The Girl from The Bar

"See, now we both have a problem," I said. I slowly wiggled my fingers, brushing them back and forth across her hot skin, feeling her breath rush out against my neck.

"Oh, really?" She managed to gasp the words out as she subtly ground her hips against me.

"Mmhmm. See, I have a bit of a weakness for a girl that I know is wearing a skirt with no panties. So that's my problem," I said.

"Yeah," she groaned. "What's mine then?"

"Yours is that now I know that I make your sweet little pussy very, very wet, and that you're not wearing any panties."

Robin pushed a little farther up on her tiptoes, bringing her lips right to my ear and pushing my fingers just a little farther down her skirt.

"Why is that a problem for me?" she whispered. Her tongue flicked out again, teasing my ear.

I turned us slightly, putting my back toward the bar and hers facing nobody. I slipped my fingers from her waistband and moved my hand low, letting it drag up the back of her thigh, up under the back of her skirt until my fingers reached the place where her thigh met her ass and I squeezed, feeling the soft flesh under my fingers and, I knew, pulling her little pussy open without actually touching it.

She groaned so loudly that if it hadn't been for the next act starting up everyone would've heard it. I put my lips against her ear.

"Because I'm not going to stop until I see you dripping down your thighs," I whispered, then trapped her ear lobe between my teeth and ran my tongue across is gently.

I spun away from her, walking quickly to the end of the bar to meet the rest of the smokers as they made their way back. I caught a glimpse of Robin, leaning heavily against the cooler, her eyes burning into mine, her lips parted in a smile that made me want to pull her into the cubby and not come out until tomorrow. Her nipples pressed through her shirt, hard little points that I wanted to pull and twist and taste. I glanced down and saw two little rivulets of clear, sweet wetness running down the inside of her thigh.

I took the drink orders, and when I turned to grab the one bottle I needed from the cooler, she was still there. I stepped in front of her and she glanced around quickly before reaching down and wiping away her wetness with her fingers. She looked me straight in the eye.

"You," she said, slowly licking one finger clean, "are a bastard."

She licked the second finger clean, slowly collecting her own juices on her tongue before pulling it back into her mouth.

"And I absolutely love that about you."

The rest of our shift flew by, the steady stream of thirsty drunks keeping us more or less away from each other. I still knew that there was nothing under her skirt but smooth, hot woman, and that kept me from ever totally getting soft. We still found excuses to bump against each other, to let our hands wander places they didn't really need to go.

It was nothing brazen, nothing so bold as we had been earlier, but it was there. We kept each other smiling, our eyes wandering over one another with absolute abandon, catching each other in the act, grinning, moving on. The tips were fast and generous, most people leaving a dollar or two per drink, and the drinks were flowing.

The crowd was rowdy and loud, but friendly, and I didn't have to deal with anybody in any way that was less than friendly. Those are my favorite nights, the ones were everybody just wants to have a good time and I don't have to throw any weight around. By the time we flipped on the lights and shouted out last call, the tip bucket was threatening to overflow and we were exhausted but happy.

I did my final check on everything and found to absolutely no surprise on my part that I only needed to grab two cases of beer and two bottles of liquor. Nearly everything had been draft. That was fine by me. I still had to break down the stage and put away the sound equipment after I stocked. Open mic is a great time, but it does mean a little extra work for me at the end of the night.

I got my stocking done quickly and popped out from behind the bar to put away the stage. It's not a hard process, really. I don't know shit about sound equipment, largely because I'm not the guy who sets it up. I do know how to take it apart though. It's all just unplugging things, winding the cords up into tight, organized bundles, dropping them into their designated milk crate, and then heaving everything into the storage cubby.

I call it a storage cubby, but in reality it's about the size of a college dorm room, except that its half the height. The floor of the storage cubby is raised to about the height of my belt, and the entrance is a small door in the back wall of the stage just large enough to shove the biggest of the speakers through. It's a cramped, annoying space to work in if you have to get anything out of it. Not as bad when all you have to do is shove things farther back into it.

I did what I always do, pulling out the repurposed lawn furniture that was the usual decor on the stage and setting it aside, then unplugged all of the speakers and started carrying the big bastards over to the door and shoving them in. I like to leave the cord winding for last as it tends to be the least physical part and I like to just sort of space out while I do it.

