The smell hit first. Sweat, amyl, old cum soaked into the walls. That thick, seedy scent you only find in places like this. I was already dropping to my knees, jeans halfway down, palms on cold tile. My shirt was still on. His cock was through the gloryhole, thick and pulsing, wet at the tip. No names, no rules. Just cock. Just heat. That kind of hunger that blanks everything else out. Somewhere behind me, a bloke groaned...