Chapter 100 - One-Hundred: Glory Hole

Chapter 100: Chapter One-Hundred: Glory Hole

After a few minutes of heavy, silent breathing... my cum still leaking from her well-fucked pussy onto her desk... Cressida pushed herself upright with a soft, satisfied grunt. She didn’t seem embarrassed or diminished. If anything, she looked... invigorated. She cleaned herself up with brisk, efficient motions, then tossed me a clean towel.

"Right," she said, her voice back to its businesslike smoke, though it was noticeably huskier. "Enough fun with management. Time to meet the real product."

She led me out of the office, down a plushly carpeted hallway that smelled of lavender and discreet wealth, and into another wing of the building. The atmosphere changed. The opulent décor remained, but the doors were closer together, unmarked, and each had a small, discreet plaque with a number.

And in the center of the wall, spaced at regular intervals, were holes. Perfectly circular, artfully framed with dark velvet. Glory holes.

Cressida gestured with a sweep of her hand. "The Velvet Wall’s most... discreet service. Half our clientele are married. Good wives, mothers, pillars of their little communities. The other half are minor nobility, guild mistresses, women with reputations that can’t afford a whisper." She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms under her magnificent breasts. "Nobody wants a name attached. Nobody wants to see a face. They want a fantasy. A big, anonymous cock to make them forget their husbands for an hour."

Her tone was sardonic, laced with a deep, professional disdain. "The married ones are the sluts," she said, almost to herself. "Don’t let the wedding bands fool you. They’re the ones with the deepest hunger. The ones who’ve spent years being dutiful, being good, while their man fucks his way through his own concubines or just ignores her entirely. The 99-to-1 ratio is a bitch, darling. Makes women desperate. Makes them creative."

She pointed to the holes. "Your job is simple. You stand in the booth on that side. You put your cock through the hole. Whatever mouth, whatever pussy, whatever tight little ass that gets pressed against it on the other side is yours to service. No talking unless they start it. No names. Just fuck them until they’re satisfied. They pay the house a premium for the anonymity. You get a flat rate and whatever tips they slip through the hole afterwards, usually jewelry or extra coin."

She looked at me, her sharp eyes evaluating. "Widows, spinsters, neglected wives... they all come here. Their problems are boring. Their needs are not. Can you handle being a faceless fantasy, pretty boy? Can you fuck a dozen different women you’ll never see, just for the gold and the wet sounds on the other side of the wall?"

The idea was strangely compelling. Impersonal. Transactional. A pure expression of the hunger that defined this world. I looked at the velvet-framed holes, imagining the anonymous heat waiting on the other side. "When do I start?"

◇◇◇

The booth was small, dimly lit, and smelled of polish and old perfume. The only feature was the hole in the wall, a perfect circle of darkness rimmed with soft, black velvet. On the other side, silence. Then, the faint rustle of fabric. A shift in the air.

I unbuttoned my pants, freeing my cock, which was already half-hard with anticipation. I pushed it through the hole, into the unknown space beyond. The velvet was cool and soft against my shaft.

For a long moment, nothing. Then, I felt it.

A soft, warm exhalation of breath against the sensitive head. The lightest, teasing touch of fingertips... manicured, smooth... trailing along the length, tracing the veins. A shiver ran through me. The touch was confident, curious.

Then, without warning, wet heat enveloped me.

A mouth. Soft lips, a velvety tongue. She took me in slowly, savoringly, with none of Cressida’s voracious hunger. This was different. Appreciative. Worshipful, even. Schlip... slurp... The sounds were soft, intimate.

A low, feminine moan vibrated around my shaft. It was a cultured sound, muffled by my flesh. Then her mouth pulled off with a soft pop, and her voice, husky and bearing the polished, rounded vowels of high nobility, whispered into the darkness on her side of the wall.

"Mmmh... such a lovely, thick surprise..." she breathed. Her hand returned, stroking me with a slow, maddening rhythm. "So hard already... for a stranger... Do you think of me, I wonder? Or just the gold?" There was a hint of melancholy in her teasing.

