Page 4 of Glitter

Chapter 4

Glitter, with its predominantly male clientele, had the smart idea of having a few different men’s rooms, accessed by going down parallel-running hallways at the two back corners of the club. Last night, my angel had taken me to one of the bathrooms located along the hallway on the lefthand-side corner; tonight he led me to a different one that was in the other hallway.

“Not that I think our chances of not being overheard are any less tonight,” he said, pushing open the door labelled Bathroom 4, “but maybe we won’t wind up with a chatty commentator in this one.”

This bathroom was almost an exact replica of the one we’d visited previously. The same black and white checkerboard-patterned flooring, black partitions enclosing the toilet stalls, walls covered in some sort of white wallpaper with subtle, silver pinstripes, and with the name of the club stamped across the top of the mirrors over the sinks in bold letters, also in silver. The only difference was that this bathroom had the row of urinals on the right side of the room and the stalls on the left, a mirror of the layout of the other bathroom. Other than that, they were the same.

Including, once again, the presence of a pair of men already utilizing one of the bathroom stalls for the same purpose my angel and I were going to.

The grunting and groaning of fucking were even louder tonight as this bathroom had not one, but two stalls already occupied. One stall had two sets of feet visible, one behind the other, facing the same direction. But the other stall…there were three sets of feet in that stall. They were all tangled and jumbled together and it was kind of hard to determine what exactly was going on in that stall—who was facing which way and who might be doing what to whom—based solely on foot placement. However, judging from the sounds coming from both stalls, a good time was being had by all the involved parties.

“Oh goody,” my angel happily stated, “there’s a stall we can use and there’ll still be the handicap stall available should somebody come in who actually needs to use a toilet for toilet-y reasons.”

Without a single pause, he strode straight to the open stall, which was stuck smack in between the already occupied ones. Me… Well, I didn’t want to eavesdrop in on the couple in the stall we had to pass by. And I didn’t want to sneak a peek at what was going on through the very small, narrow gap between where the stall door didn’t quite meet up with the walls. But all of that effort not to hear anything, not to see anything…it had me stumbling and tripping over my own feet as I followed him.

“Son of a— Flipping— Shit. Ow!” I swore, as I clutched at and cradled the elbow I cracked against the edge of the door as I tried to close it behind me.

It stung, but it was the kind of hurt that was more surprise than actual pain. That didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate and enjoy the comfort of my angel’s touch as he cupped his own hand around mine over my stinging elbow, however.

“Aw, did my boo get a boo-boo?”

Having him touch me and having him call me his, even if it was with that silly, throwaway endearment attached to it and not my actual name, gave me a giant lump of want and joy and hope in my throat, that I then had to try to swallow around. The lump was so big that it kept me from being able to say anything, so all I could do was dopily nod in affirmation.

The simulated saccharine tone was still in his voice as he cooed, “Poor boo. Should I kiss it and make it better?” But then, before I was able to say much more than a garbled “Gah…”, he went back to the sort of snarky sultriness I’d encountered with him before. “I think I’d much rather do something else with you than kiss your elbow,” he said. “And I’m fairly certain that having another go at my ass would prove much more beneficial for curing any ouchies than some little kiss on a pointy, knobby elbow.”

Nothing could’ve kept the rush of lust I felt at hearing that he wanted me to fuck him again from manifesting itself via my rapidly flushed face. My angel took in the sight and it must have pleased him, if the satisfied curl of his lips was any indication.

His bare arm brushed against the side of my t-shirt as he reached around me and held the stall door closed, sliding the bolt of the lock into place. Chest to chest, our faces so close together it would take only the smallest of motions by either of us to bring our lips into contact, I helplessly fell into the mesmerizing beauty of his eyes.

Blink. Silver glittered eyeshadow twinkled. Then impossible pools of ephemeral blue, with miniscule shards of palest green that, tonight, seemed even more plentiful. Perhaps brought out by the thick line of green drawn along the base of his long, thick eyelashes.

Blink, and silvery glitter again. Blink, blink, blink. With each sweeping descent of his eyelids, a glimpse of sparkling magic dusted on his skin. Before the enchantment—the real magic—of my angel’s eyes are revealed again.

