The park thrummed with weekend life—children shrieking on swings, the scent of cut grass and grilling meat, a blanket of normalcy they were about to slash through. Katsuki’s hand was a brand on the back of Izuku’s neck, steering him toward the cinderblock building marked ‘Restrooms.’ His grip tightened, a silent command.
“Think you can be good here, baby boy?” Katsuki’s voice was a low rumble against Izuku’s ear as he pushed the heavy door open. The interior was stark, fluorescent light buzzing over cracked tiles, the air thick with antiseptic and old urine.
Izuku’s breath hitched. “Daddy?”
Katsuki kicked the door shut. He turned Izuku to face him, crimson eyes scanning his face. “You liked the gym. You came harder than I’ve ever felt you come. You want that again?”
“I… I want what you want,” Izuku whispered, the shame already a hot coil in his gut, his tiny cunt already slickening in his shorts.
“What I want,” Katsuki said, tracing a callused thumb over Izuku’s bitten lip, “is to watch you be useful. You’re gonna sit right there.” He jerked his chin toward the open stall, the toilet seat inside. “You’re gonna hold yourself open. And you’re not gonna move until I say.”
Izuku’s eyes widened, his mind catching up. “In… in here? People will—”
“People will use you,” Katsuki finished, his voice dropping to a graveled, intimate growl. “That’s the point. My perfect little public toilet. Every man who walks through that door gets to drain his balls in my boy’s cunny. That’s what you are now.”
A violent tremor wracked Izuku’s frame. The degradation was a physical blow, but beneath the shock, a treacherous flood of heat soaked his underwear. He could smell the strangers already, taste the gym locker room on his tongue again. His voice was a broken thing. “Daddy, please.”
“Please what?” Katsuki’s hand slid down, palming Izuku’s crotch, feeling the dampness through the fabric. He smiled, all teeth. “Strip. Now.”
Izuku’s fingers fumbled with the hem of his shirt, his movements jerky. The air was cool on his skin as he bared his small, freckled chest, his puffy nipples tightening instantly. He pushed his shorts and underwear down his thick thighs, kicking them aside, standing naked and shivering in the vile light.
Katsuki watched, his gaze a physical weight. “On the seat. Legs up and open. Show me what’s mine.”
Izuku obeyed, the porcelain ice-cold against his buttocks and thighs. He hooked his hands under his knees, pulling them toward his chest, spreading himself wide. The position was brutally exposing, his hairless pussy on full display, pink and already glistening. He stared at the graffiti-scarred door of the stall, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Katsuki stepped close, crowding into the stall. He didn’t touch. He just looked, his breathing slow and deliberate. “Good. You look like what you are. A hole. My hole.” The main bathroom door creaked open suddenly, footsteps scuffing on the tile outside the stall. Katsuki’s eyes never left Izuku’s. “Stay just like that,” he whispered, and stepped back, pulling the stall door shut but not latching it, leaving a two-inch gap.
The stall door swung inward, banging against the tile wall. A man in his thirties, wearing a jogging outfit, froze mid-step, his eyes wide. He stared at the naked boy spread on the toilet, then at the large blond man leaning against the stall partition.
The jogger’s eyes darted between them, his mouth slightly agape. Katsuki didn’t move from his lean against the partition. His voice cut through the buzzing silence, calm and absolute. “My boy’s a public toilet today. You look like you need to piss. Do it on him.”
Izuku whimpered, his thighs trembling as he held himself open. The stranger’s shock twisted into something darker, a flicker of hungry recognition. “You serious?”
“Dead serious,” Katsuki growled. “Piss. Or cum. Your choice. Just no touching. That cunt’s mine.”
The man licked his lips, his gaze raking over Izuku’s exposed body. He unzipped his fly with a rough jerk. Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, a tear tracing a hot path down his cheek. He heard the rustle of fabric, the soft thud of a gym bag hitting the tile.
“Look at him, Izu.” Katsuki’s command was soft, lethal. “Watch.”
Izuku’s eyes flew open. The man’s cock was already out, half-hard in his fist. A hot, yellow stream arched through the air, splattering against Izuku’s inner thigh first. The warmth was a shocking violation. Izuku cried out, a choked sound, as the piss hit his lower belly, his tiny tits, painting his skin. The smell was sharp and acrid, cutting through the bleach. It pooled in the hollow of his stomach, dripped down onto the cold porcelain between his spread legs.
