It Begins With a Whisper

I felt a hand on my shoulder, breasts pressing against my back. "Hey," she breathed into my ear. I looked up and started to turn, but she stopped me.

"Don't turn around. This is going to be hard enough as it is."

I stayed still. Who was I to spoil the moment?

"I just made a bet with three of my friends." She confessed, still whispering, her warm breath on my neck and ear. "The one who comes back to our table first with a mouthful of cum, wins."

An ambitious wager, I thought--not sure if I should respond. She continued, "They are out in this bar looking for someone to suck. If you are amenable, I will suck you."

I nodded emphatically with no hesitation.

"That's a yes before you've seen me?" she asked, still whispering in a provocatively husky voice.

I nodded my head again.

She giggled. "You are allowed to talk; You just can't look."

"How do I know you are a woman?"

"I suppose there are no guarantees," she said amused. "But I assure you I am."

I felt her lips softly brush my ear and, in a warm, sexy voice, she added, "Here's what's gonna happen. You are going to reach back, and I am going to take your hand. You're going to slide off that stool and head for the back door. Just before the back door to the outside is a door on your right. It'll be unlocked."

When I reached back, I felt our fingers intertwine. Her grasp was warm, self-assured. I slid off the stool, moving like a man in a dream--or a man in a particularly promising nightmare. We moved through the room and down the hallway. The bar noise faded behind us. Her steps were confident, her breathing was just barely audible in the space between us.

The supply room door, unlocked as promised, swung open without resistance, surrounding us in the scent of cardboard and bleach as we stepped into the darkness. The door shut behind us, muffling the music, sealing us in. A faint glow seeped in from under the door, casting just enough light to make out shelves and stacked crates. But not her. Even her silhouette was too dimly lit to make out her features. I didn't mind; I was as invested in her anonymity as she was.

She didn't speak. Didn't move right away. Just let the silence stretch, the air between us electric. Then, her hands. Light at first, slipping under my jacket, moving gently up my sides to my chest before drifting down, sensuously exploring my abs, floating over my belt. Fingers finding my zipper--a slow, deliberate pull, the soft whisper of metal teeth parting. I took a sharp breath.

"Are you still good?"

A pause.

"Did you just nod?"

"Yeah."

"I can't hear a nod," she joked.

I exhaled a quiet laugh. "Yes."

She pushed me back, just enough. Just enough for her to sink down in front of me.

I stood still, waiting, as she pressed me back against a rack of bottles. Bottles clinked delicately against metal. Then, a pause--long enough for doubt to creep in, for my mind to start composing the inevitable story I'd tell myself when this turned out to be some elaborate joke.

And then--overwhelming warmth. Her mouth, hot and wet. Her lips, soft and supple, moved slowly, deliberately, each sensation intense and drawn out. No rush. No urgency. She wasn't just playing for the win--she was savoring the moment, letting every movement build on the last.

I pressed my palms against the shelves behind me, steadying myself as the sensation of her mouth captured me. My breath was ragged, every nerve alive as she took her time, drawing me deeper into the moment with each slow, deliberate stroke.

I couldn't see her. The darkness heightened the sensations; I could feel everything. The moisture on her lips, the pressure of her tongue, the soft hum vibrating through me as she kept time. She was good. Unfairly good.

Somewhere outside, the bar kept moving--laughter, jingling glasses, a muffled bassline. But in here, time had narrowed down to this.

It didn't take long. It couldn't have. I tensed, hands gripping the edge of the metal shelves, the cool surface grounding me as the steady pressure of her mouth took over. Her rhythm was slow, deliberate, each movement pulling me deeper into the moment.

I wasn't timing it, but I knew the moment she'd won her bet. Her pace slowed as the intensity grew, nearly stopping as it happened, coaxing every spasm into the next. She didn't pull away, didn't break the connection. Just a soft rhythmic hum, then a slow, deliberate swallow. She savored the moment until the contractions finally stopped.

'Did you just swallow the evidence?" I croaked, trying to appear lucid.

"Honor system," was all she said.

The door cracked open, letting in a sliver of fluorescent light, music, and laughter. Then she was gone.

I stood there, heart racing with my pants at my ankles, contemplating the absurdity of what had just happened and celebrating my random good fortune. I was mysteriously disappointed that we hadn't somehow gotten to know each other. I somehow felt connection beside the obvious physical touching. But the anonymity is kind of the point with something like this. Isn't it?

Playing along, I didn't try to get a look at her nor did didn't hurry to follow her. I just took my time, and pulled myself together while my breathing recovered, and pulse slowed to normal.

Back at my stool, the bartender gave me a knowing look. "Another?"

I nodded. Scanning the room for the possible perpetrators. I had no clue.

Sometime later sitting in the very same spot at a bar I rarely visited having dismissed the idea that I would ever discover her mysterious identity -- I heard it.

A voice behind me. Soft. Familiar.

"Double or nothing?"