Breakfast Stout

I was stuck cleaning up all of this mess.

Don't get me wrong - the regular bartenders at the Irish pub did a decent amount of work. We were slammed that night. Jon Stewart came in after a stand-up show at the university across the street and it felt like the entire audience came with him. We had a line out the door and had to call in almost everyone who had the night off.

It was also, as fate would have it, my first closing shift. My manager finally let me become a bartender after being a bar back for the past two months. So naturally Alana and Kasey felt like it was okay to leave me with mountains of glasses to wash. I would suck it up.

And they were right. I would.

I sighed and washed the glasses with a steady rhythm, my mind wandering. Jon Stewart was here. In the flesh.

I had always had a celebrity crush on him - to the point where I watched every single show. Maybe it was his attitude. His sense of humor. His overarching sense of justice and integrity, using poignant and biting humor to make us listen.

Honestly, as much as I respected the man, most of it was purely physical. I couldn't tell you why. Grey hair usually isn't a turn-on for me, but on him...fuck.

And then the rest of my attraction to Jon Stewart - who I would never meet in a million years, not like it mattered - was his confidence. His voice.

I have touched myself to orgasm over and over watching his show. (Shh.)

So when he came in tonight (security and all) and ordered a beer from me, I totally lost my cool. I was breathless, palms sweaty, stomach in knots, and panties were drenched.

I was so nervous I tripped and almost spilled his beer (a smoked vanilla porter) all over him. Luckily he caught my arm right at that moment. Our eyes met. He smiled at me.

"Whoa - careful." He said. "You'll ruin my Armani suit."

I looked at his cotton t-shirt and jeans and giggled. God damn it, I actually giggled.

"Can't have that." I set the beer down slowly and carefully on the table. I was so nervous, but I had to say something to the man. "If you complex, dark beer, by the way, you should try this breakfast stout we just got in. It's intense, with coffee notes to it." I flashed him my best smile.

"I would love to try it," he said, and I nodded and left, even though I got the impression he wanted to talk to me more, and I felt his eyes on me as I left. I was nervous, and I would be back in a minute, I just needed to collect my thoughts. Unfortunately, that never happened. The students were surging through the doors and the orders were piling in. My manager barked at me to get behind the bar and that was the last I saw him that night.

The place was packed. And I mean - PACKED. The printer kept spitting out drink orders all night. We were so far in the weeds that I didn't even get a chance to breathe until first cuts - which happened at 2 am. The owner was kicking everyone out because some drunken assholes kicked through the door to the men's room. After I went in the beer cooler to hide and recoup for a minute, I realized with a jolt that I forgot to get Jon Stewart his beer.

I furiously scrubbed the glasses now, angry with myself for forgetting, and chiding myself that it would never happen anyway.

"Excuse me?"

I whipped around in surprise and immediately dropped the glass I was washing. It shattered into a million pieces. And there was Jon Stewart, standing in my empty bar, with a bemused expression on his face.

"Shit, sorry for scaring you," he came up to the bar. "Here, let me help." There was a broom leaning on the edge of the bar and just like that Jon fucking Stewart was cleaning up the glass for me.

"Thanks," I said, "I got it, thank you, you don't have to do that,"

He cut me off. "Whatever, I scared the shit out of you. I should have been louder coming in." He dumped the glass in the trash can, then straightened himself and looked at me.

My breath caught in my throat.

He smiled a little - the kind of half-smile a guy does when he knows a girl digs him - and stepped forward.

"I had to come back when I heard the damage that the guests from my show caused," he said.

"Damages?" I asked, drawing a blank. "Oh, the door?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm really sorry about that."

"It's not your fault." I smiled at him. "I have no idea what to tell you though - it's just me here, and I have no idea what that would cost to fix." I fidgeted. "I mean, I could get your phone number, and my manager could call you in the morning?"

He bit his lip a little and gave me that half-smile again. "You want my phone number?" He stepped a little closer, breaking polite distance between us.

