The Arcade
(Another fine entry in the diary of Sickman)

James (56) - retail sales clerk.


James stopped at the food court to grab a burger on his way to the arcade on his break.  He was still munching it as he stepped into the strange, dark world of Buck-A-Fuck, starting down the centre aisle looking for a vacant right-side-up mouth. 

They had recently remodelled the arcade.  Everything - the stations, the walls, ceiling, and vinyl floor - were all matte black with only dim lights in the aisles.  Every second station on each side of the aisle presented an ass, thrust through the large opening in the wall.  In the unoccupied stations small, brilliant spotlights focused on the available holes from above and below to show what was on offer, twin spheres of flesh framing the welcoming slits and puckers, glowing in the darkened room.  The holes glistened with lube.

The mouth holes also had spotlights, but as the girls were allowed to move their heads when not occupied there was rarely much to see other than a bit of hair or perhaps a cheek.  The porn screen above each unoccupied hole displayed the same bold announcement “Welcome to Buck-a-Fuck: for all your feminine needs”, but the displays in the mouth stations also showed little right-side up or upside-down face symbols to show you what was inside.

In the old arcade, Holes, you never saw any of the girl.  You just stuck your cock into a hole in the half-height box and pushed a button for mouth, cunt, or ass and the girl inside took care of you.  It was really quite ghetto compared to this new system, but James liked it better because it was more like a cock-massage.  Now, you had to do most of the work.

The new sound-dampening privacy panels that separated the stations helped to contain all the different streams of porn that guys were watching, but they were still far from 100% effective so the room was a riot of muffled gasps, grunts, groans, and obscene dialog.

James always started with a right-side-up mouth.  The “sunny side up” ones were good if you wanted your balls lapped or just wanted to fuck the shit out of a passive, defenceless throat - having her head tipped back like that made it so much more comfortable to go deep because it was a nice, straight channel all the way in - but just as she was helpless to avoid you taking your pleasure as deep and hard as you wanted, neither could she do very much to give you pleasure.  For James, when he was just looking for that first erection he wanted a mouth that would do all the work.  That meant right-side up.

Even from the end of the aisle you could see the backs of guys standing in various stations along both sides.  The row of stations on both sides of the aisle alternated in a predictable pattern of sunny-side up mouth, sunny-side up ass, right-side up mouth, right-side up ass, repeat, and James could see that the third and seventh stations on both sides were occupied so he turned left to try the usually less busy outer aisle, the other ends of the girls in the centre aisle.  Success: there was a guy was just stepping out of number 4, his prong wagging as he went in search of a new sensation. 

As James stepped between the privacy flaps, the box and screen automatically raised a couple of centimetres until the hole was exactly at his cock height. Okay, that was a huge improvement over the one-height-fits-none of the old arcade.

He had to wait half a minute for the cleanser dildo to finish its cycle, sucking the used sanitizer rinse out of the mouth inside the hole.  It paused for a few moments and James could hear the girl inside greedily sucking as much of the joy syrup as she could get. 


Soylent’s new Performance Plus is a highly nutritious and hydrating joy syrup that will let you maximize gloryhole productivity by minimizing down-time.   

Performance Plus is specially formulated for the carefree, set-and-forget design of modern automat-style arcades.  It is a complete nutrition system and 100% absorbed in the small intestines so bowels are always clean and ready, never any unsightly waste. Performance Plus contains both curatives and preventatives to allow your Customer Service Representatives (CRS) to work a productivity-optimized 16x7 schedule indefinitely.  

No need to worry about the loss of appetite that often accompanies the rebelliousness, severe depression, or mind-breaking;  the double-dose of Solent’s patented Nic-o-ddict is so highly addictive that even the most brain-fried CRS will always be eager for her next squirt.  

Perfect for “normalizing” oral environments after astringent sanitizing rinses, Performance Plus joy syrup is now available in two viscosities, regular Synthi-Saliva and our new, thicker “E-Z-Glide” formula which forms a long-lasting coating on oral surfaces for the extra smooth, vaginal sensation many customers prefer.

Yet Performance Plus is competitively priced because it does not contain any costly aphrodisiacs or neuro-retardants; the wonderful advances in the modern automat design mean your products’ emotional state or enthusiasm are completely irrelevant, so why waste money.  

Will not harm rubber teeth.  

