Bar Top Secrets

Honey…Honey,” my wife whispers, her hand tracing a slow, deliberate path across my crotch beneath the worn leather of the bar’s sticky surface. I glance over, meeting her gaze, and she leans closer, her breath warm against my ear. “That bartender looks like Don Draper.”

A slow grin spreads across my face, a knowing smirk that acknowledges the unspoken. You all probably understand what I mean when I say that. Kate Beckinsale is definitely mine. The way he moves, the effortless cool, the subtle arrogance – it’s intoxicating. Every time he walks over, offering a refill or inquiring about our drinks, she blushes, a delicate pink bloom spreading across her cheeks, and her eyes never leave his body. Simultaneously, her hand finds my cock, nestled beneath the bar top, and she whispers in my ear, a breathless confession of her mounting arousal. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick. Let me know if you see him staring at my ass.”

“Funny, what are you gonna do in there?” I murmur, my voice low and laced with playful anticipation.

She reaches into her small, worn purse and pulls out her Vesper Crave, a miniature vibrator disguised as a delicate silver necklace. It’s virtually silent, a sleek, sophisticated pleasure device that she always keeps close. “I’m gonna pull down my panties, think about him, and, you know, play. Does that turn you on?”

A confident nod escapes my lips, my eyes tracking the bartender as he weaves his way back to his station. “Are you going to lick my pussy after I finish fantasizing about fucking him?” Her question hangs in the air, charged with desire.

“I’d love to be sucking on your clit while he fucks you,” I respond, my voice husky with unspoken lust. “Both of you at the same time…sexy. I definitely want to look down and see your tongue caressing my clit while his dick slides in and out of your soaking wet pussy.”

“I’m getting way too hard,” I snicker, unable to contain the building heat. She ups the ante, her voice a silky invitation. “I want him to pull his dick out of my wet pussy, lay down next to me, and have you lick the cum off of both of us while he and I make out.”

“Whatever little flirty drink you had, we need another one,” I reply, a playful challenge in my tone. “I’m definitely going to be naming one of my dildos after him.” She bites her bottom lip, her eyes locked on his face, a fierce determination burning within them. “Just look at him…I want to fuck him every night.”

The air crackles with a shared, intense arousal. We’re both so turned on at this little verbal escapade, we can hardly keep our hands off each other. If there were fewer people in the bar, we would have seen my wife practically giving me a handjob. I can feel the pressure building, the pre-ejaculatory rumble intensifying, and know it’s only a matter of seconds before it shows through my shorts. She moves her hand from my cock, grabs her purse, and heads to the bathroom, leaving me to stew in the delicious anticipation.

I look down, and just as I suspected, a small bead of moisture glistens on the outside of my shorts, a telltale sign of the pleasure to come. After a minute, my phone vibrates. I glance at the screen and read the text message.

“My pussy is so wet for him right now. Ask what his name is for me.”

To the bartender, I text, “What’s your name?”

“Trey,” he replies, his voice cool and measured as he walks quickly past.

“Trey,” I text back to her, confirming the information. “I want Trey’s dick.”

“I want you to hold Trey’s dick in your hand while I suck on it. Then after I finish sucking his dick, I want to kiss you so you can taste his cum on my lips.”

“I’m gonna cum here at the bar,” I say, letting the words hang in the air, a silent confession of my intentions.

“I think you should get down on your knees and suck his dick with me. (LOL…Never thought I would say that.)” Her message is laced with a playful challenge, a reckless abandon that only heightens my excitement.

“Kinky,” I reply, my voice barely a whisper. “I want to feel him shoot cum all over both of us. I wanna kiss you deeply while another man cums all over our faces.”

Silence descends, thick and heavy with unspoken desire. There’s no need for further conversation. The image alone, the sheer thought of it, fuels my cock, sending waves of heat through my body, bringing me closer to the brink of an orgasm. I pull the napkin from my pocket and cover my crotch, holding it in place as I wait for my wife to return. I figured she would look a little more frazzled at her sexual escapade, but she’s so damn hot, I can’t even focus on the details. She grins as she looks down, seeing the napkin raised up on my crotch, exposing a semi-aroused cock pressing against the fabric, and a slick, glistening substance clinging to the outside.

“Seriously?” she says, her voice laced with amusement.

“SERIOUSLY,” I quip back, my gaze never leaving her. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to ejaculate without anyone noticing?”

She laughs, a melodious sound that sends shivers down my spine. “I wasn’t too bad for me. Bathroom doors have locks.”

“Did you…finish?” I ask, my voice a breathless whisper.

“No, but felt really good. Bathrooms are dirty. I want to finish at home. You ready to go…oops, spill something on yourself?”

I pretend to spill a drink on myself, jumping up from the bar in a hasty retreat. The other patrons glance over, but no one is the wiser. We make our escape, slipping out of the crowded bar and into the waiting car. The scent of her perfume fills my senses, a heady mix of vanilla and spice that further ignites my lust.

