Wrong Number

Fun little story, with a little 'fun' sex, but nothing hard. Probably unlikely in real life, but what the hell, it's a story. I invented it. It didn't happen in real life.

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"Damn it!" The attractive twenty-eight year old brunette muttered under her breath, as she put her I-phone back down on the bar in front of her. "All dolled up and ready for a great night out, and my damn husband has to stay on at work and finish some stupid project. Why couldn't he have rang me before I left home?"

She sat there silently fuming, the upmarket decorations of the upmarket lounge bar she was sitting in lost to her for the moment. She'd spent half the late afternoon primping and preparing herself for that evening out with her husband, carefully choosing the little black dress that he loved so much; the one that was so short and plunged so daringly, that their golden rule was that it only came out for their special evenings out together.

"All this leg and cleavage on display," she thought to herself. "With nobody around to appreciate it."

But she was wrong!

Oh how she was wrong.

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The man, he was close enough to the standard tall dark and handsome that few but the very fussy would call you on it. Thirty-two years old, well dressed and shoes freshly polished. He's been watching the pretty young dark haired woman since she'd breezed in just five minutes before, instinctively licking his lips as he admired her long shapely, bare, tanned legs, with their dainty little high heeled shoes at one end, and the flouncy, questionable excuse for a skirt at the other.

And such a long tantalising length of leg in between them!

And so damn shapely.

The top, what there was of it, plunged daringly down between the swell of her full breasts, a worryingly fragile looking silver clasp appearing to be the only thing holding the whole thing together.

His mind was working overtime.

You may have been there? I bet yours would as well.

He'd seen and taken note of her reaction to the phone call she'd just taken, and knew that with a girl as pretty as the one sat by the bar, dressed as she was, if he didn't make his move soon, then there'd be a queue. So, raising himself from the shadows of the alcove where he'd been observing the bar from, he stepped quickly over towards the girl, feeling confident about himself, but not sure exactly how his approach would be accepted.

"Hi there," he started, flashing her his number one special smile. "You seem to be all on your own. Can I get you another drink?"

The girl, woman maybe, looked up at him, her surprise registering on her lovely face as she took in quite how hunky her new admirer was. Without answering she glanced up and down at this new man, liking what she saw, suddenly acutely aware of just how revealing her attire was, as she sat there, the skirt of her already overly short dress having ridden even further up her silky smooth thighs, and the flimsy plunging top offering very limited cover to her otherwise bare breasts, as the handsome dark haired man stood there, looking down at them.

Staring at them. Enjoying the view, and making the most of his priveledged position.

He made no pretence that he was doing anything but admiring all the bare flesh she was displaying, and she made no immediate move to spoil his viewing pleasure.

The woman breathed in deeply to steady her rapidly pounding heart, realising too late that the effect it would have, and the increased threat to the little silver clasp, would do nothing to diffuse the situation.

This turn of events had taken her totally by surprise, and she recognised that her evening could well turn out somewhat different to how she had expected.

But what to do now?

Put the man in front of her in his place or go along with it?

She knew that she really ought to remind the man that she was a happily married woman.

"Another drink would be fine," she verbalised her decision, throwing him a smile, wondering whether she'd made a terrible mistake.

"A gin and tonic with ice but no lemon for the lady please bartender," the man called out to the guy behind the bar. The very same bartender who'd been hovering close by, enjoying the stolen views of the sexy woman in the skimpy dress, that was about to be stolen from him by the newcomer.

The drink for her and a new one for the man in front of them, and the bartender sloped off to the other end of the bar, his interest more in the chance of a good tip, rather than hanging round to spy.

"Gordon. Gordon Mayhew," the man introduced himself offering her his hand.

"Lisa," answered the girl with yet another friendly smile, absolutely sure that his real name wasn't Gordon, any more than hers was Lisa.

All part of the game in a bar like this, as she took his large hand in her small one, the pair of them holding on to the other's hand for much longer than good manners would normally require.

"All on your own Lisa?" The man enquired politely. "Not expecting anyone to arrive and demand what I'm doing chatting up his beautiful young girlfriend?"