“Good boy,” Katsuki murmured, his eyes fixed on the spectacle. “Taking it so good.”
The stranger grunted, his stream weakening. He shook himself off, but he didn’t tuck away. He was fully hard now, stroking himself slowly, his eyes glued to Izuku’s piss-slicked chest. “Fuck,” the man breathed, his rhythm quickening. “You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”
“He is,” Katsuki answered for him, a proud, dark smile in his voice. “Go on. Finish on him. Mark him up for me.”
The man’s breathing turned ragged. He stepped closer, the head of his cock aimed at Izuku’s heaving chest. Izuku could only stare, mesmerized by the shame and the heat coiling tight in his own cunt. The first thick stripe of cum landed on his collarbone, hot and viscous. The second splashed across his puffy nipple. Izuku gasped, his body jolting.
“Daddy,” he sobbed, the word soaked in degradation.
“I know, baby boy,” Katsuki said, his voice thick with possession. “I know.”
The stranger emptied himself with a final groan, spilling the last over Izuku’s other tit. He wiped himself on Izuku’s calf, a final insult, before zipping up. He didn’t look at Katsuki again, just grabbed his bag and fled, the door swinging shut behind him.
Silence. The fluorescent light buzzed. Izuku sat in the cold, covered in another man’s filth, his own arousal a slick, undeniable flood between his thighs. Katsuki finally moved. He crouched in front of the toilet, his eyes level with Izuku’s. He didn’t touch the mess. He just looked. His gaze was furnace-hot.
“You see?” Katsuki whispered, reaching out to trace a clean line through the spunk on Izuku’s chest with a single finger. He brought it to his own mouth, sucked it clean without breaking eye contact. “This is what you are. My perfect, filthy fucktoy. Everyone gets to see it now.”
The bathroom door groaned open again. Heavy work boots scuffed across the tile. This man was older, with a thick beard and stained jeans. He stopped short at the stall, his eyes narrowing at the sight. Izuku flinched, the dried piss on his skin.
“The fuck is this?” the man grunted, his voice a deep rasp.
Katsuki didn’t move from his lean. “Public service. My boy’s a urinal. You need to go? Use his face.”
The man stared, a slow, understanding grin spreading under his beard. “His face?”
“Open your mouth, Izu,” Katsuki commanded, soft and firm.
A broken sound escaped Izuku’s throat. He parted his lips, his tongue a timid, pink thing behind his teeth. The man unzipped with a sharp rasp. He stepped forward, his work-worn hand guiding his thick cock. He wasn’t gentle. He aimed the tip at Izuku’s mouth.
“Wider, slut,” the man said.
Izuku obeyed, tilting his head back, stretching his jaw. The first hot spray hit his tongue. It was bitter, acrid, overwhelming. He gagged, eyes screwing shut, but forced himself to swallow. The warm stream filled his mouth, spilled over his lips, coursed down his chin and neck. He could taste salt, ammonia, the man’s distinct sourness. It flooded his senses, a violation deeper than skin.
“Good boy,” Katsuki murmured, his voice thick with dark pride. “Drink it all.”
The man grunted, pissing steadily, painting Izuku’s features. It soaked his green curls, dripped from his nose, pooled in the hollow of his throat. Izuku swallowed convulsively, tears mixing with the stream, his body shaking violently on the cold seat. When the flow trickled to a stop, the man shook himself off, droplets spattering Izuku’s eyelids.
He didn’t step back. He was rock hard, stroking himself with a rough, callused grip, his eyes locked on Izuku’s piss-soaked face. “Fucking perfect,” he breathed. “You like that, don’t you? Tasting a real man?”
Izuku couldn’t answer. He just stared up, mouth open, breath coming in ragged hitches. His own cunt was a throbbing, slick ache, dripping onto the porcelain.
“Cum for him, Izu,” Katsuki said, a wicked edge to his voice. “Show him how much you like it.”
Izuku’s hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk. A fresh gush of his own arousal wet the seat. The stranger above him groaned, his rhythm faltering. “Yeah, you filthy thing. Here.”
The first thick pulse of cum landed on Izuku’s tongue, hot and salty-bitter. The next striped his cheek. The third splashed across his closed eyelid. Izuku kept his mouth open, taking the rest on his face, feeling the viscous warmth coat his skin. The man finished with a shudder, wiping the last of it on Izuku’s forehead before tucking himself away. He spat on the floor near Izuku’s foot and left without another word.
