The Hog Bar

It was very crowded that night at the Hog Bar. The rumbling of the talking crowd spilt its reverb into the traffic ridden street, echoing between the rough buildings of the Lower South Quarter, the acute sound of bottles of beer clashing into each other, lifted up and toward one another in celebration, could be heard all the way down the block, where the kids were hanging out, stopping passers-by in the hope of getting them to buy some beer for them.

He hadn't really gone in to drink, nor to meet anyone, but he had found himself in the bar nonetheless, sipping on a cold glass of water, the waitress smiling at him, giggling at the fact he'd ordered nothing else for three times in a row. He, after all, didn't drink, didn't like the idea. He could barely stand to hear the slightly over-the-top girls at the table behind him being endlessly chatted-up by the inexhaustible stream of brainless men passing by.

Eager to be isolated from the noise, he buried himself in thought, emerging only to ask for another ice water, then plunging into the depths of his troubles. If only he had been a drinking man, he thought, he could have enjoyed his surroundings, understood the meaning of having fun and drinking your woes away, just like normal people did, but he wasn't and so he remained a rather bored tea-totaller in the middle of a drunken bar somewhere in the city.

The barmaid giggled again, pouring cold water into his glass, half way between wanting to mock him and hoping to get a smile out of his undeniably handsome face. He responded by grabbing his drink and sipping on the water, once more, drop by drop until it was all gone.

"Who's the cadaver?" a feminine voice said bouncing rather annoyingly into his ear.

The waitress shook her head and lifted her arms, he turned round to look at the person who'd sat next to him.

She was clearly of an Asian descent yet something about her was unusual, giving him the impression she must have been mixed race, a bizarre genetic melting pot which had, undeniably, had rather positive results. She looked him in the eye, quite unimpressed, which was something unusual for him to experience. He'd always had a strong effect on women, ever since he'd been a teenage boy, and while being looked or stared at didn't really move him, the rather superior facial expression she'd reserved for him annoyed him deeply.

A moment of mute looks followed, before he went back to sipping droplets from his newly filled glass of one part hydrogen, two part oxygen cocktail. He looked back no more, but heard her get up and leave, leaving a trace of fruit-flavored perfume in her wake as the waitress giggled again at the rather tacky scene. Then something tapped him on the shoulder.

He looked left, moving nothing but his eyes, a cue was resting against his neck.

"You play pool?" the girl said, tapping him repeatedly.

He grabbed the tip of the cue and slid it gently toward himself. She let go and backed off as he got up and followed her to the nearby pool table, a dusty, green, beer-stained piece of equipment abandoned in a dark corner of the bar. The girl walked around it and switched on the lamp that hung over it, grabbing a cue herself after having placed all fifteen balls in their correct place on the table.

"Your Break." She snickered, sliding the cue-ball at him across the green surface.

The first few games were played in eerie silence, the loudness of the rest of the bar almost inaudible by the two contenders. The woman potted her last ball, and the black after it, before he'd even gone through half of his on the first game, then he took her to the last shot in the second game, but fouled the black and lost again. She celebrated with a cheer and a single burst of laughter but smiled at him in a rather more friendly way.

"Ok, loser!" she giggled at him. "One last game but this time, let's give you some incentive!"

He shook his head.

"Is this one of those scams?" he asked.

"No scam, no money. I'd actually say it's a win-win for you." She replied, moving closer to him to grab the ends of his black leather jacket. "If I win the next game you'll have to smile at the waitresses, be nice, try to be funny and you'll buy a drink for everyone in my fucking bar. You won't like it but it'll make you some friends, at least."

He remained emotionless, going over what he'd been told once again in his head.

"What if you don't win?" he murmured back.

"If I lose..." she sighed, twisting her tongue in her own mouth in a suggestive, yet mocking way "...you get to take me home."

He took a deep breath. He wasn't that kind of man, the type that picks up a girl in a bar and takes her home without even knowing her name. If all he'd wanted was to take a girl home, he would have hit on the waitress when he'd had the chance, without going through the effort of playing pool and the risk of having to buy drinks and smile at people. Nonetheless, he took a good look at her before making his mind up.

