The Encounter

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Click Here to listen. (23 min/mp3)

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He sat at a low bar table with the usual suspects from the office, fellow executives with loosened ties out trolling for pussy at the pool hall once known for being rough and tumble but now gentrified by the young exec and college crowd looking for a safe dive bar for nights out slumming. It was the old time regulars, their claim to the pool hall side unchallenged, who maintained the edge. Hard working, hard drinking, down trodden, and all amused, usually, by the skin to win credit card crowd. Restless, he scanned the room—nothing but the usual, admittedly enticing talent pool of coeds with a few big haired, big titted regulars who had over the months gone out of their way to make him belong. But tonight he wasn't interested. He finished his club soda and lime, and was about to say his good night when he saw her enter. Cautious steps, betraying uncertainty with the heels she wore. Grey pencil skirt riding up to mid thigh as she approached the bar. Full firm tits hugged by a white button down blouse with a hint of black lace bra beneath. Thick, dusty blonde hair framed like a valentine over large green eyes and a honey sweet face. Skin radiant, hands anxious, breathing tight as if her entire being was on sensory overload.

She ordered a glass of red wine, paid, left dollars for a tip. Moments later, the first of the men approached to try a shot at her. After the briefest of exchanges, the man stood, shuffled away. Same thing with the second. He watched closer...and then caught it: as each man approached her eyes grew bright, almost with fear, yet her shoulders arched and her attention grew taut, and despite the rejections she handed out, when each man slunk away, her knees opened, and her hips rocked, almost imperceptibly, into the hard wood of the barstool seat.

He grinned. Stood. Twisted a kink out of his long, athletic frame, and strode to the bar, slipping into the space between her and the adjacent empty barstool. He totally ignored her, yet stood close enough that she had to lean away to keep him from brushing up against her side. The young bartendress immediately scampered close, "Yes, Mr. Thomas?"

"I think I'll switch to a martini, please. Sapphire, dry—"

"Oh, Mr. Thomas," she said, "it's okay. I know how you like it...."

Although there were martini glasses within easy reach, the bartendress turned, reached up high for a glass dangling from the overhead rack, the hem of her skirt lifting to show off pale arcs of smooth ass cheek. And though there was a bottle of Sapphire to her side, she chose to open a cooler and lean low to reach for a chilled bottle, sending her sloop necked tee gaping to show off firm ripe tits squeezed into a thin sky blue bra, dipping them into a coolness that added a hint of stiffness to her nipples. And when she slid the pint glass over the steel shaker, she held the seam in both and hands and worked up and down vigorously, making her pert tits and ass jiggle as she shook the martini icy cold.

"There you are, Sir."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Presently, he turned to face his prey, catching her staring at him. She looked down quickly, though when he slid into the barstool she quietly whispered, "I'm ... I'm sorry, I'm saving that...um......for my husband. He should be here any minute..."

He took a slow sip of his martini. Swallowed. "No. That is not correct."

She shot a startled glance. "Excuse me?"

"Your husband. You are not waiting for your husband. In fact, I doubt you're married."

The woman flushed, "I am, and I think you should—"

He cut her off in a calm voice. "I don't sense you are a liar. But I know for an absolute fact that you are not waiting for anyone, let alone a husband."

The exchange made the adjacent couple look, made the dumpy salesman on the other side preen over his shoulder. She breathed in deep, both cringing and tingling. "How could you possibly know anything about me...."

He smiled. Slid his martini glass in a slow circle on the bar top.

"You paid for you wine. Left a tip. No woman meeting her husband is going to pay for her drink. You haven't once looked at the door...checked your cell phone...or looked disgusted that your husband would leave you alone like this in a bar where everyone knows men go to troll for pussy."

He sipped. Smiled as a flush of indignation swept over the woman's face—along with a faint rocking of her hips, pressing the arc of her slit into the seat beneath her.

"Don't pretend to be offended by the word 'pussy.' You didn't choose this place by accident. Besides, I know you have a wet pussy." The red faced, puffy salesman stared down at her body. "You've been rocking yourself into you barstool ever since you sat down. If I breathed in deep I bet I could smell you."

The woman flushed. Opened her mouth to retort, to object, but no breath or sound emerged. She took a deep gulp of wine, wiped her mouth with a bev nap, reached for her little pocket book to leave.

"I know you toss and turn at night." Her long, slender hand paused. "Your sleep is restless, you struggle to focus, you often drive right by your street on the way home..." She sat, frozen. "There is no husband. A revolving door of boyfriends, probably. But there is just you, and your need, a craving even you don't understand. When you were younger you denied it, rationalized it as a phase. For awhile you could masturbate away the craving, but that stopped working long ago, no matter what new methods you devised to try to tame the heat between your legs." He paused, studied the woman's face as she listened intently. "So tonight you promised yourself, just some fresh air. Just a little self dare, some play acting. You wouldn't go through with anything. Just get out for a bit, no danger in that. Dress the way you always wanted to dress, even though in your finger fuck fantasies and when you're shoving perverse things up your pussy you imagine yourself dressed much more like a slut, don't you. So you decided to come to this safe little trendy meat market dive and tell any man who approaches that your husband is on his way." He watched the side of her face. Saw her staring into the wood grain of the bar. "Your pussy tingled when you made your decision, when you showered. Your nipples ached when you settled your tits into that pretty lacy bra. Your panties instantly grew moist when you felt them hug your slit. When those men started to hit on you, your whole body felt more alive than it ever has. And right now your pussy is absolutely throbbing."

