What a horny story luv glory holes

 

Nice story bet u wished u had fucked the black guy

 

fantasy

good stories, not brave enough..

 

Great stories.... There is something about glory-hole stories that gets me hard..

 

I enjoy reading the stories

 

I like to atleast see the face of those I screw around with plus im not into guys and I would be scared of the people on the other side of the wall.

 

I'd love to find one in Indianapolis. It's the way I enjoy giving blow jobs

 

wow wish more women where like u at the booths

 

fuck yea who else like to hit gloryholes ? pm me

 

Glory Glory

One of the toilets in our town had a glory hole. I loved it as guys would get
hard and wank while you watched. I noticed that some of the guys were
using there phone cameras to catch the action. I have had glory hole sex
and found it very nice. You put your cock through and the guy on the other
side sucks it off for you. What could be simpler. The hole kept getting bigger
and the council eventually blocked it up with a steel plate.

 

Under stall sex

I also find under stall sex is very nice as well as the glory hole. You get a nice
hard on slide your pants down and slip as far as you can under the stall
partition so the guy on the other side can pull your dick. While he is doing this you can talk to him through the glory hole. The conversation usually goes
WANK that fucking thing come on wank it wank my fucking big dick you cunt
oh FUCK my cock fuck it oh thats so good come on dont stop oh oh god oh
thats it right there oh yea oh yea just a bit more just a little bit more yes oh
yes thats it ooooooooh thats it dont stop just yet milk it milk it oh yes. Your
cock goes down and you just slide out until next time. This works with out a
glory hole but not as much fun. If you tell guys how good it is for you they
really like it. Every body likes to be appreciated.

 

NAUGHTY HUBBY

Hubby used to take me into quite public toilets with glory holes.It was very exciting ,we visited many over the yrs there was allways somebody peering thru or pushing c,./ck thru hole,unfortunatley they hav all bin closed or new metal loos installed now,but i hav had some very naughty hours spend in them,may tell few tales on here when i have more time. Regards xxx Carrie ie Hairywife xxx

 

Wonder if they get payed at specific booths :excited:
either way the guy on the other side gets loads of fun

 

does anyone know of any glory holes around tullahoma, tennessee which is in southern middle tn hitme up if you or if you just want to talk to me

 

Great thread

 

I've been in several booths, but all have been different.


The vibe has to be right.


Hand jobs are safe.

I worry about even uncovered bj's, for oral STD's, use a condom then suck away feeling his head in the back of your throat.




I've wanted to take in my lubed up wet fleshlite, and use on several guys, so #2 or #3 is getting sloppy seconds and not even know it....

 

I took the wife to one once.
That was all it took.
It wasn't the idea of sucking off a stranger (been there, done that)
It was how disgusting the booth was.
Now, we have one at home that we break out for parties.
It fits into the doorway of an upstairs closet and the wives sometimes take turns in the closet.
The women don't know who they're sucking and the guys don't know who's sucking them.
"New" friends are required to wear a condom until they get a medical all-clear.

 

Having thought about this thread I considered my options. I could describe more recent times when at our parties we've set up glory hole booths (actually old quarter botths from an ABS), or describe a bachelor party where I worked one, or how when working in ABS's they'd have them in the fantasy booths (so they could see you through the glass in that I would have never used those in the arcade), or other times in years previous in central america where in some places it was a common means for those less wealthy to get their time as well.

Instead however I decided I'd share something that is a small part of my recolection as my time when a slave. I've mentioned it enough times, so here is a splinter of it. Understand as well I'm not speaking of some BDSM play sort or slavery, yet where you were considered absolutely disposable. Meaning, it was easier and cheaper to kill you than deal with any problem you might cause or be.......The time I'm about to speak of in Olongapo, Philippines near the Subic Base and though I can only guess via a bit of reverse time-lining around 1975.


Don't bother reading this if you're looking for a jolly. The descriptions of any sex are extremely limited intentionally.


