3
WHAT DO YOU WANT
My first thoughtwhen he asked me to take off my dress should have been about the fact I hadn’t shaved my vagina in god knows how long. While I haven’t let it get full-blown 1974 down there, it was indeed not waxed or shaven to any extent.
I’m sure this super hot bartender, who I don’t even know the name of, is used to pristine pussy. The kind that’s devoid of razor bumps, or ingrown hairs.
But when he told me what to do, I obeyed immediately. It’s like he cracked me open, seeing all the secrets of what I did to myself and what I watched in the dark.
It’s like he knew I wanted to listen, that I wanted to shut my brain down for a single second and have a man take control.
His lips press against my neck and my nails attempt to dig against the resin table.
“Relax, Kate,” he tells me, his voice smooth as velvet as his hard cock presses against my backside and his hands slide up my torso.
For fuck’s sake. I didn’t even wear matching underwear today.
He doesn’t seem to mind as his hands explore, palming my breasts as his body presses harder against me.
There’s a massive window in front of us, but the window faces the water, so it’s unlikely that anyone can see inside. Having people watch isn’t necessarily something I fantasize about, but I don’t think I’m against it.
Seeing the reflection of how he’s looking at my ass in the glass, however, is something that’s going to be replayed in my fantasies for the foreseeable future.
He looks raw and excited.
His focus is on me, and I can’t remember the last time I felt like I was the center of attention.
The hot bartender presses down the cups of my bra, exposing my breasts and playing with my nipples. I swallow thickly as his one hand glides down my torso, nervous that he’ll be turned off.
But when his fingers slide against my mound, rubbing against my pubic hair, his lips suck against my skin and he grinds harder against my ass. Does it turn him on?
“Do you come easily, Kate?”
Part of me wants to lie, be amenable and say yes,“but of course I’ll come as soon as you touch my clit”. But what’s the point? I’m going to fuck this guy once and nothing more. There’s no reason to lie, no reason to fake my enjoyment.
“No, I usually don’t,” I tell him honestly.
He hums against my ear.
“How do you usually make yourself come?” he asks, no uncomfortableness between us.
I couldn’t tell the only man I’ve been with my fantasies, but something about the low-stakes impromptu fuck has me wanting to lay some of my cards on the table, just not enough to leave me completely raw.
“A toy inside of me and a vibrator on my clit.”
“Do you skip all the lower settings, Kate? Do you just go to the highest one?” he asks.
It should be embarrassing, but if anything, it has my core clenching and I feel myself getting wetter with his questions.
“Yes.”
“How quickly can you make yourself come?” he asks.
His fingertips are dancing around my clit, not touching me where I want him to, but it’s making me want to beg. Something I’ve never done, but it’s something I’ve wanted to do.
The sex I’ve had for the last five or so years has been clinical, an obligation. One where I rarely got off and waited till Will was asleep or in the shower and I raced time, cracking open my nightstand and using a toy to get myself off when he was none the wiser.
“A few minutes,” I say, lying slightly. In a pinch, I could make myself come even quicker if I was worked up enough, or drunk enough, watching the right porn could do wonders.
