There was only one way this night was going to end. I walked into the bar, a short skirt on along with a crop top. No bra, and... Well, I was technically wearing panties. A thong, more precisely. With a string of pearls in between my pussy lips, pressing against my clit and constantly teasing me. I was already dripping, my thighs doing nothing to soak up the juices. I would have to make sure to sit my practically bare cunt down on a stool rather than my skirt – better a wet seat than a noticeably wet spot on my clothes when I leave.

It didn’t help that I’d been edging myself for hours before coming out. I just couldn’t stop rubbing my pussy, even while doing chores, working out, sitting behind my desk doing my job.. Nothing could distract me from the relentless throbbing of my clit, begging me for attention. The relentless pulsing of my pussy, begging me to fill her up, to fuck her like she deserves, to never stop feeding her dirty thoughts, porn, hentai..

I sit myself down at the bar, my hips automatically moving to get more pressure of the pearls on my clit. I bite my lip to refrain from moaning, then curl them into a smile as I get the bartender’s attention. A pornstar martini, please. Fitting.

I make small talk with the bartender, the place not yet too busy, my legs crossed as my thighs slide together easily with the provided lubrication. My mind’s definitely not in the conversation. My breathing’s not even, either. I squeeze and unsqueeze my thighs, a soft sigh escaping me every now and then. The bartender asks if I’ve had a rough day. You can say that, I giggle, my hand moving as I talk and accidentally spilling some of my drink over my top.

Accidentally, of course.

The cold immediately makes my nipples even harder, the wetness causing more friction and enhancing their visibility.

I exclaim in shock, putting the rest of my drink down and fumbling to pat down my top. Definitely not to stimulate my oh-so-sensitive nipples.

As I’m blushing and trying to clean up, the bartender offers me a towel. I accept it gratefully and pat down my top some more, but to no avail. Sheepishly, I hand the towel back, now soaked in more than one way.

“It’s okay. I’m not here to impress anyone anyway,” I joke. I get offered a free refill, which I accept and sip. The place is starting to fill up, the bartender is getting busy. I turn around to face the rest of the bar, my legs still crossed. There’s definitely a wet spot under me now.

People are looking me up and down, my short skirt only just covering enough to hide my wet thighs, my nipples standing out proudly.

I start rubbing one of them absent-mindedly. There’s a reason I chose this bar.

Not quite a sex-bar, but one known for its.. shows. Shows by customers, exposing themselves. Sometimes solo, sometimes group, but with the set rule that everyone else can only watch. Or touch themselves, of course.

More eyes are on me now, curious eyes. These events were never planned, and you never knew if you ended up being lucky.

I was about to make some people very lucky.

One hand now openly, roughly handling my tit, I spread my legs, the fabric of the skirt automatically sliding higher to reveal my dripping pussy. My clit swollen enough from my edging and teasing that with the light on it, you can see it pulsing against the pearls from across the room.

I moan.

All eyes on me now.

I finish my drink, put the glass down, and slide my fingers under the pearl string, pulling on it. Oh, it sounds so deliciously wet, and it feels so good... I would close my eyes, but I’d miss everyone watching me.

I lean back against the bar, exposing myself further, the hand that was torturing my nipple moving down and – oh, almost as if muscle memory, sliding two fingers right inside of me. I start fucking myself as everyone watches.

“If you want, You can sit on the bar,” I hear from behind me. The bartender has been watching too.

I stand up, the bar stool clearly covered in my juices, and raise an eyebrow. The bartender only smirks.

I hoist myself up on the bar and resume fucking myself, the music turned down now, a spotlight shining on me, my wet sounds, moans, and the uneven breathing of the other customers watching me the only noises in the room.

For a while, anyway. I can hear someone else keep in their moans. I look around and lock eyes with another woman who’s discreetly touching herself under her own short skirt. I bite my lip, moan, fuck myself harder.

She keeps looking in my eye, rubbing her clit at the same pace I’m fucking myself at.

With all the edging I’ve done today, and all the teasing, it’s too much. I speed up, my movements now erratic, no longer pulling on my string but rubbing the pearls vigorously. I still don’t close my eyes, wanting her to know she’s what sent me over the edge.

And I cum.

I cum so hard, my body convulsing, my toes curling, my pussy squirting. And I maintain eye contact, seeing her cum as well – by the looks of it powerfully, but quietly, unnoticed by anyone else; they’d all been watching me.

When my orgasm subsides, I finally close my eyes, taking a moment to revel in the glory of just having cum in front of a room full of people. My pussy still twitches, juices dribbling down onto the bar.

When I slide off, and pat my skirt down, I get a round of applause. I look around, seeing so many hard cocks straining against pants, so many men and women looking at me with lustful eyes, knowing they can’t touch me. But wanting to.

With a satisfied smile, I leave the bar, passing by the woman who made me cum long enough just to slide her a piece of paper with my number.

I hope I’ll be seeing her again, at least.

But this bar will definitely be seeing more of me.