tagExhibitionist & VoyeurElectricy in the Air

Electricy in the Air


It is an unseasonably warm fall evening. The near full moon hangs low on the horizon, casting an eerie glow upon the earth. Long strange shadows dance about as a cool gusty breeze rustles the leaves in the trees. I am walking briskly to my car, hastily removing my camel hair sport coat and loosening my tie in an effort to bring closure to this hideous day.

I unlock the car door and toss my jacket in the back seat over my bulging brief case. The car purrs to life. The clock reads 7:37 and REM comes over the radio like a phone call from an old college friend. I pull out of the parking lot and try to unwind. I vainly attempt to erase from my mind all the crap the day has thrown at me; pointless meetings, numerous meaningless phone calls, a few irate clients who complained about nothing in particular, followed by a mandatory charity dinner, which my boss was kind enough to inform me of this morning.

The function du jour was for some cause that really has nothing to do with our firm, but the boss felt "all the right people will be there, so we must be there too". By we he meant all the junior associates. Yippee fucking skippe. All day I dreaded an evening of idle chitchat, small talk and "How have you been" conversations. Once I got there is was as expected only worse thanks to a meal consisting of "rubber" chicken served ala room temperature with mushed mixed veggies and rolls hard as hockey pucks. The entire affair was made tolerable only by the open bar; that and a gorgeous woman in a black velvet dress that I mentally made love to from across the room until she disappeared before dinner was served. The second highlight of the event came in the form of an emergency phone call, which forced me to miss dessert and the evening's speaker. Truth be known, the call came from a friend of mine, just as planned, at 7:30 p.m. on the dot. He owed me a favor after I bailed him out of a nightmare date just a week ago using a similar planned phone call. We both ended up having ill relatives; go figrue?

My car heads for downtown as if on autopilot as I softly croon, "This one goes out to the one I love" along with Michael Stipe. For a split second I try to imagine a sauce that could have made the vulcanized fowl the least bit palatable, but I draw a blank. Then I remember the woman in black, she was average height a bit curvy and her devilish grin, which she displayed most of the evening, made me long to know what was going on in her mind that was hidden nicely beneath shoulder lengthy auburn hair.

I slowly feel melancholy, as the loneliness of my existence settles in as it does most every evening. I have no wife, no kids, no girlfriend to speak of for going on more than nine months, no dog to greet me when I come or a cat to ignore me except at feeding time. I have my friends, my parents who live just far enough away so I see them when I can, or have to. My only sister, three years my junior, longs to set me up with every friend she has regardless of the females mental well-being. I gave my sister three chances and all were unmitigated disasters of one variety or another and well, three strikes and you are OUT! Sorry sis. I also have my career as a banker turned law-school graduate turned in house lawyer for a trust company at a different bank, which, at presents sucks only slightly more than a terminal case jock-itch. Hundreds of times I have asked myself: Did I really bust my ass working and attend law school at night for fouryears to get a law degree to do this?

As I drive my mind wandered from the office and the reams of paperwork waiting on me and the wealthy clients who need their egos stroked or conscience eased, to my condo, to who was hosting poker night this week, to the landscaping from summer that is nearly dead, but I kept coming back to the woman in black and, more precisely, what lucky soul left with her. She was mid-thirties at first glance, maybe forty, but no more. Her soft creamy skin was a stark contrast to her black dress and her wavy dark hair. Her coif was perfect allowing one full view of her hauntingly green eyes and perfect smile. Her curves were plentiful but all very delicious, much more so than any of the hideous fare served at the benefit "dinner", if you could call the food they presented a dinner, that is.

I glide to a stop at the first of a maze of traffic lights that serve as an informal welcoming committee to the now deserted downtown. Three blocks ahead on the right I notice an ice blue neon sign that simply proclaims - COLD BEER. I have driven this route dozens of times in the past few months since I started at the new bank, but have yet to notice this tiny bar on the corner, probably because of rush hour traffic or the fact that I usually made the drive in daylight. Whatever the reason, a cold beer sounded really good right now. I ease into a curbside metered parking spot in front of the pub. I click off the radio as the nighttime DJ rambles on about some local band playing at a joint I had never heard of before. I lock my car-door and hastily search my pockets for change until I notice no money is required for meters past 6:00 p.m.

