[F]ucking my favorite bartender

There’s this bar in my neighborhood that I like either starting or ending my night at. It’s not a dive or really high class — it’s just a cool bar with really awesome bartenders. I’ve become pretty friendly with some of the regulars and bartenders, and while it’s one of my favorite places for a convenient hookup, I usually keep it “professional” with the bartenders and the guys I see there all the time.

And I think we can tell where this is going.

Dean is my favorite bartender. 6’2, handsome, scruffy beard, tatted up from head to toe. He’s 29 and in an on-again, off-again relationship with a girl named Bethany. She loves a rugged guy as much as I do, obviously, but she hates a bartender’s hours/lifestyle.

Anyway, it was 9ish on a Thursday. Dean had been feeding me high-octane vodka sodas for the past 2 hours. He asked if I wanted to check out with him since he was getting off soon. I said yes, and of course, the bill was about half of what it should be. Then he asked me if I was done for the night or if I wanted to have a drink with him at a bar down the street. This was not unusual — I’ve hung out with the bartenders before, but usually as a group. Again I said yes. The drinking continued.

Dean caught up pretty quickly and by midnight we were wobbly. I asked him to walk me home and he was eager to. Now by this point, we had started to get close and handsy. No mention of Bethany, so I assumed they were off — but I always let the man make the move in these cases.

And he did. At my building’s front door he kissed me. Lots of the tongue. The most tongue. I needed him. I didn’t invite him up so much as he followed me up. He was against me so hard, he practically penetrated me through his jeans in the elevator.

We rushed to my bedroom. In the dark, I kicked off my heels and started to shimmy out of my sundress. I moaned something about condoms in my bedside table. I heard the sound of jeans unbuckling, getting kicked off across the room. And before I could get fully out of my dress, Dean pushed me on my stomach on my bed. Two hands were on my hips, lifting me onto my knees. Then, his cock was plunging inside me, over and over and over again. I could hear him groaning “fuck fuck fuck” quietly. He was done in a few minutes. He pulled out and apologized.

“I’m sorry, I just had to do that real quick. You make me so fucking horny.”

I laughed and said it was fine. He went to the bathroom to clean up and I got the rest of the way out of my dress. He came back into the room, his button down unbuttoned, but still on. He took it off and climbed into bed with me. We started to make out, his rough fingers groping my tits, playing with my nipples. Then those fingers were teasing my clit… then diving inside me… Without a word, he threw the blanket back and his face disappeared between my legs. His tongue swirled around my clit; lapped over it in hard, broad strokes. Then, he was flicking it hard and fast, two fingers inside me, aiming for my g-spot. And then… my hips raised and my thighs tightened around his head as I came. My fingers coiled in his hair as my body spasmed. Hard. Like, the most hard.

Then it was over. For a time. We laid there and put on some music and talked about nothing. I thought about asking about Bethany, but I thought either 1) he would lie to me or 2) it would make things awkward and I definitely wanted to fuck again.

And we did! I went to the kitchen and brought back a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

“Well that’s just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

By the time we took shots, he was rock hard and on me again. He rolled off long enough to roll on a condom, and then he was back between my legs, taking it slower this time, his lips making a circuit from my mouth to my neck to my tits. He got to his knees and put my legs on his shoulders, holding on and pumping slow, a thumb rubbing my clit. It didn’t take long for me to cum again. He kept a firm grip on my legs and managed to keep his cock inside me as I convulsed again.

He let go of my legs and let me catch my breath, then fucked me hard and deep, making my bed squeak and slam into the wall in a harsh rhythm. I held onto him for dear life, whispering dirty nothings in his ear. Then he came again with one loud groan. He kissed me, then went to clean up again. I did the same. We had one more drink together before making one final, very important decision: I was calling in sick the next day.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/6j2jcs/fucking_my_favorite_bartender