Whiskey Slap

"It's called 'Whiskey Slap,'" she repeated over the din of the bar. "Want to play?"

I looked up from the eye-catching neckline of her dress to her long eyelashes slowly batting while they waited for an answer. I followed her slender arm down to the full shot glass she held in her hand. I wasn't entirely sober, but I wasn't drunk. I could hear my buddies behind me already starting to guff.

"Uh, sure. How do you play?" I asked.

"You drink this shot and I slap you across the face before you swallow it."

Perplexed, I looked back and forth several times between her supple red lips and the whiskey. I felt an awkward quiver in my groin. "Sure," I heard myself say. The boys behind me sucked in a collective breath.

My fingers brushed the smooth skin of her hand as I took the glass from her. I hesitated a moment holding the whiskey between us and staring at her. We were close enough for me to feel the heat radiate off her smooth pale skin. She gave me a dazzling smile and subtle nod.

I threw back the whiskey and tasted the familiar bite on my tongue but before it continued its planned journey down my throat, the force of her palm struck my cheek. I pursed my lips and managed to not spit out the drink, save a few drops that dribbled down my chin. As the sting of her slap began to fade, I pushed the liquid to the back of my mouth and swallowed. My head spun. I realized my eyes were closed as a howl erupted behind me joined by a female chorus of cheers a few tables away.

I opened my eyes and was greeted by a gorgeous grin and her arms coming toward me. She embraced me in a hug. Her hair smelled like strawberries. I remained awkwardly motionless, my arms at my sides. She took the glass from my hand and handed me a napkin. I clenched my fists and jammed them in my pockets, blushing and trying to think of something to say. But before I could, she turned and walked back to rejoin her friends.

My mates slapped me on the back and bought me another round for my performance. I glanced numerous times at her table, but she never looked back at me again. I saw her dance with other boys, buy a pitcher at the bar for her friends. A pang of sorrow lurked under my growing buzz. Sometime later I found myself thoroughly intoxicated and noticed she had left.

Disappointed, I swayed home alone through the empty streets, a sorry excuse for a male. As I fumbled for the keys to my front door, crumpled bills and receipts spilled out of my pocket and onto the landing. I leaned forward precariously to pick them up and the napkin caught my eye. I'd been so shocked by her slap and the burn of the whiskey, I hadn't noticed it had something written on it. Trembling, I unfolded it.

Can I buy you a coffee tomorrow? No slap. - Sherry 555-992-8175

My heart soared. A familiar ache nudged me from deep inside. I fiddled the door open and collapsed on my sofa smiling. I closed my eyes and could smell her hair again, feel the softness of her skin brushing mine. She walked through the door, and over to me tugging at her sexy dress. I stroked myself hard as a rock.

Then the dress was gone and she wore only panties. Black lace panties. A brief fantasy that dematerialized as if in a puff of smoke. She was naked, grinning wickedly, and I imagined her from head to toe: long hair, full smooth breasts, inviting thighs, and the softness between. I ran my fingers between her legs feeling her warmth and wetness. Then she was on top of me, her breasts pressed to my face, rubbing herself against me, pressing her hips down.

She kissed my chest, working her way to my groin, until she reached my cock. I writhed as she licked and teased and sucked on me. Then she slid back up along my body and sat up, straddling me, easing me inside of her. So, warm, so wet, she held me tight. Reaching around, she fondled my balls and began pumping up and down, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

Her breasts bounced as she rode me and I stroked them, making her pant lightly. I gave her nipples a light squeeze and she moaned and moved harder and faster. We quickly built close to orgasm. As I burst over the hilt, I pictured her hand slapping my cheek again. Felt the burn and exhilaration. The room spun.

Then, as fast as I'd conjured her, she evaporated and I passed out in bliss with my hands in my pants--content with hope.