Unforgettable Moments

Author's Note: The very first comment on my first published story was from an enigmatic Literotarian appellationed madalice. She avered a fetish for blowjobs and offered the following challenge to those who perused her Biography tab.

Married, monogamous, occasionally bored and wanting to hear and ONLY hear what you would like to do if you were in a dark room with me on my knees in front of you and you had 20 minutes to do whatever you wanted before you had to leave. Not interested in meeting, emailing, or chatting, just want to hear your fantasies.

I wrote the following story in response to her challenge. When it was published I contacted her to tell her what I'd done. I never heard from her. Not once. But I still think of her fondly from time to time.

I was moving across country, from South Florida to East Washington State. A long first day's drive got me to the hills of Western North Carolina where I sought refuge from the road, and a drink. The twenty minutes I spent in that bar were the most unforgettable moments of my life.

Minutes One Through Five

The room was very dark, easily the darkest tavern I've ever been in. The bar, and indeed the entire place, was illuminated entirely by three small candles. I wondered if there was a power outage. I approach the flame that flickered in the center and stood beside you. Including the bartender, you, and me, there were exactly as many people as there were candles. You must have known I stood next to you intentionally.

I placed my order. "A pitcher of Cosmopolitans, please."

"Look mister," the barkeep said eyeing my silk slacks and cashmere sweater that, even in low light, told him I was a stranger to that town even if my order hadn't. "We're just a beer and whiskey joint..."

I took out a money clip and placed a hundred dollar bill on the bar. As the bartender picked up his complimentary copy of Mr. Boston'sOfficial Bartender's & Party Guide (courtesy of the Mr. Boston sales rep no doubt) and retreated, I realized my first drink was still several minutes away.

Turning to look at you, I realized I know you. Not by name or anything, the inner you, the existential you.

Your profile was patrician: straight nose, high cheekbones and forehead, and beautiful, full lips. Glancing down, I saw a peasant blouse with a low neckline emphasizing a large round bosom.

Farther down, your skirt was short; too short for a timid woman but then, you weren't the scared sort, were you. Your legs were bare with the hint of last summer's tan still clinging to them. They were crossed and there was a glint of gold on your right ankle.

"Hi, I'm Luke," I said, sitting down.

You turned and I saw your full face framed in candlelight. It was beautiful in a way few women are. Not movie star gorgeous in the manner most men think of beauty. Yours was a beauty of burning desire, a scorching projection of the yearning that tormented you.

"I don't know you," you said, refusing to look at me.

It didn't matter what you said, I just wanted you to speak. I wanted you to open your mouth so I could glimpse your pink tongue. It was a pretty, pale pink. Beautiful. I knew because I'm a tongue aficionado. I brushed your hair behind your ear letting my fingers trail gently along your neck and bare shoulder.

The bartender returned with a pitcher full of a pink concoction some of which was poured into a whiskey sour glass. Taking the glass and raising it in salute, I took a sip. I nodded and he smiled.

"Another glass please," I said. "Won't you join me?"

I deliberately ordered my sentences to let you, and him, know that, to me, your answer was a foregone conclusion. Rising from my stool, I nodded to a table in a far, even darker corner.

"I'm married."

"It doesn't matter. I have something your husband doesn't."

You glanced at the bartender. I couldn't see him; I was looking only at you. You lifted your hand to me and I helped you up.

Placing the pitcher and glasses on the table, I held a chair for you. I made sure I angled it as I helped slide it in. I sat next to rather than across from you. I poured full glasses; we sipped the sweet, potent liquid.

Minutes Six Through Ten

"I find you ravishingly beautiful."

"You want something."

"All men want something. I, however, have something. Something you want."

"What? What do you have?" I could make out the tiniest of smiles on your lips.

Your legs were again crossed. Your skirt hem was at mid-thigh. The gold chain on your ankle was only a few inches from my hand. A charm of bright-red enameled lips dangled from the gold. Gently I touched it.

"May I?" I asked only after I'd already done that for which I sought permission. My fingertips traced along your bare flesh.

"Do you like it?" you asked.

"Why do you wear it?"

"Don't you know?" You were already on your second Cosmo.

"Some married women wear ankle jewelry to send messages of sexual availability, that they are "hot wives." Is that what you are? Does your husband like you to fool around with other men?"

You sipped in silence knowing your lack of a denial encouraged me, was tantamount to a yes. I continued to caress your lower leg.

"Your skin is so incredibly smooth and soft. I'd love to kiss you all over your body. Would you like that?"

You shook your head no. I moved my hand above your knee. You uncrossed your legs and parted your thighs. They felt like new satin. I let my finger brush against your panty. The degree of wetness there didn't surprise me. You moaned softly. You were even more wild and wanton than I suspected.

"What is it you have for me? What is it you think I want?" Your voice is low and sultry.

"Don't you know?" I asked turning your own question against you. I poured you another drink.

"Some men think I want their cocks. They think I wear this anklet as a symbol, signifying a desire to drop to my knees and make love to them with my mouth. Is that what you think?"

The finger pressing against your panties felt new dampness and a gentle throbbing as your blood transfered the rhythm of your heart to your clitoris.

I smiled and sipped my drink employing the subtleties of a non-denial myself. I felt you contract your pussy deliberately forcing the slippery dew of your Bartholin's gland through the mesh of your panty and onto my finger.

