The Summerhouse Ch. 14: Bobby

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."