This—my first submission—is an embellishment on actual events, like a film director declaring his film is “based on actual events” but altering the story to better entertain his audience. It’s typical of the stories I like to write—often long and descriptive, usually fictional, often based on actual events and personal experiences. I’d appreciate feedback, and maybe some inspirational ideas or requests for additional stories to get my creative juices flowing.
In the “good old days”—well before the invention of the internet and websites delivering porn on demand—specialty “adult” theaters and novelty stores, usually catering exclusively to men, where not uncommon in cities and towns across the country. This is a story of seduction by just such a place.
I stood in the gloomy, narrow corridor, dimly lit in dull yellow light. Narrow doors opened into little padded booths were a dollar would buy 3 minutes of explicit sex on small televisions mounted in the walls. It was dark and the air thick with a pungent odor like pine disinfectant cleaner mixed with sweat. Occasionally an eerie, shadowy figure, like a phantom, scurried through the narrow passage to disappear into one of the little booths, a solid *clack* followed as the door was securely locked behind him. And throughout the murky passageways could be heard a continuous muddle of grunts, and groans, moans, and shrieks of endless fucking.
Standing in the open door of the last booth at the end of the narrow corridor I fumbled with a pocket full of quarter sized arcade tokens, watching brief previews of featured porn videos on the booth’s small TV. On the wall in front of me hung an old, yellowed sign that read: “Only one person allowed in a booth,” and while I wondered how such a rule was enforced I felt a phantom’s gently tap on my shoulder.
“Excuse me,” came a husky voice from behind.
Stunned, I spun to find a somewhat short, rather portly fellow with a head of thick, black, unkept hair and a long beard standing behind me. “Sorry,” I said as I backed away from the door, allowed him to pass. He stepped into the little booth, stood in the flickering light of the television watching me, then slowly closed the door. Looking down the corridor I noticed several other open doors and realized there’d been no *clack* of the door lock. I decided it sent the wrong message to hang around these dark passages alone and quietly scurried away to my own much-anticipated destination.
I’d finally found the courage to descend the stairs to the blood-red underworld of Kitty’s Palace of Pleasure, where women waited behind glass on little blanket covered foam beds for anxious suiters carrying wads of cash. Like the passage I’d just come from, this narrow corridor was dark, but bathed in a gruesome crimson light spilling from open doors on either side of the passageway. Unlike the muddled noise of the former however, a creepy quiet hung in the thick air, broken only intermittently by hushed voices from behind a closed door. I moved quietly along, passed a closed door, then an empty booth illuminated in dark crimson, then passed another closed door and more empty dark red beds. Finally arriving at the last open door at the end of the tight corridor I turned to find a scarlet woman waiting patiently.
“Hi, hun!” she said in a muffled voice with a bright-red smile. “Want to do a-show?” she continued speaking as best she could through the glass barrier. Rising to her knees she grasped each of her thinly veiled breasts in a hand and peered charmingly at me through the transparent barrier. I felt my breathing shudder, swallowed hard as I glared at her nearly naked, scarlet body. Then she held out her hand, gestured me toward her.
“Um, well,” I stuttered, my breathing labored and my heart thumping as I took a step nearer the door. Already in a near constant state of full erection, I felt my cock suddenly swelling uncomfortably in the confines of my briefs and blue jeans.
“Come-inside,” she continued with a glistening vermilion smile. Another step and I was standing in the little booth, staring with anticipation into her red face and glowing red eyes. “Close the door,” she ordered as she sat back on the little bed.
I turned, closed the door, twisted the latch that locked me into the closet-like space with her. I took a step closer to the pane of glass that separated us and felt my foot slip on something slimy. Then I noticed glistening globs of blood-red ooze dotting the floor, a waste basket half-full of little wads of red paper like bloody rags—evidence of the men who’d preceded me there this evening.
“What’s your name?” she asked as she slid closer to the glass. I thought about lying but answered her truthfully, presuming she didn’t give a damn who I was. “I’m Gemma—you know how this works?” she leaned close to a little round hole cut through the glass near its frame. I thought about answering her truthfully but lied, presuming she’d expect and appreciate naivety from a young man like myself. “Well, you need tokens, you can buy them from me”—she began my instruction—"you just drop the tokens into the box”—she pointed to a little metal box fixed to the wall with a slot to insert coins on it—“then you pick up the phone, so we can talk.” Also fixed to the wall next to the metal box was a telephone handset. “I work for tips, the better you tip the better the show,” her eyes flashed a demonic crimson with two great black spots in their center—my heart pounded with lustful anticipation.
