Truckstop Gloryhole

Driving along somewhere in the middle of Oklahoma, the highway was flat and endless. Lisa was in the passenger seat, looking the way she always does on road trips with her tanned skin from a week at the beach, blonde hair, and those beautiful green eyes. Just wearing one of her slip dresses made of thin cotton. It looks modest until the light hits it just right and bra-less, of course. I can see her nipples through the dress when the air conditioning kicks on. This is planned, and she enjoys my struggle.

She'd been telling me stories of her time stripping at the Pony. This is her thing, and she knows exactly what it does to me. Starting by recounting a shift as if it were common, what it is like to be a stripper, how the men react, and what they say. Watching me from the corner of her eye while the recounting of a shift is shared. She watches my hands on the wheel. She watches the front of my pants as my cock twitches with each of her stories.

This erotic dancing season, that's how I've started thinking of it, as a season, as if it might end at some point, for now, this is part of our life. It has added a dimension to our relationship that I find sexy and wrong all at the same time. She is different now, something more physical than visual. She enjoys the exhibition of it, the performance, the power. Most of all, she enjoys the effect she has on men who are paying for their sexual entertainment. And I've come to understand that. Over these past months, she has enjoyed what it does to me just as much, maybe more.

I am still working out how I feel about all of it. That's the honest answer. I know my wife spends her afternoons in a dim room at the Pony, bringing men to orgasm with her mouth or they jack off on her tits. I know that this knowledge has become a near-constant thought in my mind. I think about the men who want her. I think about her kneeling on the carpet between their legs.  I think of their lust for my Lisa, I think about her coming home afterward with that settled and satisfied look. I think about these things more than I probably should, but I like it a lot. 

Back to the drive. 

After a while, she'd go quiet, then pull up erotic stories on her phone. This is another one of our road trip rituals. She finds erotic fiction online and reads it to me while I drive. We rate them and talk about them, what works, what doesn't, and which scenarios we'd step into if we could. Exhibitionist sex lands consistently high for both of us. Wife swapping, we flirt with interest, never quite committing. But the thread that runs through the stories she chooses most often is a specific one. The woman in a situation, surrounded by men she doesn't know, is compelled, coaxed, or simply willing to provide relief to their commands. That particular dynamic is her in the center of it, willing to be coerced.

She also mentioned, not for the first time, the fantasy of being with me and two of my business partners, an anonymous girl, and not your wife, just one you guys pick up and fuck and use for pleasure and entertainment in a hotel room.  Said in the way she says most things lightly, watching for my reaction.

We are definitely exploring without limits.

After enough stories and enough miles, she'd set the phone down. I'd feel her hand on my thigh first, then moving to my cock. Next, she reaches over and unzips my pants with the efficiency of one who has done this many times, which she has, and leans across the center console. Moving confidently, she takes her time with my hard cock, first with her hands.  She loves cock and seems to like just looking at it and touching it.  Then her lips circle the head of my hard cock, and she begins to suck. She tries to make it last, but I am wound so tight from all the sex talk, I come quickly.  She swallows and then immediately pulls herself up and kisses me with her mouth still warm and salty-tasting, her tongue pushing against mine. Always saying thank you and how much she loves my cock after I come.

It's a filthy thing to do, and I have come to love it completely.  I can’t explain it, but tasting me mixed with her kiss is a connection of our sex with her. It is the consummation of our sex.

She told me once in the dark that she has a specific fantasy. To suck another man off and then kiss me immediately after, transferring what he left in her mouth directly into mine. Said it the way you say something you've thought about many times. I told her I wasn't sure about that one. She smiled and didn't push it. I am sure that is on her list of “to-do.”

We were somewhere west of Oklahoma City when the gas gauge dropped into the red. The next exit offered a single option for gas, an old truck stop set back from the highway, the kind of place that looks like it was built in the 70s with a cracked asphalt lot, a few big rigs idling along one side, and a convenience store with a hand-painted sign. The gas was cheap, which was just what we needed.

I pulled up to a pump, and Lisa was out of the car before I'd cut the engine, grabbing her purse and heading toward the building. "Bathroom," she said over her shoulder. Her dress shifted around her thighs as she walked, and two men near the entrance intently watched her go by, visually undressing her.

I filled the tank and cleaned the windshield.  A few minutes passed. I finished pumping, replaced the nozzle, and looked toward the building. No Lisa. 

I went inside. No Lisa in the small snack aisle. No Lisa at the register. I asked the woman behind the counter, and she nodded toward a hallway in the back to the bathrooms, men's and women's side by side. I pushed open the men's room door.

It was a narrow room with two urinals, two stalls, and fluorescent lights. The two men I saw earlier out front were in there, one at the urinal, one washing his hands.  As I moved to the urinal, the one at the sink finished and they filed out together, and I heard one of them say something low to the other, something that included the word “great”, then something else I didn't quite catch, and then the word “blowjob”.

