I walked into my favorite neighborhood watering hole, the same old bar I’d been to a hundred times. The well-worn wooden floorboards had a little give, and the neon logo lights in the window flickered like they were about to blink out at any minute — but they’d been doing that for years. There was a faint aroma of stale beer, as well as cigarettes because everyone ignored the no-smoking signs. It was a weeknight, and the usual crowd was there: a few old-timers nursing whiskeys, a couple of college kids playing pool and the ancient barfly who’d probably been there since the place opened. I nodded to the middle-aged bartender, Larry. He had a handlebar mustache, and his old school look matched the vintage establishment perfectly.

“The usual?” Larry asked.

“Make it a double,” I said, sliding onto a barstool.

My tie felt like a noose, my shirt sticking to me from a stressful day’s sweat. I loosened the Windsor knot, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a noisy exhalation. The stock market had been playing yo-yo with my sanity all day, and I needed the burn of good scotch to ease my tension.

As Larry poured my drink, my gaze landed on a new face in the room. She was a blonde with legs that went on forever and a smile that could make the devil himself want to confess. Her musical laughter was a siren’s call. She sat at the end of the bar, surrounded by a cloud of cigarette smoke and a crowd of admirers, sipping a bright pink cocktail that looked as sweet as her apparent disposition.

I’d never seen her around before, and I generally knew everyone who came through those doors. The joint was off the beaten path and a classic old man bar, as they say, and we never encountered tourists, much less ones who were as gorgeous as that gal.

She was dressed to kill, wearing a short, low-cut dress that left little to the imagination. Her breasts strained against the fabric, suggesting their fullness. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and she had a wildness emanating from her that was impossible to ignore.

“Her name’s Phoebe. She’s in town for the fashion show,” Larry said as he slid my drink toward me. “A real live model. Can you believe it?”

I took a sip, letting the scotch pleasantly burn my throat. I’m no slouch in the looks department, but girls like Phoebe usually didn’t give me a second glance. However, she did. In fact, Phoebe kept looking my way, and I felt a thrill that I hadn’t experienced in years. My cock perked up in my pants as I hoped my normal weeknight routine was about to take a very sexy turn.

Our eyes met, and she raised her glass to me. I returned the gesture. The mundane chatter of the regulars faded into the background as I stared at the beautiful blonde. I knew I had to talk to her and made my way to her end of the bar.

The other guys sensed they’d struck out and vamoosed. I introduced myself, and she told me her name in a voice that sounded like a purr.

The way she looked at me made me feel like I was the only man in the room — and that she wanted to eat me alive.

“So Steve, what brings a guy like you to a place like this?” she said cheekily.

“The same thing that brings me every night,” I replied with a laugh. “A long day and the need for a stiff drink.”

“Well, I’m here for something stiff,” she said, her naughty smile widening. “But it doesn’t have to be a drink.”

I nearly choked on my last mouthful of liquor.

My boner was nearly bursting through my pants. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me, the guy who’d never even had the guts to ask out the pretty cashier at the grocery store!

“So, what exactly are you looking for?” I asked, trying to sound as confident and bold as she was.

“Oh, someone handsome to help me pass the time,” she said, tracing the rim of her glass with a well-manicured fingertip. “Someone to make my stay in this city a little more … exciting.”

Her hand then caressed mine, and the sensation shot straight to my cock.

I’d never been one to take risks with women, but Phoebe made me feel like a stud.

“How about we go somewhere a little more private?” I suggested nonchalantly.

Her eyes lit up, and Phoebe nodded as she said, “I know just the place.”

We slipped off into the night. It was September, and the cool air held a hint of impending autumn. Phoebe took my hand and led me down the street, her stilettos clicking against the sidewalk. We turned down a dimly lit alley, and halfway through it, she pushed me back against a rough brick wall. She shrugged off her jacket and tossed it onto the ground at my feet.

