“Welcome, handsome,” I said, strolling up to the table for two. “My name is Alyssa. What can I start you off with?” The gentleman sat down less than thirty seconds before, at the high-end bar inside the upscale downtown restaurant where I work.
“Thanks,” he said, without more than a glance. His eyes were fixed on the doors to the bar.
“Will someone be joining you?” I asked, half hoping his response would be no.
“Yes,” he answered, sitting back in his chair, this time drinking in a longer look.
His eyes gave the familiar look, first to my face, then down my body. I’m not surprised or even bothered by it. As a bartender, I dress for tips. Tonight, it was one of my favorite black, long sleeve, leotard tops, open in front all the way down my cleavage to almost my navel. Strings crisscross the front, allowing me to get away with it at the upscale restaurant. I matched it with my tight, olive, thigh-length, leather skirt, accented with black zippers and my knee-high black boots. The top stretches tightly across my fit body. I love how it shows off my impressive tits, teasing beneath the crisscrossing strings. I know my assets and I use them to my advantage.
His glance returned to my face. He was doing his best to resist another look down my body again. I smiled, flinging my long, raven hair over my shoulder, keeping my wide eyes on his. “Anything I can give you while you wait?” Subtle suggestive language also works well to seduce tips from customers.
He glanced at my body again, considering his options. “Ah, yeah,” he answered. “Give me a Vieux Carré.”
I smiled silently.
“You know that that is, right?” he asked, with a cocky tone.
“Absolutely,” I answered. “No one makes them better, although it’s been a while since anyone has ordered one. Preference on the whiskey?”
“I’m impressed. Give me your best.”
“Would you like a lemon twist garnish or a cherry?”
“Cherry,” he answered, enjoying the continuing, flirtatious wordplay, before looking again toward the door.
“Yes, sir. Open a tab?”
“Sure,” he said, handing me his credit card.
I returned a few minutes later with his drink and credit card. “Here you go Mark,” I said, capturing his name from the card. The chair next to him was still empty. His focus was still on the door.
“Guaranteed, best you’ve ever had,” I boasted as I set the drink down.
He looked up into my face again, reciprocating my smile. “The drink?”
“Anything I serve,” I answered, continuing the tease. “Can I get something started for your date?” My experience taught me how to ask questions, to get more information about them.
“I don’t know what they like,” he confessed.
“Oh?”
“It was a spontaneous Tinder date,” he added, in a confident tone, volunteering the explanation.
“They usually are,” I answered with a wink.
He tapped his long fingers on the table. “You haven’t seen a blonde sitting around here, have you? Her name is Katie.”
Damn, I thought. I wondered if he was waiting for my friend, Katie Kingston. She likes to meet dates here. “Well, if it's the Katie I know, she doesn’t stand dates up.”
“You know her?”
“It might be her. She’s blond and beautiful. She attracts quality guys, but,“ adding under her breath, “never gets what she could out of them, like I do.”
“I have a thing about being on time,” he said firmly.
“Well, I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” I offered with a glance at the clock. It was ten after seven on a Friday evening.
I served my other guests, keeping an eye on the lone patron, and his glass. I approached just as he emptied it. Twenty minutes had passed. “Can I get you another?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, his voice showing signs of frustration.
“She still coming?” I asked.
“I’m sure,” he said, clearly not used to being stood up. “I’ve been trying to reach her through the app, but she’s not responding. She must be in her car on her way here.”
I’ve seen it many times. As a bartender, I’ve learned to read people well. Their nonverbal tells often say more than their words. His finger tapping on the table intensified as time passed. His face and neck reddened with each passing minute. His glances back and forth from the shiny watch on his wrist to the door became more frequent.
“I’m sure,” I lied, especially if it was Katie. She’s always on time. “One Vieux Carré coming right up.” I smiled as I walked away, spying his glance lingering on my ass, in the mirror on the opposite wall.
I continued to serve other customers, working the bar and room to keep the tips coming. I’m good at my job.
“There she is!” a familiar male voice called from behind me.
“Well, Officer Joey,” I said, turning toward the voice. “What brings you in tonight?” I asked. I love to see a man in uniform, especially one as muscular as him. Unfortunately, it also meant he was working.
“Patrolling the area and on my break. This is better than a donut shop. Thought I would stop by to see if there was anyone misbehaving that needed to be cuffed and detained.”
