Bulges and butt sex: fucking in the coffee shop toilets

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Recently I texted a friend that I was writing about anal sex in coffee shops. I clarified that I was writing about anal sex while sitting in a coffee shop, but he suggested that I should write about having anal sex in coffee shops. So here’s some filth about fucking in coffee shop toilets – I hope you enjoy this as much as I’m sure he will.

Content note for rough sex, elements of degradation, and an absurd lack of communication. This post also contains affiliate links.

His bulge is noticeable.

Noticeable enough that I haven’t actually read a word of the report that’s open on my laptop in the last three minutes. I’ve been staring at him, at his soft, pink lips and at how his jaw juts out. At his forearms, revealed when he pushes up the sleeves of his green henley. At his obscenely tight trousers – are they leggings? – that make his bulge so damn noticeable.

Let’s be honest: I’m thinking about fucking him.

I think about him on his knees in front of me. I think about tugging on the hair at the back of his neck, forcing him to look up at me with my cock in his mouth. How hard would he work his mouth on my dick if I told him it was the only lubrication he was getting before I fucked his arse? I think about ordering him to bend over and spread his legs. I imagine how his breath would catch in his throat as I pulled those tight trousers down, making sure to brush my hand against his dick. The smallest of touches, not enough to do anything but make him want more.

He’s reading an actual fucking book as he waits to order, and he’s too absorbed in it to notice me staring at his bulge. To notice me mentally undressing him, imagining my fingers circling his dick and making him beg me to move them. To notice how I’m getting hard as I think about fucking him.

After collecting his coffee with a charming smile for the barista, he chooses a table near enough mine that I can continue perving. He slides a phone out of his back pocket, placing it next to the coffee cup. He opens his book again; I imagine working him open, pushing a single lubed up finger inside his ass. Would be push back, greedy for more of me inside him, hungry to be filled and fucked?

I do the mental calculations. I have lube and condoms in my bag, plus the dildo that I’d brought with me in case I wanted to fuck myself in the hotel room last night. I’m wearing my harness under my jeans. My train isn’t for two hours, and it’s not like I’m going to run into him again if he says no. I could do this, but I probably should’t. It’s risky and reckless and that makes it so much hotter.

I think about the sounds he’d make if I curled my fingers in his ass to press against his prostate. I airdrop the photo.

It’s a screenshot from my notes app – just a few lines of text, direct and to the point. Do you know how noticeable your bulge is? It’s making me think inappropriate thoughts. If you want to know what I’m thinking, text me. I give him my number.

My calculations are correct: his phone buzzes. I watch as he picks it up and looks down at the screen, his face changing from a puzzled frown to a grin. He looks up, scanning the coffee shop until he spots me watching him. He bites his lip. I raises my eyebrows: well?

He types something on his phone, and a few seconds a notification pops up on mine. What kind of inappropriate thoughts?

Thoughts about your mouth on my cock. Thoughts about you bent over, reaching back to spread yourself open for me. Filthy thoughts about rough, hard sex that leaves both of us feeling dirty. Thoughts about fucking you in coffee shop toilets, I text back.

I’m rewarded with a blush that spreads across his cheeks and to the tip of his ears. I want to unbutton his shirt and see if his chest is flushed too. I want to bite his neck with my hand pressed against his junk so I can feel his cock twitch as I mark him up. My dick throbs with need. I want to bend him over and fuck him so hard that he’ll be able to feel my cock inside him with every step he takes for the rest of the day. I want to make him feel used, like he’s nothing more than a hole to be fucked.

When his reply asks me to elaborate and he fixes me with a challenging stare, that’s what I tell him. He shifts in his seat as he reads the words, and I hope it’s because he’s getting hard as he thinks about me working him open. I’m hard – hard and horny, arousal and adrenaline thumping through my body. I reposition myself so I can rock my hips back and forth to rub my dick into my harness.

Would you be into that? I ask. Yes, he replies straight away. I imaging calling him a shameless fucking slut when he’s spread open and begging me to use his hole.

Go into the toilets, I instruct. Be a good slut and wait for me to come fuck you.

I grin wickedly at the look he shoots me. I want to watch your arse as you walk away and think about fucking you hard from behind, I text him, and watch his snort of laughter. He grins at me conspiratorially, then pockets his phone and saunters over to the toilets. He’s not exactly inconspicuous, but I doubt anyone else is watching the fuck-me sway in his hips. It’s a show just for me, and I enjoy it.

The toilets are located about as far from the counter as possible, but I don’t want to make it too obvious to the staff that we’re about to fuck in them. So I wait a few minutes, packing up my laptop and counting the seconds until I think it’s safe to stroll across the coffee shop. At least I don’t have an inconvenient erection to hide, just the bag casually slung over my shoulder.

There are two stalls in the men’s – excellent. He’s chosen the larger one and – fuck me – he’s waiting for me on his knees. I contemplate using his mouth, but without the luxury of a lengthy fuck I decide to stick to my original plan. This is going to be quick and dirty. He closes his eyes when I run a hand through his hair but opens them when I tug on it. I gesture for him to get to his feet, and when he does I kiss him.

It’s a good kiss – all teeth and tongue and filled with the promise of filthy sex. I can feel his rock-hard dick through his ridiculously tight trousers, and when I grind against it he moans into my mouth. The sounds he’s making are so fucking hot. I keep my hand in his hair, using it to leverage my lack of height. I might not be tall enough to pin his hands above his head, but I’m definitely in charge here and I know exactly where I want him.

