In the Glory Hole

All characters in sexual situations are fictional and 18 years of age and older.

Author's note: This longish story is about public sex, anal sex, and mother-son incest. Be warned. And remember, this is fiction, not a memoir. No hate, please.

***

"So you're the new girl," the manager said. "Welcome to Cum Drops. And what brings you here?"

"I'm bored and horny."

The manager laughed. "You've come to the right place. You won't be bored, and after an hour or so in a glory hole you sure as hell won't be horny."

"Plus," Sheila added, "I've got two friends who are really bad influences. They're already hard at work. Blueberry Drop and Lemon Drop. They told me I should wait for you, get an orientation or some such."

"Right. There are a couple of things we need to go over. Have you had any problems so far?"

"None at all," Sheila said. She'd already made it through the secret employee entrance, found her dressing room and changed from her street clothes into a robe.

"Great," the manager said. "I've got your uniform. Leave it on your vanity when you're finished this evening and pick it up there next time, all fresh and clean. So let's get you out of that robe and ready to go."

Sheila hopped off the bench, took the bathrobe and handed it to the other woman. Under it she was completely nude, but she felt no chill: the small cubicle was cozy warm. The manager handed Sheila a pair of over-the-thigh red stockings. "Starting today, you're Cherry Drop. Which is appropriate." She also handed Sheila four leather straps with Velcro closures and chrome rings.

Sheila hopped back up onto the bench and donned the stockings, smoothing them over her long thighs. The manager, an angular butch in black leather, watched appreciatively. "Let me give you some help with the garters," she said. "Just because you're new."

"Sure," Sheila said, and stood up again. The other woman knelt, her face only inches from Sheila's smoothly shaved vulva. Forcing herself to look down, she secured the longer straps snugly around Sheila's legs just above her knees, the shorter ones around her ankles, with the closures on the outside and the rings on the front. "And I've got your phone. Next time it will be on your vanity."

The manager retrieved it from a jacket pocket. It was a burner phone on a watchband. "I'll set it up." Still on her knees, she dialed a number, spoke a few words and handed it up to the other woman. "It's on speakerphone, dialed into a conference call with Cock Watcher and the other ladies. If you need something, just speak up. Remember to identify yourself as Cherry."

Sheila strapped the phone to her right wrist. On her left she wore her watch and the elastic band with her locker key. The manager continues to kneel in front of her, nose inches from her pussy. Feeling naughty, Sheila spread her legs a bit to give the woman a better look. "Will there be anything else?" she asked.

"Er -- no, actually." The manager stood. "Just sit on the edge of the bench facing the hole. When you're ready, stick your feet through and call Watcher. Watcher will pull you through up to your waist, then hook up your legs on the playpen side."

The padded bench was two feet wide and four feet long. It rolled on a track toward the hole in the thin wall, which was paneled with acoustical tiles. A curtain rod over the hole supported a length of black velvet, the privacy drape. Through the drape Sheila could hear the sounds of a party in progress; men talking, glasses clinking, an occasional female laugh, a steady thumping background of house music.

"The garters ought to be comfortable after Watcher's hooked you up," the manager said. "If not, give her a call and let her know. Arrange the privacy drape around your middle so nasty eyes can't peek through the hole and see your face. And don't forget the hand holds." She pointed to the chrome grab bars on either side of the hole. "They may come in handy."

"Got it," Sheila said. "Thanks a lot. By the way, what's your name?"

The manager smiled. "Wilma. My friends call me Billie."

Sheila stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Billie. Let's get together for a drink after the club closes."

"I'd love that," she said. Her wide smile showed a set of large, alarmingly white teeth with diamond inlays. "See you shortly after midnight. And your name, again?"

"Sheila. My friends call me Sheila."

On the way out, Billie said, "Once again, welcome. And I have a prediction. You're going to go places you've never been and learn things about other people that you've never suspected. Also things about yourself."

"I hope so," Sheila said. "That's the whole point of it, right?"

Billie left and Sheila studied herself in the wall mirror. Her face was totally Suburban Housewife. In her youth, twenty years ago, she'd been said to have a strong face; prominent chin, long nose, high forehead, wide-spaced grey eyes. Now, in her forties, greying hair in a pixie cut, she was most frequently described as handsome.

