Next at the cabinet

A short pause.

The office door opened, closed, opened, closed. Footsteps. The old man was gone. Fabric rustling, another voice—younger, breathless.

The speaker was on. Silke could hear everything.

“That was pretty last-minute. I almost didn’t make it.”

“Is she in there yet? Is her pussy still fresh?”

The fat guy, very calmly: “Yeah, she’s in there. She just gave one of the janitors a blowjob. She’s really good. Here, look.”

Then sounds of sex. Not live. A video. Sheets. Moans. A wet sound that Silke recognized immediately because it was hers. Yesterday. The riding. Her mouth. Somewhere, a “Okay, stay like that.”

He showed it around.

Silke slid back from her knees, her back against the wall.

“Why are you cutting the heads out?” said the new voice. “I’d like to see who that is.”

Relieved. Horrified. Both. So the videos weren’t just for him—he was showing them around. Generously. Friends, whoever they were. Whoever was covering for him, probably. But at least you probably can’t see her head.

“You can try them out right away,” said the fat guy. “What do you want? Twenty-five for the mouth. Fifty for the pussy. Sixty for both holes. A friend’s price.”

Silke heard her pussy being sold.

Fabric rustled. A card, cash—she didn’t see it.

“Sixty.”

“Good. Mouth first.”

Footsteps toward the closet. The panel over the hole slid open. The lamp across from it was positioned so that the hole itself was brightly lit—a bare circle of wood and light.

An eye instead of a cock.

Too close. It was looking right in. The light from inside must have let him see her: naked, kneeling, tits, face—everything. Greedily. A heartbeat too long.

Outside, the fat guy laughed.

“She’s pretty, all right,” said the one at the peephole. “But not one of my students. Too bad.”

The fat guy was silent for a moment. Taken aback. Mira was in his class. Mira was the grade he’d be entering later. Whatever. Silke understood and jerked aside, out of the light, arms crossed over her chest—too late. Damn it. He’d seen her face. The eye was gone. A cock emerged through the hole. Already hard. Smooth. Younger than the first one. The wood framed it.

“Get started,” said the loudspeaker. “First the mouth. Now.”

She took it.

Motivated, because getting it over with was better than punishment. Lips around the glans, tongue flat, then deeper, as far as the circle allowed. Saliva. The taste neutral—skin, a bit of foreskin. She sucked quickly, firmly, her hand on the wood, not on him. Outside, a moan, quieter than yesterday on the bed.

“Yeah. Like that. She knows what she’s doing.”

Knocking. On the cabinet. Silke stopped, the cock still on her lower lip.

The speaker, sharp: “Get up. Turn around. Put your pussy against the hole. And don’t you dare resist. I have a camera just for that.”

“Condom,” said Silke, her voice hoarse. “Please. Condom.”

Outside, a real laugh.

“If you didn’t bring one, we don’t have one.”

She stood up. Turned around. Her bare ass against the wood, legs spread as wide as the box would allow. Her pussy sought out the hole from the inside, too deep at first; she felt the cock against her asshole. A short scream, then she repositioned herself. Cool air on her labia. She pressed herself against it, hard, because the camera in the corner was watching and the threat of punishment still hung in the air.

She found the head of his cock by feel. A thrust from the outside. Bare. The shaft pushed through the wood into her pussy, all at once, wet enough from fear and what hadn’t quite gone away from yesterday. Silke slammed her palms against the wall. The angle was cruel: just the center, no body, no face, a cock emerging from a hole, working inside her.

“Press against it. Stay.”

She stayed.

Each thrust pushed her forward; she pushed her ass back, otherwise it would slip out. The wood rubbed against her cheeks. Inside, it stretched her—faster, impatiently. Wet sounds in the small room, right at her entrance, smacking. Her tits bounced. Her clit got almost nothing, just pressure from the inside, and yet it tightened up.

“How can she be so tight?”

“Yesterday I worked her for 1.5 hours, and today she’s back here. I told you, she’s a slut.”

Silke bit her lip. Her body was betraying her again. Her pussy grew wetter around the stranger’s unprotected shaft. Every thrust squeezed juice out of her onto the wood. The camera saw it. The fat guy saw it. The man behind the wall was just fucking a hole and a naked slut inside it.

She came.

Unintentionally. Right in the middle of the rhythm. Her pussy clenched around him, a wet, embarrassing sound, her knees going weak, her forehead pressed against the wood. How could this be? She’d just seen an eye. Sixty euros. And she almost squirted right on the door.

“Is she coming?”

“Sounds like it.”

He thrust right through her orgasm, harder, his cock twitching, and came inside her. Warm. Thick. Deep thrusts against her cervix, semen with no way out except later down her thighs. Silke came with him, a second, shorter spasm as he came, and hated the sound that escaped her.

He pulled back. His cock slid out of her hole, glistening. It immediately began to flow out of her, over her labia, down the inside of her thighs, dripping toward the stains on the floor.

Silke remained with her pussy pressed against the wood, naked, full, her face flushed, and realized that the man outside knew her face.

Sixty euros—a friend’s price.