The Sucker — Rebecca L. Brown

I’ve always been a sucker for a man with long, dark hair and dark brown eyes.

And sometimes a licker for them, too, if they ask nicely enough.

It was his first time there. I could tell, not only from the nervous glances he was giving the place, but because I’d have remembered a face like his. And a body like his. At one point, he turned and I thought he was going to leave.

We can’t have that, can we? I thought. Making an effort not to look as if I had my sights set on him, I made my way across the bar.

“Excuse me,” I asked, forcing a tremble into my voice, “do you know where the bathrooms are? Only… um…” To the right of the bar and keep going; I’d been coming to these fetish nights since they started, was as regular a fixture as the bar itself.

“Sorry,” He muttered, “I’m… I’ve never…”

“Oh.” I giggled girlishly. Nervously. Counted to four. “Maybe I should go home…”

He nodded. I wondered what he had been expecting, because what he was seeing certainly wasn’t it. I’ll admit that some people have some… interesting costumes. Personally, I think that just adds to the fun.

Leather, it turned out. That was his thing. Once we were outside and he’d calmed down a bit, he couldn’t take his eyes off of my leather corset and the ample assets which it was keeping under wraps. I hugged my arms around myself and shivered, giving my already impressive cleavage a helping hand.

“Do you know where the buses stop? Only…” He shook his head. Obviously he’d driven here. Everyone did.

“Would you like a lift?” I pretended to think before nodding.

“Yes please.”

He’d parked in the same multi-storey I had, which if nothing else meant I didn’t have so far to walk afterwards. Thigh-high stilettos might look the part, but they’re not made for walking.

It took him a few minutes to find his keys; the pockets of his leather trousers were tight to his legs and he wasn’t used to them. New leather, not worn in yet. I resisted the urge to give him a helping hand.

At least, until we got into the car, of course.

He didn’t take much encouragement; horniness had definitely over-ridden his nerves. When he fumbled with his trouser zipper, I undid it for him, sliding the leather down his thighs just far enough that I could reach inside.

He moaned, probably partially with relief. Those trousers were seriously tight; I’m amazed they didn’t cut off the blood.

I slipped into the passenger foot-well, turning him to face me so that I could take the throbbing head of his cock into my mouth. My breasts rested on his thighs; one nipple slipped free of the corset to rub against the leather stretched tightly over them.

He moaned again, this time entirely with pleasure. His hands stroked at my back, my sides, enjoying the texture of the corset. I took his cock more deeply into my mouth then slipped it back out, teasing with my tongue until he gasped and bucked, desperate for more.

I gave it to him.

He came forcefully with a gasp and I swallowed his cum, licking gently at his cock with my tongue to make sure I didn’t miss a drop. Our eyes met and I smiled. Then, without a word, I opened the car door and stepped back out into the night.

He was there again at the next event; I spotted him as soon as he walked through the door. Somehow, I’d known he’d be back for more.

I finished my drink and made my way over to him.

“Any chance of a lift?” I asked.

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Rebecca L. Brown is a British writer. She  specialises in horror, SF, humour, surreal and experimental fiction,  although her writing often wanders off into other genres and gets  horribly lost.