Glory Seeker

You can read the first part of this story – Glorious Hole –  here.

It’s been a year. A full year since I put my cock through a hole in a wall of glass and let a woman called Glory hold it in her mouth. Even as I walked away from her with my undrained balls still aching and my cock still solid, I knew I’d see her again. And I knew she wanted to see me too. But when I finally plucked up the courage to go back – a full six months after that momentous visit – I discovered that she’d moved on.

The despondence I felt was shocking. I could have done the weirdo thing and searched for her. It would have been easy enough to ask one of my few friends to find out where she’d gone, they frequented the places where her friends worked all the time. But the idea of hunting her down as if I had a right to know her whereabouts, as if she were my prey…it made my stomach do unpleasant things. I’ve always been a complicated guy, but I’ve never been frightening.

So I resigned myself to using the stroker I have that was cast from her silky soft pussy. Filled my head with fantasies of her standing, kneeling, lying before me, holding herself still and quiet while I touched and penetrated to my heart’s content.

And I tried dating again, too. One of the women seemed like she understood me, but then whenever she had a drink she wanted to paw at me, grab my cock, suck my neck, dig her nails into my back. I’d freeze, she’d cry, apologise, and promise to do better, then the next weekend her hands would be all over me again.

It wasn’t her fault, though. We just had different needs. I have different needs and I’ve struggled to find someone who truly gets it. Glory got it. Even though she knew what she wanted, she understood what I needed, and she let me have it. And no, it wasn’t just because that’s what she was paid to do. Not entirely.

I really didn’t think I’d ever be that lucky again until the guy who had brought me into Glory’s sphere of existence in the first place told me he’d found her. A new place had opened up, a place unlike any he’d ever been to before, and she was one of the women there whose pictures he recognised.

So now I’m here, in this warren of wooden walls and disembodied legs, cunts, and asses, handing over my cash and accepting a paper ticket. Shifting my hand this way and that to prevent accidental skin-on-skin contact. I don’t want the woman behind the Perspex screen touching me.

After just a cursory glance around the place, I instantly feel sick. So many people, so much noise, so much flesh. It reminds me of being eighteen, of being trapped in that room with the bodies of too many strangers pressing against me. I withdraw into myself, tuning out the slapping of balls hitting ass cheeks, the squelching of wet cunt, the moans and groans of real and faked orgasms.

Just the legs, Mark had said. He’d told me that Glory had been on the right side of the room. On her back, legs parted wide and kept elevated by straps connected to cuffs around her ankles. Her cunt was at face level and a couple of feet beneath her there was a hole I could stick my cock through if I wanted to. I tried to forget how good he said the mouth on the other side of that hole was. If he’d had his dick in it that meant he’d had his mouth…no. I won’t think of it.

All of the women on display have their pictures, printed on A paper, taped to the wood above them. I stare at one image of a redhead for a few minutes, unnerved by what looks like a pretty face growing directly out of a round ass. So freakish and not at all arousing to me.

That makes me worry. When – if – I find Glory, will I be turned off by the sight of her face floating above her cunt? God, that would be…that would be bad.

A guy nudges my arm and I flinch as though the contact is full of static. He gives me a strange look and nods his head in the direction of a blonde tufted cunt. There’s a bit of mumbling about her hole being free for use and if I want in it I’d better shake a leg, but I just gesture for the guy beside me to go take his fill. Even if I wasn’t here for someone in particular, I don’t think I could bring myself to sink my cock – or any other part of me – into a vagina that was already overflowing with other men’s spunk.

As a few newly arrived punters push by me I shuffle back, then head right as soon as I see a gap in the throng. When I draw level with a black guy pummelling a deathly pale, bald pussy, I notice deep dimples appear on his cheeks as he strains to get his cock deeper into her. The pang of need I feel makes me stumble.

Righting myself, I sidestep someone jackhammering a bruised ass, I dodge flying streams of what could be either piss or a woman’s ejaculate. I ignore the sounds of someone gagging on the other side of a wall some guy is pressed completely flat against. After passing by two very necessary wet floor signs and turning a corner, I’m finally at the section where I should find Glory.