"All on my own Gordon," the girl confirmed, the use of his given name seeming strange. It somehow didn't suit him. "I was expecting someone, but he's not coming."

"Your date's let you down has he?" He asked, a look of surprise on his face. "He must be mad to miss out on an evening with a wonderful young lady like you."

"He wasn't exactly a date," the girl giggled back at him. "At least not a normal sort of date."

"Business perhaps?" He queried.

"Not exactly business. More a long time arrangement."

"A financial arrangement? Is that what you mean?"

"Sort of," she chuckled, mostly to herself, amused at the play on words that avoided her admitting that it was her husband that she'd been waiting for. "He paid for this dress that I'm wearing for example."

"And the shoes?"

"Yes, them as well."

"And your panties?" The man boldly demanded next. "Did he pay for those?"

"I suppose he did," she replied, blushing at her own daring, her mind flashing back to the tiny thong that she had slipped on just a few hours earlier. The very one, that by then was beginning to get very damp indeed.

"But apparently he wasn't generous enough to buy you a bra," he continued, making a point of staring down at the curve of the inside of her breasts, clearly visible between the gap down the front of her dress.

"Apparently not," she agreed, her own eyes glancing down to where his were, the impossibility that she had a bra on that evening more than obvious.

The pair of them looked up, holding one another's eyes for some moments in silence, both wondering where the hell this was going. Where would it end up?

"It seems that perhaps I have read you wrong then, beautiful young lady," the man took the initiative. "It would seem that you are a woman who expects her 'arrangements' to be of a financial nature. A --- eh --- professional lady should I say. But a particularly pretty and sweet one."

She gasped, trying to hide it. Oh God the evening was going so very different wasn't it. She felt herself becoming flustered, realising that her words had been taken the wrong way. Realising, with a sinking feeling that he was suggesting that she was a prostitute.

She'd have to put him right there!

Or would she?

A real live fantasy and perhaps she'd risk playing him along for a little longer.

What to do next?

She simply smiled back up at him.

"So what would three hundred buy me?" He questioned her, grinning at how his own evening was turning out so unexpectedly.

"Not a lot," she replied calmly, having absolutely no idea what the going rate might be, but feeling that if she had been selling, then she should be worth quite a bit more than that. Not that she planned on actually going through with it, did she?

Did she?

Well, did she?

The guy --- Did he call himself Gordon ---- Whatever, he was awfully cute, and ..... Well ..... Oh God, her panties were becoming awfully damp and sticky. Made thinking clearly, very difficult.

"Well I'm a three hundred maximum sort of guy," she heard the man replying to her rejection. "I've got quite a lot to offer myself honey, and I'm not really used to paying for it. If you weren't so damn pretty and sexy ....."

He left the veiled threat of walking away from it all unspoken, but the message was clear. It was her chance. Her one clear chance. Her chance to smile sweetly at him, stand up, straighten her dress, say goodnight and walk away. Her chance to escape from the situation she'd got herself into without further embarrassment. Perhaps she'd treat the handsome devil to a peck on the cheek. Perhaps he deserved that much.

"Three hundred eh." She heard herself saying. "That's really all?"

"Three hundred," he nodded, taking out his wad of money and counting out notes, away from any prying eyes. "Take it or leave it. But it's a good offer."

"Right," she decided on the spur of the moment. "But I'm not going up to your room, or out to your car. For three hundred you get what you can get right here in this bar. Anything that doesn't cause a fuss, embarrass us or get us thrown out."

She sat there smiling confidently at him, convinced that she'd called his bluff, sure that he wouldn't go for it. What on earth could he demand in a public place like that, that would be worth his three hundred?

"Fine," he said quietly to her surprise, sliding the wad of notes down the bar to her. "Let's see those lovely breasts of yours for starters."

Oh shit!

Oh damn it. What to do now?

""Come on Lisa," he encouraged her. "Give me a show."

She peered round the bar area in some desperation, checking that nobody was overlooking them and that the barman was not close by. She felt trapped by her own stupidity but couldn't see any way out of it; not without making a fool of herself. Some fantasy eh?

