Take control

You didn't want a gentle experience. You wanted to assert the dominance that had been simmering since you first saw her by the pillar. You reached down and tangled your fingers into her long, wavy hair, gripping the mahogany strands tightly to tilt her head back. You shifted your stance, stepping deeper between her thighs, and began to drive yourself into her mouth. You didn't ask for permission, you simply took over, your hips snapping forward in a rhythmic, relentless cadence that forced her to adapt to your pace.

The sound of the encounter filled the cramped stall, a wet, rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh that drowned out the distant thrum of the club music. You held her head firmly, guiding the depth of every thrust, pushing yourself deep into her throat until she gagged, her eyes watering as she struggled for air. The desperation you had sensed in her earlier was now a physical reality, a frantic need to please you, to be consumed by you. She made soft, muffled whimpers against your skin, her hands clawing at your thighs for stability as you used her mouth as your personal vessel.

You watched her face from above, seeing the way her makeup smeared slightly as she strained against the size of you. There was something primal about the sight of her, a woman of such curated beauty reduced to a shivering, needy mess on a bathroom floor. You increased the speed, your thrusts becoming harder and more erratic, pushing her to the very limit of her endurance. The heat in the small room became stifling, the air thick with the scent of sex and the sharp tang of bleach, as you drove her further into the depths of her own desire.