Femboy Trap Takes BBC in Dirty Bathroom Stall

I came for free liquor and left the dance floor grinding my juicy ass on the biggest bulge in the room. Minutes later he had me bent over the toilet.

The bass from the speakers thumped through the floor like a heartbeat I could feel in my belly, and the air was thick with the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and too much cologne. I’d slipped into this party the way I always did—smiling pretty at the guy on the door, batting my long lashes, letting my hips sway just enough under the tiny black mini dress that hugged every soft curve I owned. The dress barely skimmed the bottom of my chunky ass cheeks, and the thin string of my g-string was already riding up between them, a constant little reminder of how exposed I felt. My high-heel sandals clicked against the sticky concrete as I moved, the extra softness in my thighs and hips making everything jiggle in the most delicious way. At five-seven and sixty-five kilos, I wasn’t some skinny thing; the weight settled into plump, rounded places that turned heads—my smooth tan-white skin glowing under the neon lights, my shoulders gently rounded, my waist dipping in before flaring out again. My face was all soft temptation tonight: big brown eyes lined dark and smoky, lips painted a glossy pink that made them look even fuller and more inviting, shoulder-length hair falling in loose waves that brushed my neck every time I turned my head. I looked like the kind of girl guys wanted to buy drinks for. And that was exactly the plan.

Free liquor was the only reason I’d squeezed into this outfit and walked through the door. The bartenders here were easy—two shots of vodka later and I was already feeling warm and loose, the alcohol loosening my hips as I danced alone at first, letting the music take me. Bodies pressed close on the crowded floor, strangers grinding against strangers, and I loved the way eyes lingered on me. A couple of guys tried their luck, hands brushing my waist, but I kept moving, sipping another drink someone handed me, laughing at their clumsy lines while my mind stayed sharp. I wasn’t here for them. Not yet.

Then I saw him.

He stood near the edge of the dance floor, taller than almost everyone else, broad shoulders stretching a plain black t-shirt that clung to thick muscle. Dark skin gleamed under the flashing lights, his arms heavy with definition, hands big enough to wrap around my thighs if he wanted. His jaw was strong, eyes dark and hungry as they scanned the room—until they landed on me. I felt that stare like a hand sliding up my dress. He didn’t smile politely; he smirked, slow and sure, and started moving through the crowd straight toward me.

I didn’t back away. I let him come.

“You look like trouble wrapped in something sweet,” he rumbled when he reached me, voice low and rough like gravel. No smooth pickup line, just blunt want. “Those eyes… fuck, they’re dangerous. And that mouth—shit, girl, you got lips made for sin.”

I tilted my head, letting my hair fall over one shoulder, and gave him the smallest smile. “Maybe I am trouble. You scared?”

He laughed, deep and loud, and stepped closer until I could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Nah. I like pretty things that bite back.” His hand found my hip, fingers digging in just hard enough to feel possessive. “Name’s Marcus. And you… you’re the finest little thing in this whole damn place. That dress ain’t hiding shit—those hips, that ass… goddamn.”

The compliments hit like shots of heat straight between my legs. I liked the way he talked—raw, no filter. Most guys tried to be smooth; he just said what he wanted. We fell into the music together, bodies close, his chest brushing my pert little chest as we moved. The vodka made everything warmer, looser. I turned around, pressing my back to his front, and started rolling my hips to the beat. My chunky ass pushed back against him deliberately, feeling the hard line of his body, the way his thighs flexed behind mine. He groaned low in my ear, both big hands sliding down to grip my waist, then lower, palms spreading over the soft swell of my backside.

“Fuck yes,” he muttered, breath hot against my neck. “Grind that fat ass on me, baby. You feel so damn good—soft like you were built for this.” His fingers kneaded the flesh there, squeezing hard enough that I knew I’d have marks tomorrow, but I only pushed back harder, letting the jiggle of my cheeks rub right against the growing bulge in his jeans. God, it was massive. Even through the denim I could tell—thick, heavy, pressing insistently against the thin fabric of my dress and the string tucked between my cheeks. The heat of it made my own little cock twitch inside my g-string, hidden but aching.

Every time the bass dropped I dipped lower, rolling my hips in slow circles, dragging my plump ass up and down the length of that huge outline. His hands roamed freely now—one sliding up under the hem of my dress to palm bare skin, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. He didn’t ask; he took. And I loved it. The crowd was thick around us, bodies bumping, but all I felt was him—his chest against my back, his breath on my ear, the way he kept talking dirty the whole time.

