A Little Fresh Air (Part 2)

A Little Fresh Air (Part 2)

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


After the first encounter in the alley, they bump into each other for a second time...


After the first encounter in the alley, they bump into each other for a second time...


Submitted: June 20, 2016

A A A | A A A


Submitted: June 20, 2016



I'd been looking forward to a quiet Sunday night in front the TV. 

The last week had been a hectic nightmare with every free moment spent shuttling boxes to the new house. 

I was finally unpacked.  All the boxes were empty and everything was in its place. I'd stacked all the rubbish as neatly as I could outside next to my overflowing bin.  I was sure the rubbish men would love me for it come collection time in the morning. 

I'd just sat down after organizing my little table picnic which consisted of some popcorn, a bowl of chips with chessy dip on standby and a bottle of red wine when the phone rang. My first offical phone call in my new house.  I was tempted to ignore it.  I was feeling more than slightly exhausted but after a few rings, it seemed evident that whoever was calling, wasn't giving up anytime soon.

I picked up the phone and before it even reached my ear I could hear din of loud music.

"Hello..." I said, holding the receiver at least an inch from hy head. 

"Get your glad rags on woman, It's party night!" It was Sam.

"I was hoping for a quiet night in...." I protested.

"What are you? 60? Get dressed, we're at Dig's place. It's jumping in here, no way you're sitting on your arse all night and missing out..." she was still yelling down the phone when I reluctantly got up and headed to the bedroom to change.  I knew if I didn't comply, she'd be here in under an hour to drag me out so why resist?

"OK, ok, Let me get ready. I'll be there soon." I said and hung up before she could say anything else.

Dig's place wasn't exactly the hub of high society. It was a small-ish dive bar with a stage at one end which was used for live music nights on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Sundays and random DJ nights the rest of the week.  It had a space that I suppose could be considered as a dance floor, even though it was barely large enough to swing a cat and on busy nights, swinging anthing bigger than gerbil would take some doing but, the atmosphere in there was always pretty good.  The regulars were all on first name terms.  It was reminiscent of that old Kelsey Grammar TV show, Cheers, the place where everyone knows your name. The owner, a large, heavily tattooed butch lesbian who called herself 'Digga' (and who's real name no one ever knew) had moved here from Australia some 15 odd years ago and prided herself on keeping the "outback" alive in the heart of London.

I quickly threw on a pair of black jeans, the only black shirt in my closet that looked as if it had seen an iron in the last decade, slipped on my boots, grabbed some cash and my keys off the dresser and headed out.  Low maintenance night.  I was suddenly very grateful that Sam wasn't calling from another bar that would require a little more primping and preening. After a 20 minute arm flapping in the wind extravaganza, I managed to get a taxi and short 15 minute drive later, I arrived outside Dig's place.

Sam wasn't exaggerating, the place was packed.  There was a band up on the stage, enthusiastically belting out some great alternative rock. The swing a gerbil sized dancefloor was full to capacity and there was not a free table in sight. I pushed my way into the bar, scanning the place for Sam as I 'excuse me''dand 'sorry''d my way though the crowd. To my left, Digga was hard at work behind her bar, frantically trying to serve the thristy hoard of patrons. I saw her wave at me as I passed.  She guestured 'drink' and shrugged her shoulders, which was code for 'What are you having?'.  I made the usual Dig's place hand signal (which to anyone else looked like a fuck off) that represented a vodka and continued on to the table between the far end of the bar and the stage, where Sam and my friends were usually to be found. By the time I got there, my vodka was sitting on the bar waiting for me.  You had to love Digga, she knew how to treat her regulars. We always got great service and our glasses were never empty for long. 

"Took you long enough!" Sam screamed in my ear as I stepped into the booth and climbed up to perch myself on the back of the chair. 

"Taxi trouble!" I screamed back.  I sipped on my drink and listened to the band.  They were real good. The bass rocked through me like a hot knife through butter.  No more words were spoken until the band took its first break.

The lead singer was a tall, gangly looking guy with the trade mark shaggy hair that most rockers were sporting these days.  It was soaking wet and hugging his face like a blanket by the time he stepped down off the stage.  He made his way through the crowd on the dancefloor, closely follwed by his short, stocky bass player and a very familiar looking muscle bound drummer.  I'd seen him somewhere, I just couldn't put my finger on it.

They stood at the end of bar and ordered what no doubt would be the first of their next 20 or 30 so free drinks.  In all the time I'd been a regular at Digga's, I'd never seen a single band leave here sober after a set.  She was always overly generous with drinks for the musicians. We all assumed it was her inner guitarist that lead her down the gifting drinks like water path.  We later found out that this wasn't the case.  She'd been paying most of their fee in booze, which she was getting somewhere "top notch and hush hush" as she put it, and for bargain prices.  The end result was she saved a good couple hundred on hiring the band by plying them with alchohol as part of their payment instead of a standard cash payment.  Digga might have looked like she came from some outback country town but her mind was as sharp as a tack. There was a good lesson there in never judging someone on their apperance or they're easy going attitude.  

