Young Hanzo at a gloryhole. Breathplay

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Someone stumbles in and crashes into the wall before he starts fumbling with his belt. Hanzo can smell the alcohol he spilled sloppily over his jeans, and gets desperately hot at knowing the man on the other side of the wall is drunk.

Drunk guys are always more uninhibited and eager to debase him. The thought makes him squirm, chest feeling like a warm little balloon is expanding inside him.

Two thick fingers appear in the whole and grope around clumsily.

“Where’s the cunt,” the man grunts and Hanzo leans forward, his hot breath warning enough. The man grunts again and suddenly his fingers are hooked into the side of Hanzo’s mouth, pulling him roughly closer. He makes a sound of surprise but goes along, his shaking fingers curling into fists on top of his thighs. He sits seiza. It gives him a special kind of satisfaction.

“There y’are,” the man – his customer – mumbles. He does not seem too concerned with getting his cock out. The wall separating them vibrates gently as the man leans heavily against it, his fingers sliding along Hanzo’s tongue languid and slow. They taste acrid.

He pulls out, wet fingertips sliding along Hanzo’s lips, then fingering the little silky patch of his goatee.

“Feels nice,” he comments idly, then lets his fingers slide back into Hanzo’s mouth who keeps it obediently open; even sidles closer to give him better access. He gags soft and wet when the man suddenly starts fucking deeper inside, trying to shove his fingers down his throat and only managing to make Hanzo drool liberally.

“Yeah,” he grunts, “Very nice. You’re a seasoned whore at this, hm? Fucking slut. C’mere.”

Hanzo’s eyes are glassy as he waits obediently, mouth open, drooling, tongue out and welcoming as the fingers retreat and the hole gets filled with something new; long and fat and much better prepared to try how sensitive his gag reflex is.

He wishes there was a way for the men on the other side to grab for his hair. He’d love to have them grunt fuck his skull, hands harsh in his hair, holding him so he can’t get away.

He knows he would love it; getting held harshly, his nose buried in unwashed pubes, suffocating as his throat bulges on just about anybody’s dick. Nothing but a cocksleeve.

Hanzo gags on the man’s cock as it bumps the back of his throat. He supposes he should learn how to take them without choking, but most of them like it that way. Like hearing his throat close up with a click and his wet struggle for air.

The man on the other side murmurs something low and slurred and for a second he stills before he awkwardly fumbles a couple fingers through the hole again, clamping them around Hanzo’s nose and cutting off his air.

Hanzo almost jerks away, heart thumping that much faster. There’s a sweet panic overtaking him as the man keeps his nose pinched and forces his cock deep. Hanzo helps thoughtlessly, bringing his face as close as possible to the hole, his eyes rolling into his head as his cock pulses out helpless, pathetic ropes of cum into his underwear just out of sheer excitement over the treatment.

He can hear the man on the other side vaguely spitting insults at him; calling him a cheap two dollar whore; a cum-bucket; a good for nothing cunt – and Hanzo feels hot and full and high on it.

He gasps for air when the cock suddenly pulls back, fingers leaving his nose, and his eyes are swimming with tears of desperation because he wants it back. He can see the fist through the hole, jerking that nice, fat dick that had used him like a toy just a few seconds prior.

“Open up, baby,” the man on the other side croons and Hanzo does so without second thought; lets him jerk off on his tongue while he is sniffly and weepy because he wants to be choked some more.

When the man leaves, he almost goes after him. He wants to crawl on his knees and lick his shoes if that is what it takes to get him to choke him some more while he fills him up to bursting with dick.

He gets the feeling gloryholes will not be enough for him for much longer.

He needs more.