She was quite thin, but not the thinnest of girls, and had an athletic yet somehow soft physique. Similarly, she was shapely, but not so much that you would notice her for that reason alone, her body was somehow chunky, thick for its rather small size and beautifully young and supple looking.

Her long, bare legs stuck out of a rather excessive pair of high healed, almost knee high, black leather boots, ranging lusciously into a rather extremely short, torn, light blue denim skirt, incapable of containing all of her round, capacious, faultless boot, especially when, much to the liking of all the men in the bar, she'd bend over the green pool table, showing her black, provocative lace underwear, as it struggled to cover her most desirable parts. Her stomach, bared from the top end of her flame-buckled belt to the lower tip of her white knotted shirt was soft and welcoming, pronounced just enough to be noticed and appreciated in its tender perfection, it almost begged to be touched and bitten.

As she pulled on his leather jacket, invitingly stroking his chest, rubbing her belly against him, he couldn't avoid noticing her breasts, squeezed up as they were in a black bra which, teamed with the white shirt, made sure her cleavage was noticed by anyone who laid eye on her. Her leather jacket slid over her lower smooth arms and down her long white fingernails as she took it off, throwing it onto a nearby chair. She finally let him go, taking a single pace backwards, pushing her silky dark hair behind her ears.

"So kid?" she said, piercing him with her large almond eyes. "Are we gonna get serious or what?"

He stepped forward and leant onto the table, making his break with unforeseen determination. Equally, she took the first clean shot and potted purple number 4. Unhappy with his unnerved, cold reaction, she walked round the table to where the cue ball had stopped and stood between it and him. She stretched her legs, opening them into a rock-star-like power-stand, then slowly curved forwards and over the green, rotating her rear in front of him.

"Take a good look at it..." she said, smirking as she potted ball number 7 "...'cause there's no way you're having that ass!"

Balls 6, 3 and 2 followed swiftly, leaving just 5 and 1 for her to take home before the elusive black number 8. She hit the cue-ball once more and it impacted orange ball 5 with force, pushing it straight towards the far corner hole. The orange bounced on one side, then on the other, finally stopping, wedged on the very edge of its final destination.

"Shit!" she whispered under her breath, stepping back from the table.

He approached with a determined look on his face, leaning the cue against the wooden edges and sliding it through his fingers. Balls 10, 15 and 11 were soon gone and 14 and 9 followed without hesitation. He looked back at his opponent, who was standing cross-armed to one side, biting her lips both in anxiety and anticipation. He barely needed to look as he pushed ball number 12 into the far-centre pocket. Only an effortless orange separated him from an incredibly easy black and then, victory.

He turned suddenly and took a good look at her face. For sure, she wasn't liking the idea of losing to him, still he could see she wanted him to win almost as much as she wanted him to crumble. Her left index played nervously with her hair and her cheeks reddened as her right hand slid off her chest, hoping it hadn't been noticed while it had been trying to contain her heartbeat.

"Number 13..." he said, leaning back onto the table "...isn't it supposed to be unlucky?"

He hit the white with far too much angle, too much for it to be considered a mistake. The ball bounced on the sides of the green and almost touched its target, sliding past it and slamming number five into its pocket, following it down into the depths.

"Oops!" he said, sarcastically taking his hand to his mouth "I guess I fouled!"

She walked past him, rather confused by his intentional mistake and picked the white from where it had gone, placing it directly in front of the black.

"Orange just isn't my colour, I suppose." He insisted, sitting down with a rather ambiguous grin on his face."

Still unsure of her opponents true intentions, she angrily potted ball number 5 from an easy foul position. The cue hit one of the sides and bounced back towards the centre of the table, lining up, almost perfectly with the ever-so-illusive black number eight.

As she prepared her final shot, the girl stood directly in front of him, her breasts suddenly feeling too exposed to his eyes, her body inexplicably nervous. It was an easy shot, one that an amateur could have taken, one that a child could have made, still, as he sipped on another glass of cold water, she was shaking in doubt. What should she do? What did she want? Did she want to win, to be the hero of the bar and to have the silent stranger humiliated and at her service? Or did she want to lose? To be his, for a night at least, to be a thing of pleasure and nothing else, her stubborn determination for once left aside?

