The afternoon sun was painfully bright as it poured through Joaquim's window finally forcing him out of his deep sleep. He was a sweaty mess on top of the sheets, completely naked, and still clutching an empty bottle of whiskey.
"Fuck," he grumbled as he forced himself vertical, planting his bare feet on the cold wooden floor, and setting the empty bottle beside them. He sat on the edge of the bed—the stale taste of cigarettes and alcohol lingered on his tongue—placed his head in his hands, and rubbed his palms against his bloodshot eyes. Then, running his hand through his hair,
"What did I get into last night?"
It had been four months since Sofia had accepted the position in the postgraduate program and had left for New York, abandoning Joaquim to his own devices in Barcelona. Although the couple had fought, split up, and got back together countless times, this somehow felt different and, as a result, Joaquim felt alone and forlorn. He searched for temporary comfort at the bottom of countless liquor bottles, but only found a toxic combination of drugs, nameless women, and more depression, all of which began to consume his daily life. As an artist, his friends and family were used to seeing him go through emotional peaks and valleys, which most of the time could fuel the passion that was channeled into his art. Which is why, for the most part, no one intervened as he wandered further and further down this unhealthy path. It had been almost six months since Sofia had left, and each day had gotten progressively harder; especially as the time between emails and phone calls stretched further apart.
He pushed himself up, unsteady on his feet, as he stumbled towards the bathroom. A sense of relief swept over his body as he sighed, releasing a long stream of urine. Then, after washing his hands and throwing some cold water on his face, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Red bolts crisscrossed his inflamed sunken eyes, his lids heavy, with dark circles surrounding them. His normally purposeful stubble had grown coarse and unkempt adding to his disheveled look. "God, I look like shit," he muttered to himself.
Still naked and hollow, he left the bathroom and was about to go find his jeans when he heard a noise coming from the kitchen. He lumbered towards the direction of the noise, pushed, open the kitchen door to find a fairly attractive young woman—several years younger than he—attached to a long pair of legs, wearing nothing but Joaquim's oversized shirt, standing on her tip-toes reaching to put away some plates. She noticed Joaquim and pleasantly chirped,
"Good morning, sleepy-head. I didn't think you'd ever get up. I hope you don't mind I borrowed your shirt."
"Wait," Joaquim thought to himself. "Isn't that the bartender from last night? I remember flirting with her a bit. God I was fucking wasted. Did we sleep together?" Then out loud, his voice horse and dry, "Ummm, yeah, its fine. Good morning."
"You were so good last night, sexy. I came so many times," she commented answering Joaquim's unspoken question. Then, as Joaquim stood there still naked and scratching his head, she sashayed over and teased, "Aww, you look so sleepy. Maybe this will wake you up."
The nameless bartender placed her lips on Joaquim's, her slender hands on his rough cheeks, and nuzzled her body into his. Joaquim, still a bit lost in the morning's fog, kissed her back albeit with considerably less effort than she. The girl then began to lower her head and she slowly fell to her knees, never once breaking eye contact.
"This is to say thank you for last night," she purred seductively as she ran her hands over Joaquim's soft hanging member. Of course, Joaquim had no idea to what she was referring, but at this point he figured that there was no point in mentioning that. Joaquim watched the slender brunette as she placed her lips around his fat cock, then turning his head upward, he let out a sigh as he felt himself stiffen from her wet touch. Truthfully, all Joaquim could really think about at that moment was getting a cup of coffee, but he resigned himself to enjoy the expertly executed blowjob he was receiving instead.
The pretty bartender bobbed her head on Joaquim's substantial pole coating it in saliva while jerking the base with her wet fist. Occasionally, she would pull back and flick her tongue over the bulbous head darting around his oozing urethra. She lapped up his precum eagerly before diving back down, never really trying to swallow him whole, just happy to open wide and have whatever she could fit in her mouth.
As her mouth continued it's diligent work, the bartender moved her free hand between her thighs and worked her fingers between her moist folds. Using her middle and ring fingers, she massaged her hard little clit through its protective hood, stimulating her desire and in turn, instigating her oral efforts. As she slipped her fingers inside herself, she could feel how wet she was and she knew then, that she was ready for Joaquim to enter her again.
With one last lick of his length, the bartender stood up and spun around, her upper body falling forward onto the kitchen counter. The hem of Joaquim's oversized shirt rode up exposing a narrow but firm little ass, which framed her small, thin-lipped young pussy—slick and ready.
