I Met Her At A Bar Ch 01

I met her at a bar. I know it sounds typical, hell if my friends' description of me as a womanizer was anything to go by, you'd probably be able to predict how this story goes before finishing this sentence. Tall, dark and handsome man meets sexy woman at a bar, opens confidently with his simple tried-and-tested pick up line -- "Hey, I'll buy you a drink if you tell me a secret" which works because she's the right mix of drunk, intrigued and horny and - skipping past a couple hours of basic missionary and cowgirl sex -- they never hear from each other again. But don't judge me just yet. This night, this indescribable night was anything but typical...

I wasn't lying when I said my friends describe me as a womanizer. I'm... experienced. But I don't brag about the number of women I've slept with or display it as a badge of honour with my other guy friends. The truth is, I've been in relationships and they've never worked out. None of them ended as a result of either of us doing anything. I've never cheated, nor have I been cheated on. I've definitely flirted with the boundaries but I've never crossed them. Anyway, I guess it depends on who's drawing up the boundaries. But if I were to say I've been cheated by anything, I'd say it would have been by Life. The Universe. Fate. Whatever mystical power you think guides the storylines of our lives clearly had something else intended for me when I got into my previous relationships.

My first girlfriend, let's call her B, left to build schools and wells in the poorer villages of Africa and didn't see my lawyer-by-day, lawyer-by-night, lawyer-all-the-fucking-time-because-my-career-is-my-life, lifestyle fitting in her life plan. Which I accept, with no grudges. Some grudges. I worked hard for what I have; the suits, the apartment overlooking Canary Wharf, it all came as a result of hard work and long nights at the office, figuratively sucking my boss's dick every time I said I could stay late to work on a case. But the point is, Life stopped whatever future B and I could have had.

After that, there was Elle. Another lawyer, she always won the big clients because her brain was as big as what was poorly concealed under her tight-fitted blouses. She knew she was sexy, she knew she was intelligent and she used every inch of what she knew to get ahead, without having to literally suck her boss's dick. After a year of flirting, we finally got wine-drunk whilst working late and fucked in her office. It was hot.

Our first touches were passionate, fuelled by lust and desire. We kissed roughly, my hand on the back of her neck pulling at her hair while I kissed her neck, her hands expertly unbuckling and unzipping my suit trousers in an instant. Her tongue was magic; she licked sweet pre-cum from the tip of my honey-toned penis in between me tearing her clothes off of her. I do wish I had had time to enjoy the look of her athletic body in her dark black lingerie, always slightly visible in our day-to-day work life beneath her tight white blouse, but the speed at which I became hard meant I had only one thing on my mind.

I grabbed her firm butt with both hands, her laboured breathing changing to a sharply moaned inhale as I released my grip and suddenly smacked both cheeks with the palms of my hands. She pulled me towards the cream leather couch on the right of her office, above which hung her many awards and accolades, impressing both prospective clients and her envious colleagues. She pressed me down and forced me to sit, her eyes on my thick shaft which still glimmered from the earlier wetness of her mouth.

Her eyes were hungry as she stood above me, watching me stroke myself harder, my eyes focusing on the curves of her thighs, the tightness of her muscular midriff. She stopped my hand, replacing it with hers and stroked me delicately at first. I twitched as she reached the head of my penis, her fingers gently darting across the tip, up and down. I wanted nothing more than to lift her up and ravage her, but she tightly held my thigh with her other hand, letting me know this was her time to play, the starter before the main course where she'd relinquish control. Her hands jerked up and down faster, making me throb with desire. Suddenly, everything was cool and warm and wet. I was harder than I'd ever thought possible; her mouth relaxed to let another inch of me inside her.

I moaned. "Elle..."

My pleasure reinvigorated her efforts and I felt my head press the back of her throat. She sloppily came up for air, coughing slightly but pleased with how hard and wet she'd made me. Her lips sucked every inch of my penis, heading south a little with each kiss, each lick. She sucked on my balls while her right hand pulled roughly, fast and urgent at my shaft. Her grip on my thigh relaxed slightly and I roughly stood her up and spun her onto the couch, seizing the opportunity. I bent her over slightly, eager to taste her juices for the first time. My tongue darted in between her soft lips, entering her, my hands spreading her cheeks on both sides to give me access to her sweet nectar. I licked at her, fucked her with my tongue until her knees buckled and gave way. I turned Elle to face me and we kissed deeply, our tastes mixing on our tongues as they danced over each other.

