Two On One

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He can't do anything but stand there and take it as she pushes down, her lips spreading almost obscenely around the thickness of him as she takes him and swallows him whole. The underside of his cock pulses and his balls twitch and for a minute I wonder whether maybe he's going to unload right now but whatever strength he has in him is turned towards holding out and enjoying this new act.

I can't help but think about how naughty this is. It's a side of me I never knew existed before I was in this form, the thought that I could be so bad.

If you'd asked me, when I was a man, whether I'd ever visit a gloryhole I'd have probably blushed outwardly but certainly inwardly I would have been disgusted. My judgmental self would never have allowed myself to be so very free, to do something like this.

Now here I am not only at a gloryhole but actively participating in it. And on the end that I always thought of as the dirtier side of things.

I mean call me judgmental if you want and bear in mind that I am just relaying thoughts I used to have, ones that have certainly changed by now, but if I found the idea of visiting a gloryhole to have a kind of sad desperation then that thought was entirely centered on the side that is being serviced. To be a man, to be the kind of man who would enjoy getting his cock sucked by a complete stranger that he can't even see, has always been undeniably weird to me. Even if I could objectively understand the appeal of it, centered in the taboo nature, I couldn't really think that I could ever do that.

But at least they got something out of it. At least they were the one getting pleasured. To visit a gloryhole in the cause of being serviced made a kind of sense to me. But to be the one doing the servicing?

Of course I understand it all now. The multi-layered appeal of it. The buttoned up sensibility of the world in which I was raised, that of wholesome goodness and farm fields and church on Sunday, wouldn't let me believe that it was something that was right, but I understood that too.

I like this. I like it precisely because society says it's so wrong. I lavish in the anonymity of it, the wanton desperation of giving to someone whose name I will never know.

And I like the act of giving as well. Being that I've been so hesitant to receive anything thus far in my life as a woman I've had a lot of time to contemplate why I'm doing what I've been doing and I have obviously had many opportunities to actually act, to give.

And I like it. I love it even. I love wrapping my fingers around a warm cock and stroking it. I love the feeling of anticipation, the moment I feel a man tense as cum races up the length of his shaft. The pulsing throb of his head that is arrested just before explosion. The heat of him coating my tongue, pulsing past my lips that are stretched around his turgid length as I swallow pump after pump of his salty seed, as it coats my throat and settles with a heat in my belly that leaves me only craving more.

To have that is wrong, that's what my upbringing tells me. To be that kind of girl is so wrong, but if I'm a girl then that's the kind of girl I'm meant to be and day after day and moment after moment I'm starting to accept that.

Whether it's a hot jock at college, my old bully, or even my handsome older landlord. Whether it's an intriguing stranger in an alleyway or a dirty old taxi driver who is obviously taking advantage I am ready to be taken advantage of. I'm ready to indulge.

I'm ready to feast.

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