I was winding the cords when Robin hopped up on the stage and breezed past me, giving my ass a playful squeeze as she walked by. I jumped a little, having been off in my own little world as I did the mindless work.

"Fair's fair," she mocked, a sassy little smile on her lips. She hopped up into the little doorway, a tantalizing affair to watch as her lithe legs stayed just close enough together to not outright show me that she was pantyless.

"Yes, I suppose it is," I said, not able to keep a smile from my face or my eyes from taking in her legs. She sat there with her ankles crossed, her hands at the edge of the ledge she sat on, leaning slightly forward. Her breasts pushed temptingly together, her bright eyes shining as she smiled and let them wander over me.

I was on the last of the cords and when I finished I dropped it into the milk crate, picking that up and turning to Robin.

"This is the last thing that goes in," I said.

"Hand it to me," she said, holding her hands out. "I'll put it up. Where does it go?"

I passed the crate to her and she let it sit on her lap for a moment.

"There's a shelf," I said, "right above your head. Just lean back and push it up on there."

"Got it!"

She started to lean and lift, teetered a little, and stopped.

"Um," she began, "can you come hold my legs? Otherwise I'm going to be flashing beaver at the whole world."

I laughed and moved over to her, putting my hands on her warm thighs. She spread her legs slightly and I stepped between them, feeling her knees squeeze my hips as she leaned back and pushed the crate onto the shelf. When it was in place, she let her hands drop, clutching the hem of her skirt and holding it in place as she hooked her feet behind my knees and pulled herself forward until her pussy was pressed against my denim-covered cock. I was hard, and I could feel her heat through my jeans. my hands brushed up her thighs, sliding around and under to cup the backs of them, hold them up, high around my waist as her hands slid up my chest to curl around the back of neck.

"Help a girl down from here?" she asked.

My throat made a deep rumble of assent as one hand gripped the back of her thigh and the other moved to her lower back, pulling her to me as her legs tightened around my waist and her hands held on to my neck. I lifted gently and took a step back, holding her little frame easily off the ground, groaning softly as she buried her face in my neck and slowly, deliberately, ground her incredible heat against my cock.

"It feels so big," she whispered into my neck. I could feel her lips move against my skin, feel her breath pour across my shoulder. "I want you so bad I can barely stop myself."

"You have no idea how hard it is not to pushing you up against that wall right now," I groaned back.

"You should probably put me down," she whispered, "even though I don't want you to."

"I know," I said, my voice barely more than a breath against her cheek. I ran my hand from her lower back, down over her ass and onto the back of her thigh, squeezing both before softly, slowly lowering her back to the ground.

Her hands left my neck and trailed slowly down my body, caressing the muscles of my chest, feeling the ridges of muscle across my stomach, brushing my belt, gently tracing the length of my cock as it shoved its way down my pant leg.

"I left a wet spot," she giggled. "God, you make me so wet. Nobody has ever made me so wet."

She looked up at me and saw the broad, proud, cocky grin on my face.

"I shouldn't have told you that, should I?" she asked, her head cocked to the side, a playful smile on her lips.

"Absolutely not," I blurted, and she laughed, her eyes bright and happy.

"Come on," she said, gently tapping my arms, "I'll help you set up the chairs and we can go downstairs and split our giant haul of tips with the other girl. The work will help you forget all about how wet I am for you."

I laughed.

"Oh yeah. THAT seems likely to work."

After we counted out and had a beer or two each, we said our goodbyes and I walked Robin to her car again. She slipped her arm through mine again and laid her head on me with that happy little smile just like she had a couple of nights before. Heavy flirting aside, the walk to her car was rapidly becoming my new favorite thing.

When we got to her car she turned and stretched up on her tip toes to give me a sweet, soft kiss on the cheek, her lips brushing across the top of my beard.

Just before her lips pressed to my skin, something hard slammed into the back of my head.

It made a glassy sort of clanking noise as it bounced off the back of my skull. I was completely unprepared for it, and it was just enough to take me off my feet, inadvertently shoving Robin backwards as I fell. She fell backwards, and I saw her feet leave the ground as she rolled up a little before settling back down. I heard her boyfriend's voice float down to me.

