In the Glory Hole

Inside the cubicle Sheila was squirming and tugging on the chrome grab bars, pulling herself toward the tongue. Leaving her ass, the man continued upward to perform a leisurely exploration of both her outer and inner labia, with momentary excursions into her gaping, dripping cunt. "You like that, Baby?" she heard him rumble. He pulled the top of her vaginal cleft wide open between two fingers, rolled the clitoral hood back with a thumb, and took the center of her sexual being between his moist lips.

The sensation leapt up Sheila's spine like a bolt of lightning and exploded in her brain. She screamed and writhed, wiggling her pelvis up and down, back and forth. Unrelenting, the man's mouth followed her, sucking and tonguing her with great virtuosity. From time to time he'd briefly take his mouth from her clit, put it over her vagina and suck. "Love that pussy juice, Baby. It's the fountain of youth. I'm gonna suck you dry."

At length he stood up. "Well, that was a great appetizer. Think I'll go find something to fuck." He wiped her and himself off with paper towels and was gone. Damn, Sheila thought. I've been coming almost constantly for a half hour, but I don't feel exhausted. This is definitely new cunt-ry.

She raised the phone to her face and listened for a minute to the chorus of groans, cries, sobs and giggles on the conference call. The other Cum Drops were hard at work. "Watcher, this is Cherry," she said. "Take me down for a few minutes. I've got to stretch."

Watcher untied her garters and pushed her feet, rolling her back into the cubicle. Sheila stood unsteadily, held onto the edge of the bench and did deep knee bends, then stretched, reaching as high as she could with each hand. She checked herself out in the full-length mirror. Shiny with sweat, vulva pink, labia red and puffy. She touched them gingerly. Tomorrow I'm going to feel like a cowboy at the end of a two-month cattle drive.

She slipped on her robe and went to the toilet. Coming out, she found Anne sprawled naked on one of the massage benches. "Hey, Girlfriend, what's up?"

"Fuck."

"Yeah, we've all been doing that. Would you care to elaborate?"

"Fuck. They made me tap out."

"No shit!?

"No shit, Girlfriend, those two animals plowed me like I was forty acres of hard dirt. For a solid hour and a half. I've never had anything like that in my entire life. They don't have human cocks. Those things were transplanted from dairy bulls."

"Are those guys still in the playpen?"

"Yeah, and I heard them talking. They're determined to fuck every one of us. Make every one of us tap out."

"Are you going back in?"

"Hell yes! I'm no quitter. Bring on the 82nd Airborne! But not those two, please. I'm done with those animals."

Back in the cube, Sheila sat on the edge of the bench and checked out the action in the playpen on the video feed. The two bulls had moved on to Heather. One of the others had decided to supplement Orange Drop's experience, with his tongue flicking her clit while the machine continued to pound her pussy. Anne was back in her hole; there was already a queue in front of it.

Sheila contacted Watcher, who had a special request. "I have a group of three gangbangers who want a doggie presentation. Would you mind lying on your stomach?"

"Are they saying they want anal?"

"Let me check. No, just straight sex. In fact, this has been a vanilla night so far. Only one mild spanker, no butt busters."

"Guess we're just lucky."

"Or not, depending on your predilections. OK, so lie on your tummy, stick your feet through the hole and hang on."

In a way, the prone position was easier. Sheila could put her feet on something -- two stools? --under the hole and raise her belly a fraction of an inch off the bench. For a moment she fretted about not being able to see the displays but discovered that someone had anticipated the problem. A mirror on the back of the cubicle door showed of all three.

The three gangbangers were burly middle-aged white men with a distinct working class vibe. In any other town Sheila would have wondered how they had enough money for this particular diversion, but not in LA. The movie trades were paid handsomely. One of them addressed her. "Baby, if you can hear me, wiggle your butt." Sheila complied. "Our mission tonight is to make you tap out. Jack here doesn't think it's possible. I say that anything's possible."

Sheila called Watcher. "This is Cherry. Lube. Lots of lube."

"Want some numbing agent in that?"

"No. The clients would be numbed too, and that would just drag things out."

"So here's the drill," the spokesman continued. "I'm gonna fuck you hard, but I'm gonna quit before I come and hand you off to my bestie Jack, who will hand you off to Frank, who will then hand you off back to me, and so on until either you tap out or the three of us get bored with you and move on." At that moment Watcher appeared with what looked like a meat baster and unceremoniously delivered a load of lube deep into Sheila's vagina. "Hey," one of the men exclaimed, "that's no fair! How are we going to fuck her raw if she's all lubed up?"

