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A Night at the Bar

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I’m running behind. It never fails that when I’m trying to get out the door, the boss needs one last thing done before close of business. But it’s Friday and I’m officially off the clock. Walking up to the front door of this no-name townie bar, I slip off my engagement ring and pop it into my purse. I can hear the thump of the drums emanating through the walls. I look down at myself. I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb in this collared blouse, fitted pencil skirt, and patent leather heels. I roll up my sleeves and undo the top few buttons to let the girls breathe. In a sad, last ditch effort to look a little more casual, I unclip my long chestnut brown hair and give it a little toss toss. I wish I had time to run home and change, but alas this is what we have to work with tonight and I plan to work it.

Music and chatter assault my ears as I head inside and make my way toward the bar. I stake a claim on a barstool and survey the scene. Lots of potentials, but I’m not finding what I want. The bass starts and my eyes wander up to the stage. “So one, two, three, take my hand and come with me…” Now that is a potential: Chucks, jeans, some kind of band t-shirt. His face is obscured behind a curtain of shoulder length hair as he bears down on his bass guitar. I cross my legs and slowly lean back against the bar. My blouse pulls taught across my chest as I take in the show. “I say you look so fine that I really wanna make you mine.” My gaze lingers on his fingers rhythmically plucking and slapping the bass strings. Mmm, yes please.

As the band continues to play, he flips his hair back and I finally catch a glimpse of his face. His brows are furrowed, dark eyes, and full lips adorned with three-day-old scruff. Mm mm mm. He bobs in and out of the rudimentary stage lights along with the rhythm. As he shifts into a shadowy part of the stage, he looks out and surveys the crowd. He looks thoroughly unimpressed, even on the verge of bored. I catch his eye and unimpressed seems to turn to intrigue. Bringing my drink to my lips, I trace the tip of my tongue up the tiny black straw. Enclosing the top in my lips I gently suck in the sweet liquid. Is that a hint of surprise on his face? Oh honeybunch, this is only the tip of the iceberg.

The band plays through a few more songs. “I like pleasure spiked with pain, and music is my aeroplane…” I scooch off my stool and push Kartal Escort it in and out of the way. My hips sway to the rhythm, subtly at first and then with bigger amplitude as the chorus hits. My eyes drift from his fingers dancing across the frets, down to his other fingers plucking the thick strings. Just as I regarded his hands, his gaze works from my ankles, up my calves and full thighs, over my hips, and linger at my breasts. My hands trace my own curves as the music moves through me. He’s biting his lower lip. I must be doing something right. “Pleasure spiked with pain…” He steps to the front of the stage and assumes that stereotypical guitar stance. He grinds out his solo, bass chords permeate the building. Once again his hair falls in a beautiful cascade and obscures his features. A soft moan escapes my lips. Touché, sir. You’ve played this game before. His solo comes to an end and he steps back into the shadows. Even in this crowded building, he has to feel the lust that’s been ignited within me. I get confirmation when he gives me the smuggest of side smiles. Heat emanates from my core. Damn him.

The song ends and the front man announces they are going to take a break. The band disappears from the stage and the bartender cuts on some background music mid song. Everything gets loud again as the patrons talk over the music and each other. I turn back to the bar and order another drink. I shuffle my feet in a kind of dance to the non-descript song playing over the speakers. I feel a hand slip down my back and rest at my waist. I whip my head around prepared to tell off the perpetrator until I see that smug smile. My posture and expression softens. “Can I help you?”

“Maybe,” he responds. He leans into the bar, his arm still around my waist. “Can I get a water, Angela?” he shouts to the bartender. She nods and pours a glass. I turn to face him as he takes a swig. “You guys sounded pretty good,” I yell over the bar noise. “Yeah, we’re not too shabby,” he says between another swig. A drop of water escapes the corner of his mouth and begins to trickle down his chin. I catch the droplet with the tip of my index finger. His expression is infused with intrigue. His eyes track my finger as I bring it to my lips and lick the little droplet off. He bangs the glass onto the bar. Grabbing my wrist, he pulls me towards the bathrooms.

