My Ex Fulfilled Her Fantasy with the Bartender

It was one of those nights that, seen from a distance, seem like an announced provocation from the very beginning. We had arranged to meet at a bar downtown with two couples we were friends with, to close out the week with beers, tapas, and easy conversation. I had started seeing Mara again after several months apart, and although officially we were still exes, that dangerous habit of touching each other as if nothing had changed still remained between us.

She arrived in a simple black dress, her hair tied back, and with the smile of someone who already had an idea in mind. She sat beside me by pure coincidence, she said, but from the first minute she sought out my knee beneath the table with hers. I knew her far too well not to notice that she had come horny, playful, and eager to take me right up to some limit.

Everything was normal until the bartender appeared to take our order for the second round. Tall, dark-haired, short beard, tight black shirt, and a quiet confidence that drew attention without any effort. Mara followed him with her eyes until he walked away with the tray, then leaned close to my ear and whispered:

—You have no idea how much that man turns me on.

She said it slowly, brushing my ear with her lips. I felt the impact straight in my crotch. I smiled, pretending I was taking it as a joke, but I could already feel my erection pressing against my trousers.

—Really? —I replied—. You don't waste any time.

—Look at him properly —she insisted—. He looks like he fucks without asking permission.

I had to clench my jaw so I wouldn't laugh or moan. There had always been that thrill between Mara and me of speaking plainly, without disguises. If she wanted to say cock, she said cock. If she wanted to say she'd suck it right there, she said that too. And that night she had come especially uninhibited.

While our friends talked about pointless things, her hand slid beneath the table and settled on my thigh. She didn't look at me. She kept chatting as if nothing were happening, stroking me higher and higher until she felt the hard bulge beneath the fabric. She squeezed lightly, just enough to make me let out a breath through my nose.

—I see you liked him too —she murmured.

I grabbed her wrist for a second, more out of reflex than rejection. Then I let go and slipped my hand beneath her skirt. Her legs were closed, tense, as though she had been waiting for exactly that. I slid my fingers between her thighs and found her wet through her underwear. Very wet. When I moved the fabric aside and brushed her pussy with my fingertips, she shuddered without stopping smiling at a friend who was still talking opposite us.

—So you came prepared —I said quietly.

—No. You got me like this... and so did he.

I slowly pushed one finger inside her, only to the first knuckle. Mara opened her legs a little wider beneath the table. Then I added a second finger. I felt her squeezing me inside while she drank her beer and nodded along to a conversation neither of us was really listening to. The image of her pussy soaking my hand while she fantasized about another man made me even harder.

I slowly withdrew my fingers and, before wiping them, brought them to my mouth. The gesture made her bite her lip with such a hot look that I had to avert my eyes so I wouldn't give myself away in front of everyone.

—Fuck —she whispered—. I love it when you do that.

After that she started talking nonstop about the bartender. How an acquaintance had told her he was very well endowed. How he looked like he fucked hard. How she wanted to see him up close. How she imagined herself on her knees in the storeroom, swallowing that cock until she cried. Each sentence was dirtier than the last, and each one drove itself deeper into my head.

The curious thing was discovering that it didn't bother me. Quite the opposite. It turned me on to see her so fired up by the fantasy. It turned me on to feel her using me as her accomplice. It turned me on to imagine her sucking him off and then coming back to me with someone else's taste still in her mouth.

When our friends said goodbye, the bar was already half empty. It was just the two of us at a table in the back, with low music and the staff clearing things away between rounds. The atmosphere changed instantly. We no longer had to pretend as much.

—Would you really fuck him? —I asked.

Mara held my gaze and moistened her lips before answering.

—Right now I'd suck his cock in front of you.

The sentence left me breathless. I finished my beer in one gulp and felt such an intense mixture of vertigo, jealousy, and arousal that I had to stand up.

—I'm going to the bathroom —I said.

—Don't take long —she replied—. I haven't finished getting you worked up yet.

I went into the restroom with my head burning. I looked at myself in the mirror, splashed water on my face, and went to the urinal to try to calm down. I hadn't even started pissing when the door opened and the bartender walked in.

He stood at the urinal beside me as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I tried to focus straight ahead, but curiosity was eating me alive. I wanted to see whether everything Mara had said was just fantasy or whether there really was something there to justify so much excitement. I improvised an absurd line.

—It's fucking hot in here.

He gave a short laugh.

—Yeah. And working here doesn't help when you have to watch certain things.

I turned my head just enough. His cock was out and half erect, thick and heavy, slowly growing as he pissed. My mouth went dry. Mara's fantasy hadn't exaggerated it: the bastard really was huge. I stared at it a second longer than I should have.

He noticed and didn't seem bothered. Quite the opposite.

—It's your fault —he said without looking away from the wall—. I saw you touching each other under the table. I saw you move her thong aside. I saw you come out with your fingers wet and suck them. You almost made me drop the tray.

I didn't know what to say. He was talking to me with his half-hard cock in his hand, and I could feel mine throbbing trapped in my trousers. I zipped up and turned toward him, still far too close.

