The Sun the Girl and Goodbye

He opens the door.

The bar is blessedly cool and completely shielded from the sun. It is smokey and dark, the way they used to be in the States not so long ago. There is a welcoming air there and he guesses that tourists and their money keep the place afloat.

A hostess asks him if he'd like a seat at the bar with a grin that had been carefully cultivated to be just the right amount of inviting. But when he describes The Girl in the way she instructed—A green skirt, hair put up—her eyes dim and smile falls. Instead she gives he guesses a nod in response and asks him to follow.

When our hero sees her, lounging the booth like a lord on their throne, he smiles despite his earlier resolve. She is much more conservatively dressed tonight, the skirt nearly reaching her ankles. The top, a much looser blouse than the dress, pretty and purple and compliments her eyes like it was dyed with her in mind. And indeed, her hair is done up, with a pencil through the bun.

The hostess asks what he'd like to drink in English, but gets cut off. The Girl says something in Arabic—our hero supposes, it could just be some local language he doesn't know the name of—and finishes with a "merci." The hostess gives our hero a look, and he is not sure what she's trying to convey, but she's saying it strongly, and tries to express it for another few seconds before moving away.

"Last night you interrupted to get the waitstaff to speak English. Tonight the opposite?" He asks.

"Oh, My Mister. Last night you needed to hear. To be aware. Tonight you very much do not. Tonight you would do well to disquiet that strong mind. The less you know, the more like a pleasant dream it will be." She shrugs, she smiles, she tilts her head from side to side.

"Are you intoxicated?"

"Oh yes, very much so. From the moment you arrived. From the moment I heard you in your room. From the moment I woke as I woke thinking of you."

It's only then that he realizes there was no drink in front of her. No book, no phone-nothing. Just the woman and the cloth in the semi-round booth in the back corner of the room. He wonders how she kept herself entertained, if she had been there for long. She must have spoken with the hostess for him to get that reaction, but what did she say?

"You're wheels are turning. The exact opposite of what I had hoped." She tisks and offers a small smile. There is no lilt in her voice tonight. No girlish glee. She is controlled and measured as he typically is. Even her arms haven't moved and it's only this far into the web that he realizes she made no effort to greet or touch him.

"I'm trying to figure you out."

"I am very happy. Hah, done. And so quickly."

He laughs and she smiles more. "I'm not used to this kind of treatment."

"No, I imagine not. You told me once that women will often fawn over you too much and then grow cold. Do you remember?"

"I do."

She nods, like it is sad, like it is just another thing in life you lose in time. "Do you ever wonder why that is? If it's you? If it's something you're doing? A pattern you're seeking? Is it even happening at all? Maybe you start to drive them away when you want to be done with them? Maybe you are very cruel, beneath your surface. This monster you speak of? Maybe it deludes you. You only think the women enjoy it. That they said as much. Maybe, maybe, maybe."

"Why are you saying this?"

"Mmm, I made myself a promise, long ago. That if I should ever break every rule and see you I would not be one of those girls. That you would remember me differently."

"Do you think what you've told me will make me remember you differently?"

She laughs then, and it's honest. She shifts, ever so slightly, her shoulders rolling as she does. "Don't trust me, My Mister. Or do. But you agreed at the start, before the start, that you'd have to give yourself up for me this trip. That you'd have to let me make the rules. You've been good about it so far. Don't break such a wonderful streak. I will make you very, very happy. You have my word on this."

The hostess returns with a beer bottle and a chilled glass. She opens, pours, and bows her head in service—then departs without a sound.

"What you have there Mister? Well, it's about the best beer in the world. The world just doesn't even know it exists yet. I fear what will happen once they do. It is so very hard to keep something sacred in the face of temptation." She brings her arms down and lowers them beneath the table. Then she brings the rich, vibrant table cloth up and folds it in itself.

"You're not having anything?"

"Oh—my drink already arrived."

And then she's fluid again, like water, like when she rode him. The Girl slips beneath the table like rainfall and he feels her hands on his knees, his thighs. Her voice, muffled and distorted from below, is like the devils. "Now, you must pay attention. Public indecency here? It's quite the crime. And so much worse for infidels and foreigners." She laughs like a violin, it drowns out the sound of his zipper being pulled.

"You are ready to listen, yes?"

"Yes."It comes from the back of his throat.

"Good. First, you smell the beer. You must bring it close to you, hold it. Take it." As he does, he feels his cock in her hand. She inhales so loudly that he feels the cloth shift. "Oh yes, a rich scent. Very good. The English phrase that always makes me laugh is "full bodied." Silly. For a language with such utility? English is very poor at being poetic. Arabic runs circles around it."

She moans and he feels her breath, the heat of it, on his cock.

"Now bring it to your lips. Push them just inside the rim as you tilt it." Her lips rub over his head. "Mmm, while I think circumcision is a brutish practice? I admit. It does help you out in a few situations." He feels her lips shifting, twisting, rubbing all over the head of his cock as he puts the glass to his his mouth.

"Tell me you have not put it in your mouth yet."

"No. I know the game."

"Of course you do, My Mister. You are so very smart. But you are also tempted. So I think you should know the proper way of things before you get ahead of yourself. First, you should take the sip in and roll it around in your mouth. Then you should take it down your throat and let whatever expression come to the surface that may be. And from there? Well, the first hit is always the most informative, but there is something to be said about reaching the end."

