A Night at the Bar

I sit and watch her as she walks across the bar. My table is about half way back toward where the band is playing and I sit alone, although the bar is reasonably busy. Her confident gait draws my eye, even if I wished to look elsewhere. As she approaches the bar she shrugs the black coat off her shoulder to expose her bare shoulders and the dark red dress she wears. It's close fitting, revealing no cleavage and hugs her figure to her knees. It's not slutty and academically I would be hard pressed to explain why it's the sexiest outfit in the room; were it not her that was wearing it.

There are other eyes watching her, I can tell, she has a classy grace -- a presence -- that is rare in this place. It's not low-rent per se, but certainly not the upper class hotel bar you'd expect to find such a girl. Her head swings as she looks around the place and her shoulder length red hair glistens in the dim light, framing her pale skin. Her eyes are green and a dusting of freckles covers her nose, although it's hard to make out either from this distance, in this light.

Sinking a little further back in to the recess my table is located in I keep watching. I watch as she approaches the bar and immediately attracts the attention of the bartender ordering, I guess, a cocktail of some description, after barely a moment's consideration of the menu. She withdraws her phone from a small clutch, delicate fingers as pale as her face and shoulders caressing the screen as she types out a message.

My phone, on the table in front of me, lights up silently and I see the message.

-I'm in the bar, are you nearby? You think I look good in this dress?-

Smiling, I resist replying immediately, still watching her. The drink is delivered. It looks like a Cosmo which would be her usual. And damn, yes, she does look good in that dress. It curves with her, outlining her delicate figure and making the most of her diminutive 5'3" frame. Her arse is particularly spectacular, I think, clearly defined through the expensive fabric, curved without being unsubtle. As she leans over the bar to pay the bartender I get a great view before the crowd comes between us.

-I'm here already. Very much enjoying the view; see anything you like?-

Her phone receives the message and I watch her head turn slowly, scanning the bar and lingering on a few groups of individuals. She is about to reply when two men approach the bar and stand next to her, chatting to each other and ordering draft beers. They're taller than her, of course, and younger -- younger than me as well. They have the look of athletes of some description: tight t-shirts that show their muscular frames and jeans which emphasise their waists and broad shoulders.

Subtly dropping the phone back in her clutch she leans nonchalantly at the bar sipping the drink through a small straw. When one of them speaks to her -- I can't tell what he's saying, of course -- I can see her smile. A lingering smile. One that lights up her eyes, eyes which maintain contact with the young guy a moment longer than is comfortable. She shakes her head slightly and indicates to her nearly-full glass: no she doesn't need another drink. He laughs and puts up his hands in a placating gesture, then turns to the bartender and indicates something from the back shelf. In short order three shots are delivered to the bar and one is offered to her. She tries to look innocent, nearly pulls it off even, but puts away the strong liqueur faster than him or his friend.

The three shot glasses hit the bar -- empty -- nearly together and then there is conversation. Short conversation, more smiles, laughter; her hand lingers a moment on his elbow as she giggles at a joke. That breaks the ice even more. She doesn't look like a girl who giggles but she has her moments, tell the right joke, the right time, the right circumstance and she can be quite giggly indeed.

He's indicating to a table with other guys now, another four, six in total. They must be together. Would she like to join them? Well, maybe just for one -- I can almost hear her saying it now. So she does join them, threading their way across the bar, her new friend's hand guiding her on the small of her back. She looks smaller than ever next to his muscular frame and the tight-fitting dress hugs her delicate curves seductively. The table they sit at is closer to the watcher, just across the room. Not that anyone except her knows I am watching of course. That's our secret.

Introductions are made. She's acting slightly shyer now, staying close to the first guy she met, letting him take the lead, sit her next to him, at the back of the table, next to another athlete. They're all athletes, must be a night out for it.

Where she is now she could, if she wanted, look up and make eye contact with me. She doesn't. But she could if she wanted. I feel anticipated tingle through me as I watch her flirt. I'm trying not to look too obviously, but it's difficult. She's enjoying herself, enjoying herself with these men -- these boys. The two either side of her vie for her attention. There's flattery, almost certainly, jokes, conversation. She engages them both, not giving one more attention than the other. One guy gets up to order another round; would she like one? She pretends to hesitate but the moment passes and another drink is on the way. Shots as well when they arrive, shots for everyone.