He locks Tuzla Escort us into one of the stalls. I pull him into me and lock my lips to his. His arms wrap around my waist and his strong hands grope my backside, bringing me closer to him. He tries to pull away, but I gently bite his lower lip. His eyes drift closed and he emits a low moan of pleasure. While his eyes are closed, I take the opportunity to push my fingers down his hips, caressing his plush thighs before I bring them up to brush the growing bulge in his jeans. At my touch, his grip on my hips tightens. He leans in and grazes my earlobe with his lips. “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he whispers before nipping it. I arch an eyebrow indignantly.

“You gonna show me how it’s done?” I turn from him and slowly grind my backside against him. He brushes my hair aside and kisses the hollow below my ear. Warm tingles bloom from the spot. His hands drift back to my hips, but that’s not where I want them. I take his left in mine and run it up my stomach and to my chest. My fingers guiding his, we cup and squeeze my breast. My nipples pebble and strain against my bra. I chaperon his right hand down my outer thigh. He nuzzles my head to the side and kisses down my neck. I reach down and start inching my skirt higher with every touch of his soft lips. My sex pulsing with want and anticipation. His fingers finally discover skin and begin to dance closer and closer. Hinges squeak and the bathroom door swings open.

We both still as we hear footsteps approach. His fingers are mere inches away from the jackpot spot. Universe, why do you hate me? I’m not waiting. I undulate my hips and shimmy myself into position. After realizing what I’ve done, I feel his fingertips push aside my panties and begin circling my clit. I bite my lip to stifle the moan that I want to give him. His fingers are calloused and warm. Melting into him, I remember how his fingers played across the thick strings of his bass. Receding footsteps, a squeaky hinge opening, and a soft thud of the door settling back into its frame. “That was close,” I whisper breathlessly as his fervor returns. His fingers pressing and massaging my sensitive bud. Hot tingles emanate from between my legs and spread through my body. I push back into him. God, he feels good wrapped around me.

He brushes his lips across my neck, his whiskers Anadolu Yakası Escort scratchy. With no warning, he slips a digit deep into my pussy. I’m not able stifle my moan this time as his thick, calloused finger pulses in me. “You have no idea how much I want to bury my cock into you right now.” His voice is husky, which makes me wetter. He moves his hand away from my breast to hold me up around my middle as my legs start to go weak. I’m getting close, but not fast enough. While he finger fucks me, I massage my clit. Spasms ripple through me. “I’m so close,” I whimper. In response, he pushes a second finger in and thrusts faster. My pussy clinches around him. The friction feels so good. I match my pace with his. I moan as the heat builds to a crescendo and floods over me, every muscle tensing. His arm tightens around me, holding me up as red hot tingles rip through me.

He brings me down slowly, slowly pulling out from my swollen tender sex. I lean back against him as he wraps his arm across my chest and over my shoulder. The bulge in his jeans presses hard into my backside. Mmm something to play with. Turning to face him, I press him against the stall wall. My hand cups his bulge and gives him a gentle squeeze. A low growl rumbles in his throat. Nuzzling into his scuff, I lightly nip him. I unbutton his jeans and gently pull down the zipper. I slip my hand inside the opening and caress him. He twitches under my fingers. I love making a man twitch. His hands grab my still exposed ass cheeks and squeeze. I’d love to be riding him about now. My mind wanders as I imagine him between my thighs, his cock sliding deep into my pussy. His hands exploring my bare backside, my hips, the space between my breasts.

My thoughts are cut short when I hear the music cut off. “Shit!” he barks as he looks at his watch, “I gotta get back out there. Raincheck?” I begrudgingly retract my hand from his fly. We both try to put ourselves back together as we make our way out to the bar area. The cacophony of the bar envelopes us again. I start to head toward the door, but he catches my wrist. “Hey, I was serious about that raincheck.” I lean in and kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you at home and you can cash it in. Don’t be too late,” I say into his ear. I brush his hard cock through his jeans with the back of my hand and give him a little nip on the earlobe. Pulling the gold band out of my purse, I slip it back onto my finger. He smirks, “you better put that back on before some other guy tries to pick you up.” He heads back to the stage and throws the guitar strap over his shoulder. I like to watch him play, but I’m going to put those hands to better use tonight.

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