"You fucking whore," he slurred. He was drunk off his ass again, and apparently had just waited around outside for her. "You have to take your panties off after he fucked you? Huh?!"

His voice was rising in volume with every word as he stalked closer to her. He was beyond reason, rage spittle flying from his lips, both arms twitching as he held them tense and clenched at his sides, shouting for all he was worth by the end of it.

He made two mistakes in rapid succession.

First, he assumed that crowning somebody with a bottle works like it does in the movies. Guy swings a bottle, bottle hits head, owner of head falls unconscious and doesn't get up until hours later. Doesn't matter how hard you swing the bottle, hard bottle beats head and consciousness every time.

Wrong. It's actually pretty fucking hard to knock somebody unconscious. Shit, professional fighters are paid a whole shitload of money to do it, and even they only knock a guy out for a second or two. He had hit me pretty hard, and I'd have a solid goose egg in the morning, but he hadn't come anywhere near knocking me out or even really disorienting me. Mostly he had just pissed me off.

Second, he stepped over to Robin and raised the bottle to hit her with it. I no longer felt that I didn't want to hurt him.

I grew up chubby and unpopular in a neighborhood that didn't forgive that sort of thing. I wasn't slow, but there were always a lot more of them than necessary. I never won, at first.

It took a few years of having my ass kicked every day before I started to learn a few things. I thought about it, I watched, I paid attention to the places they hit me, what hurt, what didn't, what parts of the body were the weakest, thought about how to use my weight and move it around a little better. I learned that being the strongest wasn't a bad thing, but that it wasn't necessary either. I learned to be efficient, and I learned to be brutal. When I had it good and figured out, I showed the kids in the neighborhood what their years of ganging up on me had taught me. I only had to do it once.

I decided, in that moment, that I would show him, too.

I rolled to my feet, getting up as fast as I ever had back in my old neighborhood, and grabbed the upraised arm in my right hand when it was at its highest. I pulled back and slammed my open left hand into his elbow, shoving forward as hard as I could. The joint gave, and bent in the opposite direction it was made to. I slid my left hand forward, around, under his arm, stepping forward and snaking my left arm under his now broken right, using leverage against the ruined joint to push his upper body forward while I turned and wrapped my right arm under his chin, cutting off his air and hauling upward just enough to straighten his legs.

I stomped my left foot into his knee, hearing the patella crack and the joint behind it give just like his elbow. I let go of his head and let him collapse to the ground, screaming like a pig gone to slaughter.

I heard sirens as I turned to check on Robin. The downstairs bartender had called the cops as soon as she'd seen him hit me with the bottle. Robin had raised herself up on her elbows and was looking at me a little wide-eyed. I crouched down next to her.

"You okay?" I asked.

She nodded, still staring at me, her eyes bright with... something. I wasn't sure what.

"Why are you looking at me like I just sprouted a unicorn horn?" She blinked and smiled a little sheepishly at that.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. Her eyes widened a little and she started to cry. "Oh fuck, I'm so sorry, Shane! This is all my fault! Are you okay? He hit you so hard, I was afraid you were dead and then I thought he was going to kill me and then you were there all of a sudden and you took him down so fast and-"

Her words were choked off by sobs as she completely broke down, her arms shaking as she tried to hold herself up. I wrapped one arm under hers and one under her legs, careful to pull the hem of her skirt up, and lifted, cradling her in my arms as she clung to me and cried.

"Shh," I whispered. "It's not your fault at all. He's drunk, and a little crazy. You couldn't have known this would happen. Besides, he didn't hit me all that hard. Just a little bump. I'm fine, and he's not going to be anybody's problem for a while."

I whispered reassurances to her, gently stroking her side. She slowly calmed down, her sobs growing more gentle until they were sniffles, then just slow, deep breaths. Finally, she looked up at me, her tears done, and she smiled, her eyes searching mine for any sign that I was angry with her or blamed her. I wasn't, and I didn't.

The cops took statements from all of us, even Robin's now ex-boyfriend (she had crouched down next to him after she stopped crying long enough to tell him she was breaking up with him) as the ambulance came and paramedics go to work putting on splints and loading him up for his trip to the hospital.

