Pulling at a gig

You didn't really feel like going out tonight, but you'd paid for the bloody ticket. Your frugal ethics force you into putting on a tshirt featuring the keyboardist's side project, a moderately short skirt and some big stompy boots (avoiding broken metatarsals). It took effort to drag yourself to the venue, but after a couple of Jack ‘n’ cokes (a teenage indulgence you allowed only occasionally) and the surprisingly good support act, your mood had improved. Most of the crowd were horrifyingly young, but he caught your eye, though he didin’t resemble the sleek, vain types you usually go for. His hair was long, auburn and extremely thick, giving a leonine appearance, added to by his green eyes and sharp cheekbones. He had a small beard, similarly red, jutting from his chin, and long but not connecting sideburns. His lower lip was pierced, and he wore a leather jacket. He hadn't taken it off in the cloakroom queue, as it was pretty cold in the venue. You didn't mind though. You like a man in leather. You heard his voice as he softly spoke to the attendent, hardly catching his words, but melting at the soft, dark sound.

You positioned yourself close to him. Normally you spend a gig deciding which member of the band you want to fuck most, but you made your mind up quickly this time (the bassist, pale, shirtless and skinny with bulging biceps and a curiously attractive way of grimacing when playing the hard bits) and kept your eyes on him. A couple of girls, who looked suspiciously young to be holding the pints they were slurping kept pushing back and forth. "Make up your bloody mind" you muttered, and he turned and smiled. Those forest green eyes make you feel calm and still inside. In spite of the heat and noise, you feel like you had dived into the Atlantic on New Years Day.

The gig was fucking excellent. One of those nights you remember forever, even without having him take your hand and dance with you, before wrapping himself around you for the rest of the show. You dance from the hips, and feel his approval of the endless figure eights you trace around his body with your pelvis. You can feel him rubbing back, and feel a little panicked at the realisation that you're grinding with a perfect stranger. He claps and cheers with you, chanting with you when you reedily try to start up a chant.

After the gig, he takes your hand so as not to lose you in the crush. Egress can be hard for a claustrophobe. It's kind of reassuring to have a hand to hold, and to know there’s somebody protecting you. Suddenly you're both outside in the startlingly cold, fresh air, and you are facing him. Gazing into his cool green eyes and feeling that sense of calm again. Then he kisses your hand, grins cheekily, introduces himself as Matt then guides you swiftly down the street away from the crowd.

You give him your name, and smile up at him shyly. Your hands intertwine as you walk slowly with each other, at first chatting awkwardly about the gig, but then blossoming open under the warmth of your mutual attraction. You find yourself outside an office building. You look at him quizzically.

"Fancy coming in for a coffee?" he asks, rolling his eyes a little and smirking at the last word. You hesitate for a second, then slide his hand, holding his key card, through the electronic swipe lock.

The office is obviously not his alone, as shown by several chairs and posters advertising varied tastes in games and sports teams.

"Are you sure everyone else is gone?" you murmur through a sudden attack of soft, almost shy kisses on your lips, cheeks and nose tip.

"Don't worry," is his somewhat worrying answer. But you find yourself not really caring at the feeling of his leather jacket against the skin left bare by your shirt, and a hot hardness digging in at your waist. In fact the idea of someone walking in on you both rather amuses you. You lace your fingers through that lush auburn mane, finding it even softer and finer than you had expected, kissing him ardently. You are the first to slide your tongue into his mouth, and having recieved tacit permission, he begins to tease and tickle your lips and tongue, making you take your breath sharply. A shudder goes down your back at wondering what else that tongue of his is capable of. He smells cleanly of deodorant, even after the sweaty environment of the gig. You hope you smell as good, and consider suggesting a shower. It seemed like the kind of workplace which would have a shower in it...

He motioned to take his jacket off, but you tell him to leave it on for the moment, then roll your shirt over your head daintily, revealing soft, amber skin, and a cute lacy bra (you like having a little secret under your usually quiet wardrobe). When your eyes are clear of the shirt, you see him staring wide eyed at you. In spite of the way he has seamlessly seduced you, he seems as excited by your nudity as a virginal teenager. You wrap your arms round him, deciding it's time to take charge of your own ravishment.

