(One-shot) Isabella finds herself in a gloryhole (BJ, Throatfuck, Gloryhole)

Isabella was ripped from her slumber, a cacophony of shouting, gunfire, and the splintering of wood jarring her awake. She sat up, heart pounding, as a man in black body armor and a balaclava entered her bedroom. Her bodyguard, red beret flashing in the dim moonlight, grabbed him from behind, a spray of automatic fire shattering the ceiling as the intruder squeezed his trigger.

They struggled, the gun dropping to the floor with a thud. The two men grappled, falling backwards through her balcony window and vanishing over the railing.

Her ears rang as the room went silent. She stood slowly, walking to the balcony and peering over the railing, the two men crumpled on the grass far below. A bullet whizzed by her ear, and she ducked back inside. She heard footsteps, another man with a red headband entering her room. He looked at her, moving to raise his rifle. She sprinted for the servant's door, ducking as shots rang out, running desperately down the hallway. She could hear his footsteps pursuing her, but she dared not look back as she fled.

12 hours ago...

Isabella had always been drawn to the forgotten corners of Montesoro, places where life was harsh, but hope persisted. The dusty, impoverished town of San Vallejo, nestled deep in the mountains, was one such place. It used to be a prosperous mining town, though its mines had dried up long ago, and its citizens now scraped out a living tending goats and sheep, or harvesting crops grown high in the mountains. As Presidente, she was determined to visit the limits of her kingdom, see the conditions her people lived in with her own eyes.

The day had been filled with wary smiles and whispered gratitude, but as the sun dipped behind the jagged peaks, an uneasy stillness settled over the town. The warnings of the locals echoed in her mind: "The guerillas control these mountains. Be careful at night."

She had dismissed those warnings, trusting in her elite bodyguards to protect her, and settled into a small guesthouse at the edge of the town.

It was a mistake.

Isabella darted out the back of the guesthouse, into the labyrinth that was the alleys of San Vallejo. She didn’t get far before she heard voices behind her, the harsh tones of men searching. She had to hide.

Her eyes fell on a small shed between two stone buildings, cubicles barely wide enough for her to squeeze into. She flung one of the doors open and pressed herself into the space, the rough wood biting into her skin as she slid in, forcing herself into the shadows. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her heartbeat loud enough, she feared, to give her away.

The guerillas were close now, their boots crunching on gravel. One of them stopped mere feet from her hiding spot, lighting a cigarette. She peeked through the gap in the door, and could see his face clearly in the flickering glow—young, hardened, and utterly merciless.

She held her breath, fighting the urge to sob as he scanned the alley, his eyes sweeping dangerously close to her position. Minutes stretched into an eternity before he moved on, barking orders to his comrades.

Isabella must have been squatting in her cramped cubicle for 10 minutes or more, afraid to move and giving herself away. A drop of sweat fell from her brow, landing on her thin nightgown, her naked body trembling underneath a sheer piece of fabric. She was soaked in sweat and fear, the humid mountain air pressing down on her, a miasma of dust and rotting hay. She was certain that they were still searching for her, the occasional shout and burst of gunfire keeping her frozen in place.

A sudden creaking sound sent her heart into her throat, the wooden door of the shed opening, a man stepping into the other cubicle. He was short and stout, his skin tanned and rough, a farmer's straw hat perched on top of his head. He muttered something to himself, then unzipped his pants, and she heard the trickle of liquid.

Isabella gagged, despite herself. She had not realised she was hiding in an outhouse, her fear and adrenaline masking the nauseating stench that was now assaulting her nose. The man continued pissing, oblivious to her presence, and she could feel her stomach turning, her throat burning.

She tried to shift her weight away from the smell, but slipped on a patch of mud, letting out a soft cry. The man spun around, his eyes wide.

"Who's there?" he whispered. She did not dare answer, hoping against hope that he would not notice her.

But the man peered over the divider, and let out a yelp, jumping back.

"Puta Madre!" he gasped.

She covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

"Please," she whispered, "They will kill me."

She could not see him, a silence settling over the tiny shed, the only sound the distant echoes of gunshots. Then, his voice, a little closer.

"You're the girl they are looking for, aren't you?" he asked cautiously.

"Please," she whispered again, "I will give you anything, just don't tell anyone I am here."

He was silent, and Isabella felt her heart jump into her throat, certain that he was going to expose here.

But he did not.

Instead, she heard a ruffling, and then through a hole in the divider that was hidden until now in the shadowy moonlight, a cock, veiny and thick, slid through

"If you don't want me to yell out for help," he growled. "You know what to do."

Her stomach dropped.

"W-what?"

"Suck my cock," he repeated, "And I won't tell anyone you are here."

Isabella stared, incredulous. She was the Presidente of this country, a woman who had been raised from the cradle to be treated like a queen. And now, a dirty farmer was asking her to take his grimy cock in her mouth? She looked at the floor, then back at the shaft, hanging obscenely out of the hole.

She was trapped, and he could call the guerillas back at any moment. She could not take that risk.

Her stomach churned as she reached forward, the shaft twitching upon contact with her soft, delicate hand.

She leaned forward, her nostrils filling with the scent of his cock, an acrid mixture of urine and sweat, and she gagged.

"Oh, don't get uppity on me now," he said. "Thinking you are too good to suck a real cock, while hiding in our filth."

His words cut deep. Isabella had never been spoken to like this. She had always been given the utmost respect, the men and women who served her bending over backwards to please her. It had made her vain, and entitled, but now, a common peasant was treating her like some common whore.

"Just do it," he grunted, and she took the tip in her mouth, the taste making her gag, the texture slimy and sticky with precum

"Good girl," he cooed, his words sending a spark down her spine. "Keep going."

She suckled on it, feel the texture of his cockhead on her tongue, kissing the slit that was now drooling precum into her mouth. The taste was vile, but the feeling of a hard, throbbing cock in her face was making her feel things that she hadn't before.

"Lick it," he ordered.

She did, sticking out her pink tongue and flicking it on the tip. She could not believe how much the situation had changed. Here she was, the most powerful person on the island, hiding in a filthy outhouse, pleasuring some peasant's dirty cock with her mouth.

And she was growing wet from it.

She licked it again, this time starting halfway down the shaft, tongue tracing up like it was ice cream. The cock twitched, and she heard a moan.

It spurred her on, and she began licking in earnest, long strokes with her wet tongue, from the base of the shaft to the head. She could not deny the thrill of power that was surging through her. Here was a man, a random man who had threatened her and demanded her service, moaning and groaning at her touch.

The taste was awful, salty and acrid, but his reactions made her want more. Her tongue flicked faster and faster, her fingers squeezing the tip.

She lifted the cock up, taking it sideways into her mouth. The angle was awkward, and she could not get much inside, but it seemed to be enough, judging by the grunts and moans coming from the other side. She sucked on the side, feeling the veins with her tongue, fingernails lightly scratching against the rest of it.

He started thrusting his hips, and she felt it seesaw across her mouth. She was drooling freely, saliva dripping from her lips, and his cock was growing slicker. Her tongue was trapped beneath his meat stick, pressing up and squeezing it between the roof of her mouth.

She felt a surge of excitement, her own pussy growing hotter and hotter. It was like a fever dream, the heat of his cock, the slickness of her saliva, the smell, the sounds. Her world was reduced to this, nothing but her hands, her tongue, and his hard cock.

She was not sure how long she had been slurping his dick, time warping and twisting, when she felt him pull away. A pang of disappointment shot through her, a strange emptiness filling her mouth.

Then, it came back, his voice reaching across the divide.

"I want to feel your throat, girl."

"Wha-What?"

"Take it all the way."

She hesitated, her stomach churning, the stinging taste of his cock still lingering on her tongue.

"Do it," he ordered.

