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Saturday, after a night shift. Brought to you in part by, my elevated ego after having men be pigs all night. Sunday, after an opening shift. The half-hidden peace of a woman who has not eaten real food today, but has cried on the kitchen floor eating whipped cream straight from the can, gotten real stoned, and is having prawn pringles for dinner. I've never felt so Safe and looked after in public like that. So I know everyone gushes over the scene of beefcake Clark coming out of the sea in Man of Steel, but one of my favourite parts is the few brief moments he is wearing that apron and clearing tables in the bar.

Years: 22
Ethnic: Senegalese
Sex: Lady
Color of my hair: Gray
What is my figure features: My body type is plump

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Restaurant review: a dinner where the bartender is boss

Heat is racing through your body and sweat starts to amplify as you sputter out incoherent chatter until it builds to the boiling point, your body rigid as you pant out his name. Ignoring your hungry pussy, his tongue grazes at the creases of your legs, your pubic bone, and your thighs which he nibbles on. Although you are thirsty.

It looks as if he is just starting his shift, not finishing it. Who knows what possibilities await?

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He starts to walk down the stairs as you walk up. You push him roughly against the wall and start to unbutton his vest. Lifting up your skirt, he tugs on your panties and pulls them down, his hot breath a whisper between your legs. He looks just as he had when you first walked in with his blue dress shirt buttoned up to his neck, his complementary navy vest, and his dark hair covering most of his forehead.

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His lips vibrate as he chuckles. Handing you water and telling you to sit still, who does he think he is? Vaulted ceilings and dull yellow lighting are all you catch glimpses of as you snuggle against his chest, still revelling in your high.

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Chuckling, you pull him closer, still manhandling his manhood while leaving a faint trail of pink lipstick as you kiss along his jaw and throat. Moving is aging you.

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He finally listens. Letting your lips brush together, you use his temporary shock to get closer, to feel the heat of his body next to yours. He removes the glasses and wipes down the table before coming out from behind the bar. It must connect from the back somehow. Your hands are still pinned in the air. You use the toilet, wash your hands and splash your face a few times in an attempt to sober yourself up. Not with the giant mess that is your life waiting for you at home.

Originally posted by marklee Not yet. Just get the drink, pretty boy. I need it.

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Drunk sex has always been your favourite sex anyway. Is he trying to act cute? The bartender is hot and the night is young. His tongue spirals and glides across your tender skin, your muscles tensing as the pleasure starts to build. The light pressure of his moist tongue against your damp cunt has your toes curling as you arch back, your head crammed up against the wall.

Unscrewing the bottle, you take long gulps of the water. Plus you feel horny. Panting, you slip off the stool and walk towards the door he just exited.

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After a sharp turn down the hallway, he opens a door on the left and turns on the light. Fuck it. It would be nice if you stayed in this one.

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He locks the front door and reminds you to behave before walking towards a door near the back of the room and you poke your tongue out at his back. Downing your glass in an attempt to fill the emptiness that has become your life, you motion for another drink from your stool in the corner.

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He makes random noises as he pouts and throws up a peace. Looking around the small room you realize you are the only one left in the establishment.

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You shift, trying to get him closer, but he holds your legs apart and continues to take his time exploring every inch of your skin. The town is small and the people are chill.

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He wants you. Please just give me a few minutes to compose myself. Not a single hair out of place, not a piece of lint to be seen, and not a glint of sweat hinted at across his flawless skin. Your mouth opens inviting him in and he opens his for a moment before he groans and pulls back, his head resting against the wall.

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The shaking is sudden and jarring. The bartender makes his way over with your drink. You are. Finding your heat, his tongue starts drawing long lines up the length of your pussy, painful and slow. He holds you up, throwing your legs over his shoulders without moving his tongue from your clit. Every inch, that is, except that of your cunt.

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You collapse against him. post Next post. He climbs out from under you, scooping you up into his arms and carrying you down the hall. What kind of magic tongue does his man possess?

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He chuckles and shrugs as he litters kisses across your neck and shoulders. In his distraction his grip loosens on your hands and they slither out and back down to his body, one hand rubbing his engorged cock while the other squeezes his arse. How is this happening?