So lost was I in the fantastical realm of his gaze that it took me a moment to realize that he was speaking.

“While it feels delightful to have your arms around me, boo, and I’m not completely opposed to cuddling—even the kind of cuddling that’s done while standing—we’re going to need to do a bit of rearranging here,” he said.

Until he’d mentioned it, I hadn’t even realized I had wrapped my arms around him and I was holding him in place against me. That, that , is just how powerful the pull of his eyes had been.

“Because, while I have no issue with getting down and dirty near a toilet,” he continued, “I do object to being the one actually next to the toilet. Er, sorry not sorry.”

The cheeky and rather matter-of-fact way he said it indicated that he, indeed, was not at all sorry, and that he didn’t feel a single ounce of guilt over making his partner—in this instance, me—be the person relegated to being closest to the toilet while we were jammed inside a relatively small and cramped space.

Since I’d readily do anything, be anywhere, if it meant he would be happy, I promptly replied, “Sure. Yes. Of course. Whatever you want.”

We began the slightly awkward task of shuffling our positions, until we rotated right around and he was standing just inside the stall, his back almost pressed up against the stall door. I ended up somewhere roughly in the middle of the stall, maybe a foot or so in front of the toilet and with my back facing toward it.

My arms were still wrapped loosely around his torso, and the silky, synthetic material of his mesh shirt was clinging to the cotton of my shirt and caressing the sensitive skin on the inside of my forearms. Our lower halves were also snugged closely together—I could feel the firm line of his erection nudging against the solid, aching length of my hard dick through the dual layers of our pants.

So, I could feel it—feel it like a sensual electronic shock—as he did a whole-body shimmy while slyly commenting, “You might regret that, you know. Saying that, that is. That you’ll give me whatever I want.”

“No. I won’t,” I replied, my arms unable to do anything except tighten around him. Draw him even more firmly against me. “I won’t regret it, because I mean it. Anything. Everything. Whatever. You. Want.”

With my words, he seemed to glow, shinier, brighter, and more shimmery than the glitter sparkling his face, and his lips tilted into a sort of lopsided smile that was softer, more real, than the usual smirk. But I was only gifted with a brief glimpse at this true smile before my angel wiggled in my hold and turned around, his back now lined up against my front.

“‘Whatever’ hmm?” If I hadn’t been listening so closely, trying to stay so in tune with him, I probably wouldn’t have heard the slight catch in his voice, underneath the light sassiness he was exuding. “I seem to recall that I’d expressed a desire to revisit the natural talent I discovered that you had last night.” He paused for a second, as if to tease me with the possibility that he might’ve changed his mind sometime between when we were out in the club and now.

And it might have worked, might have pricked at my anxiety and disbelief that someone like him—my beautiful, sexy, glittery angel—would want somebody like me, if it weren’t for the way he was rubbing and grinding his tight, perfect butt against the swell of my erection, trapped and suffering within the confines of my jeans.

“Yes,” he said. “In this instance, I think that’s still the whatever that I want, boo. I want your thick fucking cock back in my ass and I want you to fuck me so good that anyone else in this bathroom, anyone else that gets to hear us fucking, will be jealous of ass-wrecking I’m getting.”

My dick surged at his words and became almost impossibly harder. While I’d sort of rather prefer not doing this again in public, where we could, and probably would be overheard, I also found that some part of me also relished the idea of others hearing us. A stroke to my ego that others would know I was the one he was letting fuck him. That I was the one giving him pleasure.

That this man, this angel, even for a little while…was mine.

I ground my hardness against the sweet curve of his ass so he could feel what he was doing to me. And so I could delight in teasing myself with the sexy firmness I’d luckily be finding myself buried in soon.

“Mmm, soon, boo. Soon,” he murmured, echoing the eager thought swimming in my brain.

His body wriggling and shimmying, rubbing along my front, as he loosened and lowered his pants, had me groaning, low and rough. My hands skated along the elastic waistband of his underwear and across the soft, tender skin just above it.

