Go Ahead

He hung his tracksuit bottoms up on the back of the cubicle door and then yanked off his underwear. I wasn't especially surprised by that: different men like to have sex in different states of undress.

I noticed how hairy his legs were as he tore open the condom and unfurled it down his cock. His thighs and shins were deeply covered by a thick fur of wiry black hair.

He saw me looking and made a show of presenting himself; flaunting his hard cock with the condom stretched down it and his big, heavy scrotum hanging down beneath it. His trainers and socks looked a little silly at the bottoms of his naked, hairy legs and his large pubic bush did not improve the overall effect.

I couldn't help but smile.

"You like?" he asked, misinterpreting my reaction.

"Of course," I replied.

He gestured me to turn around and bend over the toilet - he didn't seem to know the words to ask for that - and then positioned himself between my legs behind me.

I wondered again if he was going to invite the gay guy in with us so I could rim him while he fucked me. However, as the toilets now sounded especially busy, I couldn't see how he was going to do that.

He pushed his cock against my arsehole and then, no doubt surprised at how easy I was to enter, slowly eased it up into my bowels. I turned to look up at him over my shoulder and we allowed ourselves a small smile together. We might find it difficult to communicate, but this was something that was universally understood: some men like sex no matter who they're doing it with, and other men are more than willing to oblige.

I faced forwards again and grabbed the toilet seat for support, well aware of how many other men's buttocks had been pressed against it. He started sliding himself in and out of me, slowly at first, and then steadily increased his rhythm and the strength of his movements when it was clear that I wasn't going to object.

He held me firmly by the hips and I pushed my arse back to meet the quickening thrusts of his cock, bending down as low as I could to take as much of his length and girth as I could. I turned around again and we grinned at each other naughtily: in spite of our differences in background and culture we were briefly united as two men who enjoyed the illicit pleasures of some furtive buggery.

"Ach, da! Da!" he whispered down to me as we worked our bodies together.

"Oh, yeah!" I gasped in reply, squeezing my arse muscles around the driving of his cock.

This was so much better than being fucked through the hole in the partition. We could work our bodies together, pushing against each other and matching each other's movements, and he could get far more of his cock inside me, sweeping the whole length of it in and out of my gaping hole.

When I'd left my house for work that morning, I'd had no idea that I'd end up like this; with my nicely-ironed work trousers and fresh, white briefs yanked down around my knees and some Eastern European migrant worker going at my bum like a dog on heat. I must look so unexciting and conventional in my boring work suit, no-one would ever imagine that I liked to bend over in public toilets, masturbating and gasping while total strangers pleasured themselves behind me.

I smiled at the incongruity: I'd be leaning over my desk in an hour or so, an expression on my face like butter wouldn't melt, with my arsehole making a large, inflamed ring against the seat of my trousers, puckered and gaping open obscenely from the rowdy servicing it had received on my way into work.

I turned to look back up over my shoulder at my companion as he fucked me and we smiled together again. No language was necessary between us: we seemed to both recognise that men from all parts of the world, from all walks of life, helped each other out like this sometimes; we might never be friends or even acquaintances, but we could enjoy a few brief moments of being physically joined.

It was only when his hips had started thrusting noisily against my buttocks, that it became clear how I was supposed to sniff his backside while he was fucking me. He grabbed his discarded shorts and shoved them into my face like the villain in a murder mystery applying a hanky doused with chloroform to his victim.

At first I tried to pull away, not understanding what he was pushing into my nose, but then he bent over my body and whispered, "Smell ass! You like!" into my ear, and I realised that this was the back of his underwear and that he was inviting me - in his own, succinct way - to sniff it while he fucked me.

I had to admire his approach: it was nothing if not original.

Perhaps for him this was a normal part of the courtship ritual back home: grinding his dirty keks into his sweetheart's face.

I sniffed at the rear gusset of his boxers, enjoying the strong smell of his bum on the faded material. It felt so raunchy to have him do that to me - for me to be sniffing the back of the underpants he'd been wearing while his cock pummelled my arse - and yet at the same time it was hugely arousing.

I muttered again, "Aah, yeah!" and grabbed my own cock underneath me and started pumping my foreskin quickly back and forth.

He chuckled against my back at the feel of me masturbating so excitedly at what he was doing. "You are dirty man!" he repeated with a laugh. "Very dirty man!"

He moved the back of his boxers around against my nose, letting me explore the richness of his odour on the part that had clearly been wedged up into his crack and, once I'd found their crudest, most pungent spot, I muttered my encouragement to have him hold them still.

His cock sped up and started bucking in and out of me. The sight of another man sniffing the back of his dirty underpants had obviously propelled him onto the home straight.

I tugged my own organ more quickly, hurrying it towards my own climax.

"Sniff there," he implored me, roughly pushing the most discoloured spot on the material into my nose. "Sniff hole!"

I did as he was demanding, inhaling deeply from the stained streak on the rear gusset of the shorts. The smell was powerful and masculine; raunchy and rough.

"You like?" he asked. As if he needed to.

I grinned and nodded, sniffing again still more enthusiastically. "I love!" I told him.

His cock was ramming back and forth with the same relentless pounding as a hammer drill on full speed. He was using my arse like a teenager beating off: rapid and forceful, his impatient excitement more than making up for his deficiencies in skill.

I was amazed at how turned-on I was feeling: bending like this over a toilet, being made to sniff the dirty seat of this stranger's shorts while he was fucking me so forcefully. My cock was throbbing with the sheer thrill of it as I wanked it, my nose sniffing hungrily at the small dirty patch of material that had quite blatantly been pressed against his arsehole.

I started cumming before him; my body shuddering underneath him as my orgasm overwhelmed me.