For good or bad I’ll never know. I’ll never know what the other options might have been if I was not so easily readable, experienced and so on. My guess being it could have been extremes in many ‘worse’ directions, but that single meeting had determined the path I’d take for the moment, yet more so set the tone for much of the balance of my life.

After speaking to the woman some Eduardo had one last thing to say to me already having clearly spent much more time on me then he had intended on. That being I would do as told and make no trouble, in that the first time I did, not the second, he’d have the man with the iron bar do me in. With that I was left alone for perhaps a couple more hours until finally the woman came back for me. Much like every other female I had met since coming here, it was obvious that she had a clear dislike of me on many levels. My race, age, nationality and so on had truly set me apart once again from all others. So just like it had always been for me I was on my own, and I alone would pass or fail without any help.

Slapping me a couple times to insure my obedience I suppose, the woman handed me a sarong telling me to wrap it around myself to "not make others disgusted", and gripping my wrist so firm I thought my arm would break she began yanking me down a number of halls and stairs. Oddly, though I recall being afraid of all the people there all of the women and the few men besides being larger then me also seeming to hate me, I wasn’t afraid of what was about to happen. In some round about way I suppose I realized that Eduardo felt he could make use of me, and as long as I was deemed useful, I’d be kept alive.

Eventually as the music grew almost unbearably loud the woman stopped at what looked like a wall with a make shift door cut into it. Literally the door looked like they had simply cut perhaps a 2’ x 4’ tall door in the wall, and using that piece of it had attached a pair of hinges and a dead bolt to it.

Opening the door the smell and heat from inside instantly hit me, and the woman reached inside and pulled out a jar and from it she withdrew two large metal washers, one painted white and the other red. Bluntly she explained that I had two jobs. The first being if a white washer fell into the jar I was to use my hands, if a red washer fell in my mouth, and with that she shoved me in the little cubby hole as she shouted out something in Filipino to someone else.

Inside was horrible. Besides being incredibly hot and humid, it reeked of sweat, urine and men’s cum. A little smaller then the opening in the door itself, it was perhaps 4’ deep with a bare light bulb at the far end. Below it there was a bucket partially filled with piss and spit and a dirty towel beside it. The back wall was flush to the bare floor and ceiling, and in front up from the floor the wall projected back maybe a foot making a shelf perhaps a foot high making the floor perhaps 15" wide if that. Not enough width to really sit on unless you did so long ways. Finally there was a small can of some grayish-tan looking grease on the little shelf and two jars that hung from the ceiling by their lids which the woman promptly emptied.

As I squat in there looking out at her I recall thinking this was going to be my cell of sorts. Somewhere to hide me away from everyone else and keep me hidden until they decided what to do with me, how wrong I was. In just a few minutes I could here a banging on the opposite side of the wall to my front. I guess it was a lock being taken off or something, and finally what I guess had been some cover was removed and it was only then that I noticed two long vertical slots crudely cut in the front wall, each perhaps a foot long and two inches wide. With that the door was closed and bolted, and I was left alone too afraid to even look through the slots.

Perhaps an hour later the door was opened once again by the woman. Instantly she demanded my sarong so it would not get dirty, and before I could even get it off I suddenly heard a clink in a jar on the ceiling and saw a red washer there. Almost immediately I could hear the shelf being kicked from the opposite side of the wall, and without even a word spoken the slot on that side went dark as suddenly a half hard white mans cock was pushed through the slot. Almost angrily the woman gestured for me to take it while in an upset tone she reminded me that the washer was red so to use my mouth.

I remember this first time I kept glancing to the woman as frankly I thought I’d be hit again. The mans cock reeked of sweat like he hadn’t bathed in a week and worse still there wasn’t much room to move in there in that I couldn’t kneel down, and more so had to raise up slightly to reach him his cock sticking through a good ¾ of the way up the slot. The rest was pretty basic. I sucked and in about a minute he came then simply pulled his dick out. Turning to the woman she looked at me as though waiting for something, and when I asked her "what now?" she only howled with laughter why at the time I didn’t know.

