The Black Hole - Part 1 - Adventures in the Glory Hole, or The Black of Narcissus

Because I like sucking cocks, I said to Narciso, the owner of the sauna. Because that's why I do it so well.

The middle-aged man, with a receding hairline, but with curly hair peeking out of his plaid shirt, looked at me seriously for the first time. It was the first time I had been to a gay establishment of this kind, before I had spoken in a somewhat tentative, inhibited manner. But after drinking a shot, it was easier for me to let my sexual desire speak for me, and I said to myself, what the hell: I've come here to get fucked.

Not being familiar with this type of environment, I didn't know how to navigate this semi-dark lounge bar, with some silent clients looking at each other out of the corner of their eyes. The striking decoration, the dimmed lights, the large paintings of stylized muscular men, the bar counter where I was leaning, talking to the owner, who was acting as a bartender that night.

I had asked him, timidly at first, about the sauna, and particularly about the glory holes. "Well, it's very easy, you go there, you take out your cock, you put it through a hole that's occupied..." "No, I mean what do you have to do to be inside, I mean, I want to say to suck, let's go...". My suffering readers will know that the pleasure of my life is sucking cocks of all shapes and sizes, and I had decided to throw myself into the void, in order to give pleasure with my servile mouth to as many men as I could, in exchange for their hot cum.

"You like it, huh? I'd like to see that. You have good lips...", said the owner, his thumb on his right hand caressing what he had praised. His left hand, under the counter, was fondling his package, not before slightly leaning back, to let me see it. I looked him straight in the eye, with a slight smile. I tried with all my might to convey the word "Yes" through telepathy.

I ignore what the taciturn clients thought of the scene that followed: the bartender releasing the latch on the counter, the little fat man leaning on the counter passing behind it and closing it behind him, and apparently going down a staircase to the basement of the premises, since his head disappeared below the counter, right in front of the bartender. The truth is that I was managing to make it stop mattering to me the least.

I leaned my cheek against the denim fabric of the bartender's pants, looking him in the eye with my sweetest expression of a whore. My lips tempted the bulge in his pants. My teeth tried to playfully pull on his zipper, without quite succeeding. Soon he helped me, unbuttoning his belt, button, and zipper. His briefs emanated a smell of sweat, the shift must have been long standing there. The smell of dirt only increased my desire, I started to pull on the elastic of his briefs with my teeth to remove it, my hands resting on his strong thighs...

It was so sudden his movement when he pulled down his underpants, and my face was so close to the heat of his ...