“You’re going to have to stay quiet while I fuck you, slut,” I tell him. I then do my best to make him moan again, unzipping his trousers and slipping a hand inside his underwear. I squeeze his dick and he whimpers into my mouth. “Especially if you want me to let you come.”

I bite his bottom lip before stepping back. “Bend over.”

With him facing away from me, hands braced against the closed toilet lid, I unbutton my jeans and reach into my bag. He’s trembling with anticipation, and I’m glad he’s not focussed on me for the awkward bit where I slip the dildo into place. Bent over like that, his arse looks deliciously fuckable – he’s lucky that we need to be quiet, because otherwise I would give into the temptation to spank him. I settle for groping and squeezing it, pointedly ignoring his hard, needy cock.

“Want me to fuck you?” He nods enthusiastically.

I position the head of my dick against his arse: not pushing in, just letting him how hard I am. Letting him know that I could push inside him right now, that I could take him roughly from behind without stretching him out first. He wiggles his arse at me, as though daring me to do just that.

Instead I grab a lube sachet and rip it open, coating my fingers. I start with just one, pushing gently inside his asshole. I give him a minute to get used to the sensation, then pull out and push in with two. He’s so fucking tight and I shudder with pleasure at the feeling of him squeezing around me. I fuck him gently with my fingers, warming him up and stretching him out.

Reaching around to grab his cock, I jerk him off with a few quick strokes. I feel his dick twitch in my hand when my fingers press against the right spot inside him. I do it again and he lets out a moan.

“Ssshhh,” I say, while doing it again. I rub my thumb across the head of his dick, swiping away the bead of pre-come there. “Dirty slut.”

Pulling my fingers out of him, I grab a condom and roll it onto my cock. I slick another sachet of lube on to my dick, and line it up against his arse. I push into him slowly, steadying myself and holding him in place with a hand on his hip. After the first few inches, his initial resistance gives way and my cock slides in easily. It doesn’t take me long to find the right angle and then I barely need to thrust, just watch him clench around my dick.

He looks so vulnerable underneath me, bent over and trembling with the effort of holding still while I fuck him. The sight only fuels the sadistic dominance flowing through me. I push up his soft green shirt so I can drag my nails down his back and he arches into my touch, moaning loudly.

The sound has barely left his lips before I’m reaching down to cover his mouth. I thrust into him with a punishingly hard stroke, a reminder that he’s nothing but a hole to be used and he’s definitely not supposed to be making any noise. He moans again against my fingers and the muffled sound is so fucking hot. I pull back enough to slam into him again. He rolls his hips, just begging me for more.

I’m only too happy to oblige. I fuck him hard and fast until we’re both sweaty and breathless and his cock is leaking. My hand stifles his moans, but every sound he makes spurs me on to fuck him harder. He’s going to feel this for the rest of the day – maybe even the rest of the week.

“Fucking take it,” I tell him, even though he is. Getting off on the casual cruelty, I curl the fingers of my other hand into a loose fist. I hold it just against the head of his dick.

“If you want to come, you can get off by fucking yourself on my cock. I’m going to stay still and watch you work for it.” My voice is low and harsh and my words make him shiver.

He grunts, pushing backwards into me then thrusting jerkily forwards. My stomach twists at the hotness of him fucking himself back onto my cock so he can push his dick into into my hand. Given how much his dick is gushing, it’s no surprise that he’s soon shuddering with a full-body orgasm. I have to take my hand away from his mouth so I can wrap it around his chest and stop him from collapsing. His moans are suddenly louder, bouncing off the toilet walls.

I hold him there for a minute, panting and almost giddy with what we’ve just done. I’m still inside him, still holding his dick in a way that feels oddly intimate now. I ease out of him slowly, gently, not taking my hands off him until I’m sure he can stay standing. I let him catch his breath, handing him a wad of toilet roll to clean up with. Turning my attention to my own junk, I peel off the condom and slip the dildo out of the harness.

When I turn to face him again, he’s zipping up his fly. His bulge is still noticeable, but not as tempting as his lips, which he’s biting. I step closer and kiss him. It’s a kiss that says you’re so goddamn sexy and I’m going to make myself come thinking about this and are you ok? He kisses me back, and it feels like he’s saying so are you and so am I and yes, that was so fucking hot. I run my hands through his hair and grin when he pulls back.

“Just making sure you look well-fucked,” I tell him. While I don’t want anyone to catch us fucking in the toilets, I like how he blushes at the idea that other people will know he’s just been getting fucked. He’s grinning as he kisses me again. I gesture for him to go first, staying in the cubicle and listening to him wash his hands and leave the toilets. I wait a minute or two before following him out of the bathrooms, remerging just in time to watch him gingerly sitting down at his table again. Good, I’m glad he’s sore.

I, meanwhile, scoop up my belongings. There’s time to stretch my legs before my train, and I want to work off some of my exhilaration. I’m not sure if I could stay still right now if I tried with all this energy pumping through me. Fucking in coffee shop toilets is the kind of sex that might need aftercare, but I’ve got his number. I’ll text him from the train to check in. I’ll maybe ask if he wants photos of me jerking off, thinking about how hot fucking him was.

The last thing I expect to see when I board the train forty minutes later is him, sitting at the other end of the carriage.

If you liked this and want more bathroom sex smut, here’s some femdom-y filth I wrote recently, and here’s one where the person on their knees has all the power. I feel like I should also point out that you really shouldn’t use Airdrop to send strangers messages about fucking in the coffee shop toilets. If you really, really liked this one and want to fuel further filth writing/make me smile, please consider buying me a coffee through Ko-fi.

Strap
It's hard to write about sex when I want to die

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