Her mind went blank as she hit the cue-ball and it rolled silently towards the black, touching it with the same delicacy she suddenly felt desire to be touched with, pushing it towards the pocket she intended it to go through as she clutched the cue between her arms and her body. As the black ball fell in she was still uncertain whether she wanted to win or lose, yet she clinched her fist in victory for a split second before cruel fate began to spin its web.

The white, slow yet relentless, was crawling mercilessly towards the edge, covering millimeter after millimeter, slowing at every revolution yet, nonetheless, not stopping. The cue-ball rolled over one more time, perching itself on the very brink of emptiness and there it remained for an endless second, then, it plunged into the depths, never to be seen again.

The girl's arms suddenly fell to her sides. She felt depleted, exhausted by the tenseness of the situation, confused by the thought she hadn't got what she wanted, yet somehow she had. Deep down she was scared. What would this stranger have done to her? How would he have treated her? After all, she had promised herself without specifying where her limits were, without taking the liberty of discovering whose hands she would have fallen into and now, for better or for worse, she was his to take. She revolved in her fears, just like the white ball had done, for a few more seconds, then she saw him walk past her like she didn't exist.

She gazed at him as he paced by every single table and leant on the door, opening it with his left hand. He turned his eyes to her and looked at her from the other side of the room. He shook his head towards the outdoor, inviting her to follow him down a metaphorical rabbit hole to nowhere, and walked out.

He looked as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't even gone into the bar, as he stood watching the empty road sit silent. He moved right as she approached him and gallantly opened the door of a dark green sportscar. She slid in, almost guided by an invisible current of fresh air. The car was rather dark inside, gloomy and cold, it was almost a relief for her when he sat next to her and turned the ignition on. The dashboard lit up with LED numbers and dials, the engine grumbled and the bar disappeared in the distance.

Silence dominated the speeding vehicle for a long while. The radio was off and he didn't talk, he just drove, smoothly but surely, through the city streets; threading corners like a needle piercing a piece of silk.

"Do you live round here?" she finally asked, having found the courage to speak.

"Not too far." He replied, still as emotionless as he'd always been.

"Are you trying to play cool or are you actually this weired?" she continued, dialing to mask her anxiety behind her jest.

He smiled at her, taking his eyes off the road for less than a second and showing, for the first time, some sort of expression. He pulled up by a tall building, she'd lost track of where they were but it seemed to be a nice enough part of town. He walked round the car and opened the door for her, then he walked steadily to the entrance. She followed him, listening to the sound of her own footsteps on the marble floor as she walked to the elevator. The doors closed behind her and there she was, going up into a stranger's house, alone in the rather eerie silence.

"Ok..." she said, desperate to break the tension of the moment "...I don't know what you're into but I don't..."

She failed to finish the sentence. She had been, up to that moment, worried that he would of done things to her that she wouldn't have liked; that he would have hit her or humiliated her beyond the confines of a simple "roleplay" but, as his hand folded delicately around the back of her neck and his tongue sunk into her mouth, all of that preoccupation had simply vanished in an instant. A warm surge filled her head, she felt like fainting and let herself go, leaning onto him, captive of his masculine arms. Her hands ran down his back and onto his buttocks, then one, the right, uncontrollably started to drift to one side and headed for his groin, where it felt the warmth grow beneath his thick jeans.

The elevator door opened and he simply stepped out, grabbing her arm as he walked through the elevator door and straight into a rather empty, minimalist apartment. As she followed him in, all she noticed was the white fabric of a sofa to her side and the rather numb smell of the air conditioning before she was dragged back into the emptiness, into that warm, exciting feeling. Suddenly, she was glad. Glad she'd lost, glad to be his to do with as he wished, glad that he was in control and free to take her wherever he wanted. As his hands slid past her breasts, over her naval and down to her thighs, she caught just enough breath to mutter something.

"My...my name's London..." she gasped, desperate for him to know her name, at least, before he seduced her and she fell back into oblivion.

The only sound she could emit as she let herself dive into his embrace was a series of squeaks, pants and sighs that linked every single movement of her body into an endless chain of desire, a serpent of lust that began tightening its hold on her body and soul until she was no longer able to resist. She felt her whole body become overheated and moist, covered in tiny droplets of sweat. Between her legs, she could feel herself becoming wet and sensitive, her receptive nerve endings standing at attention as his fingers unbuttoned her denim skirt and sunk below the lace fabric of her soaked panties.

