The Summerhouse Ch. 11: Andre

"So, truly anonymous?" I asked.

"Yeah. If you come on Friday, it's so busy all day, but the gallery is full of cocksuckers, fighting over the dicks. Tuesdays are better. I've had that room to myself before." He chuckled and nodded at us. "Make sure you take some water down with you. You don't want to get dehydrated."

We took his advice and followed him down the stairs to a corridor leading to a narrow room, barely two metres wide, with a padded floor. On one long wall there were eight holes, spaced a metre apart. On the opposite wall were two monitors - one showed hardcore pornography and the other a set of CCTV cameras showing the other side of the partition.

Bobby flicked a light on. We were alone, and he walked up to the urinal by the stairs and emptied his bladder. A wall of non-partitioned holes, so everyone could watch us in the middle of fellatio. A urinal and sink, which anyone could use and witness. There was no privacy for the cocksuckers.

"They designed this place as a punishment, apparently. They'd send boys who needed disciplining down here, but I love it." He grinned and stared at the CCTV screen. The monitor showed the eight cameras from the booths, plus the camera outside the partitions.

We watched a member of the sauna staff enter from a service door, and clean the stalls, spending ten minutes as we chatted. The twenty-something warehouse operative had been coming to the gay venue for five years and had been dating his girlfriend for four.

He admitted that if she knew about his cocksucking hobby, she would split up with him, but he enjoyed it too much to stop. He loved the stories I told him of Clare and the summerhouse, and when the cleaner stuck his prick through the hole, he let Andre service the expectant dick as I explained more of my relationship.

I was lucky; I knew that. Bobby said he wished for something as dirty and understanding as what I had with Clare, and he smiled as Andre covered his face with semen. "He's a quick learner!"

When a second dick came through the wall, Bobby tapped the footballer on the head and knelt on the floor. "Watch," he said, and elegantly swept his mouth across the thick, monstrous cock.

Deep throating was easy for him. He worked that dick and made sensual love to the humongous shaft and sucked the large tool until the man orgasmed.

From that moment, the traffic increased. Whether it was the red light over the door in the street or the word of mouth that there were free blowjobs at the gloryhole gallery, barely a minute passed when there wasn't a cock to service.

It was a baptism of fire for Andre; it was heaven for me. Licking, sucking, slobbering, kissing, dribbling over a steady stream of meat. I adored every single one - from the stubby dicks that oozed pre-cum and nestled inside my mouth, to the veiny, ridged members that rippled as my lips swept across the shaft.

And the titanic freakish colossus - a demonic behemoth that was the length of my forearm and not much thinner. A mutant that squeezed through the nine-inch wide hole and twitched expectantly.

Bobby beamed, and we shared the duties. Too big for him to deep-throat. We took it in turns to blow this abnormal beast. He leaked pre-cum like a hose and spewed jets of cum into Bobby's face as he lasted over twenty minutes of sensual fellatio.

But most of the fourteen cocks that I sucked over a three-hour period were not mammoth members of giant proportions but averagely sized dicks. And I was a cocksucking slut swallowing cum like a whore turning cheap tricks.

Each time, I'd massage the anonymous cock with lubed, wet hands, before I worked my tongue around the head. I'd bob down the shaft and alternate speeds, patterns and pressure. I'd suck every prick and draw their orgasmic bliss from them before swallowing every drop that entered my mouth.

Because that's the only way to finish a blowjob. To swallow. To savour that musky, sapid superior seed from an alpha male and allow it to slip down the submissive's throat. Bobby did so too. It was our nature, and something we did.

By six in the evening, my stomach rumbled, and my jaw ached. Two more cocksuckers had joined us, and we left them to the never-ending stream of after-work men to service. "What do you do for tea?" I asked, wondering where Martin was for the first time that afternoon.

"I sometimes order a takeaway. Jimmy on Reception is good and will happily take delivery, but he does sometimes expect a tip."

"Blowjob?"

"No, a slice!" Bobby laughed. "There are three hundred men who come here on most days. More than a couple are bottoms, and each one will not hesitate in giving Jimmy an orgasm. He would need balls the size of boulders!"

We ordered two pizzas from the local takeaway. The sauna added a "corkage" charge, and I paid for it on my credit card. When I returned from putting my wallet back in the locker, Andre was inside the gloryhole booth once more, and Bobby was on his phone.

