My encounter at the Bar [MF] Part One

Back in January my boss asked me to attend one of those cheesy industry networking events at the Hilton Hotel downtown. I had been tasked with handing out our business cards in the hope that we’d make some connections with potential vendors and/or clients. I’m not sure if you guys are familiar with these events, but the only connections most people make tend to be their lips to a plastic cup of cheap wine. And while it did start out like that for me, it certainly ended differently.
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The event was at the hotel bar. As soon as I got there I started making the rounds, awkwardly forcing my way into huddled groups of strangers to introduce myself and my company, and handing out a business card or two. As a young, fresh-faced 22 year old in my first ever job, most of the seasoned crowd more or less ignored me, or politely accepted my card before turning back to their conversation. After an hour I was worn out and felt defeated, but at least I was down to my last business card. I glanced around the room and by the door I saw a man and a woman who I hadn’t talked to yet. Both had their winter coats on and were finishing their drinks, seemingly ready to exit the hotel bar into the cold winter evening.
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“Fuck it” i thought, “this’ll be easy. I’ll just hand them the card on their way out so we wouldn’t even have to chit-chat, then I can get out of here.”
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As I waited for them to finish up I tried to guess how old they were. It was a little game I liked to play in my head, and it was oddly satisfying when I got it right. The woman faced away from me, talking to the man, and with her body wrapped in a long black trench coat it was hard to get a sense of old she might be. The man however was in full view; his narrowed eyes and stern frown indicated that he didn’t like what he was hearing. Judging by his receding hairline I’d guess mid to late forties, so I had to assume the woman was in the same range. I settled on 45. The man finished his drink and set it down on the table. That was my cue. I started strolling up to them just as they turned to leave their table.
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“Hey guys, before you go – would you mind taking my card? It’s my last one and my boss said they all need to go.”
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They both turned and finally I saw the woman’s face. The first thing I noticed were her lips. They were full and plump and coated in red lipstick which contrasted nicely with her porcelain-white skin. They were certified DSLs. Thoughts immediately started running through my head. I imagined how good those lips would feel firmly pressed up against mine. Or even better – how good they’d feel sliding down and engulfing my cock. I imagined the soft, wet kisses they could plant on my neck, and how the voice behind them might elicit her heavy breathing in my ear. I glanced up to her eyes which were slightly obscured by a slim pair of black-framed glasses. They were a deep chocolate brown, and above them her perfectly trimmed eyebrows were furrowed slightly, perhaps at my question, or maybe at my wide-eyed stare.
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“Sure thi-” she started, before the man interrupted.
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“Rachel, come on, our Uber’s here”, he said, anxiously glancing over his shoulder at the black SUV that had pulled up outside.
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She glanced at him grumpily, her lips still parted from her mid-sentence interruption. She then turned back to me, eyed me up and down, and then stared briefly into my eyes as if taking me in. I poised myself for another rejection.
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“Sorry, of course – thanks anyways” I said as I turned to head back to the crowd behind.
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“Hey, wait. Give it to me.” she said – no – *demanded*.
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I turned back around to her outstretched hand. She turned her pointer finger upwards and curled it inwards, beckoning for the card. I passed it to her, my fingers briefly brushing up against her long, manicured nails which were painted in the same deep red as her lips. Her hands were soft and petite, and she wore a wedding band. She took the card and stared at it for a few seconds.
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“Thanks…Pat” she said, my name oozing out of her perfect juicy lips like honey.
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There was something about the way she said it, the way she paused subtly, but intentionally, before saying it. She smiled, then tilted her head back to drain the last trickle of red wine from her cup. I wished that cup was my cock, firmly gripped by her DSLs as it spilled its liquid all the way down her throat, filling her up while simultaneously draining me out. She placed the cup down on the bar then turned and walked out the door with the man. I stared after her, my dick stiffening in my pants. I hastily stuffed my hands in my pockets to try and hide it. As she got in she glanced back through the window at me and smirked before closing the door, the tinted windows now completely blocking any view of her as it drove off into the night.
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As the car disappeared I snapped out of my trance and sat down at the bar, knees slightly weak. Was it because I’d been on my feet for the last hour, or was it her? Maybe it was just weird that she, an older woman, had actually given me the time of day. I mean she had to be older, right? She was with an older guy (presumably her husband based on her wedding band), but her hands and skin were devoid of any signs of aging. She couldn’t have been more than 30, 35 max. I settled on an even 32 – that was my official guess.
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My thoughts were dismissed by the bartender, asking if I wanted a drink. It had been a long night and even though I wanted to head home, I needed something to take the edge off my brief, yet intense encounter with…Rachel! That’s right, her husband (I guessed) had called her by name. I ordered, then hastily pulled out my phone and navigated to the networking e-vite in my email. Rachel had piqued my curiosity (among other things) and I had to know more about her. I clicked “attendees” and scrolled down until – there! Rachel LaTrelle. The only Rachel on the list. I opened up Facebook and typed in her name, and there she was. I clicked her profile. God I was such a creep.
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Her Facebook was pretty private – no images aside from her profile pic in which was just her face. I wish it was cropped a little lower so I could see her body, especially how big her tits were. Her profile did have her work info (she was an Executive at a nearby ad agency), her family (that guy she was with was confirmed to be her husband) and her date of birth. March 25th 1978…which would make her….41! Well, 42 in two months. I stared in amazement. She looked GOOD for her age…like REALLY good. I set my phone down and took a sip of my vodka soda. I tried to imagine what Rachel’s body looked like under her trench coat – I’d only been able to get a glimpse of her creamy, toned calves as she had walked out the door. I wondered if they were an indication of what lay further up….
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Unfortunately, all I could do was wonder. Now I knew her age, I couldn’t help think about the “mature” category pornstars that flaunted their big fake tits and asses while they hungrily sucked and fucked a younger guy. Then there were the “MILFs” that were really sluts in their 20s who hardly pass for an older woman. But based on her face and legs, Rachel seemed to be somewhere in between. She didn’t have any visible age spots or saggy skin, but she certainly wasn’t in her 20s! She was mysterious and I so, so, so badly wanted to know more. I wanted to see more. But she was MARRIED. For fucks sake, what I am even thinking?
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“BZZZZ”. My thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of a text message. It was from a random number not in my contacts.
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“Pat. Are you still at the Hilton? R.”
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Holy shit.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/iqeamd/my_encounter_at_the_bar_mf_part_one