“Your turn now, boo,” he said. “But make sure to take a peek; I wore this pair especially just for you.” The hitching choke of my breath at the notion that this man had been thinking of me while going through his underwear and that I’d in any way influenced his final selection was thankfully muffled by his light laughter as he added, “Well, and because they matched the rest of what I wanted to wear tonight, of course.”

Leaning back from his body just enough to create a small gap between us, I quickly flicked my eyes down. What they encountered…there was nothing that would’ve been able to cover up this gasp—full of dizzying lust and more than a trace of continued disbelief that someone could be so physically perfect.

Narrow black bands of elastic against milky pale, unblemished skin, running across the top of the slight swell of his ass and along the sides of each perky, round cheek, the jockstrap left the full, sumptuous perfection of his ass completely bare to my view.

It was a sight I didn’t want to tear my eyes off of, but desire, want, and curiosity had me regretfully ripping my gaze away from that stunning picture so that I could peer over his shoulder to see what the front side of him had in store for me. And that sight…

Let’s just say that limes, and anything and everything else lime-colored, instantly became my most favorite thing in the world.

Mesh, just like his shirt but with smaller holes, the front pouch of his jockstrap was a vibrant, neon green and looked to be made of a silky, satiny material. And right in the middle of it, just above where the head of his cock was resting and where a spot of moisture had dampened and darkened was the black outline of a round, juicy lime.

“Sweet fuck,” I muttered, wishing he hadn’t turned around and was facing me so that I could sink to my knees and get my mouth on that tasty-looking bit of green fabric. And everything it contained.

“Hmm. I suppose. If that’s what you really want,” my angel said, his voice as silky and teasing as his underwear. “ I’d really rather a hot, rough, dirty, pounding fuck, boo. But it’s up to you. You’re in charge…”

The words were mere lip-service. He knew it. I knew it. He didn’t actually mean it, which the tone of his voice clearly conveyed. And, really, I was good with that. Like I’d told him, I was here to give him exactly whatever he wanted.

As if to prove that I wasn’t the one calling the shots in our encounters, he followed his statement up with a command of his earlier suggestion. “It’s your turn, boo. Get those pants down. Now, if you please.”

I dragged my fingers along his abdomen as slowly as I dared, feeling the faintest whisper of the short, fine hairs of his happy trail. Then my hands slipped between us, down to the button of my jeans. With only the narrowest of space between his body and mine, the backs of my fingers brushed against the smooth, silky skin of his ass as I worked to get my pants undone. I was tempted, oh so very tempted, to linger, to tickle more soft, gentle caresses to his flesh, but I didn’t want to press my luck. I didn’t want to invite my angel to get impatient with me. How little would it take for him to change his mind and rescind his attention?

I never wanted to find out.

Only once I’d shoved my pants and underwear down and out of the way did any sort of practicalities rear their inconvenient heads. Unlike last night, there was no magically handy foil packet being presented by graceful, angelic fingers. So, I quickly scrambled to drag my pants far enough back up so I could get to the wallet in my back pocket.

As my fingers dove into the snug opening, fumbling to get a grip on the chunky, leather item and pull it out, his amused voice teasingly called out, “Everything going alright back there, boo?”

“Yep. Yep. All good,” I panted out, as I finally got the wallet pulled free. “Wallet. Condom,” I declared, holding it upright victoriously and waggling it in the air.

“Oh, well done, you,” he teased. “Excellent work. Now get it on,” he ordered, adding, “The condom, not the wallet.”

I hurriedly flipped my wallet open, grabbing the square, foil condom packet out from where it’d gotten buried between the assorted fives, tens, and twenty dollar bills I kept stashed in there. Letting my wallet fall to the bathroom floor, not caring what sort of dirt, muck, or bodily fluids it might’ve landed in and would begin soaking up, I tore open the packet and snatched out the bit of latex that had been inside it.

I’d just begun rolling the condom down my hard length when he stated, “And not to worry, boo, once more I thought ahead and I got myself all open and slippery. Just. For. You.”

Hearing that…knowing that… Ungh . I groaned. I grunted. I groanted . Whether it was true or not, how hot was it to think of this man, my angel, sitting at home and fingering himself, lubing himself up and stretching his tight, hot hole…all for me .

