Construction Worker Meets Neighbor Gloryhole
Married construction worker secretly gets his ass wrecked by his gay neighbor at a gloryhole.
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Derek’s steel-toed boots echoed down the concrete stairs into the basement of the apartment complex. Another Thursday night, another fight with his wife that ended with her locking the bedroom door and him with a throbbing hard-on and nowhere to put it. Six days since he’d last gotten laid. Six fucking days of blue-balled frustration while she complained about headaches and stress from her new job. He was 28, built like the construction sites he worked on—broad shoulders, thick arms, a solid chest that still turned heads—and his wife treated his cock like an afterthought.
He needed to blow off steam. Badly.
The basement bathroom was always empty this late. Most tenants used the laundry room on the other side. Derek had noticed the hole in the partition wall between the two stalls weeks ago. At first he told himself it was just some weird plumbing thing. Then one night he saw the faint light from the other side and the crude writing above it: Feed me.
Tonight the frustration won.
He stepped into the left stall, heart hammering, and locked the door. The hole was perfectly sized—smooth edges, about waist high. His cock was already straining against his work jeans. He rubbed the thick bulge once, twice, then muttered a curse under his breath and unzipped.
The moment his heavy cock sprang free, Derek felt a rush of shame and raw need. Eight thick inches, veined, uncut, the head already slick with pre-cum. Married cock. Straight cock. He gripped the base, breathed deep, and pushed his hips forward.
The fat head slipped through the gloryhole into the other stall.
For a second nothing happened. Then he felt hot breath ghost across his exposed cockhead. A low, masculine chuckle followed.
“Fuck…” Derek whispered, forehead pressed to the cold tile wall.
A wet tongue dragged slowly up the underside of his shaft, tracing every vein from balls to slit. The tongue was broad, confident. It circled his leaking head, lapped at the pre-cum like it was savoring a fine whiskey, then slid back down. Derek’s thighs trembled.
On the other side of the wall, Marcus grinned like a wolf.
He’d known who it was the second those heavy, work-roughened balls pushed through. Marcus was 32, owner of the gym two blocks away, openly gay, and had spent the last four months jerking off to the sight of Derek hauling construction materials in and out of the building in his tight Carhartt pants. The married stud had no idea how many times Marcus had watched him from the window, imagining exactly this moment.
Marcus dragged his tongue over the fat crown again, slow and obscene, letting Derek feel every ridge and taste bud. He exhaled hot breath across the wet skin until the straight man’s cock twitched violently.
“Jesus Christ,” Derek groaned, the sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. “Just suck it already.”