I flushed a deep red. "I mean-um-"

He grabbed my hand, grabbed a pan, and wrote his fucking cell phone number on my hand, his thumb stroking my palm ever-so-slightly.

My heart started beating a thousand times a second. "Thanks." I looked him in the eyes - steely grey, with a hint of blue. He was so fucking sexy. I cleared my throat. "Did you still want to try that breakfast stout?"

He grinned widely. "Absolutely."

I turned around to get a clean glass, and I could feel his eyes on my body. I was so self-conscious of every movement I made and my heart was still pounding. I managed to pour him a beer with a perfect head though, and I cheered myself inwardly.

He leaned back against the bar counter and sipped it, the froth sticking on his lips a little. His eyes narrowed in surprise. "You were right," he said, taking another sip, "this is a fantastic fucking beer." He grinned at me roguishly. "Where's yours?"

I flushed.

"Come on, no one's here. Have a beer with me."

How could I possibly resist? "Okay, okay." I poured myself a ginger IPA.

"Tell me your name." His eyes were lingering at my waist, but I could tell he was trying not to stare. He met my eyes again.

"Rachael."

"Rachael," he said. "Where did you learn to be a beer sommelier?"

I laughed out loud. "I'm not," I said, "I just really like beer. I've got a batch brewing at home actually."

"No shit?"

"Yeah," I said, embarrassed that I was telling him this. "I grew the hops myself."

"That's probably the sexiest thing I've ever heard a woman say." I giggled again. "Thanks." I almost felt embarrassed that he was making me giggle so much, but fuck it. I was talking to Jon Stewart. He's a funny guy. I relaxed and leaned on the bar beside him.

We sipped our beers in comfortable silence. My right hand and his left were so, so close to each other. What if I just...with a boldness that came out of nowhere, I stroked his finger with mine.

There was a zap of electricity between us. I know, I know, it's cliché, but honestly, the air around us felt charged. His proximity to me was intoxicating, and my mind thought back to all of the times I fantasized about this man.

"I'm a big fan of your show, by the way," I said quietly. "I watch it every night." He smiled genuinely and laughed.

"Thanks," he said, "we have a lot of fun making it. The people I get to work with are phenomenal. My producer, for example, last week we were out grabbing lunch and this guy stops us and says to us - "

I don't know what came over me but I kissed him. So help me god, I kissed Jon Stewart. Not that I wasn't interested in hearing what his producer was up to. But this moment could possibly pass me by. So I just leaned in and kissed him softly, once, on the lips. I couldn't breathe as I waited for him to react.

Immediately he put down his beer, pulled me close to him, and kissed me deeply. My hips pressed against his and my arms snaked around his neck.

He softly sucked my lips between kisses.

Oh my.

I was making out with Jon Stewart, and his hands were found my hips and squeezed my ass. He moaned into my mouth.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed, "you are so sexy."

I ground my hips into him more and I felt him hard beneath his jeans. "No you," I whispered, and kissed his neck, kissed his collarbone, before returning back up to his lips where he just devoured mine, hungrily.

"Come back with me, Rachael." he moaned. "Let's get out of here."

I looked around us and saw the mountain of glasses. "I have to finish closing," I said. "I'll lose my job."

My breath hitched as he kissed my cheek, my neck, my ear. He slowly nibbled my earlobe and whispered. "I'll wait." He straightened up. "I'll help."

I giggled and said, "No, you don't have to." I kissed him again and we lost ourselves to lust. My hands found the waistband of his pants and I slowly grazed my fingers beneath the hemline. I gasped when I realized his dick was hard between his abdomen and his jeans, straining against them, and circled my fingers around the tip that was exposed.

He kissed me harder and I could feel the effect I was having on this man.

Fuck.

I pulled away, because if I didn't, I was going to fuck him on the bar. I leaned forward and pecked him on the lips before walking a few steps over to the sink and began to wash the glasses in earnest. He came up right beside me and dug right in.

We talked about beer some more, and talked about his show - there is some crazy shit that goes on there, apparently. His writers are a rowdy bunch. I don't usually talk about myself, but something about washing dishes with Jon Stewart was definitely putting me at ease. We talked about the local farming coop I was involved in, and I gushed to him how I firmly believe small, local, sustainable farming can save our food system.

