Ask the man to fuck you
From Create Your Own Story
The stale air of the public bathroom hangs heavy with musk and disinfectant. You press your forehead against the cold partition, lips still slick from where they'd been wrapped around the stranger's cock just moments before. "You like how my mouth feels?" you murmur, voice low enough that only the man on the other side can hear. "You should try my ass."
There's a beat of silence—just long enough for you to wonder if you've misjudged the situation—before his gruff reply comes through the divider. "Fuck yeah... come over here."
You rise from your knees, thighs protesting from kneeling on the hard tile floor. As you stand, you hear the wet sound of him pulling his cock from the glory hole. The cubicle door clicks when you unlock it, swinging open to reveal the man whose face you've been imagining this whole time.
He's older—late fifties maybe—but handsome in a rugged way. Short-cropped gray hair matches the scruff along his jawline. His skin is tanned and weathered, the kind that speaks of years spent working outdoors. Broad shoulders strain against his plaid shirt, and you can see the outline of toned muscle beneath. Definitely keeps himself in shape.
The man sits sprawled on the toilet seat, one hand lazily stroking his thick erection while the other holds a cigarette dangling between his fingers. When he sees you, his face breaks into a grin. He takes a final drag before stubbing it out against the wall, leaving a dark smudge on the paint. His teeth worry at his bottom lip as his eyes roam over you.
"You're even prettier than I pictured," he says, voice rough from smoke and arousal.
The cubicle lock is broken, so you push the door shut behind you with your hip. It doesn't latch properly, leaving a thin sliver of space where light from the bathroom spills in.
"Take your jeans off, boy," he orders, never stopping the slow pump of his fist along his cock. His gaze burns into you as you obey, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper. The denim pools at your feet, followed by your underwear. Your own erection springs free, already dripping onto the grimy tile floor.
He spits into his palm and slicks himself up, the sound obscenely loud in the small space. "Show me that ass," he growls.
You turn, bracing your hands against the partition as you present yourself to him. Over your shoulder, you watch his expression darken with hunger as he takes in the view. Another glob of spit lands in his hand before his fingers find your cleft, rubbing slow circles that make you shiver.
"Fuck," he mutters when one fingertip brushes against your hole. His grip on your hips tightens as he guides you backward, adjusting your stance with rough tugs until you're positioned just right. You bend your knees slightly, feeling the blunt head of his cock press against you.
No warning—just one sharp yank downward as he pulls you onto him. Your cry echoes off the tiles as he sheathes himself inside in one brutal thrust.
"Oh fuck," he groans into your ear, hands like vices on your waist. "You're so fucking tight."
He sets a punishing rhythm from the start, each snap of his hips driving you forward until your own cock slaps against your stomach. The sounds of skin slapping skin mix with your mutual groans, the filthy chorus bouncing off the bathroom walls.
You lose yourself in the sensation—the stretch, the burn, the way his cock drags against your walls just right. The risk of getting caught only makes it hotter, your stomach tightening with each muffled footstep that passes outside.
The man's breathing grows ragged against your neck. "Gonna make you take every inch," he rasps, fingers digging bruises into your flesh as he pistons into you harder.
Just as your own climax builds, the creak of the bathroom door cuts through the haze.
"Sounds like someone's having fun in there," an unfamiliar voice calls from right outside your cubicle. The door inches open further as the stranger adds, "Sounds fucking hot, guys." Do you
