Restroom Walrus (Patreon)

Stall #3.The big, cocoa-brown walrus man sits hunched, black short-sleeve shirt rolled all the way up behind his neck, thick arms out, chest and belly completely bare and glistening with sweat.Pants pooled around his ankles, gentle face flushed and shining.His right paw grips the open-ended sleeve, slowly swallowing every inch of his heavy cock.He drags it down to the root, pauses, then pulls back just a little before sinking it deep again.The rhythm builds—steady, then faster, then urgent.His thighs tremble, sweat drips from his tusks, breath comes in rough huffs.“…hah… hah…”Right as he hits the edge, he squeezes his eyes shut tight.Mouth falls open, brow creased in quiet surrender.The first pulse erupts.A thick, hot rope of cum blasts straight out the open end and splats hard against the inside of the stall door—plap, plap, plap, plap—six heavy shots in a row, painting long white streaks that slowly drip down the metal.He stays frozen, eyes still closed, body shivering as the last drops ooze out.Next stall over, someone’s perched on the tank, phone angled perfectly through the gap at the top.Every second—closed eyes, heaving chest, cum streaking the door—is captured in crystal-clear silence.The screen flashes once.Soft whisper drifts through the divider.“Got you blowing that fat load, dude."