Most of my days were exactly like the ones that came before: the same old routine at work and at home. My husband and I, though still very much in love, were more mechanical than passionate, much of our focus placed on raising our family rather than on giving each other the personal attention we deserved. Sex was stimulating at the most basic level, but for a long time I’d been feeling that it wasn’t enough. I hungered for more, and was beginning to look for it in the unlikeliest of places.
There was a seedy sex shop in an unincorporated area on the other side of town. I saw it every day on my way to and from work, and it always piqued my curiosity—the pink neon lights that never seemed to shut off, day or night, the large, cheesy lettering on the billboard above. NOVELTIES! LINGERIE! MOVIES! PEEP SHOWS! it shouted as I passed, beckoning me. I often wondered what was in there, and if it was more interesting than my one-trick-pony sex life at home. Cars in the parking lot were always sparse; just a few, never a crowd.
Each day as I approached, I’d gaze for a long moment, then look away, staying inside the boring lines of my life. Then one day after work, I found myself steering into that lot, the pull of curiosity too strong. There was only one other car besides my own. I parked in the space next to it, near the door, and approached the building. The glowing neon invited me in by way of a giant arrow above the door, pointing to the entrance. I glanced back at passing cars, wondering if anyone saw me. What if I ran into someone I knew? How would I explain? I could always pretend I came to buy lingerie—a reach, yes, but a credible one.
My worry was needless. Except for a man leaning against the building with a ball cap pulled over his head as he drank a beer, no one was around. I entered with my head down, anxious to duck into one of the tiny rooms to maybe watch some porn. I desperately needed some excitement. Perhaps I could even learn something new.
A row of doors lined a wall at the end of a long, dark hall. A bulb just above each indicated whether or not the room was occupied. Only one of the bulbs was lit. I went to one at the far end. A mini-machine mounted next to the door accepted cash, credit, or debit. TEN DOLLARS, TEN MINUTES, a sign on it read. I opened my purse, pulled out a ten, and pushed it into the slot. It disappeared with a whir and, for a moment, nothing happened. Did that damn machine just steal my money? Suddenly the lock clicked free and the bulb above the door came on. I looked around nervously, almost changing my mind. Then I took a breath and went inside, determined to get my ten dollars’ worth.
The lock clicked behind me, which was a bit scary. I figured they locked you in so no one else could enter. I squinted at my watch, my eyes adjusting to the light or, rather, the lack of it. It was 5:32 p.m. My ten minutes had started. How would I use them?
The room was darkened, but not dark, just enough light for me to make out my surroundings. There was nothing, not even a place to sit. Just four walls, three of them covered with graffiti, and one of them padded with a hole cut into it. The hole was about waist-high, maybe lower, and slightly bigger than a softball, with duct tape around the edges. I stared at it, confused. As I stared, I heard a noise behind the wall. Someone was coming. I froze.
Flesh stepped in front of the hole. I saw hair and a cock—a hard, throbbing cock and balls, pushing themselves through the hole in the wall. I suddenly realized what this was. A glory hole. I’d heard of them, but they seemed almost mythical, so far removed were they from anything I’d ever experienced. Finally, here was my chance for some adventure. An anonymous dick to be used as I chose!
Wasting no further time, I walked over to it and fell to my knees, forming a fist around the base of the dick. I made circles around the tip with my tongue, and then enclosed it with my lips, sucking just the head. He moaned with pleasure. I smiled, eager to service, his cock still in my mouth. I fastened my lips tighter around the tip and sucked and sucked and sucked, savoring the gamy taste of his delicious meat. He kept moaning. And then I stopped.
“More,” he says.
“Say please,” I whisper.
A long pause, and then…
“Please.”
I obliged, covering his rigid member with my ready mouth as I reached my free hand beneath my skirt and pleasured myself.
I flattened my tongue, cradling his cock at first, followed by a waving motion. He groaned deeply, excited by the undulation of my hot, hungry muscle. He pressed his pelvis closer against his side of the wall, trying to give me every inch. I wanted every inch. I wanted both of us to experience more.
I parted my lips wider, pressing them flush against the padded wall so he could shove his dagger deep into my mouth. As I gagged from the pressure, he began to thrust in and out, each more furious than the last, finding pleasure in the back of my throat.