"I guess you'll just have to do work harder," Watcher said, and disappeared.

The men were well endowed, but nothing close to her ex-husband Alvin or, for that matter, the two who were now servicing Heather. Their hard ass-slapping attack wasn't painful, but rather pleasurable; Sheila felt the orgasmic tension slowly gather in her belly, then flow out through her body in a long, hot wave, then begin to gather again, time after time. She entered a timeless state of nirvana, floating in a pink sea of pleasure, a female primate in heat, mounted by all the males of the troop in humble obedience to the laws of Nature. It was bliss. You were right, Billie, Sheila thought. I'm going places I've never been.

A half hour passed, then forty-five minutes. Sheila had stopped counting her long, slow, tide-like orgasms. At length one of the men said, "Fuck this fucking, I'm gonna fucking cum and go get a fucking drink." The others agreed with him. The last one to dump his load slapped her playfully on the butt and said, "Well, Baby, you wore us out, and you loved it. I saw you quiver every time you came. You should be proud of yourself. You're a real sex goddess." Sheila felt a surge of pride. A real sex goddess. How many women are ever called that?

A thick soup of semen, grool and lube ran down the inside of both thighs all the way to her insteps. "I need a cleanup, Watcher," she called. "And another pair of stockings. These are soaked."

Watcher arrived with a washcloth, towel and another pair. "Want to crawl back into the cube and change?" she asked.

"I don't think I have the strength. Can you just put them on me yourself?"

"Sure." The attendant sat on a low stool, unfastened the garters and peeled the stockings off. "Wow. Some dude's gonna die of dehydration."

"This is a triple load, plus lube and my own goo. A mess, huh?"

"I've seen worse. At least there's no blood."

While she was being cleaned up, Sheila was looking at the displays, scanning the playpen. It was eleven, and only a handful of clients remained. Anne, on the right, was receiving head from a young, slender Black woman wearing a strap-on, who in turn was taking it in the rear from a white man; Sheila couldn't tell if it was an anal or a vaginal penetration. While Sheila watched the two of them changed positions, with the man burying his face in Anne's groin while the woman pegged him.

Sheila raised the phone to near her head. "How's it going, Blueberry?"

"Just lovely. A wonderful change of pace."

"Are you watching what they're doing?"

"Yeah, and it's so fucking hot. I'm about to come just from watching the chick pound that dude's ass. I can feel her strokes through his tongue."

The trio who had spent an hour on Sheila had moved on to Heather. Sheila checked in; "How are you doing, Lemon Drop?"

"I think I'm going to die in here. But that's fine, I always wanted to be fucked to death. Now if you'll excuse me --mmmmmAAAH! AAAH! Fuck!"

Orange Drop, at the end of the line, had been turned on her side. One man held her top leg high in the air while another sat on a stool in front of her, mouth on her pussy. On her other side, a naked woman whose torso was almost covered with tattoos serviced Orange's ass with short, hard strokes of a black dildo. Orange's belly and legs were trembling, both from the thrusting and from her continuous orgasm. Four other people, two male and two female, stood nearby chatting, ready to take their turns. This, apparently, was part of Orange Drop's fan club.

"Orange Drop, this is Cherry Drop. You doing OK?"

A low moaning, and one endlessly repeated phrase; "Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop..."

The two men who had tag-teamed Anne to her breaking point were standing in the background, scanning the action and chatting. A blonde succubus approached them bearing a tray with tall drinks and pills. They swallowed the pills and washed them down with long sips from the frosty glasses. The smaller, wider of the two men happened to glance in Sheila's direction just was Watcher was putting on her stockings. He froze, then had a word with his companion. The two of them began walking in her direction.

"Do I need to put the garters on again?" Watcher was asking.

"Yeah, I think so. I need a change of position. Help me get onto my back."

Watcher rigged Sheila's legs in a wide, upward facing V, then stepped aside for the men. The shorter of the two bent over and examined Sheila's vulva closely.

"No," he said in an ex-smoker's gravelly bass. "She looks a lot like my ex, but she isn't."

"You're positive?" the taller man answered in a light, youthful baritone. It was obvious from the voices; the shorter man was older, the taller man younger.

