It's Monday, September fifteenth, in time for your daily fuck. The bass is a physical force in this dive bar, a vibration that works its way up from the sticky floor through the soles of my feet and settles deep in my chest. The air is thick with the smell of stale beer, sweat, and electricity. I'm pressed against the lip of the low stage, my hands flat on the dusty, vibrating surface, and my eyes are locked on him. He's the basest, a feral creature of tattoos and raw energy.
His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, his jaws clenched, and his eyes are dark, dangerous pits. He's not playing the bass so much as attacking it, his fingers a blur of callous precision on the strings. Every so often, his gaze finds mine, and the swirling chaos of the marsh pit, the world narrows to the two of us. It's not a flirtation. It's a challenge, a promise of violence and pleasure. The sweat is dripping from his face as he plays, his body a coiled spring
of frantic energy. I decide right then and there that I need to feel that same energy all over my body, inside it. The final chord of the song crashes through the bar, a wall of feedback and distortion. The crowd roars. He doesn't bow, he doesn't even put his base down properly, just lets it fall against a man with a screech at two long strides. He's at the edge of the stage. He reaches down, his hand wrapping around my wrist and pulls. I stumble onto the stage, and he drags me wordlessly
through the curtain behind the drum kit. There are wristles and shouts that follow us. Presumably this happens a lot. I don't care. The noise of the bar is instantly muffled, replaced by the ringing in my ears. We're in a grimy, cramped back room. The walls are a mess of appealing ain't and graffiti, and the air smells like old sweat and warm electronics. The moment the curtain falls shut, he shoves me against the wall. The rough plaster scrapes against
my back. His mouth crashes down on mine, a brutal kiss that isn't about tenderness but about possession. It's a clash of teeth and tongues and I give back as good as I get, my nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders. This is a masduction, It's a collision. His hands yank my dress up around my waist with a single rough motion. I hear the rasp of a zipper, and then his hand is between my legs, his fingers pressing into my soaked panties. He hooks a thumb in
the waistband and rips them down the side. Wrap your legs around me. His words are hot and ragged against my ear. I obey, leaping up as he lifts me, his hands on my ass as my thighs lock around his waist. He poises the thick, hardhead of his cocket my entrance, and then slams into me without any warning. A scream is to horn from my throat, a sound of pain and pure, unadulterated pleasure. He's huge, filling me completely, and he merely starts fucking me with a frantic, punishing rhythm.
He pounds into me like he's trying to drive me through the wall, the impacts punctuating the wet, slapping sound of her body's colliding. My hands scrabble for purchase against the graffiti covered wall. As he rides me. His hip's a powerful, relentless piston. This is sex as dirty as the floor. I can't think, I can't breathe. I'm nothing but sensation. The friction is building. An unbearable fire inside me going to come, and it's going to be as
messy and loud as the music outside. My orgasm hits me like a lightning strike, a full body convulsion that makes me luck. My legs tighter around him. I scream his name, though I don't even know it, the sound swallowed by the thin wall. My climax pushes him over the edge with a final, deep grunt. He drives himself into me one last time and comes with a worse that feels like he's rearranging my insides. He lets me slide down the wall. My leg's weak and trembling until
my feet hit the sticky floor. He's panting, his forehead pressed against mind, his body's still covering me. He pulls out of me slowly, and I almost collapse without another word. He turns away, grabs a warm beer from some random spot, cracks it open. The encounter is over. I pull down my tress. My body is humming and raw. My ears are ringing, my back is scraped, and I can still taste his sweat on my lips. It's the best show I've ever seen. Reas