-hand cups his saggy testicles. I have no idea what I'm doing so I just opt to alternate between fondling and tickling them. I must be doing a good job because his member swells in my other hand seconds later, plumping to about 5-inches in length with the girth of an average hotdog.

At least it's not a monster cock, I think, jerking him off the way I did to the realistic dildo earlier. Wow, that dildo did feel just like this. My eyes widen as something wet beads up on the tip of his cock. Is he coming already? Or is that the precum they told us about in sex-ed?