tagToys & MasturbationDirty Toilet Wanker

Dirty Toilet Wanker

byjoshnmeg©

This is a completely true story, so if you've ever been in a similar situation, or are so in the future, here's some food for thought. Sex is about so much more than 'bend over darling, I've got a load for you!

For the continuity junkies reading this. The hospital is UCLH on Euston Road, London and the toilet concerned is the one fronting Warren Street tube by the restaurant.

We've always had a good sex life. Energetic, expansive and expressive, both in quantity and quality. But over the past few years we've gone on a more erotic and experimental curve. This started when the kids -- well, weren't really kids any more, and took some of the what I presume are usual courses; dogging, role play, soft-swinging etc.

What I want to tell you about though -- and I hope I get across the sheer sexual intensity here -- is an incident that occurred between us while I was in hospital, recovering from an operation no-cucking-less!

We'd been speaking and texting for a couple of days between visits and agreed she would purchase the necessary for some kinky nursing role play when I got home and I had kept her updated with the various scores for all the nurses that I fancied (this is something we've developed over the years but really does deserve its own story, so watch out soon!)

In outline though, the deal rules are simple and apply to both boys and girls:

A score of 0-2: not unless I/we already know her and/or she is bi or very good in the sack

A score between 3-6 : definitely worth a punt. You never know what's in the packet unless you open it

A score between 7-9: just gagging for an opportunity to get between the flaps and unload a creampie, or swallow the lot

A perfect score of 10: the sort of girl or boy that neither Meg or I would need to discuss before making an approach to see if they'd be interested in playing

I was looking forward to Meg visiting for a bit longer on Saturday afternoon. She had texted me asking what underwear I'd like her to wear and I'd selected a nice lacy red & black matching bra/basque, knickers, with an added request for hold up stockings and heals, even though it was wintery cold. Duly obliging with a texted photo, offering evidence Meg informed me she hadn't been able to pleasure herself with her favourite rabbit as child No.1 was out of the house. I retorted that she already owed me at least six orgasms as I -- due to the nature of my surgery (you really don't want to know -- really!) had been forced to abstain for a full six days already, which seemed like more than a lifetime with a probable further two weeks of monklike behaviour to follow  We then got into what could almost be called an argument about my masturbatory activities the week before while working away, but ended in straightforward remorseless banter, but I had the last word and she caved in and promised to make up for it when I was able. 'Make up for it', in Josh & Meg language means one of two things, depending on who is making up to who; there's another story or two here, but suffice to say Meg making up to me includes at the very least a good deep anal drilling before a messy facial shot photographed.

Little did I realise what my next suggestion would give rise to over the next couple of hours.

Txt from Meg: 'On platform, train just coming in cu in a bit'

Txt from Josh: 'wot u wearin?'

Txt from Meg: ' jeans n jumper why lol'

Txt from Josh: 'under the fuckin jeans n jumper dont wind me up im in purgatory here'

Txt from Meg: 'ohhhh......I see well its black n red its silk, and theres a little bit of lac'e

Well, under the usual circumstances I would have been reaching for a sock full of lube and a support bandage for my right wrist! However, due to my current circumstances (you REALLY don't want to know, trust me!) that was frustratingly right out of the question.

Thinking about Meg in the red..........basque (check out some sublime photos of her on our profile!) I kept getting hard and frustrated, not to say just a little bit sore. To say this wasn't helped at all by her next TXT could be observed to be a little bit of an understatement.

Txt from Meg: 'I'm now on the train in the toilet rubbing my clit, thinking about your cock'

That's all I fucking needed!

Txt from Josh: 'ur really gna owe me when I get home'

Txt from Josh: 'keep me posted'

Txt from Josh: 'can u call n giv me commentary?

NOTHING!

Txt from Meg: 'jus got off cudnt cum on train, couldn't concentrate gna find ladies wc

BITCH!

Txt from Meg: 'WTF q of 20 fuckin tourists at st pancras for the ladies -- cant w8 dat long and even if I get in theyl b banging the door b4 I boom'

Txt from Josh: 'ha-fuckn-ha! serves u rite for being so selfish!

