Clara sat nakedly on the cold toilet seat in the men’s room. Her thighs were spread widely apart and she allowed her lax breasts to fall to the sides of her chest as she slouched back against the cold metal flush. Her brazen nipples stood firm and were distinctively the color of plum.
A small red dress lay on the grimy tiled floor in a ball, a tangled g-string topped it. Clara wore nothing but black patent leather calf-high platform boots. The man before her was grunting and tugging on his stubby red cock. He had a massive beer belly and thick black hair covered a majority of his body. Clara had never seen such a small cock. She slouched there nakedly and allowed him to masturbate himself with squinted eyes.
“Oh yeah, cum for me, daddy,” Clara would moan half-heartedly. A silver string of smoke coiled from the cigarette clamped between her nimble fingers. Her arms hung at her sides and she pumped her hips, playing peek-a-boo with her pussy. She lifted her thin alabaster limb and sucked on the thin stump of cigarette, her cheeks caving in. The mans arms jiggled as he voraciously wanked himself and then began to hypervenalate.
“That’s right, baby. I wanna feel that cum,” without much effort Clara sat straight up and dropped the cigarette between her thighs. The cigarette hissed as it was extinguished by the toilet water and Clara used her two hands to smash her sizeable breasts together to catch his streams of cum. “Eeeee...” the man squealed as he collapse against the stall door, nearly breaking it down. His hot white load pooled in Clara’s cleavage. The man panted, red faced and mopped his head with the neck of his t-shirt. Using one hand Clara gripped her breasts in place and mopped up the cum with a wad of toilet paper.
“Well then, that’ll be twenty,” she sighed, glad the task was over. The man opened the stall door and went over to the sink to cool his face. Clara stood up, revealing her entire ivory figure. Her milky white skin was ruined only by a new-school bleeding heart on her left hip bone and the plum color of her pierced nipples. Her stomach sunk in compared to her heavy breasts and wipe hips and her pussy was so small it was barely visible without spreading her legs. Her platinum blonde curls framed her chin in a 1940's pin-curl style. The man balanced himself against the sink, still out of breath and watched as Clara stepped into her short devil-red strapless dress. She pulled it up over her hips and puckered her breasts; the dress left only the vivid details of her body to the imagination.
The man fished in her greasy pocket and slapped a twenty on the wet sink. Clara clicked over and sopped up the twenty, tucking it into her boot. “Later,” she said without emotion and the man simply nodded. She pushed her way out of the mens room and her lungs filled with stale smoke. She made an immense effort to sway her hips and still stay up on her 6-inch stilettoes. Everywhere she looked there were men drinking heavily, most of them with a girl in their lap. She scanned the tables but before she could pluck up her next trick she felt a cold hand on her thigh.
“Hey there, Missy,” said a man with dark tousled hair and a thin nosed. Slouching in his metal folding chair he was dressed like he would going to a club to meet “real girls.” He owned a very nasal voice and a five-o’clock shadow. Clara hated his hand on her thigh. Looking down at him she formed her lipstick stained lips into a wicked smile. The man responded immediately with what could only be described as a shit-eating-grin.
“I’ve heard about you, honey. Heard you’re a feisty one...” she sneered. Clara disliked his altissimo tone and the way he was so possessive. His two friends already had pussy sitting in their laps and they were chortling appropriately. Clara had reprimanded the new girls so many times about their behavior. Get in and get out was her motto. Clara decided it was time to show the little bimbos how it’s done. With a glare she lifted her heavy booted leg and strattled him, her extra-short dress riding up until it barely covered her ass. She could feel the bulging material of his jeans against her boney pussy.
“Your heard, did you? Well, I guess you’ll have to find out, wontcha?” Clara poised the open-ended question while hypnotizing him with her snake-like stare. Her eyes were ice blue and carefully lined with thick black eyeliner and butterfly-like artificial eyelashes. She was a devil woman. She was dangerous and she had attitude. She laced her fingers around his neck and held him there transfixed. She was a spider, waiting in her web. A black widow.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the girls mouth to the other, “Bitch.”
