I’d been horny even before we’d gone out that night, and now, perched at the bar on my tall barstool alongside my husband, with the better part of two Long Island iced teas in me, my inhibitions were about as low as my arousal was high. Accordingly, when Richie started to lightly stroke my bare back, above my sundress, it sent a tingle through me and I could feel my nipples begin to pucker and harden. Braless, as usual, I knew they’d show plainly as hard pokies beneath the thin knit of my dress, but I’m not only accustomed to them being looked at, I truly enjoy it.
I saw the bartender’s eyes play over my chest and then he smiled at me and asked if I wanted another drink.
I smiled back. “What, you get some twisted thrill out of seeing women fall off their barstools?”
He laughed. “Yeah, those are a little potent. I’ll check back with you later; we still have an hour or so before last call.”
As he went back to taking care of other bar patrons, Richard and I sat and talked. Nothing earth-shaking, just minutiae, and he continued to stroke my bare back as we did.
My sundress was nothing spectacular, but we both liked the fit and the look. Cut low enough in the front to display my modest cleavage, with a string tie behind my neck and most of my bare back on display, it’s subtly sexy yet demure, white fabric with small sprays of rainbow-colored flowers all over. A lightweight knit, the full skirt drapes in soft folds from my hips almost to my knees when I’m not sitting on it, as now, and I get a lot of compliments on it.
I purred as his fingertips traced my spine, and he smiled. “You like that?”
“You know I do. It gives me shivers – good ones.”
So encouraged, he continued to explore my contours while I continued to enjoy his attention. His hand gradually moved lower – just gravity, I’m sure, his arm getting tired – until he was tracing the upper swell of my bottom. That was nice too, and when he traced the central valley – mine, not the one in California - I shuddered with arousal.
He paused and then did it again, and then his hand moved higher, paused as his fingertips felt around, moved, searched again, lower, and then once more before he leaned in and whispered. “Fuck me… You’re not wearing panties!”
I laughed. “Very good, Sherlock – and yes, the no panties situation does help to facilitate that ‘fuck you’ part you mentioned.”
He groaned. “Fuuuck!” So, no bra, no panties, you’re wearing absolutely nothing under this dress?”
“Well… sandals. But they’re only under it when I stand up.”
“Very funny. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to see how long it took you to figure it out. I planned to flash you eventually if you didn’t catch on.”
He ran his fingers down the valley between my cheeks until he met the wood of the stool, then traced the under-curve, where flesh met wood. Already horny and my inhibitions lowered, his touch was sending tingles through my body and putting ideas in my head. I slid back a little on the stool, letting more of my butt hang over the edge, and this time when his fingers traced the divide, he wiggled a fingertip against my tight little star – through my dress, unfortunately!
I did a quick reconnaissance; only a couple of guys at a nearby table had a direct line of sight, and their backs were to us. A few others may have been able to crane their necks to see, but nobody seemed to be showing any interest… yet. I slid back more and rose, my feet on the chair rung, while I tugged my skirt out from under me. This time when I came down my ass was pretty much off the chair, the round edge of the seat across the crease between butt and thigh, and my naked thighs held my weight, resting on bare wood instead of on my skirt. When I let the skirt fall, it enveloped the stool – and my butt – so that I was hidden from view.
I leaned forward, my elbows on the bar, both to keep from tipping the stool backward and to give Richie better access, and he grasped the situation immediately and my left ass cheek soon after, his hand sneaking beneath my skirt. This time, when his finger explored my tight little star, it was just his fingertip and my eager little pucker, one-on-one! He teased it, leaving me moaning softly and wishing he’d push it in.
When he moved forward a scant inch or so and his fingers encountered my pussy, hot and dripping, he wasted no time, groaning softly at the sensation of soft, hot, slippery lady bits before he pushed two fingers inside of me, earning a guttural, “Oohhh…” from me.
He leaned close, his breath on my neck, to whisper, “Fuck, babe, you’re dripping!”
“I know! I told you I was horny before we ever left home, but you wanted to go out anyway.”
