Last at the Bar [MF] [Consensual] [Stoned] [Tipsy]

Would love any feedback on this or advice on making it better.

Story involves quickie sex at in a bar bathroom, slight cum-eating, cannabis, & drinking. I find consent very hot and have tried to make it as overt as possible, but if you feel that tipsy/stoned sex between two people that just met is not consensual or is triggering than you may want to avoid.

***

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 meh. 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. You and I have been eyeing each other for that last hour. Slowly our friend groups dwindled away, and it’s pretty much just us at the bar.

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 a big and beautiful smile that sinks into me like a hook. My heart drops a beat. You motion me over with this kind of cowgirl mosey on over thing. So I do.

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

At one point I ask you something, 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, “I think it was an hour ago? I don’t know! Time is weird!” you laugh.

I laugh. I’m feeling good too. No gummies tonight but the drinks have definitely lubricated my brain. Oh geez, and my cock. I notice I am hard as a rock.

We keep talking (yelling). I keep leaning over to you, you to me, and each time you do your 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 because this time when you do that, 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 that church, who fucking knew!, 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 an instant huge hard-on, and in a second I pushed her away. Had to.

Or, also in high school, when the dental assistant cleaning my teeth would lean over, 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. I was thinking about boobs. I keep that part to myself.

You roll your eyes, smile like you know what’s going on, because you probably do, and lean back over and hot damn it’s Stephanie Silverson and the 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. Which it does.

By the time the band finishes up, our voices are cracking. Then there’s that sudden awkward moment of quiet between the close of a set but before the sound guy plays his playlist that he’s been working on for months.

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

My ears are ringing already.

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

We keep talking some more as one band packs up and another loads in. There’s another round of drinks (oh oh). And then it’s the second band about to start. That was quick. Less setup? The crowd thins out even more. What time is it? Jesus: two, three in the morning now.

The second band starts up, with a haphazard hello. They know how empty it is in here. They’re less meh than the first band but still most definitely meh. It’s super loud, again, in an instant. Guitars, drums, shouting vocals. We both laugh at each other because what’s the point of talking?

So instead 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, and yell, “Do you, uh, want to meet me in the bathroom?”

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 kind of did win the lottery, if the lottery is a sex-with-you lottery. So, yeah, jackpot, I’m all in. But then I have this quick thought, and I put my hand on your hand, it’s so warm, 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.”

Take advantage of you. Yikes. 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 as fuck. And I am definitely as attracted to that smile as I am your tits. God. Your smile is a another source of gravity for my eyes, and I can’t pick whether to look at your eyes or at your 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 an electrically conductive way, 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. “ So yes, I consent to you fucking the fuck out of 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, “No condom. Just your cock, ok?”

You lean back and I am clearly thinking about this. You lean back to my ear, “Caveat: I’m just off my period. Maybe a little spotty,” you look at me, shrugging, tracking my response, which is an I-don’t-care-response, and then step back into me and yell into my ear, “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 unstraddle, 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 big dopey smile again. “Wait, uh, 60 seconds?” you say, suggesting a very cogent idea for someone as high/drunk/horny as you are.

“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 sexual energy, it’s hard to sort out which drunk is which, so I try to purposefully count the minute out, knowing my sense of time is way, way the fuck off. Sixty seconds. It’s forever. I try to pass the time looking at the bar’s liquor shelves, catch the eye of the bartender who smiles at me, knowingly, and I smile back sheepishly. 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, a good tip too, food service people don’t get paid enough but we’re about to fuck in her bathroom, 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 like it’s a speakeasy, only this is a fuckeasy – I stifle a laugh at my dumb humor – and you let me in.

I step inside. The room is small, smells like shit and piss and vomit. Painted black walls, graffiti and stickers, toilet paper, paper towels, band posters everywhere. The fluorescent lights flicker a message of “replace me, replace me.”

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, appreciate how 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, your voice cracking a bit, which is hot.

I go to say something and say your name but, what is your name? I forget. Did I tell you my name? I don’t think we’ve said anyone’s name. 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. I like you. That’s as much as I know. It’s enough. So I just grunt back a grunted approval of what’s happening.

“Fuck. Me,” you respond, saying it to me but to the wall, and you unzip your jeans and start to pull them down. As you do you stick your ass out big and shake it a little, bristling with sexual confidence, like an animal in heat would 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 like you know I’m appreciating it all. I love it. Your ass is pale white and big and thick and I want it. As I try to undo my fly buttons with my right hand, I run my left hand over your thick big ass cheek. Smooth, and warm. Your head is turned a little bit and I can see you’re smiling with delight. “Fuck me,” you moan, the words increasingly sounding like an order.