As we pull away from the curb, I reflect on the events that have just transpired. It’s true, as I’ve stated before in other posts and in comments, that sexual feelings are more or less uncontrollable. Whether we admit it to another or only to ourselves, they still happen. I can’t tell you how many times throughout the course of a day, week, or month that I see something or someone that makes me aroused. Sexual feelings are just like any other feeling – happy, sad, anger, joy, etc. Each one of those has an outlet, and sexual feelings have their own.

I enjoy knowing that my wife still allows herself the freedom to have sexual feelings. We don’t live in an overly sexualized world; the world has always been sexualized. Repressing natural emotions and shying away from honesty about sexual feelings causes so much strife. I’d much rather have brutal honesty than a shred of jealousy.

As one previous writer on this blog said, “We’re married, not dead.”

We don’t have a particular way we handle things like this. If we’re together, sometimes the fantasy scenario or thoughts will be expressed in our sexual encounter. If we’re apart, we frequently masturbate to move those sexual feelings through the cycle. By cycle, I mean “see the sexual stimulus, let it fill you up, find a safe way to release.”

The cycle doesn’t always work like this, but last night my wife saw a visually stimulating man, she let the feelings fill her up, and when we got home, she went straight to the bedroom, pulled out her favorite dildo and vibrator, and set them on the nightstand. I stood there for a brief second and watched as she slid down her shorts and got under the covers. She smiled at me and asked, “Can you take the dogs on a walk? Me and Trey need some time…”

I started laughing as I left the room and the house. Fantasizing is the greatest relief valve in a marriage. It gives you and your spouse the ability to live out and do things that neither of you ever would do in real life and have some really great orgasms.

Did she fuck the bartender in her head last night? No. She had a fantasy about visual stimulus which she controlled in a way to bring her the greatest possible sexual pleasure.

When I got back home from walking the dogs, the door to the bedroom was open. I walked in to find her still under the covers, grinning at me, her dildo sitting on the nightstand glistening from use. I shut the door behind me and sat down on the bed next to her, leaning against the headboard. She laid her head in my lap, looking up at me.

“Well, how was it?” I ask, my voice filled with anticipation.

She throws the cover back, spreads her legs, and grabs the glistening dildo off the nightstand. “We need to be cleaned up.” I take the dildo and am about to start sucking on it when she says, “Get on your knees and suction it to the bed post.”

I comply, dropping to my knees and beginning to lap up her cum. As I do, she crawls over and leans against me, her body pressing close. The heat intensifies, and the pleasure becomes overwhelming.

“I want you to lick my pussy after I finish fantasizing about fucking him,” she whispers, her voice a breathless plea.

“I’d love to be sucking on your clit while he fucks you,” I respond, my voice thick with desire. “Both of you at the same time…sexy. I definitely want to look down and see your tongue caressing my clit while his dick slides in and out of your soaking wet pussy.”

“I’m getting way too hard,” I snicker, unable to contain the building heat. She ups the ante, her voice laced with a playful challenge. “I want him to pull his dick out of my wet pussy, lay down next to me, and have you lick the cum off of both of us while he and I make out.”

“Whatever little flirty drink you had, we need another one,” I reply, a playful challenge in my tone. “I’m definitely going to be naming one of my dildos after him.” She bites her bottom lip, her eyes locked on his face, a fierce determination burning within them. “Just look at him…I want to fuck him every night.”

The air crackles with an intense arousal, a shared understanding that transcends words. We’re both so turned on at this little verbal escapade, we can hardly keep our hands off each other. If there were fewer people in the bar, we would have seen my wife practically giving me a handjob. I can feel the pressure building, the pre-ejaculatory rumble intensifying, and know it’s only a matter of seconds before it shows through my shorts. She moves her hand from my cock, grabs her purse, and heads to the bathroom, leaving me to stew in the delicious anticipation.

I look down, and just as I suspected, a small bead of moisture glistens on the outside of my shorts, a telltale sign of the pleasure to come. After a minute, my phone vibrates. I glance at the screen and read the text message.

“My pussy is so wet for him right now. Ask what his name is for me.”

To the bartender, I text, “What’s your name?”

“Trey,” he replies, his voice cool and measured as he walks quickly past.

“Trey,” I text back to her, confirming the information. “I want Trey’s dick.”

“I want you to hold Trey’s dick in your hand while I suck on it. Then after I finish sucking his dick, I want to kiss you so you can taste his cum on my lips.”

“I’m gonna cum here at the bar,” I say, letting the words hang in the air, a silent confession of my intentions.

“I think you should get down on your knees and suck his dick with me. (LOL…Never thought I would say that.)” Her message is laced with a playful challenge, a reckless abandon that only heightens my excitement.

“Kinky,” I reply, my voice barely a whisper. “I want to feel him shoot cum all over both of us. I wanna kiss you deeply while another man cums all over our faces.”

