[Always open]

I was drunk.

If I didn’t know it already, the telltale sign would be when I stopped my brisk pace after catching my faint reflection on a glass window that lined the hallway. I stared at myself for a second and grinned at my duplicate. Yep. You’re drunk. The fact that my cheeks and forehead felt numb was yet another hint to a very obvious truth.

A buzz on my right pocket snapped me back to reality. I blinked and read Emma’s text, “Hurry up!” and quickly picked up the pace again, reminding myself of my task.

Of my dare.

Tonight was Truth and Dare night, organized by Emma and I on the room we shared in our dorm room. We had invited John (Emma’s situationship) and Abby. Two other boys had been invited but bowed out at the last minute, leaving the group composition askew, with more women than men, which meant that the Truth or Dare night ought to be tame, as three girls and one guy was less prone to debauchery than three-on-three.

However, “tame” had not been in the cards tonight. Abby, by now, was completely plastered and I suspected she’d soon excuse herself and retreat to her own room to sleep it off. Emma was a few steps behind on the alcohol, last time I checked, but she was reduced to her lingerie after multiple dares to strip. The amount of saliva the four of us had swapped in the past hour was not to be understated either. I was positively drunk too but, surprisingly, the game so far had only forced me to slip out my bra form underneath my tank top and offer it to John.

This thing I was doing, however, was definitely the most daring dare of the night. By far.

“I dare you to go to find Mr. Wright, and flash him your boobs. You’re not wearing a bra anymore after all. Wasn’t he promoted to custodian recently? I bet this would be a great gift for him. And he’s always around late. God wonders when he sleeps.”

Were I wise, or sober, I would have refused. But I was none of that tonight. And my hormones were all over the place too, with the sexual undertones the game had had since minute one.

Mr. Wright was beloved by our whole college community – teachers, students, anyone. An old guy who had worked as a janitor on campus since before I was even born. Always had a nice word to say, or a smile, and he recalled our names the moment we shared them. He should have been long retired by now, yet his memory, sympathy and work ethic had never dwindled.

Last month, he had been promoted to a custodian, a gesture that was understood by everyone to be an act or recognition for his long career. It allowed the school to reduce the physical aspects of his labour and offer him a bit of “status” without necessarily hurting anyone’s job, as there was still another custodian above him. They had even given him a small office, which belonged to the old security personnel – a decent cubicle with a large desk, chair and computer. The office wall was all in glass, allowing him to look directly into the hall and hallways around him, and greet everyone with a smile from his new post.

I really should have refused. Old enough to be my dad? Heck. He was old enough to be my grandad! And he knew me by name, even if we traded little pleasantries aside from the nod, smile and wave.

Yet here I was. I had left the dorm, made the way to the building where Mr. Wright’s new office was, and was now pacing toward it, unsure if my prayers were directed at his presence or absence. Truly, this was no time to be up and about, let alone working.

I saw, from some distance away, that he was there, at his cubicle. The light gave it from the computer skin gave it away, shining through the glass windows around him when everything around it was dark.

My blood was boiling with anxiety when I finally closed the distance. Mr. Wright’s eyes flashed from his screen to me with just the briefest sign of surprise on the arch of his eyebrows before his smile widened. I found that I was grinning back at him, as easily as ever.

There was, however, a feverish energy in my smile, a glassiness to my gaze. My cheeks felt warm even against the numbness, and the heat was spreading to envelop my whole face. Embarrassment, perhaps? Anticipation? I wouldn’t know, and I knew that if I stopped to guess, I’d probably let my courage falter. Mr. Wright pushed his chair back, and was about to stand up and ask if I needed anything when I did what I came to do.

In one swift motion, I hooked my thumbs on the hem of my tank top, and pulled it up.

I had been chosen for this dare for a reason. It wasn’t out of the blue that Abby dared me to slip my bra off, nor that Emma sent me on this campaign.