He seems delighted at your new found agency, and lifts you onto a desk, parting your legs and standing at your crux, embracing you fiercely, kissing you even more passionately. His cock is beginning to undulate against you, giving you a little preview of how he plans to fuck you, slow and deep and pausing a little between each thrust. The feeling of him pressing against your clit through your underwear makes you moan a little against his marauding tongue.  Then he moves his attentions to your neck, kissing and nibbling down to your shoulders, bare except for your bra strap. You shut your eyes, and feel your bra loosening before cold air on your tits makes you snap your eyes open again. Then the feel of his soft mouth and hungry tongue on your nipples makes you squeeze them shut again. Fuck. He's really good at this.

He slides your skirt up, and starts gently stroking you over the fabric of your knickers. Your cunt clenches almost painfully as he teases and tickles you. His long, pale eyelashes flutter, and he moves back up to kiss you, as your body arches desperately to get more attention paid to your moistening cunt and swelling clit. He kisses amazingly though. You briefly think of that boy on the beach at France all those years ago, but even that Francophonic tongue couldn’t rival this. You feel almost hypnotised by the feeling of his kisses. The tingles in your pussy die down to a warm, heavy feeling, as most of the blood in your body pools to those parts of you, but you jerk back into awareness as his hand appears below the fabric, smearing your fluid over your clit and slowly swirling round it. You are leaning against the desk, in a position which would be painful if it weren’t for his other and on your back, supporting a good deal of your weight. But then your bum is up on the desk, his body is manoeuvring between your hips, and he pulls a condom from his desk drawer “He keeps condoms in his desk drawer? How many girls does he bring back here exactly?” But this, and all other thoughts glide away as he slides into you, moaning low. A window is perfectly placed so you can see the tableau reflected. It’s almost like watching your own porn movie. Your legs are lewdly spread and he looks so sexy as he fucks you slow and deep. Your bodies are so conveniently angled that you can easily stroke your clit as he fills you.

He pulls out of you for a moment, bending to lick your wet, swelling lips, pushing his tongue against your clit. You feel a finger against your nether hole, apparently lubed with the ample juices from your cunt. As he laps at you, one finger enters you, then another. You can’t quite believe you’re letting this wild maned young man probe such an intimate part of you, but he’s so bloody good with those fingers, and that tongue, that all you can do is lean back and enjoy it. As you approach your orgasm, he straightens, not taking his fingers from you, and pushes back in, riding the waves of your orgasm, delicately heightening it for you. The world seems to fade out for a second, before coming into blindingly sharp focus. You become suddenly extremely aware of your surroundings, such as the fluorescent lighting and windows around two corners of the room. But you don’t care, watching this beautiful boy in the throes of orgasm, his fingers squeezing your hips, his green eyes locked on yours. As his climax ebbs away, he leans over to give you another of those teasing, delicious kisses.

You feel a bit exposed once it’s all over. You both take a bit of time to put yourselves back in order.

“Fancy that coffee then?”

You give a squawk of laughter, and he giggles. Taking your hand again, you am led to a small kitchen area with comfy chairs and a beanbag. You haven’t been quite able to decipher what his job is, but they don’t seem to stand on ceremony, whatever it is. You sit on the couch and let him grind the beans (!) and pour just-off-the-boil water into the cafetiere.

“I’m not usually that sort of girl,” he said, shyly offering you a cup.

You laugh again.

“You like $band, you fuck like that and you know how to make coffee properly? Shit, you might not be, but I’m glad I was tonight.”

You clink cups.

Lusting over the barman

Sometimes I can't write while I'm sitting in my flat. I packed up my laptop and went down to my local pub. It's a small place on a quiet road, and has the typical fake post industrial look which is fashionable these days. It has a good selection of draught ales, enough malt whisky to satisfy me, and a fish tank which is mesmerising to watch, especially when a bit drunk. But the main reason it's so conducive to writing erotica is the barman who works there.