She twitched and gasped, aware of the fact she'd been exposed. He knew, now, how strong her desire was, how ready she was to abandon herself, how lustful and wild her thoughts had become as her body had made itself soaked in sweat and juice. He caressed her shaven nether-regions for a short while, playing, taunting, wallowing in the moment until he felt her tremble with anticipation, then, as his left hand grabbed her buttocks and pushed them forth, his right index slipped inside her.

She kissed him back for the first time, if not to show him how overwhelmed she was with pleasure to at least avoid screaming out loud. First one finger, then two began thrusting inside her as she felt her labia soak further and further. Her skirt soon fell to her ankles and her underwear slowly began to follow, sliding down her bottom as he clutched at it with five strong fingers. She mumbled and panted as their tongues twisted in their mouths and her pelvis began moving on its own, grinding over his right hand in a maniacal research of a consuming, acute pleasure.

The grinding, petting and fondling went on to the never ending soundtrack of deep breaths and pleasure filled grunts and while she was contorting like a gymnast, revolving, twitching and grinding around him, he remained still, rocky, monolithic, moving only his hand to pleasure her as she rubbed against him, caressing the rather swollen area around the flies of his jeans with her soft, warm thighs. The pleasure began to make its way up his body too and his breath slowly began to match hers as they both grew more and more lustful for one another, then, finally, she could stand the desire no longer, she backed off in one sudden movement and pushed him vigorously onto the white sofa.

Just enough time to take a breath and she was on him. She threw her jacket to the floor, finally free to take it off, and sat facing him on his lap, easing her body onto his as their lips collided once more. Her hands tugged on his jeans, desperate to free whatever hid beneath the fabric, as her naked lower body rubbed against the thick, blue material. He brought his fingers to her breasts and clutched them tightly from above her shirt, just as she sank beneath his boxer shorts to reveal their warm, hard content.

She let herself slide downwards and made sure all of her body had run against his before touching the floor. As she went down, she grabbed hold of his trousers and underwear and took them with her, tugging them off along with his boots and socks, she threw it all behind her and immediately turned back to look at what she had revealed. She took hold of him, one hand on his proud member, the other beneath his warm testicles, and immediately began to massage, tug and caress him to the rhythm of her excited breath. He moaned, leaning his head back against the soft divan, feeling her fingers run up and down every single inch of his manhood, holding it tight as they pleasured him relentlessly.

London felt him pulsate in her hands as he grew even harder and bigger, his manliness drawing her to him, beaming her in towards his hot, steaming rod. She sank her head among his thighs and protruded her tongue towards the base of his testicles, licking and sucking them as she pulled on his penis with growing speed and determination.

"Oh God..." she whispered as she lowered her left hand to caress herself, diving into her own body with her delicate fingers. She was steaming hot, almost to the point of exploding, almost on the brink of madness, uncontrollably stroking his manhood as she fingered herself on the floor, licking and sucking his warm, semen-filled gonads.

He seemed to be enjoying his prize, sat half naked as he was on the white sofa, being manhandled and sucked. He maintained his cold, rather detached look but it was clear to see, even from where the girl was, that he was liking the treatment she'd reserved for him. Still, as she watched him wallow in the pleasure she was giving him, she couldn't help thinking that she wanted more, she wanted to be taken even further into the tunnel of lust. To her astonishment, he immediately seemed to have read her mind.

As she sucked the tender base of his hard, excited shaft he moved forwards, grabbing her waist just below her shirt and pulling her upwards. She released him from her mouth and stood up, her head feeling woolly and hot as she let him move her closer to him, lowering himself so he could slide beneath her and lifting her up until she stood steady on the sofa, still wearing her skirt and panties around her ankles. His brutish, handsome face wedged between her legs. He kissed her inner thigh's soft, elastic skin and moved upwards, steadily approaching her wet paradise in a discreet, calming silence which barely lasted long enough for him to reach her labia and taste her before she began to moan. She held his head close and pushed him further, beckoning him to devour her, to feed on her, to make her weep even more. He silently complied and slid his tongue past her weak, crumbling defenses and into her shaking body.