Before I knew what was happening, she was on her knees. She looked up at me with the dirtiest smile I’d ever seen. She reached for my belt, her fingers deftly unbuckling it. She pulled down my zipper and reached into my pants. It was the best decision ever to have not worn underwear that day. Her hand promptly wrapped around my meat, and I gasped as she stroked my shaft. Her touch was firm and confident. She leaned in and took the tip of my dick in her mouth, her tongue fluttering against it in a way that made my knees weak.

Phoebe took more and more of me into her mouth with her eyes locked on mine — as if she was challenging me to resist her irresistible hummer.

I couldn’t. I was putty in her hands. I threaded my fingers through her hair as she bobbed back and forth. Her cheeks hollowed with every thrilling suck. She was good, so good, and the lip-smacking sounds she was making were driving me wild. I knew it would be only a matter of time before I lost it.

But before I could shoot, mischievous Phoebe pulled away, her lips shiny with her saliva and my precome. She stood up and pressed her body to mine.

“Did you like that?” she asked, her voice husky.

“Yeah,” I breathed, unable to form more coherent words.

“Good,” she said, “But that’s only the beginning.”

With that, Phoebe turned around and braced her hands against the bricks, thrusting out her rear. Her posture made her short dress ride high on her thighs and exposed the underside of her bare ass.

She looked back at me over her shoulder and demanded, “Fuck me — hard!”

And so, I did. With my pants around my ankles, I grabbed her hips and slammed into her snatch. She gasped, and I could tell that she liked it rough. Her pussy was hot and tight. We fucked like animals, her unrestrained moans adding to the busy city’s incessant din. I noticed a light flicker in a window above us, and the idea of anyone watching us from their apartment gave me a thrill.

Each thrust of my hips brought me closer to the inevitable. While her pussy was already drenched, it seemed to grow even wetter as we rutted like crazy in that filthy alley. I’d never done anything so crazy.

Phoebe’s body was like a work of art, sculpted to perfection, and I was the lucky one who got to explore it. I felt like a kid in a candy store — except the candy was a gorgeous blonde with a wild streak.

Pretty sweet, am I right?

I was like a machine, jackhammering her box. Each stroke of my cock was more powerful than the last. Phoebe pushed back against me, meeting me thrust for thrust. She began brutally slamming her body back, and I felt my dick repeatedly hit bottom. Her velvety passage fully enveloped me, teasing me with her pre-orgasmic spasms. I was gripping her dress with one hand to keep it up and out of the way, and the full moon cast a silvery light that made her bare skin glow like alabaster.

Phoebe’s moans escalated in volume, hinting that she was clawing her way closer to her peak. I reached around her body, finding her aroused clit. It was easy to locate because it was so swollen. I roughly rubbed two fingertips against it, rotating in tight circles. That made her body buck even more forcefully, and when I gave her clit a hard pinch, she shouted, “Fuck!”

I felt her body quake, her pussy climactically clenching around my cock as she came. She was so wet that I felt her sticky juice smear all over my sac.

I pulled out of her pussy, and she turned to face me, her eyes glazed over with lust.

“Now for the explosive finale,” she said, dropping to her knees again.

I grabbed her by the hair and fucked her face like it was my last day on Earth. She sucked her own essence off my rod and took me deep, her throat tight around my shaft. She blew me like a pro, and my nuts rapidly tightened as my balls threatened to burst.

And then it happened. I came, spurting hot cream into her mouth. Phoebe thirstily swallowed every drop I had to give. My hips bucked erratically as I shot out volley after volley of jism.

She released my slowly softening shaft from her mouth, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

“That wet my whistle,” she joked as she stood up.

That was the last time I saw Phoebe in the flesh. But a few months later, I spied her being interviewed on television after she scored a part in a movie. Turns out she’d given me — and Larry — a fake name. But who cares? I got my dick sucked and fucked by a certified smokeshow — and walked away with one of the hottest memories of my life.

But even better, Phoebe gave me the confidence I needed to turn my sex life around. I’m spending a lot less time in that old man bar — and a lot more time with beautiful babes bouncing on my bone!