The stall door swung quietly. Silence, save for the buzz of the light and Izuku’s wet, choking breaths. He sat there, painted in layers of filth, his own taste and the strangers’ mingling in his mouth. Katsuki finally pushed off the wall. He crouched again, his crimson eyes scanning the ruined canvas of his son’s face.
“Look at you,” Katsuki whispered, his voice hushed with something like reverence. He leaned in, not touching, just breathing in the scent of degradation. “My beautiful, ruined boy.”
The bathroom door creaked open a third time. Lighter footsteps. A hesitant pause. Then a sharp, horrified intake of breath. “Midoriya?”
Izuku’s eyes, glazed with piss and cum, focused with a jolt. Standing in the stall entrance was Kenta from his chemistry class. Lanky, tall, holding a basketball. His face cycled through confusion, disgust, and a dawning, ugly hunger.
Katsuki’s smile was a razor. “You know my boy?”
“He—he goes to my school,” Kenta stammered, his eyes glued to Izuku’s ruined body, the way his tiny tits glistened, the mess between his spread thighs. “What… what are you doing to him?”
“He’s being useful,” Katsuki said, his voice a low purr. “You need to piss? His cunt’s free. Go on. Water the little garden.”
Kenta swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked from Katsuki’s lethal calm to Izuku’s trembling form. Something broke behind his eyes. He dropped his basketball. It bounced once with a hollow thump and rolled away. His hands went to his jeans.
“Open wider, Izu,” Katsuki commanded softly. “Show your classmate your pussy.”
A sob caught in Izuku’s throat. This was different. This was school. This was the hallway, the library, a person with a name. He forced his knees further apart, exposing his swollen, hairless cunt, glistening with his own slick. The air hit his clit, a cold shock.
Kenta fumbled his cock out. He was already hard. He stepped forward, his sneakers squeaking on the wet tile. He aimed. “You’re such a freak, Midoriya,” he whispered, and a hot, frantic stream hit Izuku’s lower belly, then dripped down, soaking his pubic mound, his outer lips, his throbbing clit.
The warmth was a brand. Izuku screamed, a raw, shredded sound, his back arching off the toilet seat. The piss washed over his sensitive nub, a scalding, degrading caress. His hips jerked, utterly beyond his control.
“Look at that,” Katsuki breathed, enthralled. “He’s making you feel good, isn’t he? Your smart classmate. watering your little cunt.”
Kenta finished pissing, but he didn’t stop. He gripped himself, stroking fast and rough, his eyes wild on Izuku’s soaked pussy. “You like that, freak? You like me pissing on you?”
Izuku couldn’t speak. He was a live wire, every nerve ending screaming. The shame was molten, mixing with the unbearable pressure building in his core. He was going to cum. He was going to cum from this.
“Do it,” Katsuki growled, not to Kenta, to Izuku. “Cum for him. Show him what a good little toilet you are.”
Kenta groaned, his strokes becoming erratic. “Yeah, cum, you slut. Cum on my piss.”
The first hot stripe of the boy’s cum splashed across Izuku’s clit. The sensation was a detonation. Izuku’s vision whited out. A guttural cry tore from his throat as his body seized, his cunt clenching around nothing, and a violent, hot gush of his own release squirted out of him. It hit the tile between Kenta’s feet with a sharp, wet sound, a fountain of clear fluid mingling with the piss.
Kenta kept coming, painting Izuku’s trembling thighs with thick pulses, grunting with each one. “Fuck! Fuck, you actually squirted, you disgusting whore!”
Izuku rode the orgasm, helpless, his body convulsing on the seat, tears and piss and cum streaming down his face. It felt like falling apart. It felt like flying.
When it was over, Kenta stumbled back, tucking himself away with shaky hands. He looked terrified, exhilarated. He grabbed his ball and fled without another word.
Izuku slumped against the cold tank, utterly spent, his breath coming in ragged, wet hitches. He was a puddle of violation, his cunt still fluttering with aftershocks.
“You’ve been such a good boy,” Katsuki growled, his voice vibrating through the humid stall air. He unbuckled his jeans with rough, sure movements. “Earned daddy’s cock. Open up, cunny boy.”