“You gonna leave a puddle on the chair?”
“In this position, I’ll leave a puddle on the floor.”
He leaned back and looked down at the floor beneath my cantilevered ass. “I don’t see anything.”
I laughed. “Goofball, I just got in this position. I’m sure there’s a wet spot on the back of my skirt, it just doesn’t show because of the color and pattern of the material.” It was true; I don’t ‘squirt’, like the women in the videos, but when I’m aroused I lubricate quickly and copiously, and it’s not unusual for me to drip or even trickle a little of my love syrup onto my clothes, or whatever is beneath me if I’m naked. Richard was well aware, having lain with me kneeling over his face, dripping on him as he did things to make me come.
Now, he whispered, “Fuck, I’m hard as a rock! You wanna leave?”
I put my hand in his lap, tracing the hot, thick bulge of his erection where it projected down his right thigh, straining the thin knit of his athletic pants. I love those thin, clingy knit pants and the way his package prints against the fabric as he moves around, but if he tried to walk out of there in this condition…
“Good idea, and that would solve the mystery for anyone who might be curious whether you’re cut or not!” I traced the ridge at the rear of his circumcised corona. “Definitely unhooded, and what a nice cock it is.”
He groaned, and I felt his cock stretch and pulse against my fingers. “I thought you said you were horny.”
I shuddered under his touch. “I’m dying, Richard; you can feel how horny I am.” He slid his fingers out of me and forward, between my puffy lips, to give my hard clit a bit of a whirl. As he made circles on my love nubbin with his fingers, I moaned and pressed myself to his hand.
“So… what? You want me to make you come right here?”
“You think you can?”
He nuzzled his nose into my hair and kissed my neck. “Rayney, baby; I know I can.”
I laughed. He was right, damn him, and he knew it. “I do love a confident man.” I squeezed his cock. “I’ll just hold onto this and we’ll see how things turn out.”
“Don’t make me come, babe.”
“Like I said, we’ll see.”
“No, I mean it this time. I have a better plan for that.”
“Ooohh, my curiosity is suitably piqued! Okay, I’ll try not to, but sometimes this thing has a hair trigger.”
He grinned, acknowledging that fact, and then proceeded to make me come, not once but twice, the second orgasm more powerful than the first. He drew the initial orgasm from me with a vigorous clit massage, mashing my tiny erection with two fingers as he worked them in tight little circles between my puffy, dripping lips. Before that one had a chance to fully fade, he pushed those same two fingers, his middle ones, deep into me, his small and index fingers riding my puffy outer lips, and jammed his fat thumb up my ass.
I maintain that with a grip like that, he’d make an excellent professional bowler. He unquestionably makes a skilled and determined lover, and I shuddered and quaked as the second orgasm ripped through me, trying desperately not to do anything obvious like scream, or possibly fall off my stool and lie twitching and moaning on the floor, thus giving away our heretofore clandestine activity.
I could feel his cock pulse and strain in my hand as he struggled not to come, the effect of my orgasm always very powerful for him, but he managed to control himself. After, as my pussy and anus still clutched at his intruding digits in a series of aftershocks, he held on, slowly caressing my insides as I came down.
When my contractions eased, he said, “Let’s move over there.”
I looked to where he indicated with a nod of his head, the short section of the bar where it turned a corner. We were about midway down the long main section of the bar, roughly in the center of the fifteen or so barstools lined up there, only a few others occupied, but to our right, it turned a corner at the entrance to a hallway which led to the restrooms and a fire exit. That part of the bar was short, with only four additional stools and the station where the waitresses picked up drink orders for people at the twenty or so booths and tables.
I looked at him. “Why?”
“More privacy.”
I smiled. “And why, might I ask, are you suddenly worried about privacy?”
“Let’s go over there and I’ll show you.”
“I’m not sure I can walk with your thumb up my ass.”