A part of her wanted to disobey him, refuse him, and slam his exposed dick against the wall, but a stronger part, one that was growing louder with every second, was telling her to obey.

"Do you want me to shout out your location?"

"No, no. I'll do it," she said, defeated.

She opened her mouth, his cock slipping easily past her lips, the polished skin sliding over her tongue. Her tongue was pinned, his shaft pressing into the her mouth. Her jaws stretched open, and she could feel it reaching the back of her throat.

"All the way," he said, "I want to hear you gag on it."

Her heart jumped into her throat, and she gagged involuntarily, the muscles contracting and squeezing, but not pushing the invader out.

"That's it girl," he taunted, "I know you have it in you."

She pushed her head forward, her mouth and jaw straining, feeling the head poke against her gullet. She fought her natural impulse to retch, and took it further, his cock bending, her insides squeezing tightly.

He groaned, his cock throbbing, and her eyes watered, tears running down her cheeks. She could not breathe, not with the thing stuffed so deep into her. She held it there for a moment, gurgling, feeling every twitch of his cock.

She pulled back, his dick glistening, the spit from her mouth coating his length. She took a gasping breath, coughing.

"That's a good girl," he said, and she felt a flush of heat between her legs, "Again."

She looked at his cock, dripping with her saliva, and opened her mouth.

It took multiple tries, but finally she was able to fit the entire length inside, her throat bulging obscenely around his cock. She had never felt such a sensation, her insides being rearranged by the foreign object, her gag reflex suppressed.

Her nose was pressed against the wall, lips touching his pubes through the hole. His scent filled her nostrils, a musky, manly smell, and she thought she could feel every vein on the dick inside her, each bump and ridge on his shaft.

She could not breathe, and she was starting to feel light headed, but the feeling was intoxicating, and she did not want to pull off.

"Keep it in there," he ordered, and she obeyed, the edges of her vision growing dark, "Now bob your head."

She did, the cock moving back and forth. He was so big, her throat stretched to its limits, her airway completely blocked. She was dizzy, and euphoric, like a **** had taken hold of her.

"Keep going," he grunted.

She did, moving faster, the bulge in her throat shifting up and down, spit drooling from her mouth. Her throat was a tight sleeve, wrapped around his cock. Her vision was fading, her head spinning, and she knew she could not last much longer, not without losing consciousness.

"You will not stop until I cum."

Her body rebelled at the thought, **** for air.

But a small part of her was begging her to stay, to keep taking his cock, even if it meant she could not breathe. She choked, vision blurring, but she stayed, her throat milking his shaft, her lips wrapped tightly around it.

His groans got louder, and louder, and suddenly he let out a deep roar, his cock exploding with hot, thick seed.

Isabella had not thought it was possible, but somehow his cock swelled, growing even larger, as wave after wave of cum spurted into her throat and straight down her gullet.

It was too much, and she felt herself slipping, her world going dark.

As she passed out, the only thought on her mind was the feeling of his seed flowing inside her, a spreading warmth that enveloped her entire being.

Isabella woke up, the bright morning sun blinding her.

Her mouth was sore, her jaw aching, and she coughed, the taste of his seed coating her tongue. She felt sick, and dirty, and a pang of shame coursed through her.

She stood up, dress covered in filth, and stumbled out the door.

A day later, she arrived back at the Palacio del Sol. Her bodyguards had found her, aimlessly wandering the streets, looking disheveled and confused. She had refused to explain what happened, and they did not dare question her.

The opulent halls of the palace were a stark contrast to the rough wood and dusty streets of San Vallejo, its marble floors and glittering chandeliers a reminder of the wealth and luxury that she was born to.

But Isabella felt empty, her mind wandering back to that small outhouse. It had been humiliating, the taste, the smell, the dirty cock forcing its way into her mouth, and yet...

She never did find the farmer, and Isabella buried the memories of that day deep inside, locking them away. But on some warm and lonely nights, when the stifling city heat would remind her of that dusty old town, she would find herself growing wet, her throat stinging at the memory of its violation.