“Kneel. Now open your mouth wider, boy.”
The nameless Dom shoved me to my knees, grasped my chin then thrust his meaty thumb inside the corner of my mouth forcing my jaw apart. The smell of the condom tip flapping against my lips masks the rich musky smell of hot male. Under my knees, the cool ground seeps through my expensive leather pants and in my periphery, I can see heads turning to watch. Flashes of smiles white in the dim light followed by encouraging taunts from the men waiting for my client to finish so they can have their turn. I groan to encourage him and squeeze his tight butt. They like that because, inside the BDSM club, Leathers, the Doms never allow their subs to touch them without permission. Here in the darkness of the alley, I can offer pleasure for a few unrestrained minutes. He pushes his thick length inside and brushes my tonsils making me gag. The rubber grazes my dry lips as he thrusts deeper. His thick, wide cock bombards my mouth with the taste of latex, but the musky scent of him fills my nostrils. As his hairy balls tickle my chin, his thighs radiate a delicious heat. He laughs when I cough, and thick fingers grasp my hair holding me in place for his pleasure. The tug on my scalp sends a rush of delightful pain shuddering through me.
“Take it all, bitch, earn every fucking dollar.”
Here in the back alley of Leathers, I am part of the lineup of rent boys who wait for clients behind the club in the dingy alley. We queue beside the trash cans to service the Doms, to quench their urgent need before they take a selected sub to their dungeon. We all have a spot, and some like me have survived long enough to be in the group closest to the door. I turn tricks to survive. I don’t do dope, I look good, smell nice, and the Doms pay me twenty bucks for a BJ. I’m here from dusk until dawn every night, and my only wish is that one of the Doms will take me inside. I crave to be a sub and refuse to give my ass out here bent over the trash cans like most of the other boys.
“Suck me. Harder.” He holds my head and rides me. “You like that don’t you, slut?”
There is no respect given or expected, and I would never dare glance up at a trick. I am a receptacle for his lust—nothing more. As a rent boy, I am nothing—disposable—but I need the small connection with the Doms of the BDSM Club, Leathers. I service them without complaint, but they always leave me craving more.
I need a Dom to take me higher.