"You're not going to keep up with the game?"

"I am going to play the next part of it, My Mister. I'm going to work up a thirst."

And with that he feels the tip of his cock move past her lips. They slide and vibrate past his ridge, the most swollen part of him, and then hum after locking over it. He growls, but forces himself to stay silent, pushing the beer into his mouth to choke the impulse out.

It's amazing. Crisp and light. And he can't begin to focus on it.

Her lips continue to vibrate and he feels her hand let go of him, only for both to grasp onto his thighs, squeeze into them before a quick, rapid bobbing motion strokes the head of his cock.

Then then it stops and he feels the need to thrust his hips forward until he hears a faint giggle. He takes a sip of the beer and then, just as its in his throat, he feels the first, long lick of her tongue and it makes him splutter.

No laugh from below this time. Just rapid licks, each coming faster than the last. They slow and begin to trace around him, over him. Then she slides down, her hands gripping him harder through the denim as she slithers her tongue up and down each part of his shaft, her cheek and forehead rubbing against him as she does. "I like doing this without hands," she growls. "It makes me feel closer to you."

Her voice is lower than he's heard it before. It makes him need another sip.

She blows on his cock and it causes him to jolt back, the air is so cool now that he is slick from her efforts. He feels a tug of her hands to come forward, and he does. This is must be exactly what she wanted because as soon as he resumes the position he feels her mouth go over the tip of him.

And now she's doing both tricks at once. Humming and licking, as her head darts back and forth. It's more sensation then he's used to and he has to focus not to lose himself to it. He grips the table cloth with his free hand, clenches the beer glass with the other. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth.

This makes him even more of her prisoner because, as it turns out, she hadn't even started yet.

Without any knowledge that she was going to shift, he feels the whole of his cock moving down her mouth, into her throat. Then, with her bottom lip, he feels her kiss his ball. Her lips tighten, and she pulls out of him with so little speed it is hard to imagine that she took him down in one movement.

As soon as she returns to his tip, she places a single kiss on his crown. "Drink your beer, Mister."

He does.

He's back in her mouth the moment the beer is in his. Only now she is rocketing down, moving back up, changing speed and what part of her mouth she is using to stroke him without any reason. Not being able to see her, to instruct her, makes every movement a mystery. A gift.

The next time she swallows the whole of his cock her tongue strokes along the underside of his balls in a way that must look utterly obscene, but all he can see is the red table cloth swaying slightly.

She pulls again, and now he's slouching, his shoulder against the boot tilting forward. It must be easier for her in this position because she starts to inhale and release his cock in full. It's all too much and he moans, to which she stops. He wants to grab her by her hair, force her down like he would any other woman, but instead he simply waits for her to kiss him. Kiss all of him.

When she makes contact again he tingles, feels himself tightening. He realizes in his heart that this is exactly what it means to give yourself over to someone. And how rewarding that is.

"Mmm. It throbs for me, doesn't it My Mister? I must reward its good taste."

His tip is rocketed back and forth inside her mouth. Then the tongue added again. Then, full strokes, up and down his shift. Faster. Faster.

Faster.

And when he can feel the cum being pulled out of him, taken from him like theft, she moves back up to just the tip again. She must be pushing up on his thighs because he can feel the strain, but does not know what it could be for.

Then, he does-she pushes him in and out of her mouth with greater ease than he could have imagined.

And then, faster still.

His resolve lessens. "Fuck," he says aloud, as her torture reaches its crescendo. As his balls pulsate and the whole of his cock is hard, hot and slick like an ignited can of oil, about to explode.

He puts the beer down, he places both palms on the table, he cranes his neck back.

And he cums.

He feels her continue for moment, just working the tip, then feels her stop, drink, pull him into her mouth with just the slightly movements of her lips, like she needs more.

Then a swallow and a kiss to his crown.

"Would you be so kind as to take the napkin beneath your bottle and hand it to me?"

He does, though it is soggy and somewhat used. Her delicate hand and perfectly manicured nails come out from beneath the the cloth and drag it in. After a few muted sounds of wiping and dabbing her hears a near silent, "Thank you."

She reappears, with the same grace as she vanished and she smiles. It is not as wicked now, or he is too drained to see it for what it is. The table cloth is brought back down and smoothed out before she rises and makes her way over to his side of the booth to bend over and whisper in his ear.

"You are being so very patient, My Mister. I appreciate it more than I can say. But I hope that goes to show you a little of my gratitude." Then she kisses his ear and her voice is all but demonic again. "If you keep being this good of a boy we may even kiss one day."

When he turns to look at her in disbelief she winks and begins to move towards the exit with her hips shaking like she's listening to drums in the distance.

He zips up and finishes the beer before the hostess comes over with a plate of food and another beer.

"I didn't-" Our hero looks around the bar. "I didn't think you food here."

"We don't. But the lady you were with was quite insistent that we keep this plate behind the bar. She brought it in herself. And I was to give it to you only when she had left. She is very—well, she's her own person, isn't she?" The hostess removes the first glass and prepares the second.

When she's gone, he lifts the plate which covers the food and sees a meal all laid out clearly home cooked. In front of it is a simple card, soggy from the steam.

"Until next time. ♥"