Roxie:

The Club Kid

Camden, 2 a.m. The club was a sweat-soaked dungeon under the railway arches. Bass so loud it rattled teeth. Strobes carved everything into freeze-frames of open mouths and grinding hips. Roxie leaned against the bar, chain necklace swinging between her non-existent tits, smudged black eyeliner running down her cheeks like warpaint. Mini-skirt barely covering her arse, fishnets shredded, Doc Martens planted wide. She looked like Hazel O’Connor after a three-day bender and twice as dangerous - but with a less than ok singing voice.

Across the floor, Alex couldn’t stop staring. Twenty-one, rainbow wristband, pupils blown wide on ket and lust. He’d grown up on the stories: the punk tranny with the monster cock who’d ruin you and thank you for it. He pushed through the crowd, bought her a vodka and Red Bull with shaking hands.

“You’re legendary,” he shouted over the hi-hats.

Roxie licked the salt from the rim of the glass, eyes never leaving his. “Prove it.”

Thirty seconds later the disabled toilet door slammed shut, lock clicked. The mirror was cracked, the floor sticky with god-knows-what, and the bassline thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat.

Roxie hiked her skirt in one rough motion. No knickers. Her cock sprang out heavy and half-hard already, thick as a wrist, foreskin peeled back, head glossy with pre-cum. Alex dropped to his knees on the filthy tiles without being asked, mouth open, tongue out like a starving thing.

“Thought you were gonna top me, pretty boy?” Roxie taunted, gripping the base and slapping his cheek with it, once, twice, leaving wet streaks across his blush. Alex moaned and lunged forward, swallowing as much as he could. He gagged instantly, spit pouring down his chin, but Roxie just tangled her fingers in his sweaty fringe and fucked his face in short, vicious thrusts.

“Good little fag,” she growled. “Choke on my punk cock.”

Tears streamed, mascara mixing with hers. Alex’s own dick was straining against his skinny jeans, leaking a dark patch. Roxie hauled him up by the throat, spun him round, and bent him over the sink. Yanked his jeans down just far enough to expose that smooth, tight arse. Spat once, a fat glob right on his hole, worked it in with two rough fingers until Alex was pushing back like a whore in heat.

“Please,” he whimpered.

Roxie didn’t wait. She lined up and drove in balls-deep in one brutal stroke. Alex screamed, high and broken, hands scrabbling on the cracked mirror. She gave him no time to adjust, just gripped his hips hard enough to bruise and started pounding, hips snapping, balls slapping against his arse with every thrust. The sink rattled, the pipes groaned, the bass outside synced perfectly with the wet slap of flesh on flesh.

“Look at you,” she snarled, reaching round to jerk his leaking cock in time. “Came here to get fucked by the legend and you’re already crying for it.”

Alex could only sob and push back, meeting every thrust, his hole clenching greedily around her thickness. After a few minutes of wrecking him she suddenly pulled out, spun him again, and shoved him down onto his knees.

“My turn.”

Before he could think, Roxie straddled his face, smearing sweat and pre-cum across his mouth, then dropped her full weight. Alex’s tongue went straight for her arse, licking, probing, eating her like it was his last meal. Roxie ground down, riding his face, chains clinking, until she was panting and dripping.

Then she stood, dragged him up, and bent over the toilet cistern herself, skirt rucked up around her waist, arse presented like a dare.

“Fuck me. Hard.”

Alex’s hands shook as he lined up, but once he sank in he lost it, slamming into her with everything he had, hips pistoning, moaning like a porn star. Roxie took it with a smirk, pushing back, clenching around him until his rhythm faltered.

“That all you got?” she laughed, and in one fluid move flipped him again, pinning his wrists above his head against the door. She spat on her cock, slicked it once, and drove back into his already-gaping hole. This time she fucked him like punishment: long, punishing strokes that lifted him onto his toes, the head of her cock dragging over his prostate on every thrust until he was babbling nonsense.

“Gonna come… fuck… gonna…”

“Do it,” she snarled, jerking his cock fast and rough.

Alex came with a strangled scream, untouched this time, spunk shooting across the mirror in thick ropes, his arse spasming around her shaft. The clench dragged Roxie over the edge; she slammed in deep, growled like an animal, and unloaded, pulse after pulse of hot cum flooding his insides until it leaked out around her cock and ran down his thighs in creamy rivulets.

They stayed like that for a moment, panting, sweat dripping, bass still hammering outside. Roxie pulled out slow, watched her cum drip from his wrecked hole, then wiped her cock clean on his rainbow wristband.

Alex slid down the door until he was sitting in the mess on the floor, dazed, ruined, grinning like an idiot.

“Again?” he croaked, fumbling for his phone.

Roxie zipped up, fixed her lipstick in the cracked mirror, and flicked the wristband against his cheek.

“Buy me another drink first, princess.”

She unlocked the door and strode back into the strobes, leaving him wrecked and desperate on the toilet floor, already typing her name into his notes with shaking, cum-slick fingers.