Hospital Debauchery

The restroom door clicked shut with a soft, final whisper, sealing them into a cocoon of cool air and dim amber light, the distant roar of the debate theater muffled to nothing.

The scent hit first, sharp lemon cleaner undercut with the faint metallic tang of pipes and the warmer, muskier note of anticipation hanging thick.

Klein leaned back hard against the door, her slight frame the only barrier to the world outside, navy silk dress plastered to her body with the heat of her need, clinging to every shallow, ragged breath.

The fabric stretched across her chest, her nipples dark, hard peaks straining visibly, begging through the thin material like they had a voice of their own.

Her eyes locked on Devon Aldridge with a feral intensity that could peel skin.

"Dr. Aldridge," she rasped again, voice low and rough. "Nine minutes. That's all I need to taste you, to feel you split me open, to drown in you before I'm dust."

Devon stood by the row of porcelain sinks, jacket still tailored to perfection, hands loose at his sides, gray eyes steady but flickering with heat, the air between them crackling.

"Klein-"

She surged forward fast for her age, heels stabbing the tile like gunfire in a confessional, closing the gap until her perfume, old and expensive, jasmine laced with smoke and the darker bite of aged whiskey, flooded his senses, thick and heady, making his pulse kick.

Her hands shot up, gnarled but sure, fingers curling into his lapels with a grip that trembled with desperation, nails scraping the fabric.

"Don't," she hissed, breath hot and moist against his throat, lips brushing the stubble there.

"Don't you dare pretend you don't feel it burning under your skin. I want to feel you cut through me, Aldridge. I want you to split me wide, leave me bleeding your name, ruined and reborn."

He caught her wrists mid-air, gentle but iron-firm, thumbs pressing into the frantic, fluttering pulse at her veins, feeling it hammer like a caged animal trying to claw free.

Her laugh was low, filthy, a guttural sound that belonged in a back-alley brothel, not a sterile restroom.

"I've craved this cock since the second you strode on stage, all ice and fire. I've heard the stories, Aldridge. Heaven, they whispered. A gift that shatters women, leaves them babbling. But I need proof. I need it inside me, stretching me to breaking, owning every inch, before I'm ash. Please." Her voice cracked raw on the plea, eyes glistening, lips trembling.

Devon's jaw clenched, a muscle jumping under the shadow of stubble, the air thick with her scent, her heat.

She pressed closer, breasts soft and heavy against his chest, the give of aged flesh through silk and cotton, her hips grinding subtle against his, the faint tremor in her thighs radiating need.

"I'll beg," she growled, sinking to her knees right there on the cold, unforgiving tile, the impact sending a jolt up her spine she ignored.

Her hands slid down his torso slow, nails raking over the crisp shirt, tugging at his belt with a hunger that made her fingers shake like an addict's.

"I'll crawl. I'll worship. I'll do anything. Just let me have it. Let me taste what makes them scream."

He exhaled slow, a hiss through clenched teeth, the fight bleeding out of him like air from a punctured lung.

"You won't survive this, Klein."

She looked up from her knees, eyes wet and wild, lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them shiny with spit.

"Then let me die happy. Let me die with your cock choking me and your cum painting my soul."

His hands moved to his jacket buttons, slow, deliberate, each one undone with a soft, deliberate pop that echoed like a heartbeat in the sterile quiet. The fabric slid off his shoulders heavy, pooling on the floor with a muffled thud that sounded like surrender.

Shirt next, buttons slipping free one by one under steady fingers, revealing the hard, sculpted planes of his chest, the faint white scars from old surgeries crisscrossing his skin like war maps, the dark trail of hair arrowing down from his navel, thick and inviting, disappearing into his waistband.

Klein's breath hitched audibly, a soft, broken moan spilling from her throat as she drank him in, eyes tracing every ridge, every shadow.

She reached for his belt, fingers trembling now with raw need, not frailty, leather sliding free with a slow, sensual hiss that filled the room.

The zipper came down inch by torturous inch, the sound loud and obscene, metal teeth parting like a promise.

His trousers pooled at his ankles in a dark heap, black silk boxers tented obscenely, straining against the bulge.

She hooked her fingers in the waistband and pulled them down slow, letting his cock spring free with a heavy slap against his abs, thick and heavy, fully hard now from the tension, the scent of her arousal thick in the air, the raw, animal want radiating off her in waves that made his blood roar.

Klein froze, mouth slack, a low, guttural sound spilling out, half gasp, half prayer, her eyes wide as saucers.

His cock was monstrous, long and girthy, veins ridged along the shaft like thick ropes under velvet-smooth skin, pulsing with every heartbeat, the head flushed dark purple and swollen, glistening with a fat bead of precum that caught the light like a diamond.

His balls hung heavy, drawn tight, covered in a faint dusting of dark hair, swinging slightly with his breath.

She stared like she was memorizing it, like it was a relic, a weapon, a god made flesh.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she whispered, voice trembling with awe, reverence, lust. "They said heaven. They said a gift. This… this is more. This is apocalypse."

Devon's hand settled in her hair, fingers threading through the silver strands, not pushing, just anchoring, a silent command that sent a shiver down her spine.

She took it like gospel.

Her hands cupped him first, reverent, one wrapping around the base, fingers barely meeting around the impossible girth, the heat of him searing her palm, the other lifting his balls, rolling them slow and deliberate, feeling their weight, their velvet softness, the way they shifted under her touch.

"So warm," she murmured, voice thick with lust, reverent.

"So full. So fucking perfect."