I wrapped my hand tighter around his member, the fingers of my other hand plunging in and out of my wetness. I tightened my lips around him and sucked with a long, slow motion, all the way down the length of his shaft to the tip. He tried to thrust again, but I gripped him tighter, controlling the moment. I opened my mouth wide, taking his entire cock inside, and repeated the motion, sucking long and slow from the base of his shaft all the way down to the tip. I did it again. He was in agony, begging for more.
“Keep doing that,” he pleaded from the other side of the partition.
I did, syrup-slow, my tongue sucking furiously on its way down, spit coating his dick and oozing from my mouth. I continued to deep-throat him, stroking his cock with one hand—up and down, back and forth, side to side—increasing in speed.
My whole body was hot. I had to have more. Still sucking him off, I pulled down my panties with my free hand. I could feel him building toward ecstasy and I didn’t want to miss a drop. I released his cock and pulled away my mouth, then raised my skirt and backed against the partition, my ass aimed high in the air so he couldn’t miss my pink, wet flesh. I reached between my legs and grabbed his raging dick, guiding it into my steaming pussy. Once he was inside, I let him take over, as I tipped forward on my toes and wrapped my hands around the backs of my ankles. I bounced my ass back and forth as he plunged in and out.
I tightened my walls around his dick and squeezed.
“Oh shit,” he cried. “Damn, you feel good!”
He sank deeper and deeper as I opened wider with each stroke. I could feel every inch of his dick as he swelled to capacity. His thrusts grew faster, the wall shaking as his knees banged against it. The vibration, coupled with his pounding, sent shocks through my body. I placed my palms on the dirty floor and pushed back, bucking against him, meeting his fervor with a zeal of my own. I could hear his balls slamming against the other side of the wall.
I could feel the pressure growing inside me, ready to burst.
As I was bent over, I noticed my watch: 5:40 p.m. We were running out of time.
“Hurry!” I said. “Fuck me! Fuck me!”
I pushed my hot wetness against the wall as he pierced me again. Two more thrusts and I was cumming, hard and heavy, my pussy gushing.
“Oh, oh, oh…”
My legs shook I was cumming so hard.
My spasms pushed him over the edge.
“Quick,” he ordered, “give me your mouth!”
I pulled away and turned around on my knees, ready to receive him, wanting to feel him explode on my taste buds. I stroked and sucked for a few short seconds, and then he was cumming, his cock like a geyser, shooting a load so big, my mouth couldn’t contain it all. His goo coated my throat and my tongue, dripping past my lips and onto my chin. He grunted and shook, releasing every drop. I licked and swallowed all of it, quite pleased with myself for this adventure. A buzzer went off in the room. The lock clicked free. Our time was up. He withdrew his spent, glistening cock from the hole. I pulled my panties up over my still-dripping cunt.
I straightened my clothes and left the room, my head down, my body glowing, as I made my way back down the long, dark hall toward the exit. I could hardly keep my mouth still. My lips wanted to burst into a grin. I felt wicked, naughty, daring. In just ten minutes, I’d become brand new.
I pushed the door open and stepped out into the daylight. He was waiting for me, leaning against the wall, his ball cap tipped back. His dick, safely zipped away in his jeans, still tingled from our romp. He reached for my hand as we walked to our cars. He opened my door and I got in. He closed it. I let the window down. He leaned inside.
“See you at home,” he said.
“I can’t wait.”
I’m pretty sure none of you happens to have a wall in your home where you’ve decided to cut a hole big enough for your husband’s penis and plums, nor do I expect you to run around your house looking for a wall in which to do this. On the other hand, if you’re lucky enough to have an unpatched hole about groin level just lying around, then I say use it!
Equally as lucky are those of you who have craftsman husbands who love building and tearing apart things. Men like that, if asked to make a glory hole, will usually leap at the chance, just for the thrill of cutting into drywall and getting out the sander to smooth the rough edges. He probably won’t even ask why or give a what-for. Once you reveal that the hole is for acting out a sexual fantasy, he’ll be extra thrilled. Why, it’s a downright twofer—getting to cut through drywall and get some freaky sex out of the deal!
Just for fun, we’ve come up with instructions for creating your very own glory hole. If you’re crafty enough, do it as a surprise for your husband. If you’re not-so-crafty, the two of you can build it together. Or you can watch as he does all the work. No matter what, just making the hole can be fun, fun, fun!
