Bathroom Tales

Disclaimer: it's never okay to assault or rape someone, and someone who is drunk cannot consent. This is just a fantasy. Nobody actually wants this to happen to them in real life.

*****

"I don't care if you fuck every cock in this club," Jeff said, not even looking at his girlfriend of two years as he threw back his fourth shot of tequila. "I'm not jealous."

"Oh, because, it sure seemed like you were jealous when that guy was talking to me, after you came back from the bathroom," Chelsea pointed out, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder. "And that time at the movie theater -"

"Nah," Jeff interrupted. "I mean, you're a beautiful woman with amazing tits. Of course guys are going to be interested in you. As long as I'm the guy you go home with at the end of the night, I could care less."

Chelsea glared at him and hiked up her yellow V-neck sundress to hide at least some of her cleavage. She had been a busty girl since grade school and was self-conscious about it even now, at 22 years old. She didn't need it pointed out in such a crude way, and certainly not by the man who claimed to love her - the only man with whom she'd ever made love.

"Fine, you're not jealous at all," she challenged. "Then you won't mind if I go dance with that guy who was talking to me earlier."

Jeff flinched, but then shrugged. "Another round," he suggested to the bartender, a tall, 50-something man with thick gray hair and a professional manner, who had probably seen it all.

"Of course," he replied, setting out two glasses and winking at Chelsea. She smiled back automatically, her anger at Jeff subsiding somewhat. The bartender seemed nice.

She quickly downed her shot - her third of the night, and she wasn't normally much of a drinker. She flipped her hair back again, and turned to the dance floor.

The small nightclub was alive with thumping music and pulsating bodies, but she had no trouble spotting the good-looking Latino man, Xavier, who had been hitting on her earlier. He nodded and grinned at her from across the floor, and she made her way over, returning his smile.

"So you ditching that jealous asshole?" he asked as he took both her hands and began to salsa with her. Chelsea loved to dance, but Jeff hated it, so she hadn't had many opportunities lately.

She rolled her eyes in reply, and changed the subject. "Hey, you're a great dancer!"

"I'm great at some other things too," he grinned.

"I'll bet you are," she laughed. And why not? If Jeff didn't care about her flirting, she might as well have fun.

The floor was crowded and they were soon pushed up together, sandwiched between other sweaty people - too close for any real dance moves. All they could really do was grind and bounce to the music. Xavier put his arms comfortably around her slim waist, and they moved together.

Looking around, Chelsea noticed with some hesitation that most of the people around them, pushing them into each other, were large, older men. But the Tequila was starting to hit her and Xavier's big hands felt nice, pushing her down onto his leg that she was straddling between hers. The music was intense, and she felt her juices begin to dampen the crotch of her panties. She hoped he wouldn't notice since he was wearing jeans, or maybe if he did notice, he would think it was just sweat. Certainly there was plenty of that all around them. She wondered if the place was even air-conditioned, it was so hot.

It wasn't long before there was another man behind her, grinding into her round ass. She started to feel nervous, but out of seemingly nowhere, a shot appeared in her hand. She downed it not even knowing what it was, and the fiery whiskey made her gasp. She barely noticed that the man behind her had taken the opportunity to put his arms around her and grab her breasts with both hands.

"Hey," she sputtered through the burning. The hands disappeared, and the dancing continued, and Xavier handed her a cup of beer.

"I think I was just sexually assaulted," she laughed to Xavier, gulping the beer to ease the whiskey burn.

"Yeah? Did you like it?" he grinned.

She considered for a moment, unsure. It had been kind of a turn-on. But then she took another gulp and forgot the question as they continued to bump and grind.

She could tell Xavier had a pretty huge hard-on, from the bulge in his jeans. She brushed her hand over it playfully, and he turned her around and ground it into her ass. Another man - or was it the same one who had groped her, before? She couldn't tell - appeared in front of her and sandwiched her in again. But she kept dancing, and glanced from time to time over to the bar, where Jeff seemed to be paying no attention and instead talking to the bartender.

"He doesn't deserve you," Xavier said, noticing her gaze. "If I had a hot girlfriend like you, I would be fucking her right now."

"Is that right?" Chelsea felt her cheeks redden, and her pussy throb, at the suggestion. "What would you do to me if I was your girlfriend?"

