Chapter Three
2080 Words
Thinking hard if I should fück a stranger or not wasn’t a decision I ever thought I would get to make, definitely not in this lifetime, and not while I stood in the middle of a public toilet with a s*x toy in my bag.
I steadied my hammering heart, my fingers curled tight around the doorknob. “I don’t need any help,” I managed to say. “But thank you for offering.”
Really Sylvia? Thank you for offering?
His eyes trailed to my handbag, and I followed his gaze. Oh s**t, I didn’t hide the vibrator that well, and it was sticking out.
“It’s an effective toy, yes,” he murmured, and my cheeks reddened. “But you and I both know… it can’t do half the things my c**k could.”
His words slammed into me, and my throat went dry. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My thoughts tangled, caught between run and yes.
Logically, the only right answer was to say no. But the ache... the need pulsing between my legs said other words.
“How about I help you make up your mind then?” he said, his voice sultry.
His hand moved to his belt, and with one smooth motion, he clinked the buckle free. He tugged it loose, the leather sliding through the loops, and then his zipper followed.
My breath caught in my chest.
There it was—his c**k, thick and erected, standing proudly in his hand. My eyes locked on it, wide and helpless. I swallowed hard, the sound embarrassingly loud in the silence.
Oh fück, I want his c**k. And I can’t even deny it. The pleasure his c**k could give to me, not only can I imagine it, but with a simple yes, I could have it slamming into me.
He reached for my hand, took it and wrapped it around his length. “Feel it. Touch it,” he whispered, and almost like I was in some sort of trance, I did.
I felt his c**k, my fingers running through its length slowly, as I rediscovered what it meant to hold a c**k in my hand again.
The weight of him alone made my p***y clench, wetness spilling into my panties. I told myself to stop discovering, but my hands didn’t listen. It went faster, rubbing his length harder, my greed spilling out of me.
His c**k twitched in my palm, heavy and hot, veins pulsing under my greedy strokes. My breath hitched as my fingers curled tighter around his shaft.
I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to stop myself. My thumb smeared his pre-c*m over his swollen tip, and the slickness only made me pump faster.
“Oh God…” I whispered, my voice breaking, “you’re so hard.”
He groaned low, his hips jerking forward into my fist. That sound drove me insane, like my body was wired to it. I tightened my grip, milking him, pumping harder, desperate to make him c*m.
I shouldn’t be doing this—God, I knew I shouldn’t—but my greed was hotter than the shame. I wanted to drain him, make him c*m in my hand, coat me in his release.
And when his head tipped back and his groan deepened, I knew I was close to getting exactly what I craved.
His c**k jerked in my grip, his groans growing ragged, but before I could push him over the edge, his hand clamped around my wrist.
“Stop,” he ordered, pulling my greedy strokes to a halt.
My breath broke in a sharp gasp, my chest heaving. I blinked up at him, confused, starving.
“Don’t get too greedy yet,” he said, his voice low, his eyes burning into mine. He slowly pried my fingers from his slick shaft.
Is he teasing me? Or… wasn’t I good enough?
“Why… what’s wrong?” I stuttered, my finger wishing to return to his c**k.
“Still waiting for you to decide,” he murmured, his grin widening. “Do you want my c**k or not?”
I gulped hard, and my lips moved but no words came out. How could I say out loud that I craved his c**k? How could I admit that even right now my püssy was all wet and ready for him?
“Well…” he murmured, his tone dark. “Is your mind made up? Or should I zip up and walk away right now?”
The lump in my throat nearly choked me. With a trembling hand, I turned, pushed open the toilet door, and stepped inside. I didn’t shut it. I left it wide open, giving him the answer I couldn’t blurt out.
He followed, shutting the door behind us. The tiny space wrapped around me, thick with the scent of my arousal.
When the door clicked shut behind him, I felt trapped, but my body thrilled at the cage of it.
“Hands on the toilet seat,” he ordered.
I hesitated, guilt rising inside me. Was I about to bend over a public toilet and let a stranger ram into me?
In my frozen guilt, he moved behind me. His big hands wrapped around my wrists, dragging them forward until they pressed against the closed toilet seat. “There’s no going back now. I gave you a chance, but you stayed,” he whispered hotly in my ear.
I gasped, my body stiff.
“Now, arch your back,” he murmured, and one palm slid down the curve of my spine, pressing firmly until my ass pushed up. The position shocked me, sending fire straight to my püssy.
Not even my dead husband had me in such a position, and yet… here I was, my a$$ out for a stranger.
“I—I don’t…” My voice cracked...
“Shh,” he whispered in my ear. “Relax into it.”
He raised himself, standing straight behind me. I felt his hand on my ass, then he roughly lifted my skirt up, bunching it around my waist, exposing me.
I felt the cool air kiss the heat of my thighs before his fingers hooked into my lace panties. With one rough yank, the fabric tore away, useless now, leaving me bare, trembling, and spread.
