I’m in town on business. You weren’t sure if we should meet. In truth, neither was I, because I have pretty firm beliefs about married men, but after months of verbally stimulating each other to the point of madness, my body wants you. It wants your touch.
We agree to meet at a downtown bar. It’s a Friday night, fairly late, and the place is pretty busy. I worry that we won’t find each other. I show up early, too aroused and excited to do otherwise. I’m wearing a short black miniskirt, soft black t-shirt, and black knee-length boots. I sit at the bar, sipping a drink, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart.
I look up and see you. You look a little different from your picture, but I’d recognize those eyes anywhere. You smile a little, and I can see in that smile a mirror of everything I’m feeling — desire, nervousness, excitement.
You come over to me and we stare at each other, saying hello, feeling awkward. Silly, to be this awkward, when in our fantasies and our words we’ve been naked together, sipping at each other’s bodies, touching every single inch. I’m not sure what to do. But I know I want to touch you.
I place my hand on your forearm and push myself up from the stool just slightly to kiss your cheek softly. I can feel the muscles of your arm tighten underneath my hand.
I offer to buy you a drink. Your lips kick up in a smile at that.
I can just see you wondering who will get the upper hand tonight.
You nod, and I turn from you slightly to motion to the bartender. I can feel your eyes on me, taking in my outfit, the curves of my body. My blood fizzes pleasantly in my veins with excitement.
There’s nowhere for you to sit — the bar is getting busier by the moment. You lean against the bar beside me, and sip your drink. We chat pleasantly about my flight, my business, your day at work. Meaningless chatter. Our eyes are telling a different story. In our eyes, wetness, heat, hardness, strength. Slick bodies and soft moans.
I smile softly and tell you I’m feeling a little naughty tonight.
Your eyebrows raise. “What did you have in mind?”
My smile grows wider. I know exactly what you’re thinking. And I’m so going to enjoy showing you exactly how wrong — and right — you are.
I motion to the bartender again. When he comes over, I step off the stool and lean over the bar to whisper my request to him. I can feel your chest rise beside me as you take in my legs, nearly completely displayed by my stretched position.
As the bartender moves away to fulfill my request, I touch your shoulders and maneuver you onto my vacated stool. I lean close to you to explain that while I usually rarely drink, I was feeling a little naughty — I wanted to do a shooter.
The thing is, there’s only one kind of shooter I’ve ever really enjoyed the taste of.
The bartender sets the shot glass in front of me. Creamy Bailey’s, sweet creme de menthe, and a dollop of whipped cream on top.
I lean into you again, my breasts so close to you the gap could be closed by a single breath. I explain that the best blowjobs are done hands-free.
You close your eyes.
I move my lips to your ear, whispering softly, darkly. “Will you hold my hands behind my back while I do it?”
Your eyes open wide. You didn’t expect that. You nod.
I shimmy in a little closer to you, between your spread legs. I move my hands behind me and feel your strong hand close over my wrists. My heart is pounding.
I rub my hip against you as I slowly bend over, letting you enjoy the view of my ass and legs and boots, before opening my mouth wide over the glass.
I can feel you hard against my hip.
You watch my jaw working to stretch wide enough to take it all in. I grip the edge firmly with my lips and slowly straighten as the creamy drink slides down my throat.
You watch my throat as I swallow. I know what you’re thinking. Imagining what it would feel like to have that mouth working on you, to watch me swallowing everything you’ve got and then some.
I loosen one of my hands from your grip and remove the nearly empty glass. All that’s left is the cream inside. I dip my finger in and coat it with cream. I hold your gaze as I lick my finger clean.
God, this is driving me crazy. Watching your eyes watch my tongue. Makes me want to slide over you, right here.
I scoop out the last bit of cream with my finger and offer it to you. Your eyes flare as you open your lips to accept the cream.
It’s like strings, pulling at me, deep inside, as your tongue swirls around my finger, turning me on. I squirm against you a little, needing the friction.
You smile and release my finger. “I like the way you do blowjobs,” you smirk at me.
I pull my body in close to yours, close enough that no one can see between our bodies, and run a single finger lightly over the hardness between your legs.
“You haven’t seen anything… yet.” I whisper, and smile.