Undercover: Episode One: The Initiation by Savage D.L

Author:Savage, D.L.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-04-27T00:00:00+00:00

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Feeling my frustration grow, I dug out my wallet and tossed him the smallest note I had, a five-dollar bill, watching on as he dinged open the register then took his sweet time counting out five small red circular pieces of plastic.

“Enjoy,” he said eventually with a leery smile, offering them out to me.

I fought back my disgust as I took the tokens from him, the cheap disks feeling greasy and warm as I gripped them tight in my palm, then turned and headed through to the back, where a line of six cheaply constructed ‘cabins’ were set out in a row, the thin corridor dimly lit, the air even more pungent and acrid than the store.

I made my way slowly down the row of booths, hearing the muffled moans and groans of sleazy porno movies emanating from a couple of the booths as I passed, before reaching the last booth.

Just like a stall in a washroom, a little window next to the door handle read “Occupied” in red, so after a moment’s deliberation, I reached out and rapped my knuckles against the flaking black paintwork of the door.

“Take the next booth,” came the muffled yet familiar voice of Alex from inside. “We can talk through the hole.”

What the hell?

But as I turned to the adjacent door and eased it open, I saw what he meant, my stomach twisting in a sickly knot as I processed the glory hole that joined Alex’s booth to mine.

For a half-second, my mind flashed back to the briefing this morning, the guys from Vice all snickering amongst themselves and one of them whispering faggot beneath his breath.

But I fought back my urge to get the hell out of this seedy dive, instead stepping into the tiny black cabin and fumbling the door closed.

The stench inside was almost unbearable, like someone had dialed the stink-o-meter right up to a hundred: dirt and grime and sweat and cum and god knows what else, all competing to assault my nostrils.

I eased my ass down onto the cheap plastic lawn chair then turned my attention to the hole that joined our booths, through which I could see nothing more than a slender thigh, clad in acid-washed blue denim.

I wondered if I should lean closer, maybe put my face up against the hole, but I had no clue of the etiquette in a situation like this, so for now I just stayed where I was, perched awkwardly on that plastic chair, my nervous hands still clutching the tokens, my eyes fixed on the glory hole.

“So?” I began, aware of the subtle jangle of nerves in my voice as I spoke. “What do I need to do to get an in with this group?”

To my surprise, a hand pushed its way into my booth through the glory hole: pale and slender, the nails painted in chipped pastel pink varnish.

“Go to this address,” Alex’s soft voice instructed. “Be there at midnight and someone will collect you.

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