“As much fun as it would be to test that theory, I’ll take it out.” Agonizingly slowly, he slid his fingers out of my vagina and his thumb from my ass, leaving me gasping at the sensations he created. He showed me his hand, his fingers glistening with my juices and more of my love nectar dripping from his knuckles. Normally, one or both of us would have sucked and licked them clean – not his thumb, however; much as I enjoy a little anal play, my background in biology precludes me from involving my mouth or tongue in that arena – but here there were too many people around for me to be sucking his fingers anyway.
I handed him a cocktail napkin, and as he dried his hand, I said, “I’m not sure I can walk, I’m all shaky-legged.”
“You can hold onto me.”
“I am.” I squeezed his cock.
“Not like that.” He glanced down at the floor. “Just so you know, you have now left your signature puddle.”
I twisted and looked; there was a spot about silver dollar-sized with a few smaller drops around it, undoubtedly what had dropped from his knuckles. “That’s not a puddle, that’s not even a drizzle. Still, drop a napkin over it or something.”
“Good thinking; we know how slippery you are.” He bent and placed a bar napkin down, stepping on it to absorb my love juices.
“Ha-ha; don’t embarrass me, okay? I can’t help it. You make way bigger messes than that.”
“I’m glad you can’t help it, and why should you be embarrassed? I love it.”
“It’s not normal.”
“For you, it is – and who wants to be merely normal? I love your little juice box.”
I laughed. “You’re disgusting. Good thing you’re so sexy.”
He smiled as he took my arm. “C’mon, I’ll show you sexy.”
He held my arm as we walked to the stools at the end of the bar, where we took the third and fourth stools, farthest from the turn and just beyond the waitress cocktail station. I made sure my skirt overhung the back of the seat so that I was bare-assed, wet pussy and all, on the barstool. The bartender saw us move and came to ask if everything was okay. We assured him it was, that we were just looking for a change of scenery, and Richie ordered another round for us – for me, a third Long Island iced tea, which I had not requested.
“Are you trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me?”
“Since when have I ever needed to get you drunk to have my way with you?”
“You make a valid point; are you trying to get me drunk so I’ll do that kinky shit you love?”
He laughed. “Guilty – but you love it too.”
“Especially after a few drinks.”
“There you go, then.”
“Good comeback, Zippy.”
The bartender brought our drinks, and we enjoyed a few sips as we basked in each other’s company. We love our threesomes, whether with Gina or one of the several men we engage with, but moments like this, with just the two of us, are sweet and intimate and something to be very much cherished as well – and I was dying of curiosity to find out what mischief he had up his sleeve… or, perhaps, in his pants.
It didn’t take long for him to commence his plan. First, he stood up and moved behind me, pulling me back against him as he massaged my neck and shoulders, which felt amazing. He upped the ante a little when he nuzzled my hair and breathed on my neck, and more when he nibbled on my ear before feathering kisses on my neck and jaw. I was melting – the puddle forming on the wooden stool beneath me was proof - and when his hands moved down my sides, his fingertips grazing the sides of my breasts, I was ready to get on my hands and knees on the floor and beg him to take me!
As his hands made the return trip up my sides, he moved forward just enough for his fingertips to subtly bounce over my hard nipples, and I gasped. “God, Richie…”
“Ssshhh… Slide back on the seat like you were before.”
I did, my bottom and thighs sliding easily in the slick of my arousal – in fact, I was a little worried about sliding right off the stool! I hooked my toes under the chair rung, though, and got stabilized, my thighs holding my weight on the seat while my entire ass hung in space.
“Perfect!” When he pressed close behind me, I felt the hard bulge of his erection on my bottom, but then he pulled away for a few seconds, and when I looked to see why, I discovered he’d untied the drawstring on his pants and stuffed the elastic waistband down and back, trapping it behind his big balls. His cock stood up as huge, hard, and veiny as I’d ever seen it (although I might attribute some of that perception to the alcohol), and coupled with his ballsack, lifted and pressed forward by the elastic, his package made for a very erotic, hyper-masculine display. I was quivering with arousal, and when he began to pull up the back of my skirt, I knew exactly what he had planned.