I was sure I was going to jail. I mean, yeah, he had attacked me, but I hadn't exactly simply subdued the guy. I really did a number on him, and I know that doesn't go over too well sometimes.

They talked to the girls first, Robin and Carrie, the downstairs bartender. Both girls talked for a long time, and by the time the cops finished up and headed my way, they were grinning. One actually shook my hand.

"Sounds like this could've been a lot worse if you hadn't done what you did, son," said the older of the two. "The way the girls tell it, you're a bit of a hero."

"Not at all," I blurted. "I just didn't want to see him hit her with that bottle like he did me."

"Fair enough. I don't see any need to press charges against you. You want to press charges against him? If you want my advice, say yes. Little fucker sounds like he deserves it."

I nodded. I didn't see any real reason not to.

The cops finished up with us, and left. The three of us just kind of stood around for a few minutes, letting the craziness of the last hour or so dissipate a bit.

"Well, after all that excitement, I'm going the fuck home and going to bed," Carrie blurted. She gave Robin a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, the gave me the same before hopping into her car and peeling off.

"I'm so exhausted now," Robin said. I reached out and pulled her to me, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing gently.

"Me too," I said.

"I don't want to go home tonight," she whispered. "I mean, we don't live together, but I just don't want to go home. I don't know if that makes any sense at all."

"Yeah," I said. "It makes sense. Come on. My place is just a couple blocks away."

I walked her back to my place, her arm looped through mine, head on my shoulder. The smile was less, but a little bit of it was still there. We didn't talk, just walked. I think we were both too tired to say anything.

When we got to my place, I dug through my dresser and found an old t-shirt for her to wear while she slept, and I left the room while she got changed. I tossed a small pillow down on one end of the couch and stripped down to my boxer briefs, fully prepared to spend the night there. I heard the bedroom door open and looked up to see Robin standing in the doorway, her hair dangling down onto her chest, one long, lithe leg straight down, the other bent with her dainty, tanned little foot hooked behind her calf, head bent slightly down with those big, bright blue eyes looking up at me, more sexy than any human I'd ever seen in just a ratty old AC/DC t-shirt.

"Come sleep in here, with me?" she said, a soft, hopeful question. "Nothing else, just... be there and maybe hold me?"

I didn't say anything, I just walked over to her and picked her up like I had outside the bar, cradling her in my arms and carrying her to bed, laying down with her, letting her use one of my arms as a pillow as the other wrapped around her waist.

"I have an eight o'clock class," she murmured. By the time I started to respond, she was asleep.

I set my alarm for seven thirty.

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She was gone when I woke up. I slept straight through the alarm, but apparently she hadn't. There was a note on the pillow next to me.

Shane,

Thank you for last night. For everything. For saving me, for holding me. I didn't want to wake you up just to say I'll see you later, so I settled for a kiss on the cheek!

See you tonight!

Robin

I smiled and stretched. I didn't have much going on that day. I don't have class on Fridays, and I was pretty well caught up on homework, so I did some housework, mostly cleaning, laundry, got some groceries, then just bummed around for a few hours watching TV and dicking around on the internet.

I worked at eight, and Robin would be coming in at nine. When I got there, I had a few starting things to take care of, mostly throwing towels in to wash, cutting lemons, limes, a few apples. I grabbed whatever needed to be replaced from the day shift and filled all the stations with ice. I poured myself a Coke and leaned against the cooler, chatting with the couple of regulars that were planted in their usual spots on the bar until nine.

At nine, I almost passed out.

Robin walked through the door, and every eye in the place turned to her and stuck there. She was wearing a little black dress, the skirt short, showing off a damn smooth, tantalizing length of her lithe, tan legs. The top half was billowy, sort of. It looked like it was just two wide scarves that rose up from her skirt and had been tied behind her head. When she moved, I could see her midriff peeking out all the way from her skirt to her chin. It was backless, eliminating all possibility of a bra, and she was wearing matching heels. She'd left her long black hair down, but given it just a little bit of curl, making it bounce when she walked. Her makeup was subtle, classy, accentuating her cheekbones and drawing attention to her lips and eyes without shouting.