Slipping into Depravity Ch. 05

by Eve St. Albert

KAYLEY

"Buy a girl a drink, handsome stranger," I said, taking the seat next to him.

"Well hello... Kayley," he grinned, looking me up and down with naked appraisal.

"You remember me," I replied happily, smiling back. I expected him too. But there's no harm in a little fun. Or a little flirting.

"You're hard to forget," he replied. He finished his appraisal. "Looking good."

I was looking good. I'd styled my red hair, and had gone light on the make-up. I was wearing my red dress, form fitting, low cut with spaghetti straps and plunging cleavage. I couldn't wear a bra with this dress, and I could tell my nipples were hardening visibly. Black stockings and high heeled ankle boots completed my look.

It was a classier look, we'd been going to a more upscale club. Stopping in here had been a last minute impulse.

You know what a woman likes? She likes it when a man looks her up and down like he wants to fuck her. Sheer naked appreciation and lust, there's something exhilarating about it, something honest and damned sexy. Too often, when you meet men, they're guarded, carefully neutral. There's something about a man, where you can plainly see him thinking 'I'd like to fuck that.'

Of course, that's from fuckable guys, not creepy guys. The ones with dark stares, the ones whose eyes are hooded with brooding resentments, those aren't fun. There's no pleasure, there's no appreciation, just hunger and hatred.

It's about the smile, the attitude. It's hard to explain, but you can feel the ones that think its fun, that see you as an object, but an object to be enjoyed. The ones with the smiles. The ones that seem like they take pleasure. That look at you and decide they like you.

They say women like bad boys. But that's not true. Women like men that like to fuck, that look at them with appreciation and pleasure. You know they don't just want to come in you, they want to fuck, to enjoy you, not to finish and go.

"Thanks. I was going to go out with some friends," I told him. "But I decided to stop in here for a second to check things out."

"Well, I'm glad you did." He grinned. He was so sleazy it made me shiver. "Pull up, girl. You asked for a drink."

He put his hand on my ass, but only lightly and higher up, taking control, guiding me up onto a bar stool. He waved to the bartender, who came right over.

"Chuck," he said. "Cabernet for the lady."

As I settled on the stool, his hand landed on top of my thigh, the edge of his hand just slightly under my dress. He worked fast.

"You remembered," I said.

He laughed.

"You drank red wine," he said. "Place like this, all they have in red is a Cabernet. I should take you someplace that has better wines. I used to be a sommelier."

"Bullshit," I laughed. He smiled and shrugged, his hand moving up just a little, sliding forward to the inside of my thigh. Our bar stools were very close together. He'd pulled it close as he was seating me.

"I didn't expect to see you here," I said, more to make conversation than anything else.

The truth was, I'd walked into the bar hoping he'd be here. If he hadn't, I'd probably have turned around and left. Like I said, we had other places to be.

I placed my purse, opened with the phone inside and live, on the counter between us. Sam should be coming in and taking a seat to watch us. Was anyone else watching, I wondered. I'd fucked two strangers in this bar within the last couple of weeks. Were stories getting around? Was I recognized.

"I show up now and then," he said. "I like to spread the love. I was hoping to see you again."

"Oh?"

His hand moved up slightly. I was already wet. He was so fucking bold and sleazy, it was breathtaking.

Derek had been okay, he'd been charming enough, but he'd been timid, sneaking looks, working his way up to asking me out. Leroy on that first night had flat out propositioned me for sex in the men's room.

Boldness was exciting. It meant confidence, and skill, and desire.

So yeah, he was an over the hill, sleazy, low-rent barfly drinking his life away in some shithole bar, and our previous fuck had been five minutes with a broken condom and I hadn't even come. But fuck all that, he was sexy as hell, and I'd wanted to see him again.

"Yeah," he said his voice pitched low, leaning forward. The bar was noisier, more crowded tonight. I leaned forward to listen through the noise, feeling my breasts shift forwards, he looked and didn't bother to hide it. I worried a little that with the background noise, Sam wouldn't be able to hear much. "I felt like we had unfinished business. You disappearing like Cinderella and all."

I laughed.

"It felt like you finished your business," I teased.

"Oh don't be like that," he grinned. "We had fun."

His hand slipped further up my dress. Jesus, he was bold. We were sitting close together, leaning towards each other, my knee touching the inside of his knee. It would be hard to see, unless you were watching.