A short blast frigid wind blows from nowhere in particular, sending a shiver up my spine. The heavy wooden door of the pub is thrown open as three inebriated guys stumble out. I shut the door against the strong gust outside. The tavern is long and narrow and dimly lit by a rainbow colored jukebox and a rectangular lamp hanging above a lone pool table. The rectangular barroom is simple in its design. A long wooden bar that runs the length of the near wall and a pool table is tucked in the back corner not far from the jukebox.

A middle-aged guy is seated at the bar near the doorway. He is smoking a cheap cigar and swirling ice cubes in a near empty rock glass. The guy has on blue jeans and a golf shirt; he appears to be a regular given the way he and the barmaid are chatting at ease with one another. They both pause from their dialogue and glance at me as I pass by. I take a seat on a barstool just out of earshot in the center of the massive wooden structure across from a huge mirror. In the reflection I see four round wooden tables with tall stools and the dim glow of jukebox emanating from the far corner opposite the door. In front of the mirror are perched dozens of bottles of booze just waiting to be emptied and replaced by another like bottle.

The woman behind the bar takes a break from her chat with Joe Regular and greets me with a damp rag wiping the bar and a round cardboard coaster. She looks to be in her early 30's with shoulder length red hair pulled back revealing a plain but not unattractive face. Her make up is barley noticeable, but it highlights her otherwise plain features. She is dressed like she should be behind a bar; comfortable blue jeans and a white oxford type shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a few of the top buttons undone which nicely displays her modest figure.

Red, as I have mentally nicknamed her, asks me " What'll ya have," in a voice denoting impatience.

"Give me a tall glass of your best draft beer."

She raises her eyebrows at me. Her look is one of well who the hell are you, Mr. High and Mighty? Apparently I am not your typical customer, who gives a fuck, I just want a beer. Red strolls to the far end of the bar and grabs a long, refrigerated, pilsner glass and draws me a golden hued beer with a nice head on it. Near where Red works the tap I see the woman in black feeding quarters into a box perched on top of the bar. She is even more gorgeous than I remember from the gala. Red finishes pouring my beer and brings my Moosehead or Molson, or whatever she selected; she sets it in front of me on the cardboard coaster. I smile in an effort to ease her harsh manner toward me and hand her a $20 bill. I ask for a few quarters in change before she can tell me what I owe for the brew. She returns with a crisp $10, a wrinkled and few tattered singles, and seven quarters, which I promptly scrape off the bar with one hand into the other.

I stand up and the lady in black gives me a quick glance. I smile and she flashes a warm inviting smile back. I slip four quarters into the jukebox and start looking through song titles.

The lady in black turns and ask no one in particular "What U.S. state was a debtors colony during the late 1700s."

I reply over my shoulder "Georgia."

The lady in black hit a button on the machine and say "Hey, thanks."

"No problem", I say as I make my first selection.

I enter my last two music selections in rapid fashion as the first few notes of Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison plays. I walk around the pool table, which guards two doors in the back of the bar. I open the door marked GUYS and rid myself of the open bar beverages. I smile to myself as I think of all the people stuck at benefit dinner, that I have the good fortune of missing. My grin widens as I think about the lady in black sitting at the bar alone.

I walk to my bar stool and sit down and begin to mentally undress the lady in black once again. I imagine her sitting naked in my arms with my lips pressed firmly against her stiff pink nipples. I ponder this marvelous scene as I take a swig of beer.

The lady in black awakens me from my fantasy by asking, "Who is baseball's all time stolen base leader?"

"Ricky Henderson" I spit out quickly as I swallow my first sip.

The image I had in my head is now replaced by this incredible woman at the end of the bar, sipping a drink and playing trivia.

She laughs and tells me "Thanks;. I just got the high score."

"Great," I say as I begin sip number two.

"Care to join me for a game?"

"Sure, why not," I say trying to show interest without being to anxious.