I liked to think I had the breasts. Not huge, but definitely big. My frame was petite, my torso and waist narrow, which made them stand out. They had the firmness of youth, the 45:55 ratio as Emma called it. That, and they were adorned by a pair of nipple studs I once had the bravery of getting.

This time, the surprise fully registered on Mr. Wright’s face. The eyebrows hiking up high on his forehead, even more so when I stepped forward and squeezed my breasts into the glass that separated us. He was so enthralled he didn’t even find the words – his lips moved, but nothing came out.

And that fueled me.

I caught it by chance, I was so focused on his expression of awe. Just a tiny adjustment from his right hand to the fabric of his pants. Instinctively, my eyes moved and latched onto it.

He was growing, because of me. The fire within me was past the point of caring about feeling flattered, but it was good to know things still worked down there at this age, or that they did work because of me.

But he kept growing.

And yet a bit more.

Yeah, nevermind flattery. I found I was now the one unable to pry my eyes away from something he was showing me, even if inadvertently, even if through the fabric of his pants. His bulge was not something I had ever cared to imagine, but his size was impressive regardless of age. The fact he still had enough blood pressure to pull it off might be a miracle, however.

Our gazes moved at the same time, it seemed, to find each other. Both bewildered. He wondering “how?” and I questioning “what now?”.

My task was done, but there was now a dark pool of lust growing within me. Before I gave him the opportunity to say something that was not what I wanted to hear, my body moved. I stepped away from the glass, covered my breasts again, and gave him one last look. I wasn’t smiling this time, I felt short of breath, unable to even think straight.

So, I turned around. And I ran back to the game.

Hello there!

Mr. Wright (you) is a well-liked man who loves his job and feels no rush to retire despite his age. He’s well known by everyone on campus, as there is not a single person with a bad thing to say about him. He’s just a stand-up guy. However, the amount of appreciation he gets from the college community is usually limited to a nice conversation, an easy smile, or maybe a slightly higher salary than people who worked the same job as him. Maybe he thought such appreciation had reached its apex when he was promoted last month to a position with a better salary and a less laborious schedule. Turns out his college working days still had a surprise or two in store for him.

I don’t have a particular direction or plot set in stone, and as such I've left a lot of things open regarding both character's backstories. In my mind, my character (Jo, as Mr. Wright knows her) will run back to the game and desperately crave for it to end so she can excuse herself and travel back later to Mr. Wright’s cubicle, in hopes that he’s still there, which is already unlikely, given that it’s getting pretty late. On Mr. Wright’s side, though? Up to you. But this will likely end up in a very steamy scene between the two in some ill-advised location.

As usual, the fact that this is a one-off scene, or that it is quick to get to the sexy part, does not mean that the emotional impact of what is happening should be skimmed over. I want to dive into both characters’ minds.

I should mention that I focused on Mr. Wright’s size, but I’m not a fan of unrealistic sizes. He’s big, yes. That doesn’t mean he’s carrying a baseball bat between his legs. His size is the initial spark for her, just like her breasts are for him, but it’s not the main focus of this story. So let’s stay under the double digits, pretty please!

I have a strong preference for opening messages which dive right into the writing. For example, retelling the prompt from the guy's perspective and pushing the action slightly forward, or giving background, or whatever you see fit, even if we then backtrack (and we most likely will) to figure some details out. I know it requires a bit more investment on your behalf, but it's much more important to me that we match in writing styles than in personality or OOC talk.

When it comes to kinks, I'm into big age gaps (and for this prompt, it should be as large as it gets), cheating, escalation, teasing, slow burners, oral/vaginal/anal, masturbation, outercourse, grinding, risk of getting caught, risky locations, rough sex, slow sex, etc. They don’t have to be all shoved into the roleplay. I'm particularly fond of attractiveness gaps/odd pairings, so dad-bods, greying hairs, or whatever it is you want that speaks of a guy past his prime and who focused on stuff other than his physique are more than welcome!

My limits are toilet stuff, fisting, beastiality, and extreme pain.

I don't use Reddit chat, only DM's. Looking forward to hearing from you!