Plying

Mark had sucked and fucked more cock in the last week than he'd sucked and fucked in his entire life. So much so that his throat and cock throbbed with delicious hunger when he thought about it. And craved even more. That was the thing with cock, though: the more you got, the more you wanted.

And he'd made more money in the last week than any time in his life, even when he'd been selling weed with Donte and Delonte - oh, fuck, he'd like their huge cocks about right now - and none of it was even in his paycheck. That was the thing with money, though: the more you got, the more you wanted.

He blinked in the dark cubbyhole that was partitioned off from the now-famous booth 3 in the back of BJ's Videos N Toys as the video screen in the booth blasted on, shooting a laser of dusty blue light through the glory hole. Another minute and an average, familiar cock peeped through the hole, a garden snake sniffing out its surroundings as it bobbed back and forth, up and down. With all the strength in his forearm, Mark tightly curled his middle finger, then flicked the jerky cock under its head. At which it retracted immediately, accompanied by a muffled "Oof" from the other side of the wall.

Mark put his mouth to the hole. "Fifty-" A pair of odd-shaped yet not unfamiliar lips met his in the center of the hole and he recoiled, spitting and wiping his mouth. "Dude-"

"Sorry," said the pair of lips poking through the hole; in the dark, they resembled nothing more than a chicken's asshole. After a pause, in which a tongue darted out and licked the lips and a number of grunts issued forth through the hole, the lips opened again: "What do you mean?"

"Dude, you know the deal. Fifty bucks for a suck."

"Oh, I thought that was just for the first time-"

"You mean, for the first ten times?"

"I'll ask the questions!"

"Because this is, like, the tenth day in a row you've been here. The second time today actually-"

"I've never been here before-"

"Then why did you say-"

"I'll ask the questions!"

Mark sighed. "Dude if you want your dick sucked, it's gonna be fifty bucks. If you want me to ride it, then it's a hundred and fifty."

"Eww. Anal is nasty."

"Whatever floats your boat."

The lips disappeared, and after what seemed like years, a number of bills appeared through the hole. Mark counted it: two twenties, a five, and two ones. "You're three short-"

"I know, I know. Hold on-"

Several more minutes, during which Mark heard about forty grunts and about two hundred coins rap the floor, and he finally cupped his hand under the hole as three hundred pennies were deposited in his hand one at a time. He stashed it in his pocket with the crumbled bills, then swallowed the cock that appeared once more through the hole. Five or ten - or was it one? - full-length strokes down the shaft and three drops of cum dribbled onto his tongue. The cock deflated like a balloon animal in his hand and slowly withdrew. Before he could hear a zip and any more grunts, Mark dashed out the back door of the cubbyhole, along the narrow passageway that led to all the cubbies, and took up his position behind the counter, where he began dusting the new stock of 36-inch dildos that had come in that morning.

He turned around upon hearing the first grunt. The detective was in the 'Chicks with Extremely Tiny Dicks' section, leafing through one after another of the magazines. When the man turned, his hands full of magazines, Mark saw that the ketchup stain on his rumpled tie was almost as big as the cum - or spit or piss or whatever the fuck it was - stain on his pants. Mark smiled as the man laid the magazines on the counter without looking at him and fumbled in all his pockets for his wallet. "Mr. Vinos!" said Mark.

Detective Vinos looked up, a grunt so loud escaping from his throat that it seemed it came directly through his trachea and not through his closed mouth. Mark almost jumped; instead, he laughed, grabbed the magazines, and started ringing them up. "Detective Jorge T. Vinos!" said the man.

"My bad. Detective Jorge T. Vinos!" Mark yelled. "Will this be it?"

"Yes." The detective's affirmation was a mumbled growl.

"You know, if you buy two more today, you can get any of the items on the wall behind me at fifty-percent off." Mark pointed to the rubber pocket pussy that was actually a rubber pocket mouth. "I think this'd be right up your alley."

"No thank you. I'm getting these for, um...the vice squad. They're in the middle of a very important investigation-"

"Really?"

"I'll ask the questions, Mister Dennison!"

"Then go ahead, shoot-"

The detective leaned over the counter and looked side to side before finally targeting Mark with his narrowed eyes, the caterpillars of his eyebrows about to fight one another they were squeezed together so tightly. "Where were you five minutes ago, Mister Dennison?"

"Right here-"

"You're lying. No one was here when I came in five minutes ago-"

"Sorry, I was right here-"

"I can take you in for lying to an officer of the law-"

"Wait a minute. You asked me where I was, and I told you. What's the problem?"

"I'll ask the questions, Mister Dennison!"

Mark sighed. "Okay-"

The detective looked around the store quickly, his neck turning like an owl's left and right. "Listen, Mister Dennison, I know what goes on here. I'll have this place shut down-"

"I know what goes on here, too. We have security cameras everywhere. I mean everywhere." Mark's eyes narrowed as he leaned, smiling, towards the detective. "I can send them to the vice squad, if you'd like me to, Mr. Vinos-"

"Detective Jorge T. Vinos!"

"Detective Jorge T. Vinos!" Mark drew back from the counter. "I can send them the originals or what's backed up permanently on the server-" Mark slipped his hand into his pocket and jangled the three hundred pennies stretching it to his knee.

The detective straightened up and began a search of his pockets again, finally alighting on his wallet in his front right pocket. After a series of tugs accompanied by slight grunts and barks, he handed over his credit card. Mark completed the transaction and bagged the magazines, which he handed to the detective. "Let me ask you something," said Mark.

"I'll ask the questions, Mister Dennison-"

"Okay, let me posit something then. I bet that if somebody sucked somebody's dick and that somebody came in that other somebody's mouth and that other somebody didn't swallow but spit it out and saved it, I bet that other somebody could give that to the state forensics lab and they'd be able to tell whether the semen was that somebody's or that other somebody's-"

"Good day, Mister Dennison-" The detective barked, slipped his wallet into the bag with the magazines, put his head down, and made for the door. "We shall meet again, I assure you."

Mark grabbed the rubber pocket mouth, and as the detective opened the door, yelled after him: "You sure you don't want one of these?"