But Christ, we were out in the open in a par, sitting on stools. His hand was half way up my dress, almost at the band on top of my stocking. Bold! You see why I'd wanted to see him again.

I should close my legs, clamp my thighs together. I didn't. I should take his wrist and gently remove his hand from my person. I didn't.

Instead, he swiveled ever so slightly on his stool, and his other knee, the knee that pressed against the inside of my other knee, casually, innocently, pushed it a little further, spread my legs a little wider, though no one could see. I let it. His hand crept up a little further, his fingers on the band of my stocking.

I pretended not to notice.

My heart was racing.

"Oh hey," he said. "I'm not taking you away from your friends, am I?"

"Friends?"

"The friends you were going out with?" he reminded me.

"Oh them," I blinked, "they can go fuck themselves."

He chuckled in a way that made my panties wet.

My mouth was so dry, I had to straighten up, and grab the wine glass, swallowing hard. I was vividly aware of how the motion brought my breasts together and pushed my cleavage forward, and knew he stared appreciatively.

He hunched a little forward, fingers teased the edges of bare flesh at the top of my stocking. Involuntarily, my thighs closed slightly, I trembled. Was I flushed?

"You do remind me of Cinderella," he said.

"Because I turn into a pumpkin at midnight?" I teased.

Gentle pressure against the inside of my knee, hardly noticeable. If you were talking, distracted, you might not even be aware. Bullshit. I was so aware, even as I gave way, millimeter by millimeter.

"No," he said, "it's the way Cinderella ran away, and the Prince wanted to find her so bad. He wanted more of her. Because she fit so well, tight and snug, but just... fit."

What a clumsy entendre.

"I seem to remember an article of clothing went missing from the ball," I said, remembering my panties. I was pretty sure he'd stolen them.

"No," he said, "it's all about sliding in and see how it fit. I think you came back looking for something that slipped right in you, something big and thick that felt so good. I think you came back for more of what I have for you."

"Well, if we're talking about things that fit, I think we both ended up uncovered and bare." I whispered into his ear, bending forward a little further, my thighs widening just a little more. "I thought you wore shoes to the dance, but when you came you were bare foot and splashed in my pond. You were a very bad boy."

His arm moved, his fingers brushed my panties. I blushed bright and hot, drawing in a deep breath. How was anyone not noticing? Was Sam seeing this? Was I putting on a show for strangers?

"A very bad boy!" I repeated.

"I'm very bad," he agreed. "But you didn't mind, did you?"

"I suppose."

"I think you kind of liked it?" he said, "The natural feeling, skin to skin."

"The mess."

He smiled, not even a little apologetic. I had to wonder if the condom breaking was entirely an accident.

A finger pressed against my panties, against the lips, pushing them apart, and moving smoothly upwards, until it pushed against my clit. My legs trembled and closed on his arm. But he didn't yield, and my thighs, trembling, fell back, defeated. I took a shuddering breath.

"I like your panties," he said.

"Silk," I told him..

"Feels nice."

"Red," I said.

"I know," Leroy replied. I could feel his fingertips probing, exploring the fabric, and the sensitive flesh underneath. I could feel him tracing my lips, exploring my clitoris, brushing against my pubes.

"Oh," I challenged. "How would you know that?"

"I got a feel for these things." He found the boundary of my panties, tracing the edges of them, fingertip wavering along the soft skin.

"Mmm hmm," I agreed. I tried to look stern. "Do you plan to steal them?"

"I intend on removing them," he said. He pressed against my clit, circling in a way that made my breath hitch, and my heart pound. Then he'd slide down, pressing the silk between my parted wet lips, drawing the fabric together at the narrowest so that I could feel fingertips on my bare flesh. I was blushing nonstop.

"I'm sure I have no idea why you would be interested in that," I said primly. "But I think they might stay on this time."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"I think you might be out of luck."

"I feel very lucky."

"I am, after all, a very good girl."

"But..." he said, "I'm a very bad guy."

His fingertips pushed the narrow band of panties aside, plunging against my wet lips, opening them, but not quite entering. I gasped out loud.

"Holy shit!" I whispered.

"Excuse me?" he teased. His two fingertips moved smoothly up, pushing, twisting the fabric of my panties, pushing them aside. I felt two bare fingers on either side of my suddenly exposed clitoris.

"Holy shit!" I gasped. "Holy fuck! What are you doing?"

Was this ten minutes? Was this even five?

