Chapter 8: FREE TICKETS

Tuesday night is so dead the Cineplex feels like a tomb. Bored at the dorms, I decided to come out, just to be even more bored here. 


I’m scrolling my phone, bored enough to burn the place down, when I spot him behind the counter: Noah. Freshman, gangly, messy brown hair, glasses perpetually sliding down his nose, uniform swallowing his skinny frame. The kind of boy who’s never even been kissed without asking permission first.


Perfect playmate.


I saunter over and lean on the glass. 


My cropped cardigan gapes open on purpose. No bra. The air-conditioning is brutal; my nipples stiffen instantly, dark and shameless against the thin knit.


Noah looks up, sees them, and drops his phone. 


It clatters loud enough to echo. His face detonates red, but his eyes linger, a shy smile tugging at his lips.


“Hi,” I say, bored and lazy. “You new?”


“Y-yeah,” he stammers, pushing his glasses up with a shaking finger, glancing at my chest again. “Third shift ever.”


“Cute.” I let my gaze drag down to the front of his slacks (already tenting) and back up. “Any chance you give free tickets to girls who make your night less… tragic?”


His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. A tiny, eager grin breaks through. “M-maybe. For you.”


I’m already sliding around the employee gate. 


The magnetic lock clicks shut behind me like an invitation.


We’re in the narrow service corridor now. Neon lights strobing blue-red-blue-red across his flushed, excited face. The air is thick with hot butter, cleaner, and the sharp, unmistakable scent of a boy who’s about to lose his mind.


I drop to my knees right in front of him. 


The rough carpet bites into my skin. I don’t care.


Noah’s entire body is vibrating. 


His hands hover in the air like he doesn’t know where to put them, knuckles white, breathing already ragged, but he steps a fraction closer.


I reach for his belt. 


He makes a sound (half whimper, half eager gasp) and nods quickly, eyes locked on mine.


“Please,” he whispers, voice cracking like he’s thirteen again. “I—I’ve never—but yes.”


“I know,” I murmur, popping his button. “That’s why this is going to be fun.”


The zipper comes down tooth by tooth. 


His cock practically punches through the gap the second I tug his boxer briefs down average length, but so hard it looks painful, flushed angry red, the head slick and shining, a thick bead of precum already rolling down the shaft in a desperate streak.


He’s leaking like a broken faucet.


I haven’t even touched him yet and he’s dripping.


I lean in close, my breath ghosting over his skin, but I don’t touch. Not yet. Instead, I trace a single fingernail along the inside of his thigh, watching him twitch and gasp. His cock bobs in the air, straining toward me like it’s begging.


“You’re so ready,” I whisper, my lips inches from the tip. “Look at you, dripping for me already. Bet you’ve been thinking about something like this all shift, haven’t you?”


He nods frantically, a soft “Y-yes” escaping on a whine, his hands clenching at his sides.


I blow one cool, deliberate breath across the tip.


Noah’s knees buckle. He has to grab the counter to stay upright, a broken “fuck—” slipping out before he bites his lip, grinning through it.


I finally wrap my fingers around him light, teasing and he jolts like I’ve electrocuted him.


“Please—oh god—please—” 


It’s one long, trembling whine, but his hips tilt forward.


I stroke once, slow, from root to tip, thumb swirling through the mess at the head. 


His hips jerk so hard he almost lifts off the floor.


Another fat drop of precum wells up instantly, spills over my knuckles.


I lean in and lick it off my own skin while he watches, eyes huge and glassy behind fogged lenses.


He makes the most pathetic sound I’ve ever heard (high, desperate, animal).


I tease him more another slow stroke, then a pause, my thumb pressing lightly just under the head, circling in lazy patterns while he pants and squirms.


“Want my mouth?” I ask, voice low and teasing, blowing another puff of air over him.


“God, yes, please,” he begs, voice hoarse, one hand finally daring to brush my hair.


Only then do I take the head into my mouth.


His entire body locks up. 


Hands fly to my hair, trembling violently, not pushing, just clinging like I’m the only thing keeping him on the planet.


I sink lower slow until my lips meet the open zipper and the head nudges the back of my throat.


Noah’s breath hitches on a sob.


I swallow around him once.


His hips snap forward involuntarily, cock shoving deeper, and a strangled, thrilled moan rips out of him before he slaps both hands over his own mouth, eyes wide with excitement.


That’s when the front doors chime.


Footsteps. Two sets. Loud male voices.


“Yo, anyone here? Place is dead—”


Noah goes rigid, cock still buried in my throat, pulsing wildly against my tongue.


I don’t move an inch.


I just look up at him through my lashes and very deliberately hum.


The vibration makes his eyes roll back. His thighs shake so hard I feel it.


The customers are right at the counter now, five feet away.


“Hey! Service!”


Noah’s voice comes out a wrecked croak. “B-be right there!”


He tries to pull out. I swirl my tongue instead, cheeks hollowing, and he stays put, biting back a groan.


A broken, desperate tear actually slips from the corner of his eye and rolls down his flushed cheek overwhelmed, but he nods faintly.


I start moving slow, filthy drags of my lips, tongue pressed flat, swallowing every inch on every stroke while two strangers stand on the other side of the counter waiting for popcorn.


Noah is silently crying now, biting his own knuckles so hard I see blood, hips jerking in tiny, involuntary thrusts he can’t control, precum pouring down my throat in salty waves.


The guy knocks on the glass again. “Hello??”


I pull off just long enough to whisper, “Answer them properly,” before swallowing him to the root again.


Noah’s voice cracks like glass. “One… one minute, sirs! Technical issue!”


I hum again long, low.


His cock swells impossibly harder. He’s seconds away.


The customers mutter and finally walk off, footsteps fading.


The second they’re gone, Noah’s whole body shudders violently.


He comes without warning hips snapping forward, a choked, desperate sob muffled against his own palm as he spills down my throat in thick, pulsing ropes.


I swallow every drop, milking him with my tongue until he’s shaking and oversensitive and begging in broken whispers.


Only then do I pull off, lips shiny, and stand up slow.


He’s a wreck glasses fogged, tears on his cheeks, cock still half-hard and dripping, chest heaving like he’s run a marathon.


I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and smile, no longer bored.


“Your turn,” I say, turning and bracing my hands on the counter, arching my back so my soaked lace thong is on full display.


He drops to his knees like his strings have been cut, hands already shaking as they reach for me, whispering “God, yes” before diving in.