To understand how I ended up in that situation, you need to know I had a full bottle of water before leaving the club to sober up a little. That shouldn’t have been a problem, in fact, I know it was a good decision for next-day-me. But while I was walking home that night, I really really needed to use the bathroom.
I thought I would be able to make it home before, but the water bottle plus the previous drinks were just too much for me. I could have tried to find a hidden corner and pee wherever, maybe behind a car or some bushes; it wouldn’t be the first time and it would probably be better than the disgusting toilets at the club, where your feet got stuck to the floor with each step. But the week before a girl I knew got fined for doing so, and I was a bit paranoid about it, even if there were no guards around.
But the walk to my house was like twenty more minutes.
When I was debating my options, I turned the corner and a building caught my eye. In the darkness of the night, it was the only one with all the lights on, and the big entrance door open. I realized it was the bus station and I almost ran there, feeling like a castaway who had finally seen land. Yes, you can call me dramatic.
I hadn’t been in the station in so long, so it took me a while to find the toilets —I swear the signs pointed the other way!—, and I got there only to find that the women’s bathroom had an “Out of order” paper note stuck on the door.
I didn’t even think twice before going into the male’s ones. It was around 2.30 AM, there wouldn’t be anyone using the urinals at that time. The station being open meant some buses worked at night, yes, but on my way to the bathrooms I had only seen two other people, waiting in one of the benches with a big backpack next to them.
There was no one to see in the bathroom, as I assumed, so I finally got inside one of the stalls and got my release.
“Thank god,” I sighed while taking a piece of toilet paper. And now that I didn’t had to worry about my bladder, I started noticing things I didn’t see before.
Like how clean the bathroom was, way more than I would have expected and definitely way more than the club’s.
And I noticed something else. Like the hole on the toilet stall.
I’m not sure if I should have known right away. Now, looking at it from a distance, it was kind of obvious, wasn’t it? But maybe I was a bit drunk still. Maybe I’m just naïve.
But I leaned over and looked through it, and I even got a little jump scare when I saw I wasn’t alone in the bathroom, as I thought. In the other stall, there was a man. I let out a gasp and got away from the hole when I realized I was looking at his crotch; he was dressed, only the pants unzipped and the boxer’s fabric showing. The first thing that came to my mind was that the hole was there so whoever was on the other side could spy on people while they used the bathroom. Then I thought the angle was terrible for that, and even if I didn’t notice it at first, the hole was too obvious for spying. Then I heard the sound of pants being pulled down, and then something else.
I shouldn’t have looked again. I really shouldn’t, because I was quite sure what I was going to see.
But I did.
And I saw his crotch again, but this time was completely exposed. His cock, hairy on the base, was still a bit flaccid, but it was obviously receptive to the gentle strokes of the man’s hand. Now, if I paid attention, I could hear not only the friction while he jerked off, but also his breath, slow and steady, but getting deeper with every stroke.
I can assure you in any other moment I would have left as fast as I could. But I felt a sort of haze covering my mind, a tingle between my legs. I couldn’t take my eyes away, and I only got back to my senses when the man, his cock hard already, got closer to the hole.
I got away from it automatically, but now I didn’t have to lean to see his dick. The tip was peeking through the wall, coming to me, telling me “I know you are there.” He slammed his cock softly against the hole, as if he was knocking at my door, asking for permission for more.
I hesitated for a second. I was being a creep, a voyeur, I know. But this… this was different. I had never done something like this. Well, I mean, I hadn’t spied on anyone while they masturbated before either, but this was more.
I wasn’t even the kind of person who had casual hookups. The only people I had had sex with were my ex-boyfriends, and since I broke up with the last one last year, I hadn’t touched a cock. I’m simply unable to look at someone I don’t care about in the eyes and do that kind of stuff. It was too important to me, it carried too much vulnerability, too much responsibility. But here… there were no eyes to look at. No person at the other side of the wall, in a way. There was only a cock.
And I had missed cock.
It felt so warm when I took it in my hand. Warm and firm, and the excitement of touching it made me shiver. I was still sitting in the toilet, my panties down to my knees and my skirt carefully placed on my lap so it didn’t touch everything around. I could feel my body was jealous, aching to be touched too, but I could only focus on that cock. That cock that had pushed all the way through the hole to allow me to touch it all, to wrap my whole hand around it, to stroke it from the tip to the base. As I changed the rhythm, I could hear the man panting, and I almost felt surprised that he was there, cause for me there was only cock, cock, cock.
