The following week, Clare and I reconnected. We had spent a lot of time apart and playing separately, and while that was fun for a short while, we both needed some couple time for our relationship to stay healthy.
I had Sunday with my fiancée; we kissed like teenagers in the cinema, held hands during a walk around a nearby lake at sunset, and then she donned her new lingerie, attached her strapon and we fucked like rabbits to leave me a cum-covered, satisfied mess.
After work on Monday, we visited a local restaurant, and the following evening we fed the ducks and geese at the village park. However, an exhibition of Clare’s power and dominance was never too far away, and we went to see Scott and Virginia on Thursday. The house was still a bit of a mess as Scott and Iain were not quite Kim and Aggie. My partner gave me a French Maid’s outfit she had borrowed from Victoria’s collection, and ordered me to go clean the kitchen, the lounge, master bedroom and the toilet.
It was humiliating, but everyone knew that, and they also knew that it would make me horny. Which it did. Scott and Virginia got a cleaner house, and Clare dominated me without having to lift a finger. My lover teased me on the way home, and I had to seek Martin’s mouth to get any sort of satisfaction.
To use up some of my remaining annual leave, I had agreed with my manager that I would take every Friday off work until the end of the holiday year. Over breakfast, Clare gave me a printout of an order that she needed me to collect from the other side of the county. “It’s near Stockport. They said it would be ready after lunch.”
“If you’re going that way, could you look in on one of my flats,” Martin asked. “It’s in my block of apartments near the airport. It’s the property my businesses use when they have visitors to Manchester. Leo left yesterday, and I got the cleaners visiting tomorrow, but if you could put the bedding on to wash and hang it up when it’s finished, it’ll dry by the time they visit.” He smiled as he passed me the keys.
Martin’s flat was only a couple of miles away from Bobby’s place of work, and I sent the warehouse worker a text message to ask if he wanted to meet for lunch. When he did, I shared the address and drove in the shimmering magenta VW Beetle. Clare and Victoria had selected some matching bright pink hotpants, with a silver, metallic T-shirt for me to wear for the day, and the outfit was eye-catching and embarrassing. On the journey to the upmarket apartment, I stopped at a small supermarket and turned a few heads as I bought burgers, buns, frozen chips and a dessert. Nobody said a word to me, but I felt the eyes follow me around the aisles.
Martin owned the half of the flats in the small complex; seven were part of his property empire, built from the windfall of the sale of his company. He reserved one for use by the companies he had a stake in; it was near to a tram stop, the city airport and the motorway, well away from his private life but close enough for visitors to use. The modern flat was on the first floor of the three-storey block; the balcony overlooked a business park on the outskirts of the terminal.
As I opened the door, the thunderous sound of a jumbo jet taking off deafened me and I looked into the compact apartment. It comprised two double bedrooms, a kitchenette/living room and a bathroom with the largest shower I had ever seen in a flat.
The entire accommodation was brilliant white, granite grey or black, with trendy spotlights throughout. I put the food in the fridge and stripped the master bed. The last occupant had left the room he had used in a tidy state, but there were crumbs on the floor, and in the sheets. I replaced the bedding and stuffed the dirty linen in the washing machine. I hoovered the apartment as I listened to music and washed the couple of used plates by hand.
Bobby startled me. “You left the door unlocked,” he said as he closed the front door and grinned at me. “What’s this? Clare thrown you out?”
The 24-year-old dropped a small rucksack onto the clean carpet and kicked off his shoes. “Hiya,” I called, and smiled at his wide eyes, taking in my outrageous outfit. “It’s Clare and Victoria. It’s what being a sub is all about. They wanted to embarrass me. After lunch, I have to go to a clothing manufacturer to pick up two Latex garments. In this.” He sniggered. “I thought it would be good to meet up, have some lunch. I got some food in, there’re some cards, some games, go for a walk. We could visit the sauna, but we’d only get a couple of hours before you need to go to work and…”
Bobby sighed. “It’s fantastic to have someone just want to meet, y’know?” He coughed. “I don’t have many friends I can just hang out with. But I could do with a shower if you want to do… anything. I’ve not had one today, and I’d hate…”
“You know I’d go down on you, even if you’d run a hundred marathons,” I said with a coy smile. “But I’ve not had one either. Shall we share one?” I smirked and gestured towards the bathroom with the massive cubicle. “It’s a two person jobbie.” His lips curled into a grin.
“Yeah, OK. And I have a series I’m watching on a USB stick. Mate gave it to me ages ago. Called Spartacus, but there are loads of sex scenes. Happy to watch one of those.”
“There’s a TV in the bedroom,” I replied. I pushed the magenta spandex to my ankles and dropped it onto the soft leather sofa. Bobby locked the front door and unfastened his blue boiler suit. We both stripped in full view of the balcony window, oblivious to the office workers who could see into the apartment.
The large glass cubicle had a wide shower head over the enclosure and I turned the top dial to start the water. The cramped bathroom had squeezed the oversized booth into the space, but there was little room around the sink, toilet and towel rail for Bobby and I to move as we waited for the warm water to flow.
On the shelf, a previous occupant had left strawberry shower gel, and I beckoned Bobby into the steaming cubicle. I squirted a generous portion of the pink soap into my palm and slowly started rubbing his flesh with the lathering bubbles. He smiled as my fingers swept over his hairless torso. His cock rose as I knelt in front of him and soaped his thighs and his balls. He groaned as I parted his buttcheeks and blew softly between his arse. My slippery hands glided over his back and my body pressed against his.
Spooning him in the hot, steamy shower. My hands wrapped around his body as I breathed on the back of his neck. My fingers swirled against his nipples as I pressed my frame into his. It was deeply erotic and sensual. Deliberately so. Two weeks of salacious and suggestive messages going backwards and forth between us had taken its toll, and I wanted to play with him.
He turned and pushed me back against the wall. His fiery, lustful eyes were ablaze, and he took the gel from the shelf. The feminine soap pooled in his hands, and he lathered my body with wild abandon. Fingers slithered over my cock and balls as they scooted across my slippery flesh. He looked lustfully at my erect dick, and I wrapped my hands on his waist to pull him closer.
