I Play with You in a Public Bar

I sidle up to you at the bar and sit on the stool beside you. My red dress has a slit up the side, so when I cross my legs you can see them all the way up to my thigh.

"Everyone tells me my legs are my best feature." I smile and order my drink. You feel your cock twitch in your pants when I lean forward over the counter and my breasts hang above the polished wood for a moment, heavy and soft.

"So what do you do?" I ask about your job but don't seem to be listening when you explain, my eyes roving over your face, your body, like I'm sizing you up.

"How would you like to do something for me?" I ask, sipping my cocktail; it's pink, with mint leaves floating in it.

You're not sure, but you think this is a sexual proposition and nod slowly, feeling your cock get even harder at the thought that somebody has made a beeline for you at the bar and they want to fuck you. You can see the freckles on my exposed thigh, we are so close.

I scoot my chair closer on the pretext of reaching for a napkin, brushing against your chest as I grab for the little stack of black paper squares.

When I sit back down, I'm right next to you and rest my hand on your thigh, slide my hand from your thigh down over your cock. You hear me moan a little under my breath, the noise of the rest of the bar drowning it out. It's dark in here, noisy. Nobody is going to notice-you're pretty sure, anyway.

"How was work today?" I ask, a wicked smile playing the corners of my lips.

I thought that you were a good candidate when I saw you. I stroke you through your slacks with the lightest of touches. You thought you'd come here after work and have a drink. Now somebody's soft hand is halfway down your pants, soft fingers outlining the shape of your cock, stroking it towards complete, diamond hardness while everyone walks and talks around the two of you.

"You are a good boy, aren't you?" I ask you, pleased, as I play with you, my other hand tucked under my chin as I regard your face, make you try to hold a conversation with me.

I grip the shaft and sigh, squeezing slightly, then take my hand away entirely, pull back my seat.

Your cock is aching, your balls are beginning to turn blue. You don't know how long I've been slowly stroking you with a finger or two at a time, making you carry on a normal conversation with me, but you are ready to explode. I can tell and laugh delightedly at the bartender's joke when he brings me another round, knowing that you are secretly throbbing and can't do anything about it.

When he leaves, I begin to play with your hair, whisper in your ear.

I want you to take your cock out under the bar for me.

Your hands shake as you consider obeying. There are only adults in the room, it's after midnight and there are still bargoers all around but nobody is looking at you. The bar is deep, so there's plenty of shadow to hide your cock from view. Still, though, what if somebody noticed?

You unzip your trousers quietly and pull your erection out through your underwear, pull your balls free and let them hang. The air is cold against your exposed skin. You are facing the bar fully now, wanting to be sure nobody sees. I angle my body so you're hidden from my side and you thrill at the feeling of your cock hanging in space, hard and needy, wishing I would touch it again, or tell you what to do next. It bobs there in the darkness. If anyone came too close or bent down by the bar, they'd see a huge, throbbing cock hanging in midair, untouched, unfettered and longing.

"I want you to stroke it for me," I tell you, smiling as I grip it under the table and begin to slide my hand up and down it slowly. "Just like that. Slow pace, light grip. I want to watch you shake."

My words send pleasurable shivers down your spine and you begin to slide your hand up and down your cock, your hand still cold from gripping your pint so tightly while I toyed with you.

"That is very nice." I watch you, as only I can sitting beside you. "That is a beautiful cock. Mmm."

You start to speed up instinctively, wanting to come, but I squeeze your shoulder gently and remind you, "Slow down." You do, with a small whimper. You feel precum begin to leak from you, your cock tingling with longing for a hard, fast fuck. But you don't get it.

"I like you," I tell you and get close, not caring if the rest of the room sees me coming onto you. "How would you like to come for me?"

You feel nervous, you're not sure; will you be able to act normal when this little game ends and you spray your load under the bar? Or will you be embarrassed by an involuntary cry? Or me revealing you to the crowd? You wonder what my goal is, why I picked you to play with as you stroke. But you're glad I did as I reach down and begin to touch your balls softly while you pump your cock for me.

"You can go a little bit faster now." You do so automatically and I giggle. "Cocks are so much fun. Yours is one of my new favorites. Do you come here often?"

The prospect of coming here again and having me pull your thick cock out of your pants, that I'd play with it anytime after work crosses your mind-but you know you'd have to play by my rules.

I start to stroke your head, palming it until it becomes sensitive. You stop stroking, trying to keep your body from shuddering as the pleasurable pain takes over, radiating from the head of your cock, making you shake.