Performance Plus: making arcades worry-free.”


As he waited, James unzipped the fly of his work uniform and pulled his gear out so it was hanging free, limp but ready.   He had another bite of burger.

For all your feminine needs “, the porn screen said.  Horseshit, he thought.  James had a great number of “feminine needs” that were Not being met by the disembodied orifices of the arcade.  Still, while he could dream about buying a gorgeous young virgin whore of his own, skinny as a rail with implants so enormous she was unable to walk, this is what he could afford and he considered himself fortunate that arcades were now so cheap that even a guy like him working minimum wage could afford all the vagina he wanted.

Once the cleansing dildo had withdrawn, he tapped his credstick, exchanging a ¤ for 10 minutes of fun.  Maybe even more than the new, lower price, for James the best thing about Buck-A-Fuck over the old Holes arcade was that you were allowed to move around, using as many holes as you wanted in the time you bought.

The transaction beeped complete, the display changed to a menu of vid feeds with his girlfriend, Elsa, at the top of the list, and the access bars at knee and gut height retracted so he could move up and press his belly against the rubber membrane, his cock and balls disappearing through the fist-sized hole.  Okay, the new rubber walls were also a vast improvement over the old hard plastic ones, too. 

Lips wrapped around the head of his cock.  A tongue lifted it, the lips reached out and drew him in, enveloping his soft worm.  The tongue reached out and licked his balls.  He selected his girl on the screen. 

Mmmm, Elsa.  Fucking exquisite.  This was the girl.  The one he would buy if he was rich. A tiny little thing, with a flawlessly tight little body, stunningly beautiful face, a beautifully rounded little butt, and massive saggy sacks of titmeat that sloshed up and down her tiny chest as the wrinkled old guy on top of her sawed in and out. 

James pushed the “Medium” and “Hand” buttons to let the whore in the box know what he wanted.

Out of habit he also tried the “Unsatisfactory” button, but it did not light; they rarely did. If one of the Quality Assurance testers came by for a routine assessment and felt she was not performing adequately he would activate it so that customers could encourage her to try harder in the form of particularly unpleasant electrical stimulation of her nipples.  Since certain people tended to abuse the button when it was enabled – James, for instance – the buttons were almost never active.  A tune-up of even a few hours could keep a “customer service representative” doing her best for many months, eagerly sucking every hose presented to her as if it was a QA’s. 

There was a job!  How the fuck do you get to be a QA?  James knew he would be far better at that than he was selling luggage.

On the porn screen the old guy climbed off of her, made a gesture with his hand, and she obediently got on her hands and knees on the aqua satin sheets.  The guy knelt behind her and tried to mount her, but he had gone soft.  He gave her a slap on the ass and said something and she crawled around to use her mouth to restiffen him.  Seeing her mouthing that wizened cock, slobbering like a nympho whore, brought the romantic out in James.

He had first seen Elsa few months ago one night when he was watching the auctions on TV.  It was frustrating watching all those naked pieces of sex-meat being auctioned off at prices that meant he would never be able to own vagina of his own, not even the ugliest, most broken down, old perma-gaped cavern, but he still watched. 

Everybody watched.  Most guys said they just liked looking at the fresh meat, but James was honest enough with himself to admit that what he liked was the drama.  He loved it when they cried.  He loved it when he could see the abject shame on their faces as they were forced to pose naked in various lewd positions.  He didn’t know why he liked it, but he did.  His fave was when they were seated in the gyn-chair and the automated stirrups separated, forcing the girls’ thighs far apart so the entire nation could get a close-up view of their holes.  Lots of them didn’t care, but if they were going to break down, that was what usually got to them.

And then this little blonde angel was brought on stage, her hands manacled behind her back, tears pouring down her sobbing cheeks to glisten her little A-cup boobies.   It was kind of love-at-first-sight for James.  So young, so sweet, so miserable, and the biggest, dangling piss-flaps he had ever seen.  The auctioneer made a big deal of the fact that just yesterday she had been seventeen and too young to be enslaved and that today, one day later, she was all grown up and the birthday girl’s unspoiled holes could be legally owned by some lucky Master.

She had such beautiful, delicate features when she had first been purchased.  Now, her face had enormous, balloon-lips.  They looked ridiculous, but James liked his women looking ridiculous, so they worked for him.