"That's Heather," he said and showed a short, young woman with long black hair and tight denim shorts. "She's reminding me to get her shampoo on the way home." He smiled. "This is the time where, if I was at work, I'd be having my break so I need to reply to her."

I showed him a picture of Clare, surrounded by six men and Victoria, in the hot tub and his eyes widened. "Could you cope with Heather having other lovers?"

"Women easily. But not men. I won't sleep with another woman. She can't sleep with another man. Don't know how you do it." We chatted warmly. I liked him, and we clicked easily. I knew that he was someone I could build a great friendship with. We chuckled at Andre, who returned with cum streaked across his face and hair, and we sent into the showers.

The room was quieter than before, and Bobby said this was husbands going home to wives and girlfriends for tea. "It'll get busier later."

Martin entered the cafe, just as the pizzas arrived. He looked well fucked, and he slouched in a chair with a broad grin. "Good afternoon?"

"Oh, the best. Wes and Devon were there, and there were ten of them. Me and three others. It was incredible. I love the sauna. It's just like a big summerhouse."

"Do you want a couple of slices of pizza?"

"The boys are getting curry delivered to their private room and they require ..."

"Your waiting service?" I finished for him.

"Yeah, I was going to see if you and Andre were free, but you look ... busy! It's Devon's birthday, so this is his party."

"Nice!"

"Oh, one hundred and twelve points already," Martin boasted. I had forgotten about the game, but mentally calculated. "Oh, fifty odd. You'll walk this." The millionaire nodded. "As we always knew you would. You are far sluttier than me."

Martin took a slice of pizza and wandered back towards the stairs. "I normally go up to the relaxation rooms after tea," Bobby said with a mouthful of pepperoni. "I often get a good fucking and then slip downstairs for some more gloryhole fun."

"OK ... Can we..."

"Come too!" The lithe man offered. "It's good." I put the empty pizza boxes in the bin and followed Bobby up to the second floor. The room was full of swings and restraints, but he opened a door to a side room with a huge glass window, and turned the light on. He picked up three yellow rubber bands from a bowl on the wall and passed one to me. "This says you are a safe-sex bottom. Red is bareback bottom, blue is oral only, green is safe-sex top, black is BDSM, purple is backback top," he rattled off. "When this gets busier, this says what you want without having to explain it." He threw packets of lube and condoms onto the bed. "We'll need them!"

I could see two men spit-roasting another in an adjacent small room. The glass walls gave no privacy to the inhabitants.

We lounged on the vast bed, while Andre sat on the padded step. It took almost half-an-hour for our first visitor. Two men, aged in their mid-forties, entered and smiled at Bobby. "You again," the tall, older gentleman cried. Smatterings of grey hair, yet with an unmistakable air of sophistication and confidence. Towels became puddles on the floor, and Bobby serviced two men simultaneously.

Greed. Gluttony. Lust.

And we had envy. I wanted some.

The George Clooney lookalike pressed his lips against Bobby's mouth, seducing him with effortless ease. His legs parted easily, and the lubricated, condom-clad cock of an older alpha male pressed against Bobby's hole. My new friend gasped and screwed his face as he adjusted to the intrusion, while the grey-haired gentleman took the open mouth as an invitation to shovel a thick cock down his throat.

But we didn't have long to wait. A man with a Liverpool tattoo took a fancy to Andre, and the footballer eagerly embraced his inner slut.

My first was a short, stubby man, with a short, stubby prick. I sucked his dick to its fullest as he sat on the bed and then straddled his cock. I guided myself onto his member, steering his dick into my lubricated hole.

Gently lowering my hips and smoothly bucking my body. Clare loved screwing my arse in this way, as it meant I did all the work. I used my thighs to impale his dick into me, and to work his member against my prostate.

And it caused my dick to bounce. As I rode him like a cheap floosie, my cock flapped against his skin. It was like I was back in the summerhouse. Either side of me, men were ploughing men. Grunts, groans, slapping flesh and squeaking springs. The room smelt of latex, lube, sweat and sin.

After the short stubby man filled his rubber, another replaced him and then another. They passed us around like strippers at a party. Bobby got a smacked arse, Andre got dowsed in cum. They blindfolded me and three different men fucked me doggy-style. Each one slammed their unique pricks against my prostate and gripped my waist like the slut I was to power their dick passed my resistance.