“Okay,” I reached into my left pocket and pulled out a small bundle of cash, “Um—how much do you usually get?” I didn’t want her to think I was cheap, hoped to prove my worth by giving her a little more than she typically got.
“That’s up to you,” she answered, watching me peel off three bills from the bundle. I was disappointed she hadn’t given me a number to compete against, hoped that I’d guessed right, and she’d approve of the tip; I stuffed the rest back into my pocket.
“Can we start with this?” I held the bills out so she could see them.
“Yeah, that’s okay”—she stuck two fingers through the round hole cut through the glass and grabbed the bills—"how many tokens you want?”
“Don’t think I need any.” Reaching into my right pocket I pulled out a fistful of the brass coins. She smiled as I started dropping one-after-another into the little box until bright white lights suddenly came on, and she and the little blanketed bed she sat on instantly came to vivid life.
The closet-like rooms occupied by the women were just big enough for two people to sit comfortably and talk to one another. A wall with a window in it, framed about three feet off the ground to just below the booths low ceiling, split the room. A platform at the level of the window and covered in soft foam made a bed for the women to lay on. A mirror behind the women was attached to the wall opposite the window, so a guy looking through the glass could see a reflection of the women’s backside—it made delightful viewing.
“Okay, that’s probably good,” she said as I dropped the tenth token into the little box. She scooted herself into the middle of the little bed covered in a soft pink blanket and without hesitation grabbed the lacy bra covering her tits and stripped it off, pulled the matching lacy panties off as well, cast them both aside. Sitting naked now in the middle of the little bed she grabbed each breast in a hand, began fondling herself.
In the clear light I could see now that she was an attractive young woman, about my age—not much more than 21 years old I’d guess—with delicate, sandy-blond hair, cut too short to rest on her shoulders. She had a smooth beige complexion and large brown eyes that twinkled when she smiled, a petite nose sat atop plump, pink lips. She was thin, with modest breasts punctuated by perky little maroon nipples. Her hips were smooth and round, and she sat on a pair of long thin but muscular legs folded under her haunches.
I picked up the phone and held it to my head; it hummed slightly in my ear. She leaned forward, raised herself up on all-fours, peered at me though the glass, giving me the opportunity to study her face and caress with my eyes the naked reflection of her supple hips and bare butt in the mirror behind her.
“So, what kind of sex do you like,” she asked bluntly, her voice coming through clear over the phone now. I thought it would have been easier to ask me what I didn’t like and assume everything else was okay. “Wait—I bet I know,” she interjected before I had a chance to answer. She suddenly turned her back-side toward me, her rear lifted on spread knees, grabbed a butt cheek, and spread open her ass hole. “I bet you’d like to fuck me right here.” She rimmed her dark, puckered anus with an index finger, then slipped the finger up to its first knuckle into the little orifice. Turning her head to watch me she smiled warmly, gently pumped the finger in and out of tight hole.
“Well,” I began breathlessly as I watched her fingering her butt hole, “I think I’d fuck you anywhere you’d like to be fucked.”
“That’s a good answer.” She turned around to face me, laid on her back, spread her knees to reveal the naked folds and neatly trimmed pubic hair between her legs. She reached down with both hands, squeezing her breasts between extended arms, “I’d like to be fucked”—her fingers slipped between thick dark pussy lips—"right here.” She pulled her labia back to reveal the rose-pink opening to her love center.
I thought I felt my heart skip a beat—then quicken—rushing even more thick-red blood into my already straining erection. Stepping forward to get closer to the glass my foot slipped on more slime on the floor. Just then I couldn’t help wondering how I might measure-up to the other men she’d entertained this night. An awkward feeling of inadequacy boiled up in me, made me question my judgement in coming here. She allowed me to glare at her, caress the length of her youthful nude body with my eyes, pause to imagine licking and suckling her hard maroon nipples, descend to her neatly groomed pussy, fantasize sucking her clit until she finally demanded I thrust my rigid manhood into her. I didn’t want to think about how many others had those same fantasies. I had to stop to clear my mind, take a deep breath, not think about the other men that had come before me.
