Rest Stop Slut

It was foolish, I knew, to be driving in such weather. Few vehicles could be seen on the normally busy stretch of interstate which crossed a vast expanse of Western ranchland. While just a few inches of snow had accumulated so far, the flakes were growing fatter and more numerous - and the forecast promised more. But I was not merely horny. Horniness could be taken care of at home with a simple jerk-off session; I had transcended routine horniness and had entered a state of arousal and desire that demanded action. A sort of primitive directive had taken hold and was now in total control. The directive was simple: Get Dick Now.

I exited the highway after an hour and a half of coffee-fueled driving and pulled into the parking lot of the 1960's era rest stop. Just the sight of it caused a stirring in my jeans; a visual stimulation akin to porn. It was one of a vanishing breed; most had been replaced by corporate facilities selling food and fuel. For a brief moment I mourned the loss of these informal playgrounds and was grateful that this place - long a favorite - still remained.

It's quirky, angular lines recalled a bygone America; one of exciting summer vacations and leisurely travel; of history and adventure. Flanked by cast concrete picnic shelters, the small Shed-style building housing the restrooms resembled a futuristic manor house with symmetrical dependencies. The architecture - the place itself - was in stimulating. Despite the cold, I was nearly erect.

Mine was the only vehicle to be seen, and the snow cover told me that just one vehicle had been here in the past hour. I held my cap against the wind as I trudged up the walk to the building and left a distinct and solitary track toward the metal door marked MEN. Its glossy orange paint had chipped and worn to reveal an equally jarring tint of aqua below. The maintenance level of the place was halfway between casual and flat-out neglected.

Inside, a scratchy computer-generated voice issued forth a garbled stream of weather- and road-condition information. The monotone voice emanated as a public service from a speaker in the ceiling and reverberated from the concrete walls, creating a sort of audio blanket that isolated this spot from the world outside.

I stamped my feet upon the dry tile floor; the clumps of snow began to puddle as I stood and allowed my eyes to adjust to the interior which was dim compared to the brilliant white outside. As the room came into focus, I perceived a dingy quality in keeping with the exterior; a trash can near the door overflowed with paper towels while a dripping sink faucet enlivened the otherwise-still space.

The sink counter was on the wall opposite the entry; scratchy "mirrors" of once-polished steel dimly reflected my form. I moved my hand to my crotch and watched as my reflection groped at the stiffened rod in my jeans. To my right, the far wall of an adjacent and slightly larger area held two stalls and three urinals along its length.

I calculated my options. While it would be fun to stand a the urinals to display my swollen cock, it was not likely that any fellow travelers would be showing up in the next two minutes. I walked to the corner stall and peeked in. The metal door swung easily and it was obvious that it no longer latched; only part of the mechanism remained leaving a sizable hole in the door. Shreds and wads of toilet paper littered the floor; the holder was empty. Faded graffiti depicted misshapen anatomical parts and various instructions for quickie sex: "Show Hard for BJ" and "8 - 10 pm 11/3 blink car lights twice". A re-located toilet paper holder had left screw holes in the panel which offered both stall occupants a good view of whatever might be going on next door.

Leaving the door hanging ajar, I moved to the other stall which was adjacent to the urinals. Two discreet holes had been drilled in the panel for optimal viewing of man meat. Graffiti and paper littered this stall as well. I surveyed the toilet seat which was surprisingly clean and stepped inside. Closing the door, I hung my jacket over the top and unbuckled my belt.

Dropping my jeans and shorts to my boots, I enjoyed a surge of blood to my anxious cock, and gave it a few playful strokes. I breathed deeply and inhaled the unique and intoxicating scent of industrial cleaning products mixed with a musky male scent hinting at piss, sweat, and shit. I tapped the length of my erection, now rock-hard, and reveled in its defiant response as it sprung even higher. My bladder was now asking for relief, but I was reluctant to waste a load of piss by myself; I would wait.

I sat down on the toilet and began to read the walls. I tugged at my balls as I read, which only seemed to make me want to piss more. Stretching slightly, I positioned myself at a slight angle and braced my feet against the door's frame. I shifted my attention to my dick, which helped to diminish the need to piss. My eyes wandered upward to the sloping ceiling which held a row of clerestory windows beneath its highest point. Snow stuck to them, creating a fuzzy sort of filtered light above the fluorescent glow of a lighting strip at the ceiling's center.

