To my left were three toilet cubicles, their scuffed, wooden doors closed. Stepping forward, I began a mini game of Russian roulette by pushing open the nearest door. Empty. This gave me the straight choice of two. I choose the furthest one against the wall, prodding the door open with my foot. Alison sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat, her hands resting on her chin, her dark hair hanging in strands over her eyes.“I’d almost given up on you,” she said, with a discernible agitation, “I began to wonder whether you had the intelligence to pick up on my advances.” See what I mean? She just can’t help herself.“I suppose I could have just followed right behind you, passing your husband and attracting the attention of all the pub.”“You think he doesn’t know?” she said with a pitying grin which annoyed me. It was the kind of expression which said, ‘you poor young thing, you have no idea what is happening here do you?’“Of course he knows,” she sneered, deriding my confused expression,. “Don't cry,” he says gently. “Look at how beautiful you are.” He holds me back at arms length and admires me, as though it might absolve me from any sadness. He looks at me with the same hunger the party guests did downstairs, only his version of it doesn't make me want to look away and cover myself. It makes me want to open myself completely to him and be part of him. I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him into a kiss as he adjusts my weight on the sink and holds my legs open with his arms. It's quick and needy at first. I manage to release his member from his trousers and slide my panties to the slide, I moan sharp and loud when he fills my cunt too quickly and starts thrusting before I have a chance to get any wetter. My pain seems to excite him further, and he begins to thrust with enough force to push me back and knock bottles of toiletries onto the floor. In just a few seconds my breaths are quick pants, brought on by the warm sensation building in between my thighs. He.
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