Last Ones at the Bar [MF]

Hi! Long time lurker, first time submitter.

Looking to submit this at a few other sites, so I’d love any feedback you have. Is it hot? Did reading this turn you on? Does it flow well? Is the plot clear? Is it believable? Is it too flourish-y? Is the grammar acceptable-ish? Does everything make sense? I love tipsy/drunk/stoned sex, but consent is always an issue. I like consent. Do you feel like this is consensual? And how’s the ending? I feel like it needs a bit more but…

I’d even take spelling checks! Editing is always the hard part for me.

Thanks for reading!

***

We’re both at a show. It’s loud, loud like I’m-going-to-be-regretting-it-tomorrow loud. The band is…meh? They’re fine. They’re from Wisconsin. They’re loud. They’re whatever.

By now most of the people who came to the show either left, are still in the crowd but clearly regretting it, or they, like us, went straight to the bar at some point in the last hour. It’s a long show. You and I have been eyeing each other for that last hour. Of our disparate groups of friends, we are now the remaining survivors at the bar. All our friends left us: for a smoke break, weed break, a different show down the block, or just plain ditched us, whatever, and for this moment it’s just you and I at the bar in a sparsely populated bottom of the barrel venue with cheap drinks.

You wouldn’t hear me if I said anything, we’re too far apart, so I wave from across the bar. You wave back and smile this big smile. It’s big and beautiful. It sinks like a hook into me and I feel my heart drop. You motion me over with this kind of cowgirl mosey on over thing. I come on over.

Then more drinks. The kind of talking that is actually yelling, the kind of talking-yelliing where you have to get close to me and I have to get close to you. Close like I smell you every time I answer your question because I am yelling it into your ear. Feeling the strands of your hair brush my face. Smelling your sweat and perfume. Our ears are going to be so shot, but every time you stretch to answer my question into my ear, it’s so worth it. Bonus: every time you lean over to say something to me, your v-cut white t-shirt dips down and I get a steal at your cleavage and round, white breasts with freckles on their tops, unfortunately covered by a lacey deep purple bra. When I’m able to concentrate on talking – yelling – we talk neighborhoods, we talk friends, we talk movies. We have a lot in common but honestly it’s all just an excuse to get close to each other, pretty sure of that.

I ask you something, it’s about did you watch this tv show or something or other, and then there’s a long pause as you stare at the mirror behind the bar.

“Are you ok?” I yell, and smile.

You look startled. “I think I’m kinda high,” you yell in my ear to explain. “I had a couple gummies like an hour ago?” You smile big again – ugh – and add with a big smile, “I think it was an hour ago? I don’t know!” you laugh.

I laugh. I’m feeling good too. No gummies tonight but the drinks have definitely lubricated my brain. And my cock. I notice I am hard as a rock down there.

We keep talking, yelling. I keep leaning over to you, you to me, and each time you do you’re now brushing up against me and I’m feeling your breasts push gently into me. My brain goes into overload every time you do. I feel like a teenager again because I’m suddenly thinking about the one time I went to that church youth group and it turned out that Stephanie Silverson, the hottest girl in the school, who I and many others I’m sure used to dream about while jacking off (sorry Stephanie), was a youth leader at the church, so when I walked into the youth center and she ran up and gave me this big hug and her breasts pushed into my body like giant marshmallows, I got a huge hard-on in a second and pushed away, or also in high school when the dental assistant would lean over to clean my teeth and all I could feel was her breasts pushing against my shoulder, and then it was all I could do to not get a hard-on in the dental chair, all that is me right now, a horny teenager pulsing with sex drive, singularly focused, basking in the moment of the softness and warmth of your breasts pushing against me every time you lean over.

“What?” I yell back? I, uh, didn’t hear the question.

You roll your eyes and lean back over and it’s Stephanie Silverson dental assistant again and I can’t concentrate on the question and so I just laugh and nod in response and hope that does it.

It does.

By the time the band finishes up, our voices are cracking. There’s that sudden moment of quiet, between the close of the song and when the moment of joy for the sound guy to get to play the playlist he’s been working on for months, and you realize it has been fucking loud.