James pushed the “No hand” button; wouldn’t want to get off to soon.

It made James happy that Elsa had been bought by FemCorp, James’ arcology.  She felt closer to him, more intimate knowing that what he was watching on the screen was happening just few stories above him.   For a while she would be kept upstairs, probably either given to one of the execs as part of their compensation package or rented by the hour to men like this one who could afford top-quality whores.  But it gave him hope.  It was the nature of corporate owned “wives” that there was a very good chance that sometime in the not too-distant future it would be Else’s faceless holes he would be pumping in and out of in Buck-A-Fuck.  Not that he would know or care, but still, he was a bit of a romantic.

The old guy was gripping her pony tail, using it as a handle to guide Elsa’s head on and off his cock.  Without realizing he was doing it, James had started to fuck the mouth in the hole so the whore inside had stopped moving and was simply pressing her open lips out of the hole in the rubber, passively available for him to use.

James had actually left work early the night Elsa lost her virginity so he could watch the live feed in the Buck-A-Fuck.  Being able to share that special moment with her in a live feed made him feel even closer to her. 

Having been purchased by FemCorp, she was forced to go through the televised auction process all over again on FemCorp’s Got Talent to determine who her first customer would be. 

James liked the lotteries, too, and often bought a ticket, but since he had never won he was delighted that Elsa’s hymen, clearly visible on the extreme close-up, was auctioned off to the highest bidder; while he could see the humour of giving beautiful virgins’ maidenheads to some random pleb like him, but there was a drama to watching an innocent, young girl being auctioned to the highest bidder that really appealed to him.

The winner took his prize by the hand and led her to the Love Suite where the action was caught on camera from numerous angles with close-ups of the penetration and the look on her face, and slo-mo replay with commentators in suits discussing the finer points. 

One commentator, the mean one – there was always a mean one - said she was a boring whore, that she neither cried nor loved it, but James agreed with the female commentator who argued the girl had just been more subtle, but just as powerful. That there was an exquisite beauty to seeing how hard the girl had to fight to not cry.

They had rerun the close-up of her face in ultra slo-mo so James could savour the distress on the girl’s face, the way she bit her lip, the way her chin quivered, the way her angelic face scrunched in pain at the moment of penetration. So beautiful, really; very touching.

He had that scene saved in his favourites and had rewatched it dozens of times, and each time he felt his heart break at her distress. His poor, sweet angel being heartlessly raped by the highest bidder; how could that not turn you on?

It was intimate moments like that that made James feel he really understood Elsa, that he was not like all the other guys, both in real life and on-line, who just used her to get off, but would never know the real girl.

Of course, 6 months ago it had been some little Asian whore at some other arcology that he had been “seeing” but she had been sold or sent to an arcade or something and now he was “seeing” Elsa and this time it was different, James really understood Elsa.

Where most men would just see a wanton whore so voracious for cock that she was clearly eager to gobble this old man’s baby-maker until her nose was buried in a nest of grey hair, James knew it was just an act, a testament to her slave training. Because, James had watched her training over the months, had watched the sad, resistant girl learn from punishments and rewards to hide about her own feelings and become that cookie-cutter, eager sex-thing that men wanted.

But James knew that girl was still in there. That moment’s hesitation when the old guy told her to lick his balls, the fraction of a second while she closed her eyes and gathered herself before diving to lap the ugly, dangling, chicken-skinned sack: Elsa still hated her life as a sex-slave as much as that first night. That was a secret only James knew, the secret that made their relationship so real for him.

Whenever he went to the arcade he always first checked to see if Elsa was on-line; he would have felt unfaithful to her if he had watched some other whore getting fucked if Elsa was being used.  

The girl was on her hands and knees, now, the huge sacks of her breasts swinging pendulously below her, the huge brown stains of her areolae brushing the sheets.  

James actually preferred the impossible gravity-defying perfection of implants, but the current fad seemed to be for skinny girls with “naturally” titanic udders, grown with bovine hormones so they had the sag, and more importantly the sloshing movement, of natural.

The little thing must have been receiving huge dosages of the hormones because in the few months since her purchase her perfect little champagne glass A-cups had swollen to these monstrous, hanging sacks, each one twice the size of her head.  Standing, they hung well past her navel.  Not the perfect double-bubble spheres James liked, but still, there was just something so very hot about turning a normal, petite teenage girl into a man’s obscene caricature of a woman.   

