Mrs. Whitehall became a widow at the age of 54. She’d always had a vigorous sexual appetite, and despite her much older husband – he was 73 when she died – not being well endowed, she was able to get herself off in a variety of ways, few of which involved his tiny dick.
About six months after his death, though, Mrs. Whitehall found herself growing increasingly frustrated. Even though she had used a variety of toys – dildos, soda bottles, vegetables, even a tennis racket – to get off when her husband was alive, she almost always did so with his tongue extended far up her asshole or working her pussy while she pounded herself home to orgasm. Having a 73 year old man eating your asshole while you stuffed a Budweiser bottle into your pussy might not have been the ideal way of reaching sexual satisfaction, but it was better than nothing. Mrs. Whitehall soon discovered, though, that without that tongue, it just wasn’t the same.
Although not a huge fan of porn, Mrs. Whitehall began going online and looking around. She was shocked by what she found – the incredible variety of fucking, the beauty of the performers, the possibilities she hadn’t considered. In particular, she found she was most turned on by a small corner of the porn world: glory holes. The sight of women on their knees in video booths and public bathrooms, sucking anonymous cocks that appeared through holes in the wall, triggered something insatiable in Mrs. Whitehall.
Her first attempts to try this herself involved driving to the local adult bookstore in town. Because she lived in a wealthy suburb, this store served mostly white people and was tucked in the corner of an out-of-the-way strip mall in the industrial part of town, in a neighborhood of warehouses and truck terminals. The clientele was mostly blue-collar men and older, retired men. The store was neat and clean, with a young clerk who was friendly and came out from the counter specifically to offer Mrs. Whitehall help.
“I’m actually looking for video booths,” Mrs. Whitehall said. “Do you have those here?”
“Right through that curtain in the back. The machines take $1, $5, and $10 bills. Do you need some change?”
“I think I have some $1 bills. Thank you.”
Mrs. Whitehall could feel her knees grow wobbly with excitement and fear. The store was empty, but she still felt her face redden with embarrassment. She walked slowly through the curtain at the back of the store.
The back room was not very large. There were two rows of video booths on either side of a narrow hallway, with an open space at the back with a few benches for loitering. At the entrance to the room, there was a glass case that had the covers of the videos that were available to watch in the booths. Above the narrow door to each booth was a light that indicated whether the booth was occupied or not – green if unoccupied, red otherwise. There were ten booths on either side of the hallway, and about half of each of them had red lights on.
Mrs. Whitehall stopped in front of a door with a green light. The lights on the booths on either side of this door were red. She opened the door and peered in curiously. The booth was very small, with a plastic seat in the corner and a large TV screen on the wall opposite the door. There was a slot for inserting bills, and various controls for changing the volume or changing the channel.
On either wall separating the booths from each other, there was a 4” diameter hole cut in the wall. A glory hole.
Mrs. Whitehall stepped into the booth and locked the door behind her. She put her handbag on the plastic chair, opening it and taking out her wallet. She had three $1 bills. She took one and slipped into the slot on the wall. The light in the booth immediately went out, and the screen lit up with a scene from a video: a young girl in a schoolgirl outfit on her knees sucking an enormous cock, shot from the perspective of the guy whose cock she was sucking. Mrs. Whitehall’s pussy immediately got wet.
Curious, Mrs. Whitehall bent over and looked through the hole on the right-hand wall. She gasped with surprise: a man was masturbating in the booth, standing facing the screen. His cock wasn’t large, but was bigger than her husband’s. She then looked through the hole to the left-hand booth. A man was seated on the plastic chair, masturbating a cock that was a little smaller than the one in the right-hand booth.
With the sound of the teenage girl moaning while she sucked filling the booth, Mrs. Whitehall tentatively slid her middle finger a couple of inches through the hole on the right-hand wall, which she understood to be the signal inviting the man on the other side to slide his cock through the hole. No sooner had she withdrawn her finger than the cock appeared.