I chuckled. “I’ve been very bad, Officer,” I toyed, putting my wrists out as if surrendering.
“Yes, you have. You deserve a stiff sentence.” His statement was playful code.
“Yes, guilty as charged, Officer,” I answered.
I have a few regulars who get special non-menu bar services for a price. I make it worthwhile for them, and they make it worthwhile for me. I looked around the room. Drinks were all topped off, including Mark, still sitting alone, licking his wounds. “Am I under arrest?”
“Yes, you are, Bitch,” he said. “I don’t have much time.”
I took Joey’s hand and led him around the bar and through the small door leading to the back room. I boldly ran my hand across the front of his pants. “Damn, do you have a license to carry that?” I asked, playfully, looking into his blue eyes. My other hand ran through his sandy brown hair.
“More than just carry it,” he answered.
I took hold of the zipper with my fingers and pulled it down. My hand pushed inside, immediately finding his semi-soft cock. I dropped to my knees as I freed the cock from the restraint of the officer’s pants. “Mmmm,” I said genuinely, glad to see the familiar cock, already growing in my hand. I licked his head as my eyes opened wide to look up at him.
“Fuck, yes,” he said approvingly.
I swallowed his cock, purposefully moistening its length with my sloppy blowjob. After a few passes, I pulled off. Both my hands massaged the lubricated shaft, twisting both directions as they moved up and down his length.
“Oh fuck,” he repeated.
I lowered my thick lips again over his head again. Precum already began to flavor his cock. My tongue licked it up as my lips descended again down his length. My pace quickened as I consumed him with a determined thirst. Nobody gives better head. Nobody. My hardening nipples betrayed my arousal, further stretching the thin leotard fabric of my top. I love cock.
Joey’s knees buckled from the growing climax. “Oh fuck!” he yelled, forgetting discretion, let alone risking charges of public indecency and lewd behavior. My oral skills were worth the risk.
I continued to masterfully suck his cock. I looked around, hoping our activity was still undetected. Most in the bar area were lost in their own conversations, oblivious to their bartender servicing Officer Joey. Except for Mark. I could only get a glimpse of him from my vantage point on my knees, but he appeared to be looking in our direction. His face was red.
“Swallow every drop,” Joey demanded, breaking my distraction of Mark watching us. “Don’t you dare get a drop on my uniform."
Joey’s cock thickened in my mouth. My eyes widened in anticipation. I reached around his body, grabbing his ass with both hands, pulling him toward me. I looked up into his eyes. My oral skills were taking him to another world.
“Fuck!” he screamed.
Warm cum suddenly sprayed the back of my parched throat. I gagged before sealing my thick lips tightly around his shaft. His cock pulsed as wave after wave of cum filled my mouth and coated my gullet. My skilled tongue circled his shaft, coaxing every drop from him.
“Fuck!” he said again, lost in a dizzying nirvana.
I softened my licks, while slowly pulling off of him. I savored the last remaining beads of nectar from his head, before licking my lips, ensuring the capture of every drop.
I stood up with a devilish, proud smile of satisfaction. It’s not lost on me how good I am. It would take the rest of his shift to recover. I put my hand out. “Well Officer, I hope I’ve paid my debt to society for being such a bad girl.”
Joey’s eyes sharpened again. He zipped up his pants. “You have, for now,” he said, satisfied. He slipped one hand into his uniform pants pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He pushed it down my cleavage, through the laced front of my top, instead of into my hand. He deposited the cash and walked away without another word. None was needed.
I looked around the bar and tables, assessing what empty glasses needed to be refreshed. After three drinks and waiting an hour, Mark moved to the bar in defeat. I could read the frustration on his face.
“She not make it?” I asked, feigning shared disappointment.
“The bitch ghosted me,” he answered, looking around for potential prey.
“That sucks. How about another drink?” I said, seizing the opportunity to elevate the tip.