Feeling me climax, he pulled his undershorts away from my face, tossed them to one side, and then pushed my back down low so he could go in for the final onslaught. He grabbed both of my hips and held them firmly in place, and then started slamming himself in and out of my arse as hard and fast as he could; using me as a mere orifice to pleasure himself and showing little regard for prolonging my own climax.

The guy in the next cubicle called out, somewhat breathlessly, "You guys look so hot!"

Neither of us acknowledged him. I'd actually forgotten he was even there.

It didn't take long for my companion to finish off, which I was pleased for because the sheer force and frantic pace of his rough technique was proving distinctly painful. Normally I like to savour the final lap of a good fuck, even after I've already climaxed, but with this guy I found myself relieved when I heard him grunting and felt his hips shuddering as he boisterously emptied his balls into my bowels.

Halfway through his orgasm, he fell onto my back and held me tightly by the chest as his cock kept thrusting up into me, releasing squirt after squirt of his seed into the condom.

He really had needed this. Who knows how long he must have waited for an opportunity to spend himself inside a willing hole.

As his chest heaved against my back and the rhythm of his jabbing cock gradually slowed and stopped, he muttered something in Russian which I took to be 'thank you'. He might equally feasibly have been telling me that I was the worst fuck this side of Moscow, but there was gratitude in his voice and I'm sure some form of thanks was intended.

While we hunched there together like that, me bending over the toilet with strings of semen hanging from my cock and with this stranger's body recovering itself on top of me and his cock still inside me, I wondered if perhaps he felt guilty about doing stuff like this. Maybe that was why he held off from doing it for so long and was so desperate for it when he finally gave in to his urges. He could be married or in a relationship with a woman - for all I knew he might even have kids - but found the thrill of an occasional male-on-male fuck difficult to resist.

I heard the grey suited guy in the next cubicle gasp as his hand succeeded in doing to him what mine had just done to me.

The worker pulled out of my arse with a slurp that sounded loud in the momentary quiet of the toilets, and we both stood up in the confines of the cubicle. I grabbed some loo roll to wipe my cock and my bum and he nudged me to pass some to him.

His cock still stood upright and the end of the condom was bulging with a copious deposit of his semen. Its pale, white colour contrasted starkly with the less salubrious streaks my backside had smeared down the rubbered shaft.

He wiped the condom and threw the tissue into the toilet bowl and then ducked down to reach for the underwear he'd discarded on the floor. I watched him as he carefully pulled the sheath from his cock and, to my surprise, squeezed out his thick, glutinous semen onto the crotch of his shorts. When he'd emptied the condom, leaving an impressive puddle on the boxers, he folded the material over and passed them to me.

"For you," he told me and then smirked mischievously.

Seeing my confusion, he added, "For later... how you say... a gift?"

That made me chuckle and I nodded. "That's very kind," I whispered. "So thoughtful!"

I stuffed his underwear into my inside jacket pocket, already looking forward to having a good sniff of them to fuel what would be a very enjoyable solitary release. I might even nip into the toilets at work to lap at his cum before it dried, one hand holding his underwear to my face and the other sweeping up and down my erection as it protruded from my fly.

He threw the condom on the floor next to the toilet and then grabbed his tracksuit bottoms from the back of the door. His cock was already softening and his foreskin was slowly rolling forwards, pushing the splatters of cum on its withering head forwards into a gooey mass.

"Let me clean you up," I thought it only polite to offer.

He looked at me curiously, not understanding, and I knelt down in front of him, extending my tongue towards his messy cock.

Now he got it; he could see what I meant. He put his hands on his hips and thrust his hips out towards me, pushing his limpening member towards my eager face. Even from a few inches away, I could smell that the strong smell of rubber from the condom had all but drowned out his own more interesting scent, but I wasn't going to let that put me off.

He said, "Go ahead... that's how you say? Go ahead..."

I looked up at him and nodded with a smile.

He smiled back. "See... I learn!"

It was nice that, at the very least, I had taught him a little English.

I leaned forwards and gently licked the residue of spent semen from his drooping cock. In spite of the flavour of rubber, his own strongly alkaline taste was striking. As I'd suspected, just like his backside, his diet obviously affected the taste of his cum. That's not to say it was unpleasant: it was just very different from the many samples of semen I'd drank down from the huge variety of men who'd been kind enough to let me.

I would certainly enjoy having a more leisurely taste of it on the briefs he'd given me later on that day.

I put my mouth around the tip of his cock and gently sucked the final dregs of cum from it. To my surprise I felt the shaft of it responding to my lips and starting to harden again. Clearly, like me, this was a man who could never get enough sex!

Sensing that he was becoming aroused, and no doubt aware of the time, he pulled back and announced flatly: "Enough."

I stood up again and we quickly pulled up our clothing.

Before he let himself out of the cubicle, he whispered to me, "You are very dirty man. I like!"

I smiled at him. "Do you want my phone number?"

He shook his head firmly. "Nyet. For me, this just... how you say... fun."

I realised he thought I was suggesting some kind of relationship between us. I wanted to tell him that for me too encounters like this were just fun, even if repeated as a regular arrangement, but I thought I might start to sound pushy if I persisted.

After he'd gone, I waited a minute or so, until the men at the urinals who had seen him leave had themselves also washed up and gone, and then let myself out of the cubicle to clean up.

When I finally got to the bus station office, I managed to get my son a full refund on the ticket he no longer needed. Later that evening, when I phoned him to tell him, he apologised again for the mess up and for putting me out, but I assured him that it had been no trouble at all and that I'd be more than willing to return to the bus station were it to happen again.

What I didn't tell him was that I was intending to start popping in there pretty regularly anyway.