A muffled "clunk" snapped me out of my musings and started my heart racing. The unmistakable sound of a vehicle door slamming promised some kind of adventure - even if it was just purely voyeuristic.

From my position, I could peer through the crack between the door and frame and catch a glimpse of anyone at the entry. I froze and strained to see who might walk in. After what seemed an eternity, the metal door grated open and filled the space with a momentary increase of light. A short, bearded man with a "fireplug" build stopped as I had done and stamped his feet. His cap and coat were covered with white; the snow must be really coming down. After shaking himself of the snow, he stared in my direction.

Could he see me? Surely he could see my feet, but not me. His eyes must be adjusting to the light. I eased back into a sitting position as he walked toward the urinals. I leaned close to the partition and stared through the peep hole. He chose the center pisser and unzipped his pants.

A sturdy left hand tugged at his fly; his right hand fumbled within. More tugging. His right hand produced a wad of flesh from his pants, and the left hand dropped to his side allowing me a clear shot of his unit. Short and stubby as the man himself, his dick was surprisingly fat. Was he erect? A heavy foreskin drooped from the tip. It was beautiful.

I moved slightly to get a view of his face. A heavy dark beard, slightly wiry, framed his round head. While not conventionally attractive, the man was definitely good-looking. Was he playing with his dick or just impatient to pee?

As I craned closer, the brim of my cap tapped the metal partition with a sound that betrayed me. I froze as the man looked my direction and smiled. He tugged at his pants again, and produced his balls. Turning to face my peep hole, he began to slowly masturbate.

Never having been shy to accept an invitation, I jumped to my feet and hastily pulled my jeans most of the way up. I fumbled with the stall door. As I emerged, the man broke into a wide smile, apparently happy with what he saw.

"You don't need to hurry," he said, "There ain't nobody out there and it's just us in here."

I reached out and touched his beard as my other hand held my pants up. With both arms he pulled me close and expertly slid his tongue into my mouth. While I hadn't expected that, I was aroused even further. His bushy beard excited my trim goatee; the smell and taste of cigar smoke were tantalizing. Forgetting about my pants, I reached up to press his face closer to mine; I needed to take in all of his scent and probing tongue.

As his tongue darted about my mouth, his short, fat, stubby dick began poking my balls. I squeezed my legs together as if to latch onto his tool and pull it inside me. My cock was upright and pressed into his flannel-clad belly. His grip around my chest tightened, and for just a moment I felt a twinge of fear. He was certainly powerful despite his relatively short stature. For a moment he broke the kiss and stared deep into my eyes. I froze.

A strange warm sensation began around my balls and I realized he was pissing on me. I must have registered shock, for he stopped and loosened his grip on me momentarily. I responded by pulling his face toward mine again; the kissing and pissing resumed.

Without warning, he pulled back again and began to hose me down, spraying my face, shirt and legs. Instinctively I dropped to the floor and opened my mouth to catch the salty stream. I gulped noisily as my mouth moved nearer and neared to his dick, savoring the decadent and luxuriously forceful torrent. With one final maneuver, my mouth fully encompassed his cock and I continued gulping until he was drained.

His beefy hands clasped the back of my head and buried my face into his furry crotch with a force that told me he was in control. His hips began to sway and soon he was pounding my face with a hypnotic pace that seemed to defy time itself. I became lost in the strong taste of piss combined with the sensation of the ample girth of his dick. It sent me into a cock-sucking fury I had never known before; I was, for the moment, fully possessed by lust, inhibition, and a total stranger.

My tongue stroked every inch of his rod as he rhythmically fucked my face. It wrapped the shaft and probed his foreskin; I pushed it back and drove my tongue into his piss slit. I freed one hand and reached for his balls, squeezing them as I sucked and gulped. I used my teeth to gently torture his swollen head - a technique which rewarded me with unexpectedly early and repetitive blasts of thick, salty juice.

As I lapped and swallowed the final drops, I could feel his erection starting to subside. He stood silently as I toyed with him a while longer before I detected a slight tremor - a subtle shaking - in his frame. I released his now-wilted dick and looked up into his furry face.

To be continued...