“Shit, look at you moving,” he growled. “Most girls here got no ass. Yours? Fuck, it’s thick and juicy—keeps bouncing every time you drop it. You trying to make me lose my mind?” His fingers slipped under the edge of my g-string, tugging the string aside just enough to brush the cleft, then snapping it back. I gasped, the sharp little sting mixing with the throb between my legs. “Yeah, that’s it. Keep teasing me with that soft body. You got me rock hard already, pretty thing. Bet you can feel every inch.”

I could. The massive ridge rubbed right between my cheeks with every grind, so thick it felt like it could split me open if he ever got inside. My thighs trembled a little from the heels and the constant motion, but the softness in them just made the movement smoother, more inviting. Sweat started to slick my skin, making my dress cling tighter to my curvy hips and the gentle swell of my small, girlish chest. My pouty lips parted as I breathed heavier, eyes half-lidded while I kept working my ass against him like I was trying to milk that cock through his pants.

Marcus’s grip tightened suddenly. One hand locked around my wrist, the other still kneading my ass like he owned it. “Enough of this shit,” he said, voice rougher now, edged with impatience. “You been teasing me long enough. Come on.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He yanked me through the crowd, my heels stumbling a little on the sticky floor as I hurried to keep up. People stared—some guys looked pissed that he was taking me, others just smirked like they knew exactly what was happening. I didn’t care. The alcohol buzzed in my veins, and the feel of his big hand around my wrist, the way he dragged me like he couldn’t wait another second, sent fresh heat pooling low in my belly. My mini dress rode up with every step, flashing the bottom curve of my chunky ass, but I just tugged it down once and kept moving.

The washroom was down a dim hallway at the back—exactly the kind of low-class move I expected from a guy like him, but that only made it hotter. The door was scuffed, the sign half hanging off, and inside it smelled like piss and cheap cleaner. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering over cracked tiles and graffiti-scrawled walls. A couple of guys were at the urinals; they glanced over but Marcus ignored them completely, pulling me straight past the sinks toward the last stall at the end.

“Get in,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. His free hand shoved the stall door open. It was empty, thank god—narrow, walls covered in more writing, a toilet with the seat up. He pushed me inside first, my back hitting the partition as he crowded in after me. The space was tight; his massive frame took up most of it, forcing me against the wall until I could feel every hard inch of him again.

I looked up at him, my big doe eyes wide, lips still glossy and parted. He was breathing hard, chest rising, dark eyes locked on my face like he was memorizing every soft feature—the delicate curve of my cheeks, the way my hair stuck slightly to my neck from sweat, the plump invitation of my mouth. His hands were already moving, one slamming the stall door shut with a loud clang while the other stayed on my hip, fingers digging in.

Click.

The lock slid into place.

He turned the deadbolt, the metallic sound echoing in the tiny space like a promise. “Time to see what else that pretty little body can do,” he said, voice thick with hunger.

Marcus didn’t waste another second. His huge hands clamped around my face, thumbs pressing into the soft hollows of my cheeks as he crushed his mouth against mine. The kiss was all teeth and demand—his tongue shoving past my glossy lips, invading deep, tasting the vodka still lingering on me while his stubble scraped my delicate skin raw. I moaned into it, my smaller frame pinned back against the stall wall, the cold metal biting through the thin fabric of my mini dress. His body crowded me completely, that massive chest heaving, one thick thigh shoving between my plush legs to spread them wider. I could feel the heat of his bulge grinding against my lower belly, the sheer size of it making my own hidden length twitch inside the tight confines of my g-string.

He broke the kiss only to growl, “Fuck, those lips taste even better than they look—soft and wet like they were made to be used.” Then he shoved me down hard. My heels scraped the filthy tiles as my ass dropped onto the cold toilet seat, the impact sending a jolt up my spine. My knees splayed outward automatically, the short hem of my dress riding up my smooth, shapely thighs until the edge of my g-string peeked out. Marcus loomed over me, his dark eyes burning as he fumbled with his belt. The zipper rasped loud in the cramped stall.

I reached up with both hands, my fingers trembling with anticipation as I tugged his jeans open and fished inside. The moment my palm wrapped around it, I knew I was in for it. His cock sprang free—thick as my wrist, nine solid inches of veined, dark meat, the head already glistening and flared wide. Below it swung a pair of heavy, low-hanging balls, full and swollen, covered in a light dusting of coarse hair. The sheer weight of him in my hands made my mouth water. I stroked the fat shaft, both palms sliding up and down the hot length, feeling every pulsing ridge, every thick vein that throbbed under my touch. My thumbs circled the wide crown, smearing the leaking fluid around until it shone.