Her body was as remarkable as her face was nondescript; a ballerina's body, hard and flexible, with long shapely legs and a high, tight ass. The pink, pierced nipples on her small breasts were standing at attention. Her belly was flat with a hint of abs. In contrast, her freshly waxed vulva was plump and pink; a half inch of labia protruded from the bottom of her cleft. She touched herself there and found moisture. Her mind entertained anxious doubts about this adventure, but her body was trembling with anticipation.

She hopped up on the edge of the bench, leaned back and stuck her feet through the hole. She raised the phone to head level and said, "Watcher, this is Cherry Drop, checking in."

The answer was immediate. "Good evening, Cherry. Here we go." Firm hands grasped her ankles and pulled her through the hole up to her waist, The bench rolled along under her on well-oiled casters and bumped to a stop against the wall. On the other side the Mistress of Ceremonies, aka Cock Watcher, elevated Sheila's legs into a wide V. She felt some tugging as Watcher tied the garters to eyebolts in the wall with lengths of black nylon rope. "I've left your knees slightly bent so we don't overextend either your hamstrings or your Achille's tendons. Comfy?" Surprisingly, she was.

"Can you scoot your butt about three inches toward me?" Watcher asked. "I'll adjust the garters to take the weight. Don't want your lumbar region pressing down on the edge." Sheila pulled on the grab bars. With her bare vulva and ass hanging out for inspection by everyone in the playpen, Sheila had never felt so completely vulnerable. It was arousing.

"Cherry, this is Watcher -- how about some lube?"

"Absolutely. Silicone, please."

"Coming right up, Cherry." Sheila felt gentle, experienced fingers part her labia and apply a generous dollop of warm liquid.

"Blueberry, this is Watcher. You doing OK?

"Fan. Tas. Tic. Hard. At. Work. This. Guy's-a. Fuck. Ing. Horse."

Looking at her right-hand display Sheila could see a burly man with gray thinning hair hammering Blueberry, aka Anna, who was in the cube next to her. He was holding onto the grab bars on his side of the wall, his legs spread wide, delivering long, hard strokes in time with the hypnotic pulse of the music. Her black bubble butt trembled fetchingly with every thrust. Sheila could hear the heavy slapping through the partition between their cubes.

"How about you, Lemon Drop?" Watcher asked.

"Still at the fingering stage. Not that I'm complaining."

Lemon Drop, aka Jennifer, was in the hole to the left of Sheila. Like Sheila, she was rigged with her toes pointing at the ceiling, legs spread in a wide V. A man was fingering her, three fingers deep in her plump vulva. Sheila could see toes wiggling in her yellow stockings.

"How about you, Orange Drop?"

Orange Drop, whose real name was unknown to Sheila, was in the hole on the far left. At the moment she had no customers and was shaking her orange-sheathed legs in frustration,

"Haven't had dick for fifteen minutes and I'm going nuts. Help!" Orange Drop, a nymphomaniac of the most extreme variety, had already been in the club, and in her hole, since three in the afternoon -- six straight hours.

"I'm sure a few of your regulars will be here any minute, Orange. In the meantime, how about some Donkey Dan?"

"Sounds great. I want the Bad Dragon Ruff Rider."

"I'll ask one of the bouncers to set it up for you." Donkey Dan was a sex machine, the Ruff Rider one of its many dildo attachments -- a big one.

"Thanks a lot, Watcher."

"De nada. By the way, Cherry Drop, looks like your first clients are coming over. Have fun!"

Party time, Sheila thought. The muscles of her belly fluttered.

****

The adventure had begun a month ago at a meeting of the Book Club, being held at Heather's house in the Hills. As usual, the six women were gathered around the kitchen table. A single worn copy of "Moby Dick" lay in the center of the table, an empty wine bottle on top of it. A standing joke.

"The bottom line was this," Sheila was saying. "After fifteen years and a kid, Bill was boring the fuck out of me. His stupid stories, which he told over and over. His sloppiness. His total inability to do a single fucking thing around the house. He couldn't even bring himself to put a dirty coffee cup into the dishwasher."

The other five Club members, all of them rich from some combination of inherited money and alimony, leaned in and made sympathetic noises. This is what they loved -- the dirt. It usually started to come out after the third glass of pinot grigio.

