2. #2
It was agonizingly slow work. My jaw, usually accustomed to the quick, aggressive pace Richard demanded, began to cramp.
The muscles in my neck tightened, a dull, burning ache spreading down to my shoulders.
My knees, pressed hard into the carpet without the padding of my sweatpants, began to throb.
I closed my eyes, trying to dissociate from the discomfort and focus on the job, on the reality of what I doing here.
I was kneeling naked in the aisle of a private jet, performing a grueling, geriatric blowjob on a man I had met only twenty minutes ago. It was the pinnacle of utter degradation. And it was exactly what I had been made for.
I opened my eyes slightly, looking past Arthur's thigh.
Richard was sitting back in his seat. He had his phone out, held steady, the red recording dot glowing ominously in the cabin light.
He was documenting my effort. He was capturing the sweat beading on my forehead, the strain in my neck, the sheer, pathetic desperation of my attempt to please his mentor.
A shot of pure shame shot through me, morphing instantly into heat. Richard was watching me. He was recording my humiliation. And that was all the fuel I needed. I wanted his video to show a girl who would stop at nothing to please him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement near the galley.
The flight attendant was standing in the narrow hallway leading to the cockpit. She was watching me. Her arms were crossed tightly under her breasts.
A sudden thought pierced my concentration: Was this her job, usually?
Did Arthur employ her because she was willing to drop to her knees when the seatbelt sign turned off?
The thought that I might be competing with this beautiful, experienced woman for Arthur's approval added a frantic, desperate edge to my performance.
I couldn't just be good. I had to be irreplaceable.
I redoubled my efforts. I ignored the screaming cramp in my jaw. I pushed past the gag reflex, taking more of his soft, pliable length into my mouth. I used the back of my throat to create a tighter suction, swirling my tongue with a renewed, vigorous intensity.
Slowly, agonizingly, I felt a shift.
The soft flesh in my mouth began to thicken. The loose skin tightened, filling out as the blood finally began to flow.
It was a slow, reluctant swelling. I had to be careful not to break the rhythm. Any change might cause him to lose it.
"She had really excellent technique," Arthur said, breaking the long silence. His hand, which had been resting lightly on my head, began to stroke my hair with a bit more purpose. "You trained her well, Richard. Most young women have no patience. They treat it like a race."
"Sloane is a good girl,” Richard said, his phone still steady in his hand. “And she understands that her only purpose is the pleasure of the man she has been asked to serve. Speed is irrelevant."
This praise from both men sent a wave of wetness rushing between my thighs. My pussy began to throb. I was succeeding. I was getting it done.
I took Arthur deeper. His semi-hard shaft filled my mouth, pushing against the back of my throat. I bobbed my head, maintaining the slow, steady rhythm, refusing to speed up even as the muscles in my neck screamed for relief.
Arthur's breathing finally grew heavier, a faint, ragged rasp entering his cultured voice. His hand tightened in my hair, finally losing the gentle touch, his grip becoming demanding.
"She's getting me there," he said, his hips starting to move slightly, meeting my downstrokes with hesitant, shallow thrusts.
"Whatever you want, Arthur," Richard encouraged, stepping into the role of the director. "Use her mouth. Fuck her face. Whatever you want. Sloane won't object. She won’t stop. Not until you’re done."
Arthur's hips thrust forward with a sudden, surprising strength.
He wasn't gentle anymore. He forced himself into my throat and used his grip on my hair to set a punishing, rhythmic pace that made my eyes water.
I fought my gag reflex violently, faking a yawn around his cock to force my soft palate to open wide.
I was determined to swallow his whole length and give him a flawless happy ending.
My knees were numb. My jaw felt like it was unhinged. Tears of strain and sheer effort leaked from the corners of my eyes, ruining my makeup. But none of that mattered to these men, to the flight attendant, or to me. Arthur’s cock was everything.
"Yes," he hissed, his body tensing, his grip on my hair bruising my scalp.
I felt a pulse against the back of my throat.
His load was thin and weak with a bitter tang. I swallowed it easily.
He went quickly limp, let out a long, shuddering sigh, and released my hair.
I pulled back slowly and licked my lips clean, wiping my mouth with the back of my trembling hand.
My jaw was throbbing, my knees screamed in protest as I shifted my weight, and my stomach roiled.
Not because of Arthur’s meagre load, but because this was the first cock, other than Richard’s, that I had sucked in more than two years.
I looked up at Arthur. He was staring down at me, chest heaving, his eyes wide with what looked to be a genuine appreciation.
"Richard," Arthur said, his voice raspy, adjusting his bespoke trousers. "That was ... extraordinary."
"I told you," Richard said. He lowered his phone, tapping the screen to save the recording of my grueling labor.
I stayed on my knees, chest heaving, wiping the sweat from my forehead. I expected to be told to get dressed. I expected the demonstration to be over. I had passed the test. I had been successfully shared.
Richard looked at Arthur, then looked down at me.
"I’m glad you enjoyed her, Arthur," Richard said, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, calculating light. "But if you really want to understand what it feels like to own a girl like this ... why don't you take her to the stateroom in the back?"
Arthur looked at me, kneeling on the carpet, my face smeared with my saliva and a little cum. "You know, I think I will," he said. He stood up, adjusting his blazer. He didn't offer a hand to help me up. He just looked down at me. "Come along, Sloane."
I pushed myself up from the floor. My knees screamed in protest, stiff and sore from the extended time on the carpet. My jaw ached with a dull, throbbing intensity. I felt drained, a hollowed-out shell, but I wasn’t done.
I turned and followed Arthur through his plane.
It might have been the most humiliating walk of my life.
I glanced back over my shoulder. Richard was sitting in his seat, swirling his scotch, a look of arrogant satisfaction on his face. He beckoned to the flight attendant and I turned away.