Yes, Sir pt. 2 (MF)

John, if anything, is a gentleman.

When we make it back to our spot on the bar, he pulls out a chair for me and asks me what I’d like to drink. My throat is dry but I don’t want a drink. I’d rather have something else in my mouth but I don’t tell him that. Something about the way the corner of his lips curls tells me he knows, so he orders a drink for himself and a glass of water for me.

His arm is draped over my backrest again and his finger sometimes grazes my back. I want to think it’s intentional and I have to force myself to stay still. But he keeps to his drink and scans the room, so it’s likely just an accident. I have to sit still anyway, I have to cross my legs to keep his cum from leaking out. But it does anyway and I do my best not to be obvious when I shift in my seat. But that just reminds me how sensitive I still am down there.

“Something the matter?”

His breath is warm on my ear. His arm slides from my chair to my waist, enveloping me in half an embrace. My shoulder presses against his chest and I stiffen. So does he. From the corner of my eye, I see the hesitation in his face. The touch on my waist lifts. It’s endearing, really, and it makes me want to climb onto his lap.

So instead, I lean into his voice and lay a shaking hand on his thigh. When I look down, it makes me feel small against him. I manage to shake my head a little. He wraps his arms back around me, his hand on my thigh now, and his mouth curls against my ear. “Good girl.”

Now, I am a grown-ass woman. I pay my bills, I put food on my table. But when he says that, my breath hitches anyway. My cheeks burn and I have to turn away. There’s a sound that threatens to escape me and I swallow it down with a deep breath. My face must be so red from how hot it feels. He goes back to his drink like he didn’t just shoot his load inside me not five minutes ago. Like he didn’t just say that. And I wait.

And wait. And wait some more. This growing impatience is new. No one ever looks at me twice so when I find myself pining, I resign right away, knowing that no one will come home with me. These nights are typically a simple affair. My heart skips a beat, the guy never notices me, I calm down, and I go home.

But this time, my heart races. I uncross and cross my legs, unsure where to position my butt so I don’t completely dirty my underwear and soak through my skirt. We sit there quietly while the rest of the crowd goes on about their evening. A couple of seats over, there’s a guy who I probably would have ignored if he weren’t staring at me. It’s not like I can focus on him, I’m a little busy trying to put words in a coherent order before saying them. I’ve never been given the opportunity go home with anyone.

Then it occurs me: is that even an option? This is it, isn’t it? Just a casual encounter at a bar to fill someone’s need, only to be discarded. That’s fine with me. It’s more than I’ve been given before. But the smell of cigarettes and liquor, the ghost of his grip on the back of my thigh, makes me feel brave. Shakey. My breath is coming out unsteady, and I really can’t sit still now. I want his hand on my thigh again, the back of knees, on my breast, over my mouth, on my neck. Anywhere. As long as it’s on me.

I crack my knuckles. Panic and thrill climbs out of my throat in equal speed, and I open my mouth to say something. Anything.

But the other guy takes the empty seat next to me. He’s a little closer than I expected and I lean away, right against John. The man looks upset. “Is he bothering you, miss?”

Yes. I’m bothered. Very much so. But not in the way he thinks when he sees my face, if I look as pained as I feel. John places his drink on the bar a little louder than necessary and I freeze at the sound. I grip his jeans without meaning to. He shifts beside me and I feel him turn to the other guy. When I peek behind me, his gaze is cool, impassive. Cocky, almost. The other guy shrinks just a smidge and returns the challenge with a glare.

“He’s not.” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. “He’s not,” I repeat. “We’re here together.”

At that, John’s hand snakes further down to the seam between my legs. It feels like approval and I’m suddenly having a hard time keeping them crossed. The man eventually leaves and I’m left there waiting still. John returns to his drink and I unclench my fist on his jeans. How do I say this?

Fuck it. I’m sitting here with cum in my panties. What’s the worst that can happen?

“So,” I start, then think against it. I turn to John and cup my hand by my mouth. “Do you want to come home with me?”

He smiles and turns to me, his lips so close to mine I could kiss him. “Took you long enough.”

