The highway hummed beneath the tires, a monotonous drone that matched the mood inside the ten-seater SUV. Dad, as always, was a statue behind the wheel. My step-mom, Linda, dozed in the passenger seat. My half-sister, Chloe, was lost in her headphones. And my mom, Sarah, sat quietly in the middle row, staring out at the blur of pines.
Eighteen hours to Grandma’s. Absolute fucking torture.
“Truck stop in five miles,” Dad announced, his voice cracking the silence like a whip. “Everyone, take your break. Bathroom, snacks, gas. Back in fifteen.”
Relief. I needed to move. The moment the SUV crunched onto the gravel lot, I was out, beelining for the men’s room at the far end of the dingy building. The air inside was thick with disinfectant and stale urine. Two stalls. One occupied, the other… strange.
The partition wall of the end stall had a hole. A perfectly round, fist-sized hole, right at crotch level.
A gloryhole.
I’d heard stories. Seen memes. Never in a million years did I think I’d find one in the middle of nowhere, on a family road trip. A raw, electric thrill shot through me. The occupied stall flushed, an old man shuffled out, and I was alone.
Why not?
My cock, a heavy, thick length I’d always been self-conscious about, was already stirring. I unzipped, freed myself, and guided my thick, veined shaft through the hole. It was cool on the other side. I waited, heart hammering against my ribs.
Then, a soft gasp.
A woman’s gasp.
I felt warm breath first, ghosting over the swollen head. Then, the barest, most tentative touch of a tongue. A lick along the frenulum. Sweet Jesus. It was hesitant, almost reverent.
The mouth that closed over me next was pure, wet heat. She took me deep, surprisingly deep, with a desperate, hungry suction that made my knees buckle. Her head began to bob, slowly at first, then with growing fervor. Soft, desperate moans filtered through the hole. This wasn’t some practiced truck stop pro. This was something else. This was need.
“Suck it,” I breathed, my voice low and rough. “Come on, take it all.”
She whimpered, a high, submissive sound, and doubled her efforts. Her tongue swirled around my crown, lapping at the bead of pre-cum that had gathered. She sucked like a woman dying of thirst, her lips sealing tight, her throat working to accommodate me. I could feel her nose press into my pubic bone. She was trying to deep-throat me.
“That’s it,” I groaned, one hand braced against the grimy wall. “Use that pretty mouth. Swallow me.”
Her sucking became sloppy, desperate. She was worshipping my cock, and the power of it was intoxicating. I let my free hand drift to my base, pushing my foreskin back. A day of travel had left a distinct, musky scent. I smeared a bit of the gathered moisture across my tip.
“Lick me clean,” I commanded, my voice dropping to a possessive growl. “Taste it. Every bit.”
Without hesitation, her tongue darted out, licking eagerly at the head, collecting the salty, intimate flavor. She moaned again, deeper this time, a sound of pure, depraved enjoyment. She wasn’t just doing this; she was feasting on me.
The pressure in my balls was building, a tight, urgent coil. But I wanted more. I wanted to claim this anonymous, slutty mouth completely.
“Open up,” I gritted out. “I’m gonna piss right down that hungry throat.”
A stunned silence. Then, the most submissive, eager noise yet. A muffled, “Mmmhmm!” Her mouth opened wider, her tongue flattening out in invitation.
The release was profound. A hot, steady stream flooded her waiting mouth. I heard her gulping, swallowing greedily, a continuous, wet sound of submission. She drank every drop, a low, continuous moan of pleasure vibrating around my softening shaft. When I was done, she licked me meticulously clean, her tongue tender and thorough, as if polishing a prized possession.
I was panting. She was panting. The connection was filthy, profound.
A small, manicured hand slipped through the hole beneath my cock. Between her fingers was a slip of paper. A phone number.
“Call me,” a husky, familiar voice whispered. Too familiar. It was the voice that had read me bedtime stories. That argued with Dad about bills. Mom.
Shock froze me, then melted into a torrent of white-hot possession. Mom. My prim, proper mother was on the other side of this wall, my piss sliding down her throat, my taste on her lips.
I took the number, my fingers brushing hers. “I will,” I promised, my voice thick with new authority.
I tucked myself away and left the stall, walking on unsteady legs back to the SUV. I slid into my seat just as Mom did. She wouldn’t look at me. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen. She discreetly wiped the corner of her mouth with a tissue.
Dad started the engine. “Everyone good?”
“Great,” I said, my eyes locked on the back of Mom’s head. I pulled out my phone and tapped in the number from the crumpled paper.
A second later, from the middle row, a phone buzzed softly. Mom jumped, fumbling in her purse. She stared at the screen, at the unknown number. Her breath hitched. Slowly, so slowly, she turned her head and met my gaze in the rearview mirror.
Her eyes widened in dawning, horrified, aroused recognition.
I gave her a slow, deliberate smile and mouthed two words.
“Hi, Mom.”
Her face went pale, then flushed a deep, furious red. She quickly looked away, but not before I saw her thighs press together tightly under her sundress. Her phone buzzed again in her hand. A text from me.
> You swallow as good as you cook.
She didn’t reply. But ten minutes down the road, as Linda and Dad debated routes, I saw her phone screen illuminate on her lap. Her thumbs were typing. A moment later, my phone vibrated.
> Unknown: I’ve never done that before. I don’t know what came over me.
I typed back, my heart pounding a savage rhythm.
> Me: Yes you do. You were born to suck cock. My cock. You’re going to do it again. Tonight. When we stop.
I watched her read it. She swallowed hard, her throat working. A full minute passed. The reply was a single word.
> Unknown: Where?