Tables turn

Bloodied and panting, the two men eyed each other. The janitor's joint was a third eye staring at its adversary. With a grunt, the massive janitor pushed himself off the marble floor and grabbed his slimmer adversary. Using emergency reserves of energy normally set aside for extraordinary danger, he lifted her lover off his feet and slammed him into a bathroom stall.

Her rescuer's lights went out. The fight he had engaged in on her behalf had vanished with his consciousness. In a rage, the janitor tore off his tormentor's shirt. In a muffled hiss of fury, he shook, rather than pummeled him. Her lover's body accomodated the abuse.

She gasped, fearing she had been witness to a murder. The janitor, perhaps fearing the same thing, ceased his attack and held him by the upper arms. In the millenium long seconds that passed under the fluorescent lights, they contemplated their lives being changed forever -- he thought of prison; she thought of shame.

Her lover moaned from the depths of unconsciousness.

The janitor flashed a glowing face full of relief and began to let his opponent slip to the floor. Then he paused. A slight, malicious smile blossomed.

Without warning, the janitor ripped the man's trousers off, handling him like a particularly heavy sack of dog food. He set his opponent's chin onto the marble floor with a thunk -- another moan.

He pulled her lover's torso into the air, positioning his ass skyward.

He then locked eyes with her, never took his eyes away from her, and readied himself to penetrate her by proxy. If she wouldn't offer her ass, he would have the ass of her bested rescuer. He stroked his cock and aimed it...