I jerk off four times a day. Every single day. Morning before work, lunch break in the bathroom at the office, as soon as I get home before my wife gets there, and again before I fall asleep. My browser history is nothing but cock sucking videos. Straight porn, gay porn, amateur stuff from Reddit, professional scenes with women on their knees choking on dick—it doesn’t matter. I don’t care about the bodies attached to the cocks. I don’t care about the faces or the names or whether the person sucking is a man or a woman. I just stare at the cock disappearing into someone’s mouth and imagine it’s my mouth. I imagine my lips stretched around the shaft, my tongue working the underside, the head hitting the back of my throat.
I’m not gay. That’s what I tell myself. I’m married to a woman. I fuck my wife regularly and I enjoy it. But there’s this thing inside me, this craving that won’t go away. I want to feel a cock grow hard in my mouth. I want to taste precum leaking onto my tongue. I want to swallow a stranger’s load and feel it slide down my throat. I’ve been thinking about it for years, edging myself to the fantasy, always stopping before I actually do anything about it.
But tonight is different. Tonight I’m driving home from work and instead of turning left toward our house where my wife is making dinner, I turn right. I head across town to the sex shop I’ve read about on Reddit threads. My hands are shaking on the steering wheel. My cock is already hard in my pants, straining against my zipper. I’ve read the directions dozens of times, memorized them while I stroked myself. Back booth, third hole from the left. Show up after 6 PM on a weeknight. Someone will be there.
The parking lot is mostly empty. I sit in my car for ten minutes, heart pounding, trying to talk myself out of it. But my hand is already on my door handle. My body knows what it wants even if my brain is still making excuses.
Inside, the shop smells like old plastic and stale cigarette smoke. I don’t look at the clerk. I walk straight to the back, past racks of DVDs and sex toys, to the arcade section. A sign says ADULTS ONLY. I push through the curtain and there it is—a row of booths with glory holes cut into the walls. My stomach drops. This is real. This is actually happening.
I slip into the third booth and lock the door. It’s cramped. There’s a screen playing some compilation video, the sounds of moaning filling the small space. The hole in the wall is about waist height, big enough for what I’m here for. I wait. I don’t have to wait long.
A cock slides through the hole and my breath catches. It’s beautiful. Cut, smooth, about seven inches, already half-hard. I drop to my knees on the sticky floor without thinking. This is what I’ve wanted for so long. I reach out and wrap my hand around it, feeling the weight, the warmth. It twitches in my grip and starts to stiffen. I lean forward and lick the head.
The taste hits me immediately. Skin and salt and something else I can’t name. I open my mouth and take the head inside, closing my lips around the shaft. It grows harder on my tongue, filling my mouth, and I moan around it. The man on the other side grunts and pushes forward, feeding me more. I take it. I take as much as I can, relaxing my throat, breathing through my nose. This is everything I imagined and more.
I suck. I don’t have technique yet—I’m learning as I go. I bob my head, sliding my lips up and down the shaft, tasting every inch. My tongue traces the ridge under the head and the cock pulses in response. I hear a muffled groan through the wall. I’m doing it. I’m actually sucking a stranger’s cock and he’s loving it. My own cock is leaking in my pants, untouched, throbbing with every movement of my mouth.
I go deeper. I want to feel it in my throat. I relax my jaw and push forward, taking him past my gag reflex. My eyes water. I don’t care. I pull back and dive down again, fucking my own throat on this anonymous dick. The man starts moving too, thrusting through the hole, using my mouth. I let him. I want to be used. I want to be a wet hole for him to get off in.
“Fuck yeah,” I hear through the wall. “Swallow it.”
I feel his cock thicken. The head flares on my tongue. His thrusts get erratic, desperate. I grip the base with my hand and suck harder, hollowing my cheeks. The first shot of cum hits the back of my throat—hot, thick, salty. I swallow immediately. Another pulse, another rope. I keep swallowing, drinking him down, not spilling a drop. The taste fills my mouth, coats my tongue, slides down into my stomach. I’m dizzy with it. I’m high on it.
He pulls back through the hole. I sit there on my knees, breathing hard, my lips wet, the taste of cum lingering. I did it. I finally fucking did it. I sucked a stranger’s cock and swallowed his load.
I wipe my mouth and stand on shaky legs. My own cock is still hard but I don’t touch it. I don’t deserve to cum yet. I leave the booth without looking back, walking through the store with cum breath, past the clerk who doesn’t even glance up.
The drive home takes fifteen minutes. I can still taste him. I run my tongue over my teeth, chasing the flavor. My cock aches in my pants but I leave it alone. I park in the driveway and sit for a moment, composing myself. Then I walk inside.
“Hey honey!” My wife appears from the kitchen, smiling, wearing an apron over her jeans and t-shirt. “Dinner’s almost ready. How was your day?”
“Good,” I say. “Normal.”
She crosses the room and wraps her arms around my neck. I lean down and she kisses me, her lips soft and warm, her tongue sliding into my mouth. I kiss her back. I can taste him—salt and musk and cum—mixing with her lip gloss. She has no idea. She’s kissing her husband’s mouth while a stranger’s load coats my tongue.
“Mmm,” she says, pulling back. “You taste different. Did you eat something?”
“Just a protein bar,” I say.
She laughs and turns back toward the kitchen. I watch her go, running my tongue over my teeth again, swallowing the last traces of cum.
I’m already thinking about tomorrow.