Tuesday, 8 November 2011

Horizons (1)

Normally, she avoided that bar - it had a bad reputation. The people who went in there, the neighbourhood, even the building itself, with peeling paint and a boarded-up window, seemed to give off a sense of danger. But after hearing a story from a friend, she had become obsessed and tonight, she was going to explore.


The stale air hit her as soon as the door swung open, stuffy air that smelt of beer spilt long ago and left to soak into the carpets. It mixed with the sound of raucous laughter and clinking glass, and the heat of a warm fireplace in some distant corner. She took a breath and stepped inside, ignoring the banging of the door as she walked quickly to the bar.

A few of the conversations around her died out as the men inside caught sight of her, and she felt for a second or two that she was in her own little bubble, insulated from the world around her, quiet and lonely.

The bubble burst when the barman handed over her drink, taking her coins with a grin and a lingering, lascivious gaze. The dress was definitely not in the normal style - her mother would have been scandalized at the tight fabric that showed off her slim, attractive figure, the plunging neckline that gave an excellent view of her breasts, and the slit in the leg that let the dress open to show her well-shaped legs when she walked.

She stood alone at the bar for a moment, sipping her drink and looking around the room. Then, finally, she noticed a table with a few empty spots, and with a final turn of her head and a coy thank-you-mister to the barman, she trotted over to the table.

“Is this seat taken?”

A few of the men grunted or shook their heads, but most stayed silent, watching her suspiciously. They rarely had women in this pub, and never one as beautiful as she was. Pale skin, thin but with full breasts, long flaxen hair, dainty red lips that they could all think of a use for... She was certainly a vision, and she could tell what each of them was thinking.

“I’m not a whore. A friend told me that drinking in this pub can be alot of fun. If you want, I’ll go” she said, her voice calm but still vaguely threatening. The men shook their heads again, all protesting and asking her to stay. Even if they didn’t entirely believe she wasn’t soliciting, they were at least less suspicious, and began to talk again, laughing and clinking glasses, and threatening one another in good humour.

At first, she was left out, but she sat and watched and worked her way into the conversations. Whenever a man got up to go to the bar, they offered her another drink, and slowly she moved along the bench near to the centre of the table, and of attention. As everyone in the pub became merrier and merrier, they took more and more notice of her.

She giggled, and smiled, and tossed her hair, and chatted about pointless trivialities. Occasionally, she would touch one of the men’s arms, or stroke his shoulder, or lean in close to whisper something to him, her breath tickling his ear, her lips lingering for a second too long, her breasts innocently brushing against his skin or clothes.

She was tired of the chase, but she knew it wouldn’t last much longer. Another of the men wandered unsteadily to the bar, coming back with yet another round of drinks. He sat heavily down into his seat, and let his arm drape around her shoulders.

“So, why did you actually come here tonight gorgeous?” he asked her, his words slurring a little. His friends became a little quieter, wanting to know her answer. She giggled again, and let her head rest gently on his shoulder.

“I told you. A friend told me that she had a good time here with a few guys, and I thought I’d come by and check it out.”

“What sort of fun did she have?”

She didn’t answer him for a second. Instead, she just smiled, her eye happening to fall on one of the black guys sat across the table from her. Then, with a wink, she pointedly sat up, and laid a hand on the thighs of each of the two men sitting next to her.

Her fingers followed the curve of their muscles, firmed by years of manual labour. She could feel the warmth through their pants, and as her hands slid sideways, she felt the even greater warmth of the bulges that throbbed in their laps. They both smirked as she squeezed them gently, and then withdrew her hands.

“Ahh. That kind of fun. That can probably be arranged...” one of the men said.

She smiled sweetly back, finishing off her gin.

“So, can we go somewhere a bit more private?”

Part Two

Part Three 

Part Four

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