“Goddamn, look at you,” he rumbled, one hand tangling in my shoulder-length hair. “Already handling it like a hungry little slut. Put that pretty mouth to work.”

I leaned in without hesitation. My pouty lips stretched wide around the swollen head, sucking it in with a wet pop. The taste hit me instantly—salty, musky, purely male. I swirled my tongue over the sensitive underside, tracing the ridge where the head met the shaft, then pushed forward, taking more. Inch by inch I swallowed him down, my throat relaxing as the thick length slid deeper. When the head bumped the back of my throat I gagged softly, spit already bubbling at the corners of my mouth, but I didn’t pull back. I forced myself further, nose pressing into the coarse hair at his base as my lips kissed the root. My throat convulsed around him, milking the fat shaft while heavy tears pricked the corners of my big doe eyes.

Marcus groaned loud, hips twitching. “That’s it—take every fucking inch down that tight throat. Fuck, you’re slobbering all over me already. Look at that mess dripping off my balls.” I pulled back just enough to gasp for air, thick strings of saliva connecting my swollen lips to his glistening cock. Then I dove lower, pressing my face right into those heavy balls. I licked and sucked them one at a time, rolling the full orbs on my tongue, feeling their weight shift as I mouthed them hungrily. My hands never stopped stroking the slick shaft above, twisting and pumping in long, sloppy strokes while I bathed his sack with wet, open-mouthed kisses.

He kept talking the whole time, voice rough and filthy. “Shit, you got the softest mouth I’ve ever felt. Keep sucking those nuts, baby—yeah, just like that. You’re prettier than all the bitches out there and you suck cock like you were born for it.” My own little cock was straining hard against the front of my g-string by now, the slim five-and-a-half-inch length leaking steadily into the fabric, but I ignored it, focused only on pleasuring every inch of him. I alternated between deep-throating the full length—gagging and choking until thick drool ran down my chin and onto my small, rounded chest—and lavishing attention on his balls, sucking them into my mouth one after the other while my hands stroked the slick shaft.

Marcus’s breathing grew ragged. His fingers tightened in my hair, hips starting to thrust shallowly into my throat. “Fuck—slow down or I’m gonna bust already.” He yanked me off with a wet pop, his cock slapping heavy against my flushed cheek, shiny with my spit. “I want that pussy now. Got a condom—gonna wreck that tight little hole proper.”

I sat there on the toilet seat, chest heaving, lips puffy and glistening, strands of saliva still dangling from my chin. My heart hammered. This was the moment. I reached down slowly, hooked my fingers into the hem of my mini dress, and lifted it all the way up to my waist. The thin black g-string barely contained me anymore; my circumcised cock stood straight up, smooth and flushed pink at the tip, the full ballsack hanging plump beneath it. I tugged the front aside so everything was on full display.

Marcus froze. His eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “What the actual fuck?” His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “You got a dick? You little fucking trick—parading around like some sweet pussy when you’re packing this?” He stared at my five-and-a-half-inch length and the soft, rounded sack below it. For a second I thought he might back off, but his massive cock stayed rock-hard, twitching in the air between us. “Goddamn… but look at you. Still prettier than every other girl at this shitty party. Face like a doll, body all soft and curvy. Fuck it—I’m too hard to stop now. Turn around, slut.”

Relief and fresh heat flooded me. He grabbed my shoulders and spun me roughly on the seat. I rose up on my knees, planting them wide on the porcelain rim while I folded my arms on top of the tank for balance. My chunky ass pushed out toward him, the short dress bunched high around my waist. Marcus yanked the thin string of my g-string to the side, exposing my smooth, hairless entrance completely. His big hands spread my full, rounded cheeks apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he stared.

“Fuck, even your ass looks better than most real girls,” he muttered, then spat directly onto my hole. I felt the warm glob slide down. He rolled a condom down his thick length with one hand while the other delivered a sharp smack to my left cheek. The sting bloomed hot, making the soft flesh jiggle. Another smack landed on the right, harder, the sound echoing in the stall. “Gonna fuck this fat ass raw.”

He lined up and pushed. The thick head stretched me wide, forcing my rim to open around the sheer girth. I gasped, gripping the tank lid as inch after thick inch sank inside, the burn intense and perfect. Once he bottomed out—his heavy balls pressed tight against mine—he didn’t pause. He gripped my curvy hips and started slamming in, long, punishing strokes that made my whole body jolt forward. My small chest bounced with every thrust, my plush thighs quivering. Each time he drove deep the angle ground against that sensitive spot inside me, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through my core.

