Filthy is powered by Vocal creators. You support Alexis Korbin by reading, sharing and tipping stories... more

Filthy is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.

How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.

How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.

To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.

Show less

Down on My Knees—the Strip Club Backroom Chronicles (Ch. 3)

Chapter 3—The Room with the Ottomans Part 2

Chapter 3

For all of his supposedly good intentions, that makes him take a breath. He is not here to think or make decisions, the club provides a safe place to unwind, to let go, enjoy the performance, to give someone else the rides for a change. He wants that, he wants the illusion, he desperately wants to take me on my offer, to spend a hour not bothering about the everyday stuff plaguing his life—his family, his job, the bills…

I look him in the eyes, I need him to give the order, to define what we are going to be doing here, or I could not proceed. I have never done this before, but I need consent, that much I know. He is looking back in hesitation, I wonder what goes through his mind at the moment.

“Are you legal?”

“Would I be working here if I wasn’t?” Not exactly the answer he is searching for but it would have to do.

“Do you know what you are offering? Do you know exactly what that entails?”

“Would depend largely on you… we are not gonna do anything you don’t like. In fact, I want you to be very specific, graphic, explicit, so I know exactly how you like it.” I shimmy down until I’m kneeling between his legs. I’m not blabbing those things just to sound like a randy twink. I have no idea how to give a head. I’m not innocent and sheltered anymore, after the first week here I did my research, listening in on the conversations of the dancers, sneaking a peak in other rooms. I even checked a few porn sites, before I realized how many different kinks and fetishes there are. Some made me sick just to imagine, others looked vaguely interesting. I know I won’t be able to do much else than suck him like a lollipop if he does not give me some directions. “So what is it gonna be?”

“Unzip me.” I follow his order immediately. His trousers have started to tent a bit. He wears silk boxers underneath. Typical. I run my fingers over the bulge as I have seen in some of the moves. I apply a little pressure and his member twitches. I must be doing something right. I take his cock out of his underwear and give it an experimental rub from the base to the head. He is not very large like I have seen on the internet, I could fit my fingers around him without trying. He feels warm, a vein on the underside is pulsing slightly. He is patient, leaves me to explore, it must turn him on to be the first one, he must think I’m very good at playing that role. I won't dispel that, explaining the mishap would be weird.

“Not that it’s not pleasant, but the friction would start to chaff soon. Either use lube, or that pretty little mouth of yours.”

“How would you want me, spell it act by act what you want me to do.” I am still on my knees, looking up at him from the floor between his legs. He seems unsure for a moment, then his eyes unfocus a little. He must have a favorite fantasy, something that helps him get off, seen that before on some patrons faces when they look at the stage during an act. I would not have recognized it if one of the other servers hadn’t pointed it out to me.

“I want you to lick your lips, make them moist, let me see the spit shining on them. Then I want you to rise up a bit and take me in your mouth. Might be a bit difficult in the beginning, but I’m sure you will manage. If you need to, place your hands on my tights and use it for leverage. You are going to take me all the way in, let’s see how you manage that for the time being.”

I give him another look then I lick my lips as he said. They are slightly chapped and bitten and I taste a distant tingle of copper. Then I move closer and focus on the head of his cock. I lick my lips again and then extend my tong to lick him from the base near his balls to the very tip. He tastes salty, smells like a mixture of minty soap or body wash, fresh sweat and what I could only imagine is his unique smell, covered under all the others. I do that again because it makes him take a breath and exhale noisily. The rest of the instructions come back to me—take him in my mouth. So I do. He slides up towards my throat and I’m trying not to bite him on instinct. Won't be OK to bite him. I can feel him far up, I can’t go more than that, fortunately, my lips meet the base, a few hairs tickling my nose.

“Good, you did nicely. It’s like you don’t have a gag reflex at all.” His voice is gotten a bit breathless and raw. I hum in agreement—throwing up on purpose to keep my weight under the requirements of the director of the ballet company could be the cause.

“Now, start moving your head up and down, sucking as you do. Mind your teeth.”

I do just that, bobbing my head slowly at first, experimenting with the rhythm. With every move down I could feel the tip of his cock’s head hitting the back of my throat. He moans a little and I feel his fingers grab the hair at the back of my head. He starts thrusting his hips a little, picking up the pace and I try to match his movements the best I can. Saliva starts running down my chin, and my jaw is getting tired but he is still going. I grab his tights for balance as he keeps fucking my mouth for a few more moments before a feel him pulse and something warm and salty starts splashing down my throat in spurts. The taste is a bit repulsive, I can’t imagine how someone might find giving a blowjob enjoyable. My eyes water as semen starts running down the side of my mouth. When he is finally done, he runs his fingers through my hair, caressing me. I feel him fingering the ties of my mask and hastily pull away. My tears are soaking the domino, and my face is like on fire.

“I’d rather keep the mask on.” My voice is scratching. He grabs my chin and brings our faces closer.

“You OK, baby boy?”

“Yes, sure.”

“Want some help with that?” I must be giving him a stupid look, ‘cause he points at my lap. I glance down and frown—my pants are tenting, but I don’t feel turned on on anything… and the idea of him touching me there… no, hard pass.

“No, thank you. I’m here for your entertainment, you do not have to take care of me.” I stand on wobbly feet. I want to run from the room, to go hide somewhere, but speeding out now would send the wrong message. He nods and starts to adjust his clothing. I stay there not knowing what to do, he hasn’t dismissed me. When he is don, he waives me over.

“Come here, my boy.” I take a hesitant step towards him. He takes out a cash clip and gives me a few bills, all hundreds.

“I...”