Each one imposed their masculinity on me and took their pleasure from my body. Every single man rammed their dicks into my hole, leaving me helpless and breathless.

And satisfied. My inner submissive was aglow from the rampant humiliation. I had no say or veto. A sex object to sate the desires of alpha men.

I didn't know who had fucked me. They could have been eighteen-year-old students, forty-year-old married men, seventy-year-old retired shipbuilders or anyone. No dick refused. My butt was a hole for use by superior specimens of masculinity. They saw me; I didn't see them. I could pass them in the street, or in the supermarket, and they would recognise me as the horny butt-slut who had taken half-a-dozen pricks and I wouldn't realise.

We left the room as two more eager bottoms joined the party, so we could get refreshments. Andre gulped his drink from the cafe and watched longingly as a guy inside the gloryhole sucked a well-built muscle hound. "Can I look in on Martin?" Andre asked.

"Go for it. It's through there." He smiled and skipped towards the Dark Room.

"He's going to be so sore tomorrow!" I joked, but we all would be. "He's keen."

"He is. I was once. Sure you were too! It's only eight," Bobby moaned as he downed his drink of water. "I gotta keep myself busy until ten! I'm going back down to the gloryholes. Wanna come? There's two pubs on the estate, and there's footy on, so I expect we'll see a lot of traffic, especially at half-time."

Bobby was right; there was one guy in the sauna-side of the gloryhole gallery and three pricks waiting to be serviced.

My eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning. Lubricated fingers gripped the stout, black dick as my mouth slowly worked the brown tip of the impressive schlong. Veiny, warm, musky, and greasy. I loved the extra naughtiness behind the interracial blowjob.

In another world, it was outlawed, prohibited and unthinkable, and those taboo overtones made my fellatio more erotic. And it became even more so as my lips sucked the tip of his prick, so he spewed several waves of cum down my slutty, white throat.

Then I moved onto another prick. And another. They never stopped coming, and I never stopped sucking. I barely noticed the other submissives in the room, as I worked the two gloryholes at the far end of the gallery. As I satisfied one man, another would take his place. A steady stream of thick, hard, horny dicks that I adored pleasing.

Over ninety minutes later, I had a bellyful of cum. My knees were sore, and my jaw ached. I stood up, stretched my muscles and looked at Bobby, covered in streaks of drying ejaculate. He smiled at me; I could feel the fruits of my labours on my body too.

Between us, an unknown man pushed a circumcised prick into the room, through the hole; I made eye contact with my cocksucking friend and fell to my knees in front of the smooth dick. Bobby's lips massaged the exposed glans, and he worked his tongue around the sensitive frenulum as I gripped the base of his cock with my fist and slowly pumped the groaning man.

We swapped places. My lips wrapped around the soaked tip and I gently pulsed on his prick. Strong sucks on his cock for a second, followed by a swirl of my tongue over his glans. Bobby drove his hand over the shaft, wanking the man closer to his peak. He beamed as he did, concentration etched on his face.

Our minds were focused on the dick. Infatuated by it. The majesty of the prick captivated both of us as we fixated on bringing ecstasy to this anonymous man. I wanted to feel his cock tremble and hear his load groans of orgasmic bliss from behind the thin partition. I needed to taste his creamy nectar and experience the power of my submission. Nothing else mattered. My head bobbed on his dripping manhood.

Bobby tapped me on the shoulder, and I swirled my tongue around his piss slit as we exchanged once more. Bobby deep-throated him and slammed his mouth onto the glistening dick. He grunted as he did, and his erection bobbed from the fierce movement.

An electrifying sight as the energetic Bobby drove the man towards his climax. A frenzied attack on his dripping cock as the young man passionately fellated the spasming prick. I envied him. Jealousy raged within. I wanted that cock; my lust demanded it.

Bobby's face pistonned over the glans as his fist rubbed the shaft, and he squealed as the jets of pleasure landed on his tongue.

And then he did something I had never experienced with anyone. With the cum leaking from his lips, he kissed me. Our lips met, and he spat the musky creaminess into me. Bobby snowballed me with the anonymous man's cum. I fell backwards onto the soft floor, and he landed on top of me, passionately embracing and kissing me as he pushed the muskiness into my mouth.

Filthy and dirty. I nearly came.

He grinned as I panted. "Good?"