“Take it, you little cock-teasing bitch,” he snarled, one hand leaving my hip to slap my jiggling ass again and again. The impacts were loud, sharp, turning my smooth skin a deep pink. His other hand reached around, groping my small, girlish chest through the dress, pinching the sensitive peaks until I whimpered. “This hole’s gripping me like it was made for a big black cock. Look at that ass ripple every time I pound it—fuck yes.”

He fucked me like that for long minutes, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the stall. Sweat dripped down my back, my hair sticking to my neck. My own cock swung untouched beneath me, leaking steadily into the front of my g-string, the fabric soaked.

Marcus suddenly pulled out with a wet sound, breathing hard. “Not done yet. Get over here.” He sat down on the toilet seat himself, thick cock still sheathed and pointing straight up. I turned, straddling his lap with my knees planted on either side of his hips, facing him. My heels stayed on, toes barely touching the floor for leverage. I reached back, guided the fat head back to my stretched entrance, and sank down slowly. The new angle let him slide even deeper, the condom-sheathed length pressing right against my prostate with every inch. My hands braced on his broad shoulders as I started to move—rising until just the head remained inside, then dropping my full weight down, taking him to the root.

“Ride it, pretty thing,” he ordered, both hands now kneading my chunky ass cheeks, spreading them wide as I bounced. “Bounce that soft body on my dick. Yeah—just like that. Fuck, your hole’s sucking me in.” I rode harder, the position letting gravity drive him impossibly deep each time I slammed down. My own slim cock rubbed against his hard stomach through the soaked g-string, the friction combined with the constant pressure on my prostate pushing me closer and closer. Pleasure coiled tight in my belly, building fast.

I came without touching myself. My body locked up, thighs clamping around his hips as my little cock pulsed inside the g-string, shooting warm spurts into the fabric. The orgasm rolled through me in waves, my inner muscles squeezing and fluttering around his thick shaft while I kept riding through it, moaning brokenly against his chest.

Marcus laughed low and mean. “Look at that—cumming in your panties like a good girl just from getting your ass fucked. Cute little dicklet and everything.” He gripped my hips harder, taking over, thrusting up into me with brutal force. “My turn.”

He lifted me off suddenly, standing me on shaky legs. “On your knees. Now.” I dropped to the dirty floor between his spread thighs, the tiles cold against my skin. He ripped the condom off in one motion, his bare cock—angry red and slick—slapping my cheek. “Open up. Gonna feed you every drop.”

I took him back into my mouth instantly, tasting the mix of latex and my own body on him. My hands cupped his heavy balls, rolling them gently while I bobbed deep, throat opening to swallow him whole again. He held my head with both hands and fucked my face—short, rough thrusts that made my throat bulge and my eyes water. Spit ran freely down my chin, dripping onto my small breasts and the front of my dress.

“Swallow it all, you pretty little freak,” he growled, hips stuttering. “Gonna fill that slut mouth—” His cock swelled, then erupted. Thick, hot jets flooded my throat. I gulped desperately, swallowing every pulse, the salty taste overwhelming as I milked him dry with my tongue and lips. He kept my head pinned until the last spurt, then finally let go.

Marcus stood, tucking his spent cock back into his jeans. “Not bad for a trap,” he muttered, still breathing heavy. “Prettier than most, I’ll give you that. Clean yourself up.” He unlocked the stall and stepped out without another word, the door swinging shut behind him.

I stayed on my knees for a moment, catching my breath, the taste of him still coating my tongue. My legs felt like jelly, my ass pleasantly sore and open. I pulled myself up, using the sink in the stall to splash water on my face, wiping away the smeared makeup and spit. I straightened my mini dress, tugging it back down over my hips, and adjusted the g-string as best I could—the front soaked with my own release. A quick check in the cracked mirror above the sink: I fixed my hair, reapplied a fresh layer of glossy pink to my swollen lips, and dabbed at the faint marks on my neck and cheeks. The flush on my soft features only made me look more used and inviting.

Satisfied, I unlocked the stall and stepped back into the noisy hallway. The party was still raging outside—bass thumping, bodies moving. I smoothed my dress one last time, feeling the pleasant ache between my cheeks with every step, and headed straight for the bar. A fresh smile curved my lips as I caught the bartender’s eye. Another free drink was waiting, and the night was far from over.