Txt from Meg: 'just got to hosp. heading for toilet hehe'

Txt from Josh: 'ring me!

Call from Meg: '(whispering), I'm in the ground floor toilet by the restaurant. My jeans and panties are down by my ankles and I've just removed the chinese balls I've been clamping in place for 45 minutes. I've got two fingers jammed up my soaking cunt'

Now, I reckon I've fucked Meg somewhere in the region of 3,000 times and I know exactly what she means when she says 'soaking'. Let's just say I like giving oral, and she likes receiving it, but I need a fucking snorkel to stop myself drowning sometimes!

Then it started: 'Ooooooohhhhhh,.............urrggghhhhhh,...........Ahh, ahh, ,ahh........................

And I knew exactly what was happening. Yes, she was wanking. Yes, she was enjoying it all by herself. But also, she was playing her time-honoured role of audibly acting like the dirty slut we both like to think she is under the well presented cloak of demureness. And we both found out long ago that we both got off totally on the audible sound of sex, and even better -- solo sex! The erotic and purely self-indulgent wank you may say.

Josh: 'anyone else in there?

Meg: 'no alone'

Josh: 'louder then!

Meg: 'oooohhhhhhh...................mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm......... oh, oh, oh, oh....... That's soooo fucking good!

So, yes, she was overdoing it  But like I say it's the intention that counts and the effort Meg was putting in on my account was a truly glorious statement of how much we totally dig each other.

Josh: 'Come on baby! Do it, do it! Do it for me now! You dirty fucking bitch, wanking in a shitty public toilet!

Meg: 'God, I'm cumming!

Josh: 'tell me about it. What're you thinking about?

Meg: 'I'm - ughh, ughh - thinking how I'd -- ooohhhhhh, oooooooo - use your cock if you were -- oh fuck -- here with me now'

Meg: 'ugh ugh ugh......................'

Josh: 'Finished?

Meg: 'Mmmmmmmmm, I am now, yes' (she purred)

Josh: 'Bring me your socked gooey panties then as evidence', I ordered

Meg: 'I'll be up in a minute'

Five minutes later Meg appeared around the corner of my bed, clearly a little flushed (which she explained away to the nurse as having just come in out of the bitter cold) but I could also sense the coy sheepish demeanour of my wife having just indulged herself in the most selfish way while I was having to piss into a bottle to have it measured (not quite so fucking sexy eh?) But there was something else as well. A clear sheen of shock and horror dusted lightly across her face that was hilariously explained when she told me that, when leaving her cubicle, a middle-aged, little overweight but well-dressed woman seemed to be both spending rather too long washing her hands absent mindedly (explained by most of the water going all over the floor) Dashing out of the toilets in horrified embarrassment, it was only in the lift on the way up to the ward that Meg began to really wonder just how long the woman had been there, and exactly what she may have heard!

'Well', I said, 'where are they? I said.

Looking nervously over her shoulder, Meg dipped into her handbag and produced a pair of whore-red silk and lace panties, together with heavily squirt stained gusset. I lifted them up and gave them the quality assurance check of a connoisseur, inhaling the odour deeply like a junkie deprived of a long needed fix (let's be honest, I've ingested too many gallons of Meg's cunt juice to get hung up about a little pantie-sniffing) And it has always struck me as the most wonderfully pervy thing to do (and to think as kids we used to insult old men by calling them a 'knicker-sniffer'; oh how times change!)

Popping them into my dressing gown pocket I told her she could travel home knickerless like the dirty little tramp she was.

Meg produced a bunch of grapes, bottle of lucozade and a puzzle book before chiding me that if I couldn't satisfy her most carnal of womanly needs this event was not going to be a one-off and she would need to cast to the horizon looking for well hung hunks on the train home to sauce her imagination for the bedtime wank tonight.

Don't worry. Meg had made a number of promises. And yes, they were all paid up in full on my return to full hard-cocked fitness. But more of those episodes later

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