Fantasy

Only a fantasy and thats all it is and will ever be but you might be intrested in what i was just thinking

The Cubicle Thought

I keep thinking about those toilets in the lay-by.
You remember — the ones I’ve told you about before.

It’s ridiculous really, because I haven’t been back there in days, but the image is stuck in my head. Not of me, not how it actually was… but something else.

This time, it’s not just me in there.
In my head, the door clicks shut behind us, and it’s a man. Not someone I know. Not even a face I can really picture. Just a presence — heavy, broad, close enough to feel the heat from his body.

He doesn’t ask me what I want. He doesn’t even kiss me. He just turns me, moves me against the wall, and I let him. I feel the cool tiles at my cheek, the rustle of fabric as he lifts my dress to my waist. My panties are pushed aside in one quick, rough movement.

It’s all for him.

And then the fantasy shifts darker — to the point where he pushes my head forward, against the cold edge of the urinal. I know it’s mad, but I’ve been thinking about it. Feeling the cold ceramic under my cheek, hearing his breath right behind me, knowing I’m only there for his release.

No tenderness, no checking if I’ve finished, just that low grunt when he’s satisfied… and then he’s gone.

The door doesn’t shut, though. Another presence fills the space almost instantly. No words. Just that same rush of heat behind me, a hand on my hip, the sound of a belt loosening. I’m already open for him. Already wet from before. And now I’m not even sure if it’s the same man or someone else entirely.

I stand there, taking him too, letting my mind go somewhere else, as if this was always going to happen.

When it’s done, I don’t even know how long I’ve been in there.

I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.
It’s just a fantasy — but the way it makes my heart race, I can almost feel the walls around me. I don’t know if I’m turned on because I imagine being wanted like that, or because I imagine not having any choice in it.
Part of me is scared that I’ve been thinking about it so much.
Part of me wonders if I’d even stop it, if it really happened.