Chapter 5
RAFE
“Welcome to the Omega Holiday Glory Orgy. Locker room to the right. Enter your four-digit code followed by the pound sign twice to lock it. Once will unlock it, and it’ll reset the lock. Condoms and lube are everywhere. Consent is mandatory. Have a glorious visit,” I say to the guy at the door.
He grins and steps inside as he says, “Thanks, man. Maybe I’ll see you out there.”
I’ve been hit on no less than five times in the past half an hour. I give him a wink and click my counter. That brings our partygoer count up to seventy-four. We’re allowing one hundred even though that’s not capacity. This is about sensual comfort, though. Not being forced body to body.
Kapri steps up beside me in tiny little shorts and a studded leather harness. “How we doing?”
“You’re worrying too much. Go have an orgasm or two.”
He sighs. “I will. I just want—”
“Kapri,” I interrupt and grip his wrist so he looks at me. “It’s already perfect. I can hear the loud moans from here. Go enjoy yourself. You get orgasms too.”
He sighs. “Fine.”
“You sound utterly thrilled to be at this orgy you put on.”
Kapri smiles. “I am. I’m nervous about something going wrong.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but this isn’t our first rodeo, even if it’s yours. If something comes up, we’ll handle it. Promise. But Omegas before us have been pulling off epic sex parties for ages. This one will go down in the books as being amazing.”
He throws his arms around my shoulders and squeezes me tightly. “Thanks, Rafe.”
“Of course. Now, go. Have. Fun.”
Kapri nods, and I watch as he disappears into the locker room.
To protect everyone’s privacy, we have a partition wall in front of the door, so when people step up, they have nowhere to go but to stop to talk to me.
Then they’re forced to follow the partition wall down to the locker room, where they’ll strip and lock their clothes and belongings up, and then further down still until they’re finally emptied into the ballroom.
There are several doors throughout the ballroom that are blocked off visually more than anything, but are easily accessible in case of an emergency.
The string lights are held around them by adhesive hooks, but the second you try to run through them, they give way.
We’re not even using the really strong sticky stuff to keep the hooks in place.
Partially because we don’t want to damage our walls.
The only true lighting in the room is the ridiculous number of string lights.
Once we turned the dimmers all the way down on the chandeliers above, we realized the garland was a little hard to make out, so we adjusted our color-coded garland to color-coded lights, and the garland is simply decoration all over the place for holiday ambiance.
Not that I think anyone is paying attention to it. Which is fine. If they’re admiring the decorations, this party is a fail.
A couple girls step up, and they appear young enough that I ask to see their IDs. Longwood U is a private campus, but it’s not like there are checkpoints at the gates disallowing visitors. Everyone is free to visit campus at any time.
Unless there’s a restraining order.
Both girls are of legal age, though barely, so I hand them back their IDs and go through my spiel. I don’t miss the flirty giggles as they glance back at me over their shoulders while heading down to the locker room. I click my counter two more times. Seventy-six.
“Hey,” Alora greets as she comes around the corner to my left—the designated exit. “Ready to trade out?”
“You already have your fun?” I ask.
She gives me a grin. “Just a lick or two. I’m saving the good stuff until after my shift.”
“Ah, good call.” I hand her the clicker. “Unsurprisingly, no one has left yet, but we’re still a little way from capacity. Radio is there. Outlet to charge your phone is blocked by the garland, but it’s there. Uh… yeah, have fun.”
Alora waves me off.
The locker room is a couple dozen feet from the entrance, and I stop in there to dump my clothes and phone into a locker. There are people walking around in lingerie or leather. More often than not, they’re either naked or just in their undergarments.
I debate my options as I take my clothes off, leaving me in my underwear and sandals. I’m not into walking around barefoot anywhere except in my bedroom. Brent keeps that place clean as fuck.
My underwear is cute, so I decide to leave them on. There’s a dick hammock in the front, but the back is a series of cords. Like thin bungee cords, three per ass cheek, though the middle three ride my crack.
It’s cute and sexy.
The ballroom is a giant rectangle. There are curved alcoves every eighteen feet or so where the orgies are situated. Down the middle of the room are the glory holes. Four sets, but they’re partitioned off with doors to keep those on one side completely anonymous.
Despite my habits of hooking up with women, which is why Brent’s always thought I was straight, I often say that I’m queer.
There are days I feel more attracted to women than men and vice versa.
There are days I don’t feel attracted to either, but those who identify somewhere in the middle or neither.
There are days I’ll take everyone, regardless of what’s in their pants.
I’ve tried pansexual and bisexual over the years, but neither fits like it should, which is why I’ve settled on queer. However, I’m also of the mind that sexuality isn’t important to announce, so I can probably count on a single hand how many people I’ve shared this with.
Not for any other reason except that it doesn’t define me. It doesn’t tell anyone anything important about my character or my abilities. It’s only a means for people to judge, so I simply don’t bother sharing it.
If it comes up in conversation with friends, sure. Otherwise, nope. Sorry, but not your business.
I leave the locker room and follow the rest of the partition until it opens into the wider area. There’s nothing immediately visible right now, partially because of the lighting. To the left is one of the first alcoves, and it’s strictly for beverages. It’s important to stay hydrated.
The next thing you see is a board with a short strip of lights explaining the color-coded light system: white is female glory hole only looking for females; blue is female for any gender; green is male only accepting male attention; and red is male accepting any gender.
I’ve never experienced a glory hole before, so I decide that’s where I’m going to head. I open the door into the hall that has males for any gender and wander down the row looking for an open hole, but they’re all occupied. So I head for the males looking for males, and find an empty hole.
Even though I helped set this whole thing up, I step into the alcove and look at the hole. It’s a rather wide hole to accommodate a really big dick. I can probably fit my balls through it with my cock. Not that I’m small, but it’s a big hole.
