Of All the Bars in All the Towns...

An erotic short story. For 18+ only

She was sitting on a bar stool at the opposite end of the bar. Still. Sensual. Sophisticated. Beautiful. Heart-stoppingly beautiful. Alone. She reached out and picked up her cocktail glass, tilting it towards her lips. As she did so she watched me. Maybe she thought that the distraction of holding the glass in front of her face would hide the direction her eyes were scanning. But I was observant. You don’t spend years as a private investigator and not learn how to observe your fellow human beings.

She realised I had caught her eye. Lowering her glass she gave a half smile, before turning away. I was already intrigued and more than interested in meeting her. My two days of business had exhausted me—meeting after meeting with very little pause. I was ready for a little playtime. I picked up my drink and headed over to where she was seated.

On the way I considered my opening remark—nothing glib or corny. I settled for the tried and tested, “Can I buy you a drink?” She looked up at me with big brown eyes and replied with a simple, “Thank you.”

It was hard to take my eyes from her perfect lips—luscious and inviting. My cock was moving ahead of my brain and the anticipation of an evening, maybe a night, with such a woman was causing some movement down there.

“Is this your home town?”

She looked up from under those long lashes. “No, I’m just passing through. I fly out tonight.”

“Me, too.” I didn’t ask where she came from. I didn’t want to know. I was content that she was here, tonight, and sitting next to me. I never even asked her name. The anonymity of a city far from home made me bold and adventurous. How many men had thought that, and come to grief because of it? I didn’t care. The bulge in my pants was almost certainly sending a message all by itself. I wanted this woman, and I would be damned if I would let the opportunity pass.

I went to push her fresh cocktail a little closer to her at the same time as she reached out for it. Our hands touched. I swear an electric current passed between us.

“You’re very beautiful—probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. But I guess you hear this all the time.”

She smiled, but didn’t reply. Instead she placed her hand on my thigh. I nearly shot off the stool, not expecting her to respond quite so keenly. My body was throbbing with need. She knew exactly the effect she was having on me.

I had three hours before my flight—enough time for dinner and…I dared to hope.

“Would you like dinner?”

After a brief pause, she spoke, in a soft, dusky voice that primed me even more. Would I be able to sit comfortably during dinner?

“I wish I could. But I have to leave for the airport very soon. I don’t suppose you would consider skipping dinner and going straight for the fuck, would you?”

I nearly fell off the bar stool, but recovered my composure and found my voice.

“What did you…where could we…?” I couldn’t seem to complete a sentence.

She smiled—a soft, seductive, smile. The way I was feeling I could almost take her here on the bar. She picked up her purse and took my hand.

“Come.”

I followed obediently. The devil himself might have tried to drag me back, but he wouldn’t have succeeded. My mind was totally consumed with this exotic woman and what she was offering. She led the way to the women’s powder room. It was empty. Inside she turned the key in the lock. We were in the section with mirrors, a counter, and stools in front, where women go to repair their makeup.

Our bodies crashed together, lips parted, tongues entwined. I held her in a tight bear hug, my hands roaming over her body like a drowning man seeking something, anything, to hold on to. I pushed her backwards towards the counter. I needed to be inside her before I exploded.

She groaned. It seemed her need was great too. I reached down her grey pencil skirt and pulled it up from the bottom until it was bunched around her waist. Underneath she had stay up stockings and dainty, black, lace panties. This time she assisted by pulling them down and stepping out of them, not even removing her black, strappy, heeled shoes to do so.

I pushed her on to the counter, my fingers reaching for her pussy. She was soaked. Just a few strokes of the fingers were sufficient to release a series of quiet groans. I could wait no longer. Pushing her thighs apart I released my rigid cock and plunged into her. If I had been religious I would have said a prayer of thanks right then. Instead I concentrated on not coming too soon.

As if she wanted deeper penetration she raised her legs from the counter and lifted them on to my shoulders. I plunged as far as I could reach into that hot little pussy. All the stress and tiredness of the last two days drained away like the tide receding from a pebbly beach. I felt at that moment that I was king of the world. Nothing was beyond me. We fucked as though this was the last time either of us would fuck on this earth. At least it felt like that.

I reached down, and with my thumb I massaged her clit. Her groans became louder and she dug her nails into my shoulders. It seemed she was nearly there. A few more thrusts and she began to tremble.

“Oh God, oh fuck…” I felt her pussy clamp around my cock as she reached her climax. Thrusting a few more times I exploded inside her. I groaned, a deep groan that seemed to travel from my groin to my mouth. I felt drained, but intensely satisfied. It was the kind of fuck I hadn’t had for a long, long time. I leaned forward and kissed her intensely.

We straightened ourselves up, and she applied some fresh make up.

“You go out first. I’ll follow in a moment. See you back at the bar.”

I unlocked the door and strolled back to the bar, waiting for her to appear. Then waited some more. She didn’t come. I returned to the ladies powder room, but there was no sign of her. To the right of the door was the emergency fire exit, leading out onto the street. I noticed the door slightly ajar. She was gone.

I returned to the bar and ordered another whisky, sorry that I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye, or even ask her name. She was a woman I wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

It was about ten minutes later that my phone buzzed with a message. I took a look. One of my meetings today had been with a man whose wife had left him and he was desperate for me to track her down. His message included some relevant information about her, plus a recent photograph. My heart speeded up. There, on my screen, was the woman I had just fucked. I couldn’t believe it.

Had I been set up? I didn’t know. Of course I would now withdraw from the case, but I wouldn’t cite the real reason. I’d probably lose my licence if the guy were to discover what had happened, even though I was entirely innocent in this case. At least I now knew the woman’s name. Would I try and track her down? Or would I file her face in the ‘Fucks to Remember’ file in my head? I had no idea right now.

Picture: Shutterstock