Choke

She starts to choke; he pulls her back by the hair releasing her mouth. Her jaw remains slack and just as the thick air reaches her lungs she is rewarded with a strike.

The blow to her chin vibrates through her head and sends a warm glow reverberating through her skull. For a second she thinks she has the privilege to glimpse God, but no, it’s just the hazy outline of his face swaying back into view.

The evening had started in a strange part of town; a bar filled with men in suits, aftershave splashed over fresh sweat, straight from the office. The cramped establishment had filled quickly and soon she found herself pushed up against a man with cropped dark hair and rough skin. A wave of the crowd forced them closer together and she stuck her rear out to meet with the dense mound below his waist.

His hand moves over hers and despite their difference in body size and strength, their palms are the same size. This is where the similarity ends, the hand inside of his is soft and weak, he imagines her moisturising daily, chatting to a foreign girl who manicures her nails twice a week, or curled on the sofa carefully applying coat after coat of clear polish. He wants to ruin her hands, make them rough like his own, tear her nails and make her touch places she never thought she could.

She feels him tug her arm and somehow she lets herself be led. With her free hand she rests her cocktail on the edge of the bar and just catches sight of the glass hitting the floor before she is dragged deeper into the crowd.

Soon she is in the thick of the revellers, the stranger’s coarse hand her only guide, surrounded by men taller than her, most unaware of her, these large men seem transfixed, gazing up to a wide screen TV playing baseball replays.

She thinks to herself this is not something she would normally do, even entering the bar alone was unlike her, but while these respectable thoughts glide through her head, between her legs her sensible cotton pants are soaked through.

The edge of the crowd ends abruptly, a wooden door is pushed open and the two strangers are now facing each other inside one of the public toilets of the bar. The room is empty but for the two of them and before she has a chance to check if there are urinals – she wants to know what gender toilet she has been led – he pushes her against a flimsy cubicle door and into the confined space.

He looks at her now properly for the first time, she is timid on the surface, white and pink dress, chest covered with cardigan, tights (he doubts she would wear stockings and he is right), flat shoes and a large brown leather handbag strapped over her shoulder. Everything indicates she is a sensible, God fearing girl.

Flat shoes to run away from muggers, clothes that don’t provoke male lust, tights that take time to rip, no doubt a bag full of mace and yet when he looks into her eyes he sees within them the want to be fucked. This girl wants to be broken, her mouth wet and red, her lips lightly parted yearn to be soiled. These are the universal signs.

The tight cubicle smells of bleach masking shit and yet she is still worried this man will smell her, the heady scent rising from her cunt, through her knickers and nylon tights, it could put him off. She read somewhere that a woman could buy special perfume for this part of the body at pharmacies, but she’s never had the courage or the need to go in search of it, now she wishes she had.

These thoughts flood her conscious mind so she doesn’t allow herself to reason what is happening to her. When he lifts her bag off her shoulders, she only clutches to it for a moment, then watching him she observes him place the scruffy satchel on the floor with such care she feels she can trust him completely.

When he turns her slowly to face the wall she does not protest. She makes no sound when he guides her, still standing, to place her legs either side of the toilet bowl, forcing them open, her knees slightly bent grip the cool edge of the seat and her palms lie themselves flat against the tiles on the back wall.

Carefully, with both hands he raises the skirt of her dress, then from his pocket removes a pair of shiny nail scissors and begins to snip a tiny cut in the nylon flesh coloured tights. He catches a gasp from her at the unknown sounds and holds his breath to savour her noises as he rips open her tights at the crotch.

A flourish of blood rushes to her face and she is thankful for the cool of the air reaching the wet circles that have appeared in her panties. The space fills with the scent of her as he wrestles lightly with both tights and knickers, finally pulling them down to her ankles, to lift them up she would have to bend over and unhook them from the jut of the toilets’ underside.

He squats to look at her. His thumbs touch the outer lips of her cunt, inspecting the neatly trimmed hair and revealing the sticky liquid inside. He lets his thumb run along her inner lips to her clitoris, before removing his hand to inspect the residue in the harsh artificial light. She quivers as he sniffs the result, in fear of his judgement or in pleasure of his actions he does not know.

She is sticking her ass out now, willing him to touch her again, but unable to ask. Instead he unzips his flies and lets his trousers fall to the floor. Beneath them he is naked and hard, moving closer to her, she can feel the heat radiating from his body.

He pushes his dick in the space between her legs to let her see the head, driving it against her clitoris before moving back. She feels a hand on her back pushing her lower and she obliges, edging her cunt out to meet him.

He thrusts once, entering her fully, making a trail of spit shoot from her mouth in shock. She goes to wipe her chin, but before she can he places her stray hand against the tile again.

The slow rhythmic thrusts fill her and although she is wet somehow the strangers cock inside her seems to push her to the limits, and she shuffles her legs wider to take his size.

She doesn’t know if he’s come inside her, but he stops and pulls out, placing his dick between the gap of her legs again for her to look down and see. Still hard, he is covered in a thick white secretion, hers or his she doesn’t know. She wonders what it tastes like, their own juices mixed together. Before she can banish the thoughts from her head he is whispering to her.

The first words spoken between them are an order. His hot breath stings in her ear and it’s as if she has never been told what to do before, everything previous to that word pales to nothing. What he has said she doesn’t think she can do, until he repeats the single word again and as he speaks her warm urine trickles down her thighs and over his cock.

Humiliation wells inside of her and as her bladder continues to empty she stares at the sharp light in the ceiling, tears running down her reddened cheeks.

With the last drips he pulls his dick back, the piss covering it stinging her raw lips. She wants to shake, feels weak at the knees, but now he is turning her around, sitting her on the seat of the toilet, knees closed, kissing the tears falling from her cheeks.

As he stands her eyes follow his and she is thankful, truly thankful to him. His hands stroke her hair and at perfect height she obediently opens her warm mouth and he guides his cock deeper.

At first she thinks it is the shock of the taste that makes her gag, her own piss mixed with the strong discharge of her pussy on his cock. Then as his fingers go from stroking her hair to locking around it and he begins to reach further she realises it is his dick pushing against the back of her throat that is making her body panic.

She wants to do well, make him proud of her but there’s something rising in her stomach.

He catches her eyes just in time to see her expression as she begins to gag; her whole face contorted uncomfortably, her eyes pleading. He is reminded of road kill that needs to be finished off. This is what he thrives on, her look makes him want to thrust deeper and harder, push her to her limits.

The familiar sensation of texture reaches his dick as she starts to puke. He pulls her back by the hair releasing her mouth. Her jaw remains slack and just as the thick air reaches her lungs she is rewarded with a strike.

The blow to her chin vibrates through her head and sends a warm glow reverberating through her skull. For a second she thinks she has the privilege to glimpse God, but no, it’s just the hazy outline of his face swaying back into view.

She has never felt more wanted.