Night Out

When a Night at the Bar Takes an Interesting Turn

Night Out

Dressed in black from head to toe, fishnets, reeking of Viva La Juicy, I stood inconspicuously at the corner of the bar. Why was I here? I didn't know. This wasn't my scene. It was Saturday night and the place was packed. An up-and-coming band was setting up their equipment near the dance floor. I was terrified.

"Can I get a vodka and cranberry?" I slid my debit card over.

"You're a slut," someone whispered from behind.

Chills formed up my spine. Whipping my head back, a guy came into view. He was tall, fit, and had a face good enough to sit on. He was sizing me up.

"You are a slut, aren't you?" he continued on. "You wouldn't have come to a bar dressed like this, looking to fuck a stranger if you weren't a no good, dirty little slut."

I backed away from him, creating a distance between us.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Panic rapidly raced through my veins as I studied him more. Not only was he built, but he had a strong jaw and a killer smirk.

"Better drink that fast." He nodded toward the drink that was sitting in front of me.

The bartender narrowed her eyes. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

He leaned into me. "You gonna drink that?" His eyes were dark, like chocolate. "You're gonna need it by the time I've had my fill of you."

I took a big swig of it, before looking him in the eye. "What did you have in mind?"

Without a word, he grabbed me by the wrist and led me out of the bar, sweeping me into the lobby. At the elevator, he paused. His hands were all over me, grazing my ass, squeezing my tits. The elevator door opened and he practically threw me inside, resting his lips on my neck.

We were alone and for that I was thankful. The voyeur in him was not.

He waited until the door opened again on the second floor, a guy in his early 20s stepping in. The stranger was idly scrolling on his phone while my lover was feeling me up, lifting the hem of my dress up over my bare ass. I was left there only in my thong, the red string wedged between my cheeks.

"Only a slut like you would enjoy being felt up in an elevator by stranger."

To the stranger he said, "She's soaking wet. Look."

He flipped the front of my dress up to allow the man to get a better look. I trembled in anticipation.

The elevator stopped at the third floor and he led me out by the string of my thong like I was a dog on a leash. My core was quivering for a release.

Unlocking the door to his hotel room, he stuck the tip of his finger inside me. "Aww. Poor baby, you need a real man to fuck you, huh?"

I nodded impatiently. "Please..."

He chuckled and pushed me onto the bed. I felt his body against me as he crawled over top of me. He cupped my jaw so I opened my mouth. Suddenly, he was spitting in my mouth.

"Swallow." It was a demand.

I did it and then he spit again. "You like that, don't you? You're so fucking filthy."

"I am."

"Say it louder. Tell me what you are," he was yelling in my face.

"I-I'm a filthy slut."

He pulled his cock out to rub it over my stiff clit. I gasped in pleasure.

"Beg for it. Let me hear you beg for it you bitch," he growled. "You came here looking for a good fuck."

"Please, fuck me senseless. I'm nothing but a fuck toy."

He plunged his throbbing cock into my pussy without warning and I squirmed in ecstasy. His fingers toyed with my clit as his thrusts got faster and as he came inside of me, I orgasmed too.

"Was that okay?" He smiled at me.

"Perfect," I told him breathlessly.

"I didn't hurt your wrist earlier, did I?"

"Not enough to leave a mark." I grinned. "I love you."

"I love you too, Daniella. Happy anniversary."

Waverleigh Rose Garlington
Waverleigh Rose Garlington
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Waverleigh Rose Garlington

Gentry Rose is the self proclaimed author of the ongoing book For You I Will. She spends her free time writing and reading. She has three cats and one boyfriend, all whom she is immensely fond of.

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