There was already a bit of precum making it all slide easily, but I spat on my hand before I went back to pleasuring him. I did it mostly because it made me feel slutty, and I knew he would hear it —and feel it— and be turned on. I wasn’t wrong. His cock twitched, his hips slammed the bathroom stall. He grunted.
I knew he was asking for more.
He was asking for more without using his words because he was probably scared we could know each other, that I might recognize his voice. That thought got me drunk on horniness. Up to that moment only his cock was in my mind, but now I started thinking about him. I could be stroking anyone’s cock. He could be a neighbor or a complete unknown that had just arrived here. He could be around my age, or maybe he was someone’s dad, in his fifties or even in his sixties. He could be an old teacher, someone’s boyfriend or husband, a pervert.
Well, he had his cock on a wall’s hole at the bus station late at night, he was a pervert for sure. But I was stroking it, so what did that make me?
The man kept begging without words. He wanted me to suck his cock. And my mouth —and not only my mouth— was watering.
But a little voice in my mind reminded me that he could be anyone, and that was hot but dangerous. I took my purse, which I had left on the door handle, and took out a condom. My friends sometimes made fun of me for carrying one considering I don’t have unplanned sex when I go out, but once or twice they had thanked me for it. Now it was my time.
I tapped on the cock with the plastic envelope, and he took a few seconds before pulling it out of the hole. I slid the condom to his side, but he didn’t take it at first. I knew what his silence meant.
“Please, please, just suck my cock without it,” he wanted to say.
“Only with the condom,” I was replying silently, my fingers firm on the hole until he finally gave up and took it.
His cock came back to me with the condom covering it, and I had to agree part of me would have also wanted to take it off. I wanted to taste his cock, to feel my tongue against his skin. But I wasn’t risking it.
My panties were still down my legs when I got on my knees in front of that cock. The movement made me feel the wetness on my thighs and I accommodated myself with my legs slightly spread, because I wanted to feel my pussy exposed. I wanted to let her scream, ask for all the attention she wasn’t going to get. Now that I think about it, it would have been so easy to get one of my hands between my legs and touch myself like crazy while I sucked that cock, but I was so mesmerized by that hard dick on the wall that it felt like my pleasure didn’t matter. I took that cock in my mouth and started sucking on it like that was the only thing I could ever do, the thing I was meant for. I was so turned on I started to drip, my pussy juices falling directly into the floor. I licked and sucked and when I gagged, I just took a second to breathe before going back to it.
The moans on the other side were getting more and more loud, but none of us seemed to care about the noise. To tell the truth, I liked thinking about the possibility of being heard. The door of my stall would be so easy to unlock. And if any other man walked in, he would have find me on my knees, pussy and ass exposed as I choke on a cock, and my pussy pulsated of the idea of being taken too. Maybe that other man would hold my head right in place, not allowing me to look at anything but the wall, and he would be another faceless cock inside of me, a cock that could belong to anyone. The taboo of it all made me feel like never before. I was feeling like a whore. I was feeling alive. Its pleasure —the cock’s pleasure— was giving me pleasure too, a pleasure never enough to satisfy me, only to keep me desperate, willing to do anything.
He came without any warning, and even with the condom I could feel the thick ropes of cum. God, how I wished I could taste it.
I kept my mouth around it, still now, letting him decide when to get away from me. He did it slowly, thrusting back in when he had just pulled out of my mouth, so his cock would find my lips again, almost as he was slapping my mouth with it.
I stayed there, on my knees, trying to catch my breath as I heard him get properly dressed again. Now that my mouth was empty, I could feel that emptiness so much more in the rest of my body, and I almost unconsciously slid two fingers inside of my wet pussy. I avoided my clit though. Being this horny, I wouldn’t have needed a lot to cum, but in a certain way I felt it was better like this. That night wasn’t meant for me to cum. It was made for me to completely surrender to my horniness, to the feeling itself, to be used and never let the desperation end.
The other stall’s door opened. Not even for a moment I thought of opening my door. Of course, the cautious part of me didn’t want him to see me, but I also didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want him to stop being a cock.
He stepped out of the stall, then back in, I could hear him. He threw something through the hole, and I looked at the floor to see what it was. The condom was there, filled with cum, a knot on the ending. A lose knot, inviting me to open it.
And I did. I smelled it and imagined the taste, and how it would look if I pour it over myself, letting it mix with my own wetness.
I pulled up my panties without cleaning myself at all and, when I considered enough time had passed, I left the stall, and the station, with a used condom in my purse.
And I did. I smelled it and imagined the taste, and how it would look if I pour it over myself, letting it mix with my own wetness.
I pulled up my panties without cleaning myself at all and, when I considered enough time had passed, I left the stall, and the station, with a used condom in my purse.