Izuku’s mouth fell open obediently, his tongue lying pink and waiting against his lower lip. Katsuki fisted his huge, uncut cock, already dripping, and guided the broad head past Izuku’s lips. He didn’t push. He let Izuku lean forward, taking him in, the familiar salty-bitter taste flooding his mouth alongside the residue of strangers.
“Yeah,” Katsuki sighed, his hips giving a shallow thrust. “Suck it clean. Get it wet for your pussy.”
Izuku hollowed his cheeks, working his tongue along the thick vein underneath. He could feel Katsuki’s pulse against his lips, the heavy weight on his tongue. He gagged softly, tears springing anew, and pushed through it, taking him deeper until his nose pressed into coarse blond curls. The musk of his father, whiskey and spice and pure Katsuki, drowned out everything else.
Katsuki set a brutal pace, fucking his mouth with deep, measured strokes. “Take it all, cunny boy. Every inch. You love this, don’t you? Being daddy’s fleshlight.”
Izuku’s muffled groan was answer enough. He braced his hands on Katsuki’s thighs, his own body trembling, his neglected cunt clenching around nothing, dripping a fresh stream onto the toilet seat. The door to the bathroom creaked open. Footsteps halted. A low whistle.
“Don’t stop,” Katsuki commanded, his eyes locked on Izuku’s fucked-out face. He didn’t acknowledge the audience gathering at the stall entrance—two, maybe three men, their breathing growing ragged. “They wanna see how good you are. Show them.”
Izuku sobbed around the cock in his throat, the shame a live wire, but his hips rocked, seeking friction. Katsuki’s thrusts grew rougher, his balls slapping Izuku’s chin.
Katsuki pulled his slick cock from Izuku’s throat with a wet pop. He didn’t reposition him, just grabbed his hips and yanked him forward on the toilet seat, spreading Izuku’s piss-slick thighs wider against the cold porcelain. “Hold yourself open,” he growled, and Izuku’s trembling hands obeyed, fingers pulling back the lips of his cunt, exposing the pink, fluttering hole to the men crowding the stall entrance.
“Watch this,” Katsuki snarled to the audience, and he drove into Izuku in one brutal, unyielding thrust.
Izuku screamed. The stretch was immense, a burning, perfect fullness that punched the air from his lungs. Katsuki didn’t wait, didn’t let him adjust. He set a punishing, animal rhythm, his hips slamming into Izuku’s ass, the wet slap of skin echoing off the tiles.
“Look at him take it,” Katsuki grunted, his voice raw and loud for their audience. “Look at my cunny boy’s hungry little hole. Swallowing daddy’s cock like it’s starving.”
“Fuck,” one of the spectators breathed, his own hand moving frantically in his jeans.
Izuku could only sob, his body rocking violently with each thrust, his own slick making filthy, squelching sounds. The eyes on him were like brands. Katsuki leaned over him, his breath hot on Izuku’s ear. “You feel those strangers staring at your ruined pussy, baby? They’re seeing how you belong to me.”
“Daddy,” Izuku choked out, his vision blurring.
“You gonna cum for them?” Katsuki’s pace became frantic, brutal, his balls slapping against Izuku’s skin. “You gonna be a good slut and squirt all over this floor so they see what I made you?”
“Yes! Yes, Daddy, please!”
Katsuki’s rhythm stuttered, his thrusts turning deep and grinding. A harsh groan tore from his chest. “Taking my cum now, you filthy fucktoy. Take it all.”
Izuku felt the hot, pulsing flood inside him, filling him, and it tipped him over the edge. His back arched, a silent scream on his lips as his cunt clamped down in rhythmic convulsions around Katsuki’s cock.
Katsuki pulled out fast, and the sudden emptiness was a shock. He shoved Izuku back, keeping his legs spread wide. “Look,” he commanded the men, his voice trembling with exertion. “Look what I do to him.”
A gush of white, followed by a clear, violent stream, erupted from Izuku’s gaping cunt. It hit the tiles in a loud, continuous splash, painting the floor and the shoes of the nearest spectator. Izuku convulsed through it, his body milking itself empty, his cry a broken, continuous sound.
The men watched, rapt, one of them groaning as he came in his pants. Katsuki looked down at his son, spent and trembling, his cunt still dribbling their mixed release. He wiped his cock on Izuku’s thigh. “My perfect little fountain,” he murmured, raw and quiet, just for him.