The dishes were done, the sinks were drained and wiped clean, and the mats we put by the mop sink.

Jon put his hands on my hips and picked me up and put me on the bar top, kissing me with unrestrained passion. I wrapped my legs around his torso, and my short, black dress was hiked up to my hips. He growled.

"Fuck, I want you," he said. "Come have a drink with me - staying in hotel rooms constantly gets old. I would love your company."

I swallowed. "Okay."

He grabbed my hand and we left the bar after I locked up. When we entered the parking lot I almost stopped in my tracks.

"This is your car?" I said. It was a green Ford Explorer.

"Well what the hell did you expect?" He said. "A limo or something? I'm allowed to have a car, just like everyone else."

I laughed. "No, I love it."

We got back to his hotel and it was super quiet, understandably so. It was about four am at this point, and the town I lived in was not a big one. It just contained a really big university. No one bothered us as we took the elevator up to his suite.

It was a really nice suite. Probably the nicest they had. I barely had time to look at it, however, because as soon as the door was shut Jon swooped me up and kissed me, deeply. I moaned and kissed him back like he was my first, running my fingers through his hair. That silver fucking hair. I felt my stomach burn with how much I wanted this man.

He stopped kissing me just for a moment, took my hand, and led me to the couch. He looked adorably flustered. "Um - can I get you a drink?" I sat down.

He was so much older than the men I usually dated, and this for some reason made me outrageously bold. I was young enough to be his daughter.

"No, thank you," I said softly, and reached out to grab his pants by the pockets. He stepped forward, and I unbuckled his jeans. He inhaled, sharply, as I freed is throbbing, hard cock from his jeans. I got on my knees and slowly licked from the base to the tip, reveling in the feel of him on my tongue. Over and over I licked his cock, slowly, teasing him, until he could barely take it anymore.

"Oh God, Rachael, please," he begged, and I took him deep in my throat.

Jon moaned as I fucked his cock with my throat, stopping every now and then to lick the tip and stroke the sides. I pulled his cock out of my mouth and undid the zipper on the back of my dress, letting it fall to my hips. I meant to keep blowing him, but Jon picked me up like a rag doll and threw me on the couch and kissed me hard.

He almost ripped my dress off of me, pulling it down over my legs and throwing it on the ground. I don't usually wear bras, so I was now completely naked except for my black, lacy, boyshort underwear. Jon gazed at my body like a wolf.

"Fuck."

He circled my nipples with his thumbs, kissing me, and before lifting my legs and putting them over his shoulders. He hungrily kissed my belly, right in the curve of my hip, and sucked on every curve of my flesh until he made his way down to my drenched, drenched panties. Jon pulled them away with his teeth and softly buried his face in my pussy.

He moaned and began to eat me out and I nearly died from the pleasure.

Here was a man who knew how to eat pussy.

He languidly licked my labia - lavished all of his attention on it, ignoring my clit. His hands groped my breasts as he circled around my clit with his tongue, then ate my pussy deeply, fucking me with his tongue. I arched my back and he picked up the pace as I moaned. Now it was my turn to beg.

"Jon, please -"

He licked up my pussy lips like a lollipop before looking up at me. "Please what?" He lowered his mouth over my pussy again and gave my clit the barest of licks.

"Do you want me to kiss this?"

I moaned. "Yes, please, yes-"

He sucked on my clit, hard, and I nearly came.

Jon Stewart finally peeled off my panties completely, took his index finger and dipped it into my pussy, lubricating it before beginning to play with my button quickly and lightly. I almost screamed.

"Yes, yes, -"

He began to fuck me with one finger...then two...and finally three... I was close, so close, and his lips found my clit again, circling it over and over and I screamed, fucking screamed and came as he fucked me with his hand and his mouth. "Yes," he whispered, "come for me baby. Yes."

Oh my fucking god I came. My orgasm made me blind, made me twist, made me moan like I was broken, stuck on that sound.