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Yes!" I said. "No!" Wait. "Maybe!" I sucked in a breath. "In... a minute?"

Leroy whispered to me. "We both know that there's only one reason you walked into this bar, and that's to get railed by my big cock. You want that pussy split open in the way your husban-"

"Boyfriend."

"You want to get done the way your boyfriend can't."

"He's pretty big too," I said defensively, and gasped loudly, as a finger stroked and circled my bare clit. It was like he knew it better than I knew myself, touching confidently, and leaving me breathless.

"But you're here, looking for my cock. My big cock."

"Yes." I surrendered. I could feel my pussy just pulsing wetness. The bar stool must be soaking.

"Say it," he said, "say you want my big cock."

"I want your great big cock," I whispered, not hesitating in the slightest, blinking but not seeing, concentrating on the sensations. I leaned forward, hand on his thigh, gasping softly. "I want you to fuck me with that great big cock."

"Good girl. What about your boyfriend?" he teased. "Say fuck him."

"Come on," I protested. Sam was listening after all.

He moved his fingers, and I literally shivered all the way up my spine. "Wow! Your fingers! How do you do that!"

"Say 'my boyfriend can go fuck himself with his little dick, I want Leroy's cock."

"I'm not going-"

He did something with his fingertips above and below my clit.

"Fuck him. Fuck him," I whispered quickly. "He's useless. I want your big cock."

"What about his big cock? It's not that big after all, is it."

"No. It's not big. It's small. I don't want it. Fuck him, he can fuck off with his little dick. I need your big cock in me."

I was blushing madly and squirming on my seat. I didn't want to squirm, I was trying not to, I just couldn't help it. But even though I moved, his fingertips moved perfect time, always the perfect spot to leave me breathless.

How the fuck was he doing this to me? We were in a bar full of people, for all I knew, half the place was watching him finger me. I couldn't think, my mind was quivering, overwhelmed with sensation, with lust, with this maelstrom of confusion and desperate need.

I replied automatically, taking whatever he said, embroidering, feeding it back. I was vaguely aware of calling Sam down, and some part of me hoped that with the soft whispers and the bar noise he wouldn't hear it.

"That's why you came back here," he said, "you had a taste, and you wanted more."

"Yes," I whispered. "Fuck! What you're doing to me. How are you? Holy fuck. Shit. Your big cock. Ever since you...I couldn't stop thinking... you fucked me. You came in me. Filled me. Took control... I need... Oh.. I remember how your come felt in me... oozed... More. Yes, I loved you coming in me, I was mad but after I liked it.. Just.. Thinking about it..."

I knew I wasn't even making sense. It was like my brain was jello, just filled but disconnected and quivering, and somehow he'd inserted a pipeline straight into my sexual subconscious, bringing up incoherent images and words and urges. It felt like I was wetter, hornier, more desperate than I'd ever been in my life.

"Oh Jesus," I whispered. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm such a slut."

"Let's go," he said. The fingers were gone, withdrawn, the fabric of my panties, twisted and pulled, relaxed, leaving me shaking and blinking. He took my wrist, and pulled me off the stool.

To my shock, I didn't collapse into a quivering pile of boneless mush. I stood, although all my muscles felt like water. I felt weightless and boneless, almost floating, like a balloon. I was still incoherent, but thoughts started to swim together again.

Leroy led me to the back of the bar, and if anyone was watching, I was incapable of giving a shit. He could have bent me over the nearest table, and I'd have obeyed mindlessly and welcomed it. Faces flickered past, images, as we made our way to the hallway to the toilets. I have no idea how I did not stagger. I saw Sam, but we were past by the time I recognized him. I think he must have seen only hungry gasping need in my face.

Then we were in the men's room again, the familiarity of it, the dirty mirror, the sink, the urinals, the grimy walls and the smell seemed to anchor me, helping me to focus. Not that it made much difference. Leroy was pushing me up against the wall, the spaghetti straps down my shoulders, he was cupping my bare breasts. His mouth was on my neck, my collarbone. He kissed me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, and I welcomed it.

"I've wanted another crack at you," he said between kissed. "You couldn't get enough of me, could you. You fucked that asshole, Derek, but you were looking for me, weren't you?"

