spending a day in the relief stall in the men's bathroom
strapped and buckled in place like an animal for breeding, mouth exposed for use on one side and holes on the other. legs fixed apart, spider gag to keep you from biting.
(there's a partition across your back so the men who use you can have a little privacy. sometimes they don't want it; sometimes they use you in groups, talking and laughing.)
you see nothing. you hear grunting, mostly. the cocks that slam into you could be your neighbors, could be acquaintances, but most likely they're total strangers. they spill in every hole and sometimes they remember to clean you out with the bidet.
the vibrator up against you turns on when they turn it on, off when they turn it off. they like that, some of them, the way it makes you squirm and clench. someone turns it up to high and leaves it there and you come screaming for half an hour before someone complains to management about the noise and they turn it off again.
someone pisses on you. someone pisses in you. they're not supposed to do that but they're not supposed to scribble on the walls, either. or on you. they do that too.
by the end of the day you're tacky with sweat and cum and piss. no one wants to put their dick in that. someone thinks it's funny to stuff things inside your wrecked holes, though, so they do that, pens and condoms and balled-up toilet paper.
people complain about the state of the facilities. someone takes pictures to sent to upper management.
at night you drift off, exhausted. you only halfway wake up to take loads from the late-night truckers, men who aren't too fussy to empty out your holes and stick fat cocks in them. the hole at the last station was better, they say, and one puts out a cigarette on you. you clench when you scream, and it makes him come. they have a new game, now.
tomorrow you're serving on the bus.
jbbartram-illu
ellievsbear
jacobvanloon
dailybridgerton