She stared at her wine glass for long moments. Then raised it to her lips. Drained it.

"You might somehow have a sense of me," she said in a small voice, "but you have no idea...how I'm... unable to...I should go."

He reached across her body, blocking her, and as she wavered, he tucked a lock of lush hair behind her ear, his fingertips brushing along the side of her cheek. Her body froze at contact. He returned his hand to his side, letting the back of his knuckles glance along her front, catching the nipple...grazing up...then down....sending currents of electricity through her tit that shot directly into her aching pussy.

"You should go into the ladies room and remove your bra for me. That is the first step."

She flinched away from his hand.

"What?!"

"Your bra. I want it gone. Panties, too, I won't ask again."

He turned and faced forward, leaving her half standing, her smooth, toned legs reaching for the floor. The bartendress immediately strolled to him. "Uhh..you know I'm the early shift tonight..."

He smiled. "That's good to know, Laura...."

"No, silly. I'm Lauren. That's...that's Laura over there. But we're...you know, very close to each other. Sometimes guys think we're sisters...." She smiled. Her hand sweeping close to his on the bar top.

As if hearing her own voice from far away, she heard herself give a plaintive, "What ... should I do?"

He turned. "Until you do what I asked, I have nothing to say to you." He returned his attention to the girl behind the bar.

She swallowed hard. Intended to walk straight out of the bar, but instead found herself walking on shaky legs to the ladies room. She closed the stall door tightly. Sat for a moment on the toilet seat. Just to collect her thoughts and then leave. She unfastened her blouse to the navel. Paused. Wrestled out of the bra... tits springing free, hanging down slightly but with nipples tipped upward. She held her bra in shaky hands. Head drumming. Drumming so loudly. Unable to think, shaken by his clear, spot on look inside her long torment that had been building, relentlessly, for so many years. As if trying only to release the building pressure inside of her, she reached up under her skirt and wrestled her panties down over her ass, peeled them away from her soaked slit, and off her feet. Unsure what to do with her underwear, she draped them over the door hook, aware that she was abandoning her favorite bra and panty set and that she had no money to justify buying new ones. She stood, buttoned up, the cool silk tight against her tits, pulled her skirt down as low as the hem would go, and stepped from the stall. In the mirror her aching nipples pointed out at her obscenely. Two girlfriends stumbled into the ladies room, looked her over, raised a brow, whispering to each other. On the long walk back to the bar, her tits swayed, jiggled, pranced in her tight thin blouse, her nipples teased and tormented by the fabric rubbing against them. The stares made her belly turn. "Nice rack." She tried to tune out the crude comments, yet each one burned into her memory, replaying over and over. Her pussy feeling completely vulnerable as she slowly in her high heels traced her path back to the bar. She saw him, talking again with the bartendress. Not sure what to do she stood waiting.

"Oh yes," She heard the bartendress say. "Dinner at the Ritz? We'll definitely be there. And sure. We can pretend we're actually real life sisters. That would be fun!"

He turned. Slowly looked her up and down...he and the entire row of men and couples at the bar, and then simply said, "Follow me." He crossed to the opposite side of the bar, to the pool hall, away from the safe haven of the bar and into the truer, deeper, darker dive. He stopped just past the door to the men's room, near an emergency exit. He faced the wall, leaving a space. "Get on your knees."

The deafening drumming returned to her ears. Her head thick, numb, the smell of fresh male sweat and pent up testosterone intense in her lungs. She tried to breath. Think. Resist. But then she found herself pressing her back against the dirty wall and slipping into the narrow space between him and the wall, her tits pressing against his chest, ass against the dank, worn fake paneling. She breathed in deep, and dropped to her knees—her knees forced to spread on the outside of his calves to position herself, making her skirt ride up her thighs, her bare pussy exposed to anyone who looked. He calmly unzipped. She could smell the aroma of his cock, the sweat and desire of it, seeping from the opening. He fished it out, semi hard, slapping it lazily across her face. She stared at it. A stranger's cock in front of her face, touching her cheek, being slapped against her chin. She had masturbated to an experience like this so many times. She had dreamt of this, pictured it, watched women do it in porn clips. She slowly opened her mouth, tongue out, catching the bottom length of the shaft....pulling it toward her lips...wrapping a mouth grip over the head, tongue still out, slipping along the underneath of the head, feeling it grow. Growing, filling her mouth. She was aware of the footsteps passing close by. Heard the comments. "Jesus, look at that fucking shit. Hey, guys, you gotta fucking check out this bitch." But the more her mouth filled, the less aware she was of anything other than the long thick cock prying open her jaws, immediately pressing against the gag line. She wrapped both hands around the shaft to keep it from choking her, and slowly gave in to her intense need to suck. Her mouth pulled the cock in, pulled back...and started to rock her head back and forth. Feeling an intense calm, almost a happiness to be doing what she had always felt she was created to do. Satisfy a man's cock.

