Sue walked into the bar feeling a little self-conscious. She nervously ran her hand through her shoulder length red hair, pulling on the curls slightly, and allowing the curls to spring back, looser than before. It had been a long time since she walked into a bar alone. That, and the fact that she felt both overdressed and underdressed. She was wearing the outfit he, her husband Michael, had set out for her—her black and white v-neck dress. She knew she looked good in it, even if it was a bit much for this dive bar, especially on a Friday afternoon. The cut was flattering and the plunging neckline showed her B-sized breasts to their advantage. And the 5" black stilettos added considerable height to her 5'5" frame, lifted her ass and shaped her legs, not to mention she couldn't help but swing her hips when she walked. But she stood out in this crowd of men—and it was almost entirely men. There were only two other women in the bar, and one of them was the bartender. The other was sitting in the back booth and although she couldn't see what the woman was wearing exactly in the darkness of the bar, it looked pretty plain, maybe even flannel.
Really? Who wears flannel in public?
Feeling overdressed, and watched, she smoothed her dress as she sat on a chair in the middle of the bar as she had been instructed, hooking her heels on the footrest. The leather seat was momentarily cold against her bare bottom—definitely underdressed as well, with nothing on but the dress and the heals. Trying not to think about who or what was last on that seat, she felt the leather warm to the heat from her pussy. She smiled to herself when she realized whoever sat in this chair next would be sitting on her juices. She hoped the wet spot that was forming beneath her would not be too noticeable when she got up.
The bartender was watching her and, at the smile, raised an eyebrow as if the bartender knew what was going through her mind.
"What can I get you?"
Needing a little liquid courage, she replied, ""Tequila."
The bartender put the shot in front of her, along with a salt shaker and a plate of lime slices. "$8."
Handing over her card, she licked her hand, salted it and then licked the salt off, threw the shot back and, wincing, sucked on the lime, her entire body tensed from the assault of the liquor. As the warmth spread through her body, and the burning subsided, her body relaxed and she put the lime in the empty shot glass. She looked up as the bartender returned, handing back her card and the slip to sign,
"Here you are, Sue."
Surprised that the bartender knew her name, she looked up quickly—the questions clearly in her eyes. Was the bartender who she was supposed to be meeting? She thought it was to have been a man, not a woman. Or did more people know. Had he told more people about her assignment to make sure she complied, even the bartender—was the bartender going to report back if she chickened out or failed to follow her instructions?
The question in her eyes prompted the bartender to explain, "Name's on your card."
"Oh," Sue said with relief. "Thanks, another, please." Sue turned to look at who was in the bar and noticed that several of the men were looking at her with obvious interest and curiosity in their eyes. Her big brown eyes met the brown eyes of one of the men—he was dark haired, clean shaven, well dressed, perhaps even a little overdressed in a tie, about her age, she guessed, that is in his forties. He met her gaze and pointedly looked her up and down. She smiled nervously and turned back around toward the bar. She could feel him walk up behind her. She downed her second shot.
She heard a deep throaty laugh behind her.
She turned quickly, her heart rate going up because her instructions were that she could not say "no."
"Can I buy you a drink?"
"Yes, but not another shot, tequila on ice?" she said with just a touch of tremor in her voice.
"Two Silver Patron, on ice." He said to the bartender. Turning to Sue, "would you like to join me and my friend at our table?'
Having no choice in the matter, Sue replied, "sure." She turned on her stool to get down, her dress hiking up even higher. She really hoped the seat would not show just how wet she was in anticipation for whatever was going to happen this afternoon. As she got off the seat, her skirt fell into place, but not before she flashed the bar—or so Sue feared. She smiled up at him nervously. "And what should I call you?"
"I'm Frank. That's my friend Brad," indicating with his chin the booth he had been sitting in when she first saw him. Sue noticed Brad for the first time. He was dressed for business, in a tie and dress shirt, although he didn't have a jacket on. Two business men apparently out for lunch and whatever else they could find.
"It's nice to meet you," she said as they walked toward the booth. "I guess you must know Michael."
"Don't think I've had the pleasure."
"But how did you know my name?"
"I overheard the bartender call you Sue."
"Oh."
"Who's Michael, someone you're meeting here?"
Remembering that she was not to do or say anything that would discourage a man from approaching her or propositioning her, that would be the same as saying "no," she thought quickly, "he recommended this bar to me so I just assumed . . . anyway, it is nice to meet you, and Brad," she said with a smile, turning to look at Brad, who was eying the bottom of her dress speculatively. "I did flash him," she thought.