There is just something pleasingly simple about grading women solely on the size of their mammary glands.  It is kind of win/win.  All women can be neatly slotted into two categories: inadequately small, or “an obscene fucking cow”.  Both are worthy of his derision so both made James happy.  

Of course, once you decide that bigger is better there is no logical end until your girl is so ridiculously, impossibly huge that she can no longer properly function as a human being and so has been reduced to merely a monstrous set of tits with three penis holes.  James was very hopeful that that was where his sweet Elsa was going. 

Slowly sliding in and out of the unseen mouth, he was imagining what his girl would look like maximized. Two 10kg bags of meat, so heavy she could barely lift them on her own, a prisoner of her own femaleness.  It was a fashion FemCorp had been promoting for over a year and James, for one, really liked it.

It made him a little sad that not only would his love never have the perfection of giant spherical implants, but that her breasts were not growing nicely in the big, full watermelon shape that brought top-dollar in the resale market. The more they grew, the more they were stretching into a distinctly tear-drop shape, like socks with large balls at the end, the kind that could eventually stretch to her knees.

The fact that he stayed true to her despite her ugly tits was a sign of his commitment.

The old guy was gliding a lubed finger in and out of her tight butthole.  James, tapped the screen to the view of her face; it was a breathtaking vision of fear.  “Poor baby”, he muttered compassionately.  She hated anal sex and would cry every time; one of her quirks that made her so lovable. He felt so bad for her, knowing how difficult this would be.  

The old guy took his place behind her and a moment later her face suddenly melted in a glorious display of pain, humiliation, and tears.  

James quickly hit “Stop” and just rested in the unmoving mouth, throbbing, not wanting to get off too early.  

Impossible.  Even without moving, watching his angel’s trauma was going to make him blow.  Summoning all his reserves of willpower, he backed away from the hole.  His ridged cock stood achingly ready.

Leaned back a bit he could see that the station on his left was unoccupied so he stepped into it.  

Dark meat.  A big brown ass splayed open before him, her lower legs sticking up, enclosed within the side walls of the station, unseen.  If you had any preferences about race, the arcades quickly taught you that they are all the same colour on the inside.  

The huge spheres of brown flesh framed a bald, black vulva and black sphincter.   The cunt had large black lips that were parted to show the inviting pink tunnel within. At least they were what he used to consider large before he met his dear Elsa and her hateful-big “roast beef curtains”.  Elsa’s made this one look almost petite. 

Both holes were cleaned, lubed and ready for use.  

When he had been at work thinking about this noon-time fun he had been looking forward to that lovely tight-ring grip of impaling an asshole, but now, the little pink glistening cunthole looked really inviting, offering all the full-cock sensations that only a vagina could give.  

A tap of his credstick told the machinery that he still had 4:16 minutes left, the access bars retracted, and the display automatically switched to the scene he had been watching. He stepped forward, burying the length of his cock to the hilt in the warm, slippery hole.

Mmm, wet vagina.  Yeah, good call.  He liked that tight grip of an ass hoop as much as the next guy, but there is nothing quite as good as sliding into a lube-slicked cocksheath and feeling it massage the entire length of your prong.

He turned his attention back to his lover on the screen thinking, “Man, if I owned a girl like you I don’t think I would ever leave her cunt”.  Elsa was blubbering, snot running out of her nose while the old guy plowed her shithole. James loved that she hated anal this much, but made herself endure it.

Just a few seconds of that and James started wondering if this time he should let himself come.  Still 3:41 left.

Then the old guy gave a couple of decisive final thrusts, paused a moment, and then walked away and started dressing.  The screen switched back to the main menu.

Well, shit. 

Try to find something else worth watching? He could easily waste all his remaining time and find nothing.  He went to NightVision.  The screen was filled with the eerie green image of a woman’s face, mouth open and ready.  Most of the mouths in this arcade had Welcome dentures. James really appreciated that. 

Welcomes were fairly new, only really becoming common now that degrading slaves was becoming increasingly popular.  The molars of Welcomes were extended a centimetre so the woman could never close her jaw completely. The look took some getting used to, they gave a woman that permanently slack-jawed look of idiocy, but James had soon grown to like the look. It really did say welcome to him, or maybe more exactly, it said,

Sex Object:
I look mentally retarded, but my mouth is always
open for cock.
Insert Here.

