The Secret of the Cliffside Restroom
The morning sun was just beginning to bleed over the horizon, casting a golden glow across the rugged cliffs. After a long hike, I found myself desperate for a restroom. I remembered a set of public facilities near the conservation area, though they had been neglected for years. As I approached, I noticed a mature Black man, perhaps in his fifties, sitting quietly on a nearby bench, seemingly watching the sunrise.
The restroom block was in a state of decay, with shattered windows and rusted metal doors. I stepped inside, navigating through debris and puddles of water until I found a single cubicle with a functioning door. As I relieved myself, I noticed the walls were covered in graffiti, marking this place as a secret spot for anonymous encounters. My eyes landed on a gloryhole carved into the partition wall. A sudden surge of desire hit me, and I began to stroke myself, imagining the thrill of a stranger’s touch.
The silence was broken by the crunch of gravel outside. A heavy metal door groaned open, and footsteps echoed through the derelict room. A deep, commanding voice asked if anyone was inside. I remained silent, my heart hammering against my ribs. I realized it was the man from the bench, and he wasn’t here for the view. I leaned forward, peering through the hole, just as he entered the adjacent stall.
I heard the distinct sound of a zipper. He asked if I wanted some fun, and though I didn’t speak, my curiosity won. He slid his thick, dark member through the opening. I reached out, gripping him firmly, feeling the heat and power of his skin. I leaned in, my lips parting to take him inside. He was massive, and as I slid my mouth up and down his length, I felt him grow harder, pulsing against my tongue.
Once he was fully erect, I used my hand to provide a tight, rhythmic grip, watching the veins stand out under the morning light. I teased the head with my tongue before diving deep, pushing my limits until I felt a wave of nausea. He groaned, pressing himself firmly against the wall to give me every inch.
The air grew thick with tension and the scent of musk. I whispered, asking if he wanted to feel my backside. He agreed, his voice a low rumble of approval. I stripped off my jeans and pressed my rear against the hole. I gasped as I felt his tongue swirl around my entrance, cleaning and probing me with an intensity that left me breathless. Then, he slid a finger inside to prepare me.
When he finally pushed his head into my tight opening, I let out a sharp moan. He slid in slowly, filling me completely until I felt like I was being impaled by a rod of iron. He began to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, the sound of his body hitting the wall echoing in the small space. He called me his little slut, and I begged him to go harder, faster, pushing back against him with everything I had.
As he reached his peak, he groaned, thrusting one last time with incredible force. I felt his warm, thick seed flood my insides, pulsing deep within me. We stayed locked together for a long moment, exhausted and satisfied, until he slowly slid out. Before he left, he asked me to clean him. I knelt, sucking him clean, tasting his essence while his semen continued to drip from me.
He called me a good boy, zipped up, and disappeared into the morning mist. I stood there for a moment, breathless and changed, wondering if I would ever find that mysterious stranger again.