Silence descends, thick and heavy with unspoken desire. There’s no need for further conversation. The image alone, the sheer thought of it, fuels my cock, sending waves of heat through my body, bringing me closer to the brink of an orgasm. I pull the napkin from my pocket and cover my crotch, holding it in place as I wait for my wife to return. I figured she would look a little more frazzled at her sexual escapade, but she’s so damn hot, I can’t even focus on the details. She grins as she looks down, seeing the napkin raised up on my crotch, exposing a semi-aroused cock pressing against the fabric, and a slick, glistening substance clinging to the outside.

“Seriously?” she says, her voice laced with amusement.

“SERIOUSLY,” I quip back, my gaze never leaving her. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to ejaculate without anyone noticing?”

She laughs, a melodious sound that sends shivers down my spine. “I wasn’t too bad for me. Bathroom doors have locks.”

“Did you…finish?” I ask, my voice a breathless whisper.

“No, but felt really good. Bathrooms are dirty. I want to finish at home. You ready to go…oops, spill something on yourself?”

I pretend to spill a drink on myself, jumping up from the bar in a hasty retreat. The other patrons glance over, but no one is the wiser. We make our escape, slipping out of the crowded bar and into the waiting car. The scent of her perfume fills my senses, a heady mix of vanilla and spice that further ignites my lust.

As we pull away from the curb, I reflect on the events that have just transpired. It’s true, as I’ve stated before in other posts and in comments, that sexual feelings are more or less uncontrollable. Whether we admit it to another or only to ourselves, they still happen. I can’t tell you how many times throughout the course of a day, week, or month that I see something or someone that makes me aroused. Sexual feelings are just like any other feeling – happy, sad, anger, joy, etc. Each one of those has an outlet, and sexual feelings have their own outlet.

I enjoy knowing that my wife still allows herself the freedom to have sexual feelings. We don’t live in an overly sexualized world; the world has always been sexualized. Repressing natural emotions and shying away from honesty about sexual feelings causes so much strife. I’d much rather have brutal honesty than a shred of jealousy.

As one previous writer on this blog said, “We’re married, not dead.”

We don’t have a particular way we handle things like this. If we’re together, sometimes the fantasy scenario or thoughts will be expressed in our sexual encounter. If we’re apart, we frequently masturbate to move those sexual feelings through the cycle. By cycle, I mean “see the sexual stimlus, let it fill you up, find a safe way to release.”

The cycle doesn’t always work like this, but last night my wife saw a visually stimulating man, she let the feelings fill her up, and when we got home, she went straight to the bedroom, pulled out her favorite dildo and vibrator, and set them on the nightstand. I stood there for a brief second and watched as she slid down her shorts and got under the covers. She smiled at me and asked, “Can you take the dogs on a walk? Me and Trey need some time…”

I started laughing as I left the room and the house. Fantasizing is the greatest relief valve in a marriage. It gives you and your spouse the ability to live out and do things that neither of you ever would do in real life and have some really great orgasms.

Did she fuck the bartender in her head last night? No. She had a fantasy about visual stimulus which she controlled in a way to bring her the greatest possible sexual pleasure.

When I got back home from walking the dogs, the door to the bedroom was open. I walked in to find her still under the covers, grinning at me, her dildo sitting on the nightstand glistening from use. I shut the door behind me and sat down on the bed next to her, leaning against the headboard. She laid her head in my lap, looking up at me.

“Well, how was it?” I ask, my voice filled with anticipation.

She throws the cover back, spreads her legs, and grabs the glistening dildo off the nightstand. “We need to be cleaned up.” I take the dildo and am about to start sucking on it when she says, “Get on your knees and suction it to the bed post.”

I comply, dropping to my knees and beginning to lap up her cum. As I do, she crawls over and leans against me, her body pressing close. The heat intensifies, and the pleasure becomes overwhelming.

“I want you to lick my pussy after I finish fantasizing about fucking him,” she whispers, her voice a breathless plea.

“I’d love to be sucking on your clit while he fucks you,” I respond, my voice thick with desire. “Both of you at the same time…sexy. I definitely want to look down and see your tongue caressing my clit while his dick slides in and out of your soaking wet pussy.”

“I’m getting way too hard,” I snicker, unable to contain the building heat. She ups the ante, her voice laced with a playful challenge. “I want him to pull his dick out of my wet pussy, lay down next to me, and have you lick the cum off of both of us while he and I make out.”

“Whatever little flirty drink you had, we need another one,” I reply, a playful challenge in my tone. “I’m definitely going to be naming one of my dildos after him.” She bites her bottom lip, her eyes locked on his face, a fierce determination burning within them. “Just look at him…I want to fuck him every night.”

The air crackles with an intense arousal, a shared understanding that transcends words. We’re both so turned on at this little verbal escapade, we can hardly keep our hands off each other

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