However, as I shove my underwear down in the front, I realize how awkward this is. I’m basically hugging a wall with my cock sticking through the other side. Maybe I should have started on the other side. Is it less awkward then?
To be honest, I don’t have much of a preference on how I get off. I’ll take or give anything. I’m open to trying most things at least once, but since this was where I was drawn to, so…
I understand the weird slits up toward the top of the walls now.
I’d not questioned them, thinking that maybe they were there for a specific kind of brace or hanging things.
Since they’re technically office cubicle partitions, I assumed they were built in for electricity or to attach hutches to desks.
But as I stick my dick through the hole, I realize that they’re perfect for my hands. They’re lined with rubber padding, too. I have a feeling someone on this side of a glory hole in the past made this happen.
As I stand there with my cock through a hole, feeling awkward, I wonder how long it’ll take before someone wanders down the line and chooses my dick.
How many are available right now. To my right and behind me, I can hear that they’re involved in some play.
Their moans alone are responsible for my erection.
Seconds pass, and I think, ‘This isn’t weird at all.’ I’m about to pull away when I feel a tongue lap at my slit. Immediately, chills race up my spine. Then fingers touch me. Gentle. Exploratory. I feel the tip of one trace the mark on my cockhead.
It’s a birthmark that looks like someone took a permanent marker and made a little hash mark a long time ago, so the ink has faded.
There have been times throughout my life that I’ve taken a quick look as I wash myself and tried to get it off, but it’s still there.
A permanent natural tattoo that people always touch as if they can’t help themselves.
Anonymous fingers on me are no different. I know that’s what they’re touching. Is it a different texture? Is it the start of a tattoo, and then you chickened out? Is it a scar? All questions I’ve met in the past.
I stare at the wall an inch in front of my nose as if I can see the man on his knees examining my cockhead. For some bizarre reason, the man in my head is Brent, which is weird since I’ve never sexualized him at all. He’s my best friend, which makes him off the table for sexy fantasies.
And yet… that vision won’t go away for a minute. Not until their mouth circles my cockhead and I groan at the sudden heat.
There’s something weirdly heightened about this. I can’t see what they’re doing. I can’t really even hear them. If they make any noise at all, it’s drowned out by the sounds around me and faded by the wall separating us. It mixes into the ambience, becoming just another note of pleasure.
Their tongue swirls my cockhead, presses against my slit, and then swirls again. Pressure encompasses the head of my cock, and they suck for a solid three seconds, making me catch my breath as pleasure spirals through my core.
Fingers touch my cock where it sticks out of the hole as if they’re trying to grip the base. I think the wall is a good two inches thick, and with the angle of my body, they have maybe four inches of me. Maybe. There’s not a lot of room to take me into their mouths and grip my cock.
I suppose this is one of those times I could wish for a longer dick. I’ve always been comfortable with what I have. Even if I would like to modify my cock, I can’t, so I’ve never let myself dwell on it too much. I have what I have, and I’ve never had any complaints.
There’s definitely something to this glory hole business.
I’m not sure if this guy is doing anything special, but it feels far more erotic than anything else in my life prior to now.
There’s a chance that they’re simply really good at it, but when all my senses are removed, leaving nothing but touch left, it feels more.
What I do know is that my orgasm is beginning to spiral out of control. I’ve never been one to get off readily with a blow job. It tends to take a lot of work. I’m better with handies or toys or penetration. But removing everything about this guy from me has somehow made this feel extra good.
The way his mouth moves over my dick, alternating between sucking and flicking.
Almost playfully. The way his fingers keep pushing into the hole around my cock, as if trying to reach all of me.
Perhaps it’s the sounds of sex and everyone feeling good around us that’s injecting more arousal into this moment.
“Condom,” a voice says. His hand pulls my cock gently, and the word, husky and filled with lust, repeats, “Condom. I want to ride.”
I stumble backwards and catch my breath. Getting sucked by an anonymous mouth is one thing. Fucking them? Can I do that?
My gaze lands on the bowl of condoms, sitting there like candy. The promise of getting off inside someone is too strong for me to turn away, so I reach for one and rip it open. There’s a little basket underneath the table that I throw the wrapper in and roll the condom over my dick.
The two pump bottles of lube sit in front of me, and I choose the blue one, not remembering which is which. My head feels too foggy. Once I’m decently coated, I wipe my hand on the towel there and then stick my dick through the hole again.
Nothing happens. Did he think I’d walked away?
Did he go find someone else who already had a condom on?
I lick my lips and try to focus on the wall and who’s on the other side, straining my ears for any sound at all.
If I hear something, I don’t know for sure.
They’re too muffled. Mixed in with everyone else.
Then there’s pressure against my cockhead, and oh my god, I’m sinking in. My breath freezes in my lungs, and I close my eyes. There’s a chance he’s tighter than anyone else I’ve ever been with, but that might be a trick of losing so many senses with this guy.
I swear, I hear his moan. Or that might be mine.
They sink down until they have as much of me as they can take with a wall between us. I shiver. Fuck me. I might have imagined those words, but I pull my cock back slightly and shove in. I gasp. My partner’s imagined grunt fills my head, and I thrust again.
Gripping the handholds tightly, I brace myself and take this tight hole as best I can, losing myself in the moment as I give into the overwhelming sensation of his body. Anonymous body. Anonymous sounds. Does it feel good for him? Is he touching himself?
A whole bunch of pornographic images flash before my eyes while I imagine what he’s doing. The wall shakes, but I imagine it’s been shaking already. I’m likely not the only one fucking a hole right now.
I’m the only one fucking this perfect hole, though. So tight. So glorious. Another unbidden image of Brent flashes before my eyes, and I moan as I thrust wildly.