—It wasn't that much —I lied.

The bartender smiled crookedly.

—Your ex didn't seem to think so. She looked at me as if she wanted me to take her into the bathroom.

I felt another tug in my crotch.

—Maybe she did.

For the first time he turned his head toward me. His eyes were bright, amused, confident.

—Then don't keep her waiting too long.

I left the restroom with my pulse racing. Mara was still at the table, finishing her last beer. I sat down opposite her and told her what had happened in the bathroom without leaving anything out: the look, the comment, the erection, the size. Her eyes widened, then she burst out laughing with a mixture of disbelief and hunger.

—So he noticed us too? —she asked.

—He saw everything.

—Even better.

She ran her tongue slowly over her teeth.

—Is he really that big?

—Yes.

—Bigger than you?

The provocation made me clench my fists, aroused.

—A lot bigger.

Mara let out a muffled moan, barely audible.

—Fuck... I want to find out with my mouth.

I got hard again so violently it hurt. Just hearing her say it was driving me crazy. We began fantasizing right there, in voices that grew lower and dirtier by the second. I told her I wanted to see her on her knees in front of him. She told me she wanted to feel me watching while she choked on that cock. I asked whether she'd be able to swallow his cum and kiss me afterward. She answered without blinking.

—If he asks me to, I'll swallow it all. Then I'll pass it to you in my mouth.

The sentence left me practically trembling.

By then they were already closing. The lights came up a little brighter, chairs were beginning to be placed upside down on some of the tables, and the cashier was counting money at the bar. Mara suddenly stood.

—I can't take it anymore. I'm going to the bathroom.

I nodded, convinced she was going to freshen up or provoke me by waiting for me to follow. I went over to pay. The cashier, a brunette with light eyes in a black uniform, greeted me with an extraordinarily long smile.

—Last bill of the night —she said.

As she ran the payment, she leaned farther over the bar than necessary and held my gaze. She wasn't discreet: she had seen something too. Maybe everything. Maybe enough. She poured me a shot on the house and kept talking about some nonsense while I began to lose track of time, distracted by her cleavage, my arousal, and the fixed image of Mara slipping into the bartender's bathroom.

Suddenly I felt a hand grip my wrist hard. It was her.

We left the bar without saying goodbye. Only after we crossed the door and the street air hit us did Mara push me against the wall of the establishment and kiss me hungrily. She opened my mouth with her tongue, pressing her body against mine. It took less than two seconds to notice something different. A thick, salty, unmistakable taste.

I pulled back slightly, my eyes wide.

—You've got to be kidding me...

Mara smiled, wildly excited, breathing hard.

—I told you I couldn't take it anymore.

She kissed me again. This time I was the one who opened my mouth, the one who sought out that taste, the one who recognized it without a doubt. Semen. Another man's semen. The bartender's. I swallowed, and some of that hot mixture went down my throat. The thrill hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled.

—Fuck, Mara...

—You were right —she whispered between kisses—. What a cock he has. He shoved it all the way down my throat. And I brought you some so you could taste it.

I looked at her as if I didn't know her and, at the same time, as if she were finally showing me her most honest self. I felt my brutal erection throbbing beneath my trousers. She touched it through the fabric and smiled even more.

—You're rock-hard —she said—. I knew this would turn you into an animal.

The bar door opened. The bartender came out a few steps, wiping his hands with a cloth. He saw us pressed against the wall and smiled brazenly, without the slightest embarrassment. Mara turned her head toward him, then looked back at me.

—Do you want to go back in?

I should have said no. I should have stopped things. But by then I was in the game up to my neck.

—Yes.

We went back into the bar. The shutter was already halfway down, and only the two of them remained: the bartender and the cashier. She watched us from where she leaned against the bar, her lips parted and her eyes fixed on the bulge in my trousers. The atmosphere had changed completely. It was no longer a public place. It was a closed, conspiratorial stage charged with desire.

—I thought you weren't coming back —the bartender said.

—I was —Mara replied—. My fantasy isn't over yet.

He left the cloth on the bar and approached unhurriedly. Up close he was even more imposing. He stopped in front of Mara, raised one hand, and stroked her chin. She didn't move. She was barely breathing.

—You suck well —he told her—. But you left too quickly.

Mara shuddered. I was half a step away from them, watching like an idiot, aroused and unsure whether I wanted to pull her away or push her back toward him.

The cashier spoke for the first time.

—If you're going to continue, do it already. You've had me wet for an hour.

That comment shattered the last of our restraint. The bartender grabbed Mara by the nape and kissed her in front of me, hard and without tenderness. She responded by opening her mouth at once and pressing herself against his body. I watched their tongues tangle while one of his hands lifted her dress to her waist.

—Come here —Mara said without completely letting go of him.

I moved closer, and she grabbed my shirt to kiss me too, passing the mixed taste of saliva and semen still left in her mouth from his to mine. I moaned against her lips. She smiled when she felt it.

—Swallow it —she ordered—. I want you to taste it properly.

