Glory, Glory

THIS IS WHAT YOU get when you use a discount glory hole.

Frank loved glory holes and was hooked into a network on the dark web, which provided locations where the service was available and the best times to go there.

He should have been wary to go into the one that unexpectedly popped up a few miles from him in an abandoned Dollar General. The info said they were cheap, as they were just a pop-up location.

Like the instructions said, he parked around the back, where the deliveries were made, and saw there was light edging around the door next to the delivery bays. Frank climbed out of his car, made his way to the door, and knocked, a special sequence—the entry code, so to speak.

There was a moment he thought the door would not open. Then he heard the lock disengage, and the door slowly opened, a massive man behind it— bald, tattooed, and broad as a bull. He looked at Frank like a bug.

He held up a huge hand and beckoned him inside.

Frank followed him into an employee locker room, past a bathroom, and into a storeroom. The bouncer opened the door. “Twenty dollars, and if the lady tells me you didn't tip, I'll twist your head off.” He pushed Frank in and closed the door.

It was dim in there, just a small lamp on the floor casting weak light against the walls. There were no other customers, so Frank had the place to himself.

On the left-hand wall, weak light highlighted the circles carved out of the wall, at different heights. Frank found a circle that looked like a good height for him, so he could comfortably stand, pecker out, hopefully a sweet mouth on the other side of the wall.

Frank got hard at the thought of it, and fumbled out his dick. He was so excited to get his dick in that hole. He had a wide dick, and it was as hard as Calculus II right now. He knocked on the wall. Someone knocked back, and, giddy, he guided his cock toward the hole. It looked a little jagged, but he needed his knob polished in the worst way, so he dove right in.

In his haste to get his dong inside a warm mouth, his head brushed the— he now realized— less-than-smooth edges of the glory hole, and as he jammed toward nirvana, a splinter found the slit of his cock. It neatly slid right in, piercing his urethra. It happened so fast, he didn't have time to register his error in judgment (and placement). Jagged pain soared up his shaft and the splinter disappeared into his cockhead, deep inside. He withdrew, the splinter broke off the edge. Blood began to trickle out of his slit. It felt like broken glass was in his cock.. He screamed and scrambled backward, almost falling, the faint patter of blood on the tiled floor.

The door burst open and two burly guys scrambled in, the first the bouncer and the second a fatter guy. They grabbed his arms and forced him onto his back, holding him to the floor.

Next through the door was the owner of the establishment—a rail-thin woman who looked just shy of her hundredth birthday. She wobbled in, smoking a long, thin cigarette, her artificially red hair wreathed in cancer smoke.

“Goddamn, we gotta another splinter situation. I told you morons to sand down the holes. Hold him down. We can't have him thrashin' around.”

Frank was bucking as the two dudes held his shoulders down, his dick, still semi-hard, flopping around, spraying blood. He was crying and screaming.

The old lady went to the glory hole and put her face down to it. She yelled “Darla! Get your skinny ass in here and help me with this guy!”

The old lady bent down to Frank, and put a wrinkled, frail hand on his stomach. “Shhh, baby. We gonna get that little bitty piece a wood out ya pecker shortly! Try to man up.”

The door crashed open again, and Frank got a peek of the lady who had been set to slob his knob, and while he had more pressing matters, it was one of those “reality meets fantasy” moments you never wish for. “Darla” was skinnier than the old lady, well past her fourth decade on this ball of mud, and was missing half her teeth. Well, maybe that might've worked out, come to ponder on it, but right now, he was more concerned about the jagged wood lodged in his dick.

The old lady had Darla reach down and grip his cock. Normally the idea of two ladies handling his johnson was a personal fantasy. Currently the circumstances (and the ladies) were well below ideal. Being there was a splinter in his dick and all, and the women looked a month away from hospice care or county jail, take your pick.

The old lady put on a headlamp and clicked it on (did she have to do this a lot?) to illuminate his bloody dick. There was a set of tweezers in her hand and Frank's eyes widened as she lowered them to his dickhead. He went to protest as Darla's wrinkled, nicotine-stained fingers held the sides of his slit open. The burly guys clamped down tighter and the tweezers' razor-sharp end slid into his slit.

The old lady was still puffing away on her cigarette, the smoke wafting up into her eyes and making her squint. Frank would have been concerned with her compromised sight, if he wasn't even more concerned about the needle-sharp tool in his tool. She dug around in there, peering into his slit, making little "mmm" noises, as she fiddled around inside his glans, and it felt like a needle was carving up his manhood, pinprick by pinprick. Cigarette ash floated down on his face.

