Chapter One
Michael
The Shift wasn't one of the nicest bars in the area, but man, it could pack an attractive crowd on a Saturday night. I looked appreciatively around at the girls in high heels and short skirts. And this was just the start of the evening; the selection would get better the later it got. I knew from experience.
You could say I was a regular. I knew all the bartenders, anyway. From the tall, athletic girl with the bright green eyes, to the blonde manager whose eyes told you she meant business, to the attractive-but-rough-looking young college dude who was behind the bar just a couple nights a week. I even knew all the DJs, and I could tell when it was going to be a good night.
Tonight was going to be a good night.
“Come on, man, who's your target?” Chris asked, yelling so he could be heard over the noise of pounding music and loud partiers.
I shrugged, grinning behind my bottle of beer. “Haven't decided yet,” I told him, even though that wasn't true. But it was my turn to play wingman for Chris, so I was going to let him choose the target.
I couldn't keep my eyes from straying in the direction of the sexy woman I was interested in, though. She had been out on the dance floor with her friends for the last twenty minutes or so, and I couldn't stop watching as she twirled, moving high and low, catching the beat as though it were ingrained somewhere deep in her soul.
“Why don't you go ask her to dance?” Chris asked, rolling his eyes.
“It's your turn,” I told him. “I'm playing wingman for you tonight.”
“I can pick up on my own,” Chris snapped.
“I know you can,” I said, holding up both hands. “But we all know that girls travel in packs, and it's easier to pick them off if you approach with a friend.”
Chris stared at me for a long moment and then shook his head and laughed. “Go on, just go dance with her already,” he said. “You can be my wingman another night. You'll be useless to me like this anyway.”
As if on cue, the woman stopped dancing and made her way towards us. Chris vacated his seat, as he muttered something about going to the restroom. She hopped up on the now vacant stool.
The girl tossed back her long, dark hair. “It's hot in here,” she said, fanning herself with both hands.
I grinned at her. “Well, you were dancing like your life depended on it,” I pointed out. “I don't think I've ever seen anybody move that smooth on the dance floor.”
The girl laughed. “You should have come and joined me,” she said. “I could see you looking at me.”
“I don't do that kind of dancing,” I told her, shaking my head.
“You don't?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at me. But I could tell she was teasing; she knew exactly where I was going with this. She took a sip of her water as I shrugged.
“I prefer to dance between the sheets,” I said. I knew the line sounded cheesy, but hey, if it worked, what did it matter?
“Do you now?” the woman asked, leaning closer to me. “Well, unfortunately, I don't think they have any beds here.”
“I don't think they do, and it's definitely a pity,” I said, heaving a heavy sigh. “I do, however, have a limo parked down the block. Tinted windows, soundproofed divider, total privacy. What do you say we go check it out?”
“My friends will wonder where I am,” the girl said, looking back toward her group. But her group was moving deeper into the crowd of dangers, disappearing from sight.
“I'm sure you can get away for just a little while,” I said, winking at her.
She stared at the eddying crowd for a moment and then gave me a grin, hopping off her stool. “I guess you're right,” she said. “But I swear, if you're lying about the limo, I'm not going anywhere with you.”
“I'm not lying about the limo,” I promised her. “Come see for yourself.”
I felt a pair of eyes on me as I led the woman out the door, but when I looked back, I realized it was just that green-eyed bartender looking at our glasses and making a mental note to clear them. I gave a quick, aborted wave, but she didn't even appear to see it.
“Oh, it's so much cooler out here!” the woman exclaimed, ducking under my arm for warmth. I grimaced, feeling how wet the back of her sweaty T-shirt was, but I didn't say anything. It occurred to me that I didn't even know the woman's name, but that hardly mattered. It wouldn't be the first time I had slept with someone whose name I didn't know, even though I didn't always pick up when I went out to bars.
Whatever her name was, she laughed delightedly as we reached the limo. “You weren't kidding,” she said as she slid inside.
“I wasn't kidding,” I said, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at her antics. Why would I come up to someone and tell them I had a limo if I didn't? I would be found out in all of five minutes if I did so, probably before I had a chance to get off. That would ruin the night for both of us.
The girl turned to me, and I could see that she was about to say something else, no doubt something equally inane. Before she could do so, I shut her up with a kiss.
Her lips were soft and pliant against mine, and when I swiped my tongue against her lips, she opened up to me, letting me inside. There was something almost clinical about kissing her, but I pushed the thought aside. It didn't matter if it was clinical, as long as we both managed to get off. And to be honest, I was already getting hard.
The woman straddled my lap, starting to undo the buttons on my shirt. She gave me a look as though she thought she was all sexy and coy. I tried to hide how bored I was.
