My Straight Stepdad's Filthy Glory Hole Craving

The fluorescent buzz of the adult bookstore’s back hallway always set Jake’s teeth on edge. He’d been coming here for three weeks now, every Thursday like clockwork, heart hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat. Tonight the air smelled of bleach, old cum, and stale cigarette smoke. He slipped into booth seven, locked the flimsy door, and dropped to his knees on the sticky pad someone had thrown down years ago.

On the other side of the thin wall, in booth eight, the low rumble of a familiar voice rolled through the glory hole like thunder.

“Fuck… come on. Feed me.”

Jake’s cock surged so fast it hurt. He knew that voice. He’d grown up with that voice barking at him to take out the trash, to turn down his goddamn music, to stop leaving socks on the living room floor. Mike. His stepdad. The same 42-year-old ex-Marine who still hit the gym five days a week, whose thick chest and veined forearms made the neighborhood wives stare. Straight-as-an-arrow Mike, who kept a stack of Penthouse magazines hidden in the garage and who once punched a guy for calling him a fag at a barbecue.

And yet here he was. Again.

Jake had discovered the truth by accident. A friend had dragged him to this exact store one night, laughing about the “freak show” in the back. Jake had been bored, horny, and curious enough to peek into the video booths. He’d heard the voice first—deep, filthy, demanding—and had frozen when the man on the other side of the wall growled, “That’s it, shove it down my throat. Use my fucking face.”

The same phrase Mike used when he was bench-pressing heavy weights in the basement and thought no one could hear him talking to himself.

After that, Jake started watching. He learned the schedule. Every Thursday, right after Mike told Jake’s mom he was “going to the gym late,” he came here instead. Same booth. Same desperate, hungry sounds.

Jake had spent the last four visits on this side of the wall, cock in fist, listening to his straight stepdad beg anonymous strangers to wreck his mouth.

“Harder,” Mike snarled now, voice rough as gravel. “Don’t be a pussy. I didn’t come here for a polite little suck. Ram it through. Make me choke on it.”

Jake’s breath fogged the wall. His dick was leaking steadily, smearing pre-cum down his shaft as he stroked. He could picture Mike on his knees—muscular thighs spread, sweatpants shoved to his ankles, that powerful jaw working, cheeks hollowed, throat bulging. The mental image had been torturing him for weeks. He’d jerked off raw to it every single night, biting his pillow so his mom wouldn’t hear.

Tonight he’d brought something extra.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out the thick, veined dildo he’d bought two days ago. Seven inches of realistic silicone, skin-tone, with a heavy pair of fake balls at the base. He slicked it quickly with the bottle of lube he kept in the booth, heart slamming against his ribs.