"You know how hard it is to get a good fuck in this city?"
She was rubbing her bare leg against mine as we sat side by side at the bar. I knew she was drunk - very drunk - by her provocative conversation. Sex and men, men and women, women and sex.
"You have a girlfriend? A wife maybe?" she asked, putting her manicured hand on mine, feeling where my wedding ring should be.
She giggled and knocked back the rest of her vodka, the third that I'd bought her. Her ample tits jiggled in her tight spaghetti strap dress and I watched her strand of fake pearls nestle into her cleavage.
"No, not me. I'm free and easy," I replied. "A wife wouldn't let me out to meet sexy women like you," I grinned.
I could have taken this girl home with me an hour ago. But what I enjoy most is flirting in public with bimbos who like to flaunt their sexy bodies. Seeing what they'll dare to do in front of other people is always, for me, the best prelude to sex.
"She'd hate the thought of me admiring those pearls, for example," I added, with a wink.
"You like them?" she asked, toying with the pearls that had wedged between her tanned breasts.
"They look great against your skin," I whispered, as I leaned forward and, with a finger, pushed one of her straps down off her shoulder and then ran my finger up her neck.
"You're tickling me!!" she laughed, turning to bite my finger gently. Then the bite turned into a suck, an advertisement, perhaps, of what her tongue and lips could do. The couple sitting opposite us at the bar were watching us with interest, as things heated up.
"Mmmm, that's nice!" I said softly, as I extracted my finger and ran it down her cheek. I kept it going down the other shoulder, leaning across her, and loosened her other strap also. She gave no opposition to the slender thread sliding down, so my finger kept going, caressing the pearls at her neck and, then, slowly, those lower down as well.
She threw her head back, showing me the long arch of her neck. I kissed her ear, but my finger kept going, down, down. Finally I could feel the soft flesh of her breasts. I coiled the strand of pearls around a finger and, with my other fingertips, gently stroked her breasts through her dress.
"You've got stunning breasts," I whispered, "and nibbling on this ear is kinda fun too." I think she knew I'd pulled the straps down far enough to almost show her nipples, so she sat upright and turned to me.
"Wouldn't we be more comfortable somewhere else?" she asked, looking down with mild surprise, but not adjusting her dress at all.
"I'd like to show you off a little, if I may," I said.
I often say this to flirtatious women like her; usually, they respond by asking me what I mean. I'd usually say something like, "I think you're exceptionally beautiful and I'd like it if others could appreciate it as well." About half the time, they're fine with it and go along with me. After all, I usually pick slightly 'slutty' women to flirt with; women who were already showing a lot of leg or cleavage.
"Well . . .," she paused a little and bit her lower lip. "Just a little, OK?"
I nibbled her ear again and kissed, lower, on her neck. My hand returned to her pearls and, this time, moved inside the tight fabric of her dress. No bra, and her nipple was hard as I tweaked it. I stretched the fabric to peek at the curve of her breast and the dark erect nipple.
The barman here knew me well, as it was a regular pick-up joint for bimbos and wannabes. He moved in for a look, making out he was just collecting glasses. "Another drink here?" he asked, smiling.
She opened her eyes and, realising my hand was inside her dress still, pulled away, slightly alarmed. "Umm, no, not for me," she stammered.
"We'll have two more," I countered. "Thanks Ian," I winked.
"Don't worry about him," I went on. "He's a friend." My hand went back inside her dress and, this time, she made no objection. I also moved to start unzipping the front of her dress.
"Hey!" she said softly, and put her hand on mine. "Naughty!" she giggled.
"C'mon," I said, "It's dark in here and nobody's watching." As I said this I glanced across the bar and saw the other couple still eyeing us closely.
Ian brought our drinks and she picked hers up, emptying her glass with one long sip. "Well, with that in me, why not?" she giggled and reached for her own zip. Her slim hand with its painted crimson nails slowly slid the zipper down an inch.
"Very nice," I whispered. "That deserves a kiss!" I added, as I planted a juicy one on her lips.
"Can I have another one?" she asked, after I pulled away.
"Sure," I said, and motioned with a nod to her zipper.
