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Surprise Suck at the Photo Booth

Finally, I was going to get a vacation. My damn boss never gave me any time off, but since I'm self-employed I had only myself to blame.

I run a small electrical contracting company and business is quite good. Having been through slow times before, my motto was "Never turn down work." However, I've been going for nearly two years with little more than a day or two for kayaking, or hiking, or taking Stephanie to some exotic location like an abandoned stable to show her new ways to use ropes, or maybe a jacuzzi suite at a nearby hotel. Due to her college course load and the fact that she still lived with her mom who had no idea she was screwing the older guy next door, I only got to see her two or three times a month. So it was with heavy balls that I marched into the local mall in search of one of those do-it-yourself photo booths.

See, my passport was out of date and I needed a new one if I wanted to leave the country. Well, I could leave but I couldn't get back in again. I needed the photos to include with my passport renewal application, along with the requisite form, my old passport, and of course, their fee. They said four-to-six weeks to get my new one, so realistically I needed to get the paperwork on its way pronto if I wanted to leave before the next ice age.

When I was a kid those photo booths were everywhere; a box the size of a closet where people go in, sit on a little bench, and mug for the camera. There's usually a thin curtain to conceal them from the passers-by, and they're often used by drunk kids to get those I-can't-believe-I-got-her-to-kiss-me photos that the girls often regretted the next day but the boys hung onto forever. Sometimes more than kissing went on, but the curtain stopped a foot or so from the floor and the booths were usually in crowded places like boardwalks, fairs, and shopping malls, so it was tough to get too crazy.

But when I had gone online earlier to find one I was surprised that Olympia had very few. The nearest location was the mall a few miles away, and that's how I found myself weaving among women in shopping Nirvana, kids yakking on cells phones, and families with husbands who looked like they'd rather be at the dentist. At last I spotted the booth.

It stood right in the middle of the broad walkway, people flowing around it like a river around a rock. There was a shoe shop and a couple of teeny-bopper clothing stores on one side, and a cheap import store, a black-light-filled head shop, and a (gasp) book seller on the other. Muzak echoed from the thirty-foot ceilings and a babble of voices filled the air. The place smelled of popcorn and women with too much perfume and too much time on their hands.

Walking up to the booth, I noticed it seemed bigger than the ones I'd seen as a kid. I felt a little self-conscious going in alone, kind of like a guy who goes to an amusement park by himself. But no one paid me any attention so I stepped inside and pulled the curtain closed.

The curtain was a thick, dense material that covered the door from top to bottom, a far cry from the flimsy nylon that let anyone passing by see the occupants from the knees down. And it had a latch. Very weird, I thought. It was one of those spring-loaded hooks like people use to secure a screen door. Maybe enough weirdos have yanked curtains open that the booth manufacturers decided to beef up security. Nothing scares off necking kids like being exposed to the ridicule of strangers.

I secured the latch, pulled out my wallet, and looked for instructions. The space was about five feet deep, three wide, and seven feet high, with a bench seat at one end. Opposite the seat was a video screen at head level, a horizontal slot for inserting cash, and smaller slot with a wire tray where the strip of photos would come out. But no instructions.

No sign giving the price, or telling me to sit and wait for a blinking light to indicate the shots were about to be taken. No button to push. Nothing.

I was about to leave when the screen flickered to life. White letters on a black background read:


I did.

In the wall beneath the video screen, a dark oval hole beckoned.

That wasn't there a second ago. I had just looked that wall up and down trying to figure out how to use the damn booth. Perhaps three inches wide and eight high, the top and bottom of the opening were precise half-circles. It looked smooth and sleek, not some ragged hole gouged through the wood.

What's going on? I wondered. I couldn't help noticing its crotch-level height. It looked like one of those glory holes I'd seen years ago at a dirty book store, but a bit larger and professionally made. What was it doing here? The screen blinked new words:




What the fuck is this?

I said, "Umm, I just want some passport photos."

The words on the screen changed to read: ARE YOU SURE?

I didn't answer. After a few seconds the words faded away. Had to be a prank, I thought. Who the hell offers five dollar blowjobs in a photo booth in the middle of a mall? But my cock began to swell at the thought of unloading right here, surrounded by oblivious young girls and stressed-out moms. I hadn't cum in a couple of days, and not for a week and a half not counting jacking off. My dick got harder and I fidgeted a bit trying to get it into a more comfortable position.

