Chapter 21: Three Loads Deep

Friday arrived like a held breath.

The week had crawled. Each class, each meal, each night spent staring at the ceiling, all of it just filler between the moments I let myself remember. The strangers. The taste. The way my throat had ached for days after.

Now I sat in my mother’s Honda, two blocks from Carl’s, the engine ticking as it cooled.

I checked my reflection. Hair down. Megan’s sweater. The fake ID in my purse.

You’re doing this again.

I got out and walked.

The door jingled when I pushed through. The same fluorescent buzz. The same smell, stale air, vinyl, something chemical and sweet. Carl looked up from his magazine, and his face broke into that slow, knowing grin.

“Megan,” he said. “I was hoping you’d be back.”

My heart hammered. “Can I use the gloryhole again?”

The grin widened. “You know where it is. Back and to the left.”

I nodded and started toward the beaded curtain.

The hallway was dim, the red and green lights glowing above the booth doors. I found the same one, middle booth, two doors, the familiar hole in the wall at waist height. I stepped inside and locked the door behind me.

Fluorescent light buzzed. The bench waited.

I didn’t hesitate this time. My shirt came off. My jeans followed. I stood in my bra and panties for a moment, then stripped them away, folding everything into a neat pile on the bench.

Naked. Waiting.

The shuffling came from the other side of the wall. A zipper. The soft thud of someone settling in.

Then the cock pushed through.

My breath caught. I knew that cock.

The sight of it hit me somewhere deep in my chest before it hit anywhere else. That thick, heavy cock, I knew it. The same purplish-red head, the same rigid curve, the same bead of pre-cum glistening under the fluorescent light. The first one I’d ever taken. The one that had made me gag, made my eyes water, made me feel so gloriously used.

But this time, it wasn’t just about the memory. It was the fact that it came back.

He came back.

The thought bloomed hot and possessive in my belly. Out of all the holes, all the mouths, all the girls who’d probably knelt in this same booth over the years, he chose my lips to remember. He’d been in here, maybe last night, maybe the night before, and he’d thought about me. Thought about the way my throat stretched, the way I looked up with tears streaking my mascara, the way I needed it.

My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my fingertips. I wasn’t just a warm body to him. I was the one he’d come back for.

I wet my lips and wrapped my hand around the base, feeling it throb against my palm. I pressed a soft, teasing kiss to the tip, tasting that salty sweetness, and I heard a low groan from the other side. That sound, rough, desperate, for me, sent a pulse of heat straight between my thighs.

Hi again, I thought, dragging my tongue along the underside of his shaft. I’ve been thinking about you too.

I didn’t know who it belonged to. I never saw faces here. But I knew the feel of it, the way it pulsed, the salt on my tongue, the weight of it pressing against the back of my throat.

Whoever he was, he was back. And so was I.

My breath caught. But my hand was already moving, reaching out, wrapping around the base. The heat of him pulsed against my palm.

My hand froze around his shaft. The heat of him throbbed against my palm, so familiar, so wanted, but something caught in my chest. A flutter of hesitation, like a bird trapped behind my ribs.