"Definitely not," the older rasped. "Your mother, the tight-assed bitch, would never be in a place like this. And the skin around this one's cunt and ass is fresh and pink. Your momma's skin was an old woman's dirty brown." Sheila thought about the mild chemical peel and bleach that she had used for months to get rid of the "dirty brown," and giggled to herself.

"Plus, she's as smooth as a baby's butt. My ex-wife was negligent about that. 'Keep it waxed,' I was always telling her, 'Or I'll wax it for you, and it won't be fun.'"

The words landed on Sheila like boulders. There was no doubt. This man was her ex.

"One final thing. Hey, can you hear me in there? If you can, flex your ass." Sheila flexed her ass. "My little boy here is going to fuck your brains out." He paused, reached out and touched the small puckered scar between her pussy and ass. "But I'm not. I've changed my mind."

The scar, Sheila thought. He saw the scar where the mole used to be. He knows who I am, too, but he's not telling the other. Not telling his son! Andy! Oh Christ!

"I thought we were going to do this one together. I was going to do the front door, you the back door."

"Changed my mind. I'm going to drop my final load in Orange Drop, then go get cleaned up. Not as young as I used to be."

Sheila was taking note of her body's reaction, which added to her mental turmoil. She felt every square inch of her skin flush and the muscles in her belly tighten. Her pussy was getting hot, and she felt grool running down toward her ass.

The young man, her son, watched his father walk away. "I guess he's feeling his age," he said. "The go-pills don't work as well for him. Me? I've already come four times tonight and look at this." He dropped his robe, stepped into Sheila's crotch and matter-of-factly laid his nine-inch cock on top of her vulva. It reached all the way to her navel. Sheila could feel it throbbing. His balls bounced gently against her pussy. She could feel her pelvic muscles fluttering in response.

"Still rock hard," he said. "I'm good to go until tomorrow afternoon. But I gotta admit, I'm getting a bit tender." He wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and squeezed it. The huge spade-shaped dickhead flushed dark fuchsia and oozed a drop of clear viscous liquid. "Big Boy here is as sensitive as an infected eyeball."

Ohmigawd, Ohmigawd, Sheila thought frantically. He got his cock from both his dad and his grandfather. It was as thick as her wrist and covered with a hard gnarly web of veins. I can't take it! I can't do this! Yet she felt her traitorous body wiggling toward him, pressing her pussy more firmly against his balls.

"Dad says you look like Mom. Well, I don't remember ever seeing Mom's pussy, but you sure has hell have Mom's ass." He cupped her butt in his hands. "Nice and small and tight. I admired it every day when she went out to run in those great Spandex pants. In fact, if you wanna know the truth" -- he stepped back and teased her clit with the tip of his cock -- "I've wanted to fuck Mommy Dearest for years. So this is a real fantasy adventure for me."

Sheila reviewed her options. There were none. Her feet were strapped to the wall above the hole. Watcher could take her down, but why? Why would she have a sudden change of heart? And if Andy brushed aside the privacy drape and took one quick look into the cube, he would see her face, and he would know. He would know for sure. And then what?

Andy called for lube, which Watcher brought immediately. As he anointed his whole monstrous shaft with it, Sheila took a good look at the rest of his body. It was beautiful. He was a Greek god, but more muscular and more ripped. She knew he'd lifted weights since he was sixteen and had gone to UCB on a wresting scholarship, but she had never carefully examined the fruits of all that hard work. She felt a surge of pride -- and lust.

"OK, so here we go." With the fingers of his left hand he spread her labia wide. With his right hand he guided his cock into position, then slowly, firmly pushed.

In the cube, Sheila covered her face with both hands, shuddered and stifled. It hurt. It felt wonderful. It filled her up in every way. The pressure of her son's cock on her cervix flipped a switch in her brain, turning off rational thought.

Flashback: A twenty-year-old Sheila in college. The course was Classical Literature, the subject was Sophocles' "Oedipus the King." "The lasting power of this play," the professor was saying, "derives from the primal fear that lies at the heart of it, which is the terror an aging man feels at the prospect of being cuckolded by his own son. This fear was more realistic in classical times, when men could not marry until they had property and an income, which was usually when they were in their forties. When they did, they chose brides in their early teens. Before they married, twenty-year-old men mounted forty-year-old women with some regularity, as in fact they do today." The class laughed. Sheila remembered several of the young men exchanging knowing glances.