He agreed and began to work the room, hitting on girls and buying drinks. “My name is Mark. Mark Maculiff,” he’d usually start with, rather than some pickup line. He had an assertive, magnetic personality, who clearly liked being the center of attention and life of the party. As a bartender, I could read he was used to having girls respond to him. He harnessed his good looks and charm, accented by his bald head, strong neck, and athletic, 6’0” build. He was fit, but not jacked as if going to the gym was all he did. His charm was an ease of talking with complete strangers as if they were long, lost friends. As the hours went on, he flaunted his money, buying rounds to attract more attention – and hopefully women. He focused most of his attention on the girls at the bar. It didn’t matter if they were with someone or not. It made it easier for me to listen in. He was determined.
I noticed his Rolex beneath his custom, tailored sport coat. He bragged to several women that he was in town, closing a big real estate deal. He was a developer, primarily of upscale, urban condos and townhouses. He talked about his travels, his Maserati, and his inability to decide which of his three homes he liked best. He dressed to impress, including his high-end sport coat, slacks, and thick leather belt. He loved to talk about himself, certain he would impress someone enough to bed them.
The more I observed and heard, the more I saw opportunity. One unspoken perk for me as an attractive bartender is meeting men like him. He was wealthy, handsome, cocky and…alone. The perk isn’t just meeting men like this, but leveraging my assets to exploit them. I can play them like a violin. I let them think they are in control, while I use them to get what I want.
As the clock approached midnight, the crowds thinned. Only a few couples remained, intimately isolated at their own tables. One heavyset woman in her late 60s named Delores remained alone at one end of the bar, drunk enough to wonder if Mark might consider her. Mark made a point to take up his position at the other end, distancing himself from any of her hopes. He instead turned his attention to me.
I had begun to tease him hours before, seizing the possibilities, while feigning disinterest. Subtly is the lost art of seduction. Getting all I want never comes by giving what they want too easily. Nobody’s better at making men think they’re in control rather than the other way around.
At this hour, couples at tables with full glasses want to be left alone. My choice was to small talk with Delores at one end of the bar or take my subtle seduction with Mark to the next level.
“So, how is it that such a handsome, eligible guy is still all alone on a Friday night?” I asked. My question intentionally poked his frustration while pretending a compliment. I could tell he was used to having things go according to his plan. He was a classic alpha male.
“I’m picky,” he lied. The frustration of the night showed on his face and edged his tone.
“I see,” I said in a sarcastic tone that poked his pride harder. “So, what do you like in girls you date?”
“Sexy. Attractive. Like to have fun. Put out.” He rattled off his list, more like ordering a car than describing qualities he likes in a relationship with someone. His words were brash and unapologetic. “And who show up when they say they’re going to,” he added with another glance at the door.
“A man who knows what he wants,” I said, teasingly.
“No apologies,” he said. “Women like a man who knows what he wants.”
I playfully looked around the almost-empty room, and then back at him. “I guess they do,” I answered with another sarcastic jab.
“I can tell you like strong men who take charge,” he asserted. “You like giving them what they want.”
“So, you can read people now?” I asked.
“Like a book,” he shot back. “I’m observant, and I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Depends,” I answered, to bait him.
“Oh yeah, on what?”
“If he’s worth it,” I answered without hesitating. “Or at least if he makes it worthwhile. Men are men. It’s what they have to offer that sets them apart, for me. There are a lot of pretenders out there.”
He smiled devilishly. I could tell the wheels in his mind were beginning to spin. He realized I wasn’t going to give anything away. My words poked his arrogance.
“So, what makes you so valuable?” he asked, attempting to turn the tables. His tone turned more sparring, yet dripping with charm.
“Let’s just say, men get very generous when they realize what I am capable of.”
“Is that true,” he said more as a statement than a question.
“Not to boast,” I lied. Men like him are used to getting what they want, when they want it and how they want. He came to the bar with expectations for how his night was going to go. I was now his last option. I had him by the balls. “But most don’t have what it takes,” I added.
“So, you’re looking for a Sugar Daddy?”
Before I answered, another guy walked into the bar, and stood next to Delores. Without answering, I walked over and waited on him. Ignoring Mark, I served the new customer a drink and the one he bought for Delores. I returned to Mark. The conversation moved easily from topic to topic, from the superficial to personal issues, finances, and sex. I shared my lease was ending at the end of the month and was looking for a new place.
He intensified his bold charm, certain he had an answer for everything. He boasted of his properties around the world. He ridiculed real estate investors who poured everything into commercial office space, saying, “I saw its decline coming miles away with the advancements in technology. No, the real money is in residential, now more than ever.”