Apparently a great many other men liked the look, too, as half the women in the arcology now walked around with their mouths hanging open, many of them not even wearing the dentures.

But in an arcade?  
Welcomes were very high-end. The true genius of Welcome dentures was not the molars, but the front teeth. They looked real, though a little too white, but were made of supple silicone rubber so when you pushed into them they bent and stretched around your cock, making a mouth feel more like a cross between a vagina and an anus than any toothed hole could.

The woman’s eyes stared blankly up, her pupils huge in the darkness of her prison.  

Unless you were doing something to cause them real discomfort, they usually had this same blank look.  Beyond simply bored, it was the look of nothing at all, of being alone with her thoughts so long that she no longer had thoughts, no longer felt, of having been fucked by so many unseen men for so long that she barely noticed that out there in the world someone was fucking her.  Sometimes it turned him off to see how little the occupant felt about what he was doing.  Other times, though, he quite enjoyed seeing her in her private little hell while he took his pleasure.

Today, however, with just 3:28 left on the clock, he wanted to see her feel it.  He pulled out of her gash, and plunged straight into the dark pucker of her shithole in a thrust. Her eyes opened wide at that!  She was too well trained to make a noise but she was biting her lip as he started thumping into her asshole.  It was a little loose.  Not gaped, but neither did it have that nice tight grip of a fresh hole. 

See, this was the real problem with the arcades.  When you were only paying one or two ¤ they did not bother to maintain the holes properly.  How difficult could it be to keep these damned holes tightened up?  They had the technology, they just don’t bother using it on the arcade girls.  

The red circle in the top corner of his screen lit telling him that someone was going to be using her mouth.  Fuck, not now!  

Her head snapped back, pulled by some mechanism, and all he could see was her green throat and chin and a cock entering the top of the screen to slide into her face. James rammed hard into her asshole, making her lurch onto the other guy’s cock.  “You watching this, buddy?”  He eased his cock out so only the tip was still buried and again rammed it home, hoping the guy was watching the side-cam close-up of his cock stretching the poor girl’s hoop.  James could tell from the lump that throbbed in the girl’s throat that the guy was all the way in.  And he stayed there.

And he stayed there. 

And he stayed there.  “Oh, my God, he is going to tilt her” James realized, still fucking the shit out of her.  Sure enough, the guy did not withdraw. The girl started floundering, panicking, helplessly skewered between the two impaling cocks. 

There was something of a bonding moment you felt with a guy, even an unknown stranger, when you were both fucking the crap out of the same girl.  James pushed the “High 5!” button.  A moment later, his screen flashed the big yellow high 5 hand symbol, too.

And still the guy stayed there.  Her ass was bouncing around as she struggled, desperate for air, but the straps held her down securely enough that there was no risk of her bucking James out.  

After a minute or so the ass suddenly stopped all movement and the word “Tilt” flashed on the screen.  He never knew why it said “Tilt”, but that meant the girl inside had let go of the dead-man switch that said she was still conscious.  Throat-fuck a girl too long and too deep and you tilted and the access bars came out, forcing you out of her mouth.  They would not retract again until she regained consciousness and again gripped the dead-man.  The electrodes on her nipples would now be providing some fairly unpleasant stimulation to bring her around as quickly as possible and encourage her to grab the dead-man, but until she did the guy who had tilted her could not start a new session at a different station, so most people tried to avoid it. 

At her other end, however, James was welcome to continue using her and the idea that he was fucking an unconscious body was just perverse enough to push him over the edge. He started pumping his load into the dark, insensible hole, tapping the “High 5!” repeatedly, which sort of meant “Thanks, Mate, I just dumped”.

Glancing at the clock he saw he still had 23 seconds left so rather than doing the post-squirt chill thing in her butt he pulled out, checked station 4 – occupied – and went into 6 where a tap of his cred stick gave him 17 seconds access to a mouth.  Realizing he was still gripping the last of his cold burger, he shoved it into his mouth with a big, contented sigh, chewing while unseen lips obediently slurped his shrivelled cock clean. 

Okay, well maybe it satisfies most of my ‘feminine needs’”, he thought as he zipped back up and headed back out into the mall.