He's pretty tall, at least six feet, and has two full sleeves of tattoos. His right arm is a has a repeating design, which takes advantage of the negative space on his pale skin. Every time I sneak a look at it, I feel like I'm a child again, admiring  patterns on a Persian rug. His other arm has a single red dragon, coiling all the way from his shoulder to his wrist. Tattoos so large and bold are rare. One statement over so much skin suggests something about his personality, a certain single mindedness. I don't know much about him, what his aspirations in life are, but I know he has them and I know he's serious about them.

His hair is short on the sides but longer and spiky on top, and has red streaks dyed in. I've always had a bit of a think for punky, alternative looking guys. I used to have a book with boys from Kerrang! cut out, for my adolescent drooling pleasure. It's not a requirement, but unnatural hair, ink and metal will always get my attention. He has moderately sized stretched piercings in each earlobe and a smattering of rings on the helices. I wonder what else he has tattooed and pierced, under that damned black tshirt he's wearing. It's tight enough for me to know that I really want to know what it obscures. Around his biceps, it looks fit to snap. Carrying barrels must be hard work. I try not to think about how effectively those strong arms could pin me to a bed.

"So, what's it going to be then eh?" he grinned at me. He had seen me reading A Clockwork Orange once, early in my career there as a bar fly, and had greeted me thus ever since. I  wondered if his personality resembled that of Alex, a brutal thug who worships beauty? Did if he had sadistic tendencies? Would he hurt me just to please me, as males had in the past, or lay into the woman flesh he owned for joy at seeing my blood flow? (There is a difference.) His grin always made my blood rise to my cheeks. I waited a minute before I ordered, in case I stammered. Usually I would order a beer or a whisky, but occasionally, for a treat, I would order a cocktail.

He's a flair bartender. He shows off with the bottles and glasses, making my drink into a miniture performance. When I drink it, I feel like a little spark of his energy is flowing into me. It buzzes through me, making my mind race with the filthy things I want to do with him. For example... I'm sorry to be quite so blunt early on, I'd usually segue into something like this... I would like to rim him. I bet he's the sort of anally perveted boy who would love that, and possibly insist on reciprocating. But I bet he'd moan and grind back into my face, loving having a willing slut to satisfy this dark desire. i sipped my sidecar (try one, they're citrussy and nice) while imagining him bending over for me. Dang. And he had such a nice little ass on him. I didn't really see the point in bums for a long time, but now I have learned the appeal of a slim firm buttock on a man.

Sometimes he disappears into the back for a moment. I wonder what would happen if I followed him back there. If he'd smirk knowingly and stroke his fingers along my sides, dropping a teasingly light kiss on my lips, before viciously using his tongue and teeth on my mouth, making me take him inside me and taste him before we'd even learned each other's surnames? Whether he'd take the few minutes it would need to rub my clit to orgasm, growling at me to meet him out back when he had his break in half an hour? Squirming in my seat, having him ignore me while he served customers and denied me the pleasure of serving him?

God, I'd love to suck that undoubtedly lovely cock of his. I'd take him between my lips, sucking away the precum and sweat and sucking him in as deep as I could, running my fingertips over his full balls and sucking him to a fast orgasm so he'd have time to smoke a fag as well? No, he'd be smoking while I sucked, imperiously blowing smoke into my face as I worshipped his cock. I'm ashamed of my smoking fetish, having been brought up in a vociferously anti smoking household, but I love the sight of a man smoking so much. Thick fingers holding the smouldering stick, the breat beautifully visualised in white vapour. The smell of smoke on a male excites me. And I get the smell from him.

"What do you want?"

I'd been lost in such a reverie that I didn't realise that this angel had asked me a question. I stared at him, blushing. He turned his head a little and smiled at me again, slow and wide. He knew.

"You." I reply, huskily.

"Hey, I'm taking my break now," he shouted to the boss, who barely nodded at him. It was a quiet period. He took my hand, very firmly I noticed, and led me out back.

The couchsurfer.

