The Mature Man in the Bathroom Finished What Another Couldn’t

Months have passed since that afternoon by the pool and, although the pain in my body faded the way a bad dream fades, the other thing is still turning over inside my head. I’m thirty-four years old and have a body that has never asked my permission for anything: dark wavy hair, wide hips, huge heavy tits that show under any fabric, curves that draw looks I find uncomfortable and thrilling at the same time. I’ve tried to forget it, truly I have, but there are nights when I wake with my skin burning, my nipples hard as rocks and the sheet stuck to my thighs from how wet I am, and then he comes back. His rough hands prying my legs apart, his hoarse voice whispering filthy things in my ear, his thick cock sinking all the way into my cunt without asking permission, the brutal way he fucked me against the edge of that pool until he filled me with cum. It pisses me off that I want him. My cunt, on the other hand, has no qualms: it gets wet just from remembering him.

This weekend, Noelia and Sabrina practically dragged me out of the village. “You need some air, Carolina,” said Noelia with that unstoppable energy of hers, her dyed blonde mane falling over her shoulders. Sabrina, quieter, with brown skin and green eyes that seem to read you from the inside, just nodded: “The city will do you good.”

We rented a small flat in the Gràcia neighborhood of Barcelona. Peeling walls, the smell of burnt coffee and old tobacco soaked into the curtains, a place that smelled of long nights and people who don’t think about tomorrow. The train ride was pure chaos: laughter too loud, a bottle of cheap wine that stained our lips red, confidences shared halfway through the rattling. I told them softened versions of my stories, bragged about “some guy who drove me crazy” with invented details, but I kept to myself what really burns inside me: that old bastard had split me open against the hot concrete of the pool and emptied his balls inside me until it was dripping down my thighs.

***

On Saturday night the plan was a huge nightclub near the port, Eden. The taxi dropped us off at the entrance, beneath a blinking neon sign, and the bass could be felt from the sidewalk, pounding in your chest. The air inside was thick: sweet smoke, mixed perfumes, the sweat of hundreds of bodies looking for each other with their eyes. I’d put on a thin, multicolored striped T-shirt that clung to me, no bra, with my nipples shamelessly showing through the fabric, a beige jacket left open and a short frayed denim skirt. Underneath, a tiny thong was already wedged between the lips of my cunt with every step. With every movement I felt the air graze my skin and the fabric tightening where it shouldn’t.

Noelia wore a low-cut top that barely contained her tits; Sabrina, a tight jumpsuit that showed off her perky gym ass. We toasted with tequila shots, the burn sliding down my throat and the lime stinging my lips, and the three of us threw ourselves onto the dance floor together, shoulder to shoulder, already sweating with the first songs.

I danced with my eyes closed, letting the rhythm get into my blood. My skirt rode up with every turn, sweat stuck the fabric to my back, and I could feel the looks running over me: men with dilated pupils and growing bulges in their pants, women judging or envying. It made me feel exposed and, at the same time, in possession of something. Noelia and Sabrina disappeared into the crowd, flirting with a group of guys, and I let myself go alone, my hips circling slowly, feeling how my thong soaked through just from thinking about what might happen that night.

Then I saw him. Tall, blond, with blue eyes shining under the lights, cutting through the crowd as if it were parting for him. Almost two meters tall, broad shoulders, a white shirt half open over a tanned chest. His smile was the kind that belonged to someone used to getting his way. He came closer slowly, and a scent of citrus cologne mingled with the heat of the dance floor.

“Dancing alone?” he shouted over the music, his breath brushing my neck.

I smiled my way, leaning toward him.

“For now.”

We moved together, his hands on my waist immediately, big and firm, guiding me with a possessive touch I liked more than I expected. He pressed his body to mine and I felt his cock growing against my stomach, though I noticed, with some odd surprise, that it was small and skinny, a strange contrast to his size and his heartthrob facade. Even so, his heat seeped through my jeans and was enough to make my heart race. He kissed my neck, nibbled my ear, slid a hand down to my ass and squeezed it hungrily.

“Fuck, what a body you’ve got,” he murmured. “These tits, this ass... you’re making my dick hard, bitch.”

From a distance, my friends winked at me. The alcohol buzzed in my head and, for a while, the past fell silent. This was what I wanted: a stranger, no names, no future. A good fuck and nothing more.