She leaned in, nose brushing the underside, inhaling deep, the musky, masculine scent of him, sweat and skin and raw sex, filling her lungs, making her eyelids flutter shut in ecstasy.

Then her tongue came out, flat and wet, dragging slow from the base to the tip, tracing every vein, every pulsing ridge with agonizing, worshipful care. She started at the root, lapping broad and flat, tasting the salt of his skin, the faint tang of precum that had dripped down.

She lingered at the thick vein underneath, tongue pressing hard, following it up like a roadmap to paradise.

At the head, she swirled slow, circling the crown, flicking the slit with the tip of her tongue, lapping at the precum with a moan that vibrated through his shaft, her eyes rolling back like she was tasting the nectar of the gods. She opened wide and took him in.

Slow. Agonizingly, deliciously, torturously slow.

Her lips stretched wide around the crown, sliding down inch by inch, tongue pressed flat underneath, cheeks hollowing as she sucked hard, drawing him deeper with a wet, slurping sound that echoed off the tiles.

She didn't rush.

She savored every millimeter, every throb, every pulse against her tongue. When she reached halfway, her throat tightened, a soft gag rippling through her, but she breathed through her nose, relaxed, and pushed further, lips sliding down until her nose pressed into the dark, wiry hair at his base, her throat bulging visibly around his girth, the outline of his cockhead clear under the thin skin of her neck.

Devon's head fell back, a low, guttural groan rumbling out from deep in his chest, raw and animal.

She hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight to his spine, making his hips twitch involuntary, his balls drawing tighter in her hand.

Her hand stroked what her mouth couldn't reach on the pull-back, twisting gentle, slick with thick strands of spit that dripped from her chin, the other still cradling his balls, tugging lightly, rolling them like sacred relics, thumb brushing the sensitive perineum, pressing just enough to make him hiss.

She pulled off with a wet, obscene pop, lips swollen and red, spit shining thick and glossy on his shaft, strings of it connecting her mouth to his cock as she gasped for air, chest heaving.

"You taste so good," she said then dove back in like a woman possessed, taking him to the root again in one smooth glide.

She worked him like she'd studied it for decades, like it was her masterpiece.

Tongue flicking the frenulum with laser precision, lips sealing tight, throat opening to take him balls-deep again and again, gagging wetly but never stopping, tears streaking her cheeks in black mascara rivers, but her eyes stayed locked on his, worshipful, desperate, pleading.

She varied it, creative, filthy, one moment swirling her tongue in tight circles around the head while her hand pumped the shaft in a corkscrew, the next sinking deep and holding, throat convulsing around him, swallowing to massage his length.

She pulled back to tongue his balls, sucking one into her mouth fully, rolling it with her tongue, humming low and dirty, the vibration making his knees buckle slightly, then the other, lapping the seam, sucking hard enough to leave marks, before sliding back up to swallow his shaft whole, nose buried, throat working.

Her free hand wasn't idle. It slipped between her own thighs, rubbing hard through the soaked lace of her panties, fingers circling her clit in time with her sucks, hips grinding against her palm, muffled moans vibrating around his cock.

Spit dripped in thick ropes from her chin, pooling on the tile between her knees, her throat raw but relentless.

She edged him, bringing him to the brink with deep, sloppy thrusts, then pulling back to lick lazy figure-eights around the head, keeping him teetering, desperate.

Devon's hips started to move, shallow, instinctive thrusts into her mouth, his hand tightening in her hair, guiding now, not forcing, fingers tangled in silver. "Ohhhh—" he growled, voice rough as sandpaper, breath ragged.

She pulled off just enough to speak, lips brushing the slick, throbbing head, spit and precum mixing on her tongue.

"Come in my mouth. Please. Fill me. Drown me in it. I want to taste you for the rest of my life."

He didn't need more. His cock pulsed, thick and hot, veins standing out, and he came hard, ropes of thick, hot cum flooding her mouth in heavy, endless spurts, hitting the back of her throat with force.

She swallowed greedily, throat working visibly, eyes locked on his, taking every drop, milking him with her lips, her tongue, her hand, until he was spent, shuddering, hips jerking, balls empty.

She pulled off slow, tongue darting out to catch the last bead on her lip, licking it clean with a satisfied, filthy moan, savoring the taste like fine wine.

Then she stood, legs shaky, knees red and bruised from the tile, mascara streaked like war paint, and started undressing with frantic, reverent hands.

Dress first, silk sliding down her arms like liquid night, pooling at her feet in a navy puddle that caught the light.

No bra.

Her breasts were small, sagging with age, skin pale and lined with faint stretch marks like badges of a life fully lived, but the nipples were hard, dark, begging, surrounded by wide areolas that puckered under his gaze.

Panties next, black lace, soaked through to transparency, the crotch dark and glistening with her arousal, the scent of her pussy thick and heady in the air.

She stepped out of them slow, deliberately, kicked off her heels with a clatter that echoed. Naked now, completely, her body a map of time: soft belly with a faint C-section scar, hips flared wide, thighs thick and dimpled, pussy bare and swollen, lips puffy and slick, dripping a thin trail down her inner thigh.

She turned, pressed her hands to the cool tile wall, bent forward deep, ass up high, back arched sharp, legs spread wide to show everything.

Her pussy glistened, pink and wet, clit peeking hard, hole clenching on nothing, begging.

She looked back over her shoulder, eyes wild, voice raw and broken with need.

"Fuck me," she begged, voice cracking. "Please. Now. Ruin me with that cock."