She was so tight she made my loins ache. I wanted inside of her. The slutty little thing wore a shiny lick of a dress that reminded me of the black paint on my favorite ride. Now I wanted to ride her ass just like I ride my bikes, with a lot of speed. No brakes would be needed for that piece of tail; she wasn’t after safety. I could tell by the way all five-foot-nothing of her prowled the bar floor in those spiked stilettos. There was nothing passive or tentative about her. She had game, but she was in my bar, and now, inevitably in my head.
“Leave it alone, Alex,” my bartender laughed. “You’re not her type.”
“I’m every girl’s type when I need to be,” I smirked. “Even hers.”
Kelan knew I’d always had a weakness for girls like that. They were like the Achilles’ heel of good intentions. Smoky eyes, full mouth, breasts jacked up with that tempting swell of jailbait cleavage. And that waist. I could get my hands all the way around a waist like that. I could pull her down onto my lap and do nasty, filthy things with her and she would probably beg for more, simpering, in a voice like burnt sugar, sticky sweet but with some edge.
She knew what I wanted. I made no attempt to hide my predatory stare as I leaned back against the bar, downing Jack Daniel's to steady my instincts. She was making my blood run faster, and I knew I had to play her just right. Girls like that want to feel like they’re in control of the chase to appease their morals later. I blame it on that annoying spill of ‘Girl Power’ in the ‘90s that bled over into every decade that followed. So much noise about sex when it was all just chemicals and hormones. When you know you both want it, who cares how it’s justified? Yeah, she might be a bit of work, that one.
I took another swig of my drink, nodded her way and tipped my fedora, breaking into a full grin as she finally took that detour across the floor that would bring her right to me.
The conversation was predictable. She was trying to be clever and not seem obvious. Her name was Chloe and she smelled of some kind of teenage-dream drugstore perfume that brought back memories of junior year in high school. The tight dress she wore was far too trashy by most standards, but she was looking to make an impression and damn, did she ever succeed in spades.
Chloe drank the fruity martini I had the bartender make for her. She giggled and touched her long dark hair self-consciously as she leaned into the bar with that delicious swayback posture that gave her body a sweet s-shaped curve. Fucking tight. I wanted to hoist her up onto the bar and push the whole of my tongue right up into her cherry snatch.
Eventually I grew bored of the small talk, and I knew she had too. She was licking the rim of her martini glass with each lusty gulp and closing the distance of the personal space between us. She was actively pitching to me now, probably thinking about the story she’d tell her girlfriends the next morning, about how she took the initiative and went after what she wanted. I smiled at her, letting her take the reins while I charged the horse from behind. When I finally invited her for a drink in my back office, she was eager and offered me her hand. It was small and slightly sweaty and I grabbed her by the wrist instead.
“Just so you know, I’ve never done this before,” came the requisite promise, tempered with nervous giggles.
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to be gentle with you,” I said, as I shut the door behind us.
My office was cramped with stacked cases of liquor, a modest desk and swivel chair and filing cabinets lining the walls. I turned a small lamp on, just enough to illuminate the outline of those fantastic curves. I dropped my fedora on the desk and sat down, sighing out loud as I surveyed my pretty little thing shifting her weight from one stilettoed foot to the other.
“Are you going to let me play with you?”
I enjoyed her lack of pretences, now that we were alone.
“Why don’t you come sit on my lap.”
I was especially pleased when those coltish legs spread and she straddled me, her hair brushing my cheek as she leaned in to press her tongue against my ear. I hadn’t been wrong about this one at all.
“You like being a little slut, don’t you, Chloe?” I whispered teasingly, knowing it risked a slap across the face.
Her grin was positively pornographic. “I couldn’t say no. I feel like I wanna do dirty things with you. Be bad.”
I pried her lips apart and filled her mouth with my tongue as my hands pushed the flimsy fabric of her shiny dress up the small expanse of her thighs. No panties, of course. She was like a tiny doll in my lap, all long hair and fresh curves. My hands moved under her ass, pulling the cheeks apart like the ripe flesh of some exotic sun-warmed fruit. My finger played with her puckered knot, while the others began wedging firmly into her cunt. I was stretching it, pushing two digits in and then three, while sweet Chloe shamelessly sucked my tongue as though it was a cock. She was grinding on my pant leg, no doubt leaving a juicy stain to make her mark. Filthy little thing. I fucking loved
girls like that.
I grabbed the half-finished bottle of Jack Daniel's Single Barrel off my desk and uncorked it.
“Show me how you fuck.”
I thrust the weighty bottle between us, leaving the length of the ridged glass stem tilted upward, and watched Chloe center herself over it. In the dim lighting, I could just make out the gorgeous sight of her tight pussy lips blossoming around the mouth of the bottle as she slid down onto it, erotically impaled. She threw her head back and I grabbed luscious handfuls of her breasts as she fucked that whiskey bottle. Up and down, her snatch slid over the thick glass. The movement caused the liquid to slosh upward, giving her steaming pussy a bath of potent alcohol. God, she knew how to ride. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
I roughly lifted her up onto the desk, while simultaneously taking long swigs from the pussy-warmed bottle. I could taste her youthful musk and the sharp malt of the liquor as it burned down my throat. I grabbed the back of her head and pulled her to me, taking another generous mouthful before spitting it into hers. The sight of her pretty pout dripping with whiskey was irresistible. I kissed her hard, pinning her down and almost ripping the front of her cheap dress as I freed those perfect breasts. She was nearly breathless as my drunken lips sucked on each nipple. My hand cupped her mound as my fingers thrust inside her, urgently fucking her dripping cunt.
“I need a taste of you now,” I moaned into her neck.
Once my tongue had finally plunged into her wet folds, she melted under my oral manipulations, writhing on my desk and biting the back of her knuckles. I took my time, splashing whiskey over her smooth snatch and sucking it off her skin like an addict. I fingered her ass and plied her clit until she rolled with orgasms, bucking under my tongue and covering my mouth with tangy juices.
Really, I could have worshipped that pussy all night. It was just that
The intercom was what eventually interrupted us. Fuck. I was needed back at the bar. She was like a drug. I was buzzed and still craving the next hit. I put my number into her phone and promised that we’d pick up the second act after I’d finished for the night. She didn’t whine about it. Those trembling thighs reassured me that her sexuality was still on my hook. I told her to fix herself up and head back to the main bar when she was ready, knowing a girl like her would want to take her time.
“I don’t even know your name,” she mused, as she applied lipgloss in the small mirror on the wall.
I came up behind her and for a brief moment, our reflections merged as one. Then I stepped to the side, ran my fingers through my long jet-black mane and swiped some of her gloss across my lips.
“It’s Alexandria,” I told her. “But everyone calls me Alex.”
We both smiled as I closed the door behind me. We had a mutual appreciation of girls like that.
Copyright © 2013 Ashleigh Lake. All Rights Reserved. In accordance with the DMCA, this story may not be copied or reproduced, without the express written permission of the author.
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