Wait! What? Derek? He knew about Derek? Derek must have talked. People must have seen me go into the Men's room with him. Hell, they must have seen me go in now. And the first time, with Leroy. The story, the stories must be going around, must have... everyone probably knew. I shouldn't. Everyone probably watching. I shouldn't. Coming here was a mistake. All these fragments of thoughts came and went in an instant flash, and I didn't care about any of them.

One hand released my breast, reaching down, pulling up my dress to reach between my legs, nimbly pushing the fabric aside, and grabbing my bare pussy. A finger slid up inside me and all I could do was go boneless around it.

"You were looking for me."

"Fuck yes," I said quickly to get it out of the way. "I came back for you, but you weren't there. I came back again tonight. Fuck me."

"Take off the dress," he ordered, his body pressing into me. I felt his cock in my hand.

I blinked for a second, the order forcing me to arrange my thoughts. "Zipper," I said, pushing away from the wall. I reached behind me, turning way from him. "Here. Unzip me."

I felt his hand on my zipper, drawing it down. The dress loosened, the spaghetti straps fell away from my arms, and I felt fabric sliding down, as the dress fell away, and pooled around my feet, leaving me with nothing but my black stay-up stockings and red silk panties.

Leroy wrapped his arms around me from behind, cupping my breasts. I felt him licking the back of my neck and moaned, pushing back at him. Gloriously his hands slid down my body, one reaching behind to cup my ass cheek, the other slipping under the waistband of my panties. Two fingers unerringly sought out my clitoris, and took my breath away with a touch.

"How?" I gasped. "How do you do that?"

"I used to be a musician," he said, the comment seemed so random it startled me. What the hell did that mean.

"God, that ass! I'm going to fuck that ass."

Anal? I wanted, expected him to jam his cock up my aching pussy. The discord cut through the haze.

But there was no time to react. He took my wrist, turning me around, pinning me against the door of a bathroom stall. He lifted the other wrist, pinning them both above my head.

"Look at you," he said, his expression complete lust. It was like being bathed in dark light, I wanted to squirm, to writhe, to drench myself in it, in my nakedness and captivity. "So fucking gorgeous, and wet and tight. I'm going to fuck you so hard."

"Two," I whispered, smiling. For a moment he looked confused, and I was vaguely happy, to have at least some lucidity. "After you fuck me, I'll be gorgeous and wet..."

I paused for a beat.

"But I won't be tight any more."

He laughed and pressed up against me. Pushing me against the crudely painted plywood of the toilet stall door. His mouth found mine, and we kissed, devouring each other. He released my wrists to squeeze my breasts and nipples, and I wrapped my arms around him.

"Condom," I whispered. I was lucid enough to think of it. "You need to wear a condom."

"Why?" He licked my neck, and I wanted to melt. "You won't get pregnant. And anyway, you've got a boyfriend, even if you do."

"Yeah," I whispered, "but..."

"I'm clean," he insisted. "Are you?"

"Yes, but-"

His lips found mine, he kissed. His hand dropped, clutching my soaked panties.

"I already came in you already," he said. "Remember. If one of us had something, we've already given it, can't get it twice... So don't worry about it."

"Oh... Right," I mumbled, around his lips. He was right, or at least, it made sense. I wasn't going to get anything I hadn't already gotten from the last time, we still had to wait for the testing. So it didn't make any difference.

"But-" I felt there should still be a condom, I couldn't find an answer in my state of confused lust.

He pulled his lips from mine, ran his hand through my hair, and suddenly, I was looking into his eyes.

"Besides," he said, "this pussy... this pussy, is too tight and sweet to waste on a rubber."

He kissed me.

"I want to take you bare," he said. "I want to feel you, I want to feel all of you, skin to skin. I want to come in you, I want to fill you up with me, have me dripping down your legs."

The images, the words, the idea of him bare in me, of his ejaculation in to my unprotected womb, his seed inside me, it transported me, it made me delirious.

"Okay," I whispered. "Yes."

He licked my collarbone, his hands were roving, moving, touching me everywhere. I was moaning.

"You want that too, don't you?" he whispered. "You want it bare. You want to feel real flesh, feel me, the real me, not some fucking latex. Let fucking assholes wear condom. Let your boyfriend wear them. Not me. You want me, baby. You want to feel me, you want my come up inside you."

I was almost delirious, but his words, as intense and vivid as they were, were confusing. I'd said yes, but he was still trying to persuade me. You won, guy, you don't need to keep trying to talk me into it.

"Fuck me bare," I whispered to stop him. "Come in me. I want to feel it."