In a few more minutes another washer this one white fell into the opposite jar. Besides what you can guess the woman only pointed out I was to use the grease, and past that she simply locked me in there again as it was now clear what this was all about and what my job was. I don’t know how many hours I was left in there like that. Unable to get comfortable I was at least able to sit on the floor if I sat long ways, and eventually I even figured out I could sit on the shelf that was clearly made to make room for the men’s feet. It was unbearably hot and loud from all the music, yet as the day wore on I just did as I was supposed to with no real surprises.

Looking back it’s obvious now what it all was. Simply a pair of "glory holes" that the soldiers would pay for up front as the washers were just there to inform me what they had paid for. Surprisingly the most difficult cocks to work were those of men who were very short as there was so little room to move, yet in time I figured it all out and in that first day it had already become routine.

A washer would drop into the jar, and I’d either grease up my hands and jerk it off or I’d suck it depending on what they had paid for. None of the men were clean from what I recall, all of them sweaty, some stinking of piss, the worst ones however those who had clearly fucked some other girl earlier and not bathed just making their funk that much more disgusting. Obviously to suck a guy off I had to be in front of him. Quickly I learned as well that sitting off to the side to jerk one off was too hard on my arms, so unfortunately I’d have to be in front of them and try and aim their cum away from my face.

The only real problem I had was when the men would get angry for whatever reason. A couple times they had paid for a blow-job yet I was already sucking another cock so would just jerk on them till the first guy came, and some of the men were just drunk and abusive. In all cases they’d hit or kick the wall making me jump and unfortunately for me about half way through the night one of those times made me knock over the bucket of old urine. Using the towel to mop it up I just went back at it, and a number of hours later it all slowed, and eventually the woman returned.

It had been years that I had to make men cum like this. Frankly to be honest I preferred it this way. I didn’t have to look at them, they couldn’t see me, there was no hitting or threats or even risk of something worse happening. In either case I’d still end up having to endure their cock in my mouth or hands, yet this way was safe, and in a round about way though I know I’d not have put this word to it then I suppose I felt I wasn’t being judged. Bluntly as horrible as it was for me I felt this was a massive step up in security. So I did as expected without thinking much about it, all until that door opened once more.

As the door opened the cooler air felt like heaven rushing in and I recall the woman gesturing for me to come out saying something in Filipino. Hunched over it felt wonderful to be able to stand up and stretch, yet as I stood there nude finding myself in the middle of perhaps four women and three men, I was instantly made to feel naked and filthy as every one of them pointed at me and began laughing hysterically.

Besides being sopped in sweat I was literally covered from head to toe in cum. Worst of all perhaps was how they’d all recoil from me and try to push the others into me as they laughed, and when the woman brought out the empty bucket and then the jars filling her hand with all the washers, that is really when they began howling. Though I didn’t get it then what they were laughing at was all of the red washers and the empty bucket. At that point in my life all I knew was to swallow it no matter how bad it was, for as not to do so meant you were beaten.

Apparently they found that hysterical making comments in English regarding how I’d not be hungry at least. Though I couldn’t count back then I suspect there was something like 30 red washers and 20 white in the jars if I had to guess, and though they found my condition funny, it was also laced with scorn from how much work I had done. For others I suppose who had worked in the box they normally took quite a while to get the men to cum so in the end did less of them. In any case they had come to take me to eat, but after seeing me in that state the woman sent another off to bring me back a little bowl of food and a jar of water as they refused to take me with them the mess I was.

Eduardo as I ate and guzzled down the water was simply the capper to it all. Seeing me he laughed like the others until they handed him the washers, and at that point he just glared at me in astonishment and in a somewhat shocked tone told them to get me cleaned up before putting me back, and then just walked off glaring at me. Welp they didn’t clean me up. Nor did anyone help me out explaining what I was ultimately told weeks later. That the bucket was for me to spit the cum out into as well as use as a toilet. The rag was to wipe any cum off me, yet I’d have none of it explained to me till my time in the box was over.

