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It’s hard to pinpoint the things that built the mutual interest. Maybe it was the beauty of his facial features, the sight of the beautiful muscles down his neck while he listened intently to the friendly banter. Maybe it was her laughter, unabashed. I think it was the boldness of the anecdote she shared, and how he was the first one asking follow-up questions. The point is, as the evening went on and the music got louder, their positions in the room shifted gradually until they ended up next to each other.

It is easier to pinpoint the moment of declaration, of implicit understanding. Her gaze met his, quiet, almost a cold refreshment in a room too humid and hectic. It didn’t leave him when his hand reached hers. It was the igniting touch, the launch of a rocket on a mission to reach the heights of outer space. He leaned into her ear.

“Do you have any place you need to be tonight?”

She looked to the side, scoping the situation in the bar. His cock twitched upon realization; he had meant to offer a more intimate setting, but he was no one to deny the thrill of the moment. He followed her into the largest stall at the end of the men’s room, nervous, just slightly emboldened by the approval of the accidental witnesses. Still, when he locked the door behind him, the nerves took over. He had never done something this reckless and he did not know where to begin.

She had played him, and he had no idea. Over the night, the discreet flirting had turned into a more advanced game where she had asserted herself. Through carefully chosen anecdotes and banter, she had gotten to learn what she needed to capture her chosen target. She was no damsel in distress, no lady to be seduced into moaning sweet nothings as she took hard mediocre in missionary. She was after something more fulfilling and she knew she could take it from him.

As if enticed by the lewd banter outside of their stall, she turned around and bent over, her hands against the flimsy wall, her short skirt raising to reveal her underwear. She turned her head towards him and told him to get her ready, loud enough for everyone to hear. He froze.

He was no stranger to the mysteries of female pleasure, and he had produced his fair distribute of moans and squirts using his fingers only. But there was something about her, about the situation, that made him feel as if he had forgotten how to finger a woman. He pressed his legs into the back of hers, his bulge caressing her underwear for a second before he slipped his middle and index fingers in her. Would she approve? Was this good enough? Never did a woman’s grunt make him feel as much relief.

He found that she was already wet, more than ready for body parts larger than his fingers. He hesitated. “Circle my clit,” she commanded, and his muscle memory helped him deliver with the perfect balance between strength and endurance. His fingers slipped in and out, glossy and sweet, and her twitches and moans made his bulge grow. Despite the awkwardness, the strangeness of it all, he needed to fuck her. He did not realize that getting her ready rather meant getting himself ready for her.

“You’ve done great. We don’t have long now, and I really want to cum three times before it’s time to go back to sing happy birthday.”

Challenge accepted. His fingers continued, loudly pushing her flesh to stimulate its pleasure spots, persisting when they found motions that made her insides tighter and her legs weaker. His arm hugged around her hips to support her while he circled her clit consistently, and his fingers moved in and out with fury. His hands were growing tired, but she was so close, and he needed to reduce her to a pleased little whore. Return the power balance to its rightful arrangement. He liked feeling in control, and he relished when she whimpered, her face pressed against the stall, cumming hard around his fingers. She was a delicious mess of juices, his crowning glory.

But she wouldn’t budge.

“That’s number one. Two to go…”

It was time for him to take what he wanted. His wet fingers grasped her ribs, the bottom of her tits, pulling her entrance to part her against his cock. He was gonna fuck her raw, take her as the horny slut she had proven to be –– and to give her the two orgasms she had demanded. But, God, her insides were tense after her first orgasm. His motions squeezed him in, posing a greater challenge than he imagined. If he did not pace himself, he was gonna cum before she did.

It’s almost as if she had been reading his mind, one of her hands moving from the stall to his. She sighed, filled up with his cock, enjoying the twitches of her insides against his flesh. “Remember. Two more to go, and then you can fill me up with your cum.” Did anyone hear that, he thought. It was easy to push the accidental witnesses out of his mind as he got lost inside her.

His strokes started out fast, hungry for the pressure her body gifted his cock, rough to show this adventurous slut a lesson. He was gonna use her as a cumdump, a beautiful body to empty out his balls after a night of teasing. He could feel how much she thrived on being treated so, and he doubled down on the strength of his movements. Her face hit the wall, he caught her hand when it slipped. He took benefit of a lifted leg to hold her and pound her like the bitch in heat she had proven to be.

But he began to pant, and he knew he was approaching the point of no return. Part of him wanted to push through it, explode inside her and leave her dripping and unfulfilled — but something in him stopped it. For a reason or another, he felt a heavy sense of duty. Her instructions had been clear and he had agreed to honor them, even if he could not remember assenting. He stopped, his balls pressed up against her flesh, trying to regain his breath. She smiled. He counted to ten in his mind.

For what must have felt for hours, his strokes were firm, deliberate, but slow to buy him time while he found the angles that would have her squealing on his cock. His hands fondled her, pinched her as he moved, and grew rough with her vocal incentives. A hand tight on her neck, desperate baring of her tits, scratches on her skin as she whimpered, hungry. Without fanfare, she reached orgasm two. She squeezed in his precum. He could do this.

As soon as she tightened around him, he knew to pump her hard again, knowing she’d reach the third just in time for his own orgasm if he forced it into a chain of pleasure. With this realization, he no longer was the shy guest at his friend’s birthday party; he was the alpha breaking his slut, the cock tease calling the shots but bending over to gift him her pussy. And it just so happened that he was right, his plan was working. Her moans were wild, fearless of the public setting, and her body shook. His cock forced her insides aside, hitting the pleasure spots that kept her under control. He succeeded.

With a long, deep moan, she came one last time around his cock. Her hands banged against the wall, worn out, in ecstasy. Her head turned to look at him again.

“Breed me.”

He no longer had to hold back, and her words broke down his last barrier. His hands grasped her shoulders, dragging her body onto his, his dick buried in the deepest part of her insides it would reach. His spurts hit her cervix, which twitched to squeeze in his seed. He grunted loud, fulfilled, relieved to have met the goal and emptied his balls along the way. His orgasm was so strong that he had to lean back against the other side of the stall, his eyes closed, panting.

He heard her open the stall, and he gathered himself to follow her back into the bar. Sweat wiped, zipper fastened, clothes checked for spills. Except that, when he left the stall, the bathroom was empty. And she was nowhere to be seen in the main room.

She had taken what she wanted from him. It was time for him to go back to the party.

NSFW: yes

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