I whimpered, my mind screaming at me to get up, fix my skirt, and walk away as if nothing had happened. But instead, like some cheap slut, I stayed frozen in that position.
I felt his c**k against my ass, and then his thick head nudge at my entrance. I gasped, the stretch already more than the toy ever gave me.
He pushed in slow, inch by inch, spreading me, filling me, until I was stuffed full and shaking. My knees nearly buckled, but I gripped the seat, steadying myself.
I bit down on my lips as the urge to moan rose. No matter what, I shouldn’t forget I was being f****d in a public toilet.
As if seeing my dilemma, he said, "you can scream all you want, the shop is closed. No one is here but the both of us,” his hands gripped my hips. “Let it all out.”
He pulled back, his c**k sliding almost all the way out, before driving into me again—splitting me open with a brutal thrust.
“f**k!” I cried out, my voice bouncing off the tiled walls. He filled me to the hilt, every inch stretching me raw.
“Just like that… scream it all out,” he groaned, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.
I felt the stall vibrate with every brutal thrust. Each slam drove me forward, stealing my breath. Shame twisted with filthy hunger as each thrust squeezed more wetness from me, my püssy squelching obscenely.
“—ahhh—oh God—”
He answered my moans with more vigor, his c**k slamming harder, faster. His hands roamed my chest, sliding up to seize my t**s through my blouse, squeezing until a broken sound escaped my throat.
His thrusts grew savage, each brutal drive sent white-hot lines through me. My knees trembled, my hands scrabbling on the cold lid as if I could anchor myself to the world.
“Please—fück, fück, fück me harder—” The words tore out of me before I could stop them. I slammed a hand over my mouth, disgusted at myself for begging like a cheap slut, but the sight only made him fück me faster, harder.
I couldn’t hold back; I let it all rip out. “Ahhh—oh—oh God—yes..." the sound tore out of me, my filthy moans betraying every ounce of restraint I had left.
He pulled back and drove in again, harder, and I felt something inside me break open. My vision blurred, the stall spinning as my p***y clenched and released in brutal spasms.
“I’m—ahhh—” The words ripped out of me in broken pieces. “I’m cumming—oh—fuuuck—Oh God—oh God, yes—don’t stop, don’t stop!” I screamed, ragged and raw, my throat burning with every sound that tore out of me.
My body trembled violently, my legs buckling, and I fell forward onto the toilet seat, face pressed to the cold lid, each shockwave ripping through me like fire.
But he didn’t stop.
Even as I shook, even as my cunt milked him– he kept plundering me, c**k driving harder into my soaking, overstimulated püssy. Each thrust jolted me, my hips twitching helplessly, pleasure and pain knotting into one unbearable storm.
“Oh God… I—” My voice broke into whimpers, sobs mixing with moans. My body begged for rest, but he gave me none.
When I sagged against the seat, knees pressed to the cold tiles, limp and trembling, he gripped my waist and hoisted me high again, dragging me back onto his c**k like I weighed nothing. My legs dangled uselessly, thighs slick with my own c*m, as he used me, filled me, again and again.
“I can’t—please—” I begged, my voice barely above a whisper. My nails scraped against the plastic seat, trying to find something to hold. “I can’t take it anymore…”
But he ignored me, rutting into me with savage rhythm, his balls slapping wet against my thighs. His fingers dug cruelly into my hips, forcing me wide, keeping me open, while his c**k slammed deeper, bruising my püssy and leaving me helpless beneath him.
“Too much?” he growled against my ear, his breath hot, mocking. “Your püssy doesn’t think so.”
He was right—every thrust wrung out more wetness, my cünt betraying me, clenching around him as if desperate for more punishment. My body had no say. My cünt was his.
And then his thrusts grew rougher, desperate. His groans broke through gritted teeth. His c**k jerked inside me, swelling.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh—" I cried out as he slammed into me viciously one last time. When he pulled out, he stroked himself fast, spilling thick, hot c*m across my a$$, painting my skin and sliding down the curve of my cheeks. Some oozed lower, slipping into the crease of my a$$, mixing with the wetness pouring from my püssy.
He let out a deep grunt, squeezing out the last drop before tucking himself back in.
I collapsed fully onto the toilet seat, face buried against my arm. My body felt ruined. My püssy still twitched, leaking with my orgasms, juice oozing out, while his c*m ran sticky down my ass.
“You know where to find me, if you ever need my c**k again.” He said, then he gave my ass a little slap.
Then the sound of his zipper echoed, and just like that, he was gone.
He left me there dripping, my ruined panties torn and hanging from one thigh, a pathetic trophy of my surrender.
When did I become a slut? When did I go from fingering myself to porn and now to f*****g a younger man I’d never laid eyes on in my life?
I tried to close my thighs, hoping I could hide it all, but the slick mess only spread, it's sticky warmth glued my skin together.
I let it happen. Oh God, I've ruined myself.
- Writer