"And then," Sheila continued, a bit unsteadily, "there was the mindless, automatic, totally miserable sex. Every morning he woke me up at six and expected me to take his sticky, stinky cock in my mouth and blow him until he had some useable wood." The other women groaned and tsked. "Then he jumped me missionary style, rode me until he popped his meagre load, which usually took a whole two minutes, then got up without a word and went to shower. I hadn't had an orgasm for five, six years. Did he know? Maybe not. Did he care? Fuck no."

"Was he --well—" Jamie held up a little finger.

"No, the man had a cock like a horse. Still does, unless somebody's cut it off, which would serve him right." Sheila took another generous sip. Heather hastened to top up the glasses.

Sheila sighed. "And then came the final straw. One morning, without a single by-your-leave, he rolled me over like a sack of potatoes and tried to stick that big thing up my ass. I bucked him off-- I don't know how, the bastard weighs 250 -- and slapped his teeth loose. He was surprised! "Gee," the asshole said, "I thought you'd enjoy something different." Then he wandered off to take a shower as if nothing had happened. That's the moment I made up my mind that this marriage was over. Oh. Ver."

Expressions of commiseration around table. Jennifer, who always wanted more prurient detail, leaned in to ask a question and dunked her pearls into her wine. The others laughed and applauded. "Good thing we're not drinking burgundy," she slurred. dabbing the pearls with a cocktail napkin. "But really, Sheila," she asked, shaking her head to clear it, "I gotta ask, how big was he, really?"

"We measured once. Eight inches long, seven inches maximum girth. Pretty damned big, but to tell you the truth, it took me a long time to figure out how big he really was. In the early days we'd watch porn together, and I was always wondering how these little crayon cocks got onscreen. But then, big cock was all I'd ever seen. My own dad was hung like a dairy bull."

"Shut the fuck up!" That from Heather. "He like, showed you his cock? When you were a little girl?"

"No, of course not. I didn't have parents who paraded around naked in front of me. But I once caught a glimpse of Dad coming out of the shower, and I asked Mom, 'What's that big thing hanging on Daddy?' She blushed and said something like, 'That's Daddy's magic member. You'll learn about such things when you're grown up.' "

"How about the guys you dated before you met Alvin?" Jennifer asked. She had an insatiable interest in everything related to cock.

"I usually wasn't paying much attention. I was usually drunk on my ass."

More tipsy laughter. "Typical college girl," Anne said. "We all whored around. It's a wonder any of us survived." A murmur of agreement. "But what about Andy? How did he take it?" Andy was Sheila's son.

"Really well," Sheila said. "He was fourteen at the time, and a sharp kid. The quiet, observant kind. He'd known for years there was something wrong between his folks, and when we told him we were going to split, he was like, 'OK, so where am I gonna live?'" She took another sip. "No tears at all. It was if he'd already gotten used to the idea. And I suppose he had -- all of his friends come from so-called 'broken homes.'"

"Well, that's good," Anne said. "About Andy, that is. Not about all the broken homes."

"Yeah. It's sad, the things kids have come to expect these days. Anyway, I got the papers drafted and gave Al a copy. I'd expected an explosion, but he just looked at me like I was nuts and told me to call him when I'd come to my senses. He packed a suitcase and left. I had a locksmith there within the hour to change all the locks." She sighed. "Here's the strange thing. I kicked Al out because he'd tried to fuck me in the ass. Now, I really like anal sex."

The others demanded details. "I started dating a doctor, a guy who does colonoscopies. He was fixated on assholes. Talked me into it, was really patient with me, and I decided that I like it. It's hard to explain why. It's just a different way of stimulating the same nerves, but it feels so nasty and taboo. A forbidden fruit sort of vibe."

The Club meeting broke up at six. After tipsy hugs all around, Jaime, Jennifer and Carole wandered out to the curb to meet their Ubers. Heather, Anne and Sheila lingered behind. They the closest. All three had come to LA in search of show business careers; Shelia and Anne as actors, Heather behind the camera in production. They'd met, become friends, and briefly shared an apartment. All three had given up their career aspirations to marry up-and-coming men; a cinematographer, a writer, and in Sheila's case, a senior officer in the Electricians' Union. All three marriages had failed; of the three, only Sheila's had produced a child.

Sheila had been told she had the figure, but not the face; "Go take some courses and come back as a character actor." Anne had been told she had both the face and the figure -- "a Black Kim Kardashian" -- but couldn't act at all. "Go take some courses and come back when you have more than two expressions." Heather simply hadn't been able to make it in a man's world. Her appearance hadn't helped -- she had a round, open, sweet face, but was short and plump, with DD cups. "Thank God my husband was a boobs man; that's one thing I'd always had plenty of."

