She perched, daintily, on a bar stool, dirty martini in hand, and began reconsidering her decision to come here. She was mad, she knew, even furious at him. How dare he walk out? The relationship had been on a downhill slope for some time and she'd been preparing for the end, but that still didn't give him the right to just disappear and leave her hanging. But all that didn't justify coming here, dressed to kill. She didn't come to get picked up.
While these thoughts weighed on her, she was also forced to be very aware of how difficult her clothes were making it to retain any sense of modesty if she wanted to move at all. Her top was basically a corset, black with a dark green design, low in the front and back, long laces running down the satiny sides and left untied to swing and swirl around her. This was accompanied by fishnets snapped to garters, a sheer thong, all covered by a hot leather skirt. On her feet she wore modest 3" heels. The corset barely contained her gigantic breasts, and the skirt only accentuated her already ample hips and ass. She wasn't a big girl, middling height and weight, but she had more curves than was fair for a man to witness and expect him to remain a gentleman.
Any movement- reaching for her purse, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, even getting down from the stool- threatened to expose some luscious part of her body. She was having a hard enough time politely parrying their thinly veiled propositions; she didn't want to give them a peep show as well. The thought crossed her mind to take her hair down and gain that little cover, but she knew that the sight of her silky blonde hair cascading most of the way down her back would embolden even the shyest of her suitors.
She continued sipping her martini, the alcohol slowly working its magic. She relaxed a bit- if someone caught a glimpse of more of her than she would have liked, well, hopefully he enjoyed his little thrill.
As the night progressed, her mind eased more. The music and alcohol helped console her and she thought she wasn't bad off without the bastard anyway. She absently ate her olive and ordered another martini.
A few minutes after her second martini arrived, the door of the bar was pulled open and a man entered. People had been coming and going all evening, so the fact that she noticed one entrance caught her by surprise. He was tall- taller than her by a couple of inches, even in her heels- but she couldn't see what had drawn her attention. He wasn't extraordinarily dressed: simple dark blue jeans tastefully paired with a thin charcoal gray polo style shirt. She had to admit, the fit of the shirt didn't hide that he had a muscular chest and abs. She let her eyes roam over him more, admiring such a fine man. She took in his height and physique: "Athletic, but not too muscled," she decided. She hated overly muscled men: she saw it as a sign of vanity, and she'd rather have a man who used his muscles any day, even if they were smaller.
His soft brown hair was just long enough to be wavy, and his face was a flattering middle ground between square and round, with a hint of a dimple in his right cheek when he smiled. But the highlight was his deep green eyes – that were locked on hers.
She dropped her eyes, embarrassed that he'd seen her checking him out, wondering how long she'd stared, and hoping he didn't know how long she had. She noticed her martini was still mostly full, and took another sip to give herself something to do. He walked by her, gently brushing against her back, as he made his way farther down the bar to greet the bartender like they were old friends.
She didn't pay attention to the interchange between them, however, because she was distracted... no... enraptured, by his scent. It was a sensuous, but not overpowering mixture of cologne, laundry detergent, and sweat. She loved the smell of sweat- it carried the smell of the man himself, and gave her ideas of how to make him sweat more, usually involving her sweating as well. And probably some heavy breathing. Just these thoughts sparked the beginnings of her arousal. Suddenly she noticed the feel of her satiny corset caressing her nipples, and that triggered a tingling between her gartered thighs.
As she tried to squelch the fantasies her imagination was conjuring and regain her composure, her efforts were interrupted by the barstool next to her becoming occupied. She looked over into green eyes.
"Hi." His voice was low and luxuriant. That one syllable sent a shock to her loins.
"H-hello," She replied, trying to decide whether to watch his full lips or bear her soul to those piercing eyes.
"I'm Brian." He introduced himself.
"Sarah, pleased to meet you." They shook hands, the brief contact sizzling through her fingers.
"I would ask if you come here often," he said, "but Joey there tells me you're not a regular. So what brings you here tonight?"
"I... just needed to get out, have a drink, enjoy a little change from the norm." She thought the vague answer would be more interesting than real life.