Gently, I rubbed a slick knuckle back and forth against your leg while my fingertip stroked your panty-covered pussy. You contracted again, this time involuntarily.

"Please," you begged expressing an urgent, uncontrollable hunger. I felt my own Cowper's goo sliding down my scrotum.

I watched desire sparkle in your eyes in silence. I wanted a complete, explicit sentence.

"Please," you said again when your passion became unbearable. "Let me kneel for you."

Minutes Eleven Through Fifteen

Your panties were soaked. I hooked my finger under the gusset feeling the hotness of your naked labia and pulled the panty crotch away from your flesh.

"They're too wet. Besides, I want them. Go into the ladies room and take them off."

Even in my lecherous trance, I still rose like a gentleman as you got to your feet. I moved back a pace so the wall would support me. I stared in delighted amazement as you stood away from the table and slowly lifted the hem of your skirt. In response, I lowered my fly. I had no idea where the bartender was nor did I care.

You never took your eyes from mine as you pushed your panties over your hips letting them float down your lovely legs. I slid my hand into my pants and extracted my steely erection. I was not wearing underwear and I took my hand away, leaving my shaved genitals, penis and testicles, exposed outside my zipper.

With the tip of your shoe, you lifted your panties placing them on the table where I had sat. With your shoe on the table, you reached down, unclasped the ankle bracelet and draped it over the panties.

Moving to me, you wrapped your arms around my neck pulling my lips to yours. You pushed yourself against my phallus while ravenously tasting the flesh inside my mouth.

"Suck me," I said, finally prying your mouth from mine. Yours was the most wanton groan I'd ever heard. You slid easily to your knees.

You placed your hands on my thighs as you kissed my lower ball sac. I grasped my cockshaft and jerked it lightly causing a soft tea bagging of my nuts on your nose. You moved forward and began licking my balls. First one, then the other, taking each into your hot mouth. When I felt a warm wetness envelop both at once, I knew what an extraordinary person you were.

I continued to jerk my dick while enjoying the incredible feeling a man only experiences when his balls are sucked. My hand fell away from my cock as I drifted on an erotic ocean of bliss.

Too soon, your hunger required that you abandon my testicles. Moving your mouth higher, I felt your tongue on my cock shaft. That beautiful tongue, I thought to myself. It seemed so long ago that I watched your mouth as you spoke just to catch a glimpse of its erotic pinkness within.

Up and down you went, ten times, fifteen times, twenty times before letting your lips enjoy the same pleasures as your tongue. You continued slow, hot, wet trips up and down my cock. Sometimes I could feel a soft nibbling of teeth. Never in my life had I felt anything so wonderful.

Grabbing me in your hand, you swiped your tongue at the pre-cum driven from my cockslit by your oral massage. I saw your hand slip beneath your skirt as you sought your own release while providing me mine. I lifted you up.

"Take off your skirt," I told you. "I want to watch as you play with yourself."

My cock drizzled a steady stream of pre-cum as you unhooked the clasp and pulled down the zipper. In a public bar, from the waist down, an incredibly exciting woman was clad only in her shoes. I was on erotic overload and strings of goo dangled from my cockslit and fell to the floor.

Minutes Sixteen Through Twenty

As you settled back down to you knees, I suddenly wondered about the man lucky enough to be married to you. A thought raced through my mostly dysfunctional brain.Is the bartender your husband? I opened my eyes but was suffering debilitating lust blindness.

The only things I could see were the bobbing of your head and your hand below, pushing furiously at your pussy. A large pool of slippery looking liquid was forming on the floor beneath you.

Your mouth quickly enveloped me to my balls. The silk of your saliva coated throat encased my cock indescribably. I wouldn't last much longer. The moans in your throat as you pleasured both of us were like a buzzing vibrator pressed against my cockhead. Up and down you went, deep throating me on every stroke.

You pulled your mouth off me and whispered a scream, "Oh god, I'm cummmming! Oh shit! Oh Fuck!! Oh FUCK!!!"

My cock, abandoned by your soft mouth, throbbing only against the thick saloon air, began cumming on its own as I listened to your passion erupt. A squirt splattered in your hair with another on your forehead before you recaptured me with your hungry mouth.

Your lips went straight to the base and I fired directly into your throat. I felt your esophagus massage my cockhead as you swallowed. My knees were trembling and I struggled to remain vertical.

Never before had I cum so much. Never had I been so sated. Never would I forget those moments with a woman whose name I didn't even know.

I assisted you as you gingerly rose to your feet. Taking you in my arms, I kissed you with the tenderness that emerges when passion subsides. I slipped off my sweater and dabbed the semen from your face and hair.

Kneeling for the last time, you sweetly cleaned my cock then pushed it back through its fly and pulled the zipper closed. Just before standing, you gave it one last silk-covered kiss.

I traceed my fingers against your cheek as I picked up your panties and pressed them to my nose and lips before thrusting them into my pocket. I dangled the gold chain across my palm rubbing the ruby charm with my thumb before dropping it next to the panties.

I handed you the semen stained cashmere and watched as you hugged it to your breast.

Tomorrow, I would drive another thousand miles. Even if I tried, I knew I'd never find that bar again, and I would never find another woman like you. Never.