The three of them decided against opening another bottle of wine. Instead, Heather rolled thick spliff of Mother's Ruin, a cultivar developed to treat Weltschmertz, took a hit and passed it. "So what's going on, bitches? Really?"

Sheila was morose. "A lot. And nothing. Friends of the Library -- for my sins, they elected me secretary -- and then I drive for Meals on Wheels every Thursday, and fill boxes at the Community Food Bank on Saturday. Before Andy went off to college, I made time for him; talked about his day, checked his homework, did the usual mom shit. Now that he's gone, I mostly spend my evenings smoking dope, watching porn and using my vibrator. So you see, I have a really fulfilling life."

"When do you see Andy?" Anne asked.

"Intermittently, between terms. He usually spends Christmas with me; his dad remarried, and Andy doesn't think much of the new wife. He's with his dad this Summer; he's supposed to be doing something educational between his junior and senior year. In theory, that's an apprenticeship in the Union. Since his dad is the one to sign off on his training, I suspect the two of them are spending most of the time fucking around -- cruising up and down the coast on Al's boat, fishing, doing other guy stuff. But he's coming home next week to spend some time with me before Fall term starts. After he's gone, I'll once again have lots of time to get drunk, get baked, watch porn and play with myself." She heaved a sigh, the gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Poor little rich girl."

"Sounds like you're feeling sexually deprived," Heather observed.

"Absolutely. Back before Al got all lazy and forgetful, I had wonderful sex with him. I rode that big cock for hours. Multiple orgasms. Those were the good times."

"How about your doctor? The butt specialist?"

"He moved to San Francisco. Now I have an occasional date with some limp-dicked old fart, or some pimply pencil cock with a mommy problem who comes and goes in a minute. I've decided dating's no longer worth the effort."

"So -- to summarize, you're terminally bored and horny?"

"An excellent summary."

Heather and Anne shared a long look. "Look," Heather said, "The two of us are into something that you may enjoy, but before we tell you about it, you've gotta swear to keep your mouth shut about it forever and ever."

Sheila leaned forward, interested. "I only know five or six people I'd talk to anyway, and two of them are sitting right here, so spill."

Anne cleared her throat. "Well. You've heard of Dr. Studly's Stockroom?"

"Sure. The sex toy store in Hollywood. Supposed to be the biggest in the state."

"That's the place. Well, they have a side hustle. A very private, members only club in the basement. It's called Cum Drops."

***

Buddy Allen, the proprietor of Studly's Stockroom, received Heather and Anne warmly; "Two of our favorites! And who's this lovely lady?"

"This is Sheila. We're trying to recruit her."

"Wonderful. Let me show you around. The club is closed at the moment" --it was nine in the morning—"so it's the perfect time for a tour." Buddy was a nondescript middle aged man in a grey suit. He could have been a preacher.

They strolled from his office into the main store, past shelves filled with every imaginable sex toy and some that Sheila could never have imagined. Buddy, Heather and Anne walked with the easy confidence of people who belonged there; Sheila, a tight fixed smile on her face, kept her arms crossed, as if afraid of touching something.

At the far wall they came to a door guarded by bored woman behind a counter. She recognized Buddy, smiled, and raised a pass-through. "Ordinarily, Ruth here checks member IDs." Buddy swiped a card through a card reader and the door clicked upon, revealing a small landing at the top of a flight of stairs.

It was thirty steps down. The wallpaper in the stairwell featured classical nudes in various erotic poses. At the bottom of the steps their way was blocked by a grey metal desk with a chair beside it. To the right of the desk was a small waiting area with chairs against the walls. "This is the nurse's station," Buddy said. "Every member is screened for HIV and other STDs on every visit. The nurse draws blood, puts drops on several test strips, gives the client a number and tells them to wait. The results usually come up in less than ten minutes. If the client is clear, they're allowed to through one of the doors behind the desk."

"Tested very time?" Sheila asked.

"Every time. This is a totally bareback environment. Would you have a problem with that?"

"I never really thought about it."

"But because we're extra cautious, we also give our associates AIDS PrEP pills. That's pre-exposure prophylaxis. If the nasty virus slips through, it won't infect anybody. We also supply pregnancy test kits and morning-after pills to the women who might need them."