Our lips touched, and his tongue caressed mine. A longing kiss, driven by lust. Our pricks rubbed against each other as our hips ground and bucked. My hands gripped his arse, and my fingers squeezed his buttocks as he pushed me against the cool tiled wall.
He broke from our kiss, panting, and put his forehead on mine. “Shall we dry off and slip under the duvet?” I suggested against the failing warm water. “I would love to snuggle up to you.”
He hummed, and I released my grip on his wet arse. We took a towel each and hurriedly dried our bodies. The large television in the master bedroom directly faced the bed, with the freshly laundered bedsheets, and we slipped into the white sheets after I had inserted his USB stick into the smart TV.
Spartacus was a “boobs-and-blood” television series, stuffed full of graphic sex scenes. We both enjoyed the naked men and women, with impeccable bodies, glistening with sweat. The muscular guys had a dirty earthiness to them, and we both had wandering minds as shirtless fighters sparred.
Under the covers, my left hand wrapped around his neck, while my right caressed his bare skin as we cuddled and spooned. It was an intimate couple of hours as we watched the sexually charged drama underneath the fresh duvet while we snuggled and embraced.
I held him tight to my naked body and felt every twitch and squirm from my friend. He groaned as I nuzzled into his ear at the end of the second episode and he turned to face me. A kiss once more, and I rolled him onto his back, pinning him to the bed, as I forced our lips together.
Our tongues crossed as our bodies tessellated. Our cocks rubbed and our nipples grazed as we writhed against each other. The gentle heat from my loins as my hands wrapped around the sexy warehouse worker while we were watching television had erupted into a sizzling inferno. I wanted him. I wanted to feel his bubbling lust that I saw in his fiery expression.
He mumbled as my tongue swirled across his nipple. My fingers closed on his hard cock and I slid under the duvet to satisfy him. It was sweltering between his legs; the heavy eiderdown smothered, and the airless atmosphere was stuffy.
But sheer bliss.
My lips wrapped around his corona. He grunted, and he ran his hands through my hair as my mouth gently worked the tip of his prick. Pre-cum oozed onto my tongue. A zestful, delicious, wonderful scent of his excitement. Of his lust. He groaned as I lovingly sucked the head of his cock and slid down the entirety of his shaft. Sweat gathered on my body in the suffocating space; the air thick with male arousal.
My cock danced as my lips and hands worked his rod. My tongue glided over his frenulum as I bobbed on his delicious prick. He groaned as my right hand caressed his hairless balls and smooth perineum. His legs shook and his fingers gripped my hair. His prick twitched, and I sucked greedily, impatient for my treat.
Desperate for his cum.
Eager to feel his prick squirt his seed into my slutty mouth.
Several waves of thick, juicy musk fired into me as he groaned, grinding his hips into the mattress. He lifted the duvet and smiled at me. “My turn,” he whimpered. “That was amazing.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he snapped, and his right hand tugged at my shoulder. He giggled as I lay on the bed beside him and he clambered on top of me. Bobby was gentle and sensual. His slow movements across my torso were erotic, and he snickered like an excited schoolgirl when his hands touched my erect dick, weeping from his tactile, sensuous rubbing.
Bobby’s mouth was wondrous. His warm lips surrounded the head of my cock and fired a million sparks of sexual excitement across my body. His fingers deftly explored and stroked my lust and my libido until my flesh wept and cried from sizzling, passionate longing.
I craved him to take me to the edge. His sensual blowjob was concentrated horniness and was a drug that I had become rapidly addicted to. His fingers twirled my nipples as his lips and tongue drove me to the very peak of my need. I panted and squealed. I gulped, grunted, cried and mewled as I reached the apex of my point of no return. Dancing on the precipice of my climax.
And then he wantonly and rampantly slammed his mouth down on my dick as he took me careering over the mountain-top. Waves of cool sexual energy swept through my body from my cock to my toes, as my prick pulsed and I released jets of cum into my friend.
He never stopped. He never paused as the cocksucker savoured every drop from my drained balls I lavished into him. He adored it, and we kissed, with the taste of cum still lingering in our mouths.
We showered once more, and I swapped the bedsheets I had just put on the bed in the washing machine. He sat naked, drinking a glass of water, and we chatted while I cooked and then ate the burger and chips I had bought earlier. His partner, a Scottish lady called Heather, was a childcare nurse, and they rented a small two-bedroom house in Sale with another couple. “Have you done… anything with him?” I asked and then added. “I live with Martin and we are always giving each other blowjobs. We have to, as we get little relief elsewhere.”
He laughed. “No. Jermaine’s straight as they come. He spends most of his time in the gym. He’s one of those bike delivery guys, and Jo is finishing a course at Manchester Uni. When she’s done, they’re moving to Scotland. She’s a nurse, and her folks are in Aberdeen and she wants to be up there. Jermaine’ll go with her.”
“And then just you and Heather?”
“It’s a trendy part of town and we can’t afford our house by ourselves. When they move, we’ll share again or downsize. It’s a nice place, furnished, and double driveway, but we could not stand for the rent on our own.” He wiped his chin free of burger juice and snorted. “I don’t get to live rent-free.”
“I know,” I muttered. “We both realise that we are really lucky and we’ve offered to give Martin and Victoria money, but they won’t have it. The more I offer, the more Victoria punishes me,” I added, and recounted my week from the autumn when she had humiliated me for trying to pay. “And Clare and me are looking,” I said. “We want to buy a house and that’s not cheap, and then we will have no money!”
“Ditto! We’re saving up too, but it’s so hard. The banks demand proof that you can pay six hundred quid a month in mortgage payments, and when we point out that we’ve been paying almost a grand every month in rent, that’s not good enough. I mean, what is? Bloody hate banks.” He downed his water and took his plate to the sink.
“Leave it, I’ll clean up,” I told him. “I have to do the baking tray and the frying pan.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, don’t forget your USB stick.”
“OK, well, I better go. I’ve got to be at work in twenty-five minutes.”
I watched the sexy, lissome man dress in his grubby navy boiler suit. He looked sexier, and dirtier in the grimy coveralls, and my cock rose as I stared at him. Still naked, I stood up, and I gave him a hug. “See ya, mate,” I held onto my embrace, squeezing the rough, dirty fabric against my bare skin. “See ya soon.”
