I’m twenty, first year at State, living in a cramped double I lucked into having to myself after my roommate dropped out. The closet is deep and dark, the kind with cheap slatted doors that don’t quite meet in the middle. One bored Saturday I measured dick-height, cut a clean round hole, framed it with a rubber gasket so the wood wouldn’t splinter my shaft, and told myself it was a joke. Then I started using it.
I’m hung. Not “nice cock” hung. Thick, veiny, a little over nine when I’m fully hard, heavy low-hanging balls, a fat flared head that stretches a mouth. Girls on campus have stared. A couple have tried to take it and tapped out halfway. The gloryhole let me stay anonymous and still get that cock sucked raw whenever I wanted.
My stepsister Maya showed up on a Thursday with no warning. Dad and her mom had been married four years. We weren’t close-close, but we’d shared a house long enough that she’d seen me in a towel and I’d heard her through the wall more than once. She was nineteen, same year as me, different school, visiting “to see campus.” Tight jeans that sat low on her hips, cropped hoodie that flashed a strip of stomach, that same sharp little smirk she used when she wanted something.
She dropped her bag on the floor, looked around the tiny room, and said, “This place is a shithole. Where’s the bathroom?”
I pointed. While she was in there I stood in front of the closet, dick already half hard from the simple fact of her being ten feet away. I don’t know why I did it. I opened the slatted door, stepped into the dark, and pushed my cock through the hole until the gasket sat snug behind the head and a good six inches of thick shaft hung out into the room.
A minute later the bathroom door opened.
Silence.
Then her voice, low and amused: “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
I didn’t pull back. I heard her footsteps. Felt her breath on the wet head.
“This is yours,” she said. Not a question. “I’d know that cock anywhere. You used to walk around the house with a hard-on like you didn’t care who saw. Fat, veiny, hanging heavy. I used to think about it.”
Her fingers wrapped around me. Warm. Sure. She stroked once, base to tip, thumb smearing the bead of precum over the slit, and I throbbed hard enough that the gasket creaked.
“Maya—”
“Shut up. You’re in a closet with your dick hanging out like a piece of meat. You don’t get to talk.”
She dropped to her knees. I felt her tongue first, a slow wet stripe from my balls up the underside, then her mouth opening and taking the head. She didn’t tease. She sucked like she was angry about it, lips stretched wide around the girth, tongue working the ridge, one hand pumping what she couldn’t fit. The wet sound was filthy in the quiet room. Spit ran down my shaft and dripped off my balls. I braced my hands on the closet walls and let her use me.
She pulled off with a thick string of spit still connecting her bottom lip to my cock.
“You’re bigger than I thought. Fuck. This thing would wreck me. Look at it. All shiny and leaking.”
She went back down, deeper this time, throat tightening around the head while her hand twisted on the slick shaft. I came the first time like that, no warning, flooding her mouth in heavy pulses. She made a surprised noise but didn’t pull off. She swallowed most of it, then let the rest drip down her chin and onto her hoodie.
When she stood I heard her wipe her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Come out.”
I stepped out of the closet, cock still hard, shiny with her spit and my own cum, hanging heavy and flushed. She looked at it, then at my face, then back at it like she was deciding something.
“Turn around,” she said. “Hands on the desk.”
I did. She shoved my shorts the rest of the way down, spat on her fingers, and pushed two inside herself while she lined my cock up against her. She was already soaked. She sank down in one long, shaking slide until her ass met my hips and I was buried to the root.
“Jesus Christ,” she whispered. “You’re stretching me open. I can feel every vein.”
She fucked herself on it. Short, greedy strokes at first, then longer, grinding so the fat head punched the spot that made her thighs shake. I reached back and grabbed her hips. She let me. The wet slap of it filled the room. She came first, clenching hard enough that I felt every pulse around my shaft, then I followed, pumping another load into her while she kept moving, milking it out of me.
She pulled off, turned me around, and kissed me. Open-mouthed, messy, tasting like my own cum. She pushed her tongue in and I tasted myself on her. That was the part that wrecked me more than the hole or the ride.
We did it again later that night. She made me get back in the closet first.
“I like you like this,” she said, kneeling in front of the hole again. “Anonymous and not. My brother’s fat cock hanging out of a hole like it belongs there.” She sucked me until I was leaking again, messy and loud, then climbed on the bed and told me to come fuck her properly.
I did. Hard. The kind of strokes that make the cheap dorm bed knock the wall. I folded her legs back and drove into her until she was gasping my name and clawing at my shoulders. When I came I stayed inside her, grinding through it, and she pulled my face down and kissed me again, sharing the taste of the first load still faintly on her tongue.
In the morning she was still there, naked except for my hoodie, looking at the hole in the closet door like she was considering improvements.
“Leave it,” she said. “I’m coming back next weekend.”
She kissed me again before she left, slower this time, and I could still taste the night on her tongue.
She came back the next Friday like she said she would. No bag this time, just her and that same smirk. She walked in, locked the door, and pointed at the closet.
“Get in.”
I did. Cock already hard before I even stepped into the dark. I pushed it through the hole and waited.
She didn’t drop to her knees right away. She walked around the room first, talking like we were having a normal conversation while her fingers traced the length of me.
“I thought about this all week,” she said. “Your cock hanging out of that hole. How heavy it felt on my tongue. How it stretched my pussy. I touched myself thinking about swallowing another load.”
Then she knelt. This time she took her time. Long, slow sucks, letting me feel every inch of her mouth, the way her throat fluttered when she tried to take more. She pulled off to lick my balls, then went back to the shaft, sloppy and wet, spit running down to the gasket. When I came she kept her mouth on me and swallowed, then stood, grabbed my face through the slats, and kissed me through the gap, pushing the last of my cum into my mouth with her tongue.
“Cum kiss,” she murmured against my lips. “That’s what you get for hiding in a closet like a freak.”
I came out. She was already out of her clothes. We fucked on the bed, on the desk, against the closet door with my cock still wet from her mouth. She rode me facing away so I could watch my thick shaft disappear into her, then turned around and made me look her in the eye while I came inside her again.
After, she lay on my chest and idly stroked my cock, which was still half-hard and shiny.
“You’re well hung,” she said, like she was stating a fact. “It’s unfair. I can’t stop thinking about it now. Every time I close my eyes I see it hanging out of that hole.”
She visited three more times that semester. Sometimes she used the gloryhole first, sometimes she didn’t. Sometimes she made me stay in the closet the whole time while she sucked and talked filthy to the cock in front of her like it wasn’t attached to her stepbrother. Sometimes she dragged me out immediately and sat on my face before she sat on my dick.
The last time before winter break she stayed the whole weekend. Saturday night she had me in the closet again. She sucked me until I was shaking, then pulled off, climbed onto the desk so her pussy was right in front of the hole, and backed onto my cock through it. I fucked her like that, anonymous and not, hands on her ass through the slats while she moaned and told me how good my fat cock felt stretching her.
When I came she stayed on it, grinding, then pulled off, turned, and kissed me through the slats again, messy and deep, sharing everything.
She pulled back just enough to speak.
“Next time I visit,” she said, “we’re cutting a second hole. Lower. For my mouth while you fuck me.”
She left Sunday night with that same smirk, my hoodie in her bag, and the taste of me still on her tongue.
I left the gloryhole exactly as it was.
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