The Gloryhole

Mrs. Makepeace has a new female friend. They visit a sex-store gloryhole, and a whole new world of sin opens up featuring hotel sex and BBC. ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ Melanie led the way. She stopped outside the third door along on the left side. Cubicle three, apparently, according to the number neatly stenciled in black paint on the wall to one side of the door. “Here we are,” Melanie said as she pushed the door open. “Let’s go.” I followed her in and was immediately confronted by the sight of the blonde lady on the DVD cover smiling at a well-muscled black man. The image came from the TV fixed to the wall, the video piped in somehow. From the front desk, I supposed. I stood and watched the screen for a moment or two, then took stock of the room. It didn’t take long because all I could see in the way of furniture were three plastic chairs fixed to a metal stand. They were blue. Molded. The kind of seats you might find in a bus station waiting area, only these were clean and in a good state of repair. Again, like the rest of the place, it was clean and bright in there, a room like a cell, barely four feet across by ten feet deep and seven high. Then I noticed the apertures in the walls. There were holes of varying sizes set at what looked to be apparently random heights set in the wall opposite the chairs. I didn’t count, but there looked to be eight or nine. I blinked, puzzled at first. Then I felt a rush of excitement when I realized this was more than a jerk-off den. I was in a glory-hole! When I first realized what the place was for, I couldn’t make up my mind whether I was excited or appalled. “Jesus,” I gasped, “this is so bloody wrong.”