“Yeah,” he replied as we parted. Our eyes met, and he smiled before he opened the door and stepped into the corridor of the apartment block. My phone pinged as I cleared up.
“Thanks for a great time. Would love to do that again. Bobby.”
I replied. “Yeah, me too. Love spending time with you.”
I cleaned the flat in the nude and then drove to Clare’s Latex warehouse on the outskirts of Stockport. The male factory shop worker admired me in my pink hotpants and glittery top, but I felt a little aroused as he flirted with me. I really looked like a slut in the outfit the women had chosen for me, but I enjoyed the attention. I stopped off once more at the flat to pull the second load of bedclothes out of the washing machine and string them up to dry; Martin’s cleaner would appreciate the work I had done.
Clare and Victoria crooned over the luxury Latex garments. The Lady of the House had always enjoyed wearing rubber, and it placed her in a dominant mood. She treated Martin to a session in the dungeon that left his skin criss-crossed with violent welts and marks.
The Saturday party was a boisterous event. A dozen men visited the summerhouse, and there were only three of us on duty. Scott, Cameron, Robin and Anthony injected cum down my throat, while Devon plundered my backside with his oversized meaty prick.
I had no qualms about telling Clare about my rendezvous with Bobby, and she smiled as I recounted the passionate shower and blowjob in the bed. I didn’t need to tell her about my same-sex trysts, just as she didn’t have to admit to her lustful assignations, but I wanted to be honest. “Sounds like someone is well in touch with his bisexual side,” she told me, as we walked around the park.
We fed the ducks and kissed on the bench overlooking the mere, nestled in the middle of the Cheshire countryside. “I love it here,” Clare said. “It’s so peaceful.”
“There’s the M6, three hundred yards in that direction,” I replied, pointing across the lake. “But yeah, it’s nice. When we buy our house, we should look near here. Cheshire is beautiful.”
“Crewe isn’t!” Clare joked and held my hand. She put her head on my shoulder as we watched two ducks fight in the water, and then we drove back to Victoria’s mansion. I spent a lovely day connecting with my partner, and we snuggled together to watch television in her bed. She selected Spartacus, and we started the show from the first episode of Series 1.
She cooed over the naked women and shirtless men. She panted during the sex scenes and at the end of the episode I slipped under the warm duvet and ran my tongue over her hot slit. She groaned as I inhaled her scent and massaged her cunt with my mouth.
Every lick was sheer heaven. A piquant muskiness that drew gasps of sexual pleasure from my fiancee. The love of my life squealed and squirmed as my fingers drove into her and pressed against her G-Spot. She could not resist as I passionately forced her towards her climax. My body sizzled with horniness as I served my partner her orgasm, savouring her bucking hips, quivering thighs and desperate squeals.
We watched another episode, and I repeated it, drawing a gasping, breathless orgasm from my hotwife. And then we spooned to sleep, with me unsatisfied and in need of relief. She kissed me on the lips as she cuddled up in her sexy, silky nightdress.
“Frustrated?” She enquired, and I mewled in response. “Oh dear. You’re in Bristol on Tuesday, aren’t you? Terry’s asked if he can bring some friends over and I said yes,” she whispered into my ear. “He loves dumping his cum in me. I might film it for you.” Her fist closed around my prick, pumped it a few times as she spoke. “He’s got an enormous cock. All his mates have and they intend to use all of me.” I whimpered, and she released her grip, rolled over and replied. “Good night!”
Benji was not available on Tuesday, but Clare made good on her promise and sent me several pictures and a brief clip of her enjoying three men with Victoria. I saw Martin in the background and it was a deeply erotic sight that caused my cock to leak into my tight briefs.
My work over the previous four weeks delighted my manager, and I received a great performance review. “We have new offices from April,” he told me. “Across the business, there’s thirty of you who have been working from home full-time for the past six months. Everyone else has been in to our satellite office for one or two days a week, at least.”
“On our team, it’s just me and Jeff, right?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “But from April that can change. The board have agreed and they want everyone in four days a week in the new office.” He saw the troubled look on my face and he raised the tone of his voice. “But, I have said that I think that would be a problem for you, so what they plan to do, is in April, offer you a contract that has your place of work at home, except for two days a month in the office. Is that OK?”
“That’s fine, yes. My fiancee’s job is moving to Manchester. I can’t come back to Bristol. So if you demand my presence day in, day out in Bristol, then I must leave because we are looking to buy a house in Cheshire. My life is now in the North West.”
He nodded. “I thought so. I’ve made my recommendations to HR, but from April you will not have a dedicated desk in the workplace. We’ve all been impressed by the amount of work you and Jeff get through, so it’s a straightforward decision to make.” He grinned, and then idly said. “And I’ve got family up in Manchester. I’m going to see them at Easter. I’ll drop in on my way back. Say hello.”
I could only imagine what Clare and Victoria would do to my unmarried manager. If they did, he’d probably want to move to the North West too!
The following Friday, I wanted to use my day-off to visit the sauna. I sent a message to Sean, Bobby and Andre to see if they fancied another trip during the day. Sean never answered, Andre was working and Martin was conducting a couple of unannounced visits at companies he had controlling or significant stakes in. Only Bobby was free and so I douched, prepared myself and met the enigmatic 24-year-old outside the venue fifteen minutes before they opened. “Fancy meeting you here,” I joked. “You good?”
“Yeah. Had to stay late every day last week, so they owed me a few hours. My new supervisor wanted me to take it, so I was cool with that, ‘though they may call me if they are light for the late shift! What about you?”
“Got the day off, but they owe me loads. I hardly ever take a lunch break. Or holiday.”
He wore his grubby work overalls as he had to keep up the pretence to his partner about going to work; I pitied him that he needed to deceive the love of his life so much.
A welcoming man, topless and exhibiting his grey chest hair, sat behind the service hatch of the sauna and wordlessly took my money from me. He looked retired, with his rugged face and silver, thinning hair. Bobby said nothing as I just idly paid for two entrance fees and loaded our bands with a few quid each for lunch. My monthly expenditure was minimal and I could easily afford it. The venue was silent, except for the whirr of fans or the bubbling of sauna pools. “First ones in,” he chuckled. “They’re prob’ly still cleaning up.”