All of the slots here are occupied. God, it’s so fucking noisy! It isn’t the women making the din, either, it’s the men. Grunting. Groaning. Grandstanding. A couple of them are even challenging each other to see who can make some poor soul’s asshole gape the longest. Such animals, I’d make them pay before I let them touch me, too.

When I turn away I spot the exact configuration of holes I was looking for. Legs strapped up in a wide ‘V’, exposing a wet, swollen cunt, and a small hole a couple of feet down. Both of them free. The guy walking away from them wipes his dick on a tissue, then his mouth on his sleeve, then he gives me the thumbs up.

I approach quickly, not wanting to risk someone else slipping in front of me. I take a few deep breaths but quickly change them to shallow ones when I smell the chemical tang of cum. It isn’t – can’t be – coming from the woman displayed right before my face. She’s too high up for that. No, it’s coming from wall beneath her, the heat of the room is making the stench of every orgasm that’s been spat back through the hole rise.

Lifting my gaze from that grubby hole to the wet fleshy one near my face, I shiver. My gaze shifts higher, rests on the grainy photo of the woman whose musky scent has overpowered the reek of men.

My jeans are being held up by the curve of my ass. Their zipper feels sharp against the underside of my exposed cock. As I take it in my hand and stuff it into the hole I loudly say, “Please just hold it in your mouth. Don’t suck it.”

I don’t bother looking at the picture to see who it is I’m talking to. That would mean taking my eyes off the picture above me. The one with the pretty woman in her 40s with the bottle black hair and the hummingbird earrings.

When I gave my instructions to the woman beneath her, Glory had jerked. Does she know I’m me? I don’t see how she can. She’s never heard me speak so has no idea what my voice sounds like. It doesn’t matter, though. She doesn’t need to know who I am.

One finger. Just the tip, stroking from her clit to her asshole. I wiggle it a bit, trace the little, puckered circle, letting myself feel each and every bump and wrinkle. A shudder runs through Glory’s legs, making her fleshy thighs quiver, but she remains completely still. I feel my cock sliding deeper into a warm mouth, but I offer it no attention.

In the new silence that was created by my own bubble of concentration there are no hammed up orgasmic screams. No competitive commentary. All I hear is the peeling sound of wet pussy lips parting. The sucking sound of fingers sinking into a tight hole. Beads of fluid are forced out when I start to shift my hand slowly back and forth, and I hear something that should have made me run for cover.

Glory’s moan.

I can see in the tautness of her thighs that she wants to work herself against me. I can feel it in the sudden tightness in the walls of her cunt. But the only movement that comes from her is the flexing of her muscles around my fingers. She knows! She knows who I am, she’s giving me what I need!

In turn, I give her what she needs. Finding her g-spot is easy enough in this position. In this place, where God knows how many other fingers have poked and prodded it. It’s almost hard beneath my fingers. So I’m hard, too. My cock is hard and completely encased in tongue and throat. And my fingers are hard, hooked upward, knuckles smacking into slightly prickly lips as I stroke Glory’s hole until it sounds like I’m fucking her with a plunger.

I’m so caught up in making her come I don’t realise her hand has made its way to my side of the wall until it’s cradling my head against her thigh. She doesn’t stroke my hair, she just holds me as liquid skitters over my wrist to splash against my shirt. Glory is coming and she’s coming hard, but her hips are perfectly still. It stuns me so much I don’t realise my cock is being expertly throated until I feel my balls tuck themselves against my body and my asshole start to spasm.

No! I don’t want this! I don’t want whoever she is sucking the cum from my cock. With a pained cry, I pull away and stare in anguish. I’ve got an entire orgasm – an orgasm I didn’t fucking want – in the palm of my hand. What should I do with it? I can’t drop it, I can’t leave such an intimate part of myself here. It was supposed to happen when I got home, inside of the Glory masturbator that I got…

I look up. Glory’s fingers hold her lips open and I gawp until the orgasm she just gave herself stops tugging at her clit. With a loud slap I press my palm into her cunt, smearing spunk over it and her fingers, pushing some inside so I can watch her push it back out again.

Then I’m stuffing my dick back into my jeans and racing for the door, out into the hall, past eager men coming and spent men going until I’m outside in the alley where the air isn’t any cleaner. I finally found Glory. And now that I know where she is I’ll make sure I don’t ever lose her again.

Week  #193

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