I get up and notice Red flirting unabashedly with Joe Regular. Red is humming and swaying her body to Brown Eyed Girl. Joe has a horny little grin on his face that makes him look like a jack-o-lantern given the stoogie perched in the corner of his mouth. Joe swirls his ice cubes, which are now mixed with just a bit of amber colored booze. A small crash of thunder is heard over the song.

I introduce myself.

"Annette," the lady in black says sticking out her hand and flashing a devilish yet smile.

"Nice to meet you." I say gazing at her while trying not to be lecherous or obvious.

"So how did you escape from the god awful benefit dinner?" Annette asks.

"An emergency call from a friend, my goldfish is ill" I reply trying to be witty, but very pleased that she noticed me at the dinner banquet.

"How about you?" I ask.

"Oh, I am not feeling well, can't you tell?"

"No, actually I think you look great. It must be one of those 24 minute viruses that are going around." Annette politely laughs at my inane bit of humor.

"So what kind of game is this?" I query while pulling a stool up close in order to view the screen of the trivia game.

I smell a pleasantly sweet perfume masked slightly by the smoky haze of the bar. Annette pops two quarters in and says, "Just watch, it's real easy." " I suspect even you could figure it out".

This intrigues me, rather than offends. The screen comes to life and displays 5 categories to choose from:


Her answer is slow and deliberate. She utters, in a most sensual voice, " Well I am best at sex, but how about a little general knowledge first."

I am pleasantly surprised by her answer, but not shocked. I try to come up with a witty reply but I wait a moment before uttering "We are talking about trivia, right?"

Annette raises an eyebrow at me in a maybe, maybe not fashion before turning her gaze to the game screen. We play a game of general trivia and together we surpass her previous high score. I nail the history and sports questions and give an assist on an entertainment questions. We are mutually impressed with one another, as Layla by Clapton strums from the jukebox behind us.

As we conclude game one with a clink of our near empty glasses, I say, "It appears we make a pretty good team."

Annette licks her lips devilishly slow and utters " You think we make a good team now, wait until later."

I feel my already swollen member strain against my boxer shorts. I summon Red from the other end of the bar with a raised empty pilsner glass. She is a bit pissed that I have pulled her away from Joe, but she pours two more drinks in a hurry so she can continue their own version of bar room foreplay.

Annette and Red both mouth the words "You got me on my knees, Layla." as Red sets the drinks on the bar. I tip her well and she strolls back to Joe in a much better mood given her newfound wealth. A bolt of lightning strikes followed closely by a prolonged rumble.

"You up for another game?" I inquire.

"Sure", but instead of picking up two quarters Annette takes my hand a leads me near the jukebox were we dance slowly in each other's arms.

Annette began to press her body close to mine; I am certain she could feel my engorged cock pressing just north of her panties, if she was wearing any. Clapton croons on in the background as we are consumed in kiss. My hands explore Annette's body, rubbing the back of her neck and head. The wind howls and moans outside as the song slowly dies out. We continue dancing, waiting for the jukebox to locate the next CD and begin playing. I cannot remember the two other songs I had selected just a few minutes ago, but I do not care to think about it or anything other than Annette's lips.

The neon sign that hangs outside the bar clanks against the steel bar supporting it, while the wooden door creaks against the growing winds. The oncoming storm grows more fierce as our passion becomes ever stronger. I glimpse, out of the corner of my eye, Joe and Red are watching us with mouths agape and eyes wide with awe. Another lightening bolt shakes the bar, a strong gale blows outside as thunder crashes all around rattling the windows of the bar. The COLD BEER sign falls from its hinges, it crashes to the sidewalk below and shatters in a thousand pieces. The lights blink on and off twice before the power shuts off completely.

The music is gone yet we continue to dance. We are lost in each other's arms. Lightening blazes outside followed by a crash of thunder. For the next several minutes we are consumed by our own storm. My lips are pressed firmly against Annette's and our breathing is frantic. Our tongues dance wildly as I lead Annette to my right until we bump against the pool table. I gently lift her off her feet and onto the rail near one of the corner pockets. Our passion escalates to as Annette's fingers deftly remove my red silk tie and toss it on the green felt. Next, she opens button after button of my pale blue oxford shirt, after yanking it free from my trousers. Her warm hands run along my hairy chest. My hands cup her breasts and search for a means of freeing them so I may gently brush each nipple with my fingers.