As her mouth grew wet, saliva dripping off her chin as she sucked, she felt the hips rock into her. She leaned back against the wall, forcing her mouth to open wider, letting the cock fuck her mouth. She was getting face fucked...she said the words over and over to herself as her pussy throbbed and her whole being tingled. She was getting face fucked. But then he gripped handfuls of her hair and began to thrust in earnest, unconcerned that she had never deep throated cock before. She squirmed, struggled as more and more of the cock shoved itself into her throat, her head slamming against the corridor wall. She tried to shuffle to the side, to unimpale herself from the cock assaulting her throat. Her eyes looking up in panic, unable to breath, tears flowing, seeing the semi circle of men watching. No...no... no more.... But she couldn't speak, couldn't get away. The fistfuls of hair simply held her in place more securely, and the thrusts into her face intensified. No, no more, enough... that's enough...she had gotten more than she had wanted... She just wanted to go home. But the assault continued, intensified, pushing deeper than she ever could have expected to take it, and with a slow, gradual prying release she felt her throat finally expand to take all of him... until his thick pubic hair pressed into her face. She felt like she was tacked to the dirty wall by a massive cock now fully engulfed inside her mouth and throat.

And then he was able to fuck her face properly. In full, strong thrusts that went from cock head to balls deep, her throat still gagging, saliva and spit flowing, but her throat relaxing to accommodate him entirely. She moaned on the cock, hands desperate to reach inside her skirt and touch herself. Probe herself. Slap her pussy like she had slapped it and paddled it countless times. But she remained focused on her task, holding onto the backs of the man's thighs and slowly impaling herself on his cock, leaning into his powerful thrusts, saliva running out of her nose, drooling off her chin...and onto her tits. Her hands reached into the zipper to find the balls...large, hairy in her delicate palm... she massaged them tenderly, fervently, worshiping them as she deep throated in long, gagging strokes. She felt the balls tighten in her grip and her tongue pushed out of her mouth, anxious to savor the blast of sperm. But the man gripped her hair...dislodged from her throat, and blew his first blast of cum over the bridge of her nose, into her blinking, now sticky eyelashes and stinging eyes. The second and third blasts caught her mouth and tongue. The last blasts seeped over her already sloppy wet blouse at the shelf of tits. The man wiped his cock clean on her forehead, shaking the last drops as if he'd just finished pissing. Zipped up and walked away, leaving her to collapse onto her hands and knees in front of her audience, the most intense orgasm of her life shaking her to her core, and she hadn't even touched herself. She knelt for long minutes. Stunned, Panting. Until she felt one...two... three...blasts of sperm splash against her face, across her tits. She looked up into the twisted grimacing of three men jerking off on her. They finished, left, and new feet stepped toward her. The jeers and taunting grew menacing. "How much you cunt...to suck my cock like a fucking dirty whore!"She looked up with bleary, burning eyes..."There's a pool table back here with your name on it you cheap cunt!"... She stumbled out of the corridor and into the open pool hall, pulling away from hands gripping her arm and trying to pull her back.

At the bar she wiped her face with the back of her arm trying to gather her things, her senses, knowing she looked a mess, the smell of spunk strong in her lungs, unaware that her purse had been opened. Her eyes on fire, sperm making her eyelashes stick. Her mind racing, heart pounding, needing to get out of there, to get alone to make sense of what had happened, of what she'd done. He was there in the barstool, next to her, toying with some small rectangle of something that she didn't recognize through the blur as her business card...with her company's logo on it... and her name... and contact information. But she did notice he was holding hands with the bartendress. She did watch him lean over the bar to kiss Lauren on the cheek. "Lauren, honey, put my drinks on the slut's tab. I just did her an enormous favor. She owes me one." And as he walked away she could feel the intense heat of the crowd watching her, the men focused, the whispers going from mouth to ear, the bolder ones approaching close with sexual need and expectation, the look of open disgust on the women's faces, at least most of them. On the periphery more perv types watched, ogling her, the silk of her blouse transparent in the massive splotches where saliva and sperm had seeped down onto it, making it a see through second skin clinging to her nipples and tits.

She fished for her credit card, feeling an unnatural pride that his drinks were on her tab, and grateful that there had been an open parking space right out front, near the street and not in the back lot, knowing she no doubt would be followed out, by men totally convinced she was a filthy fucking whore ready to be used like a gang bang slut. The need to spank herself flooded through her again as she hurried to her car and locked herself inside.