The video changed again, this time showing a woman's head from a high angle. The image had the greenish cast of a night-vision camera but it showed cascading blonde hair, oversize movie star sunglasses, and the lower face of an angel. A delicate nose curved past high cheekbones. Her pixie chin was pointy, almost faerie-like. A wide mouth with slightly plump lips smiled at me.

Though I couldn't see her whole face, what I saw looked very appealing.

Still not believing it, I whispered, "Seriously?"

In response, a face appeared at the hole. No doubt it was the same chick. When the face moved, the woman on the screen moved too. Apparently there was a camera mounted on her side of the wall, about the height of my chest, and it showed the view I would see if the wall were not in the way.

In the dim light of the booth's interior her skin looked smooth and flawless. Her lips parted in a provocative smile and her tongue slid across teeth that belonged in a toothpaste commercial. My dick got even harder and I felt a trickle of pre-cum leaking out. I stood there holding my wallet, unsure what to do.

Outside I heard the chatter of teen girls as they strolled by, jabbering about TV shows or some moronic celebrity. Glancing at those inviting lips, I again re-adjusted my cock. Did I really dare whip it out? Then something new appeared on the screen:




Aw crap, a countdown. What if it's a sting? I thought. Cops just waiting to bust some perv exposing himself in a public place?


My cock throbbed and my overloaded balls churned with interest.


I'm really gonna do it, aren't I?


I yanked out a five dollar bill, crammed the wallet back in my pocket, and fed the bill into the slot.


With a whirring sound, the bill disappeared into the machine.

Nothing happened.


Oh yeah, there's one more thing, I thought. Quickly I unbuckled, unzipped, and pushed my underwear down.


My rock-hard cock sprang out like it had a mind of its own.


I brought my dick within a few inches of those enticing lips.

But her face was gone.

Damn it! Did I wait too long? Looking at the video screen I saw the woman had appeared again, just a foot or so back from the hole. Her gaze was no longer up at the camera but lower, staring at the opening. I've come this far, I thought. Might as well go all the way.

I thrust my dick into the hole.

I stood there a moment, my hips pushed against wood. Cool air drifted over my cock and balls, all of which were fully available to the mystery woman on the other side. With my face that close to the screen I couldn't focus on the video so I leaned back. Arching my back gave me enough distance and I could watch the action. The greenish, night-vision image showed her blond head slowly approaching my cock, stalking it like some jungle predator. But still I just hung there, untouched.

Was this just a tease? I wondered. The elaborate fake booth, the video camera, all to dupe some guy into making a fool of himself? I was just about to pull out when I felt it.

Warm, soft lips closed on the head of my cock. Oh yeah, I thought. That's more like it.

I felt a hand grip the base of my shaft. I'm not quite seven inches long, with heavy, oversize balls, and I was anxious to feel her technique. Her hand slid up and down as her mouth worked my head, sucking gently and bobbing in a slow rhythm.

Looking straight ahead at the video screen I saw a downward view of her blond head. My dick poked into the frame from the bottom, like one of those POV porn videos. It was weird, feeling her slurping me but also seeing it on the screen, almost like I was watching someone else.

She took my shaft into her warm, moist mouth, slathering the head with her tongue. Mouth and hand worked together, pleasuring me, coaxing me slowly to my orgasm. Sometimes she would back off and slurp the underside of my throbbing dick, other times she would take it into her mouth until it hit the back of her throat. With one hand she squeezed the part she couldn't get past her lips as her other hand caressed my balls.

It felt amazing and I sensed the pressure building in my testicles, just waiting to spew.

My back started to ache from the awkward leaning position. Then something caught my eye: metal grips attached to the side walls. They looked like fence gate handles and were screwed into the walls to my left and right, about shoulder height. I grabbed onto them, taking the weight off my lower back, and immediately felt better. Now I could get sucked and watch it on TV at the same time, obviously the booth designer's intention.

On the screen her face tipped forward, now showing only wavy blond hair. I glanced down wondering if I could see any of the action through the hole but all I saw was my hips plastered against the wall. But then I noticed movement. Two fingers poked out of the hole, just below my nuts. Looked like maybe the index and middle ...
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