He cums on your ass

You can feel Mr. Crassle's cock practically vibrating on the verge of orgasm, but he alternately slows and speeds up to protract the pleasure of sliding in and out of your tight cunt. One minute he's gently thrusting in and out of your hungry pussy and the next he's hanging onto your hips and pounding into you like a jackhammer.

After several minutes of this careful tempo he begins to hammer you steadily and with increasing urgency. His hips slap against your ass and his hard dick squelches in and out of your wet hole.

"Oh fuck, cum for me," you moan.

"You feel so good," he groans, "I'm really close."

He hammers you even faster. The whole stall shakes with the **** of his impact as he drills deep into your clenching cunt.

"Cum inside me," you pant. "I want to feel you shoot inside me."

He laughs, a breathless wheezing chuckle.

"Not on your life, sweetheart," he replies. "Sluts like you are just waiting for a golden load to milk a guy like me for their life's fortune."

Before you can reply you feel his cock slide all the way out of your pussy. You look back over your shoulder to see him jerking his slippery purple prick over your ass. He groans and his cum rockets from the tip, spraying all over your dress.

"Ohhhhh," he cries as he strokes another gooey rope out across your back.

He keeps cumming, but now it's arcing over his stroking hand and splashing on your ass. His hot spunk splats in between your cheeks and coats your pink asshole. Mr. Crassle pumps a huge load all over your ass and then slaps his cockhead on your cummy crack.

"That was a big one," he laughs, admiring your buttered buns.

You giggle and swing your hips from side to side, enjoying the feel of his warm sperm on your skin.

"You'd better get cleaned up," he says and hitches his pants back up around his waist. "I shot it all over your dress."

He buckles up and gives you a wink before exiting the stall and walking out of the bathroom with a whistle.

You collect yourself and wipe his cum off your ass with toilet paper. The dress is another issue, requiring careful dabbing and a couple minutes in front of the mirror while women walk in and out giving you strange looks.

When you've cleaned up his cum as much as you can you splash some water on your flushed face, reapply your lipstick, and head back out into the restaurant.

Mr. Crassle is already back at the table, tucking into his steak while his ditzy wife picks at a salad. You feel bad about what just happened, but you remember what Mr. Wood said about allowing boyfriends. All the same, you doubt he'd like to hear you just got cummed on by his worst enemy, so you have trouble making eye contact with him when he welcomes you back to the table.

All the same, as you settle into your chair you pat him affectionately on the leg.