I watched as Sam made her move on the lead singer.  If ever there was a rock band groupie, Sam was it.  She always got who she wanted and understandably so, if you could see her.  She stands a good 5'9 tall, long blonde hair, blue eyes, long legs and a great body. If I didn't know her and I saw her from across a room, I'd be interested. As things stand, she's too into her bands for my liking but that's never stopped us being the best of friends. She labels herself 'a devout bisexual' which is true depending on the sex of the lead singer on any given night.

I needed a refill and Sam needed the space to manouver, so I picked up my empty glass and walked up to the bar. There was a little more space in here now.  The smokers had all made their way outside to make the most of the break between sets. I found an opening a few meters away from our booth and squeezed myself to the bar between a short haired brunette woman who was extremely over dressed for Dig's place and a sporty spice lookalike, complete with wifebeater and sweat pants. Digga was busy working her way down the bar from the other end.  Her only other bartender was off frantically collecting the glasses while there was space to move around. 

I'd just put my empty glass on the bar and began to tap the side in time to the Radiohead song that was filling in for the band when I felt someone come up behind me.  I looked down to see two hands, one on either side of me, resting on the bar. I couldn't see who it was. The mirror behind the bar was obscured by various bottles of whiskey, rum and other asorted bottles of booze. It was a woman, of that much, I was sure.  Her well manicured nails and the sensation of her breasts pressed into my back left me in no doubt of that. I tried to turn my head but she nestled her face into my neck. I felt her lips on my skin just below my ear. She was trailing kisses down to my shoulder and back up to my earlobe. I felt her take it into her mouth and bite it gently.  I could feel her hot breath and the moisture from her kisses on my neck. I pressed myself backwards into her.  My head spinning slightly from the sudden assualt on my senses. 

I glanced to my right and saw Digga grinning at me. She was shaking her head.  Her smile turned into a laugh as she got back to serving her customers.  She wasn't giving anything away.

I tried to turn around and face my captor but she pressed harder into my back making it impossible for me to move.  Sporty spice to my left was watching me intently, a puzzled look on her face.  The short haired brunette on my right was gone and the drummer from the band was standing in her place. He was watching as the situation unfolded, smiling. He turned to face me and leaned on the bar, his elbow propping him up, one hand hanging over the edge as he sipped on his drink from the other.

The woman standing behind me had turned her attentions to my stomach.  I felt her hand creep up underneath my shirt and her fingers play with my skin.

This was getting very sexual, very publically and very fast.

I was feeling frustrated at not being able to turn around and identify the woman who's fingers were now massaging my breast and pinching my nipples so hard that waves of heat were shooting south to my pussy.  I was annoyed that I was getting wetter by the second. I was pissed off that I couldn't punch the drummer in the face for just standing there, loving the scene unfolding in front his eyes, which were wide and practically shooting out rays of sexual energy.  If I'd been able to look down, I was 100% sure he'd be hard inside those tight jeans he was wearing. Most of all, I was so turned on that I had no intention of doing anything to escape from my current position so I closed my eyes and waited for her next move.

I didn't have to wait long. 

She popped open the button on my jeans and her fingers had found their way inside.  She began rubbing my clit through the lace of panties.  I instantly spread my legs wider, my back pressed harder into her chest. I could feel her hard nipples poke into my back through my shirt. I pressed my ass into her, and felt her grind her hips on me.  I knew I wasn't the only one feeling out of control when I heard her.  Her mouth was still on my neck just below my ear.  The sound that passed over her lips was like a low sexy growl and then she spoke...

"You didn't call me... "

I recognised her voice. 

It was the woman from the alley. 

"Oh shit...it's you. I...." wanted to explain but her fingers had found their way underneath the lace and were rubbing the length of my lips.  I lost all train of thought....and the ability to speak.

I leaned my head forwards and held on to the bar for dear life as she slipped her fingers inside me. 

Out the corner of my eye, I could see the drummer.  He'd turned back towards the bar and his hand was rubbing himself over his jeans.  He was a big man, that buldge was nothing to joke about.  I watched as he unzipped.  His long hard cock flew out of his jeans like it was spring loaded.  He slid his hand up and down his shaft, his fingers toying with his balls before sliding back to the head again.  I looked to my left to see sporty spice's eyes fixed on the drummers cock.  I almost laughed at her expression, the poor woman was actually drooling. She had her hand down the front of her sweatpants and was matching drummerboy's pace on his cock, stroke for stroke. 

The scene was playing over in my head. 

To my right ladies and gents, we have drummer boy and his huge cock (the same cock that was present in the alley that night), to my left we have sporty spice with her hand in her pants and then we have me, trapped at the bar and being expertly fingered by the hot woman from the alley...


What a Sunday night!!!!








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