Disclaimer:
This story is a work of fantasy, fiction, parody and satire. As such, no offence is meant to anyone who is mentioned within it as they would never act this way in real life. This is just a fictional erotic fantasy story to be read by those over 18 years of age.
All characters mentioned within this text are 18 years of age or older and are therefore considered to be consenting adults. I make no money from this story and do not know any of the characters mentioned within it. If piquantly described sex and harsh, colourful language offend you then really you shouldn't read on, should you? You've ALL been warned 😊
"She took her tongue out her mouth,
put
it on
top.
Like
a
cherry,
started
movin' it
like
a
snake
and it was very irresistible"
She Swallowed It -- NWA
The Thrill is Gone
I
Arriving back to cold, dreary London from sunny Portugal had been tough. The snow had started to fall a few days after Melissa had touched down at Heathrow to further compound it. A slight flurry here and there at first and then pretty steadily since early that afternoon, coating the city in a white powder that crunched underfoot. It was predicted to be the heaviest snowfall for over a decade. Judging from the pictures that her had mother had texted her, it was already beginning to drift in Kent.
Thankfully, the inclement weather would not interfere with her plans tonight. She was staying at one of her friend's apartments in Canary Wharf, so she didn't need to worry about being stranded and unable to get back to Kent. Emma was away in Spain for the week, and Melissa had asked her if she could stay there tonight. She'd told Emma she was meeting friends for dinner and drinks in Brick Lane that evening. It hadn't been a problem at all, and Emma had even left a bottle of Pinot for Melissa. A lovely thought from one of her besties.
Dinner and drinks were the last things on her mind as she stared out of the taxi window as it lurched and jolted down Blackheath Road. She watched the snowflakes twirl and dance in the air, illumined by the street lights sentried along the road. Traffic was sparse with just a few taxis and cars on the road at this hour on a Sunday evening.
Save for a few brave souls out in the cold, heads down as they endured the wintry weather, the footpaths were also pretty empty. She could see their breath hanging in the air as they shuffled morosely through the cold. A shiver ran up her spine when the taxi stopped at the traffic lights outside the Travelodge Hotel. After the lights, they would come to Deptford Bridge. They were close to New Cross Road, and closer still to Club 487.
"I can't believe I'm actually gonna' do this." she thought to herself, and her feelings of excitement and anxiety increased. She picked up her phone and started fiddling with it, the light from the screen illuminating the gloom in the back of the taxi.
As the traffic lights turned green and the cab trundled forward, Melissa's mind and tummy were in turmoil, and she was torn between wanting to go through with it and calling it a day. Heading back to Emma's and having a glass or two of Pinot while watching Netflix had its appeal, and she had spent the last few days since she'd gotten back from Albufeira second-guessing her decision. A Fantasy was a fantasy after all, but did she really want to go through with this?
"You wouldn't be sat here in this cab if you didn't want to do it." She argued with herself. "It's literally all you've been thinking about for the last few months."
Truth be told, she'd been thinking about it for longer than a few months. It had been over a year since she'd seen the porn movie on Paul, her ex-boyfriends' iPad, and been enraptured by it. She had watched porn before, of course, but never this genre of film. The premise of this particular skin flick was pretty simple. A woman in a room with two gloryholes cut into the wall, sucking random cocks that were stuck through them. They couldn't see her, and she couldn't see them.
And that was what had turned Melissa on the most, the whole anonymity of it all. No-one knew who anyone was, but were getting off just the same. One particular video had captivated her more than any other. It was of a pretty black woman who brought ten men to orgasm in an hour using just her mouth, swallowing their loads as they came. She'd watched that one a few times, fantasising about doing the same. Kneeling down in a darkened room in front of a gloryhole, kissing, licking, and sucking on whatever penis was presented to her. Listening to the men moan as they climaxed, feeling their cocks twitch and jolt as they deposited their warm, sticky payload in her mouth.
Over the next few weeks, she'd become obsessed with it, spending hours online watching gloryhole movies and researching gloryholes in London. She'd learned that while they were primarily the preserve of the gay community, there were two straight ones in the city, one in an adult cinema in Soho and the other in an adult club on New Cross Road. That was the one she was headed to now, and as the cab passed under Deptford Bridge and drove along the Broadway, she knew they were getting closer.
She'd not been to this part of London before, and staring the taxi window, she saw how run-down the area was. The street was lined with old, decaying buildings; some were boarded up, some with broken windows. Discoloured, plastic signs adorned most of the buildings along the street, adding to its ramshackle appearance. In a way, though, the run-down, seedy nature of the location suited Club 487.
