One Night Stand

I don't know why I was there that night. I mean, I don't even like bars. They're loud, they reek of cigarettes, and people go there to grope and not hold meaningful conversations. When they do talk, they are invariably strident and inane, particularly after the inevitable beers have had a chance to kick in.

But I went anyway that night, not really knowing why I was there. And as always, the music was too loud and the air was too stale. The music really does suck at this bar. It's the only queer bar in town, and that means that it has to play the music with as broad an appeal as possible, and somehow cater to both the middle-aged gay men who sip draft beer while making passes at each other, the middle-aged dykes who shoot pool while making passes at each other, and the younger crowd who cavort to dance music while making passes at each other. The only mitigating factor in this was the theme nights they constantly held, but even if it's the night for depressing Goth music or the night for gaudy drag shows, it's still the only place in town to go if you're a dyke.

So there I was at one in the morning, a little tired on my feet and with a little ringing in my ears, still moving to the music I had been thoroughly bored of an hour ago. And then, Liz and I somehow caught each other's eye.

I should explain about Liz. She's... well, I'll start with her appearance. She's close to 6 feet tall, and is built like a brick shithouse. She's one of those people who you just know doesn't worry about being caught in a dark alley. She had recently taken to shaving the sides of her head, leaving a wide strip along the top. She wore several large silver rings through various parts of her ears, a silver barbell through her labret, and had a tattoo of a vine up her shoulder blade and down her bicep. She generally wore tank tops with jeans and a belt with enough metal in it to replace any given major automobile engine part. On her feet, of course, were a huge pair of what a British friend of mine calls "fuck-off boots". If it weren't for the breasts, which were large in proportion to the rest of her, you'd have thought I was being stared down by a particularly mean looking NFL linebacker.

Liz is a veritable force of nature and kinda legendary in the local dyke scene. Her "day" job is working as a bouncer at a big meat market dance club downtown, and she teaches jujitsu on the side, mostly for kicks. She and I knew each other from around town, but we'd never been that close. I had seen her stalking her prey in this bar many times, but has always dismissed it as another alcohol-fuelled hormone binge on behalf of the more than willing participants. But then, she'd never turned that gaze on me.

When she did that night, I felt like I had been hypnotised. Maybe the general air of sexual tension in the bar that night had become too much for me, or maybe she was exerting some kind of pheromone I was powerless to resist. I don't know. I just know that after our eyes met I was only thinking about her body.

God, she looked hot that night. She was such a physical being, especially now, covered with a sheen of sweat that coursed down the channel between her breasts, and with an animal leer in her eye. I'm really not that kind of girl, but I seemed helpless to resist the sheer lustful force of that gaze. Like some sort of lesbian Rasputin, she had cast a spell on me.

Without even noticing, I had drifted closer to her, like a fly circling a candle. My feet carried me towards her as though she were reeling me in on a line. Before I knew it, I was at her side, and kissing her.

Her hands were on my shoulders, and then my breasts, as we stood kissing beside a speaker. Still moving a little to the music, I opened my mouth and slipped my tongue in as far as I could, as I felt hers attacking mine. Her hands were roughly squeezing my breasts, and then my ass. She pulled me in further, and began to rub my crotch against her thigh.

My head was thrown back to reach hers above me, and my hands clutched at her breasts. I was so carried away with what she was doing to me that I hardly noticed as she undid my blouse on the dance floor, leaving me exposed above the waist but for a silk bra. Liz ran a finger along my lips and then into my mouth, where I eagerly sucked it, and then used it to circle my nipple, before pinching it and pulling on my breast. All the while, she was grinding my pussy into her, until I was half straddling her mammoth thigh.

We fell into a rhythm with the continuous pulse of the dance music. With every beat she would pull me up along her leg and then let me fall down again, sliding down her on my cunt. Each time she did, I would grab at her tits, and soft moans would escape my throat. The affect she was having on me was very clear, and this in turn encouraged her to grab at my ass and breasts even more, using them to drag me up her leg again. Through all of this, our mouths were locked on each other, sucking and kissing for all we were worth.

