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Julie had blonde hair, and it hung in waves down her shoulders. She had soft pale blue eyes that seemed honest and innocent. And she had lightly tanned skin that shone golden in the afternoon sun.
She found the drive home after work so boring. All day, cramped in an office cubicle, a slave to the phone and a hostess of charm to the voice on the other end of the line. And then an hour drive to her sanctuary, her haven, her home.
That drive, every afternoon, was hellish. Cars lined up next to each other on the streets, horns blaring, motors humming.
How Julie hated that constant noise.
Sometimes, when it was really bad, she’d say ‘fuck it’ and forget about how badly her cat needed her to get home, right now, and feed and water her. And Julie would slip through the streams of traffic and find herself parking her car outside a dark but not dingy lounge just off the main drag.
Many people came here, business men in business attire, professional women trying to break through the glass ceiling. But never anyone Julie ever knew. And she liked it that way.
The bar was dark, but not too dark. The lights reflected off the red wood of the counter and tables and high chairs. And jazz or soft rock played on the melancholy of all patrons. Looking around her, squinting against the glare of the setting sun, Julie knew today was one of those days. She pulled her car into an after hours parking lot, took the parking stub and tucked it into her purse, and headed into the lounge.
The same music was playing, as it always did. And the same grayed-out faces turned to her as she walked in, seeing her but not seeing her.
They, too, came here to escape.
Julie walked up to the bar and moved to a corner spot, where the countertop met ornamented wood-paneled wall. She slipped into the arms of the highboy chair and waved off-handedly at the bartender. Soon, she was sipping a double rum and coke, on ice, and eyeing the pedestrians walking by the window. No one bothered to look inside.
The television in the corner of the room, hung from the ceiling, showed some stock market tips and detailed current trends. It was evidence that even here in their simple hide-away, they could not escape their duties, not until each patron here returned to home and hearth and set that briefcase down and forgot about everything they had done during the day, only to be haunted by the guilt of forgetting something all night.
Julie lifted the cool drink to her lips, feeling the sweat on the glass beneath her fingers. It was slippery, and the rum sliding down her throat was the same, slick and chill. Her eyes roamed around the room, breaking the usual monotony of “waiting out the traffic”
Something was different.
And it was him.
He was sitting at one of the low tables set near the window. No one ever sat there at this hour. He had his booted feet up on a chair across from him. He had a cowboy hat on his head and a beer in hand.
And he was watching Julie.
She blinked. Monotony broken.
Julie gulped another sip, keeping the glass marmaris escort to her lips. And the cowboy lifted his beer, saluting Julie and making her aware that he was aware that she was aware of him watching her. Then he put the muzzle of the dark amber bottle to his mouth, and drank deeply, his dark eyes never leaving her face.
Slowly, the cowboy rose up out of his seat. Julie swore that as he walked towards her, across the lounge, all other noise faded except for the clink-clink-clink of steel edged heels on waxed wood.
He was in front of her, putting out his hand to her, offering to deliver her from the grayness and the melancholia. Julie accepted, though she was not conscious of doing so.
She put her hand into his, and he freed her from her chair and her drink and her mood. Then he was placing her hand on his shoulder, and she could feel the sinews of his flesh beneath her palm. Her eyes went up to his, and he looked down into hers from the shadows caused by the rim of his hat. He smiled, a smile that crinkled the mustache he had on his upper lip.
And he began to move.
The song he danced Julie around to was not the song playing on the music system in the bar. It was some other song she had never heard. And he moved her slowly around an empty spot on the floor.
She never knew if anyone around them was paying attention. She only knew she didn’t care. She tilted her head back to stare up at the savior holding her too close for a stranger. And she leaned against him, taking the freedom he offered.
Julie felt his hand on her waist. Then it was slipping lower, moving over the rounded curve of her skirt over her ass. He stroked her thus, caressing her bottom as they moved in a circle.
Julie’s mouth felt dry, and she craved the drink she had set down on the counter. But it was out of reach, and the only thing she could drink was the moment, and his eyes. Then, the cowboy offered her his mouth.
Down came his lips, pressing softly against hers. How she managed to return the kiss with his hat tilted just so on his head, shading his face still, Julie did not question. She only gave in to the thirst for him that he had created inside her. And she drank from his mouth, her own soon wet with the toyings of his tongue as it slipped inside.
He moved against her, around her, inside her. His body pressed against hers, his hands moved around hers, and his tongue slid within her cheeks so deliciously, she might have cried.
He was relief and freedom and fantasy.
Then, he was insistence.
With a hand over hers, the cowboy began to lead Julie from the lounge. No one objected as he took her with him into one of the single bathroom stalls and closed the world off with the click of the latch.
Julie thought she should object. She thought someone should tell her not to do what ever was coming next. But as his mouth moved to her neck, as he pulled gently at the top buttons of her blouse, opening her collar and exposing her heated flesh, suddenly Julie wasn’t thinking any more.
She was feeling, marmaris escort bayan and feeling whatever he requested her to feel.