Andy began stroking -- long, slow strokes that took their cadence from the throbbing house music. Two beats in, two beats out, like the ticking of a grandfather clock. He was also providing a running commentary. "God, that's so good. Your pussy is so good. So tight and hot. Hot as a bitch fox, or so they say. I've never had a fox, but I've had everything else, and this is fan-tas-tic. I could do this all day. I could live in your pussy." Sheila had always wanted a man who would talk to her while they fucked. This was a dream come true.

He shifted to a shorter, faster stroke. "It's like my dickhead can see what's inside you. Feel that puckered spot? That's your G-spot Do you like that? Do you love it? Do you love it -- Mom? I'm gonna stop for a second. If you like it give me a squeeze. Can you do that? Squeeze my cock with your pussy?" Sheila most definitely could, and did.

Sheila was quivering uncontrollably, passing from orgasm to orgasm with scarcely a minute in between. A moment of rationality intruded. Is this how you find your perfect lover? she thought. Breed him? Get the best of his father, and your own father? Is shared DNA the ultimate interpersonal chemistry? Christ, girl, what are you thinking?

It could have been a half hour later, it could have been a month later. Sheila spent it in a mindless state of continuous orgasm, a female mammal tortured by both pain -- her cunt was killing her -- and unendurable pleasure. At long last he stopped -- for only for a moment.

"And now, the grand finale," he said, gasping like a long-distance runner. "Now we go where no man has gone before. Lube!"

Watcher appeared at his side with a bottle. He winced as he smeared a handful on his throbbing cock; the glans was the size and color of a ripe red plum. Then, to Sheila's horror, he stretched her ass open between two greased fingers and poured some lube directly into her lower colon. "Ready, Mommy?" he croaked. "If ye have tears, prepare to shed them now." And he proceeded to do the unthinkable.

Sheila was no stranger to anal sex, but she was a stranger to having a cock the size of a large zucchini up between her kidneys. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Fortunately it didn't last long. Andy shuddered, roared, bucked and then abruptly stopped, pulled out and stepped away. Sheila watched him don his robe as he strode back toward the men's changing room.

Watcher untied Sheila's legs and pushed her back into the cube. She sprawled boneless on the bench, panting. It took her a minute to see the other person in the cubicle. It was Billie, the manager. Her large meaty breasts were caught up in a Spandex boob tube. Below a bare, hard midriff she was wearing black leggings and motorcycle boots. A prominent camel toe advertised the fact that she wasn't wearing anything under the leggings.

"I was watching," Billie said. "How are you doing?"

"Fuck," Sheila grunted.

"Can I get you anything?"

"What time is it?"

"Quarter past twelve. That big stud that just finished doing you, the one with the incest fantasy, was the last client. I thought we were going to have to pull him off of you and throw him out. I suppose you'll be wanting a rain check on that after-work drink."

"If you don't mind. But I do have one request."

"Ask anything of me."

"Take a shower with me. I'm afraid I'll fall and bust my ass. Even though it's already pretty well busted."

Billie glowed like a Chinese lantern. "I'd be delighted."

****

Billie helped Sheila shower, dry her hair, dress, and limp through the utility tunnel and up the stairs of the parking garage to where a Yellow Cab was waiting at curbside. The cabbie had been sitting there for a half hour and Sheila fretted about his fee, but Billie told her the company had taken care of it.

Sheila paused at the door of the taxi. "Thanks for everything, Billie. I think we're going to be great friends."

'You know it, girlfriend." Billie leaned in and kissed Sheila firmly on the mouth. Sheila didn't resist.

She got home at two o'clock Sunday morning, fell directly into bed and slept twelve hours. The rest of the day was spent bustling around cleaning the house, trying to distract herself from the sick anxiety that was gathering in the pit of her stomach. Andy would be coming home tomorrow. What would he do? How would he act? How should she act? This was terra incognita, and it was as dark as any ocean abyss.

Andy came bouncing up the steps Monday morning, carrying the suitcase he'd taken to this father's house. He let himself in. "Hi, Mom!"

He found her in the kitchen, scrubbing the floor. "Hey Sweetie," she exclaimed, leaning the mop against the counter and opening her arms. "How was your summer with your dad?"

He hugged her. "Just great, I guess. I mean, you know Dad. Unpredictable."

"Lots of wild adventures?" She studied him. The pitiless morning light failed to reveal a single laugh line or crow's-foot on his smooth face. Despite his large, heavily muscled wrestler's body, he was still a very young twenty-year-old. Still her Andy.