Blink [les][ffm]

It begins, as things do, in a bar. This is where you work, six nights out of seven, in a small town at the South Eastern extremity of Spain. The bar is garishly decorated with British flags, punk memorabilia, and football scarves. The sign above the door reads “The Crown and Piper”, but the successive garblings of Spanish regulars have renamed it to Pepe’s. Self-consciously billed as an “English pub”, the bar is, in reality, an American style sports bar with soccer playing on large screens, and an extensive selection of bottled ales. Shunned by the ex-pat community it was design to attract, Pepe’s is unironically adored by a hard core of Spanish students and elderly regulars.

It is Thursday evening, and you are serving a young American sat alone at the bar.

You lead him through the beer menu with professional elan, deciding on Tea, “a light, golden ale with grassy notes” and you match his warm smiles with your own. He is dressed in a navy blue t-shirt and has short cropped hair. He has a cross of St Christopher around his neck. You are keenly aware of how snugly the shirt fits his body. He is built like a runner, or a gymnast. He is lean and hard.

You exchange names. His name is John, and yours is Haley.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asks, and you giggle girlishly.

“No,” you tell him, “I sort of got stranded here. There was a guy … it didn’t work out.”

“Huh,” he says, “so you’re single?” and you blush.

“Hold that thought,” you say, and move away to serve another customer.

They order three pints of Guinness, two bottles of Estrella, a cappuccino, and a virgin mary. You drum your fingers impatiently on the coffee machine as the last spurts of foam spatter noisily into the cup. Finally you take payment, load the drinks onto a tray and turn back to John with a smile but his attention is elsewhere. At that very moment, she is entering the bar, announcing herself with a cheery “Wotcha chick”. John is spinning around on his stool to greet her. He beams with pleasure and your steps falter when they hug. They do not kiss.

“Sorry I’m a bit late” she says and he laughs.

“You’re always late.”

She shrugs “You know how it is. So much to do, and so little time.” she looks around her as she sits beside him. She takes in the union jack bunting and Sex Pistols artwork and smirks. The Smiths are playing from a jukebox housed in a red telephone box.

She turns to look at you wide-eyed saying “Cor… they really went all out didn’t they?” and then she laughs. Her laugh is high and joyful and he laughs with her, and you laugh, too.

“I thought it would make you feel at home,” he says.

“Oh yeah” she giggles, “just like my old local.”

John turns to you, “Hey, can I get another one of those Tea things? And, uh …” he looks at his friend, “do you want like … an ale or something?”

She wrinkles her nose, “God no, you can keep that piss, love. Um… ” she leans toward you, standing at the bar “do you have a white wine?”

“How do you guys know each other?” you ask them and they look at each other.

“Workmates” she says, “Both on shoreleave.”

“Oh!” you say, “you’re with them?” and you gesture toward the window, out into the night, and over the water towards The Rock.

She grins at you and you notice how pretty she is under her spiky hair. “Uh-huh. John here is a mechanic, and I’m a … a pilot”

John leans toward you conspiratorially and says, “Lena is the best god damned pilot we have” and she elbows him in mock annoyance, then laughs, winks at you and says, “he’s right, actually.”

You spend the evening with them, filling their drinks, talking. You talk about the dreary Spanish town and the tacky, garish bar. You talk briefly about The Rock and the nature of their work, and when the bar closes, they stay behind helping to set chairs on tables. You go to another bar, in a basement and you dance together until the early hours. Lena dances close to you so that your bodies move around one another without ever touching. Under the strobe lights you dance between the moments, freeze-framed and vivid as though winking in and out of time. You dance with John, and his hands caress your body. Smiling, you rub against him, and his hands hold your hips. When you grind into him, you feel something quicken and pulse and you catch your breath. You drink far too quickly and your mind’s eye, too, becomes fractured and uncertain, so that only flashes remain.

Drunkenly, inadvisably, you go home together, all three of you. You sit on a couch between them. You drink and you talk and John’s hand rests on your thigh. You flirt and you blush until Lena loses patience, says “God’s sake, you two. Get _on_ with it” and pushes your head towards him and his head tilts to the side as you approach and your eyes close and the next thing you’re aware of is the warmth of his lips on yours. He has the faintest trace of stubble and it prickles you as you nuzzle and peck. You feel his lips open and you slip your arms around his waist and your tongue into his mouth. His right hand slides up your torso and squeezes your breast and you kiss him hungrily. When you break your kiss, you feel Lena’s hand in your hair and she _pulls_ you toward her, gently but firmly and again faces tilt and lips part, and her skin is so soft and somehow rose scented when you kiss her and you feel hands on your breasts and in your hair and between your legs, but you’re no longer sure whose they are.

Hands remove your t-shirt and fumble at your bra. Hands tug at your waistband and slip your pants off from your hips and you lift yourself to help them. Tongues dip into your mouth, lips pucker and tug at your nipples, and you are moaning. You are lifting yourself upward to push against her hands, his hands, stroking your pussy and pushing inside you. You are wet, so wet, and soft fingers pull at your hair and hold you by the throat. Hands hold your wrists tightly above your head while Lena’s mouth moves hotly over your breasts.