"Ahhhh," he sighed heavily, running his hand under her dress, up her thigh, from his position behind her. "I would bend you over right here and have my way with you." His hand found her wet panties and brushed gently against her pussy.

She moaned softly. He heard her. And before she knew what was happening, his fingers were inside her panties, rubbing her clit.

She looked around nervously, but no one in the packed club seemed to be paying any attention to them - least of all Jeff, still throwing back his shots at the bar, getting completely trashed.

"I'm not okay with that," she said anyway, her words slurring slightly as she tried to move away from Xavier. "I have a boyfriend."

"And what a boyfriend," he laughed, but let her get just enough distance to relax as they kept dancing.

Another drink appeared in her hand, and another strange, older man winked at her. She smiled back shyly, wondering if she was the youngest person in this club. Xavier had to be pushing 40, she guessed. It was funny, she had thought Jeff might be too old for her, at 29. And here were all these good-looking men, not one of them under 35, and some considerably older, all dancing and having a great time while her Jeff sat at the bar, wallowing. These older guys were all a lot more fun than he was! "I guess age doesn't matter," she sighed.

"What was that?" Xavier asked, interrupting her reverie.

"Oh I was just thinking, all these guys are so old, but they have great moves!"

"Si, so you like older men?"

"I like any man if he's a good dancer," she flirted.

"How about that guy?" Xavier gestured to a much older man, probably in his late 60s, working some amazing Samba steps in the back of the club.

"Oh yeah," Chelsea nodded. "He's amazing!" Mesmerized by his motions, and not feeling much from whatever it was she was drinking, she let Xavier maneuver her further towards the back of the club.

"Hey Donnie," Xavier said to the old man. "Meet Miss Chelsea, she thinks you're such a great dancer."

Donnie looked up, beaming with pride. "Ah, is that right? Would you like to dance, Miss Chelsea?" She nodded and he took her hand, twirling her around and passing her from side to side, doing all the work as she clumsily tried to follow along.

"I'm sorry, I guess I'm a little drunk," she apologized.

"A beautiful girl should never be sober," he laughed. "You are doing just fine!" Round and round he spun her, maneuvering her backwards, forwards, and in all directions. Just when she thought she might pass out from dizziness, he pulled her close and held her up, continuing his moves in much closer contact. His breath smelled like some very sweet liquor she couldn't quite identify, and his hands were on her ass, pressing her against him. She was too dizzy to object and barely noticed that Xavier was behind her now, pushing her dress up as he massaged her thighs.

The two men exchanged knowing glances. "Do you need to use the bathroom?" Xavier asked her.

"Now that you mention it," she smiled.

"There's a long line for the ladies' room, but you can use the men's room very fast and be out before anyone notices," he suggested. "Girls do it all the time here, it's no problem."

She nodded, grateful for the tip. "Okay," she said, and let the two of them usher her to the men's bathroom in the very back of the club, far from her boyfriend's line of vision.

*****

Back at the bar, Jeff was starting to feel frustrated. "Where the fuck did she go?" he sloppily asked the bartender, whose name was Marcus.

"Oh, I see her in the line for the ladies' room," Marcus said, gesturing to the back.

Jeff squinted, but couldn't spot her. "Hmm, I guess I've had enough to drink, my vision isn't very clear."

"Don't worry my friend. She's fine. I am keeping an eye on her for you."

Jeff felt reassured. "Not that I'm jealous or anything."

"Of course not, and no reason to be at all," Marcus agreed, and Jeff missed the hint of sarcasm in the bartender's voice. "Here, one more on the house," he said, pouring Jeff another shot.

*****

"This is such a small bathroom," Chelsea remarked to Xavier as they entered the single-toilet powder room. The florescent lighting was dim and buzzing, and the concrete block walls were decorated with all manner of graffiti, phone numbers and obscene drawings. There was a sink with a cabinet underneath, a poorly-lit mirror, the toilet with the seat up and no lid, a paper towel dispenser and a toilet paper holder, and that was pretty much it.

"Yes, don't worry, I will turn my back, I just want to make sure no one comes in on you," Xavier assured her.

"Oh, right," she replied, and in her somewhat sloppy state, couldn't think of anything wrong with him staying in the small room while she peed. She slid her underwear down to her ankles and sat gingerly on the toilet, and seconds later, felt relief. Her eyes closed.