Look, if I weren’t so warm all over, I’d think it was sweet that he was waiting for me. Well, that is until we make it back to my apartment. He doesn’t wait. He takes me by my shoulders, spins me, and shove me against the back of my door before I even get a chance to turn around on my own. He takes my jaw in his hand, and presses a searing kiss on my lips. My mouth parts in surprise and he takes that as an opening. He tastes like scotch and nicotine. He presses his hard cock against my hip and puts all his weight against me. I can’t breathe. When he pushes his hand just a little further, softly right against my neck, I pull away and whimper.

And he laughs. It’s a demeaning sound, like my attempt at self-preservation, if there were any, was laughable. The rumble of it makes me weak, makes me unclench. The warm cum he left in my cunt leaks out and I groan. I think I maybe I was saying something incoherent, I’m not sure I remembered how to even talk. My knees give out under me and I scramble for his zip again. He leans against the wall and slides down just a bit. This time, he doesn’t help me. He just watches me with that mean look his eyes while I struggle with his button.

“Slow down.”

I don’t. I hold my breath and freeze. When his words come out, they don’t sound like a request. They sound like something I’m just meant to do.

When I find my voice, I don’t recognize its watery, weak softness. “Yes, sir.”

My fingers tremble at the thought of all the things he could say to me. I finally manage to undo his jeans and take his cock in my hands. It makes my mouth water but I can’t help but look first. It’s huge, the head of it glistening in invitation. He smells like me. I inhale deeply, bracing myself. He keeps his hand on the hem of his hoodie and his shirt, the other on my shoulder. When I press the tip of his dick on my lips, his grip on my shoulder tightens.

It’s all the encouragement I need. I part my lips and swallow him as best I can. First the head, then more, until I’m halfway there. I try to open my mouth as wide as it’ll go and it’s still a tight fit. But I want more. I push against him, my hands on his pants around his thighs. I can feel myself forcing it further down my throat until I feel resistance. But I want more.

John’s hand finds my nape, the back of my head. He gives me a gentle scratch as he slumps against the wall. I pull him out slowly, letting my tongue lick all the way up his shaft. I take it in my hand and stroke it while I lick the head and play with it with my tongue. His breath comes faster, deeper. When I look up, his head rests against the wall, his eyes are closed. Without him watching me, another surge of bravery courses through me. My panties are still wet, but for a completely different reason.

No one’s watching. I can do what I want. And what I want is to suck his cock until he coats my throat with cum.

I take him in my mouth again and take him all the way down my throat. In and out, like a desperate woman. My own pleasure escapes me, I moan around him. It didn’t ever occur to me that I’d enjoy this, but here I was, rising from my haunches, pushing him against the wall as I take him in and out of my mouth. The pressure from behind my head increases until he’s holding me in place. Soon, his hips start to buck and, looking back, I have half a mind to think he was holding back. What a goddamn gentleman.

In my eagerness, I grab him by his ass and shove him deeper. My eyes water and I choked. But I’d rather have him stuffed my mouth with his cock. I don’t want to stop.

He moans something sweet and delicious. The sound curls around a smile, a licked and bitten lip. The undercurrent is a challenge. A threat. “Ah. Good girl.”

It unlocks something in my head.

I shove his hard cock past the resistance until my lips are flush against him. I can’t breathe. I don’t want to. I keep at it, keening, moaning. Spit trickles down to my chin. And he bucks his hips so hard I see stars. I feel like I’m drowning, yet I don’t let go until he does.

When air rushes in a gasp, it’s cool and it tastes like salt and musk. I cough, wiping my eyes and my mouth. I sink onto the floor, suddenly spent but also so hot. I’m lightheaded and I realize I’ve been trying to press my clit onto anything that I can grind it against. I’m starting to sweat. I want to get out of my clothes.

The soft dim light of my hallway glistens on his reddened cock. It casts shadows on us and I can’t clearly see his face under the shadow of his baseball cap. I could only watch his chest heaving, his mouth slightly ajar before he licks his lips and he finally fixes me with a look that I could only describe as menacing.

When he reaches down and grabs me before throwing me over his shoulder without so much as a grunt, there’s a look that flashes in his eyes. His face splits into a grin that makes my blood run cold. In fear or anticipation, I can’t tell. In that moment of clarity, I’m suddenly doubting myself, this situation I’d gotten myself into. Gone is the trace of that gentleman who gave me some privacy to put my panties back on after he fucked me raw without even knowing my name.

He looked like he wanted to hurt me. I only hoped I looked like I wanted him to.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/uw9afk/yes_sir_pt_2_mf