I stood very still for a moment thinking, where am I, and more importantly, Lisa?

The bathroom was quiet now except for the hum of the fluorescent light. I looked at the stalls. The far one had its door pulled nearly shut. And there, just above waist height, was a rough hole cut through the particle board wall, written on the wall above it in black marker: “GLORY HOLE”.

Then I heard it. A sound I know the way I know my own name, a low giggle. Hers. Unmistakably hers. My heart rate did something sudden and unexpected. My mind produced the image automatically of Lisa on the other side of that wall in her ivory dress, kneeling on the dirty floor of the women's bathroom, her lipstick gone, doing exactly what I was thinking she was doing, for strangers, pleasuring strange dick, for fun, it was in line with all of those stories, the Pony and all of those perverted stories she was reading to me and I was encouraging. Lisa has a way of getting reality and fantasy mixed up.

I didn't think about it, instinctively I just stepped into the stall and latched it behind me and stood in front of the hole and pulled out my cock, already hardening just from the understanding of what was happening on the other side of this wall. I stroked myself until I was fully hard, and then I stepped forward and slid my cock through the hole.

A hand found me first, small and soft with silver nail polish, a rhinestone choker. Lisa's hand with her wedding ring, cupping my balls, and then wrapping around the shaft with a grip that I know so well.  She took her time for just a moment, getting acquainted, and then her mouth closed over my cock.

I put one hand flat on the wall in front of me and closed my eyes. 

She knew what she was doing. Of course she did, her mouth on me between deep and shallow, her hand working my balls. This place with the wall between us, and knowing who was on the other side, and the game we were both playing. The filth of it was the point. I was in a truck stop bathroom in Oklahoma getting serviced through a hole in a wall by my wife, who had already done this to several strangers in the past half hour and was now doing it to me without either of us acknowledging who the other was, and I was more turned on than I had been in recent memory.

Two minutes. Maybe less. I came hard, with my hand pressing flat against the wall. She took my cock without pulling back, swallowing in the way she always does.  I was spent, balls emptied for the second time today.

Then, from the other side of the wall, in a voice pitched slightly higher than her natural voice, a little joke between us: "Thank you, mister." Tip please.

I laughed, just barely, silently. I zipped up. Slipped a couple of twenties in the hole. I washed my hands at the sink without looking in the mirror. I walked back through the store and out into the flat Oklahoma afternoon and stood next to the car and waited.

A minute later, the door opened, and Lisa came out. She had a Diet Coke in one hand, her sunglasses pushed up on her head, and absolutely nothing on her face that indicated anything had just happened. She walked across the parking lot to me with that sexy swing in her hips, tipped her head slightly, and smiled when she reached me. We got back in the car.

"What took you so long?" I said.

She looked at me for a beat. "You know I know you know. You were the last one." She put a handful of twenties on the console.  I looked down at the cash, then back to her, knowing there were three loads of cum in her pretty little belly. 

She put her hand on the front of my shirt and leaned up and kissed me, slow and deliberate, her pink lips soft and tasting unmistakably of salt, her tongue touched mine. Then she pulled back and looked at me with those green eyes and smiled the smile that means she knows exactly what she just did to me, devastating.

She put her feet on the dashboard and opened her Diet Coke, and we got on the highway driving west into the afternoon like nothing had happened, which is exactly the way she wanted it. 

Lisa, how did this happen?

Well, went into the bathroom to pee, and there was a hole in the wall. I could hear those two guys talking, then a hard dick appeared in the hole. The next thing I heard was, "Aren't you going to suck it?"

It took me a second to think about what to do. I wanted to touch it with my hand.

Then I just leaned forward, opened my mouth, and gave him a blowjob.

It did not last long; he came quickly, and I spat his cum on the floor. It was thick, like cottage cheese. I like swallowing, you know that.

His dick disappeared back through the hole, and a couple of twenties, all crumpled up, were pushed through. He said, "Thank you, honey."

Then a second dick pushed in through the hole. It was big and thick.

I was on my knees for this one.

He was talking dirty, telling me to suck him deep and lick his balls. So I did.

This was getting me so hot, I was masturbating as I sucked his dick. I did come.

I took him deep, all the way down my throat, and he was pumping back and forth, fucking my mouth.

He went longer than the first one.

When he came, it was a lot, too much, actually, and it squirted all over me.

I could not make it stop.

He called me a cheap cocksucking whore and dropped three twenties in the hole.

Then you, I know your cock was the last one.

Lisa’s fantasy #5 checked off the list: Glory Hole.

Twenty miles later, she picked up her phone and started looking for another dirty story to read to me.