In a near-unconscious state, she felt Xavier lift her up and gently unbutton the top of her dress, probably to help her cool down - why was it so damn hot in this place, she wondered hazily. Then he maneuvered her so she was leaning over the sink, facing the mirror, her weight resting on his arms. She tried to move her legs and vaguely realized she couldn't walk with her panties around her ankles. Seeming to also notice the problem, he leaned her on the sink and bent down to remove them, lifting up one high-heeled sandal at a time.

"I guess you won't be needing these," he said, stuffing the soaked yellow panties in his pocket. Chelsea smiled stupidly. She felt her cheek pressing up against the mirror, her body leaning on the sink, her ass sticking out behind her. Her eyes closed again.

And then she felt his hand on her bare breast, and the other on her ass. Her skirt must be up, she realized, and the top of her dress down. She looked down to find that sure enough, the dress was pooled awkwardly around her waist, with her breasts, legs, ass and pussy completely exposed as his hands explored her body, gently squeezing her hardening nipples, massaging her tits, rubbing her backside, and slowly making their way between her legs.

"I don't know about this," she slurred. She didn't know for sure about anything at that moment. But she moaned as he found her wet slit and gently stuck his finger inside of her, tracing circles around her juicy opening, while his other hand still groped her large breast.

The music from the club suddenly seemed as loud inside the bathroom as it had, on the floor, and it throbbed in her head and throughout her body. Her pussy throbbed with need, almost right along with the beat, as he pushed two fingers inside her and began to slowly slide them in and out. It felt really good, and she heard herself make a strange noise that almost sounded like purring.

Then she heard a zipper, and a metal belt buckle clanging on the concrete floor. It startled her, and her eyes popped open, but she didn't move.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered in her ear. But even as alarm bells went off in her head, all she could do was moan as he rubbed her clit from behind her with the tip of his hard cock.

She felt her knees buckle as he pushed his thick, hard meat inside of her. But his hands were holding firm on her tits, pulling her back onto him so she wouldn't fall forward. She leaned more into the sink, and she was so wet, he was able to push his way into her with little difficulty, filling her like a stuffed sausage. He began to stroke her throbbing cunt - slowly, gently at first.

"Damn girl you so tight," he whispered. "That boyfriend must have a tiny prick, he ain't using you right. Well, we're gonna fix that tonight, for sure."

"Oh, yes," she moaned softly as he pulled her by her shoulders back onto his cock, impaling her to the hilt and hitting her cervix. Jeff had never quite been able to reach it, and the contact felt incredible. Xavier pushed his cock from side to side, stretching her out, then pulled out, only to ram right back in, making her gasp as he hit her cervix harder and groped her breasts tightly in the same movement.

"You like that, you little slut," he observed, and did it again. Twice more and then faster, and faster still, fucking her harder and deeper, her huge tits bouncing up and hitting her in the face with each thrust as he held on to her hips, making her take it.

"Ah, ah, ah, ahhh!" She screamed in a sort of panting sound as she came, gripping the sides of the sink, explosions rippling through her brain and cunt. The thought crossed her mind that she might've been too loud, but hopefully the music in the club prevented anyone from hearing.

Groaning, his orgasm followed, and she could feel the heat of it as he planted his white-hot seed deep inside her.

"Condom," she managed breathlessly. She wasn't on birth control. Jeff always used a condom.

"Too late," he laughed, beginning to pull out.

"Going...to...fall," she said, but he caught her. Actually, she realized, two sets of hands had caught her, and were helping her to lean back on the sink.

There was someone else in the room.

"All yours," nodded Xavier, zipping up his pants.

Bleary-eyed, Chelsea looked up. "Donnie?"

The old man grinned at her, and she realized with alarm that his cock was out.

"No," she managed. But he just kept smiling at her. Xavier leaned her over the sink so that she was fully bent over it, her ass sticking out, legs together with locked knees, face almost up against the faucet. And then he was gone. And old Donnie's 67-year-old dick was inside her soft, juicy, 22-year-old pussy.

For an older man, he certainly had no trouble keeping his long, curved cock hard. No foreplay this time; he slid right in and began to rut in and out of her, panting and groaning. She thought about letting her knees buckle so she would slide onto the floor and away from his invading, unwelcome prick. But she realized he was holding her by the hips, supporting her weight - much stronger than he looked. Probably from all the dancing.

