Love in an elevator pt.1 [MF]

have to preface this story with a disclaimer. I hate that song. Even before these events.

As I stepped off the elevator into the crowded bar, my friends singing their hearts out, I hoped no one would notice my wet face and shirt. She let go of my hand and walked up the hallway toward the back of the bar. At that moment, I realized just what kind of a naughty slut I was.
I walked to the bar to order a drink. A friend seeing me for the first time, said “Hey, why are you all wet?”
“Oh, I just washed my face in the bathroom. I worked out earlier,” I lied.
“Oh, ok.”
I looked down the bar, and my eyes locked with a beautiful brunette woman. She turned her head to the side with a naughty smile and began whispering in her friend’s ear.
I had just met her earlier that evening at the bar. I’m not even sure how we got to talking. She asked what I do for work. I gave my typical answer when I’m being provocative or flirty.
“I’m a sex educator.” Which is true, by training and by trade. Although sometimes people think I’m lying. She was a student. We were both in our early twenties at the time. She was gorgeous, not my typical type: heavily made up, slight, jeans with a kind of preppy, conservative look.
“Really?!”
I told her about my work. As she listened, she leaned in to hear me over the music. She was close enough for me to peer down her shirt. She pressed her tits together, so I could get a better look. It was subtle but I knew she wanted me, and I wanted her already.
We were in my favorite bar, I was comfortable and surrounded by friends. My friends provided live-band karaoke for anyone brave enough to sing, and performed covers of pop songs with extraordinary harmonies.
As we talked and flirted, she put her hand on my leg. I thought it was a bold move for an evangelical choir girl, but she was out with her best friend, a bad influence. I think she surprised herself. I put my hand on her knee and slid my hand up her thigh as we talked.
“I have to leave,” she blurted out and darted over to her friend.
I got up and walked down the hall, down the stairs to the restroom. I did my business, disappointed that I missed my opportunity to get her number. I washed my hands, and walked out the door. There she was, waiting for the restroom, although no one else was in line. Our eyes locked, she looked down and bit her lower lip.
I pushed her up against the wall and kissed her. I thought she might be timid or surprised, but she kissed me back passionately, wetly. She was petite, 5’4”, 120 pounds, long straightened auburn hair, brown eyes, and olive skin. I lifted her easily and pressed her against the wall. She immediately began pawing at my back and hooked her legs around my waist. I could feel her pressing and rubbing herself against me, searching for my hard cock. I pressed my cock against her, feeling the warmth and damp through my jeans. She grabbed my shoulders and pulled away, looking me in the eyes, my mouth searching for hers, “what are you doing to me?” she quavered.
“Do you want me to stop?” I said.
“I feel so bad!” She whispered, kissing and humping me as I held her against the wall. She had a hunger I had rarely encountered, like a caged tiger.
We had been oblivious to people walking past us to the bathrooms, until some guy crashed down the stairs and barked, “get a room!” That broke the spell. She pulled away. Then pushed me away. We stood on opposite walls practically gasping for breath. “My friend wants to go, I have to go.” She said. I looked at the ground shaking my head. As I looked around, I noticed the elevator next to me for the first time. I had seen it. I had been a regular at his bar for over a year, but I never really noticed it because I never really needed it. I reached out to the call button and pressed it. I figured it wouldn’t work. Why would a bar have an elevator?

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/zh36sh/love_in_an_elevator_pt1_mf