It would be so easy to do as well. With the dress she had on, it would just be a matter of sliding the edge back an inch or so to expose her nipple to him. Damn it; with the dress she had on, then he'd probably already glimpsed it several times already. Certainly the barman must have done earlier when he'd been hovering around her on the other side of the bar. Taking a big breath to steady herself, she tucked her forefinger inside the side of her dress, and with her insides turning somersaults, slid the dress slowly aside, gasping lightly as she felt it catch on her rock hard nipple, then shivering involuntarily as felt the nipple break free, aware that she'd exposed it to HIS eyes. Aware that she was displaying her full breast to him.

What the hell!

Tucking her dress in behind her now fully bared breast, she reached over to the other side and did the same to the other one, her breathing speeding up as she sat there, smiling, both bare breasts thrusting out at him.

She found herself enjoying it, and one look at the man in front of her made it clear that he was to.

"Beautiful," he commented calmly, simply, truthfully. "Can I touch them?"

She closed her eyes and nodded her head in agreement, unwilling to trust her voice as excited as she was. Her body going rigid, then shaking with pent up passion as she felt his finger tips caress her naked breasts, tracing their way round the curve of them, then squeezing them gently, cupping them, kneading them firmly. Unable to conceal a muffled squeal as he took her nipples between his fingers and rolled them, squeezed them, pulled firstly gently, and then less gently at them, as she thrust her breasts forward at him, ever more eager for his touch.

"Why don't you pop into the toilets and slip your panties off for me," he whispered to her, still toying with her breasts.

"No way," she shot back at him, her mind reeling but aware of where that might and probably would lead. "We have a deal and I said not leaving the bar."

"Take them off here then," he counter offered with a grin.

"No way," she repeated, clutching her hand to her mouth to suppress the squeal that she felt coming as he mauled her burning tits harder, squeezing her sensitive nipples even more roughly. She loved it!

"If you don't take them off, then I'll make you scream out loud," he threatened.

"You want them off so badly," she replied without thinking. "You take them off."

It became another of those 'what the hell' moments.

He slid her dress slowly up the little of her thighs that it still covered to expose her tiny thong, and she lifted her bottom up off the stool to allow him to slide it off. She shivered as she felt the flimsy garment slide down, gasping as the sticky bit between her legs came loose with a jerk, and sighed deeply as she sensed more than felt him slide them down her thighs, over her knees, down her shapely calves, catching for a moment on the heel of her shoe, till they were free.

That was it!

She was sat there in a public bar with no panties on, her dress almost to her waist, and her tits out on display, and this man standing there grinning at her, enjoying the display.

"You can touch me down there if you want," she told him, almost begged him, all pretence at any modesty long beyond recall. Opening her thighs wide to him, inviting his touch, oblivious to anything else around her.

He reached down and slid his finger slowly up her wet slit, giving her clit a gentle flick as he pulled it away.

She gasped.

She wanted more.

She craved more, but he stood there, teasing her, tormenting her, enjoying her desperation.

"Please!" she called out, a little louder than she meant to.

"Let's get a bit kinky, shall we?" he further taunted her.

"Anything," she cried out, grabbing his hand and trying to direct it back down to between her legs.

"What the hell are you doing?" she cried out in frustration, as she looked up and saw that he'd got his mobile phone out from his pocket, even in her state of mind, relieved to note that it was a more old fashioned ovular, flip fronted type, that probably didn't have a camera facility. "Who the hell do you think you're calling?"

"Not calling anyone," he answered with a grin.

"Well what are you doing?"

"Just wondering if my phone would fit in there," he stated baldly.

"In where?" she demanded, and then it dawned on her what he had in mind. He had mentioned the word kinky after all. "Oh my God no ---- No way."

"Oh but yes I think so my pretty little thing. Let's see if it fits."

"No way," she repeated, staring at the phone in horror as he twirled it in his fingers before her. "It would never fit."

"I think it would."

"It won't," she half sobbed, eyeing the object, her mind reeling at the thought of what it would feel like inside her. "It won't. I'd have to be really lubricated."

"I think you're quite wet enough," he chuckled, giving her wet open slit yet another cursory slide through with his finger, and as he twirled her clit, she was lost.

