I Confused My Step Dad With My Boyfriend-Gloryhole Incest Story

The gloryhole was supposed to be a joke that turned into a dare that turned into a standing Thursday-night thing.

My boyfriend, Nate, had cut a neat oval in the spare-bedroom closet door the month before. Foam weather-stripping around the edge so nothing splintered. A little hook on my side for a towel. He liked the idea of me on my knees in the dark while he stayed anonymous on the other side. I liked how filthy it felt in our own house. Homemade. Cheap. Ours.

Thursday he texted: hole in ten. wear the little pink thing.

I wore it. The pink bralette that barely covered anything and the matching thong that disappeared between my ass cheeks. I’m small. Five-two, narrow hips, tits that fit in a man’s hands with room left over. Nate always said I looked breakable until I started sucking. Then I didn’t look breakable anymore.

I locked the bedroom door, dropped to my knees on the folded towel, and waited. The closet light on his side clicked on. A shadow moved. A zipper. Then a cock pushed through the hole.

I didn’t look at it the way you’re supposed to look at a cock you know. That was the point. I just opened and took it.

It was already hard. Thicker than I remembered from the night before. Heavier. The head was blunt and wet. I wrapped my fingers around the base to steady it and sank down until my lips hit the wood. He didn’t ease in. He pushed. My throat bunched and I gagged once, spit running down my chin onto my chest. He held there, pulsing against the back of my tongue, then pulled back just enough for me to breathe and shoved in again.

Throat fucking through a hole is different. You can’t control the angle the same way. You can’t tap out with a hand on a hip. You just take what’s given. I took it. Eyes watering, nose pressed to the painted door, the little pink bralette already soaked where drool hit it. He used my mouth like it was the only thing in the room that mattered. Slow deep strokes that made my throat bulge, then faster, wetter ones that filled the closet with the sound of it.

I moaned around him because Nate liked hearing it. The cock twitched. A hand—big, familiar in a way I didn’t examine—braced on the other side of the door. He started fucking my face in earnest. I dropped my hands to my thighs and let him. Tiny body, big cock, homemade hole. That’s what we called it when we were drunk. Tiny fucking. He liked saying it while he stretched me.

He came down my throat without warning. Thick, a lot, more than Nate usually gave me on a Thursday. I swallowed what I could and let the rest leak out the corners of my mouth and down my tits. The cock stayed in my mouth, softening only a little, then hardened again while I was still coughing.

That should have been the first sign.

I pulled off, wiped my chin with the back of my hand, and said through the door, “Again? You’re greedy tonight.”

No answer. Just the cock pushing back through, slick with my spit and his cum. I sucked it clean. I liked the taste more than I expected. Saltier. Stronger. I got sloppy with it—long slow sucks, tongue under the head, hand stroking what wouldn’t fit. When I deepthroated again he groaned. The sound was wrong. Lower. Rougher.

I froze with him in my throat.

The bedroom door behind me wasn’t locked anymore. I hadn’t heard it open.

“Don’t stop.”

My stepdad’s voice. Not Nate’s.

I pulled off so fast I hit the back of my head on the closet rod. Cum and spit strung from my bottom lip to the head of his cock, still poking through the hole. I turned.

He was standing in the doorway of the spare room in jeans and an old work shirt, belt undone, watching me on my knees in the pink scraps Nate had picked. His cock was the one in the hole. Of course it was. Nate was still at work. Nate always worked late Thursdays. I had known that. I had just wanted the hole.

“I thought—”

“I know what you thought.” He stepped closer. He didn’t pull out of the gloryhole. He just looked down at me, at the mess on my chest, at how small I looked under him. “You going to leave it hanging there, or are you going to finish what you started?”

I should have stood up. I should have grabbed a shirt. I stayed on my knees and put my mouth back on him.

He let me suck for a minute the way I had been sucking “Nate.” Then his hand came around the edge of the door, found my hair, and used the hole the way it was built to be used. He throat-fucked me until my eyes streamed and my jaw ached and the little thong was a soaked string. When he pulled out this time he came across my tongue and lips and told me to hold it. I did. He came around the door, crouched, and kissed me, tasting himself in my mouth.

“Tiny thing,” he muttered against my lips. “Always knew that mouth was going to get you in trouble.”

He picked me up like I weighed nothing. Carried me to the bed in the spare room—the one with the gloryhole still dripping on the closet door—and laid me on my back. The thong came off with one tug. He spread my legs and looked at how wet I was, how swollen, how small the rest of me looked around it.

“Nate fuck you this morning?”

I shook my head.

“Good.”

He pushed in with no more warmup than the sucking had given me. I am tight. I am always tight. He is not built like Nate. Nate is long and polite about it. My stepdad is thick, veined, the kind of cock that makes you feel it in your stomach when he bottoms out. He gave me all of it in two slow strokes and then started fucking.

Tiny fucking is what it felt like. My knees up by his ribs, his hands spanning my waist, the headboard tapping the wall in a rhythm that didn’t care the house was supposed to be empty. He talked while he did it. Told me how long he’d listened through the door on other Thursdays. Told me he knew the sounds I made when I thought it was Nate. Told me my boyfriend didn’t fuck my throat like that because my boyfriend was still trying to be nice.

I came on the third or fourth hard thrust, clenching around him, a broken sound I didn’t recognize. He didn’t stop. He folded me smaller, put my ankles on his shoulders, and used the angle to go deeper. The wet slap of it filled the room. The gloryhole watched from the closet like a stupid open mouth.

He pulled out before he came, dragged me back to my knees at the edge of the bed, and pushed back into my mouth. I sucked him through the second orgasm, swallowing, coughing, taking it. When he was done he sat on the bed and pulled me into his lap so I was straddling him, still messy, still shaking. His cock was wet against my stomach.

“You going to tell him?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. I reached down, lined him up, and sank onto him again because my body had already decided the night wasn’t finished. He let me ride. Hands on my ass, helping me, making me take it to the base every time. The pink bralette was around my waist. My tits bounced in his face. He sucked a nipple and bit just enough that I clenched.

We used the hole one more time before Nate’s car pulled into the driveway.

Stepdad went back to the other side of the door like nothing had happened. I dropped to my knees because that was the script. A cock came through. I knew whose it was this time. I sucked it anyway—slower, filthier, looking at the wood instead of pretending. He fucked my throat until I heard the front door. Then he pulled out, tucked away, and left the spare room by the hall while I wiped my mouth and pulled the thong back on.

Nate found me in the kitchen looking flushed.

“You start without me?” he asked, grinning, already reaching for his belt.

“Yeah,” I said. “A little.”

That became the new Thursday.

Sometimes Nate used the hole first. Sometimes he didn’t make it home in time. Sometimes I texted my stepdad closet from down the hall and got on my knees in the pink thing and let him throat-fuck me until my voice was wrecked, then let him carry me to the bed and fuck me like I was something he’d paid for and planned to use up. He liked saying it. Tiny hole. Tiny girl. Big cock. Homemade.

I never told Nate which Thursdays were his.

I didn’t need to. The gloryhole didn’t care whose cock came through. My mouth didn’t either, not after the first time I confused them. I just opened, took it to the root, and let whoever was on the other side of the door decide how hard I was going to get fucked when the sucking was done.