Pussy Riot In The Ladies’ Room

Anal

I was still trying to shrug my conscience away when her surprisingly talented lips sucked my oversized pacifier. No need to lecture me on the disgusting analogy. It was how it felt. My own birth was closer to Malcolm McLaren’s promo stunt with his very much intendedly scandalous casting band featuring the underwhelmingly incapable bass player than to her parents’ tryst that lead to her existence after all. A lot closer.Blame me if you must. It helped both of us: I got my ego polished along with my fishing rod while she got the feeling of being an unruly and disgraceful late teen out of it—in times when deodorants named Anarchy can be bought in convenience stores. Just consider the absurdity… anarchy being commercially available at your next-door bulwark of capitalism. Maybe that’s why these kids don’t use that brand—or any at all, for that matter. That alone would not be the issue but the processed grease and old onions from the cheap fast food venues do add some… flavor to one’s body odor.Admittedly, doing it in the dirtiest stall of the ladies’ room while the local hardcore band rattled down their set at speeds that would have made Greg Ginn green with envy probably was as punk as this Tuesday night would get. At the same time, did the separation of bathrooms by assigned sex still make sense in times when gender fluidity should be accepted as perfectly natural? In the graffiti- and anti-fascist sticker-wallpapered basement of a half-deteriorated, illegally squatted mansion in the middle of an abandoned industrial dump of all places.Well, I did feel pretty renegade Tokat Escort being likely the guy who increased the average age of the braces-ridden audience by at least five years and left everyone with the impression I was desperately trying to blend in with the youth—or chase obscenely young tail. At least, that’s what I’d read in the bartending girl’s gaze when she threw me a pitiful look over my company who was cuddling with my arm. My girl must have been too easily misinterpreted as being under my tutelage and having dragged her surrogate daddy figure to such a loud place. To defend said barmaid, she likely wasn’t familiar with my washed- and worn-out Circle Jerks shirt that must have predated her hatching by a year or five.Can’t hold that against her.Anyway, I was chastising myself mentally for still thinking about the cute barkeep who was seriously rocking the skinhead girl look with her unkempt bangs and loose, braless tanktop while Whotsername kneeling in front of me was using me as a mic for deep-throat karaoke like it was the Eurovision pre-qualification round. I didn’t bother to keep my voice down as it gave me the kicks, and it did her too, based on how, together with her salacious slurps, we created a positive feedback loop of lust. In between moans, I was having a hard time not just bursting into laughter over the irony of getting acquainted first orally and then verbally and how ridiculously easy it had been to score tonight. Works for me.Judging from the rhythmic glucking she so shamelessly flaunted, I took it was common practice Tokat Escort Bayan in this place to make a show of the conquests one has abducted to the stalls. This assumption got confirmed when I heard the bathroom door open and someone walk in, halt, backpedal and finally ‘woohoo’ us from the top of their lungs in a broken voice that sounded more like an ode to excesses on cheap booze, second-hand cigarettes and singing along with the band. Nina Hagen would have been proud.I cussed when my baby dressing boiled up my balls and spilled out in mind-melting throbs amplified by her thumb’s incessant gentle caresses on my slippery frenulum. Smiling like winning the lottery, she embraced the sprays of her coveted jackpot plastering her pretty face. Meanwhile, despite the ebbing but still frequent afterglow spasms, I fought to keep my eyes open and not fall into a clichédly flattering snore on the spot. Whoever had taught her to keep that velvety touch during and shortly after the orgasm knew what they were telling her to do.Just as the first classy snort threatened to leave my nose, I willed myself to stay awake—even if it meant shaking my alertness to full overdrive by tearing the girl’s pants down and submitting my ammonia-, sweat- and cold tobacco-offended nose to a saturation of day(s)-old crotch marinade (note the bracketed plural). To be fair, she hadn’t minded my unwashed dick either.Sparing you the detail.You’re welcome.I do shower every day, though.Yes, very rock ‘n’ roll of me; keep the smug remark.The stall next to us flushed.Turns out Escort Tokat I lucked out and this little punk chick must have had discovered the virtues of personal hygiene. I don’t mean the hair—heck, I’ll let anyone grow as much hair as they feel comfortable with in the places of their choosing. It does have a certain anti-establishment feel to it in times of slick slits and bleached anuses rubbed in everyone’s faces, courtesy of social media. I meant that she was either blessed with modest olfactory effusion or had had the decency to prepare for such eventualities.Still, my oral assault came as enough of a surprise to send her to the edge in merely a few well-placed licks—just in time for the bathroom visitor to knock on the door and invite themself in. “Got room for one more in there?”Unable to speak, given my mouth was busy being put to better use than blabbing, all I could affirm was a muffled hum. This, however, sent my little lover girl right to the stars. “YESSS! YESSS!” she replied to both my voice reverberating on her clit and the broken voice’s request.The exact moment the paper-thin door flung open—decaying antifa-squatted house; why would the toilet locks still be functional?—the intruder was welcomed by a cum-baptized girl in seventh-heaven bliss, emptying her bladder down some old fart nearly twice her age’s gullet like NOFX’s Louise. What else would you come to a public toilet for? Certainly not to replace the spunk on the girl’s face with your drool while making a point of breaking grandma’s strictest table manners regarding the consumption of liquid nutrition.Outrageous! The old lady’s turning over in her grave!The sloppy make-out session I witnessed in the following was a sight to behold: tongues passionately sloshing around my sauce, fighting for the upper hand while hands were playing hide between the partner’s legs.

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