“Wow,” you say, looking around in amazement, “It’s so quiet.” You smile.

I nod, but wish it was loud so that you would have had to push into me to say anything.

We keep talking; another round of drinks (oh oh). And then it’s the second band. That was quick. Less setup? As the speakers boom out whatever band the audio engineer thinks we should know about, the crowd thins out even more. What time is it? Jesus: two, three in the morning now.

The band starts up. They’re less meh than the first band but still most definitely meh. It’s super loud, again. We both laugh at each other because what’s the point of talking?

You hoist yourself up off your bar stool, lean into me, your long brown-red hair falling down into the valley between your pale, freckled breasts, “Do you, uh, want to meet me in the bathroom?” you yell.

Uh, yeah, of course I do. I nod. I smile. I probably look dumbfounded, like a teenage me that just won the lottery. Which I did. It’s one glance at you to realize I just won the sex lottery tonight. But then there’s a quick thought, and I put my hand on your hand, which is itself electrical, and I yell into your ear, trying to push through the liquorial lubrication to form a sentence, “If you’re high, or uh, tipsy or whatever” I yell, “I don’t want to, er, you know,“ dammit brain find the words don’t mess this up, “take advantage of you.” I shrug, hoping for the best.

You lean back and your big smile stretches across your face in slow motion. Your brown eyes, behind your glasses, are a little bloodshot. You are definitely high. And I am definitely as attracted to that smile as I am your tits. God. Your smile is a source of gravity for my eyes, and I can’t pick whether to look at your eyes or smile or blatantly look down your shirt. Does not compute! I’m so nerdy. Focus! Ok. It looks like you’re thinking of a sentence. You smile big again. Then you lean into me, and if any leaning-in to push your tits against me ala Stephanie Silverson ala dental assistant ala whatever before was accidental, and maybe it wasn’t, ok it probably wasn’t, then this is definitely not accidental; your body is pushing into me in a way that is conducive of more of whatever electricity I am feeling and there is no doubt you are feeling my hard cock against your thigh. I struggle not to instinctively start humping you here and now.

“Consent turns me the fuck on,” you yell into my ear. “I consent to you fucking me very very hard in the bathroom.” You lean your face back a little so we’re looking into each other’s eyes (through your very cute glasses) and then lean back to my ear, and God your breasts are pushing into me again and it’s me in Stephanie Silverson’s embrace, fuck how many times did I masturbate to that and now this, “No condom. Just your cock, ok?”

You lean back and I am clearly thinking about this. You lean back to my ear, “I’m just off my period. Maybe a little spotty,” you look at me, tracking my response, and then step back and yell, “I want all of this right up in me, hard,” and as you say that you tippy-toe and straddle my leg and through your jeans, you push your pussy right up against my cock, which already feels like it could explode, and in that instant, I immediately think of church, again!, but those church videos where a televangelist waves his hand and feel fall down stricken. I’m so bowled over with lust, by you grinding your pussy against me, there’s a solid chance I’m just going to pass right here out on this barstool and fall to the ground.

You stand back and yell, “Ok?”

I nod and yell back, “Ok.” I also notice a wet spot on your jeans at your pussy. I look down and I have a wet spot too. I can feel the slickness of my precum. Yikes.

You notice me noticing this and there’s that smile. “Wait, uh, 60 seconds?” you say.

“Ok,” I yell back but you’re already gone, your hair flipping back as you turn around. And now I’m appreciating a new part of you: your ass in this LA hipster high-rise jeans, swinging lazily back and forth as you dodge drunks.

I breathe in, my world spinning. I’m tipsy, no I’m drunk, definitely drunk, but I’m also drunk on sex, so I try to purposefully count the minute out, knowing my sense of time is way, way the fuck off. Sixty seconds. It feels like forever. I try to pass the time looking at the bar’s liquor shelves, catch the eye of the bartender who smiles at me, I guess knowingly, and I smile back. God this is taking forever. And how long is this fucking song? It’s so bad. So meh. Whew.