Ok, 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.

I breathe in because the room is tilting just a little. When I do I notice there’s a new smell in here: musk, and pussy, pussy, pussy. Your pussy. In fact your pussy musk is so strong it’s overwhelmed all the smells of piss and shit and vomit. I guess you smell it too because you moan, “I’m so wet,” in a super sexed-up cracking 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, let’s fuck that.”

Unlike an IKEA sheet, these are easy directions, so I obey. I step forward, and as I do you lift your ass up just enough so that it all comes together like a really simple erotic rube goldberg machine. As my fullness slides right the folds of your pussy, I look in the bathroom mirror. 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. Now I’m suddenly thinking about all the times I’ve jacked off to the whenitgoesin subreddit and how this is so, so much better, so 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 set against the sounds of the mediocre band from outside. I look down and my penis is glistening in the strobing fluorescent light.

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

Ok. Quick tangent. If this were a movie you’d hear a record scratch. I like to think I’m a really nice guy. I don’t mean nice like it doesn’t matter. I mean, like when it comes sex, you’re first. It’s a rule I have. Nice guys finish last kinda thing. Let’s go deeper. Yes I have been to therapy so I know there’s a lot pent up in all my performance anxiety. Part of it is good; I get off on my partner getting off. But part of it isn’t so good, because it’s rooted in a deep-seated desire to people-please. All this true. 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. I consent to your conscension. That’s funny.

So, I decide to use you.

I grit my teeth and I thrust into you, hard, like a decision made. It’s the kind of thrust one makes when one knows everything will go into the right place. And it does. My pelvis slaps your thick ass and your ass fat jiggles and I revel in it. I decide I want to see your ass jiggle again, because I like it. So I pull back a little – there’s that shuuck sound again – and I thrust hard, again. Your ass jiggles again. I love this. It’s like you’re slot machine, and every time I stick into your slot I get rewarded. We both do. I can tell because you moan hard, the kind of moan that is going inward on itself. I like this, all this. I thrust it again, and I feel my cock go deeper, this time 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 indulgence, of pure pleasure.

“Yeah. That’s it. More, more, please,” you beg.

I pull back, and I thrust myself into you again. Your ass jiggles again, your body pushed forward into the wall. I want to grab your tit. So I do; I grab your left tit through your shirt. It’s soft, pliable, like it belongs in the cup of my hand.

Your nipples are so hard. “Please, please, please,” you moan to the wall. Before I can thrust into you again, I reach into your shirt and pull your left tit out the bra. My body can’t wait so I give it what it wants and I thrust again, there’s your cervix. You’re so wet it feels like your pussy is a big sloppy tongue wrapped all around my cock, licking me down from my head to the frenulum down my thick shaft’s pulsing vein to my balls.

“Oh,” you say, surprised as I keep pushing up. You take a quick moment to fully pull your tit out of your bra, putting your hands back on the wall, and your tit now hanging there against your t-shirt fabric. In the mirror I 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 can’t hurt me enough. Use me as your cum-toy,” 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 now 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 feels like the universe has coalesced to this moment. I know that sounds ridiculous, pretentious, but in that shit-vomit-piss-filled bathroom, there’s no other way to describe what’s happening except to say that everything is coming together at once. The convergence of my cock with your pussy is some real cosmic level shit.

“I love this,” you say. “You’re so good at fucking me. So good. You’re so good,” you say, repeating it over and over again like a mantra. Well, congrats you are now officially my new therapist. I swear to God that one affirming phrase, “you’re so good” is fucking magic, and every time you say it, you save me a thousand of dollars in therapy zoom sessions. I reward you with another thrust, my little slot machine. You moan hard again. This is working great.

And because I suddenly want to, I slap your ass hard. The crack fills the small room, so loud I’m sure if someone were on the other side of the door they’d have heard it over the band.

Your moan goes upwards, you must be surprised, but then you say, “I like that a lot. Spank me again.” I thrust, and 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. For someone as drunk as I am, I am fucking Dr. Octopus.

Next second I’m done wasting time and I just do 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 pornographic stoned moans, 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). Well, it’s time for me to spank you again, that much is clear. I want to watch myself do it. I rear my hand up and you nod as I pull my hand back and let it go onto your thick ass.

Slap.