“Come with me,” he whispered. “Somewhere quieter. I’m going to fuck you until you scream.”

He took my hand and led me toward the bathrooms, through a corridor of red lights, the floor sticky with spilled drinks, the air full of other people’s gasps, of women moaning while they were being fucked behind every door. He shoved open the first door and both of us froze.

***

Inside was a young girl, short brown hair, bent against the wall with her leggings pulled down to her ankles and her panties hanging from one foot. Behind her, a mature man, about sixty, weathered skin and sparse gray hair, was pounding into her with a fury that left me breathless. His shirt was open, his trousers dropped halfway down one leg, and a thick, dark, brutal cock was sliding in and out of the girl’s cunt coated in white slick. The wet sound of bodies slamming together, the slap of the soaked cunt swallowing that huge cock, filled the little room like a drum. She moaned with her hands braced on the tiles, her body arched, her ass offered up, her small tits bouncing with every thrust, oblivious to the fact that we were watching.

“That’s it, slut, that’s it, open up,” the old man growled, gripping her hips. “Look how your whore cunt’s swallowing it.”

The blond guy and I looked at each other for a second, desire lit in both our eyes, and without saying a word we slipped into the next bathroom, empty. He shut the door with a click. His hands lifted my T-shirt in a hurry, his fingers pinched my nipples until I gasped, and he kissed me hungrily, tasting of tequila. He spun me against the cold wall, yanked my skirt up, pulled my thong to the side without taking it off, spat into his hand, ran it over his cock, and thrust into me in one stroke.

And then it came back, without asking permission, that afternoon at the pool. I couldn’t help comparing. The blond guy was soft, almost shy, barely a skinny cock moving inside me without filling me, a friction that left me wanting, like a breeze that dies before it reaches you. I could feel his cock going in and out, but it wasn’t touching me anywhere important: the lips of my cunt wrapped around it loosely, my clit was left abandoned, my G-spot didn’t even know there was a man inside. The mature man in my memory, on the other hand, had been a hurricane; with that thick, veiny cock he’d filled every hollow in me until I was trembling, split me open from top to bottom and made me come three times in a row before unloading inside me. While this gorgeous guy moved without barely touching me inside, with short puppy-like thrusts, my mind was elsewhere.

“You’re so hot, fuck,” he panted, kneading my tits under the T-shirt. “I want to feel you shaking, I want you to come on my cock.”

No one was shaking. I shoved my ass back looking for more, trying to get him deeper, but there was nothing more. He sped up as best he could, managed four clumsy thrusts, and came quickly with a muffled groan, emptying into me with such a limp release that I barely felt it. He pulled away, wiped himself with paper, adjusted his jeans with a satisfied smile that matched nothing I was feeling. He left and abandoned me there, frustrated, my cunt throbbing in emptiness, a warm thread of cum running down my thigh and my head full of the other one, the real one, the one that still burned in my memory.

***

I should have left. Instead, I stayed listening to the sounds still coming from the bathroom next door. Curiosity pushed me to the crack of the half-open door. The brown-haired girl was still against the wall, and the mature man was dominating her with a ferocity I’d never seen up close. His huge hands marked her hips, leaving red prints, and that monstrous cock went all the way in, coming out shining with her juices before burying itself again in one violent thrust. He pulled it out completely for a moment, and I saw it: thick, dark, curved, with swollen veins and a wet head.

“Open wide, bitch, I’m going to split you in two,” he growled, before shoving it back in with one single stab that lifted her off the floor.

I felt the heat rising inside me again, this time for real. Without realizing it, I slipped a hand under my skirt, moved the blond guy’s semen-soaked thong aside, and started rubbing my clit while I spied on them without daring to breathe. My cunt contracted uselessly, jealous of that other girl who was actually getting properly fucked.

Suddenly, she convulsed in a loud orgasm, her hands sliding on the tiles, her legs shaking so hard that only the old man’s cock buried inside her kept her up.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, fuck, I’m coming!” she cried, her voice broken.

And as soon as it passed, she tore away from him in a hurry, the old man’s cock coming out with a wet sound, still hard and dripping with her fluid. She dressed herself with clumsy fingers and almost ran out, without looking back, leaving him planted in the middle of his desire, that enormous cock pointing at the ceiling. I stepped back, too late. When I opened the door to get away, I ran straight into him.