If I was told before that night that I would orgasm in public surrounded by people, I never would have believed it. I would have been mortified and embarrassed. That night, though, I seemed completely incapable of sober second thought. My clit was being stimulated and I was ready to burst. Finally, I clenched my legs around hers, and reached behind me to pull her leg up between mine. Liz saw the change in me and jabbed her leg up harder than before, and pinched my nipple viciously with one hand. It was too much, and I climaxed, digging my nails into her back.

Before I had really recovered, Liz took me by the hand and pulled me towards the women's washroom. It being a small bar, there were only two stalls, and nobody was in them. Some femme was checking her lipstick in the mirror, but with a nod of her head Liz motioned her out the door, and locked it behind her. With that, she grabbed my shoulders and pushed me against the wall, kissing me fiercely. Her hands were all over my body, grabbing and prodding, and it was all I could do to hang on, still not recovered from my orgasm. I felt a touch on my inner thigh, then a grope which reached under my bra and pushed it away, and then a hand holding my head against the wall so she could kiss me. A hand reached up under my short skirt to cup my mound, and then without warning I felt my thin cotton underwear suddenly pulled and ripped in two. I saw a flash of a pocket knife in one hand. Liz had cut through from the waistband to one leg hole, and she immediately did the other as well. My panties fell to the floor, a useless rag.

I was already wet again, and the method of my undressing only made matters worse. Liz reached up and inserted two fingers into me with her left hand, rubbing my clit with the side of her thumb, while the other fumbled at her belt. She finally got it open, undid her fly, and pulled down the waist of her boxers. Looking down, I saw a huge black strap-on dildo spring up from her waist.

I was desperate for more stimulation at this point, so I hurriedly spread my legs wider apart and moved my hips towards her strap-on cock. Liz held me up against the wall, and I caught on to her phallus and helped her guide it in me. As soon as I got the tip in, she slammed her body forward, driving it high up inside me. She proceeded to penetrate me as though she were a piston in a race car, fucking me deep and hard. The ribs along the sides of the dildo were driving me crazy, and I couldn't take much more of this. Once again, my fingernails dug into her back as I cried out from her ministrations, much more loudly this time.

The fucking seemed to both go on forever and be over in a heartbeat. Gasping for air, grasping at Liz's back and arms as she pinned me against the wall, I felt the most powerful orgasm of my life slowly building to a fevered crescendo. Liz was pumping as fast as she possibly could by now, and was herself becoming carried away by the effects of the other end of the dildo, buried deep within her and rubbing her own clit with every thrust. She would soon climax too. Not soon enough though, because the dildo had already brought me to the edge of orgasm.

My orgasm racked my whole body and tore out of my throat with a primal, guttural scream. My legs spasmed, unable to support me at all, although I was going nowhere with Liz's arms holding me to the bathroom wall. I felt like every muscle in my body was clenching at once as my back arched in ecstasy and exhilaration.

However, Liz wasn't done yet. She hadn't reached her own climax, and so she kept pumping as frantically as before, agonising my hypersensitive clit, which was given no respite. It seemed like I was there for hours, stretched there out against the wall whimpering as she continued to pound her phallus into me, as my body still somehow was kept on the edge of my climax. Just as I thought I would faint from her efforts, Liz shuddered, and pushed into me as deeply as she could one last time.

Still inside me, Liz gave me one last, deep kiss, and then released me. I almost fell to the floor, but caught myself in time and stood, my heart still racing. She buckled up her jeans, and I managed to do up my blouse. I can't believe I just did that, I thought, and wandered over to the mirror to inspect the damage to my makeup. Liz turned to go, unlocked the door, and then paused at the door. Looking back, she smiled at me and said, "Thanks. You were pretty good."

"You too," I replied.

"Later," Liz answered, and with that was gone. Those few lines were the extent of all that we had spoken to each other that night. Which just goes to show, that there's no point at all in going to a bar if you're looking for conversation.