Her mouth descended again, taking me deeper this time. Gluck. She began to suck in earnest, her technique flawless, unhurried. Between passes, she kept talking, her voice a lewd, secret confession in the dark.

"My husband..." Slurp. "...has three concubines this season. Young things. Silly things." Gulp. "He hasn’t touched me in... oh, years. Says I’m..." Schlorp. "...past my prime." She took me to the back of her throat and held me there for a moment, a tight, wet embrace. When she pulled back, her voice was thick. "Do I feel past my prime to you, darling?"

I couldn’t answer, couldn’t see her, but I thrust my hips forward slightly, pushing my cock deeper into her skilled, hungry mouth. That was answer enough.

She let out a wet, shuddering sigh around me. "Good boy..." she murmured. "Just like that... Use this old slut’s mouth... Make her forget her name... Nnngh..."

And she continued, her polished accent weaving a tapestry of loneliness and desperate lust, her mouth working me with a practiced, decadent art, a noblewoman finding her own illicit, anonymous kingdom on her knees in a velvet booth.

Her mouth was a masterclass in torment. She’d take me deep, her throat relaxing in a practiced, obscene way, holding me there until I throbbed. Then she’d pull back, lavishing attention on just the head with her tongue and lips, whispering noble filth into the dark. She was edging me, expertly, driving me to the brink with her cultured voice and decadent mouth.

"So close, aren’t you...?" she purred, her breath hot against my slick skin. "I can feel you... twitching. Wanting to paint this slutty throat..."

She took me deep again, her nose buried in the wall, and I felt the inevitable coil in my balls prepare to snap. I braced for the release into her hungry mouth.

But she pulled off at the last possible second.

I groaned in frustration, my cock aching, dripping with her spit.

I felt her shift on the other side. Then, the soft, wet heat returned, but not her mouth. She was rubbing my swollen head against something... plush. Soaking wet. The outer lips of her pussy. She ground herself against me, coating me in her slick arousal, her breath coming in sharp, desperate hitches.

"That... young slut he brought home..." she hissed, her voice losing its polished control, cracking with raw jealousy. "She simpers. She giggles. She has no... no bearing!"

With a sudden, fierce movement, she impaled herself on me.

I was inside her. Not her throat, but her pussy. In one smooth, deep stroke, she took me to the hilt. She was incredibly tight, but drenched, her inner walls clenching around me with a tense, angry heat.

"Nnnngh!" The sound was a sob of pure, vindictive pleasure. She began to move, riding me through the hole, her motions frantic, possessive. "Take that! Take this! You want a real woman?! Here! Ah! AH!"

Her moans turned into a stream of curses and complaints, each thrust a punctuation mark. "Useless... man! Prefers... empty-headed... child! Fuck her! Fuck this! Fuck me!"

I couldn’t see her, but I could feel everything... the furious passion in her movements, the tight, wet clutch of her cunt, the years of neglected loneliness transmuting into raw, physical rage. I gripped the edges of the hole, holding on as she used me, her body slamming against the wall on her side with wet, slapping sounds.

It didn’t take long. The built-up tension, the anonymous heat, her desperate, furious riding... it was too much. With a guttural shout I couldn’t hold back, I came. I erupted deep inside her, pumping another load of seed into a stranger, filling the neglected womb of some nobleman’s wife as she cursed his name.

She cried out, a sharp, shattered sound, and her own climax triggered, her pussy milking me in violent, rippling spasms. We stayed like that for a moment, joined through the wall, panting in the dark.

Then, I felt her slowly pull off. A final, wet pop. Silence.

A moment later, two heavy, golden coins clinked softly as they rolled through the hole and landed on the floor of my booth.

Huh... Well, that was... something.

Money is money. If I had to get a blowjob from an angry noble lady for it, then so be it...

I held up the two gold coins and smiled.

There was a lot of money I could get from this place~

After a while, I got fully hard again and pushed my dick through the dark hole once more.