Page 4 of Glitter

Breath stealing. Thought stealing. Too soon and probably too dramatic to say life changing, but, holy fuck, yes, that too.

The narrow, cramped bathroom stall filled with matching moans as I slid my dick into the warm, welcoming, tight sheath of his ass.

“Oh yes. Just like that, boo. Knew you’d be so thick,” he said.

His words made me shiver and flush hot with pride. It’s not as though I had any sort of control over the size and shape of my dick, but, nonetheless, it was a heady rush to hear that he liked it. That I could please him.

There was very little resistance, just deliciously hot, firm pressure enveloping me—he really had thoroughly prepped and readied himself for this—so I kept going forward, pressing inside of him until I was all the way in.

As I bottomed out and my hipped snugged against the taut, perky roundness of his ass, he murmured, nearly purring in satisfaction, “Mmhmm. Just what I wanted.”

It was so very hard to think, to do anything at all other than glory in the feel of his channel all around my ecstatically happy dick. But I did want to please him. I don’t think I’d ever understand what made this man pick me to do this with instead of any of the other men in the club—sexier men. Taller, thinner, stronger, better-looking men. More experienced men. Smarter, more witty, more charming men. But I didn’t want to disappoint him, make him regret picking me.

So, I tried to gather my words, asking, “What do you… How do you… Uh. I mean, what should I…”

Thankfully, he took pity on me with my bumbling, incoherent questions. “You’re off to a wonderful start, boo. Now, keeping going, and don’t be afraid to fuck me hard with that thick fucking cock of yours. Shove it in so good my ass chokes on it.”

His rather flippant use of the generic endearment should’ve been irritating. He was clearly using it because he didn’t know my name; had outright stated he didn’t want to know my name. But instead of it putting me off, it sent a swirl of giddy, fluttering delight through me. The silly name was just so light and playful, and he said it with such cheeky charm, that it seemed like just the perfect glittery tease from this perfect glittery man.

And really, with what he was letting me do, with the dirty, filthy things he’d just commanded me to do to him, he could call me whatever he wanted. If he wanted to call me a donkey, I’d let him. Frankly, I’d probably bust out my best donkey braying impersonation to make him happy and get him to keep calling me that.

“O-okay. Yes, I…I can… Okay.”

I didn’t sound confident, not in the least. And that’s because I wasn’t confident that I could fuck him how he wanted. I’d certainly give it my best shot, but none of my past sexual performances, whether I was topping or bottoming, would be what I’d consider very rough or aggressive.

My left hand was still holding onto his hip, the skin beneath my fingers as soft and smooth as the finest silk, and I was half afraid I would end up leaving marks on him. And half hoping that I would. On the one hand, it seemed sort of rude to mark somebody up without their express consent to do so. Not to mention, bruises on the perfection of this angel would almost seem profane.

On the other hand, I wasn’t so evolved that the thought of leaving some sort of visible proof that I’d been allowed to touch him, allowed to be so close and intimate with him, sent a rush of masculine satisfaction coursing through me.

My right hand was sort of floating uselessly by my side, but, despite the ultimate familiarity of our current physical engagement, I wasn’t sure of whether any additional touching would be welcomed. So, instead of trailing my hand over the lustrous and sparklingly inviting expanse of my glitter-daubed angel, I raised it and settled my palm against the cool, slick surface of the metal stall door only an inch or so away from where his shoulder rested against it.

Now feeling sufficiently braced to engage in sex, in this position, with a less likelihood of losing my balance and toppling over at some highly inopportune moment, I commenced pistoning my hips to give my angel the fucking he’d requested.

The first few times pulling back and thrusting forward, I was probably still more tentative and careful than I needed to be. But I was trying to gauge what he meant by fucking him hard and what sort of percentage his words reflected what he really wanted versus being dirty talk thrown around during sex. Thankfully, he wasn’t hesitant in providing me with feedback and further instruction.

“More. Give me more, boo. Harder. Faster. C’mon, give it to me. I want to be able to feel an echo of that thick cock fordays.”

With that verbal green light, I went ahead and slammed in as forcefully as I could on my next thrust. A groan and a heartfelt-sounding, “Fuck, yes, that’s more like it,” from my angel told me that I now was on the right path.

In and out, in and out, over and over again, settling into a fast, rhythmic pace, with my hips meeting and slapping against the lush firmness of his ass on each deep plunge.

“That’s it. That’s it. Perfect. Just like that.”

I lapped up the reassurance, just as thrilling to me as the hot channel hugged so tightly around my cock. So, naturally, I greedily went after even more praise.

“Yeah? That good? You like that?” I asked.

He moaned, the sound easily becoming the greatest sound I’d ever heard, then replied, “You know I do, boo. So good.”

It was good. So, so good.

Having sex in a public place was always a bit of a thrill all on its own. Although, I’ve done that enough times that I didn’t think it was the location making this particular experience as pleasurable as it was.

And I don’t think it was just because there was a newness to this experience—both being with a new partner and by having sex in a manner that was outside my norm.

I don’t think it was even just because of simple chemistry between my angel and me, although it was pretty obvious that we did have some sort of physical chemistry.

No, I think that the reason it felt so good, better than any of my previous sexual encounters, was because we had some sort of connection between us as well. Something that was beyond just the physical. An emotional, intangible—would it be foolish of me to think of it as spiritual—connection.

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