N. asked me to meet him at a new bar for our date. I arrived wearing the outfit he requested: leggings, tank top, v-neck sweater and leather ankle boots.
I liked the lounge instantly. The ambiance was sexy and relaxed, there was live music playing. I’m a sucker for this kind of place and a big jazz fan. Pure coincidence on N.’s part, I know, but I appreciated his choice.
There were a lot of dark corners, which I quickly made note of. Unfortunately I was placed at an awkward seating arrangement right in the middle of the room with two chaise lounges across from one another and short side tables in between.
He was late, but it turned out I had some last minute work to finish so I was able to do some editing, sipping my drink as I waited. I squeezed my thighs together, already feeling wet from the anticipation and my nervousness.
N. walked in and found me, leaning in for a kiss that was longer than I expected. I felt his tongue against mine. I liked him standing over me like this, taking what’s his.
We sat and drank as N. told me in no uncertain terms what he wanted to do to me tonight. He told me that he would come over and shove three fingers inside of me. He told me he would twist my nipple hard, as his tongue pressed against me. He told me how ready he was to fuck me, right now. My breathing became a bit labored, and I licked my lips. I felt myself get even more wet.
Then he asked a few things of me:
sit up straight
put your hands on your thighs
spread your legs for me
I wished he weren’t so far away from me on the other chaise. I wished we had more cover for our hands to wander where they wanted. I knew his cock was hard and I wanted to feel it against me– my hands, my lips, my cunt. Instead, I slid my knees against the inside of his thighs, while my hands slid along the outside of his legs.
He asked me to kneel for him. I instantly felt my face flush. “Just for a second,” he added. I was trying not to balk, but failing.
“We have an audience,” I protested.
“Really? Where?” N. sounded amused.
I was turned on, but terrified. I kept looking at him, and then the floor trying to will myself there. He picked up my pen from the table and dropped it in between his legs. He looked at me with a kind yet challenging smile.
“Pick it up,” he said.
On the one hand I was trying to fight my embarrassment, nervousness, and fear so that I could please him like I desperately wanted to. On the other hand, I was trying to fight my natural reaction which was to stand up, straddle him, push him back on the chaise lounge, pin his hands over his head, look him in the eyes and whisper with a smile, “I think you should pick up the fucking pen.”
In the end, I did neither.
I quickly leaned down and grabbed the pen, putting it back on the table. He seemed disappointed, but I didn’t know what else to do.
“Do your hands smell like you?” he asked. “Not too much,” I said. “I took a shower right before I came.”
“Then go touch yourself in the bathroom please,” he asked.
“Of course,” I replied.
On my way to the bathroom I passed a pool table. My mind flashed through a number of scenes involving N. and I playing pool and fucking. I smiled.
I returned and N. reached for my hand, pulling my fingers into his mouth. I closed my eyes, feeling his tongue curl around them, his cheeks suck me in. I feel my thighs clench once more. “Delicious,” he said.
“So do you want to know what I have planned for you this evening?” he asked.
“Yes.” I said with a smile.
“I’m taking you to Le Trapeze.”
I felt my face go flush yet again. “Really?” I asked.
“Really,” he echoed.
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Okay then,” I said with a nervous laugh. I picked up my glass and took a very long drink.