She stared in fear and lust as he offered the fat bullet shaped object up to her pussy shivering all over as she felt it's cold hardness push up against her wet softness. Gritting her teeth as he slowly and carefully eased it back and forth to gain entry. Knowing from other little tricks that she'd tried out over the years in desperate moments that it would indeed fit in, but that it was going to be an awfully tight fit. That it was going to hurt a bit, but that it would be worth it.

"It's no good, it won't fit in," she cried out as she felt it slip past her pussy lips, squealing in delight as she discovered quite how wrong she was. The man cuddled her up close, burying her head into his chest, if nothing else than to keep the noise level down, she biting down hard on the lapel of his jacket for the very same reason.

It did fit in.

It was in.

Right in!

He released his firm hold on her, just steadying her by the shoulders as she squirmed her bottom on the stool, unable to believe the sensations that were sending her body into raptures.

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Eight minutes and two very quick orgasms later, along with several suspicious looks from the barman, and not a little interest from a few of the other clients, all of whom were sure that something was going on, but none of them choosing to investigate, things settled down.

She sat there her forehead bathed in sweat, her pussy still tingling from the invasive foreign object that was still lodged there inside her.

She was frightened to move, aware of what it would set off yet again.

"Please Gordon, or whatever you say your name is," she pleaded quietly. "Please take it out. I don't think I can take anymore."

"Ah," he responded seriously. "Hadn't really thought about that. Not sure how we'd go about it without making some kind of show."

"Oh my God no!" she sobbed, recognising the impossible situation she found herself in. She could hardly sit there at the bar, while he probed about inside to fish it back out.

"I don't know how," he went on, reaching across the bar and picking up her I-phone that she'd left there. "But I know a man who can."

"What the hell are you doing," she whispered at him, wanting to scream. "Who the hell are you ringing?"

"Your husband," he replied, selecting 'contacts' and scrolling down the list. "His name's Mark, isn't it?"

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TAKE NOTE, READERS

First mistake, but the game was up really. No actual mention had been made of her husband's name, or even that she was married. Yes indeed, the cat was well and truly out of the bag.

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Finding 'Mark (hubby)', he selected it and looked at her, smiling.

"Thought I should mention --- Lisa? --- that I've turned ring off on my phone and put it on vibrate."

"She looked at him, mouth open wide in shock as she realised what was about to happen to her.

"You bastard," she spat at him. "Mark --- You dirty rotten ...... Aaaaah! Oh my God. Turn it off for God's sake Mark. Turn it off."

Husband Mark looked at his lovely wife, enjoying the effect that his vibrating phone was having on her. Only then did he check how to turn his wife's phone off, more than aware of the effect his wife's gyrations were by then having on the rest of the patrons in the bar.

"Turn it off," she cried, grabbing the unfamiliar phone from him to do it herself.

"Have you done it?" Mark asked with concern, as Linda, his wife started to slide down against the bar. "Have you turned it off?"

"Not yet," she grunted back, still clutching the I-phone. "I will do. Just a few more minutes please."

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Fortunately for Mark and Linda they were not regulars at that particular bar, and fortunately for them it was the other side of town and nobody there knew them. Because, despite Linda's rules earlier on, and not surprisingly, they did get thrown out of the bar for lewd behaviour. Fortunately Linda was beyond all caring by then, and the barman was not actually too upset with the pair of them and didn't report them. Indeed if one of the older woman clients hadn't been so insistent, then he would have happily let them stay on somewhat longer. The questionable silver clasp had indeed proved not to be up to the job it was designed for, snapped, and left the lovely Linda exposed to the world as her dress slid down to her waist. Much to the pleasure of the appreciative barman and a couple of the male clients, all of whom simply insisted on giving Mark a hand to half carry his wife out to his car, while he followed with a bemused grin on his face, carrying the dress that had admirably proved that sometimes in life, form over function could be far more exciting.

To this day you can go visit the bar, and on a night when it's not too busy the barman will be happy to recount exactly what happened. Well not exactly! Over the years the story would have added bits here and there, as stories tend to do, but in fairness, he could still produce from behind the bar, the exact same pair of panties that our Mark left behind as a tip.