For those of you who don’t have the attention span for a visit to Home Depot or a husband who’s inclined to build anything more than a sandwich or a plate of nachos, you can always use the Internet to find the location of a glory hole near you. Search for “glory hole” plus your city and state and see what you come up with. Depending on the state or country where you live, glory holes may be considered illegal. You could be arrested for having sex in a public place, sodomy, and who knows what else. Some of these places can be dangerous, at the very least seedy and not exactly sanitary. Proceed with caution. Do your research before you have your man stick his dick in some random hole in the wall. And for goodness’ sake, whatever you do, don’t just walk into someone’s establishment and start drilling holes in their bathroom walls and blame it on me! I will not bail you out!
If you’re lucky enough to have an unpatched hole about groin level just lying around, then I say use it!
Use the Internet to find the location of a glory hole near you.
Depending on the state or country where you live, glory holes may be considered illegal.
Do your research!
Look how industrious you are! You were so enthusiastic about the idea of having your own glory hole at home for you and your man to reenact the whole anonymous-sex thing as a fantasy that you built it yourself, without your husband’s help. Without him knowing about it at all. What a busy little beaver you’ve turned out to be. First you read the previous chapter about a glory-hole fantasy, decided it was the one for you, then made a trip down to the nearest Home Depot to get yourself some plywood, a drill, drill bits, sandpaper, et cetera, unaware that your husband already had those very items outside in the toolshed. No matter. One can never have enough drills lying around, right? So yeah, off you go to Home Depot for all the appropriate goodies, get back home, head down to the basement, erect the plywood, then drill and sand your very own hole of glory. Congratulations! You win the Industrious Wife of the Year Award for that one. There’s no way I would attempt to do such a thing.
What’s even more impressive is how meticulously you went about it. The hole is smooth, inside and out. No ragged edges, no stray splinters. You followed directions down to the minutest detail. Your husband’s going to love this. You know him and what he likes, so you’re already sure of it. Once you share with him all the exciting details of the glory-hole fantasy as I laid them out, he is going to be just as excited as you.
So now here you both are, about to take the plunge. He has read the Glory Hole chapter and, as you expected, he is super-turned-on at the idea of sticking it to you from behind a wall as though you are a stranger. You’re already a bit of a hot mama, so the two of you have decided to take it that extra mile. You’re going to pretend to be a cheerleader in a locker room changing out of her attire. Your husband will play the part of a Peeping Tom on the other side of the wall bold enough to stick his piece through the opening and offer it to you for service. You already have a cheerleading outfit from your previous role-playing fantasies. This time, instead of the panties you would normally wear under the skirt, you go for a tiny, frilly pink thong that can easily be pulled aside to allow him access. He gets into position on his side of the wall. You get into position on yours. Let the games begin!
Your man is on his knees, peeking through the glory hole as you primp and dance about in the “locker room,” changing out of your clothes. You pretend to catch him and gasp with surprise. He disappears from view. You draw closer. Suddenly, his crotch appears in front of the hole. He unzips his fly and places his flaccid penis through the opening, inviting you to partake of his flavor. He loves for you to suck him off until he is hard. You, in turn, always love doing it. You drop to your knees on your basement, oops, I mean locker room floor, clasp his limp peen in your hand, and encircle it with your lips. He instantly begins to moan as he leans against his side of the wall. You lick and stroke him as you fondle yourself with your free hand, majorly aroused by the moment, especially the fact that you made it all possible. I the woman, you think to yourself. You can build a glory hole, be a cheerleader, and suck your husband off like it’s nothing. You’re so awesome, you’re making yourself hot just thinking about you. Your husband swells with excitement as you lap at his shaft and suck on the head. You’re wet from fingering yourself, sucking him, and thinking about how awesome you are, so you stand and back up against his hardness, rubbing your thong-clad ass back and forth over his flesh as he moans with pleasure. You pull the thong to the side and slide your wetness onto his shaft. The two of you groan simultaneously at the incredible sensation. The smooth wood between you heightens the moment as you press your backside against him. You pull away, making sure not to pull all the way out, and then push back against it, plunging him deeper inside. He is groaning in agony, it feels so good, as you push-pull, push-pull, and push-pull against him. He is damn near screaming at this point, which excites you even more.
