Ice and Fire on the Bar in the Empty Club

He parked, then invited me inside for a quick drink. The club was deserted – just us, the neon lights casting a soft glow. He poured me a bourbon, and we talked, the air thick with tension. It was nearly 6 a.m., and I said I had to go, thanking him for the great conversation. He asked if I was sure, then closed the distance between us and kissed me, his lips firm and warm.

It was the moment I’d been craving, but I played it coy, murmuring, “I’m taken.” He smirked, saying he knew – he’d seen my partner drop me off at work before and didn’t care. His hands roamed my body, urgent and hungry, squeezing my curves as he deepened the kiss. I slid my hand over his jeans, feeling him harden under my touch. He peeled off his shirt and pants, revealing his stocky frame, and I followed, stripping down to my lace bra and panties. Our kisses grew frantic, tongues dancing, as I pressed myself against him.

I climbed onto the bar, the cool surface a sharp contrast to my heated skin. He grabbed an ice cube, slipping it between his lips, and knelt between my legs. The icy chill against my most sensitive spot sent shivers through me as his tongue swirled, the cold melting into warmth. His fingers teased my entrance, sliding in just enough to make me gasp, my hips bucking against his mouth. The sensation was overwhelming – the ice, his lips, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm, drawing soft moans from me as I gripped the edge of the bar.

Then it was my turn. I slid his boxers down, and – holy hell – his member was short but impossibly thick, like nothing I’d ever seen. The tip was small, almost delicate, but the shaft was a challenge, broad and heavy. I started slowly, my lips wrapping around the head, tasting him as I worked my way down. It was intimidating, but I took my time, savoring the way he groaned. He guided my head, urging me deeper, and I obliged, my jaw stretching to accommodate him. My tongue swirled along the underside, and I felt him pulse, his grip tightening in my hair. I kept going, even as my jaw ached, lost in the intensity of pleasing him.

I pulled back, breathless, and he asked if I was enjoying it. I nodded, my voice husky as I said, “Hell yes.” He positioned himself between my breasts, and I pressed them together, letting him move against me. The friction was electric, his groans fueling my own desire. He asked if I had protection, and I dug two condoms from my clutch. To my shock, the first wouldn’t fit – too tight for his girth. We tried the second, stretching it carefully until it just barely worked.

I leaned against the bar, one leg propped on a stool, my body open to him. He positioned himself behind me, easing in slowly. The stretch was intense, a mix of sharp pleasure and a hint of pain, filling me in a way that made my breath catch. But the angle wasn’t quite right – he couldn’t go as deep as I craved. I guided him to the floor, laying him on the pile of discarded clothes. Straddling him, still in my stilettos, I took control, guiding his thick length into me inch by inch. My hands braced on his chest, I moved, slow at first, then faster, watching his face contort with pleasure. His hands gripped my hips, then my breasts, pinching my nipples as I rode him, the sensation sending sparks through me.

It was incredible, but my heels were killing me, and I needed more. I shifted, leaning against the bar again, urging him to take me. We tried, but the angle still wasn’t perfect. I dropped to my knees on the floor, arching my back in my favorite position – on all fours, ready for him. He knelt behind me, sliding in with a slow, deliberate thrust. The stretch was exquisite, his thickness opening me up as he moved, his hands gripping my hips. He tugged my hair gently, a light spank landing on my skin, and I moaned, begging for more. The rhythm built, our bodies syncing, but his length kept him from hitting that deepest spot I craved. I rocked back against him, matching his thrusts, determined to feel every inch.
We went at it for what felt like forever, lost in the heat of it. I shifted again, lying on the clothes, legs spread wide. He teased me with his fingers, circling my clit with slick precision, making me writhe. I begged for him, and he obliged, lifting my legs to his shoulders and sliding in. His fingers kept working my clit as he thrust, slow and deep, then faster. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, my nails digging into his back. His pace quickened, sweat beading on his brow, his face flushed as he moved harder, faster. My moans filled the empty club, mingling with the faint hum of the neon lights. He hit his peak, his body shuddering as he groaned, collapsing against me.

He’d finished, but I was still on edge, my body humming with unspent desire. He lay beside me, catching his breath. I excused myself to the bathroom, grabbing my clothes. When I returned, we were both dressed, my stilettos back on. He drove me home, the silence between us comfortable but charged. He mentioned he worked weekends at the club and invited me back. I smiled, saying I’d had fun but hadn’t quite gotten there. He promised a next time. I never returned while he was DJing, though.