Mrs. Whitehall stood for a second looking down at the stranger’s cock. It was about six inches long, both longer and thicker than her husband’s. It was very hard, the circumcised head swollen and red, with veins popping out along the length. Some pre-cum glistened on the head. Mrs. Whitehall dropped slowly to her knees, opened her mouth, and began sucking. It wasn’t hard to get the entire length into her mouth, with just the head extending into her throat. She sucked as she used when she was a younger woman, before she was married, working nights as a stripper in a strip club, before her husband had proposed marriage and taken her away from her life as a sex worker.
After about 45 seconds, the stranger’s cock erupted in her mouth, pumping out a considerable load of salty cum until his balls were emptied. He pulled his cock back through the hole. Mrs. Whitehall watched as the stranger zipped up and exited the booth.
She turned to the hole on the left side.
She could feel wetness on her knees and she looked down. She was kneeling in a puddle of something – semen probably, and spit. It made her even hornier to imagine that someone -- probably a man – had either sucked a cock off through the hole and let the semen shoot onto the floor, or had blown his own load onto the floor while sucking. She didn’t have to signal to the man in the other booth to push his cock through: it appeared almost instantly. It was a little skinnier and a little shorter than the first cock, but still bigger than her husband’s. She put about five minutes of work in, sucking powerfully, like a woman half her age, before this cock also blew its nut juice into her mouth.
By this time, the money had run out and she crawled over to her pursue and got the remaining two $1 bills out, feeding them into the slot. The machine sucked her cash just like she sucked cock. She realized that this is what she was: a cock-sucking machine. The lights went out, and another cock appeared through the hole.
After sucking the third cock, Mrs. Whitehall realized that would need more change. She stood up and straightened herself out, and took her purse with her back out to the nice young man at the front counter. She fished out a $20 bill and handed to him.
“Can you give me more singles for this?” she asked.
“It takes fives and tens, you know,” he said.
“Okay, two tens will be fine.”
The young man was looking at her chest. Mrs. Whitehall looked down. Her blouse was soaked with spit and cum: she’d made more of a mess than she’d realized. Some spit had dripped down onto her skirt, staining it darkly. Her knees were filthy dirty and sticky with dried semen from where she’d been kneeling on the floor.
She took her change and walked back to the booth. Both lights on either side of the one she’d occupied earlier were red: occupied by men. She went into the booth and locked the door.
TO BE CONTINUED
About six months after his death, though, Mrs. Whitehall found herself growing increasingly frustrated. Even though she had used a variety of toys – dildos, soda bottles, vegetables, even a tennis racket – to get off when her husband was alive, she almost always did so with his tongue extended far up her asshole or working her pussy while she pounded herself home to orgasm. Having a 73 year old man eating your asshole while you stuffed a Budweiser bottle into your pussy might not have been the ideal way of reaching sexual satisfaction, but it was better than nothing. Mrs. Whitehall soon discovered, though, that without that tongue, it just wasn’t the same.
Although not a huge fan of porn, Mrs. Whitehall began going online and looking around. She was shocked by what she found – the incredible variety of fucking, the beauty of the performers, the possibilities she hadn’t considered. In particular, she found she was most turned on by a small corner of the porn world: glory holes. The sight of women on their knees in video booths and public bathrooms, sucking anonymous cocks that appeared through holes in the wall, triggered something insatiable in Mrs. Whitehall.
Her first attempts to try this herself involved driving to the local adult bookstore in town. Because she lived in a wealthy suburb, this store served mostly white people and was tucked in the corner of an out-of-the-way strip mall in the industrial part of town, in a neighborhood of warehouses and truck terminals. The clientele was mostly blue-collar men and older, retired men. The store was neat and clean, with a young clerk who was friendly and came out from the counter specifically to offer Mrs. Whitehall help.
“I’m actually looking for video booths,” Mrs. Whitehall said. “Do you have those here?”
“Right through that curtain in the back. The machines take $1, $5, and $10 bills. Do you need some change?”
“I think I have some $1 bills. Thank you.”
Mrs. Whitehall could feel her knees grow wobbly with excitement and fear. The store was empty, but she still felt her face redden with embarrassment. She walked slowly through the curtain at the back of the store.