“God damn , you’re going to kill me,” I muttered. Not really meaning for him to hear me, but not overly concerned that he did.

“Nope, no dying, boo. Not until you fuck me, at least,” he replied. “So, c’mon. Do it. Get that thick, hard cock of yours inside of me and fuck me. Pronto.”

My hand felt good on my dick, wrapped around its base and holding it steady. But that was nothing, nothing , compared to the bliss of slowly sinking into the scorching vise grip of his ass.

The way he felt…that feeling of perfect completion, of being warmly welcomed home… I vowed to myself that I would do anything to be able to do this again, and again, and again. Even if I still had difficulty believing it was even happening in the first place.

We both moaned—mine more of a hissing, tortured sound of ecstasy while his was more of a happy purr.

“Oh, that’s it, boo. See, like I told you,” he said, his breath catching and causing a slight hiccup in his speaking as I bottomed out. “Open and slippery for you.”

“Ah fuck. So good, so good. So fucking, fucking good,” I babbled, barely even cognizant of the words pouring out of my mouth, but knowing he deserved all the praise I could shower him with.

He answered with his own reassurance. “Mmhmm. You feel so good too, boo.”

His hand reached back and patted me on my bare hip. The move felt a little condescending—sort of like the kind of rough affection you’d show to a dog who’d done a trick particularly well.

But then his hand fluttered around until it grazed my arm. And, once he’d hit the target he must have been aiming for, he slid his hand down my arm until he reached my wrist. Wrapping it firmly around my wrist, his grasp was sure and determined as he drew my arm around to his front and his hand was warm against mine as he pressed it back against the soft and trembling surface of his stomach.

“Oh, better,” he said, his words just as soft as his skin, and also with the faintest hint of tremble to them. “Touch me, boo. Please touch me. And fuck me. Fuck me right on into next week. Please, boo, please. I want it.”

It felt good to hear him begging me. But also wrong. My angel should never have to beg for what he wanted, especially not from me. And he did feel so slick, hugging my cock tight but still so, so ready to be fucked. So, I pulled back and then immediately rammed back into him, filling him with my cock.

“Perfect. Perfect,” he cried, as he removed his hand from on top of mine and it flew to rejoin his other one in pressing flat against the stall door. “Now more. Give me more.”

With his happy cries ricocheting within the metal walls of the bathroom stall and ringing in my ears, I gave my angel exactly what he wanted. Hips moving forward and back in a steady, demanding rhythm, I plunged in and out of his tight channel.

My hand rested flat and heavy against the tender flesh between his delicately small belly button and the black band of his jock strap, which was still in its original position and snuggly encased his own erect and leaking cock.

I wanted to touch him there. I wanted to feel the dampness of the ever-increasing wet splotch on the front of that green, mesh jock. I wanted to rub the silky material with my fingertips and feel the way the pre-cum leaking from his cock made it even slipperier.

And then I wanted to shove my hand beneath the stretch elastic band of his underwear, send it farther down, within the confines of that pouch, and explore the slender length of his cock with my fingers and not just my eyes.

I was aware of our dynamics. Fuck, I adored our dynamics. He was in charge and I was not. And what I wanted… He hadn’t given me permission to touch his cock. Really, the only thing he’d, silently, given me permission to touch was his stomach with my hand and, verbally, his ass with my dick.

On the other hand…he hadn’t told me I couldn’t touch his cock. Not yet at least.

So, cautiously…waiting with bated breath for him to bark out a dissent at any second… I slowly inched my hand down….down…down.

The stretchy elastic clung to my fingers as I slipped them beneath the band of his underwear, gripping in the denial I was expecting from him. But from him, there was nothing other than a continuation of the pants and moans and trembling gasps he’d been releasing since I began thrusting my cock within the tight heat of his channel. With no rebuff coming from his gorgeous, pink lips, I carefully nudged my fingers past the tight restriction of the elastic and slid them down into the heated, lustrous heaven nestled within the silky pouch of his black-and-lime-green jockstrap.