Bender

The subject of her cock came up quite naturally. Schmoozing over a beer, our bar closed for the night, we'd covered the events of the evening as bar workers do all over the world. Rude people, cute people, the guy drinking alone, his amazing story trickled out between orders. If only it were true. Had to trickle him out the door way before the crowd ebbed.

Then we talked about other bar workers chatting simultaneously in bars around the town. Acquaintances. The hints of scandalous behaviour. Some of it personally witnessed. And as the night headed towards dawn the subject, as it usually does, turned to lovers. Past and present. Aspired to.

Of one of hers, she said 'I fucked him'. I said a little piece about the use of the verb to fuck and whether it could be equally used by the fucker and the fuckee. 'You don't understand' she said, her face close to mine, her voice a little slurred. Conspirators. 'I fucked him'.

I got it. Nearly lifted me off my stool. 'Tell me more', I said, trying to remain cool. But she was telling me already. Painting me one of her powerful word pictures. They'd been acquaintances for a while. Going home with him was something new but the options that night were few and anyway there'd been something hanging in the air for a while. A casual coupling would be a nice way to unwind after a night of noise, smoke, and kitchen scraps.

The equipment lay casually on his bedside table. She was fascinated by the leather, supple and gleaming. Like one of those tiny lycra bikini bottoms, beautifully tailored. And it fit her perfectly. Skipping around the bedroom, the cock waving from her, she said 'isn't this a bit small for you?'. 'I'm not the one that wears it', he said. And she slowly understood. Legs losing their strength. As she sank to the bed.

It was the look of excitement on his face that revived her. Made her suddenly aware of the pressure. From her end of the cock. The thrill that ran through her thighs. Resting on one arm she looked down at him. His smooth body. Like seeing a man for the first time. Her hand, a mind of its own, reached out to explore. Found a new world opening beneath it.

Sitting on my stool, listening to her tale, I could feel the heat surging through me. And although her eyes were looking past me as she remembered that night I could feel the heat roll from her too.

At last, her tale told, her eyes came back to focus on mine. With the smile of a well fed cat and a jolt of recognition. Her hand, self guided again, moved for my inner thigh. 'There's that look again', she said huskily. 'lucky for you, I know what that means ..'

And later that night I was to be very glad she did