Now she's giggling again. Is it me or are the guys next to her sitting closer than they were. They're certainly leaning closer, talking right in to her ear and she's doing the same back to them. So close they must be able to feel the heat of each other's bodies, feel the warmth of each other's breath on their ears as they talk. One drapes his arm over the bench behind her, the hand hanging carelessly on the delicate skin on her shoulder. She's definitely closer to him now, her hand rests on the side of his chest as she leans in to talk to him.

I watch her hand, it never leaves his body as she, almost casually, traces it down his body below the edge of the table whispering in his ear all the time. I watch as he visibly gulps and blushes slightly. Her lips are so close to his ear now, they might even be touching I can't tell. Is he hard? I know I am watching her. Her eyes flicker over to me. I can see it in her eyes, she's going to have this one. She wants him soon. It's earlier in the evening than she would normally take what she wants but those shots must have been strong.

Indicating over to the dance floor she stands. He stands. They hold hands and walk away from the table, all the other guys watching them enviously now. His hand leaves her and pulls her closer, wrapping around her waist, cupping her arse. She's leading though, right over the dance floor. I almost lose sight of them but then I see them again, not dancing, she's led him right through towards the bathrooms on the other side of the dance floor. I stand, subtly I hope, and follow them although they have a head start.

When I enter the men's bathrooms I quickly look around. There are two other guys at the urinal, no sign of her. One of the cubicles has a closed door. I quickly enter the one next to it and lock it. The music is much quieter in here, the sound proofing is good and once the door is closed I press my ear to the partition. There is a wet sound of kissing, soft moaning: male and female. This continues for a moment as I feel myself get harder. Then her voice, soft, a delicate whisper just loud enough to carry to my awaiting ear.

"Hmmmm, you're so hard. Your cock must be uncomfortable in those jeans, hmmm, have I made you this hard?" The response is unintelligible but clearly in the affirmative. I risk stepping carefully up on top of the toilet to peer over the top of the cubicle. She is in his arms, his back pushed against the partition, they're kissing again now. I can see her hand caressing him through is jeans, his bulge is impressive. His hand is up her skirt, squeezing her arse; I wonder if he's realised she's not wearing underwear yet.

Her hand is fumbling for his belt and flies now, and she breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper in his ear again, "I want to suck your cock. Please can I suck your hard cock?"

I can just make out him nodding as she sinks slowly to her knees. She's looking up at him, or is she looking at me? I can't tell. She can definitely see me now, watching them from above his head. His belt is undone, then the flies. Her hand is inside his trousers, his moan a little louder. She draws out his cock. It is very hard, and thick, long, the head red and throbbing and glistening with a teardrop of precum.

Greedily leaning forward her lips part, red lipstick revealing white teeth and then an eager tongue. Sucking just the tip she tastes him then pauses, pulling her head back; her red hair falling about her shoulders and brushing over his sensitive cock. I can see him tense, trembling; his cock throbs. Her hand wraps around his shaft and now she's stroking him slowly, her mouth descending on him again, taking more of him this time, his whole head. Saliva dribbles from her mouth and she collects it with her hand to stroke him faster.

Faster. Her hand moving quickly, her mouth in unison up and down over his thick shaft. I watch, rubbing my own cock through my jeans. She moans around his cock and I can see that her own hand is pushed up under her dress, which has ridden up close to her hips now as she kneels on the floor of the cubicle. His breath is coming faster and faster. His hips buck forward into her mouth and he's stroking her hair with one hand.

She must sense him close, she pulls her head back and opens her mouth at the end of his impressive cock, her hand working up and down the length of his shaft as he moans, trying to control the volume. Then he cums, he cums hard, harder than she was expecting. The first spurt misses her mouth entirely, covering her cheek and barely missing her eye. She adjusts her mouth and both he and I watch as his second stream unloads in to her waiting mouth, then another. She closes her mouth around him and tries to take it all but fails. Some dribbles out the side of her mouth, falling down over her chin. She sucks him dry as he pants and moans; milking his cock with her mouth and hand.

She eventually takes her mouth off his sensitive head and stays there for a moment, looking up at him -- at me? -- her face splattered with his seed. Raising her hand she wipes off the cum with a finger and languidly sucks it in to her mouth.

Then she stands and kisses him again, kisses him hard. Her arms pull him close and her body presses, grinds against him. "Take me home now, with all your friends," she demands. I quickly step down off the toilet as they leave the cubicle. I emerge from the bathroom just in time to watch my girlfriend leave the bar in the company of the six athletic guys, holding hands with two of them.