You cringe a bit. I look down. Your white ass is red now with my handprint.

“Thank you Sir,” you say.

The Sir comes as a bit of a surprise. “Huh?” I ask.

“Shhh. Just. Fuck. Keep. Fucking. Sir.”

Well, this just got hotter. God, I love words. I fuck harder. For all this talk about words we’re effectively at pre-linguistic primal phase now. You’re an animal, with an animal pussy, needing the cock that I have, that I am just another animal, pushing into you like I have no other choice. Cock into pussy. It’s what I’m meant to do.

But then, as I look at myself in the mirror again, I stop, or slow down, or something, and for just half a second 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 because your face scrunches up. “Why are you stopping,” you ask, “the fuck?”

“Ok,” I say, letting sexual epiphany chase out sexual inadequacy. “Ok. I get it,” and I lean forward, and let go, 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, taken and protected, 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.

“I think you want to be owned, don’t you,” I say, not at all sounding like usual myself.

“Fuck yes, own me own me!” you cry to the wall.

“Ok. I own you,” I grunt into your ear, and right then, as I push up and 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 too; your pussy convulsing around my cock, quivering, like it’s an earthquake. A pussy-quake. It’s clear that when I said “own you,” 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. Like the fluorescent lights. All of it very binary. You’re not breathing anymore, air in and out. You’re just pulsing sexual energy on and off.

I feel it all as I sandwich you against the wall.

OK for real, you’re still not breathing.

I’m actually a bit worried.

But then you finally breathe in, and I feel your ribcage expand.

Whew.

God. You came so hard.

“God,” you say, “I came so hard.”

You let a big breath out. I’m close enough that I feel your breath coming off the wall.

I want more.

“It’s my turn,” I say to your ear. I don’t wait. 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, exactly how you wanted, yes yes yes, me pushing hard 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! it says. Do it. I am! My cum just keeps coming. There’s so much of it, it feels like cum is being rushed from all places all over my body.

I slow, then stop.. I let myself feel my dick sitting in the warmth. It’s like my dick is in a hot tub of thick, warm molasses. It feels so good and I want it to last forever. I push up a little just to jostle it all around, like you when you nestle in a bed of warm blankets.

How do I not leave this moment? How do I stay here, in the warm think wetness?

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, already relaxing, remnants of my cum slowly dripping to the floor.

You’re still up against the wall, gathering your breath too. My cum is dripping from your pussy onto your pulled down underwear and jeans.

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. God that ass.

“I am so high right now,” you say to the wall, and you giggle a bit. “Like all of that, I think it made me higher. Higher. Yeah. Higher. I mean, I imagine me as Scrooge McDuck swimming in my pussy through your white, wet, hot cum squishing around in my vagina. Squish squish squish!” You giggle again, speaking in a really bad Scottish accent, shaking your ass a little while you do.

I laugh. I look in the mirror as you turn around and look up at me. We…look good together. I put my hands on the wall my arms flanking you. You look up at me and smile, adjust your glasses, lick your lips. I realize how short you are. I like it.

“I’m going to be Scrooge McDuck,” you smile. I have no idea what you mean, but I smile, bemused. “Ok,” I say.

While looking straight at me, you reach down with your hand into your pussy. There’s a hot, sexy, squishy noise as you stick your fingers into your pussy, You moan, biting your lip as your fingers explore your cunt. When you bring your hand back up a moment later, they’re covered in wet white sticky juices.

“Yum,” you say, and you start licking your fingers, putting them in your mouth.

God. My dick instinctively jerks, starting to harden again.

“How tipsy are you?” you ask, as you lick our juices off your fingers.

“Tipsy,” I say.

“Tipsy enough to eat your own cum from my cunt,” you ask as you reach down again. There’s another sqoosh and when your hand comes back up, there’s a lot more cum and pussy juice. It’s running down your fingers like white thick syrup.

“Eat us,” you order me.

I smile, think about it, get a flash of a weird memory of taking communion at that youth group, I think I like you ordering me. I’m hardening even more. Then I let the tipsiness take over and I start licking your fingers. You move your fingers around my tongue, in and out, and in out. I keep my eyes open, watching you. You’re watching my mouth and your fingers, and 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. As you pull out, 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.” Sure enough, at some point in the last whenever, the band stopped. That was fast. Or we were slow. Even though it felt fast. I don’t know.

You smile that big smile, 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.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/n961go/last_at_the_bar_mf_consensual_stoned_tipsy