I trembled from cumming so hard. Jon looked up at me, his mouth glistening with my pussy juices, his silver hair totally tousled. I pulled him up to me and licked them off, slowly, before kissing him long and deep. I felt his rock-hard erection against my belly and was immediately ready for more.

"Where is your bed?" I whispered.

He pointed, wordlessly, down the hall.

I stood up started walking that direction.

"Your ass," he said gazing, "is phenomenal."

"Thank you," I blushed. "Are we going to bed or not?"

He bit his lip and swooped up and grabbed me again. "Oh we're going to bed." His hands squeezed my ass and he kissed me as he carried me to his bed.

This man.

I swear to god.

I pinched myself, just a little, and yes it hurt.

Jon laid me on his bed, his eyes drinking in the sight of me laying there, completely naked. He took off his shirt, and god damn, he was sexy. So fucking masculine - the perfect amount of chest hair. His jeans were bulging, and I crawled forward and unbuttoned them for him, taking the opportunity to lavish his cock with attention.

The look on his face as he drank in the sight of me blowing him made me almost come. He was biting his lip, savagely, and breathing quickly. He slapped my ass, and began to finger my pussy as I blew him.

"Oh Rachael, fuck-"

I didn't stop.

"You're gonna make me come-"

I didn't stop.

He pulled out and rubbed his dick on my tits. "Baby, I'm not ready for this to be over yet." His eyes were wild, and he climbed into bed over me and kissed me deeply. His cock was hovering over the entrance to my pussy. I pressed my hips up to meet his, and the head of his penis just barely entered my pussy. We both moaned.

"Oh god, let me take it," Jon Stewart begged.

"Yes," I breathed, and he entered me in one powerful thrust. I screamed with the sensation. He was so big - I was filled to the brim with his cock. Slowly he pumped in and out of me, his hands kneading my ass, patiently waiting for me to adjust to his girth.

After a minute I was ready, and I moaned and scratched his back.

He began to fuck me wildly, fervently, and I was dying of pleasure. Every thrust brought me closer to the edge. There was a mirror opposite of the bed and I saw us - his strong, manly fucking arms over me, and his dick, hard, and slick with my juices, thrusting in and out of my pussy.

Jon paused, lay on his side, and grabbed me by the hips, shoving me down onto his cock. One arm was under my neck and the other was squeezing, pinching, and slapping my tits as he fucked me from the side.

He breathed into my ear. "You are the sexiest woman I have ever seen."

I moaned and whispered back, "I touch myself every night when I watch your show,"

He began to thrust faster. "Fuck."

"Every night," I said, "I imagine you taking me, like this,"

He groaned,

"Yes, yes-"

He reached over and started stroking my clit as he fucked me. "God damn..."

I was getting closer. "Jon I'm- I'm-"

His dick continued to pound into my pussy. I felt him getting harder and closer - his dick began to twitch and I could tell he was trying hard not to cum.

The knowledge that he was on the edge, and the sound of our bodies slapping together and we fucked, the smell of his hair, the feeling of his breath on my neck and his cock in my pussy -

My pussy began to clench around his as I moaned. "Ohh,"

"Yes," he said, "come on my dick. Fuck. Come on my dick,"

I did as I was told. My orgasm was earth shattering, toe curling, and overpowering.

I felt his hot cum hit the walls of my pussy as he came, and felt his body spasm as he came deep inside of me. He shuddered, his face buried in my neck.

I curled into him and kissed him deeply. He languidly kissed me back, and wrapped his arms around me and held me close.

"Where on earth did you come from?" He said.

I nuzzled in closer. "Tennessee."

He kissed my cheek and then reached for the blanket we had kicked to the floor.

I wanted this night to last, but I was so exhausted, I fell asleep immediately.

The next morning Jon dropped me off at my apartment and wrote his cell phone number on my hand again. He looked at me earnestly.

"Call me if you want to come visit. I'll fly you out." He looked flustered and pretty adorable. "I'd love to see you again."

"Okay," I said, smiling, and waved him goodbye.