You’re the bitch, that’s what you are. You’re that bitch, the maker of glory holes, the bitch that makes her husband holler, which is exactly what he is doing right now as you push-pull and push-pull against him. Damn you’re turned on right now, mostly at the thought of you. You’re about to pop as you squeeze your breasts, your eyes shut tight, your ass pushing and pulling up and down your husband’s sweet meat. There’s a ringing in your ears that’s surely the sound of a killer cum on the way. The ringing grows louder, louder, super-loud, until you realize that it’s not ringing, it’s screaming. It is your husband screaming, but it’s not a scream of pleasure. It’s definitely a scream of pain.
You immediately disengage from him, asking what’s wrong.
“It hurts!” he cries.
“What hurts?” you ask, confused. Were you humping him too hard?
“I’m stuck,” he replies, his voice thick like bleating sheep.
“Stuck where?” you ask, still confused. Until you look closer and notice he is stuck in the hole.
His penis is beyond erect. It is engorged with blood, blood that was able to flow into his penis and make it erect, but can’t flow back the other way because he is too swollen for any kind of movement, let alone a flow, to take place.
You husband keeps bleating like a poor, beaten sheep. You can’t even begin to guess how bad his dick hurts right now. The bleating should be a clue. What grown man bleats? Bleating is grounds for having his man card snatched.
“What should I do?” you ask, now seriously freaked out.
“Bust it open,” he bleats.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“Bust it open with a hammer!” he cry-bleats. It’s a strange sound. A sound you realize you never want to hear again as you race off in search of a hammer. You don’t see one in the basement. Perhaps you need to make a trip to Home Depot.
“It’s in the toolshed!” he bleat-screams. The worst sound human ears have ever heard.
You rush to the toolshed, juices of excitement dripping down your leg. It is still daylight out and the neighbor next door, a man who’s always ogling you, is in the backyard. Your husband’s bleat-cries fill the yard. You fly by in your cheerleading outfit, your thong and juice-stained legs clearly on display. You never even look his way as you burst into the toolshed, expecting to have to hunt for the hammer. You don’t. There it is, hanging on a hook in plain view alongside rows of other neatly hanging tools. You suddenly realize that this shed is actually a pretty impressive place. You decide to visit it more often as you race back to the house and down into the basement.
“I didn’t know we had a drill in the tool shed.”
“Hurry up!” your husband pleads, way past losing it. “I feel like I’m about to faint.”
Oh no! First bleating, now fainting? You’ve successfully turned your husband into a punk. Be careful with that hammer when you go for that hole. All you need is to break your husband’s dick and your emasculation of him will be complete.
“Don’t hit my dick,” he bleats, already anticipating that breaking it might be in the plans.
You drop to your knees and desperately go at the hole, taking care to knock into areas of the plywood inches away at from his pathetically swollen member.
“Do you have a saw?” you ask, realizing the hammer is not going to work.
There’s a thud on the other side of the wall. You rush around to see if he is okay.
He isn’t. He fainted. Whoever saw a man faint standing up?
You grab hold of him, propping him up. His dick, now flaccid enough to get through the hole, pulls out with little damage, although it does get skinned up a bit coming through.
Congratulations, girlfriend. He bleated, he fainted, and he has a skinned dick to boot. He couldn’t be any more of a girl than he is right now; you put that cheerleading outfit on him.
If I were you, I’d lay him on the basement floor and while he is still out, I’d dismantle that wall with its failed glory hole and hide it in the toolshed. Then I’d come back and mount him, pretending the whole incident never even happened and act like we were just having sex on the basement floor and I skinned his dick in the process. Better to have him be momentarily confused about the situation than to bring up that bleating-fainting thing again.
On a separate, but strongly related, note—ladies, if you plan to build a glory hole, you are best off if your man is present when you do it. Prepping this fantasy on your own as a surprise for your husband carries some huge risks. News flash: Penises expand. They go from soft to hard and back again. The hole should be able to accommodate the free movement of a rock-hard dick, not just a flaccid one. It should be larger than your husband’s penis, but too small for his balls to get through.
So be careful out there. These fantasies are meant to open your relationships to brave new worlds, not open your husband’s penis to the pink meat.