Then she went “aha!” and she began to pull back, and he was on fire again, the wooden obstruction coming back out against the grain. It was a little side splinter and it snagged his insides on the way out.

The old lady pulled back triumphantly, the wooden invader between her tweezers, and a fresh shot of blood like a huge cumshot followed, splashing her greasy blouse.

“Huh, hold on sweetie. We gotta cauterize that son of a bitch.”

Darla was holding his slit open, blood leaking over her hand. The old lady sucked hard on her cigarette and got the tip burning coal red. Hot ashes sifted down onto his crotch, and then the cigarette was in her fingers, and she plunged the flaming end of her cancer stick into his slit, and he smelled burning dickflesh.

***

Frank woke up screaming, sat up, and yanked his shorts down to see his dick was in one piece, unbloodied and unburnt. He laid back down. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

He got out of bed on unsteady legs and went to pee. When he came back to bed, the dream was fading and now all he could think about was glory holes. With his heart still beating fast and his body thrumming with anxiety, he felt a little horny. He reached into the drawer next to his bed and pulled out his special magazines. One had a nice spread with ladies working a glory hole room, and he found his dick responsive at just the thought. Yeah, pumping out a shot would calm his nerves and get him back to sleep.

He tugged on his member, opening the pages to the glory hole feature. Four women, and countless dicks, drooping through holes in the wall. These ladies were lovely, young, with unblemished skin and perfect lips, as they took in swollen, long swords, swallowing them to the root. Their eyes were closed in ecstasy, and this one brunette had this black baton buried in her mouth. Her pink tongue lathed the underside of the cock, spit foaming at the corner of her mouth, drooling down to her jawline, one perfect drip landing on her firm, high breast.

Frank liked pictures sometimes, not just videos, so he could savor every detail. He let his eyes roam over the flesh and see the smallest little turn-ons, like the tiny tear at the corner of the brunette's closed eye, beginning to trickle down, her brows knitted in concentration.

As his self-ministrations brought him close to the finish line, he knew the next page was absolute perfection. The blonde's throat was engorged with cock, eyes open and red and teary, mascara running, drool hanging off her thinned lips. And this was the page with the money shots, arcing white paint on tongues and faces. He began to turn the page, anticipation bringing him to the brink. The page was stuck together from a previous self-abuse session, and as he bent the page over, it bowed out slightly, the edge of the slick paper sliced horizontally across his glans.

Frank looked down in horror and surprise as his orgasm hit and he splashed himself in the chin with his cumshot. For a split second, between his climax and the unreality of what he had done,he didn't feel anything and his cockhead looked okay. Then the nerves and blood vessels woke up, and there was a fiery line of pain. The fresh cut began to ooze blood.

The head of his cock looked like a Phillips head screw, a bloody red slash across his slit.

Frank shot out of bed, screaming and praying to any god that would listen, cradling his dick. As he limped toward the bathroom, blood and cum spattered all over his bedspread and floor. He kept saying “shit fuck piss shit fuck piss fucking Jesus Christ shit” over and over like a mantra. He hit the bathroom, and threw open the medicine cabinet, and frantically searched. They had taken mercurochrome off the market, so he grabbed the next best option.

Hydrogen peroxide.

He hurriedly uncapped the bottle and poured the thin liquid over his cockhead. The peroxide ran over his sliced cockhead and began to foam.

The pain was seismic, like his dick was ripping in half, fire pouring over his cockhead.

Frank seized up. “Graaah!”

***

He sat in his living room, his dickhead bandaged, a freezer bag of ice on it, hoping his cock didn't shrink down too much, and cause the bandage to slip off. It was already soaked through with blood, and he moaned, both in pain, and the possible fear and humiliation of explaining himself, if he could not avoid a visit to the emergency room.

Come on, stitches there...

He yelped when there was knocking at his front door.

“Sweetie?”

There was another knock, and a square in his door opened like it was its own little door. Still applying pressure to his wounded manhood, Frank watched in shock, as a long, pink tongue slithered into the open square, and licked around the edges.

“I can hear you in there. I can smell you.” The voice was feminine, enticing, and he felt his wounded dick throb. “After all you've been through dear, don't you think you deserve some love?” The tongue flicked inside again, a line of spit drooling off the tip.

Frank rose and dropped the freezer bag of half-melted ice. He walked on somnambulist legs to the door. In the open square, an exquisite mouth, red full lips, and the pink tongue slid out between even, white teeth, and seductively licked the upper lip. “Mmm, lover. I need it. You need it. Fill my mouth with your big cock.”

He looked down at the bloody bandage, and peeled it off, his head red and swollen, still seeping blood along his newly opened slit, but he was hard as a rock, and he felt his pulse with every beat on the red slash.

