Barely!

In the dark, I listen to the sound of advertisements no one near us is paying any attention to. For about ten minutes, I slide my lips up and down on Amy's shaft, sucking hard. My fingers remain tight on the man's cock, even as his rod gets slicker.

Amy purrs softly, her spine arching and her fingers flexing in my hair, each time I swallow around her. Amplified by such taboo as having me sucking her cock in a crowded theatre, her enthusiasm results in a palpable heartbeat on my tongue.

Beside her, the man is growling low, the sound gruff but not malicious, as my hand moves. I can feel the slickness increase, smoothing my movements. He still gasps softly, each time my fingers reach his hilt, because of the sheer tightness I offer.

“Fuck, your fingers are tight, twink!” the man hisses, and I smile around Amy's cock. “Fuck, yes, you little slut!” He growls as my fingers slide up him at the same time my mouth rises, my thumb caressing his sensitive frenulum as I reach his tip.

Finally, Amy starts to pulse in my mouth, and I slide my lips down to her hilt. She holds my head down, as her meat pulses in my throat, and I slow my hand on the man, edging him for the last few seconds. I swallow until Amy's pulsations cease.

She pulls my head up and shoves me at the man, and hisses, “Swallow him, faggot!”

The man doesn't hesitate, grabbing my hair immediately and shoving my head down onto his cock with a wet gluck! of my lips slamming down onto him. I swallow around his cock, as he pulses into my throat, feeding me his own cum, promptly.

His release ends far sooner than hers, and it's nowhere near being milk. Swallowing his cum is easy, and when he's done, I slide my mouth up his shaft and kiss the helm. He groans low, “Fuck. Thank you.”

“Quite welcome,” I smile, before easing sideward and quickly tucking Amy's cock away for her, zipping her up and, then, buttoning. Once she's neatly away, I pirouette and lift, returning to my seat as I can hear and peripherally see other men.

I can hear them cleaning up, mumbling, zipping and buttoning, as the opening theme starts. I lean back in my seat with a little bit of a smug smirk on my lips. Amy reaches over, tracing my lips with her fingers, then snickering softly in my ear.

“Proud of yourself, little slut?” she murmurs, cupping the other side of my face with her hand. She strokes her thumb on my cheekbone as I nod, murmuring a reinforcement in my ear, letting me know that she's proud of me, so I should be.

Once the movie starts, all attention turns to it, as it should, but Amy rests a palm on one of my thighs. Juno rests hers on the other, not squeezing or gripping, simply there. An expression of their authority, but also of comfort and reassurance.

For just shy three hours, we watch a movie whose story we knew the whole of going in. What made the film exceptional, and an absolute joy, at least in my opinion, were the performances. Lupita Nyong'o offered a remarkable vision of Helen.

I can tell there are more than a few moviegoers who aren't having the same takeaway. I don't care, it's their right to not like a film even if I do, or to have different experiences. The important part, for me, is that I enjoyed the film I watched.

As the ending credits roll, and folk start to get up and filter out, the man on the other side of Amy turns. He leans against the armrest, while staying out of Amy's personal space. The man glances over at her, then looks past her to look at me.

“So, what did you think, boy?” the man asks. Dude's probably Dad's age, or thereabouts, so I'm not gonna complain about being called boy. Given he doesn't know my name, the only things he knows for sure that I answer to are slut and faggot.

“It was good. I liked the performances,” I tell him the truth, “It was nice seeing a version of Helen that wasn't just another whitewash. Not sure how common black or brown people were in Troy at the time, but far more than the Anglo-Saxons.”

“Thank you,” the man says, with a conviction that defies our shared fair skin tones, “You're a good kid, albeit it has been my experience that most cocksuckers are.” The man's attention flicks past me to my brother and sister, and then to Amy.

“You lot take good care of this little slut,” he says firmly before he stands up, without waiting for a response, and he strolls away, humming. The sound is deep and warm, not what I'd call a bass, but almost musical, or at a minimum, not tone-deaf.

“Huh, guess he really likes faggots,” Amy snickers as she looks over at me, “Guess we'll just have to take extra special good care of you, huh, you little whore?” I can feel my cheeks transitioning into a warm pink colour, as the lights slowly return.

“Come on, let's move,” Amy says, as we all rise from our seats, and proceed into the aisle and up to the exit. Now that the credits have rolled for several minutes, the path is clear, making it a lot less crowded to make our way out of the theatre.

Fresh air on the metal stairs washes over us, brisk and pleasant, as we descend to the parking lot. Once we return to where I parked, and get into the car, I look over at Amy. “So, where to, next? Your house, our house, or some restaurant, to eat?”

“Given you're only drinking milk for lunch,” Amy replies, smirking, “I think there's a local pizzeria that offers a curtained booth for groups that include a cock slave.” It would need to be discreet, indeed, for a public restaurant to make that offer.

“Do they include servers who can feed him, though?” Juno asks, and Amy nods, and gives a thumb's up. “All right. Let's go there, then, faggot. Amy, do you know where it's at?” Amy answers by swiping open her smartphone and searching for it.

“Okay, got the directions from Ecosia,” she says, plugging her smartphone in, “Drive, fag.” So ordered, I drive.