“Umm,” she groaned softly, “Are you going to get him out for me? Will you make him come for me?” her eyes flashed at mine as she gently swirled her finger around the little pink jewel crowning her sex.
“Hmm, I was hoping you’d say that,” she suddenly yanked me back from my appreciation, “I’ve wanted to come since I first saw you,” she grinned as if my lust flattered her. I quickly unbutton my blue jeans, tugged, and unzipped the fly.
“Let me see,” she giggled, rolled over to face me, lifted her ass into the air over spread knees allowing me to see her soft, round rump and rosy slit between her legs in the mirror behind her. I waited briefly until she was resting her head on her hands in front of me, then reached into my briefs, grabbed hold of his thick shaft and lifted him out, let my pants drop to my knees. Releasing him to stand erect on his own, he protruded stiffly into the heavy, stale air of the booth. She leaned close to the glass and watched him throb slightly with every beat of my pounding heart. She sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth, “Umm, that’s a nice one.”
“I’ll bet you say that to all the guys,” I grunted, fishing for a complement. Grasping him firmly in my right hand, I squeezed a dollop of glistening pre-come from his little slit opening, spread it around his maroon head with the end of my finger.
“Well, sometimes I mean it,” she said with conviction, her eyes twinkling in mine. A surge of satisfaction warmed me. “Make him come for me—I want to watch him come.” She spread her knees apart a little wider, slipped her hand between her legs and gently stroked her thick, dark pussy lips, caressed the nub of her pleasure center.
While watching her stroke and rub herself in the mirror I began stroking myself, imagining my thick erection penetrating her from behind, his hard shaft glistening with her slick lubricant, plunging in-and-out of her glistening pink opening, her puckered butt hole winking at me with every stroke. Now I could feel hot surges like little electric shocks passing from my hard cock to my hands, arms, legs, and feet. “Oh, fuck—I’m gonna-come,” I groaned, the tempo of my stroking increasing with a sudden surge of excitement. Suddenly the switch tripped, sent strong spasms racing through me, rushed thick spirts of sticky seamen shooting from the little slit at the end of my swollen cockhead. One or two long ropes hit the glass in front of me, then more hit the floor with a solid splat, leaving my own slimy welcoming on the floor for the next visitor.
Bent over at the waist, the last of my convulsions passing, I stood upright and noticed she was laying flat on her stomach, resting her chin in her hands, calves up in the air crossed at her feet. “Wow—a shooter, too!” she laughed. “Have you been saving yourself up for me?” She sat up, grabbed a wad of paper towels, and asked if I would please wipe down the glass.
I cleaned the window as best I could, then whipped my own hands and swollen, but flaccid penis down, cleaned some ooze seeping from his little opening.
“I hope you enjoyed the show,” she said, now clothed and sitting at the edge of the bed, “you’ll come visit me again, won’t you? I work most weekends after 6, and sometimes during the week.” she added.
“Yeah, I’ll come visit you again, if you’d like.” I replied, staring into her smiling face, wondering if I was lying to her—regret already seeping into my conciseness.
Suddenly the bright white light went out and we were plunged back into crimson darkness, the humming of the telephone stopped. I hoisted and buttoned my pants while my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness.
“Please open the door, and I’ll see you later,” she seemed to be rushing me along. So, I quickly opened the door and stepped out into the dismal little corridor, and there standing in the eerie darkness was another phantom, waiting his turn with her. “Hi, hun!” I heard her say as I stepped aside, scurried down the narrow passageway to escape up the stairs, out of the building into fresh air.
As I drove home, I couldn’t help thinking there was something out of harmony about her, that she didn’t really belong in that dank dungeon of whores—It was the same felling I had every time I indulged my fantasies in that place. I made up my mind I wouldn’t go back, promised myself I’d not spend any more money there, but I already knew it was a promise I wouldn’t be able to keep, that I was already planning my next visit to her or someone very much like her. I’d been seduced long ago, bound for life by an everlasting strange love to my secretive sexual underworld; undoubtedly the same love binding her to me.
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