Fortunately they did bring me more water as I was so dehydrated I couldn’t even make spit. In time the water and food came more regularly, yet past that and taking out the bucket when I’d go to the bathroom and the washers from the jars, I’d spend what I’d guess was the next few weeks to maybe even a month in that box, my only company being the never ending string of cocks shoved through the slots with a few notable exceptions and surprises.

Quickly I learned how to sleep on the floor as if I put the bucket on the shelf I could stretch out as I’d guess back then I was maybe just over four feet tall and had always been skinny. Times when I didn’t want to sleep on the floor, I learned if I spread my knees wide I could sit on the shelf and lean back against the outer wall. I learned how to conserve the water I’d get and make it last, and finally I learned I could cool off a little by putting my face to the slots and would suck in the air from the other side. I also learned how to use the rag to cushion the edge of the shelf against my shins and even how to kneel on it and eventually lean back against the rear wall to jerk and sometimes even suck the larger men.

In just a few days the light bulb burnt out when one of the men hit the top of the box too hard. Though you’d think that would make things worse it really made them much better. Men quit trying to peer inside to get a look at me, yet most of all it reduced the heat considerably. It was still hot to be sure, yet it was not near as suffocating as it had been and the light that came in from the slots was still enough to make out the color of the washers.

Eventually however the washer color didn’t mean a whole lot to me. Sure if it was red I always sucked, yet when some guy was taking too long with a hand job I’d just blow him to get it over with. Though I have no idea what the grease was as it tasted horrible so might have been toxic, I ended up using the rag to wipe the grease off their cocks if I felt I needed to blow them. So in the end it all worked out.

As said though there were a few surprises. The first being condoms. I had never seen one before and though at first it freaked me out and I really didn’t like the taste of it I soon realized I didn’t have to taste their dirty cocks, and more so didn’t have to taste their cum pumping into my mouth. Sometimes the men would try to talk to me though only if they were the only ones there. Most I think thought I was Filipino from the rough pidgin I normally spoke (worse then the Filipina), but they’d ask me my name or how old I was and so on. My age I didn’t know so I always skirted that question not knowing a number I could give them, and eventually though I tried to say Kelly a number of times for my name, eventually even that whittled down to "Kay".

A couple negative surprises came in the form of what I have discovered to be all too common. Men who suddenly had some high moral standard, and when presented with an option instead of standing their ground took it. The first time came when a man tried to touch me. Just fingers stuck through the slot to about half way up his hand unable to press through further, and after some prodding from him I touched his fingers with my own and he slowly pulled my hand through the slot. Instantly he grabbed my wrist and became irate, as whether it was the color of my skin looking white like them or the size of my hand he instantly began demanding that I tell him my age and where I was from.

Now I panicked. All I could imagine was that this man would follow through with his threats and go challenge Eduardo. That to me meant though they might have words, in the end it would work out I’d get the steel rod, so not knowing what else to do I just kept shouting "wait" till he finally shut up. He had paid for a blow job yet was standing back now, and taking a chance I wedged my arm through the slot till I could undo his pants with him ranting all the while but not stopping me.

Once I got his dick out and tried pulling him closer he flatly refused, so cornered and just knowing I didn’t want him to go to Eduardo, I did my best to up the ante. With that I let go and stood up as best I could twisting so I could press my cunt to the slot. I know it had to squeeze out a little into it as I could feel cooler air on it, and as contorted as I was and not wanting to do this, in that second I heard nothing as he stopped shouting. It took all of a couple seconds before I felt this guys fingers begin poking around my twat. In just a couple seconds more I felt him line up, and in maybe sixty more he had cum in me.

Looking back on it you cannot imagine the seething disgust I have for that man and those like him. His high minded morality which would cost him nothing and me my life was all good and fine when he’d only get what he paid for, yet the second he was getting something more it went straight out the window. So much so that for the next two weeks he returned often always buying a hand job washer now, and with threats of going to Eduardo would then demand to fuck me. Within a couple days however he began to bring his friends, as it was clearly not alright to get a blow job from a young white girl, but was more then fine to get to fuck her in the cunt or ass and even get your buddies in on it if you could for the price of a hand job.