"Yeah!" I muttered and smiled as the cum slipped down my throat. "Shall we shower?" I asked. I felt sweaty and dirty, and Bobby nodded. We washed the filth from our skin and hair, and walked into the sauna to relax for half-an-hour. My companion and I were the only two people in the steam room; the temperature was low, but we closed the door and slipped inside. He sat on the highest bench and leant against the wet tiles. He groaned when I ran my hands over his slippery thighs.

A gentle massage. A soft, welcoming touch of his skin. I groaned in pleasure as my fingers danced over his desperate shaft and coaxed his cock into an erection.

He needed it. He needed to feel the feather-lite touch on his prick. His mind had been teased and tortured for hours; every touch, every suck, every lick and every thrust to satisfy another had been a further flicker of arousal for him. Every submissive act had made him hornier.

My fingers over his erection were welcome. My lips were ecstasy to him. Touching his desperation was gleeful; I could feel his crotch sizzling underneath my gentle, delicate flicks of his oversensitive glans. His anguished groans of desperation were a wonderful tonic to my own tortured horniness. Softly, I brought him to a crest of his arousal. My hands danced over his smooth, lean torso, as my mouth bobbed over his stiff, leaking prick.

The young warehouse worker squeezed his pelvic muscles and flexed his body. He bucked his hips and waist, and thrashed his thighs as he held onto his climax, intensifying the apex.

And then the flood as the dam broke. The swell of arousal surged through him, and his balls emptied across my tongue and jettisoned his thick seed into the back of my mouth.

I took every drop from the panting man. I savoured every wave of his cum, as I marked our new friendship with a taste of his semen. Like I had done with most of my acquaintances.

Bobby sighed and gulped and smiled at me. He moved down the steps, and grinned as he put his face between my legs, and took my erect cock between his lips.

His finger found my arsehole and slipped inside as his mouth engulfed my sweaty prick. The warmth of the sauna swirled around us as the bisexual slut expertly sucked my dick.

Like Martin, he had an incredible technique. Every touch of his fingers or his lips sent me hurtling towards my climax. My cliff edge. My summit of lust and passion.

I experienced one of the most luscious and enjoyable blowjobs in my life, from the slender warehouse worker. Better than any woman, Bobby worshipped my dick. He lovingly cherished it, and made my body feel a heavenly, uncontrolled energy of eroticism.

I lost control of my own loins. I couldn't stop my orgasm, even if I wanted to. He forced me to writhe and groan with lust as he performed wondrous magic on my prick. I panted, squealed, cried, bucked and yelled as surges of energy tore through my electrified flesh. Bobby never stopped.

As wave after wave of cum erupted into his mouth, he never paused for a moment. He had wanted to make me feel special, to draw my climax from me, and to leave me sated.

It was something he was very, very good at.

"Wow!" It was the only thing I could think of, or muster the energy to say. The thunderous orgasm had sapped my life force, and I took a few deep breaths. "That was ... great!"

Bobby blushed. "Thanks!" He held out his hand to pull me to my feet, and we walked to the changing room to get showered once more.

I traded phone numbers with the incredible cocksucker. "Sucking lots of cocks is better when you can see into the eyes as they come!" I told him. "If you are ever available on Saturdays."

"I work some Saturdays."

"Free on others?" He nodded and shrugged.

"I can try. I spend the week after coming here feeling guilty for cheating on Heather."

"Perhaps you could do what Clare and I do?" I suggested and his face contorted. "Well, give it some thought, for Saturdays at least. It's an amazing venue and the guys really know how to use you. There are some afternoons where there are just two or three of us, and a dozen horny men." Bobby licked his lips involuntarily, and I knew I had whetted his appetite.

Martin and Andre finished after I had showered and the footballer shared a blow-by-blow account of his experiences on the journey home. His bicuriosity had gone, and replaced with rampant bisexuality. If he could have the same encounters the following day, he would.

By the time we reached the summerhouse, he had installed two male hookup apps on his phone and was planning his double-life. It was enlightening, but also sordid. Although my relationship with Clare was unusual, and the demands of my fiancée was a little unique, I could not imagine choosing to withhold such an integral part of my personality to the woman I loved.

It would be deceit, and it would build our relationship on a false premise. Andre's relationship with his delectable girlfriend was a sham, but I didn't know him well enough to tell him. The same was true of Bobby, and both men betrayed the love they said they had for their partners by hiding their bisexuality.