The bartender comes back and you accept another round, trying to act normal, trying to keep a straight face as I grind your head with my hand. They make it and bring you another drink and when they set it down I stop my torture of your sensitive head. You could weep in relief as you take a sip of your beer. You've been panting and your mouth is dry.

"I think you're fun to play with. I could make you come right here, all over the bar. I could make you kneel down on the floor and lick it off the wall, pretending like you dropped something." I giggle, squeezing your balls a little.

"But I think I'd rather give you directions to a new, fun activity. What do you think? Want to get out of here?"

Am I going to take you back to my place? Your cock throbs painfully, hopefully as I command you:

"Take your cock and put it back in your pants. Zip them up and put it away. That's it, that's very good. Mmm. It feels nice locked up." I palm your erection through the cloth and your groan, the longing becoming more intense as I rub it through your pants. You hope they don't get soaked with precum, you can feel wetness on your cock head.

"Go down the hall to the men's restroom, the stall that's at the end. Go in there and wait for me."

You do what I say. You close the stall door and turn around to see a small hole cut in the wall, but it's boarded up on the other side. You wait, wondering when I'm going to join you. Then the board is moved and you only see a soft, shaved pussy framed in the hole.

"Pull out your cock," I command you, my voice slightly muffled.

You don't have to be told twice. You fumble with the button and zipper but pull it free, now completely turgid and pounding. You brush the head against my pussy lips, feel your wetness mix with mine.

"You may fuck me halfway down your cock. Put half of it in me, then take it out. That's how deep you're allowed to fuck me.

My pussy is soft, warm, wet, sucking at you as you slide in only to half length before I make you take it out. You want to pound this little pussy, feeling how well it swallows your cock, how well we fit.

You hear me moaning but I don't tell you to go deeper and your frustration builds. You try to fuck me deeper, to see if I won't notice but I pull my pussy away entirely and you feel tears spring to your eyes as the pleasurable sensations stop. You thrust in the cold air, aching for pussy.

"I told you halfway. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes," you pant, begging. My pussy reappears and you fuck it the way I like it, sliding halfway in, then pulling slowly back out. I must be practically full of precum by now. The next time you pull out, you see a long strand of clear liquid begin to spill out of me, onto the wall between us.

"You've been a very good boy," you hear me say, faintly, through the wall, out of breath from the delicious fucking. "Should I let you drive yourself to an orgasm in my pussy? You've done everything I asked. You let me play with you at the bar, you let me make you play with yourself with everybody around. Now you let me put your cock in my pussy. Do you think you've done enough to come?"

"No," you answer, surprising yourself. I pause, seeming surprised too, then laugh in delight.

"I knew I picked the right cock to toy with when I saw you at the bar. Come on, then, do one more thing for me:"

You strain your ears for the next command as I fuck you slow, making you pump in and out of my tight little pussy at the pace I like.

"I want you to stop," I tell you. "Hands behind your back. Hips still. Walk all the way toward the wall for me."

You walk forward, but I don't move and your excitement grows as you slowly step forward, impaling me on your cock as you get as close as you can to the wall. There's resistance, but you push and are rewarded with soft, silky tightness as you finally bring your cock home in the depths of me. I'm so full of you.

You feel your balls brush against my pussy lips as I tell you to take one more step closer to the wall and bridge the distance.

You're completely inside me now and I squeeze you tightly, once, twice, three times. You twitch in response, but I tell you you aren't allowed to move and you stay still like the good boy you are, letting me do what I want with your cock.

Fast, I begin fucking you, sliding up and down at the speed, pace, ferocity you had longed to as I made you go slow. I milk your cock, bringing you to the gasping edge and holding you there. You want to come but you sense you need permission, you need me to tell you what to do.

"Come for me," I tell you breathlessly as I pound your cock through the wall.

You feel yourself getting close, feel your balls drawing up to your body, the deep, rising pleasure that promises to engulf you from the pit of your trembling stomach.

You cum and I pull my pussy away. You spill in cold air and cry out as your ruined orgasm washes over you, delicious, but stilted, broken, unsatisfied. You pull your cock back through the hole and try to rub it, squeeze it, but it's too late. Come is dripping from the tip and your mind is still swimming, sparking with all your unresolved desire.

"I'll be here the same time next week," you hear me say through the wall. I cover the hole again and you hear the stall door open, the sink run for a moment, then footsteps leaving, the door closing.

What do you think? Would you come back for another game? I hope you do.