Her body betrayed her with another powerful orgasm, rippling through every molecule of her body like an electric shock. She heard herself scream, in the distance, and must have blacked out for a few moments as he continued to hold her up and fuck her as hard and fast as his aging body could manage. Slap-slap-slap-slap, the sound of his wrinkled old balls smacking against her clit as he fucked her unconscious body. Then he tensed, cried out, "oh!", and filled her cunt with his old-man cum, mixing it with Xavier's.

"Condom," she whimpered futilely, coming to as he ground her down on the sink as though desperate to shoot his hot spurts as deep within her as possible.

"Whores don't need condoms," he laughed, smacking her bare ass hard as he pulled out - leaving her pussy, like her soul, feeling suddenly vacant and hollow.

Before her alcohol-addled brain had time to process what was happening, there was another pair of hands on her ass. And another cock inside her. She drifted in and out of consciousness as the next man used her, fucking her like a sex doll, grasping at her breasts so hard she cried out in pain. She couldn't seem to stay up on the sink anymore, what with the violence of his thrusts, so he turned her around and sat her on it, her dark curls glued to the mirror with her sweat, the faucet grinding into her back, her ass on the edge of the counter, and her legs splayed. "I must look like a whore," she thought absently, and then, "I guess I am a whore now." Tears ran from her eyes, further smearing her makeup.

The sink was the perfect height for this guy, she noticed; he barely had to bend his knees at all to get the perfect straight shot into her cunt.

And shoot straight, he did, after just a few minutes of fucking her aching cunt in this new position. He blew his load deep inside her, gritting his teeth, rutting and groaning like an animal. But the thought that she was being fucked and used like an animal made her cum again, and she screamed in ecstasy and shame as the orgasmic explosions erupted through her again.

The next man made some nasty remarks about her pussy being too well-used, oozing the cum of three different men as it was. So he pushed her over the toilet - still with her pee in it, unflushed, she noticed - and got down on his hands and knees behind her. He wet his tip in her dripping pussy, and then rammed hard into her asshole.

She screamed and felt searing pain shoot through her. Jeff thought anal was disgusting, and she was inclined to agree. "That's an out-hole, not an in-hole," he had told her more than once, whenever there was a joke or reference about anal sex. His words cruelly replayed over and over in her drowning brain now.

To be so brutally penetrated, her first time, was excruciating. But the stranger showed no mercy. He spanked her hard as he pounded in and out of her aching asshole. She sobbed in pain and begged him to stop, but that seemed to turn him on and make him fuck her ass even harder. So she resigned herself to the assault, crying as she tried to relax her sphincter to make it hurt less. She leaned on the toilet and allowed herself to be anally raped, her abused breasts bouncing against the filthy seat as he pounded into her.

When he finally cried out and came deep in her ass, she thought it must be the end, the nightmare must be over now. But it seemed no sooner had he pulled out than there was another large, older man bending over her, fucking her pussy. This one had a very fat cock and she couldn't help cumming again, hearing a voice that sounded just like hers crying out, "yes, YES, fuck me, fuck me like a dirty whore, punish me with that big thick cock, I need it! I need it!"

They just kept coming and cumming, one cock after another. She imagined a long line of strange men outside the door, seemingly waiting to use the men's room, but actually waiting to use her body inside of it. Most didn't last more than a few minutes, just used and abused her bruised and aching body for their own orgasm, blowing their loads deep inside her while telling her what a filthy disgusting whore she was. She couldn't believe how simultaneously disgusted and turned on she was - or how many of them were able to make her cum and cry out vile epithets.

One particularly strong, tattooed guy held her up with her back against the graffitied wall and fucked her pussy, bouncing her on his hips, with her legs wrapped around him. The penetration was so deep that she had her hardest orgasm of the night, creaming and screaming as he impaled her over and over with his huge cock, her ragdoll body completely at his mercy.

Several men wanted blow jobs, but she was too drunk and exhausted to hold her mouth open without grazing them with her teeth, so they each gave up on that notion pretty quickly

She found that the ass-fucking didn't hurt anymore, after the third guy who did it. Her tight hole was well-lubricated now and had adjusted to be able to accommodate even the larger cocks. In fact, she found herself cumming a couple of times during anal, just at the thought of how she was being fucked hard in the ass, unprotected, by a complete stranger.