The hatred I have for such people is fathomless.

In any case there were also a few nice surprises. Some came in the form of guys who were drunk or lonely that would pay for sex, yet then turn around and just want to talk to me (or more anyone). What was really surprising was that they didn’t ask the usual. They didn’t ask how long I worked there, or much about me really even my name except as an after thought when leaving. They’d just sit down by the outer wall and stick there fingers through and talk. Soon I learned during such times to hold their hands, and they’d just talk about home, girlfriends there, or how lonely they felt…..and that made me feel important and needed. Unfortunately most of the time such conversations would end with someone else walking in causing them to bolt. Yet it made me feel like I was worth more then just hands and holes. Anywho.

The final nice surprise came in the form of tips. The ones that were offered before hand I understood to mean they wanted me to do an extra good job so meant nothing. In fact, I just did what I did and they seemed happy enough. The ones that surprised me though came after the fact. The guy would stick some paper money or coins through the slot thanking me, other praising me and some even raving about the job I did. What also made it make an impression on me was most of them would tell me to hide it away that it was just for me. In the end that made me feel as though I still had some control over my life and could sneak around behind my owner meaning to me that he did not have absolute control over me.

Unfortunately, I had absolutely no concept of money. I knew what it was, knew people bought things with it though I had never used money my entire life. In kind I had no idea how much it was. Could have been a centavo, a dollar, a bazillion pesos I had no idea. Some of it was Filipino, some U.S., and some military I’d guess. In any case in that month I had accumulated quite a few bills and even more coins that I hid away. The paper money when pulled out of there I barely had time to shove up my twat in a tight roll while the coins I simply had to leave to never be seen again. Yet I had learned something important.

My body and what I could do was worth money. To me that meant I could live just like anyone else able to earn and buy. In kind it meant something even more important to me. That though I was owned, and everything I had was supposedly owned by another, the rest of the world didn’t see it that way and so with that, neither did I. This was simply the situation I was in due to someone more powerful. Yet if the day came I could get away I could not only live as I had in the past, yet I could live like anyone else.

I suspect it had been roughly a month I had been stuck in that box without leaving it. If I had to guess I’d say I had serviced between 40-60 men a day in that thing. As said no one had told me I was supposed to spit, and in kind I had a months worth of cum from hand jobs covering me, plus I had not bathed that entire time. Eduardo was furious. I had made him a ton of money and to be sure I was expendable, however he had also realized I had value over I guess the others he had put in there, that had him beating the woman badly as he ordered a couple others to go bathe me.

That day I found myself back in the room I had started in though for the first time in a month alone, fed, my thirst gone and clean with even a bigger surprise waiting for me, a couple bottles of cold soda and something I had never known, a piece of candy (which to be frank it all made me feel like I was high not used to sugar). Most importantly though I had learned a lesson.

My current situation meant I was owned and at the will of another, but it was just him and the others he controlled that thought that. Not everyone else, and most importantly now me. Finally, if I could just get through this doing what I had to, to survive, I could live like anyone else. I would not always have to count on others for the food I ate and everything else. I could earn not just scavenge. I had a body, a mind, and for good or bad how I learned them I had skills when it came to sex. Most of all others wanted me and what I had to offer, and most importantly in the end the most important bits I had to offer had nothing to do with sex, as even though it was a sexual situation, simply my being there, my time meant even more to some people.

Yes, at that moment I was a slave. More so a slave being used as some hands and holes whore. I was essentially a prostitute though forced, yet in the end prostitution to me meant one thing as even back then I realized it.

Prostitution meant independence. Most of all however, it meant freedom.

Hush.....an alias

 

I would love to find one in the Dallas Ft.Worth area of Texas.

 

I've actually been but never had sex with anybody. I wanted to check it out and see what it was like. I did go into one of those booths and gave some guy a helping hand. I'm too scared to have actual sex like other ppl have done, but the idea is a huge turn on... Gets me excited thinking about it.