New Cross Road was not a lot better; the street lined with bookies, takeaways, and many random shops. The road was narrower, so Melissa was able to see buildings on both sides of it. She sat up in her seat and stared out the cab's right-hand side, trying to locate the Club. She saw it through the street lights and falling snow, a building with a broken sign overhead for a printing company that had long gone out of business. She noted that the adjoining building had been demolished since she had seen pictures of it, an empty space ringed with temporary wooden fencing plastered with promotional posters replacing it. As the cab rolled by, she looked back at the Club and felt her heart beat quicker in her chest.
"Royal Albert pub?"
Torn from her thoughts, she replied.
"Sorry? What?"
The cab driver looked at her through the rear-view mirror.
"You going to the Royal Albert pub?"
"Yeah. Sorry! The Royal Albert. That's great." She stammered as the cab started to slow down.
"OK. We are here".
Despite the cold, she saw a couple of people outside smoking, shuffling about, trying to keep warm. Looking up and down the street, she saw very few people out and about.
"That'll be £25." The taxi driver intoned, and he switched on the cabs dome light so that Melissa could pay him. She fished out three tens from her purse and handed them across to the driver, telling him to keep the change. He flashed her a smile and thanked her. Smiling back, she put on her winter jacket, affixed her blue bobble-hat to her head, and opened the taxi door.
"You have a good night, Miss." the taxi driver called after her.
"Thank you! Same to you too." Melissa replied, and she stepped out of the cab, closing the door behind her.
----------------------------
The cold air assaulted her when she left the cab's warm confines and stepped out onto the snow-covered footpath. The wind chill factor made it seem even more arctic, and she shivered, quickly doing up her winter coat. She grimaced as a blast of wind cut through her, driving flakes of snow into her face. She looked around at the pub, and it did look very tempting. Warm and inviting and out of the elements. As the door opened, and another smoker stepped outside, laughing and general merriment wafted out at her from its confines. She turned around and looked across the road. About 200 yards away was Club 487, and she quivered a little, peering into the night.
"You want to do this, Mel." She thought to herself.
There was always the place in Soho? She dismissed that out of hand. No, that wasn't an option for her. Given the clientele likely to frequent it, she was too well known to do something like this in Soho. She'd be recognised either going into or out of that cinema, given how busy the place typically was. It had to be here in New Cross. Taking a deep breath, she carefully crossed the road, and once she was outside of the estate agents, she took one final lingering look at the Royal Albert, pushed up the lapels of her coat, and started walking towards Club 487.
Her heart skipped faster as she walked on through the wind and snow, looking left before crossing the street. Walking past the wooden fencing, she felt goosebumps erupt on her arms when she saw a wooden door marked 487A and embedded into the building was an ATM, its green light blinking like a beacon in the dark.
Then Melissa was outside it, a black metal door with a peep-hole at eye level and a bell just below it. She looked up and saw the cracked signage confirming what she knew already. Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry when she saw the sign on the door.
487. Private members only. Stiff door, push hard.
She looked up and down the street, but there was not another soul on it.
"Not too late to turn back, Mel." She heard herself say. "You can go home and forget about all this. Have a nice glass of wine or two in the bath. Watch some TV. Maybe even play with your wand for a little while."
She stood in front of the door for a minute, torn between staying or going. She walked a little way up the road away from the Club, past several shops before stopping at a wrought iron gate. She remembered the excitement that she had felt watching that first gloryhole video over a year ago, and how she had fantasised about doing the same thing. She thought about the excitement she had felt planning this visit, the thrill she had felt when she had decided in Albufeira that she would go through with it.
"Let's do it, Mel." She whispered to herself.
She turned around and retraced her steps back towards the black door and stood there for a few seconds. She took a deep breath and pressed the bell.
II
"Who the hell is this?" Claire Holding swore as the club doorbell rang, interrupting the game of Candy Crush she had been engrossed in. She couldn't check the Club's CCTV cameras as neither were working at the moment and were unlikely to be replaced now that the Club was due to close. Pending an appeal, of course.
Setting down her phone, the handsome brunette 40-something sighed with irritation and climbed the wooden stairs to the main entrance. It was nearly 8 o'clock, and the Club closed at 9pm. All the regulars knew that. Who could this possibly be?
"This better not be the Met again," She muttered, peering out the lozenge-shaped peep-hole affixed to the black iron door. She did a double-take when she saw a very pretty young blonde girl standing outside, shivering in the cold.
"What did she want?" Claire shook her head and, sighing deeply, pressed the intercom.
"Listen, love, if you're looking to use the toilets, the Royal Albert is a couple of hundred yards down the road, to the right, and across the street. You can't miss it."
