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By *ommo400 OP Man
2 weeks ago
Queensferry |
The bartender slid Tom's whiskey across the polished mahogany with the practiced ease of someone who'd done it ten thousand times before. Tom caught it mid-slide, the ice cubes clinking softly, and took a slow sip while surveying the near-empty pub. Most of the Friday night crowd had filtered out an hour ago—couples heading home, groups dissolving into cabs, the occasional solo drinker lingering like a ghost at the corner table.
He rubbed his beard, the coarse hair scratching against his fingers, and exhaled through his nose. The buzz from dinner with Tracy still warmed him—the easy conversation, the way she'd laughed at his dumb jokes—but now, alone with his thoughts, he could admit the night didn’t feel quite finished. Tracy had kissed him goodbye outside, smelling like wine and jasmine perfume, before climbing into the taxi. "Don’t stay out too late," she'd said, half-teasing, half-serious.
The stool beside him creaked as someone settled onto it. A whiff of something floral—too sweet, not Tracy’s—hit his nostrils. He turned his head and found himself looking at a woman in a red dress that clung to every curve, her crossed legs gleaming under the dim pub lights. Fishnets, sharp heels, blonde hair that cascaded past her shoulders in waves that looked almost too perfect.
"Buy me a drink?" she asked, her voice lower than he expected. Her lips curled into a smile, bright red against tanned skin.
Tom chuckled, swirling his whiskey. "Depends. What’s your poison?"
"Surprise me," she said, resting her elbow on the bar, fingers drumming lightly. Up close, he noticed the faint stubble along her jawline, the way her throat moved when she swallowed. Not a woman. Not exactly. His pulse kicked up a notch.
The bartender raised an eyebrow as Tom ordered her a gin and tonic, extra lime. When the drink came, she took a sip, her red-painted nails tapping the glass. "You’re staring," she murmured, not looking at him.
"Just admiring the view," Tom said, and meant it. There was something electric about her—the way she held herself, the confidence radiating off her like heat.
She laughed—a rich, throaty sound that made Tom’s fingers tighten around his glass. "Admiring the view," she repeated, finally turning to face him fully. Up close, her mascara was thick, her lips glossy, but her eyes were sharp, calculating. "You’re smoother than I expected."
Tom shrugged, grinning into his whiskey. "Not every night someone like you sits next to me."
"Someone like me?" She tilted her head, the blonde wig shifting slightly. A single lock fell over one eye, and she blew it away with a puff of breath.
"You know what I mean," he said, voice dropping.
She leaned in, the scent of her perfume mingling with the faint musk of sweat beneath it. "Do I?" Her knee brushed against his thigh, deliberate. "Because I think you're the kind of man who knows exactly what he wants—but doesn’t always let himself have it."
Tom exhaled, the whiskey suddenly burning hotter in his throat. He traced a finger along the condensation on his glass. "And what do you think I want?"
"You tell me." She lifted her drink, the ice cubes catching the light as she took a slow sip, her painted lips leaving a smudge on the rim. Then, softer: "I’ve got a flat nearby. If you’d like to… continue this conversation."
The walk was short—just two blocks—but every step thrummed with anticipation. Lilly walked slightly ahead, her heels clicking against the pavement, hips swaying with an exaggerated rhythm. Once, she glanced back, catching Tom’s gaze lingering on her ass. She smirked. "See something you like?"
Tom didn’t answer with words—just a low chuckle that rumbled in his chest as he followed her up the narrow staircase to her flat. The building smelled of old wood and cheap air freshener, the kind that tried too hard. Lilly’s keys jingled in her hand, and for a split second, he noticed her fingers tremble as she slotted one into the lock. The door swung open to reveal a small, dimly lit living space—neat but lived-in, a single lamp casting a warm glow over a thrift-store sofa and a coffee table littered with makeup wipes and a half-empty bottle of vodka.
No preamble. The second the door clicked shut, Lilly dropped her purse and sank to her knees in front of him, her hands already working his belt loose with practiced efficiency. Tom’s breath hitched as her cool fingers brushed against his stomach, her nails—sharp, red—scratching lightly over his skin. She looked up at him through thick lashes, her lips parted, and then—Christ—her mouth was on him, hot and wet and perfect. His head thudded back against the door, fingers tangling in her hair, the wig slipping slightly under his grip.
She didn’t stop, didn’t slow, her tongue swirling in a way that made his thighs tense. But then, abruptly, she pulled back, standing in one fluid motion. Her dress hit the floor with a whisper, revealing smooth skin stretched over taut muscle, the fake breasts she’d peeled off tossed carelessly onto the sofa. The thong followed, and Tom’s mouth went dry as her cock sprang free, thick and already leaking.