“If you want us to stay down here, I’ll deffo take a lick of what you’re packing,” Bobby said with a smile.
“You are old enough to be my grandkid.”
Bobby hummed as he pushed open the door to the little reception area. “That’s a yes then!” He replied. I was certain they should have locked the door, but the receptionist was just wearing shorts, and Bobby had them around the elderly man’s ankles in seconds with his lips buried around his thick, veiny cock.
I could hardly see a thing, as Bobby manoeuvred himself under the desk, and the man leant on the counter. I waited in the small lobby, next to a couple of enormous posters, as a steady stream of punters arrived. They were oblivious that the man serving them was also enjoying Bobby’s warm, luscious mouth on his cock.
Of the nineteen men who entered while my friend fellated the receptionist, I counted eight with marks on their ring finger and another four with wedding rings. They could have male partners, but Bobby’s assertion that many of the patrons were married or identified predominantly as “straight” seemed plausible.
As I entered the changing room, I was, once again, treated to the sight of one man fellating another; Bobby smiled at the sight, and the lustful man stared as he casually disrobed. Bobby loved giving oral; it was what he adored, and if I had come with Martin or Andre, I knew they would seek anal play as much as giving blowjobs, but with Bobby, he would want to spend most of his day drinking cum. I understood why, as I loved the submissive act too.
Naked, except for Canvas shoes, and with a white towel slung over our shoulders, Bobby almost ran down the stairs to the street-level gloryholes. “This place is amazing,” he roared as he slammed his palm against the button that would illuminate the red light above the entrance, and unlock the door. I marvelled once more at the simplicity of the design.
The sauna was a converted old mill, which had a number of entrances. One of them, with its small hall, had been converted into the facility which Bobby adored. A wall-to-ceiling wooden panel that stretched across the hallway, with eight holes and an emergency fire door. Men could enter from the street anonymously, go into a booth, stick their prick through a gloryhole and have one of the sauna cocksuckers satisfy them.
I wondered if it took some trade away from the gay sauna and the town’s massage parlour, of ill-repute. A man who wanted a quick blowjob, could simply rock up at the gloryhole and get instant satisfaction, instead of paying a tenner and getting access to the sauna. If he went to a prostitute or a massage parlour, then he would pay a lot more than £10 for his sowing his seed into the mouth of another. And Bobby probably gave better fellatio than anyone else in the area.
He sprawled himself on the chair, eyeing the CCTV monitor in the room behind the partition that the sauna had divided into eight booths. “How’s Heather?” I asked and immediately regretted the question. He gave me a pained look. “How was the guy on reception?”
“Oh, he came loads. I’ve had him before. He’s a regular in the sauna. He’s married and retired, but his Old Lady doesn’t put out no more. He works two days a week here to top up his pension and gets free entry the rest of the week to get his balls drained. He lives on my road. I’ve seen him as I walked home from the Co-Op. He’s a great-grandad now.” His eyes twinkled as he spoke, and he smiled as he saw movement on the monitor. “Look at these two. They look like bank robbers.”
The two men had Beanie hats over their hair and were wearing ill-fitting tracksuits. They entered the small lobby and then hesitated as they scanned the empty cubicles. They only had the choice of Bobby or I, and a large, black, circumcised cock was pushed through hole six.
Bobby pouted as I rubbed lubricant in my hand and gripped the base of the thick, ridged prick. The recipient of my activities groaned as my lips slipped over his sparkling head and I ran my tongue over his frenulum and corona.
My eyes closed; I concentrated on the submissive feeling inside my core as I gave oral worship to the thick, dark dick. He was just the first today, but I had come for an entire day of servitude. I enjoyed being a slut, and the raw contentment in my bones as my lips glided over the cock was intense.
I needed it. I nasally grunted as his member filled my mouth and slipped past my gag reflex. A manly, acrid, nasty, erotic taste, combined with the musky aroma of the water-based lubricant. The piquant, common tang of my desperate bisexuality that I needed to satisfy.
Bobby was less than a foot away from me. I heard his loud slurping and frenzied grunting as he made oral love to the prick buried in his mouth. His skill, honed over four years of repeated fellatio, was coaxing exquisite orgasms from horny men.
His talent, an expertise that he could not boast about, was an authentic art form. He deftness of touch from his lips on the sensitive cock was perfect, his elegant movement of the tongue against the head, left his recipients gasping with pleasure, while his repertoire also extended to rimming, ball sucking and deep-throating, if the top required it. His chosen profession was blowjobs. He was a cocksucker, a knob gobbler, a purveyor of outstanding oral orgasms or just a first-rate fellator. But it was hardly something that could go into his CV.
I reached across and touched Bobby’s thigh with my left hand; his cock was fully erect, and I wrapped my hand around his prick. He writhed and bucked his hips as he gasped on the dick, spasming in his mouth.
He got his second taste of cum moments before the unknown guy coated my tongue with several squirts of thick, sweet goo. The black man on the other side of the thin partition swore obscenities at me, as I drank from his spasming prick. Yes, I was a slut. Yes, I was nasty and dirty. And yes, for the day, I was a filthy, sleazy, sordid fag. I leant back on my haunches as the wet prick slipped from the hole.
Both Bobby and I had erections; we had both enjoyed the feeling of a throbbing dick between our lips and he smiled as he glanced at the CCTV once more.
A single guy entered the gloryhole room, avoided eye contact with our departing bank robbers, and slipped his dick into Stall Eight.
It was closest to me, and I shuffled along the wipe-clean mat, and wrapped my lips around the small uncircumcised dick. It grew as I sucked on it, and I felt Bobby come behind me. His hands on my waist, with his body pressed against mine, with his dick pressed against my buttocks.
I felt the hot breath on the base of my neck as he whispered into my ear. “You need this, take it further, like a good boy. You want him to come, don’t you? Further, lick it, love it. It’s what you want.”
Bobby kissed the back of my neck and slipped down my body as my mouth took the prick deep into me. My tongue worked the sensitive tip and Bobby lay face up on the mat between my feet.