A small red dress lay on the grimy tiled floor in a ball, a tangled g-string topped it. Clara wore nothing but black patent leather calf-high platform boots. The man before her was grunting and tugging on his stubby red cock. He had a massive beer belly and thick black hair covered a majority of his body. Clara had never seen such a small cock. She slouched there nakedly and allowed him to masturbate himself with squinted eyes.
“Oh yeah, cum for me, daddy,” Clara would moan half-heartedly. A silver string of smoke coiled from the cigarette clamped between her nimble fingers. Her arms hung at her sides and she pumped her hips, playing peek-a-boo with her pussy. She lifted her thin alabaster limb and sucked on the thin stump of cigarette, her cheeks caving in. The mans arms jiggled as he voraciously wanked himself and then began to hypervenalate.
“That’s right, baby. I wanna feel that cum,” without much effort Clara sat straight up and dropped the cigarette between her thighs. The cigarette hissed as it was extinguished by the toilet water and Clara used her two hands to smash her sizeable breasts together to catch his streams of cum. “Eeeee...” the man squealed as he collapse against the stall door, nearly breaking it down. His hot white load pooled in Clara’s cleavage. The man panted, red faced and mopped his head with the neck of his t-shirt. Using one hand Clara gripped her breasts in place and mopped up the cum with a wad of toilet paper.
“Well then, that’ll be twenty,” she sighed, glad the task was over. The man opened the stall door and went over to the sink to cool his face. Clara stood up, revealing her entire ivory figure. Her milky white skin was ruined only by a new-school bleeding heart on her left hip bone and the plum color of her pierced nipples. Her stomach sunk in compared to her heavy breasts and wipe hips and her pussy was so small it was barely visible without spreading her legs. Her platinum blonde curls framed her chin in a 1940's pin-curl style. The man balanced himself against the sink, still out of breath and watched as Clara stepped into her short devil-red strapless dress. She pulled it up over her hips and puckered her breasts; the dress left only the vivid details of her body to the imagination.
The man fished in her greasy pocket and slapped a twenty on the wet sink. Clara clicked over and sopped up the twenty, tucking it into her boot. “Later,” she said without emotion and the man simply nodded. She pushed her way out of the mens room and her lungs filled with stale smoke. She made an immense effort to sway her hips and still stay up on her 6-inch stilettoes. Everywhere she looked there were men drinking heavily, most of them with a girl in their lap. She scanned the tables but before she could pluck up her next trick she felt a cold hand on her thigh.
“Hey there, Missy,” said a man with dark tousled hair and a thin nosed. Slouching in his metal folding chair he was dressed like he would going to a club to meet “real girls.” He owned a very nasal voice and a five-o’clock shadow. Clara hated his hand on her thigh. Looking down at him she formed her lipstick stained lips into a wicked smile. The man responded immediately with what could only be described as a shit-eating-grin.
“I’ve heard about you, honey. Heard you’re a feisty one...” she sneered. Clara disliked his altissimo tone and the way he was so possessive. His two friends already had pussy sitting in their laps and they were chortling appropriately. Clara had reprimanded the new girls so many times about their behavior. Get in and get out was her motto. Clara decided it was time to show the little bimbos how it’s done. With a glare she lifted her heavy booted leg and strattled him, her extra-short dress riding up until it barely covered her ass. She could feel the bulging material of his jeans against her boney pussy.
“Your heard, did you? Well, I guess you’ll have to find out, wontcha?” Clara poised the open-ended question while hypnotizing him with her snake-like stare. Her eyes were ice blue and carefully lined with thick black eyeliner and butterfly-like artificial eyelashes. She was a devil woman. She was dangerous and she had attitude. She laced her fingers around his neck and held him there transfixed. She was a spider, waiting in her web. A black widow.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the girls mouth to the other, “Bitch.”