Fifty-eight….fifty-nine….sixty. Sixty. Fuck yeah. I get up, leave cash on the bar, nod at the bartender, and head down the hall, go to open the door. It’s locked..

I knock.

You unlock it, open it a crack and look me over, and let me in.

I come inside. The room is small, smells like shit and piss and vomit, with black walls, graffiti and stickers, and toilet paper and paper towels and band posters everywhere, the fluorescent lights flickering a message of “replace me, replace me,” and honestly it’s just a nondescript shitty venue bathroom, and I congratulate my tipsy drunk self on remembering to lock the door, and then walk to you as you walk backwards towards the wall, where a few feet before we get to the wall I grab your shoulders, your breasts jiggle a bit and you smile because this is exactly what you wanted, and you and I turn you around and I push you against the wall.

You moan because it hurts a little, and I can tell you like it. “I like that,” you say in a voice that is not a yell, but it does sound kinda porn-y, and I like it.

I go to say something but, what’s your name? I forget. Did I tell you my name? I don’t think we’ve said either. I just know I’ve really liked our yelled-at, barside conversation, and I’ve liked watching your smile, your brown hair or is it red I guess it’s it-depends-on-the-light hair, the shape of your freckled breasts against the white cotton v-cut shirt, your ass, the heat of your breath in my ear. That’s as much as I know. So I just grunt.

“Fuck. Me,” you respond, saying it to me but to the wall, and you unzip your jeans and start to pull them down and as you do you stick your ass out big and shake it, you’re bristling with sexual confidence, like an animal in heat would do to show how ready it is to be filled and is sure it will.

You’re wearing a bra-matching purple lacey underwear, it’s high-rised so it goes up your ass and over your hips, and you wiggle your ass again. Your ass is white and big and thick. As I try to undo my fly buttons with my right hand, I run my left hand over your thick big ass cheek. Your head is turned a little bit and I can see you’re smiling with delight. “Fuck me,” you moan.

Ok. I keep undoing my jean buttons. My cock is so fucking solid, so strained, it’s making it difficult to undo these fucking jeans. Fuck, why did I wear button-up jeans tonight.

“Come on,” you say, your voice dripping with impatience, you pushing your ass into me, which is welcome but makes it harder to undo everything.

There’s a new smell in here. Pure musk. Pussy, pussy, pussy. Your pussy. It’s overwhelmed all the piss and shit and vomit. I guess you smell it too because you moan, “I’m so wet,” in that super sexed-up porno voice.

Finally, I undo the last button, pull back my boxer briefs, and my cock jumps out like it’s gasping for breath. I look down and my cock is pointing straight at your thick pale perfect ass. Your ass is wiggling and jiggling just a little, like it’s saying “fuck me,” and my cock is pointing right at it like an arrow, saying “yes, fuck that.”

Unlike an IKEA sheet, these are easy directions, so I obey, and just step forward, and as I do you left your ass up just enough, and it all comes together. My fullness slides right into the folds of your pussy like it’s a perfect landing. I’m looking in the mirror across from us and realize, as I see it, that I will never forget what I’m seeing: it’s your stoned-as-fuck-eyes rolling up into your head as I go into you, and I’m suddenly thinking about all the times I’ve jacked off to the whenitgoesin subreddit and how this is so, so much better, here have an upvote, because everything is just fitting perfectly. I’m feeling me in you and it’s all so warm and wet, I wish I could watch it from below and lick up all our juices. God I am drunk. I pull back a little bit, and there’s this lovely shuuucck sound. I look down and my penis is glistening in the strobe-like fluorescent light.

“Stop being slow, dammit. Just fuck me. I need it so bad,” you say, moaning hard, your face turned to me. You breathe in, turn back to the wall, whisper “Use me.”

Ok. I like to think I’m a pretty nice guy. When I’ve had sex with other partners, I try to make her cum first, always. If we can get real deep here, yes I’ve been to therapy; I know there’s a lot pent up in all that. It’s good, her cumming first, but also it comes from a performance anxiety, a deep-seated desire to please. But I have to say that in this moment, right here, late in the night or early morning or whatever, in this shitty pussy-scent filled bathroom, I let go of all that. I consent to you wanting to be used.