He didn’t hesitate. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her forward, taking her into his mouth with a groan. She tasted salty, musky, her hips jerking as he swallowed her down. Her fingers clenched in his hair, tugging, and the sharp sting only spurred him on. When she came, it was with a gasp, her thighs trembling against his ears.
Tom licked his lips, savoring the taste of her as she staggered back, breathless. Her cock glistened under the dim light, and she gave a breathless laugh, running a hand through her now-mussed wig. "Fuck," she murmured, shaking her head. "You're good at that."
Before he could respond, she pushed him backward onto the sofa, climbing into his lap with a predatory grin. Her hands worked quickly, unfastening his shirt, her nails scratching lightly over his chest hair. Tom groaned as she ground against him, her cock rubbing against his stomach, already hardening again. "Your turn," she whispered, biting his earlobe.
He didn’t protest when she reached for the lube on the coffee table, slicking her fingers with a practiced flick of her wrist. She expertly massaged the lube into her tight hole then smeared more over his waiting erection. He gasped as she straddled him, slowly lowered her entrace against the head of his cock, then he breached her and she expertly sank down on him, taking inch after inch inside her while her now flacid cock dripped cum onto his chest.
Their bodies moved together in a slow, rolling rhythm, Lilly’s hips grinding against his as she took him deep, her breath hot against his mouth. She kissed him hungrily, her tongue sliding against his, her fingers tangled in his beard as she moaned into his lips. Tom’s hands roamed over her bare skin—her waist, her ass, the taut muscles of her back—gripping wherever he could reach, pulling her closer with every thrust. "Fuck," she gasped, breaking the kiss to press her forehead against his, her blonde wig now tousled and slipping sideways. "You feel so good—don’t stop, don’t stop—" Her voice cracked as she rode him harder, her nails digging into his shoulders.
Tom groaned, his hips bucking up to meet her, the heat between them building to something unbearable. She was tight around him, her body clenching with every movement, and when she whispered, "Come inside me," ragged and desperate, he couldn’t hold back. He buried himself deep as his orgasm ripped through him, spilling into her with a hoarse cry. Lilly shuddered above him, her cock twitching against his stomach, already stiffening again as she rocked through the aftershocks.
For a moment, they stayed like that—breathless, sweat-slicked, her thighs trembling where they bracketed his hips. Then, with a slow, teasing drag of her body, she lifted off him, smirking at the way he hissed at the sensitivity. "Not done yet," she murmured, her voice thick with promise. Before Tom could react, she reached for the lube again, slicking her fingers with a practiced flick. His stomach tightened when she trailed her hand lower, brushing over his ass, and realization dawned.
His breath hitched. "Wait—"
"You don’t want to?" Her fingers paused, her dark eyes searching his.
Tom swallowed. He’d never—but Christ, the way she looked right now, flushed and hungry, her cock standing thick against her stomach. He exhaled, rough. "Fuck it. Yeah. Just—go slow."
Lilly’s grin was wicked. "Oh, I’ll take care of you." She leaned down, capturing his mouth in a filthy kiss as her fingers circled his entrance, pressing in gently. Tom tensed at the unfamiliar stretch, his hands gripping her waist, but she murmured encouragement against his lips, working him open with slow, patient strokes. By the time she added a second finger, scissoring gently, the discomfort had melted into something else—a low, building heat that coiled in his gut.
When she finally withdrew her fingers, Tom was panting, his cock half-hard again despite the overstimulation. Lilly slicked herself up, her gaze locked on his as she positioned herself between his thighs. "Breathe," she reminded him, and then she was pressing in, the blunt head of her cock nudging against him. Tom bit back a groan, his fingers digging into her hips as she pushed forward, inch by torturous inch.
The stretch burned—God, it burned—but beneath it was a pressure so deep it made his vision swim. Lilly paused when she was fully seated, her thighs trembling against his, her breath coming in ragged bursts. "Fuck," she gasped, rolling her hips experimentally. "You’re so tight—" Tom could only groan in response, the sensation overwhelming, her cock a molten brand inside him.
Then she moved, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in, and Tom saw stars. The pain was still there, sharp and bright, but it was tangled up with something else, something that made his toes curl. Lilly set a steady rhythm, her hands braced on either side of his head, her hair—now half-off—casting wild shadows across her face. "Feel good?" she panted, grinding deep. Tom could only nod, his voice lost from the relentless drag of her inside him.
She fucked him like she had something to prove—hard, deep strokes that had him gasping, his cock leaking against his stomach. Every thrust hit something inside him that sent sparks up his spine, and when she wrapped a hand around his length, stroking in time with her hips, he nearly sobbed. "Gonna make you come again," she promised, her voice wrecked. "Gonna feel you clenching around me—"
Tom came with a shout, his orgasm crashing over him like a wave, his body clamping down around her cock. Lilly cursed, her rhythm stuttering as she chased her own release, her hips snapping erratically. "Fuck, fuck—" She buried herself to the hilt with a broken moan, her cock pulsing inside him as she came, her warmth flooding him.