His wet tongue probed the folds of my anus. I grunted into the stiffened prick in my mouth and redoubled my effort. My mouth worked the dripping dick fervently.
Bobby sucked my balls, licked my arse and kissed the tip of my dick. He made me desperate to climax and desperate to receive a climax. My mind spun, my legs wobbled, and I sucked frantically on the anonymous dick buried between my lips.
The second orgasm I had coaxed from the balls of well-endowed men hit the back of my throat like a jet and he kept pumping cum into my mouth until it almost overflowed and I swallowed.
“Thanks,” he muttered through the partition, and he whipped away the cock from my mouth.
The street-level gloryholes were busy and no other patron of the sauna came to the holes to suck the anonymous cock. Bobby had said before that coming on a Friday saw more visitors, but as there were more cocksuckers he got less action. He preferred the “naked days” over the Anything Goes Friday.
However, cocksucker-to-cock ratio was not a problem on that day. We counted over thirty men; from the stout, hairy dicks to the elegantly smooth and hairless. From the wild cummers to the timid dribblers. Black, brown and white. Cut and uncut.
They all filled our bellies and doused our faces with their seed, wantonly given and gratefully received. Some men loved to feel the spasm in a warm mouth, others liked to spray on the face of the unknown cocksucker. I loved both, although my jaw ached at lunchtime, and I was glad to get a rest. Bobby flicked off the switch to deluminate the sign, and that also automatically locked the door from being opened from the outside.
He looked at me with deep blue eyes. We both had splashes of cum over us, and he leant forward towards me and toppled into my body, pushing me onto the mat. His lips closed around a splash of semen on my nipple and the warm wet roughness of his tongue on my skin sparked on my cock.
He smiled at me through my laughter. Our eyes met, and without a word, he pressed his lips against mine. Our hard dicks touched as we instinctively kissed.
I snogged Bobby.
I tasted cum in his mouth and he tasted cum in mine and that made it dirtier. Nastier. Hornier. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pressed my body against his.
A passionate, feverish caress. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted him to take me and desperately smash his dick into my open invitation. The only person to have ever got me so horny with a kiss was Clare, often before she lifted my legs up and plundered my booty with her strapon.
“Later,” he promised as I folded my legs onto his lower back, crab-like. It was a sex position which Clare and I often used when she screwed me, and it felt so natural with the affable bisexual cocksucker.
We both were. We shared so many interests and had a natural affinity for each other; I was at ease in his company and I was desperate for his dick to slip between my rosebud to plunder me. “Now! Please!”
“God, you’re horny!” He laughed. He arched his back to look into my expression. He smiled with his welcoming grin and his hazel brown eyes gazed at me. I could see splodges of cum in his hair and on his face, but he looked so sexy. So perfect. He traced my hair with his left hand and wiped my cheek of drying cum. “Later,” he promised. “Let’s go have a shower and get some lunch.” It was nearly midday, and I acquiesced.
In the shower, the warehouse worker ran his soft, smooth hands over my hairless body to lather my skin, and giggled mercilessly as he effortlessly coaxed an erection from my cock.
I was desperate. He knew that and he dropped to his knees in the open showers and blew gently on my prick before licking the head, and leaving me an oversexed, boiling wreck.
I would have allowed every single person in that cafe to fuck me – from the overweight loudmouth by the door, in a Manchester United football shirt, to the three transvestites in ladies’ lingerie at a table. Bobby and I got a sandwich, crisps and a drink, and he sat next to the colourful crossdressers, who eyed us with a mixture of lust and suspicion.
Bobby and I spoke in hushed tones; they had come to the sauna to be on the receiving end of cock, and it was not clear to them whether Bobby and I were likely competition for them or would bend them over a table and give them what they wanted.
There was an untidy, frenzied desperation about them; they had haphazardly applied the garishly chosen make-up. The bright colours contrasted rather than complimented, and the lingerie was a poor fit. In short, they looked clownish rather than captivating.
After lunch, Bobby and I were, once again, alone in the street-level gloryholes. He used the button on the wall to activate the sign and unlock the door; we chatted as we watched the CCTV monitor.
We didn’t have long to wait, and Bobby squealed when he saw the two men enter the room. “That’s my boss. And my colleague,” he muttered and panted. “Oh shit. What do I do?”
“Blow them?”
“Oh, God!” Bobby shrieked in a flustered voice, and his face turned away from the monitor and stared at the array of gloryholes.
Bobby’s boss was a stout, robust black man with well-defined black facial hair and a bald head. He was about forty, and he was obviously keen on his gym work and fitness, as he clearly had a muscular frame underneath his work attire.
Bobby stared at the hole, waiting. His hands trembled as the activity behind the partition saw a black, circumcised cock with a smattering of pubic hair at the base slide through the large aperture.
Instantly, Bobby pounced on the cock with his lips. He grunted as his mouth made contact and his lips swirled over the tip of the thick, black cock. His own dick was steely hard as he passionately fellated his boss.
On his knees, with just a thin, cheap partition between himself and being outed as a cocksucking slut. The very thought was erotic to me, and obscenely dirty to Bobby. His manager’s prick was butting against his gag reflex as he gave the most energetic, passionate, enthusiastic blowjob that I had ever seen given.
And if his work colleagues found out that Bobby was a Fellatio Master at the local gay sauna, and had gone down on his manager at an anonymous gloryhole, then his skilled cocksucking would not prevent the vulgar humour, the outraged whisperings and the obscene demands.
He was 5mm away from his boss, and from being outed, degraded and humiliated. Half-a-centimetre of covered wall that a little bit of force could break was the difference between Bobby keeping his secret and losing it.
Bobby’s colleague pushed his cock and balls through a hole to my left. Shaven, veiny, circumcised and dripping with pre-cum. I felt Bobby’s excitement and horniness as he slurped his boss’s meaty tool and I licked my lips around the sizeable dick itching for my attention.
Nasal grunts into the cock as it slipped past my lips, and I gently massaged the ridged shaft with my tongue and my mouth. In the background was Bobby; hot-blooded and fervent as he put more emotional energy into that single act. He wanted his boss to have a mind-blowing, out-of-this-world orgasm, and to leave the stall drained and satisfied. His eyes sparkled, his hands trembled and his cheeks flushed as he eagerly deep throated the muscular supervisor.