I guided her to her desk and pushed her down onto her back, her desk the perfect height for me to stand and thrust in and out of her dripping wet pussy. I spread the lips of her vagina with the head of my dick, using her natural wetness and my saliva to make entering and fucking her faster a little easier. The giant window behind her desk reflected our actions perfectly against the black sky: a distorted image of two bodies writhing in pleasure, one laying on a hard surface with one ankle resting on the other's shoulders, her other leg twitching at each push from the standing figure's long hard shaft entering and leaving her.

My hand rested firmly on her chest, the other holding her leg to my shoulder. She moaned with every thrust and my hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her screams of desire. Her body was mine and she gave it to me willingly as I released her leg, my hands holding the sides of her arms and pounded hard and fast inside her. I watched and felt her get wetter, her juices painting the outside of my cock. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes more before I felt her inner walls squeeze me as she came. Her back arched and the muscles around her chest and neck tightened with definition as she wordlessly, soundlessly screamed over the edge of her orgasm. That image, something I had imagined daily come to fruition, coupled with the effects of the wine on my ability to hold off was too much and as I felt her soak me, it pushed me over the edge.

I pulled out of her, her clit twitching with oversensitivity, bursting three times over her neatly trimmed mound. Did I mention her tongue was magic? She licked at the remaining cum dripping down my penis, the cloudy fluid mixing in with her sticky, sweet liquid, stopping any dripping on the Firm's no doubt stupidly expensive carpet. The feeling of her warm mouth and the sight of her tasting both of us was almost enough to make me instantly hard again.

We lay on the floor of her office to catch our breath back, each looking at the other differently, both taking pause to admire the other's body properly. I know what you're thinking, but if it's a choice between risking the pull-out method or not having sex with the most attractive woman at the law firm, I'd struggle to find a man who wouldn't have made the same decision. I watched her warm beige skin still glisten with sweat from our workout, though it was clear her well-defined, athletic body was not just genetic and she had recovered her breathing almost immediately after her mouth had departed my body. Her light pink nipples were still hard though, resting on marshmallow-soft breasts that rose and fell gracefully with her breathing. Her smooth legs were draped over mine, my caramel skin contrasting with her paler tones neatly under the warm, low-lit office lights.

My muscle definition was definitely not genetic. In my first year of law school I had found going to the gym a brilliant way to deal with the daily stress of wanting to burn my textbooks and run from the pressure of my degree. Working out moved past therapeutic and became almost dangerous for me. Career success had reduced the pressure I felt but I was fortunately able to keep the body my neurotic-self had forged some years ago.

My short, business cut, dark brown hair was also not genetic though. The old adage of stress causing grey hair was not lost on me; I dyed my hair to combat the signs of stress I was showing. Grey hair at my age then wasn't distinguished, it was a sign I wasn't dealing with the pressure well and since law school it had become habitual for me to dye it as often as I could. Elle wasn't surprised when she discovered this; our sex-life was at a high during our time together and the frequent showers after our times in bed together meant it was inevitable she'd notice the Just for Men packets in my shower cabinet.

The small tattoo she noticed that night in the office she was surprised at though. I had gotten very drunk on holiday in Spain and found a shady tattooist who was willing to mark me. My equally drunk friends egging me on meant I left with a stupid wink 😉 emblazoned on the right side of my abdomen, though I told most people, especially those that I hadn't just fucked, that it was a strangely shaped birthmark.

Anyway, luckily nobody asked why Elle's desk was slightly broken askew for weeks after, though I'm sure plenty in the office figured it out once we made our relationship official to HR. But then came Life, with its massive erect cock, literally fucking whatever future I'd imagined from behind, yet again. I don't regret introducing Elle to the head hunter from her dream law firm. I think I knew then that our relationship had an expiration date and sure enough, a few months later she was off to New York, to be made the youngest Junior Partner the Firm had ever had.

So, here we are. I'm single again. There are women who want to fuck me for my money; there are women who want to fuck me for my looks and social status. Am I against any future romances? Absolutely not. Am I going to enjoy myself with these women while I'm single? Absolutely yes.

Which takes us to Supernova. 'Nova is the bar where I met Kay, where we fucked within fifteen minutes of flirtatious conversation in the penthouse bar and where I found everything I didn't know I was looking for.