These strange, sweaty older men had her in every possible position the small room would allow - on her back on the floor, on her side, on her knees, over the sink backwards and forwards, up against the wall, against the door. Cock after cock sunk into either her pussy or her ass, or both. She tried to keep count of how many, but blacked out for a while around 22 and wasn't sure how many cocks fucked her while she was unconscious. If the mess of cum dripping from her battered asshole and pussy and pooling on the floor was any indication, though, it was quite a few.

After a particularly violent ass-fucking that had her screaming for more, she laid on her side in a puddle of cum, her body and hair sticky with it. Exhausted, she wondered if she would black out before the next cock entered her, and found herself trying to stay awake.

"Hey, what's going on here," a voice said at last. She looked up in surprise to see the friendly bartender, Marcus, standing above her. "Woah, look at you. What a mess! Let me help you up."

Unable to speak, her eyes welled up with tears as she accepted his strong arms and tried to stand. Finding it difficult, she leaned into him. He started to pull her dress up from where it was still bunched up around her waist, and she thought, with a confusing mix of relief and regret, "it's finally over, he's going to help me get out of here."

But then, instead of pulling the dress up over her huge, abused breasts, he began to fondle them. And then to squeeze them.

"Oh no," she whimpered.

"Well I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner, you look pretty used up," he said regretfully. "Would've been better fresh, I bet. But somebody had to keep your boyfriend busy at the bar."

"Jeff," she cried softly, overcome with guilt. How could she have done this to him.

"He's passed out now," Marcus smiled. "I guess I should just be glad I get a turn, right?" He continued massaging her breasts as she leaned on him, unable to fully process her own hopelessness.

"Mmm, these are amazing," he said appreciatively, taking her left nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. She moaned reflexively.

"Sensitive, too," he added after giving the hard tip a lick. "What are they, D-cups?"

"Double D," she answered mindlessly.

"Amazing, and you had enough support in this little dress, with no bra?"

"It's got underwires built in." Why did he care?

"Amazing," he repeated, working them with his hands as she closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall now, and moaned. At least he was being gentle; after a few of the guys had slapped and bitten them, this actually felt rather nice.

Lost in the feeling, she barely noticed him laying her back down on the cum-covered concrete floor, removing his pants and boxers, and straddling her waist. "Hold them together for me," he requested, and she complied, utterly defeated, allowing him to tit-fuck her. It felt strange, but at least it didn't hurt. His tip kept bumping into her chin and mouth, though, and after a few rough pushes, she instinctively opened her mouth so her lips and tongue kissed his big cock with each thrust.

He finally came, coating her tits with his hot spray, and then he used his cock and hands to rub it in, massaging it into her breasts as though it were oil or lotion. "Beautiful," he remarked, leaning back to admire his work.

"I want to go home," she begged.

"Yes," he nodded kindly. "I think you've had enough. And besides I think every cock in the club already fucked you," he added with a chuckle.

"Every...how many," she managed.

"Oh, must've been at least 40 of them. You know, not EVERY guy in the club, some of them didn't want to, especially after the first 20 or so had made such a mess of you."

Hot tears of shame burned down her cheeks.

"Oh, and not your boyfriend, obviously," he laughed.

"Please," she begged again.

"Right right. Well the thing is, we can't have you, like, going to the police or anything, claiming you've been raped. So, I don't see how we can let you leave."

"PLEASE!" She pleaded desperately. "I won't tell anyone. I swear it!"

He looked her over thoughtfully. "IF we let you go, and you do tell someone, I promise we will find you and make you our fuck-toy for the rest of your worthless life."

She looked at him in horror, her mouth agape...and her poor, abused pussy somehow throbbing again at the suggestion.

"Okay okay," he chuckled. "Well I suppose it won't do to let the old boyfriend see you like this. Although in the state he's in, he might not even notice. Anyway let's get you dressed." With surprising gentleness, he helped her straighten her dress, and washed the smeared makeup off of her face with a cool, wet paper towel.

Her eyes were bleary and bloodshot, her hair was a tangled and matted mess, her dress was rumpled and stained, and she had more than 40 strange men's cum coating her breasts, deep in her pussy and asshole, and dripping down her legs.

But somehow she managed to walk out of there, get into a cab, and go home with her completely oblivious boyfriend.