You are on your knees and John is sitting in front of you. His body ripples with compact strength and his cock is erect. Lena’s voice says “Well then, pet, see to him” and you lower your lips to swallow him. He fills your mouth, and Lena’s hand presses lightly on the back of your head, urging you deeper. Your eyes close and you submit to them. She moves your head up and down on him, fucking your mouth onto his hard shaft and you groan and gag. You suck hard at the head of his cock and he shudders underneath you. The two of you are knelt together. Your tongues jointly swirl and lick his head. Lena’s hands rub his shaft up and down, wanking him into your open mouth. A clear fluid wells up from the head of his prick and you relish the savoury tang on your tongue. She strokes your cheek and whispers to you. You don’t remember her words, only a sense of burning need. Your face is sticky with cum and Lena is kissing you, licking your cheek clean. Her tongue plunges into your mouth and the two of you share the taste of him on your kiss while your hands seek one another’s heat.

John is behind you, plunging into you over and over. His cock forces its way inside you, right up to the hilt while your face is buried between Lena’s thighs. You are rubbing your lips over hers and eagerly lapping at her clitoris. Eahc time John slams into you, it pushes your face forward, sliding over her lubricated flesh. You nuzzle at her, your face is so wet. She is humping your nose and mouth as she plays with her nipples, telling you that you’re her good girl. You are cumming so hard and drinking her nectar. Your tongue is deep inside her hot wet passageway as it squeezes and clenches and her juices run down your face.

And then it is blinking queasy morning and you are in your bed, naked and sticky. The curtains are open but the sky looks overcast and grey. You throw off the bedclothes bad naturedly and stumble to the bathroom. Blearily you peer in the mirror and stick out your tongue experimentally. You need water. You stumble out into the kitchen, and there she is, smiling cheerfully, leaning against the kitchen counter and drinking your coffee. She is delighted to see you. She winks and says “Morning, gorgeous. John had to skee-daddle back to base I’m afraid, so it’s just us girls. How’s your head?” and the sun streams in through the kitchen window.

You are shampooing your hair, hands slide across your belly from behind and you yelp in surprise. Her warm mouth bites at your neck. Her hands massage your breasts, slippery with soap and you melt for her. Her fingers rub wide circles over your belly and your thighs and up into the space between your breasts. You lean back against her and she holds you. Her fingers are stroking your nipples, they swell and harden under her touch. You turn and kiss her forcefully under the beating water and you feel yourself open for her fingers. She slides one, then two inside you, crooking them to stroke you inside. Your legs are trembling, but you lean into her and she is stronger than you would have imagined. You hear yourself gasping “Oh Jesus, I think I’m going to cum”, and she is kissing your cheek, murmuring in your ear, “That’s it, love, cum hard for me”, and so you do.

You are lying on the bed. You dry one another, frolicking among towels and duvets with warm open-mouthed kisses. You play and tease and laugh and then somehow she is on top of you, she has pinned you to the bed. She slides up toward your mouth, and when her wet sex makes contact with your lips she arches her back and rubs herself into your face. Your hands are grasping her buttocks and pulling her into you. She looks down at you as she grinds. Her face is contorted by pleasure and she strokes your hair tenderly.

You are under the bed clothes, with Lena spooning you. Her knees fit so neatly into the spaces behind your own. Her left arm crosses your body, holding you close under your breasts while her right hand strokes your clitoris. Your eyes are closed, and it is warm and dark and secure. She is teasing your clit, idly stroking it up and down, as slowly as she can. Her mouth nuzzles at the nape of your neck. She is inhaling your scent and sighing comfortably. She presses down softly on your hooded clit and rubs tiny circles and your body begins to shiver, and it is warm and dark and secure.

You go for a long breakfast in the sunshine. Lena drinks extraordinary amounts of coffee, and you make small talk until she asks you “How much do you remember of last night?” and you flush a deep red. She is taking your hand in hers, her thumb is rubbing your fingers. She leans in close and whispers “you were such a well-behaved little thing” and your chest is so tight and your heart is pounding and all you can think to say is “Thank you”.

You say “I wish you didn’t have to go” and she flashes you that goofy grin and says “Me too, babes, but they’ll come and get me if I don’t show up. Awkward, if you know what I mean.”

You look at your feet and say “I had a really nice time” and she launches herself at you and hugs you tight and says, “Me too, love. You were lovely.”

She is leaving your apartment. You share a lingering kiss in the hallway. She tells you “I really have to go. I’m late enough as it is.”

Your voice stammers as you feign nonchalance and ask “Maybe we’ll see each other again?” and she looks almost hurt.

“Of course we will, you div. I’m going to be a bit manic for a few days is all. I’m … flying something new… but I promise I’ll call you as soon as I can find time.”

You’re hugging, she is walking away, and you will never hear of her again.

—————

I’m Robin Goodfellow. I write stories for people in order to distract myself from existential panic. If you have a peculiar kink, or niggling fantasy, I’d love to hear it so that I can write about it in exchange for Reddit karma and attention.

If this one floated your boat, tickled your pickle, or opened your pearly gates, send me happy thoughts. I do this for upvotes and orange envelopes.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/8d3ewh/blink_lesffm