My fingers wrapped around the base of the prick in front of me, as I worked the tip of the cock with my tongue. Bobby’s boss loudly groaned. “Gonna come!” He squealed in a broad Brummie accent, but Bobby sucked the tip of the sensitive head. His manager rewarded him with squirts of cum.
As the cock of Bobby’s boss slipped back behind the partition, Bobby pushed on my shoulder and impaled his mouth on that of his colleague. Again, he threw his head forward, taking the full-length of the cock into his mouth and pressing his lips against the shaft.
His gag reflex untroubled by the sizeable intrusion. He grunted and groaned, desperate for his workmate to engulf his mouth with jizz. Bobby’s manager cried. “Fuck me, I’m gonna shoot!”
Bobby’s eyes widened as the white cock pulsed several times and his colleague filled Bobby’s mouth with cum. Bobby smiled at me, globules of white spunk on his lips and chin.
“I come ‘ere every Friday,” his colleague boasted as we listened through the gloryholes. “Before shift, y’know. ‘Alf the lads do too. It’s fags and homos, but it’s a blowjob. And my bitch dain’t give me no blowjobs.”
“Nah, my neither,” Bobby’s boss admitted. We watched the CCTV screen as they both took the wet wipes on the table by the door and rubbed their genitals. “But t’at was damn special.”
“Yeah, t’was indeed. The rainbow brigade knows how to suck a cock. Plenty of practice, y’ see!”
Bobbie sat on his haunches as the men zipped up their work overalls and slipped out of the door, back into the side street. He sighed. “Wow! My boss has a lovely cock. I’d suck that every day.”
“Would you tell him you know?”
“Hell no!” Bobby muttered. “Sorry for finishing Jamie. But I wanted to taste him. He was my senior when I started. I’ve had so many dreams about him. And Keyon, my new supervisor. I’m so going to have dreams about him tonight.”
“No worries.”
Keyon and James were not the only members of the warehouse 2pm shift to visit the gloryholes. Bobby admitted he had seen the odd employee when he visited previously on Tuesdays, but the steady stream of men in warehouse coveralls on the CCTV camera was unlike anything he had seen before.
We remained the only two sauna visitors on the mat in front of the gloryholes, and Bobby gleefully fellated half the people he worked with. Each time he finished with “he’s married” or “he’s got a girlfriend.” Not a single man who visited the gloryholes from his employer was not in a heterosexual relationship.
We left the room a couple of hours later; the horny men had covered me in cum and sweat and two of the crossdressing divas trotted down the stairs in their ill-fitting heels and lingerie, loudly shouting that “Oh, Julie dear, you must see this!”
The large, rotund man, in pastel blue lace lingerie, scowled at us, and as we both needed a break, we smiled, pointed out the instructions for the gloryholes on the cream walls above the urinal and returned to the cafe, via the showers.
I could tell the constant stream of men who Bobby knew played on his mind, and we shared a couple of beers in the cafe as he talked about it. “I’d fantasise that my boss found out that I was a cocksucker,” he admitted. “And then have a regular schedule to use me, but it’s just that, a fantasy. My gayness happens here and in your flat, and outside of these walls, I am straight. I have a girlfriend who I love. But his cock, I have to have it again. It was delicious. Amazing.”
He slurped his drink and stared at the wall opposite. “Well, if he is going to come every Friday, there is nothing to stop you coming here from when they open to when your shift starts, is there?”
“Other than the cost,” he muttered. “It’s twelve quid to get in on Fridays. An extra fifty pounds a month would get noticed by Heather. I can squirrel a few quid away for once a month for Tuesdays, but if I upped my visits to five times a month, I’ll be struggling to hide that. Unless I can bribe the guy on reception to let me in for nowt. And I have jobs to do in the morning – supermarket runs, garden, house-cleaning. DIY.” He hummed. “But I really need to taste Keyon’s cock again. It was… magical.”
After our drink, we relaxed in the jacuzzi. There were half-a-dozen men of various ages soaking and chatting, and we joined them. They were normal people – one was a lorry driver, another was a medical student. We spoke and laughed about football and our employment, sharing tales of managerial stupidity. The trainee joked about his girlfriend and we all laughed.
It was a light-hearted, relaxed, enjoyable atmosphere as we soaked in the bubbling warm pool. The lorry driver, a robust, overweight young man with an arm of tattoos and a thick trail of hair from his stubbly chin to the base of his legs, was the first to mention sex.
It was why we were at the venue, but he had come to the sauna after four days away from home, and the lorry yard was on the same industrial estate as the sauna. He wanted some action before he returned home. Bobby was keen to oblige and gestured for the man to sit on the edge of the jacuzzi.
Bobby buried his face into the unshaven crotch; the gurgling of the large jacuzzi drowned out their groans. We all watched; the tension in the humid room was palpable. The young trainee doctor gestured for an elderly, grey-haired man to do the same. And it was moments before I wrapped my lips around a chef’s prick.
I much preferred sucking cock in the hot-tub compared to the gloryholes. It was more intimate and more sensual. My eyes looked into the face of the bearded man. My hands explored his soft, podgy body and rubbed his nipples. I gripped his thigh, and my fingers traversed his skin, pressing on his perineum.
His palms stroked my hair and grasped the back of my head. His thighs rocked gently as he ground his long, thin dick into my mouth and he spoke loudly as my lips slid down his shaft. To my left, the medical student mounted the man old enough to be his grandfather, and the other couple had slipped away into a playroom.
I just enjoyed the feeling of my full mouth; every ridge on his prick against my mouth was a delightful sensation. The submission to this random individual was a mental pleasure. I had come to the sauna to debase myself to anonymous men, and I loved it. I needed it. My sexuality depended on sordid gay acts, and both my fiancée and I relished and revelled in this.
I glanced over the hairy, rotund belly; the dominant man had closed his eyes and looked away from me as he groaned at my energetic fellatio.
I had had plenty of practice. By a considerable margin, I had given more orgasms to men, via anal or oral sex, than I had ever given to women.
