Walter gets a BJ, too

The sensation was overwhelming. As soon as the tip of my shaft cleared the partition, she was there. It wasn't just a touch; it was an engulfing, wet heat that caught me completely off guard. She took me into her mouth with a sudden, hungry suction that made my knees buckle slightly.

She was much more than a mere student—she was a **** of nature. As she began to work, the sounds from the other side were intoxicating: soft, rhythmic smacking noises and the sound of her breath hitching as she drew me deeper. The texture of her tongue was exquisite, gliding along my shaft with a precision that seemed almost professional, yet entirely primal.

I felt her fingers—one hand reaching through the hole to wrap around the base of my cock, massaging it in a firm, steady rhythm while her mouth worked its magic on the tip. Her other hand, though hidden from my view but audible in the wet sounds she made, seemed to be busy with herself. The sheer intensity of her suction was incredible; she took me so deep that my pulse felt like it was vibrating against her throat.

Suddenly, a thought struck me: if this was to be an experiment in human connection, I should provide her with a witness.

With careful, almost surgical precision, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the iBod prototype. It felt heavy and sleek in my hand. After a brief moment of contemplation—the scientist in me weighing the risk versus the sheer eroticism of the act—I realized that showing her what we were doing might drive her to even greater heights.

I slid the device flat through the gap between our stalls, its smooth surface gliding easily over the floor. For the outside world, the iBod looked just like a phone, but for the scientific world it was a marvel on its own.

As it passed through, the scanner mode with its built-in flashlight activated, casting a bright, cold glow upwards from the floor toward the ceiling. I positioned the device so the camera was pointed directly up at her to get the best scan results.

She pulled back for a split second as the light hit her, her face momentarily obscured by the shadows of the hall, but then she saw the lens. She looked down at the device—at the little window into our shared secret—and smiled a wicked, beautiful smile around my glistening cock. She leaned in close to the camera, looking straight into the "eye" as if staring into the soul of her lover, and whispered:

“Just you wait… you’re going to get the full show.”

She pulled back entirely, her wetness leaving a trail of saliva on my skin as she moved. From my vantage point in the stall, looking down at the device she had helped me position, the view was staggering. She was squatting low now, her legs spread wide over the lens. Through the camera's perspective and the gap in the wood, she looked like a goddess of desire: her smooth, swollen pussy was front and center, glistening with her own juices. She used her fingers to pull her labia apart, showing me exactly how ready she was—the pink, wet folds pulsing as she showcased herself for the recording.

Then, she yanked her top down. Her breasts—full, heavy, and pale—swayed heavily in the air before she leaned forward again. She took me back into her mouth, but this time it was more aggressive. She wanted to fill her throat; she wanted to taste every bit of me.

The sight of her through the lens was enough to push a fifty-one-year-old man to his limits. Her breasts swayed with every rhythmic thrust of her head, and as she worked, she began to moan loudly—a beautiful, **** sound that echoed in the quiet restroom. She was working herself into a frenzy, her fingers diving in and out of her own wetness while she focused entirely on my pleasure.

As the tension built toward an impossible peak, the thick veins in my shaft throbbed harder against her tongue. She was squeezing me tight, her throat massaging every inch as if trying to pull the very essence from my body.

“Mmm… yeah,” she seemed to breathe—a muffled, hungry sound around my cock. “Come for me, baby.”

The command triggered the release. The first gush was explosive—a hot, thick jet that shot straight down her throat. I gripped the edge of the partition, my knuckles white, as the second, third, and fourth pulses followed in powerful, rhythmic spurts of warm cream. She didn't pull away; she held me deep, swallowing greedily, her body trembling with a simultaneous, violent climax as she took every drop we could produce.