For a long moment, they stayed like that—breathless, tangled together, her weight pressing him into the sofa. Then, slowly, she pulled out, grimacing at the mess they'd made. Tom winced at the sudden emptiness, his body throbbing. Lilly collapsed beside him, her wig now completely askew, her chest heaving. "Holy shit," she muttered, wiping sweat from her forehead.
Tom turned his head to look at her, taking in the smudged makeup, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. "Yeah," he agreed hoarsely. His whole body felt wrung out, his muscles loose and heavy. He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. "That was—"
"Fucking incredible," she finished, squeezing his hand. She laughed, shaking her head. "Didn't peg you for a bottom."
Tom snorted. "Neither did I." He hesitated, then added, "Never done that before."
Lilly turned her head to look at him fully, her dark eyes searching his face. "Seriously?" When he nodded, she grinned, slow and wicked. "Damn. I should’ve taken a picture. First-timers always have that look."
"What look?"
"Like they just got hit by a truck." She smirked, rolling onto her side to face him, propping her head up on one hand. Her wig was barely hanging on now, strands of blonde hair sticking to her sweat-slicked skin. "But you took it like a champ."
Tom exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. He could still feel her inside him, a phantom pressure that made his stomach tighten. "Guess I did." He glanced at her cock, already stirring again against her thigh. "Christ, you’re insatiable."
Lilly traced a finger down his chest, her nail running lightly over his skin. "You say that like it’s a bad thing." She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. "Want another round?"
Tom groaned, but his cock twitched in response. "You’re gonna kill me."
She laughed—a rich, throaty sound—and climbed back into his lap, her thighs bracketing his hips. "I’ll go easy on you this time," she promised, though the glint in her eyes said otherwise. She kissed him slow and deep, her tongue sliding against his, her fingers tangling in his beard. Tom groaned into her mouth, his hands roaming over her bare skin—her waist, her ass, the taut muscles of her back—pulling her closer with every movement.
She ground against him, her cock rubbing against his stomach, already hardening fully again. Then she guided him to lie back on the sofa and swun her body round so they were in the 69 position. Tom let out a soft moan of pleasure as he felt her warm mouth on him, then he closed his lips round her erection and they began to really work each other.
Lilly’s breath hitched as she straddled Tom’s face, her thighs trembling where they bracketed his shoulders. The sofa groaned under their combined weight, the leather sticking to Tom’s sweat-slicked back as he arched up to take her deeper into his mouth. She tasted like salt and musk, her cock twitching against his tongue as she rocked forward, her hips moving in slow, deliberate circles. Above him, her breath came in ragged gasps, her fingers tangled in his hair—not the wig now, but the short, dark strands beneath it, tugging just hard enough to sting.
Tom groaned around her, the vibration making her shudder. Her thighs clenched around his head, her nails rubbed against his scalp as she ground down harder, fucking his mouth with short, desperate thrusts. "Close," she panted, her voice cracking. "So close—" Her hips stuttered, her cock pulsing against his tongue, and then she was coming with a broken cry, her release flooding his mouth in thick, bitter spurts. Tom swallowed greedily, his throat working around her, his own cock throbbing where it was buried deep in her throat.
The taste of her—sharp and earthy—sent a jolt of heat straight to his groin. His hips bucked involuntarily, his cock sliding deeper into her mouth, and Lilly moaned around him, the sound vibrating through his entire body. Her throat tightened around him, her tongue swirling lazily over his shaft, and that was all it took. Tom’s vision whited out as he came, his release spilling down her throat in hot, frantic pulses. She swallowed every drop, her fingers digging into his thighs as she milked him through it, her lips sealed tight around him until he was twitching and oversensitive.
For a long moment, they stayed like that—breathless, tangled together, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Slowly, Lilly lifted her head, her lips slick and swollen, her wig hanging precariously off to one side. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Fuck," she murmured, her voice rough. "You taste good."
Tom exhaled shakily, his limbs heavy and boneless. "So do you," he admitted hoarsely, his throat still tingling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. He reached up, brushing a stray lock of her wig—now completely askew—behind her ear. She laughed, shaking her head, and then peeled the wig off entirely, tossing it onto the coffee table with a wet slap. Her real hair—short, dark, and sweat-damp—stuck up in every direction, and she ruffled it with one hand, grinning down at him.
"Better?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Tom grinned back, his fingers trailing down her bare back, tracing the ridges of her spine. "Much." |