I find a zipper in the back of Annette's black velvet dress and slowly pull it towards the green felt below her. My hand stops below her waist and a few precious inches from her shapely curves, as the last button of my shirt is undone. Another bolt of white light floods in through the windows. For a moment I wonder what Joe and Red are up to. Do they know what we are doing? Do they care? Are they doing the same thing we are about to do? I hear a series of clicks followed by the flicker of a small flame. Joe's butane cigar lighter has sprung to life by the door. The glow of a small candle paints the corner of the room with a dull yellow flickering luminescence.

In hindsight I think about how self-conscious I normally would have been, but I am totally engrossed in the moment and in my newfound lover. I feel consumed by the need to be inside Annette. I kiss her and caresses her skin, now with hands on flesh rather than velvet. Annette's outfit is around her waist and my dress shirt is unbuttoned and hanging open moments from falling to the floor. Annette's nipples stiffen in between my fingers while my lips explore her neck, lips, and ears.

More light flashes followed almost immediately by a violent boom, but I wonder if it from my heart beating or the storm. Unexpectedly, there is a loud click by the door. I quietly hope to myself that someone is not walking in off the street. Annette steals a glance over my shoulder as I lick and suck her luscious areola into my mouth.

Annette calms my apprehension by whispering "The door is locked so we won't be interrupted." This is all the encouragement I need to ravish her. I lift her off the pool table and ease her pantyhose off followed by her moist black panties that slip down her firm thighs, calves and ankles. Her black high-heeled shoes have already slipped of her feet onto the floor. I remove the remnants of her outfit and toss it toward the far end of the pool table. It lands gracefully near the front of the corner pocket.

Soft moans of pleasure drift from the bar interrupted by the roar of thunder, which is growing more and more distant. I suspect Joe and Red have followed our lead but I am not certain of such until I spread Annette onto the pool table. It is then that I notice, in the glow of the candlelight, Red naked atop the bar. Joe now seated at the bar with Red's legs draped over his shoulders. I see the top of Joe's head moving about between Red's legs. She is writhing on the wooden counter, her mounting pleasure evident from the erotic cries and whimpers she vainly tries to suppress. I see her grasp for anything she can get her hands on to steady her lower body in an effort to press her more firmly against Joe's tongue and face.

My eyes return to Annette's magnificent face and naked body sprawled on the worn green felt. Her hands are between her legs removing my belt and unzipping my fly. As she removes my belt from the last loop of my pants she pulls it between her legs, across her stomach before laying on the slate. Annette gently removes my fully erect shaft from the opening in my boxers, as my pants fall to the tops of my Johnston & Murphy wingtips. I quickly kick the shoes off my feet as Annette sits up and slips my boxers over my hips. She then eases off the edge of the pool table and pulls my trousers and boxers over my legs and sock clad feet. Before I am free of my pants, Annette is on her knees before me. Her mouth has enveloped my engorged shaft as her hands massage my manhood. She passionately strokes me as I gaze into her eyes. My cock crosses her lips into her warm wonderful mouth.

I utter to no one in particular "God Yesssss."

Annette's hot tongue and mouth swallow me again and again. She continues to suck and stroke my wand with increasing fervor, running her slippery tongue the entire length of my shaft. Annette slides my fully erect member in her mouth. She is relentless in her pursuit of my cum as her mouth and hands massage my cock. My balls contract in her tender grip as wave after wave of pleasure corse through me and into her waiting mouth. I groan as I am consumed by intense pleasure as Annette's hands and mouth continue to work their magic on my softening erection. The last drops of cum ooze from my now satisfied member, but much to my amazement Annette continues to make love to my cock.

Often I have dreamed of cumming and relishing the sensation free from distraction; now that it is happening, all I can think of is pleasing my new found lover. Unendingly Annette drinks me in and I savor every sensation of her mouth and tongue on me, not believing that only 30 minutes ago I was on my way home to do nothing. Again I look down at Annette and brush back her hair, as she tastes me once more. I help Annette to her feet and kiss her neck, ears and cum flavored lips.

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byDomLawyer© 4 comments/ 33274 views/ 1 favorites

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