backroom (no. 1)

He took me into the backroom . . . . . .

It was only a summer job, some extra cash, I was 21 years old and hadn’t worked in a bar before but here I was, tending the bar, serving thirsty customers, hearing all kinds of stories and all sorts of lines of the chat-up kind; a necessary evil or a perk of the job, I never quite decided.

Not that I complained, good money, good work colleagues, actually even a good manager. I paid good attention to everyone, equally, as everyone is someone and for that brief interaction I try to be there for them, taking their order, pulling the pumps, eyeing the measures, and then one day I’d noticed him sat at one end of the bar, he seemed to appear from nowhere, drink in hand, most likely one of the other staff served him.

I was instantly drawn to him though am not sure why, although yes he was attractive, I a worn sort of way, some ink up the arms, and one crawling up his neck partially obscured by the neck of his dark blue tee shirt, with a barcode one on his left wrist. He had a good smile, one designed for the one he was smiling at only, and he was smiling at me and of course I smiled back.

 He took me into the backroom . . . . . .

I hadn’t seen him before and I’d been there a month and thought by now I’d seen all the regulars. So, was he a regular, or a one-off? He looked comfortable, at home, right where he was, on that stool and in his own skin. He tipped his empty glass towards me, his smile drawing me like a magnet, my feet moving even before my brain had kicked into gear.

Half an hour later he tipped his glass for another, clearly a very thirsty man, his smile like a tractor beam and I was easily tractored in.

The afternoon drifted into the quiet time and I found myself chatting with said mystery man without even knowing his name. In fact, I’m not sure I’d even told him mine yet, then out of thin air he asked if we had a quiet backroom, to which I said yes, well, there was a stockroom, then asked when I got a break; in ten minutes, as it happened by then. That smile again, I grappled with its grappling hooks.

He took me into the backroom . . . . . .

No specifics were mentioned and yet I knew he wanted to meet me then in the backroom and eleven minutes later there I was when he walked in, tee shirt and jeans, nothing to stand out about him except his smile and of course his toned build, all, I guessed 5’11 of him, or maybe he was 6 foot, it’s not as though I had a tape measure with me. Again, no words were exchanged, or if they were they were few and likely as not monosyllabic.

The space was filled with crates and boxes, even mops and brooms, supplies of anything needed to stock the back of a bar, including the barrels of beers as the bar had no cellar. I wore a collared black shirt, buttoned up the front and tucked into an above knee flared skirt, also black and a pair of low-heeled black ankle boots. As you can tell the uniform, for what it was, was black.

He took me into the backroom . . . . . .

I was sat on an unused aluminium barrel when he appeared, walked straight over before I could even say hi, stood before and we kissed, his smile wrapping around my lips, the faint tang of beer on his was not a problem as the entire place smelled if it anyway. It was a bar after all.

My legs dangled from the barrel now either side of his, we kissed. It didn’t take long, after I didn’t have long for a break, when his hand slid over my right breast and squeezed, tight enough to make me exhale audibly into his mouth. I couldn’t believe how quick I just gave in, went with it, as though it was planned, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to meet in the backroom of this bar and indulge ourselves.

My shirt was pulled out from the skirt and partly unbuttoned but as though haste was the order of the moment he dispensed with such fiddling and pulled it up and over my head as it was. Our broken kiss was soon resumed and so were his hands, one back where it was and the other kneading my bare left thigh just below the hem line.

I was unhooked before I knew it, as my navy blue laced bra loosened and came away even more quickly than my shirt. I just gave in to it, to this mystery man, this stranger whose name I still didn’t know and almost didn’t want too. I was topless and his hands made the most of it enticing my nipples to firm and all of my emotions unleashed.

He took me into the backroom . . . . . .

It felt more than amazing, it was surreal, for a moment I wondered if this was even me here and yet it was. I opened my eyes in the kiss and to assure myself that he was here too and he was him and not my imagination. All was as it was, he was he and me was me and we were we as we were, me on the barrel and him between my legs with my skirt edging upwards courtesy of some clever hand-play on his part until he gripped my sex through my pink lace knickers.

Once again I heard my voice moan as his opened and closed his hand there, his fingers working their way around the material until he was there, fingers seeking their way into me, and they did, he did. No words, just yet more of my own uncontrollable moans.

He took me into the backroom . . . . . .

My skirt now up around my waist, he grabbed my knickers and unceremoniously yanked them away, down and off, clumsy as it was as quick. Up my skirt went again, his hands under my knees lifting them up, opening me to his gaze and his miraculously now proud and out of his jeans erection, which from my angle looked very impressive, but then again it was an erection, it was going to be.

I didn’t have time to look though as he pushing himself into me on the second attempt having missed the first time and got my thigh smearing it with his sticky pre-ejaculate. Inside me he slipped, and I felt it, although I was by now very wet I was tight but he carried on pushing and pushing and I kept relaxing as much as I could in such a compromising pose until he was far enough in to start fucking me, and fuck me he did. It was like a piston, and against the background of the occasional gentle whispers of the pipes from the barrels attached to bar through the wall.

Yes, there as only a stone wall between us and the bar I’d been working in minutes earlier. How long had it been? Had I overrun my break yet?

He took me into the backroom . . . . . .

What if someone came in, one of the other bar staff, which was entirely possible, but it was too late for that now, I, we, were committed. The force of his hips served to loosen me a little, just enough to finally feel comfortable, and to feel him go even further; there was yet more of him to go? The only thing I was sure was the head of it seemed to me very, very big, and it certainly felt like it was. With the cold stone wall against my back he kissed my neck and then I did the same with him. He was strong, his hips were strong; his erection felt like it filled all of the space inside me, my knees folded up, I was a ragdoll. I was his ragdoll.

He took me into the backroom . . . . . .

I heard clinking in the corridor but no one came in as it just faded. His hands gripped my buttocks lifting me partly and pushing now even harder. Both of our breathing hardened, uncoordinated but that didn’t matter. My breasts were squished up against him, my body was shaking until I felt my orgasm explode and I clapped my hand over my mouth and bit my finger trying not to scream it out loud. I drew blood.

At this he went harder, until I felt a change in his posture and his rhythm. Our hips fought for every thrust as I knew his moment was coming and he did, coming inside me as he again buried his face into my shoulder and I felt his convulsions chiming with mine. It seemed to last longer than usual, that final bit, an unusual amount of sperm burst from him, unusual as in a lot as it was trickling out of my smooth sex even before his orgasm had subsided.

I held him tight; he kept pressed against me until he was done. For a moment I felt protective of him though I had the sense he didn’t need any protection, least of all from me, but he didn’t seem to complain as I felt the last of his thrust sending yet more of his pent-up fluids into me.

He smiled, leaned back, and asked if I’d like to meet his friend. I cheekily replied that I thought I already just had, with a stupidly naughty grin. No, he said, a friend who he just knew would like to meet me, then asked when my next shift would be, a couple of day’s time, to which he said okay, and that he’d tell him.

I think my break was over, for now.

He took me in the backroom.

© Emmaleela

(There might be more from the backroom, wait and see I suppose…)

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