I felt his thighs tremble. His bucking and rocking increased in tempo as his cock bashed against the back of my throat. I held my breath, ran my tongue over his shaft and sucked the intruding dick as he buttocks tightened.
Straight down my throat.
Wordlessly, his body pumped three shots of his cum into me, and his hands gripped the back of my head to stop me from refusing his loads.
As if I would. I wanted them, and I gleefully and gently cleaned his cock with my tongue, taking the last few drops of his cum into my mouth and savouring its familiar taste.
He grunted, and moments later, hauled his body from the jacuzzi, muttering words of thanks. He hurried out of the poolroom, almost ashamed at his actions. Bobby and the lorry driver stayed in the warm water.
“Dun worry ’bout it,” the Scottish haulier replied as I mentioned it. “’E’s probably feelin’ guilty.”
“I keep telling you,” Bobby added. “Half the guys in here come because they have an itch to scratch like me, or cannot get any at home. He’s got post-nut clarity, and he’s going to go back to his boring wife and feel embarrassed. Then after a week of no sex or crappy blowjobs, he’ll be back to start all over again.”
“I know. But he couldn’t get away from me quick enough. He acted like I had two heads or something.”
“Oh, what fun!” Bobby squealed. “Two heads means double the amount of cocksucking. At the same time!” We couldn’t help but laugh at his excited tone. “I would love two heads.”
The haulier was genial and friendly; he didn’t fit Bobby’s theory as he was proudly out and single, and his Pride tattoo on his right shoulder was a prominent display of his sexuality.
He gave us a comprehensive review of European cities for their gay nightlife and highly recommended some German destinations for their mix of liberated values and kinky clubs.
I felt my stomach rumble as the afternoon wore on; Bobby had to check with his supervisor if he had to go into work, so we went back to the locker room – him to ring the guy he blew, and me to order takeaway.
“Bollocks,” Bobby exclaimed. “Yuri and Tomasz have called in sick. Keyon’s offered me four hours of overtime. I can’t turn it down,” he moaned.
“When do you need to leave?”
He looked at his watch. “It’s twenty-to-five now. So, just over an hour.”
“Pizzas will be forty minutes, so we have time to visit a playroom. You have a job to do.” Bobby smiled as he put his phone back in his locker. We dashed down to the reception area and left the money for the pizzas and the “corkage” before we went to the second floor to find an empty room.
Secluded room with a double bed, with light blue walls, latex sheets and a tiled floor. The shelf contained lube and condoms. It was a space for fucking. No pretence about it.
We passed a couple of rooms, with large glass windows leading out to a wide open space. They were for exhibitionists, gangbangers and voyeurs.
Bobby said nothing as I closed the door and looked at me. “I’ve only ever fucked one guy before. It felt… weird.” He stared at my expression and bit his lip. “I’m sorry if I go… if I don’t manage to… well… it’s…” He stuttered, and I put my hands on his waist.
We kissed. Our bodies pressed together as my hands gripped and kneaded his buttocks. I felt his cock rise against my body as our tongues met in our mouths and his libido rose.
More intimate than at the gloryholes, and more personal. I felt a bond and a connection with him. I needed him to take me, and as his hands explored my body and our tongues caressed, I felt a longing in him.
He wanted it too.
His body nudged me backwards. My calves hit the cool Latex of the bed sheets and I fell backwards to land on the bed. He smiled, reached onto the shelf and tossed a couple of condoms, and a few large sachets of lube onto the bed. Lustful focus.
There was an animalistic passion as his teeth ripped open the lube packet. He smothered my rosebud in the cold goo and smirked as his soft fingers massaged the transparent gel into my opening.
One fingers, then two, then three. I groaned as he deftly worked my hole. Prepared it for him. “That’s nice,” I muttered.
“Do you want me to finger-fuck you?” He asked, in all seriousness.
“Hell no! But you know how to make me feel good. Take me.” He hesitated, and I replied loudly and fervently. “Please, fuck me.”
He picked a condom from the bedsheet and tore open the packet with his hands. Slowly and carefully, he unfurled the rubber sheath along his shaft and drizzled the lubricant over the tip.
His eyes met mine. I raised my legs, and he slid on top of me. His hands guided his prick into my hole and he slowly applied pressure onto my opening. I sighed; it felt so good to be opening up to the young man. My feet crossed and rested on his lower back; I was vulnerable and available to him.
His hands gripped my wrists and pushed them into the covered mattress. An act of dominance as he leant over to kiss me.
My cock sparkled and tingled as more and more of his prick slipped inside me. I groaned and sighed. I took shallow breaths as he slowly ground his hips into me. “That’s… wow. Amazing, harder.” I squealed. “Fuck me harder.”
He jerked his hips forward; a sudden jolt that sent shock-waves through my loins. An inch of a pain, a mile of sheer ecstasy. His eyes looked away from me.
“Oh, that’s good,” I replied. “That’s great. You’re amazing.”
He exhaled, gulped and his face fell on mine, kissing me deeply as his hips gyrated; his prick fired into me with increasing alacrity.
I groaned into the wild, passionate snog. I bucked my hips as he thrusted. If he had any lingering worries about his ability to “top” then my thrashing of desperate lust should have dispelled it.
It was a warm, passionate fuck; he dominated me because he topped me, but it was born out of a genuine intimate connection rather than the sex games of the summerhouse.
I felt his pace quicken. My prostate tingled as his cock rubbed against it, and my entire body tingled with erotic excitement because of the sensations he caused.
The vivid, passionate kiss that touched the very centre of my sexuality.
The powerful grab of my wrists pressed forcefully into the bed.
His cock buried deep into my butt, massaging and probing my prostate.
His warm, naked body glided and slid against my bare skin.
And his expression. First of anxious excitement and now of lust. A furious, fervent, angry horniness as he plundered my backside to chase his own climax.
He drove his cock harder and faster into my hole as his own body teetered on the edge of the cliff. He grunted, gasped, and slammed his dick deep inside me, and his cock twitched.
The condom filled. His body shook. He gasped and groaned. “Ah, that’s… aahhhh.”
