It’s no secret that I love gloryholes. My recent appearance as a “gloryhole expert” on the popular comedy podcast Distorted View just cemented the truth when I actually figured out how long I’ve been fucking around with gloryholes. In fact, when I said 15 years, I probably underestimated.
Earlier this week, I craved a little gloryhole action, so I headed to one of my haunts. My timing proved to be unusually perfect.
I walked into a booth as another man left. The gentleman on the other side also exited but I waited a moment before turning and leaving. As soon as he left, I saw tennis shoes and then the nose and eyes and the smooth complexion of an obvious Latin.
I didn’t get a good look. Just a glance before his face disappeared and his face was replaced with the telltale brush of the hand at the bottom of the hole.
I unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my jeans, yanking out my flaccid cock. Just two minutes earlier, I’d paid my entry fee and now I was dropping trou. I pushed my cock into the hole and soon warm lips covered me.
Expertly, he blew me to erection in 30 seconds. As I reached my full 7 inches, I throbbed hard and probably pushed into 7½ territory. I was horny. There was no denying it. And his expertise seemed to fade a little.
My cockhead flares out, especially when I’m really horny. And his tight mouth hit the underside of my head like a speedbump. But in moments, it ended. And the sensation changed to the distinguishing pinch as I felt a condom roll down on my cock, then the death grip as he began to back his ass up to the gloryhole and onto my cock.
I let his ass adjust to my cock, to take me in and expand. Obviously, he’d been fucked earlier. But his ass wasn’t messy. My predecessor had kept the condom on. I could smell the rubber friction, like a tireburn skidmark left in pavement. I pushed in and out a bit. I tested him, pulling entirely out then entering him again.
His smooth ass never left the hole. He kept it backed up. After one other test, I finally pulled out, stripped off the condom and reentered him again.
I began fucking with a steady pace, never speeding up, never slowing down, never increasing the pound and never decreasing it. I’m sure that steady hammering could be heard as it echoed through the thumping of the horrible XM dance music. I found my poppers, pulled them out and took a big whiff.
How I wanted to change the pressure and rhythm! But I didn’t want him to know, if he couldn’t tell, that I was getting close.
Soon, I felt that feeling boiling in my balls as the cum swells from them in through the prostate and finally pulsing out the head of my swelling cock. I kept my pounding pace, breathing a little heavier and just fucking, fucking, fucking.
As soon as my load was deposited in his ass, I added several more pounds to make sure it made it even deeper into his guts. Then, in a single swift movement, I yanked out, pulled up my pants and buttoned up. I left the booth and rounded the corners while zipping and buckling up. If he noticed the cum leaking out of his ass, my car had already left the parking lot.
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