So, I use you.

I grit my teeth and I thrust into you, hard, like a decision made. My pelvis slaps your thick ass and your ass fat jiggles and I revel in it. I feel my cock hitting the lower folds of your cervix. I know you feel it too because I see you in the mirror and your high eyes get really big and you have this smile on your face, different than before. It’s a smile of pure pleasure.

I give it a second, not to check anything but because I want to, and you say, “Yeah. That’s it. More please.”

I pull back, and I thrust myself into you again. Your ass jiggles again, your body pushed forward into the wall. I grab a tit. “Yes,” you say.” Your nipples are so hard, hard enough to push through the fabric of that bra and the shirt. “Yes please,” you say, and before I can thrust again you reach into your shirt and pull your left tit out the bra. I can’t wait so I thrust again, there’s that cervix, and you’re so wet it’s like your whole pussy is a big tongue wrapped around my cock licking me down from my cock head, to the frenulum, down my thick shaft’s pulsing vein, to my balls.

“Oh,” you say, surprised. I sit there pushing up for a second, doing a little extra bonus thrust to push against your cervix again. You take a quick moment to finish pulling your tit out of your bra and it’s now hanging there against your t-shirt fabric. I can see the nipple pushing against it, like a pebble.

“Tweak my titty. Pull my nipples, hard, ok, don’t hold back, just fuck me, just do it,” you say, almost angrily.

I do what I want, which is to pull out, take a microsecond to admire my slick dick, and then thrust in again, all while I’m pulling hard on your nipple. The sex has pushed through the fog of my drunkenness and everything is so clear. I thrust again. You moan. I do it again, fondling your breast, kneading it. I pull back, thrust again.

God. I’ve had sex plenty of times but never like this. It’s the universe coalescing to this moment. I know that sounds ridiculous, but in that shit-vomit-piss-filled bathroom, that’s what it feels like: everything coming together at once.

“I love this,” you say. “You’re so good at fucking me. So good. You’re so good,” you say, and fuck me it’s like you’re my new therapist. I swear to God that one affirming sentence saves me thousands of dollars in sessions. I reward you with another thrust. You moan hard again. And because I want to, I slap your ass hard.

Your moan goes upwards, like you’re surprised, but then you say, “I like that. Spank me again.” I thrust, spank you again with my right hand as my left hand wanders to your other tit, pulling it, squishing it against your rib cage, and I push hard into you yet again.

Now I’m just doing it all whenever I want, thrusting all the while, the bathroom full of the sounds of the band outside creeping in under the crack of the door, my skin slapping your skin, your moans, and the slick sound of my cock going in and out of your pussy. For a bit, I’m reaching around and grabbing both your tits, and we’re looking at each other in the mirror knowing we both look fucking hot, God do we look hot like a million dollar porn (in a shit filled bathroom). I’s time for me to spank you again. You nod as I pull my hand back and let it go onto your thick ass.

Slap.

You cringe a bit, your ass is red now with my handprint.

Thank you Sir,” you say.

“Huh?” I ask.

“Shhh. Just. Fuck. Keep. Fucking.”

You’re feeling my cock ride into you, and this and everything is just primal. You’re an animal, with an animal pussy, needing the cock that I have, that I am pushing into you, like I have no other choice. It’s what I’m mean to do.

But then, as I look at myself in the mirror, I stop, for just half a second, and my old self seeps in for a minute, the old self that wants to wait and please and do the right thing, and then I think that maybe you want it gentle, slow. I think you can tell I’m slowing down, and your face scrunches up. “Why are you stopping,” you ask, “the fuck?”

“Ok,” I say, “I get it,” and I lean forward, my mouth breathing into your ear like before when we had to yell, only this time I half speak half grunt, “You want to be protected. Taken, and protected.” I don’t even know where that phrase came from. It’s weird, right? Whatever. I thrust hard again, right up into you, pushing harder than I have, and the frame of my body pushes your body up and into the wall where we’re now prone against it.

