I go for a run almost every morning on the beach nearest to my neighborhood, and I constantly eye the public restrooms there. Sometimes, I worry someone will reach out to take me by surprise, and drag me into one of the stalls before forcing me down onto my knees. I’m sure the tile would be repulsive, cold and unforgiving, but my mouth and tongue would be warm and pliant. I would be so scared that I’d probably just freeze up like a toy, and you’d have no choice but to lift me into the air before shoving me down onto your cock.
Maybe you’d keep me squirming there for hours, struggling to get out of your grasp or to call for help before you bury your seed in me.
Afterwards, I’d have no choice but to limp home, without my underwear or valuables.
There wouldn’t be any point in calling for help, since I would have no way of proving that I didn’t enjoy it. If I really didn’t want it, why would I ever leave my apartment in such slutty little exercise sets in the first place? Not to mention how easily I could be caught with a toy or a plug already comfortably burrowed inside of me, which would only serve to illustrate what a desperate whore I really am deep down.