Steve and I had a few stiff drinks in a nearby bar after the session in the sex cinema, I did my best to freshen up between my legs in an extremely basic ladies' room, then Steve broke it to me that he had told the man who had got a blow job from me half an hour previously to meet us in the next bar along the street. If I didn't want to, fine, we could just enjoy ourselves back at the hotel – but maybe we could play with him? Please? Pretty please?
I thought about it briefly. I always wavered between exasperation at Steve's determination to have other men use me, and sheer horny delirium at the prospect of another adventure, and another chance to use my wiles on a poor man. But we were off our faces and so, naturally, it seemed like a great idea. We staggered down the cobbled street to the next bar and found our dirty friend leaning against the bar. Boy, his face lit up when we walked in. He introduced himself as Hans – he was German – and he shook both our hands, and said thank you to me for his earlier release, which was nice of him.
He bought us both a drink and we sat down at a table and he began pumping us with questions. He was obviously delighted to have found a couple like us – we were mid-20s, good looking, good figures and he had only ever seen fat middle-aged German people putting out to strangers. He spent a lot of time looking at me. I tried to look detached, but it was kind of difficult with the knowledge that the inside of my top was glued firmly to my chest by wads of his cum. He asked what else we would like to do tonight. He knew a bar where we could have some fun. What kind of bar, we wondered. As he described it I knew there was no chance of resisting. Steve was already counting out some currency for a tip for the waitress. Hans grabbed his coat, Steve grabbed me. Off we went.
A short cab ride later and we were there. Hans kindly paid for us to enter and, down some stairs, a fairly cavernous bar opened out before us. It was male-dominated in terms of clientele, reflected by the suspiciously long queue for the men's bathroom, but there were some women. We sat and got a drink, though the guys were obviously wanting to cut to the chase. Hans had not been here before, but he had heard great things about it and had always meant to try it out. And here he was with us. And what a place it was...
The bar specialised in glory holes - openings in a wall to facilitate anonymous blow jobs, hand jobs or full sex. The entrances for the men's and women's bathrooms were at opposite ends of the long, crescent-shaped bar. And the exits were similarly at opposite ends, hence the women's exit was right by the men's entrance and vice versa, so as to ensure you did not know who had entered at the same time as you. Cute. We observed for a while, and most women who went into the ladies' room entrance took their partner with them, though there were also a few groups of girls on hen nights looking for some x-rated fun.
After a bit more Dutch courage, the three of us went through the ladies' door. There was no queue at this end of the premises and, after walking round a slight bend, there were a series of cubicles facing the right-hand wall, maybe 12 in all, centred on a large circular wash-basin decorated with elaborate mirrors halfway down. As we walked past closed doors we heard the occasional groan, and further down a man's shout as – presumably – he came into some nameless, faceless, shameless woman's mouth. We walked past two open doors and inside each cubicle there were hard cocks poking through a hole against the far wall, just above a basic toilet with its cover down. "Great! You can pee and suck at the same time," I giggled to myself.
The men's bathroom was obviously the same shape and format as the ladies but further back in the building, behind the thin, curved wall. Steve asked if we should go into the second empty cubicle we encountered but I said I wanted to explore a little more. An 'older' couple came staggering out of a cubicle further down, giggling and playing something back on a hand-held camcorder. We scampered up and peered round the corner just in time to see a cum-smeared cock withdraw through the hole. A toilet flushed on the other side, a door unlocked and creaked open. Voices. Then the gents' door shut again. Hans and Steve nudged me inside and closed the door behind us.
We stood and waited, watching the hole before us with baited breath. Steve drew some tissue paper from the dispenser and wiped the stray cum away from the rim of the hole then lifted the toilet lid and tossed it inside. The sound of the lid closing may have prompted the movement on the other side but, in any case, a cock slid through. Bingo – a nice smooth hard black cock that just kept appearing more and more.
He was already nice and hard – maybe he had been teasing himself on the other side to get ready, maybe he had peeked through and seen my body – and at least 9 inches long. The walls didn't seem to be that thick for obvious reasons, maybe two pieces of plasterboard, and it was easy to hear noises on the other side. The guy gyrated, his cock moving about the room in an odd fashion, and he said something in Dutch. Steve and Hans were both looking at me, waiting.
I knelt, initially, on the toilet seat, placing my left hand on a small ledge on the wall and reaching out to run the fingers of my right hand along the cock in front of my face. A deep, maybe exaggerated, groan came from beyond the wall as my fingers stroked and scratched the dick, and then some more Dutch. I took a firmer grip and stroked a few times before settling the hand against the hole in the wall and squeezing around the base of the cock. I flicked my tongue lightly over the tip, focusing on his tiny slit. More noises from over there, silent entrancement over here.
I kissed down the shaft, as sensually as I could in the circumstances, then licked all the way back up. My 'customer' was groaning in all the right places as I teased with my tongue and teeth, doing my usual of building up to a momentous introduction of the mouth. There was no way I was going to be able to take even half of it in, but I would have fun playing with it.
When I finally closed my mouth over the engorged end, I began to stroke up and down on the lower half. I sucked hard and jerked firmly, occasionally taking the dick from my mouth to roll it over my face, letting him feel the contours of me, my nose, my chin. I put it in my hair as I jacked him, I held the end in my eye as my tongue tickled underneath. He seemed to like that. And he wasn't the only one. Hans had his dick out and was openly jacking off as he watched me, fixated. Steve was just staring, trying to concentrate on recording the memory.
My knees were beginning to hurt so I switched to sitting on the toilet seat, straddling it and facing the wall, and upped the tempo with my hand and increased the pressure with my mouth. The garbled Dutch from the cock's owner became gradually more frantic and his groaning got louder. Hans shot a load on to his nice black shirt, the black guy shot into my mouth. I pulled him out as the first blast caught in my throat. I coughed and spat it out, the second shot streaking across my hair, the third hitting the flesh showing on my upper chest, the fourth taking a lower trajectory and landing nicely between my legs on the toilet cover as my hand slowed the stroking and squeezing to a natural stop. The moans were long and loud from my customer, I was just mesmerised by the sight before me. A solid black cock in my hand with cum dripping from the end and landing right between my opened thighs while guys to either side of me were seeing to themselves.
But it was fun. We exited, and I spent a while trying to sort out my hair while the boys went out and ordered some more drinks. When I was relatively happy I sauntered out into the busy bar – naturally checking out the black guys to try and guess which one had enjoyed me – and found Steve and Hans deep in discussion in corner. A floor show had started, and not a very good one. Four girls in bikinis, and incredibly drunk, were dancing at tables. Every now and then one would climb on to a raised platform in the middle and dance for the whole bar. I had been to lap-dancing clubs before and this was pretty unimpressive. Hans informed us that they would also be in the toilet cubicles now and then when the owners thought the female count too low. Yuk!
Steve leant over with a smile on his face. He pointed out that the dancing girls had dragged most of the guys who had been in the queue for the toilet 'facilities' back into the bar. The line was only two deep now!
"Go on then," I smiled.
