Call it quits

{if Endurance == 0}Your knees are sore, your neck is exhausted, and your jaw is aching. As much as you hate to admit it, you just can't go on.{else}You've done enough for this group of floating dicks. As much as they want to make you feel like a whore, you're not a whore, and furthremore all your previous self did was inconvenience their meetings. Just how much sexual degradation is that truly worth?! No, this ends right now.{endif}

Flashing a pained, **** smile to the camera, you open the door to the booth, and leave. Your legs are slightly wobbly from maintaining that kneeling position on that hard floor, and you must look like you've just been fucked silly. Which isn't a perfectly fair representation of what happened in there.

You are grateful to find that none of the men you just sucked, or who were waiting to be sucked, are out here in the main body of the sex shop - they are off in private side 'waiting rooms', presumably. Clearly this group of men, despite being bikers, don't really want to be seen on national TV attenting a gloryhole. Fair enough - that suits you fine - you don't want to talk to anyone right now. You just want to get home... Brush your fucking teeth... and drink something that didn't come out of an anonymous man's ballsack.