The back room was not very large. There were two rows of video booths on either side of a narrow hallway, with an open space at the back with a few benches for loitering. At the entrance to the room, there was a glass case that had the covers of the videos that were available to watch in the booths. Above the narrow door to each booth was a light that indicated whether the booth was occupied or not – green if unoccupied, red otherwise. There were ten booths on either side of the hallway, and about half of each of them had red lights on.
Mrs. Whitehall stopped in front of a door with a green light. The lights on the booths on either side of this door were red. She opened the door and peered in curiously. The booth was very small, with a plastic seat in the corner and a large TV screen on the wall opposite the door. There was a slot for inserting bills, and various controls for changing the volume or changing the channel.
On either wall separating the booths from each other, there was a 4” diameter hole cut in the wall. A glory hole.
Mrs. Whitehall stepped into the booth and locked the door behind her. She put her handbag on the plastic chair, opening it and taking out her wallet. She had three $1 bills. She took one and slipped into the slot on the wall. The light in the booth immediately went out, and the screen lit up with a scene from a video: a young girl in a schoolgirl outfit on her knees sucking an enormous cock, shot from the perspective of the guy whose cock she was sucking. Mrs. Whitehall’s pussy immediately got wet.
Curious, Mrs. Whitehall bent over and looked through the hole on the right-hand wall. She gasped with surprise: a man was masturbating in the booth, standing facing the screen. His cock wasn’t large, but was bigger than her husband’s. She then looked through the hole to the left-hand booth. A man was seated on the plastic chair, masturbating a cock that was a little smaller than the one in the right-hand booth.
With the sound of the teenage girl moaning while she sucked filling the booth, Mrs. Whitehall tentatively slid her middle finger a couple of inches through the hole on the right-hand wall, which she understood to be the signal inviting the man on the other side to slide his cock through the hole. No sooner had she withdrawn her finger than the cock appeared.
Mrs. Whitehall stood for a second looking down at the stranger’s cock. It was about six inches long, both longer and thicker than her husband’s. It was very hard, the circumcised head swollen and red, with veins popping out along the length. Some pre-cum glistened on the head. Mrs. Whitehall dropped slowly to her knees, opened her mouth, and began sucking. It wasn’t hard to get the entire length into her mouth, with just the head extending into her throat. She sucked as she used when she was a younger woman, before she was married, working nights as a stripper in a strip club, before her husband had proposed marriage and taken her away from her life as a sex worker.
After about 45 seconds, the stranger’s cock erupted in her mouth, pumping out a considerable load of salty cum until his balls were emptied. He pulled his cock back through the hole. Mrs. Whitehall watched as the stranger zipped up and exited the booth.
She turned to the hole on the left side.
She could feel wetness on her knees and she looked down. She was kneeling in a puddle of something – semen probably, and spit. It made her even hornier to imagine that someone -- probably a man – had either sucked a cock off through the hole and let the semen shoot onto the floor, or had blown his own load onto the floor while sucking. She didn’t have to signal to the man in the other booth to push his cock through: it appeared almost instantly. It was a little skinnier and a little shorter than the first cock, but still bigger than her husband’s. She put about five minutes of work in, sucking powerfully, like a woman half her age, before this cock also blew its nut juice into her mouth.
By this time, the money had run out and she crawled over to her pursue and got the remaining two $1 bills out, feeding them into the slot. The machine sucked her cash just like she sucked cock. She realized that this is what she was: a cock-sucking machine. The lights went out, and another cock appeared through the hole.
After sucking the third cock, Mrs. Whitehall realized that would need more change. She stood up and straightened herself out, and took her purse with her back out to the nice young man at the front counter. She fished out a $20 bill and handed to him.
“Can you give me more singles for this?” she asked.
“It takes fives and tens, you know,” he said.
“Okay, two tens will be fine.”
The young man was looking at her chest. Mrs. Whitehall looked down. Her blouse was soaked with spit and cum: she’d made more of a mess than she’d realized. Some spit had dripped down onto her skirt, staining it darkly. Her knees were filthy dirty and sticky with dried semen from where she’d been kneeling on the floor.
She took her change and walked back to the booth. Both lights on either side of the one she’d occupied earlier were red: occupied by men. She went into the booth and locked the door.
TO BE CONTINUED