And right then, when my big hard cock hits the top of your vagina, when it reaches forward, in the wake of me grunting to you, that right then is when you cum. I can feel it, your pussy convulsing around my cock, quivering, like it’s an earthquake. A pussy-quake. It’s clear that when I said “taken and protected,” what an interesting turn of phrase, something clicked for you and those words sealed the deal. I feel your body and every bit of your body is pulsing to the same orgasmic pulse. Pulse on, off. In, out, in out, yes yes yes no yes no. Everything is binary and this is where it begins, the beginning and middle and end of an amazing orgasm. You’re not breathing. You’re just pulsing. I feel it all as I sandwich you against the wall.

OK, you’re still not breathing.

I’m actually a bit worried.

But then you finally breathe in.

God. You came so hard.

“God,” you say, “I came so hard.”

You let a big breath out. I feel that breath coming off the wall.

I’ve been breathing on your neck, you’ve felt it, the push of hot air from me to you, and even though I haven’t cum, I have this new sensation: oh, wow, I’m happy. I want more though.

“It’s my turn,” I say to your ear. There’s nothing to say about what happens next except it’s just more fucking, fuck fuck fucking, and it doesn’t take long or much but a dozen or so hard thrusts into you, and then I’m exploding into you, thrusting as hard as I can with each spurt, using you as a cum depository, yes yes yes, primally trying to get that cum up in you as far as it can go. The universe is telling me to do it. Get that cum up in there. Do it. I am. My cum just keeps coming. I feel like my dick just dove into a hot tub of thick molasses. It feels so good and I want it to last forever.

I’m the one not breathing now. My body relaxes a little. I pull out, look down. My cock is still hard, but not as hard, and slowly relaxing, slowly dripping white cum to the floor.

I breathe out big again. I guess we’re officially now in that moment after cumming. The afterglow? I step back a little, your back is still to me.

“I am so high right now,” you say to the wall, and you giggle a bit. “I imagine me as Scrooge McDuck swimming in my pussy through your white, wet, hot cum squishing around in my vagina. Squish squish” You giggle again, shaking your ass a little.

I laugh. I look in the mirror. We…look good together.

You turn around, my arms framing you with the wall. You’re short. You look up at me and smile, adjust your glasses, lick your lips.

“I’m going to be Scrooge McDuck and lick your cum,” you say.

I smile, bemused. “Ok,” I say.

While looking straight at me, you reach down with your hand. There’s a hot, sexy, squishy noise as you stick your fingers into your pussy, and when you bring your hand back up, it’s all covered in wet white juices. “Yum,” you say, and you start licking your fingers, putting them in your mouth.

God, I think my dick is hardening again.

“How tipsy are you?” you ask.

“Tipsy,” I say.

You reach down again, another sqoosh, and when your hand comes back up, there’s more, a lot more cum and pussy juice. “Eat us,” you order me.

I smile, think about it, get a flash of a weird memory of taking communion at that youth group, thinking I like being ordered by you and it’s hot, and I’m hardening even a little more, and then I let the tipsiness take over and I start licking your fingers. I keep my eyes open, watching you. You’re watching my mouth and your fingers, you’re doing this thing that moms do when their babies eat, mirroring my mouth movements. The juices of us are vicious, thick, warm, salty, just a little sweet but just as musky and pungent, a waft of iron, guess that’s your period. I lick my lips. So do you a little.

“Tastes good doesn’t it,” you smile. “You like it don’t you,” you ask, and I nod. Then you tippy-toe up and push your lips into me and we kiss, exchanging the saltiness, our spit, my cum, your pussy juice. It’s just tongues, a big sloppy, tipsy, drunk, stoned kiss, all over, no breath, my wet mouth compensating for your dry mouth. It’s a good fucking kiss.

Our kiss breaks; someone is banging hard on the door. “Show’s over assholes, get the fuck out of there.”

You smile big, bending down to pull up your jeans, your tits hanging down, and I cop another glance. God I am so horny right now.

“Guess we’d better go,” you say, winking as you pull your jeans up.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/lcin0t/last_ones_at_the_bar_mf