The Devil Holds Him

Chapter 1

Drinking. It's what I'm good at– it's what I do. I can always figure out ways to slither myself some fucking booze, drink, pass out, wake up, repeat. I have always said stupid shit when I'm drunk, I've done stupid shit when I'm drunk. But this has got to be the dumbest shit I've ever remotely even thought of, let alone done.

Dick out of my pants, fucking this chubby, nerd, needs-a-shower-hair-hasn't-been-washed-in-atleast-a-week dude in a bathroom stall of the rinky-dink backwoods fucking bar. Gay and cliche, I know. But that isn't even half of it.

Motherfucker is allegedly wanted– a felon. He told me this. Hopefully it's the booze talking but I'm not holding out. He's seen shit and I can tell with the dark circles under his eyes giving it away, the way he carries himself. It's just there. But I couldn't give a shit right now.

I wanted-no, needed to get off. I haven't had sex in over six months at this point and it's actively driving me insane. My right hand only does so much in those moments (she's experienced but not as nice as using someone else) and I'm not left-handed so it's hard to keep a good, clean rhythm going. This guy was sitting there, shit faced as fuck and of course, so was I. Of course, I had to go talk him up.

I've also never said I was a good person. He's very obviously more fucked up than I am. I'm clearly taking advantage of him but right now, this guy should be thanking me. If he's really wanted or whatever the fuck he said, then this is the best and only uninterrupted fuck he's gonna have for a good while.

He's fucking tight and I'm not even sure if he's done this before. Dude's moaning like a little bitch and it's just so hot. I wish I could care enough to take care of him and give him a reach-around but I don't. I'm not even sure if he can get it up. He's wasted; won't remember my face, he doesn't even know my name, and we'll never see each other again. I'm fucking him. That's a gift in of itself– he's more privileged than what he'll ever understand.

I cover his mouth with my hand quickly as I hear the door open to the bathroom, trying to listen as they close the door to the stall they chose. I grab this fuckhead by the hair and jerk him back roughly. I'm not about to slow down a bit, his ass is still clapping but I don't need the son of a bitch moaning out something stupid. I hear some tiny whimpers escaping his lips and I feel myself about to lose it.

I pulled myself out of him quickly, forcing him around to his knees, and I jerked myself off onto his face. The slut enjoyed it, fucking opened his mouth wide. "Fuck, holy fuck," I whispered aggressively, running my fingers through his hair as I showered him in my cum. After the appraisal I awarded him with there was a whisper of, "what the fuck," as I heard footsteps and then the bathroom door opening and slamming shut. If you've never had some creepy, dirty bar bathroom sex please fucking try it. Bucket list kinda shit.

Suddenly, he stands to his knees as I back up against the stall door, he stammers slightly, pulling me into a kiss. I'm obviously taken aback as I attempt to pull away. I love filthy sex as much as the next guy but not so much that I'm willing or wanting to taste my own cum. Salty, alcohol, cigarettes, and is there a way to taste a chemical on someone's mouth? Because I swear to all fuck I just did. Almost tasted like electricity.

I finally get him off of me, desperately attempting to pull my pants up as I accidentally rut up against this guy- still half hard and desperate. Round two was definitely playing in the cards but I was getting the fuck out of here. One time and I'm done. I wiped my face of the remnants of my own cum.

I tried to back away further into the stall door, making sure I was semi-clean as I tucked myself away, zipped my pants up, and straightened out my ratty t-shirt. I scratched my head as he was still standing there, hair a mess, his pants still down to his knees with a fully hard dick and cum drying to his fucking face. Where was this fucker's dignity?