“Ooooh, baby, I need that in my mouth. Give it to me.”

Frank shuffled closer, and inserted his cock into the open square (huh, round peg, in square hole, he thought madly), and the tongue flicked at his almost purple head and the blood dripping off it. It felt good, that first soft touch.

This mystery woman wrapped her lips around his member, and he slid in deeper, and she began to suck. It stung a little, the pulling at his wound, and he felt more blood trickle out of him, but he also felt the pleasure he had dreamed of, his dick deep in a warm, wet and anonymous mouth, teeth scraping his veins, tongue flat and licking the bottom of his shaft. His head was at her uvula, and oh, dear Lord, the suction she had on him. Fucking girl could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch. This was the best blowjob of his life, searing pain in his cockhead aside.

And he ejaculated, blood and cum drooling into the woman's mouth. Frank cried out, and her mouth was clamped down on him, teeth right behind the ridge of his head. He tried to pull back and could not, as she continued to suck, her teeth a vise.

The head of his cock opened up like a flower petal. Like that thing they did with a folded sheet of paper in elementary school, with the four corners, and you put your fingers in it, and flapped it like a little mouth, words written inside, and you count to a number, and see what you get, one, two, three, and...

Frank slumped against the door, forehead clunking against it. He was getting dizzy, and his vision was going dark, as his blood was flowing out of him, like taking the biggest, longest piss of his life. The last thing he heard and felt was the deep gulping of the woman on the other side of the door.

His knees buckled against the door, holding him up, until the mouth released him, and he fell in a bloody jumble to the floor.

The open square in his door closed. And from the other side came a very satisfied, and deep, wet belch.

***

“Goddamn pervert freaks.” Detective Robbie Jones looked down at the dead guy with his mutilated dick, passed out by the front door, a pool of blood around him.

Porn magazines on the bed, blood and semen on the magazine and bed sheets.

“He did this to himself?”

Detective Amanda Freeman was new to the Homicide squad, so Robbie cut her some slack. Bad enough one of her first dropped bodies was a guy with his dick cut open into an X. Or a cross. Depends on which angle you looked at it.

“Yeah, these pervs, they put rings in their dicks. Heard of this guy once, split his dick along the urethra, so it was like a forked tongue."

Amanda looked queasy.

“Hey, be glad you're a lesbian. Guys are freaks. Me, I wouldn't cut on my own dick, but I guess that makes me a 'normie' or something."

Their search had yielded no entry, no evidence of anyone else having been there, and the blood trail was from the bed to the bathroom to the living room, and the front door. Robbie thought it was likely the guy cut himself up, tried to fix it, bled more, passed out, and then bled to death.

Good riddance, he thought. One last weirdo breathing the same oxygen as him.

Robbie told the EMTs to bag it, and he sent a text to the coroner to let him know the body was on the way, and give them a report, blah blah.

Accidental death? Suicide? It's a fine line.

Amanda was sent to perform cursory interviews with the guy's neighbors, as she was unable to stomach the blood and seeing the guy zipped into the bag. As expected, it didn't yield much.

But as he accompanied the EMTs out with the body, Amanda was in the doorway of a neighbor two doors down, across the hall. A tall, unbelievably beautiful brunette with the sexiest mouth he had ever seen. He could tell Amanda was a bit awestruck, too.

Robbie crossed over, introduced himself. No, she hadn't heard anything, had only seen the guy in passing. As he guessed, most neighbors kept to themselves. He couldn't take his eyes off her mouth, as she gave them the same nothing they got from every other tenant, every syllable so sweet to his ears.

But when he tore his eyes away from her mouth, there was this twinkle in her eyes, and he felt a stirring in his groin.

The detectives said their goodbyes, and Robbie left a card. He had never swooned in his life, but when she tapped the card against her perfect white teeth, and smiled at him, just the tip of her tongue sneaking out,well, he guessed it was a swoon.

Robbie tried to walk as unobtrusively as he could, because he was sporting a boner, and he felt the woman's eyes on him, until he finally heard her door click shut behind him.

***

Robbie turned over in his sleep. Although he liked to sleep on his stomach, he couldn't right now, as he was sporting a mighty erection. He moaned, and rolled back on his right side, his erection painful.

In the dream, the glory hole irised open, and a tongue flicked out, wet with spit.

Her voice was so sweet. He unzipped his pants, his painfully throbbing member in his hand as he guided it to the opening.

The mouth enveloped him.

Robbie moaned, rolled over on his back, cock pointed to the ceiling.

On the table next to his bed, the razorblade—state of the art. He had pried out his razor before going to bed.

He wasn't sure why he did it. He just thought he might need it later.