“ The dance will be paid for by the direct debit, but the special service is paid in cash, baby boy. Don’t ask, don’t tell. I insist.”

“OK, good, I….”

“See you around, my beautiful Swan,” he smirks, and I beat my hasty escape.

I duck in the first restroom I could find and rip the mask off. My face is wet, the semen on my chin is starting to dry and is pulling on my skin. I look at myself in the mirror and the picture looking back makes me cringe. I’m a mess, red eyes, flushed, my lips are swollen. Well fucked indeed...

I can’t go back looking like this, so I start washing my face, scrubbing my skin using the hand soap and the napkins on the sink shelf. I splash more water and watch the foam drain. Then I look down at my lap, who am I still hard?! Walking would be a problem if I don’t make it go down… I try thinking about different things, maggots, rotten food, my elderly neighbor dancing the Macarena naked, but nothing works. The adrenaline is still flowing in my veins. So what to do, what to do. I bang my head in the wall and look in the mirror again. “Want some help with that?” he asked, maybe I should have taken him on his offer but it’s too late now.

I open one of the stalls and get in. Would not be a good idea for anyone to come in and see me jerking off in the sink. The latch clicks and I press my back at the door. Then I unbutton my slacks and slip my hand inside. Haven’t done this since my mother caught me that one time and washed my hands with scalding water to clean me from the impure deed. I heard someone say (don’t remember who that was at the moment), that it gets even better if I picture a person I like when I do this. So I close my eyes and try to imagine anyone else as I lower down my underwear. I draw blank at first, my member practically weeping, I have never been this hard, it’s painful and my balls feel like close to bursting. Man or woman does it matter. “Deprived boy!” the voice goes in my head, of course, it matters, and that suddenly solves it for me—I just gave a blowjob like a lowly streetwalker to a man none the less. What damage could a fantasy do?

I try to imagine the person’s face, but it remains elusive, so I go simply for their overall body—that’s not so hard, I work with male strippers every day. So someone muscular, well defined, half-naked preferably with big hands. I imagine the way they will pin me to the wall, pushing their body weight against me, making it almost difficult to breathe, but only just. Then they would get a hold of my cock, warm fingers encircling me entirely, slowly moving up and down, smearing pre-come over my shaft. A bit more pressure, moving faster, I could imagine their hit breath over my neck, panting, and I’m almost to the edge. But it’s not enough by a small margin. So I apply more pressure as go jerking frantically before something snaps, the tension releases and my fingers suddenly feel warm and sticky. I look down and groan—great, I made a mess form the stall, my hand and probably my slacks. It wasn’t the earthshaking experience some describe. I just feel dirty, tired, my legs are wobbly and I may have overdone it a bit, ‘case my member feels tender like I have scrubbed myself particularly hard in the shower. Oh, well, nothing to be done now.

***

Dominic is waiting for me when I exit the bathroom. They take one look at me and grab me by the neck. Just my luck, the customer probably complained. They push me in what passes as a manager’s office and close the door.

“What are the rules, kid?!”

“I know the rules.” I’m suddenly very tired and I can’t give a damn if they’re pissed or not.

“So tell me, why did you not put a stop to it? Why not cry out and call for me, instead of letting a stranger have their way with you?” I must have the dumbest expression on my face, because they sigh and sit behind the big office table, waving towards the chair on the opposite side. “What is this place, boy?”

“A strip club?” Where are they going with this?

“Exactly, a strip club, not a brothel, not a sidewalk corner in some of the shadier parts of town, and certainly not one of those underground fuck houses for leather aficionados. So, what gave you the idea to do something like that?”

“I don’t dance, I wasn’t doing really well back there, so he offered, I complied.”

“Do you know him?”

“He’s a regular.”

“And that makes it impossible for him to be a cop, by any chance?” their voice is mocking. My stomach squeezes painfully. We don’t stop the cops at the door. The regular business is not illegal, no reason to prevent them to frequent the club, it would even be suspicious if we did. And I propositioned a customer, a customer I do not know outside the club. I took the money, so I can’t claim it wasn’t that kind of exchange.

“Kid, calm down!” I hear their voice like from underwater. My gasps are blocking all noises in my ears.” Easy, easy, calm down, in then out, nice and slow, in and out.” I feel a hand rubbing my back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think, I just...”

“Yeah, you didn’t think, we established that. Now, I need you to answer me and be sure to give me the truth, OK?” I nod trying to get my breathing under control. “Did he force you to do anything you didn’t want to do?” I shake my head. I could have stopped him, but it didn’t dare. “Did he tell you what to do?”

“Yes, I made him be very specific.”

“Did you say “no” at any point, but he kept going regardless?”

“No.”

“What did the two of you do, I don’t need the play by play, the basics are sufficient.”

“I blew him.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, he offered to get me off, but I couldn’t, I didn’t...”

“OK, calm down, deep breaths. There wasn’t anything in the bin in the room. Where did the used condom go?”

“The what?”

“The condom? You know not to have unprotected sex with a person whose medical records you haven’t seen, right?”

“But we didn’t have sex, just a blowjob.” Was I supposed to use anything even then? They don’t use them in the movies? If Dominic’s murderous expression is anything to go by the answer would be “Yes!”

“Kid, you are of age, yes?”

“18 last January. Why?”

“So what kind of sex ed you got or did you skip that class?”

“There is a class for that?”

“You can’t be serious!” and I made them double angry, good for me. Dominic’s face gets a little red even in the luminescent light of the office. If I wasn’t in trouble before, I definitely am now.


TBC

Now Reading
Down on My Knees—the Strip Club Backroom Chronicles (Ch. 3)
Read Next
Do You Have an Orgasm to Feet?