I smiled at his exhausted grin and kissed him on the lips once more. “You were great,” I said, partly for his own confidence but because he warranted the compliment. I was so close to orgasm, and he said nothing as he slid down the bed, and warm lips enveloped my wet, leaking cock.
A finger touched my lubricated hole, and I lay on the latex bed, with my prostate being rubbed and my cock in Bobby’s expert mouth. It was heaven.
Every fibre of my body sung, as wave after wave of delicious enjoyment cascaded through my flesh. Ripples of enjoyment, of pleasure, of satisfaction and of sheer lust swept across me as Bobby took me to my peak.
I looked at him. “I’m going to cum,” I whimpered, and he glanced at me. His tongue wrapped around my head and he sucked gently.
That look said a thousand words. He wanted my cum. He wanted me to blow my load in his mouth. Wild horses would not remove his lips from my spweing cock. The tsunami of pleasure smashed into me, as every part of my crotch felt on fire, and I jettisoned several waves of cum into Bobby’s mouth.
He never stopped. He gratefully accepted my deposit, and when I finished slid up my body to kiss me with his creamy lips and his cummy breath.
Sheer piggy filth. I loved it.
We showered for the fourth time that day and collected our pizzas from reception; we offered a slice to the receptionist, and the retired man took one each from each pizza.
“Today was pretty good,” Bobby told me as we sat down in the cafe with a coffee. “I got to blow at least thirty guys.”
“And fuck one.”
“Yes,” he muttered. “That was much better than the first time.” He stuffed a slice of vegetarian pizza into his mouth as he wistfully swirled his teaspoon around his drink.
“What happened?”
“It was on my fourth or fifth time here. Heather’s like all my other girlfriends, in that they don’t like anal. We tried it, even watched Tristan Taormino’s ultimate guide to butt sex, and it just wasn’t nice, y’know. She didn’t like it, and I was too scared of hurting her because she didn’t get into it. It just was a bit shit. So, I used to come here with a guy I met on a Shy Bi forum. He begged me to screw him, as he was a total bottom. And I gave in eventually. But it just reminded me of trying to fuck Heather, and I lost my stiffy.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah, he got pissed. The day after he ghosted me, so I never saw him again.”
“That’s a bit shit. People shouldn’t act like that.”
“Yeah well.” Bobby shrugged.
“Do you take it often? Y’know, prostate and all that?”
“I did when I met you a couple of weeks ago. But that was the first time in months. I have to be in the mood and I normally do it one-on-one. I got a dildo set to do deep-throat training on, and I started fucking myself with that whenever I get horny. You love it, don’t you?”
I laughed. “I’m a bit of a butt slut.” I then recounted my experiences, first with Joseph, then Benji and the summerhouse. He expressed envy once more – it sounded like a utopian paradise to him, and I repeated my offer of a Saturday visit to help him.
“Whenever I come here, I feel guilty and stop off at the supermarket on my home to get my Heather a bottle of wine or some flowers, or something,” he admitted. “I’m going to need a pay rise if I keep accepting your invitations!”
“Or stop feeling guilty!”
He snorted. We left the sauna together, and I drove back to the summerhouse; Clare was entertaining her personal trainer, and Martin was discussing business with his wife. I loaded my game and was interrupted at 10pm with a message from Bobby.
After work, Manager asked if Jamie has shown me the room on Barron Walk. I said no. He wants 2 take me next week.
“Will you?” I asked in response.
Might have to. Rather be on the other side, tho.
I almost felt sorry for him. “Offer still open for Saturdays. Plenty of big cocks here. And one greedy butt slut.”
Will come one day. Night greedy butt slut.
“Night, cocksucker.”
The weekend visit by the football team was almost tame in comparison. An after-tea match between Manchester United and Stoke City meant that most of Ashfield’s players could travel back into the city to watch the game after their own match, and there were only nine players who came to the summerhouse. The coach took five of them to the hot-tub, which left me with Scott and Paolo to entertain.
I was a little glad as my mouth was still a little tired from trying to keep pace with Bobby and having just two men – a cheeky Geordie and a mixed-race Londoner with Portuguese heritage to satisfy was a bit of a relief.
Scott still plundered my backside with rampant abandon that left my cock dripping with pre-cum as he slammed his prick against my prostate. The moody Londoner, with an Adonis-like body, used his bulging arms to hold my head as his muscular thighs skull-fucked me until my gag reflex threatened to spill my guts.
They both teased and humiliated me; dominating comments that reminded me they were the alpha men as I wore just a pastel pick jockstrap with a wet spot caused by my arousal.
At the end of the game, everyone but Scott left who came back into the summerhouse. I had finished clearing the rubbish into the kitchen; it would take Martin and I, an hour to clean, but we always tidied away as soon as we could. He held a wooden paddle in his hand and grinned, smacking his left palm gently with the weapon. “I got this from your wife,” he said to Martin. “And I have some unfinished business with the bike.”
I was next to the computer at the back of the room that controlled the big screen and flicked it on. I navigated to the folder I had received and started the slideshow.
Scott, three years younger, and without a stitch on his body, was surrounded by laughing men and women at his factory. “Hey, look what I found.”
He turned to look at the large projector screen behind him, and his face then turned to me with a glare. “Do you think this is going to get you out of trouble?”
“Um… well. As they are such wonderful pictures, I thought we could have a display at half-time next week,” I countered. “Unless you want to pick different pictures now from the ‘net. In which case, you probably won’t have time to do much spanking.”
He grunted. “Blackmail will get you nowhere.”
Martin smiled, and the middle-aged man put his hands on the back of a chair and wiggled his backside at Scott. “Go on then, big boy. Punish me!” He gave me a wink and smiled at the confident Geordie. “Go on.”
He hesitated and gulped. He took a step towards the shaking bottom and paused. “You want this, don’t you?”
Martin smiled and shook his head. “No. Punish me. Harder. Punish me, Scott. Make me cry.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He squealed. “How do I punish pain sluts?”
“You could fuck my wife,” I suggested.
“Yeah, or just give us a damn good thrashing. What are you waiting for? Hurt me.”
Scott grunted, shook his head and threw the paddle onto the chair. “No. But you haven’t heard the last of this.”