His dark eyes pinned me in place. He smelled of sweat, cunt, and night, and there was something in the way he looked at me, without hurry, without the slightest doubt, that reminded me of the other one in a way that left my legs weak and my cunt dripping. I looked down without meaning to and there it was: thick, long, still shining from the other girl, throbbing to the rhythm of his breathing.

“You,” he said, in a deep voice that didn’t allow argument. “You’re going to finish what she left half done. You’re going to suck my cock until I come in your mouth.”

“I don’t know if I can,” I murmured, and it was true: I had never done anything like that, never sucked a cock that had just come out of another woman’s cunt. Fear and dirty curiosity tangled in my chest, and I felt my cunt clench on its own, already soaked.

He didn’t give me time to think about it. He took my wrist firmly, not violently but without hesitation, and made me come in. He held my gaze for a moment, as if giving me one last chance to leave, and I didn’t take it. I knelt down on the cold floor on my own, surprised by my own eagerness, with that huge cock at face level, throbbing, smelling of pure sex.

What came next was like nothing I had ever experienced. I grabbed it with both hands —I couldn’t fit it all in one— and ran my tongue over the head, tasting the salty flavor of her mixed with his own liquid. A rough moan rose from the old man’s chest. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took it in, first a few inches, then more, choking a little when it reached the back of my throat. I sucked it clumsily at first, then shamelessly, letting instinct take over, the salty taste, the way he growled and held my hair in one hand setting a rhythm I followed without resisting.

“That’s it, that’s it, good girl,” he murmured, breathing hard. “Take it, bitch, all the way in.”

He fucked my mouth with slow, deep thrusts, and I let him, eyes watering and saliva running down my chin to spill onto my tits. I licked his balls, sucked them one by one while jerking him with both hands, and took him back into my mouth until I was choking, feeling him throbbing against my tongue. With one free hand I hiked up my skirt, moved the thong aside and shoved two fingers into my cunt, fucking myself at the same rhythm he was fucking my mouth. He wasn’t the pretty boy from the dance floor. He was someone who knew exactly what he wanted, and that certainty dragged me along the same way the memory of the pool had dragged me.

“I’m going to come,” he growled, grabbing my hair with both hands. “Swallow it all, bitch, don’t let a drop fall.”

And then the thing I hadn’t expected happened: I came first, with my fingers buried to the knuckles in my cunt and his cock throbbing in my mouth. A dirty, brutal pleasure shot through me from top to bottom, made me moan with my mouth full, tighten my lips around his shaft. A second later he exploded down my throat, shot after shot of hot, thick semen, and I swallowed as much as I could, though some leaked from the corners of my mouth and ran down my neck. I kept sucking his head, drawing out the last drop until he gently pulled away. He left me trembling against the toilet, dizzy, panting, with cold knees, my mouth full of his taste and my cunt still contracting around my fingers. He steadied himself for a moment longer and then stepped away, adjusting his clothes with a calm that made me feel small.

“Take care,” was the only thing he said before leaving.

***

I got up unsteadily, wiped my chin and neck with paper, pulled my fingers out of my cunt and sucked them without thinking, looked at myself in the fogged mirror and barely recognized myself: swollen lips, smeared mascara, a white line at the corner of my mouth, tits red from all the groping. I left the bathroom with shaky legs, the blond guy’s cum and mine mixed together dripping down my thigh, my head a mess. Back on the dance floor, among the crowd and the lights, I crossed paths with the brown-haired girl. She was chatting with a guy who seemed like her boyfriend, laughing, touching his arm as if nothing had happened, though she was walking with a slight limp, her cunt so thoroughly fucked it showed, and adjusting her clothes in a way only I understood. I had the feeling she wasn’t going to tell anyone what had happened in the bathroom. Same for me.

I found Noelia and Sabrina near the bar, euphoric, with no idea of anything. In the taxi home, while they shouted over each other about the guys from the night, I sat in silence with my forehead against the cold glass, watching the streetlights pass by, still tasting semen on my tongue and feeling my soaked panties stuck to my cunt. Another softened version would be waiting for them when they asked. But inside me the whole night was still throbbing, intact, and with it the same question as always, the one I don’t know if I want to answer.

Was this healing me, or just another way of never stopping wanting it?