He had that look on his face. You know, that look a man gets when he's just realised he's getting his oats. The softly curving smile, the long lashed eyes openly downcast at your body, the flush in the cheeks. It showed a boyishness  in the features that might not be noticed before. The face of an excited teenager. Even the most grizzled dilf looks that way, before he leans in and kisses you.

I delicately returned his kiss, running my fingers through his hair and down his neck eliciting appreciating groans, before squeezing his shoulders and rubbing down his spine.

We continued kissing, sometimes sliding our tongues into each other, sometimes delicately caressing just each other's lips. I scooped my fingers up under his shirt to touch his bare skin with my fingernails, moving lightly over his back. He grabbed my bum, almost too hard, and ground our hips together. I can feel his hardness through our clothes; he won't be satisfied with just kissing. Excellent.

He leaned back a bit, and pulled me onto his lap. I unbuttoned his shirt, and squeezed his waist with my thighs, strong from cycling uphill to work every day. His torso was lean and pale without a pinch of flesh on it, and a heart shaped patch of hair on the chest. I relished the sight of his muscles exposed like in an anatomy textbook, but there was something a little unsettling about the jutting bones and white skin. There was a tattoo on his lower sternum, a bull’s skull.

"What's that?" I asked, stroking it.

"It's the symbol of Dionysus" he replied, lying back even further and pulling me on top of him. Dionysus indeed! It suited him though, with his cat like hedonism. I leaned down to kiss him. He continued frotting against me in his tight jeans, his hard cock aligning between my lips and exerting a delicious friction. I moaned, my fingers travelling to his dark nipples, tugging on the rings. He lifted the hem of my top up over my head, then scooped my tits right out of their polka dotted bra cups. He sat up, taking my left nipple into his mouth and began sucking hard, between little squeezes of the teeth. I moaned encouragingly, adoring the sensation of his lips and teeth on my exquisitely sensitive nipples. He reached down, undoing the snap of my jeans and sliding his hand inside my underwear.

“God, you’re so fucking wet for me. I’d slide in and fuck you senseless right now, but it’s so much more fun to tease.” He looked at me mischievously, smirking at how my face was glazed over with lust. He slid his long fingers over my clit, swirling around the swollen nub and stroking down to the opening of my cunt. I gasped as he slid a finger in me, curling it up to touch my g spot, pushing the heel of his palm down on my aching, hard clit. As I bucked against his hand, he bit sharply on my neck, eliciting a gasp of shock and pleasure. I couldn’t believe this innocent seeming young man had turned into a mean, tattooed dominant. I opened my bedside drawer, and pulled out a condom. Our eyes met.

He rocked back on his knees, pulling his jeans and underwear off in one. His cock sprang up: despite his blasé act, his hardness belied how horny he was. My back arched primordially, inviting him in. He slid the tip up and down my puffy lips, which were wet with arousal, before sliding into me, slowly, making me feel every inch. I moaned, then gasped at the gradually increasing sensation of fullness. He grabbed my legs at the knees, pushing them back as though trying to get them behind my head, pushing himself even deeper until I moaned in delighted anguish. He leaned over and fucked me. I wove my fingers into his hair and bit his neck.

"Fuck yeah bitch, I like it when you bite," he snarled. He pulled out sharply, and arranged me on all fours. The feeling of his cock slamming back into me from behind was almost painfully intense. He leaned over me, grabbing and squeezing my tits, reaching back down to my tortured clit. His teasingly slow movements on it contrasted with the roughness of his onslaught on my tits and pussy. I endured this combination until the sensations overwhelmed me. I nearly blacked out as my cunt spasmed around his thick cock, gasping with the intenseness of my orgasm. He supported my body until I finally went limp in his arms, then increased his rhythm again, working towards his own orgasm. His hands squeezed my shoulders painfully, and an almost wolfish sound came from his throat as he came inside me. He collapsed backwards onto his knees, gasping, with his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. I embraced him, and he kissed my forehead and hugged back. We pulled the covers up over ourselves and drifted wordlessly into sleep.

When I woke up, he was already in the shower. We said polite goodbyes, but we lingered a little in our friendly goodbye hug. We both knew that we wouldn't necessarily see each other again. But we had enjoyed what time we had had together.