The cowboy placed a hand on either of Julie’s buttocks, and lifted her up. Then he set her down on the wooden counter, next to the pale beige ceramic sink set into it for washing away the sins of sanitation. With a hand on either side of her, he ran his mouth over her cheeks, her chin, her lips.
Julie tilted back her head, closing her eyes to the glare of the one light hanging from the ceiling. Her neck arched perfectly beneath his mouth now, and his tongue began to explore her, taste her. His hands went to her knees, rubbing them, caressing their slender knobs of bone and cartilage. Then he was pushing the hem of her skirt upwards, higher up her thighs. And his capable hands were slipping underneath.
She should have objected. But Julie never did.
The cowboy’s hands were calloused from his hard work. She could feel the balls of tough skin plucking at her panties. Then he was pulling those down, down past Julie’s ankles. And again, he was freeing her. Freeing her from the bindings of her femininity and from the fragile nature that forced her to put silk on something already silky and to decorate something that nature had made perfect already.
Her privacy now exposed, Julie gasped as the cowboy moved his hands back up her legs. His rough fingers gently opened her thighs, and he came to stand between them. Julie could feel the bulge of the crotch of his denim jeans pressing against her sex as he pulled her close to him. He was kissing her again. And she was lost in his mouth’s ministrations. Then one of his hands ran up her chest, up the curve of her throat, pushing her head back. And his other hand was parting her thighs again as he moved away from where his clothing had been teasing at her folds.
He was going to touch her. And she worried that it would be so wonderful she would explode.
The cowboy’s fingers slipped up against her sex. Julie could feel him stroking against the fur of her mons, and then he was parting her, opening her.
Touching her very intimately.
There was nothing left to object to now. It was all too late, the social mores she had left discarded on the floor like sawdust beneath his boots. The principles, the rules for living she had always applied to her life that had gotten her to where she was now.
But what was she now? Just another prisoner to a corporation, another minion for a master she might never see – Fortune.
Julie gasped and let her head drop back even further, sure that if she opened her eyes, she would be viewing her own upside down visage in the mirror above the sink. The cowboy’s mouth worked over her neck, and his free hand began to undo the buttons to her blouse. His tongue followed quickly after, lapping eagerly at every new inch of exposed flesh, moving lower and lower until she could feel his tongue wetting the edges of her lace brassiere.
Then he was beyond that, pulling hard on the material of her undergarment and forcing it under the spill escort marmaris of flesh that was her breast. He licked around the round mound, squeezing it in his hand and suckling at the nipple.
His fingers were pressing into her now, finding and flicking over the bud of erectile tissue that was her clitoris. His fingernails teased at her, then satisfied her, moving a digit and then another up inside her sheath.
She was slick now, wet and slippery like the sweating glass she had abandoned on the bar. But where those beads of errant moisture had been cool and an expected result of the process of cold liquid in a warmed glass, her cunt was responding against her own control, and was slippery with warmth.
Julie groaned as the cowboy suckled yet harder on one of her dark nipples. She wanted to move a hand to his hair, to hold his face against her breast even harder. But she dared not touch him, for fear the bubble around this erotic dream would burst and she would find herself awake and frustrated and very much alone in the lounge.
Into her his fingers moved, stroking her inner walls. His teeth nipped at her breast, and Julie thought she would cum against his hand. But then he pulled away, opening her blouse even further, lapping down her belly with his tongue.
He crouched between her legs, lifting them up onto his shoulders and nuzzling the insides of her thighs with his tickling moustache. Julie cried out, and had to put a knuckle into her mouth to stop the sounds from erupting further.
And the cowboy began to kiss her, honoring her with his mouth pressed firmly against her petals. He lapped at her nectar, and drew yet more from her with his tongue. He was like a hummingbird, hungry and quick and knowing exactly where to dive and dip in order to truly drink.
And like a flower, a deep red flushed flower, Julie held as still as she could beneath the beats of his lips and tongue, letting him have everything from her he could have. He slurped. He suckled. He joined a finger to his dance against her skin.
And at last, Julie came, seduced into throwing off the yoke of oppression that was her sophisticated and well-rounded professional life. She gushed over his lips, and his hands cupped her hips tightly, forcing her hard against the curving of his mouth.
He drank until he had drained her of everything she had kept bottled up within her soul and her heart. At last, Julie was left panting. Eyes closed. Legs wide apart. Ears alert only enough to hear him unlatch the door and walk away, clink-clink-clink, across the lounge floor. Several minutes later, Julie picked up her panties from the floor. She did not hesitate to throw them into the garbage near the sink.
She did not need them.
She did up the buttons on her blouse, only to the one just above the line of her bra. She had no need to do them all the way up, there was no one left to impress. And she left her hair tangled and wild as she walked out of the washroom and out of the lounge.
Freedom, her body wanted to cry out in joy, trembling and shaking as she slipped into her car. Joining the now-depleted homeward-bound lines of traffic, Julie smiled softly as her fingers played over the base of her neck, teasing at her collarbone.
Freedom. She would not soon forget its flavor.
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