Chapter 21: Stall Confessions
The bathroom door swung shut behind them. The sudden quiet felt suffocating. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on the chipped tile floor. The lingering smell of disinfectant warred with cheap body spray and something vaguely sour. Jenny’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum solo drowning out the muffled cafeteria noise.
He steered her towards the last stall, his grip firm on her upper arm. Not painful, but insistent. Unyielding. "In here. More private." His voice was lower now, a gravelly murmur that vibrated in the small space.
The stall was cramped. His bulk filled most of it. He kicked the flimsy metal door shut behind them with the heel of his sneaker. The clang echoed. Before Jenny could even breathe, his hands were at her waist. Fingers hooked under the elastic band of her low-rise jeans. They peeled downwards with practiced efficiency, denim scraping over her hips. Cool air hit the exposed skin of her lower back, the tops of her thighs. Her pink lace thong, revealed fully now, felt absurdly flimsy.
"Hey, wait—" Jenny started, her voice tight. Instinctive protest. But the words died as he pressed closer, pinning her gently but firmly against the cool metal partition. His eyes, dark and intent, scanned her face, then drifted down, lingering on the swell of her breasts under the thin cotton of her t-shirt, the triangle of lace covering them.
"Talk?" he breathed, a smirk playing on his lips. He smelled like beer and cheap cologne. "We’ll talk. But first..." His hand came up, rough fingers tracing her jawline, tilting her face up towards his. "You owe me."
Jenny swallowed. Her usual fire, the sharp retort always ready on her tongue, felt smothered. Dampened. Why couldn’t she push him away? The intensity of the male gazes in the cafeteria, Amy’s triumphant whisper – See how they look at you now? – it all tangled in her head. A strange numbness spread through her limbs. "Owe you?" Her voice was small.
"For the show." His other hand slid down her side, over the curve of her hip, resting possessively on the bare skin above the lace thong. His thumb stroked the delicate ridge of her pelvic bone. "Walking in here like that? With that peachy little ass on display?" He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Got every guy in that hall hard as a rock. Including me." His hips pressed forward, letting her feel the insistent bulge against her stomach. "So yeah. You owe me."
He didn’t wait for a response. His hands moved to the hem of her t-shirt, tugging it up. Jenny’s arms felt leaden. She lifted them slightly, numbly, allowing him to pull the shirt over her head. It fell to the dirty floor. Now she stood before him in just the pink lace bra and matching thong. The fluorescent light felt brutally exposing. She crossed her arms instinctively over her chest, but he caught her wrists, pulling them gently but firmly down to her sides.
"Don't hide." His gaze raked over her, appreciative, hungry. "Damn. Even nicer than I thought." He traced the edge of the lace bra cup with a fingertip. Jenny shivered, goosebumps rising on her arms despite the stifling air. Shame warred with an odd, unwanted thrill. Where was her defiance? It felt like it had leaked out onto the tiles.
He unzipped his jeans. The rasp of the zipper was obscenely loud in the confined space. He pushed them down just enough. Freed himself. Thick and already straining. He gave himself a slow stroke, his eyes locked on hers. "See what you do?" His voice was thick. "Now... get on your knees."
Jenny stared. Kneel? On this floor? Her mind screamed no. Run. Her body felt detached, frozen. Amy’s giggle echoed in her memory. The crude jokes from the frat table. The way they’d dismissed Mark. This felt inevitable. A price she had to pay for... for what? For being looked at? The numbness deepened into a chilling fog.
"Come on," he urged, his tone hardening. A hint of impatience. He nudged her shoulder. "Don’t be shy. You wanted attention. Here it is. Show me what you can do with that pretty mouth." His free hand tangled in her hair, not painfully, but with dominant pressure, guiding her downwards.
Her knees hit the cold, gritty tiles. She winced. The chill seeped through the thin fabric of her thong. He loomed over her. The blunt head of his cock hovered inches from her lips, radiating heat and that musky, intimate scent. Her stomach churned. Her throat tightened.
"Open up," he commanded softly. Almost gently. A predator coaxing its prey. "Be a good girl. Make it sloppy. Show me you like it."
Jenny squeezed her eyes shut for a second. Took a shallow, trembling breath that tasted of dust and cheap air freshener. When she opened them, the harsh light glinted off her unshed tears. Her usual bright, defiant gaze was clouded. Lost. She leaned forward. Hesitantly. Her lips parted. The tip touched her mouth, salty and alien. Her tongue felt thick, unwieldy.
He sighed, a sound of pure satisfaction, as her mouth closed around him. His grip tightened in her hair. "Yeah," he groaned. "Just like that. Now get it nice and wet." He pushed gently, insistently. "Make it messy."
Her world narrowed to the taste, the weight, the suffocating pressure filling her mouth. The buzzing lights. The rough tile under her knees. The scent of him. The impossible, paralyzing silence of her own her mind, screaming into a void where her willpower used to be. She moved her head, slowly, awkwardly, the unfamiliar, unwanted task unfolding exactly as commanded. Sloppy.
"Messier," he grunted, hips snapping forward. "Get it real sloppy. Show me you love it." His voice was thick, strained. Spit dripped from her lips onto the denim bunched around his thighs. The sharp scent of his arousal filled the cramped space. Her throat convulsed, gagging silently. She felt detached, floating outside her own body, watching a stranger kneel on a filthy bathroom floor. Amy’s triumphant whisper echoed – See how they look at you now? – twisting into something cold and hollow inside her.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound vibrating through her skull. "Yeah... fuck yeah... gonna..." His grip became punishing. Jenny braced herself, eyes squeezed shut. A hot, sudden pulse hit the back of her throat. She choked, pulling back instinctively. Thick ropes splattered across her forehead, her cheekbone, her lips. Warmth trickled down her nose. She gasped for air, the taste bitter and overwhelming. Her stomach lurched.
He sighed, a sound of deep satisfaction, withdrawing slowly. He tucked himself away, zipping up with a sharp rasp. Jenny stayed frozen on her knees, trembling, strands of hair plastered to her sticky cheek. She stared at the dirty floor tiles, unable to lift her head. The fluorescent hum was deafening. He looked down at her, his gaze appraising, detached. He wiped his hands on his jeans.
"Not bad," he said, his voice casual again, almost bored. He reached past her, fumbling with the stall latch. The metal scraped. "Could be better." He paused, his hand on the door. His eyes flicked over her kneeling form, the mess on her face, the exposed curve of her waist above the low-slung thong. A smirk touched his lips. "Lose a few pounds though, yeah? Skinny bitches with eating disorders?" He chuckled, low and mean. "Now that's hot." The stall door swung open. He stepped out without looking back, the sound of his footsteps fading quickly down the tiled corridor. Jenny remained motionless, the fluorescent light bleaching her skin, the cold air chilling the drying streaks on her face. The buzzing filled the silence he left behind.