Once upon a time, this meaningless sex had been enough to do it for me. Now, it was just a means to an end. I knew I would concentrate better at work the next day if I got off tonight. That was all this was about: I picked out the easiest looking girls in the bar, and I took them someplace private so that we could quickly have sex.
Of course, there was another route that I took, with the girls that were not as easy or I liked a little better. Those girls tended to be a bit more intelligent, and they weren't as ready to give it up and spread their legs for me. Those girls, I would take out to dinner. But essentially, it was all the same: we'd go out, we'd talk about the same boring things (job, family, etc.), and then we'd go home and fuck. Then I was done with them and never see them again.
As though sensing that my attention was waning, the girl pulled back and stripped off her panties, revealing her plush, pink hole. I undid the button of my slacks as well, pushing them and my boxer briefs down so that my swelling member was revealed. I pulled a condom out of my pocket and tore it open, slowly rolling it on.
The girl grinned at me. “I knew you were going to be big,” she said, sounding satisfied.
“You think you can handle that?” I asked, feeling a flicker of interest.
She just laughed, though. “Of course, I can,” she told me. She straddled my lap again, this time without her panties on, and I positioned myself against her opening. She slid down me, going inch by slow inch, giving herself plenty of time to adjust to the intrusion.
When she was fully seated on my length, she just sat there for a moment, and I practically writhed with impatience. I quickly grabbed her hips and jerked her up, until my penis nearly left her body, and then pulled her back down. She cried out as she was impaled on my member, and I repeated the movement a couple more times until she started moving on her own, using her thighs to pull herself up, then dropping quickly back down.
She moaned, her head lolling against my collarbone. “Fuck, that feels good,” she told me.
I grinned, appreciating the way that she squeezed her core muscles tight, bearing down on me. I shifted so that my hips were closer to the edge of the seat. Then, I found purchase with my heels and began to drive up into her, even as she was still dropping down into my lap. My first few bucks caught her off guard, and I thought she was going to fly off. But I stabilized her with my hands, and soon we were working together in unison.
She came quickly; I, on the other, seemed to be taking ages to come.
“If you don't come soon, I'm not sure I can keep doing this,” she finally whimpered, and I could see how over-sensitive she was, in the way that she kept almost cringing at my thrusts. But she didn't tell me to stop, and indeed, she was still moving at just the same pace as before.
She cried out, coming for the third time, her head falling back and her hands like vices on my shoulders. That wasn’t the only thing that was vice-like, though. The walls of her pussy tightened around me, squeezing my length and making me spill into the condom.
Finally, I fell still, and she did as well. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, she giggled softly and pulled away. “Well, that was fun,” she said to me.
I shrugged, pulling off the condom and tying it off. I dropped it into the trash and then fixed my pants, tucking myself back in. “I need a drink,” I muttered. I didn't want to think about why I was having a more and more difficult time connecting with these women, why it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to find pleasure in my interactions with them.
We stood outside the limo for a moment, both fixing our clothes and hair, pretending as though we hadn't just fucked.
“So that was fun,” the girl repeated, putting an emphasis on the word “fun,” as though I might not have heard her correctly the first time. “Maybe I should give you my number, in case you want to do that again sometime.”
“Thanks,” I said, but I had no intention of ever seeing her again. And the idea of going back into the bar with her wasn't very appealing either. I decided it was probably time to go home. I had a nice bottle of whiskey waiting for me there, and I wouldn't mind having a couple fingers of it in private as I watched the dawn arrive out my windows.
The city was always beautiful first thing in the morning, with all the lights just coming on. And it was a Sunday morning, so it wasn't like I had anything better to do than sleep away the day, anyway.
The woman paused there for a moment, and I realized she was waiting for me to ask her for her number, or to hand over my phone for her to punch it in. I had no desire to ever see her again. It wasn't just that I couldn't seem to get interested in her, but she just wasn't the type of woman that I was looking for.
Not that I was looking for any type in specific, though. Just someone hot, to get me off.
As I got back in the limo, I shot off a quick text to Chris: Pulled. Heading home.
No doubt, he would see when the woman walked back into the bar by herself, but Chris had never been the type to judge or to ask questions. It was one of the reasons that we got along so well.
I'm trying to tag-team twins, Chris responded, sending me a picture of him and two women who were cougars. I grinned, almost wanting to go back and see him in action. But I was tired, and that bottle of whiskey was calling my name.
I almost wished I had brought the girl home, just for one night. I liked the idea of waking up with someone in bed with me the next morning.
As soon as I had the thought, I shook my head to banish it. I must be drunker than I thought if I was thinking like that. Maybe I should just go home and go to sleep.