I obeyed. The thought of obeying her, of accepting the other man's cum in my mouth, unleashed something new in me. The bartender noticed at once.

—So this turns you on too —he said, looking at my crotch—. I figured.

I didn't answer. Mara was already on her knees.

She knelt in front of him with obscene naturalness, as if she had rehearsed that scene all her life. She opened his trousers, lowered the zipper, and pulled out his cock again. It was still enormous, half-hard, still glistening from the blowjob she had just given him. Mara held it in one hand, looked up at me from below, and ran it over her lips before putting the tip in her mouth.

The cashier sighed when she saw it. I stood motionless, rooted to the floor, fascinated.

Mara began slowly, licking the head, circling it with her tongue, wetting it all over before taking more of it into her mouth. The bartender held her hair back and let her work. She sucked him with genuine hunger, without posing or shame. She sucked his cock as if she wanted to prove something: that she could take it, that she desired it, that she didn't give a damn about having me there watching her fill her mouth with someone else's cock.

—That's it... —he murmured—. Open wider.

Mara obeyed. I saw her take him deeper, until she had to close one eye and breathe through her nose. Saliva ran down her chin. The wet sounds of the blowjob filled the silent bar. The bartender began fucking her mouth with short thrusts, holding her head. Not violently, but firmly. Every time he pushed deeper, I felt a tug in my stomach and another in my cock.

The cashier came up behind me and squeezed my ass through my trousers.

—Don't just stand there watching —she whispered—. Get it out.

I turned toward her, almost dazed. She deftly opened my belt and lowered my zipper. My cock came out hard, tense, almost painful. The cashier smiled when she saw it.

—Fuck. This is really turning you on.

She grabbed it immediately and began stroking me with her warm hand, slowly at first, looking me in the eyes. I turned my gaze back to Mara just as the bartender was pushing his cock all the way down her throat. She let out a muffled gag, pulled back for a second with strands of saliva hanging from her mouth, then threw herself onto him again with even more hunger.

—Look at her —the cashier said, squeezing me harder—. Look how she swallows him.

I did. I watched her drool, moan, lick his balls, suck the base, and jerk off whatever wouldn't fit while the bartender fucked her mouth. Then Mara looked up at me, the other man's cock between her lips, and smiled. That gesture was worse than anything else. She was showing me her fulfilled fantasy in real time, and she wanted me to enjoy it with her.

—Come here —the bartender ordered without letting go of her.

I moved closer. He looked at me for barely a second.

—If you like tasting what she brings you, taste this too.

Mara pulled her mouth away and gasped. His cock was shiny, thick, a few inches from my face. I hesitated for only a moment. Then I leaned in and ran my tongue over the tip, tasting the mixture of his saliva and hers. The bartender gave a deep laugh. The cashier stroked me faster.

—That's it —Mara said excitedly—. Suck it.

Humiliation, arousal, and desire exploded inside me at once. I took him into my mouth for a few seconds—not as long as she had, but long enough to feel his weight, hardness, and the salty taste of his skin. Mara watched me, fascinated, as if it turned her on even more. And it did. The moment I pulled away, she swallowed him again greedily, competing with me for him.

The bartender was already breathing unevenly.

—Stand up —he told Mara.

She rose, and he turned her with her back against the bar. He lifted her dress all the way and pulled her thong aside. I moved close enough to see her open, wet pussy shining beneath the warm light of the place. The bartender ran two fingers along her slit and laughed when he felt how soaked she was.

—I left you worse than I thought.

—Fuck me —she answered without hesitation—. In front of him.

There was no more talking. He spat into his hand, positioned himself behind her, and pressed the tip against her entrance. Mara gripped the edge of the bar and turned her head to look at me just as he drove into her with one dry, deep, brutal thrust. She screamed, and the sound bounced off the bottles on the shelf.

—Fuck... fuck... —she kept repeating.

The bartender began fucking her with a hard, steady rhythm, without tenderness. Every blow shook her hips against the bar. I couldn't look away from the way his cock disappeared into her pussy and emerged covered in her juices. The cashier kept jerking me off beside them, faster and faster, sometimes massaging my balls while I moaned without realizing it.

Mara stretched one hand toward me.

—Come here, kiss me.

I moved around to the front, and she grabbed me by the nape to kiss me while the other man fucked her from behind. Her mouth tasted of semen, saliva, and unrestrained desire. I felt her moans vibrating against my lips, and each thrust from the bartender drove her body into mine. It was too much. I came into the cashier's hand with a clumsy moan, watching Mara being split in two a few inches from my face.

The cashier didn't pull away. She gathered my cum in her palm and showed it to me with an insolent smile before wiping it on a napkin.

Behind me, Mara was losing her mind. The bartender slipped one hand around to the front, rubbed her clitoris with two fingers, and sped up even more. The impacts of his pelvis sounded wet, dry, insistent. She trembled, arched her back, and came screaming his name, mine, and a string of filthy words mixed together that I could no longer distinguish.

He didn't stop. He kept fucking her while she struggled to recover, holding her by the waist so she wouldn't collapse. Then he pulled out suddenly, turned her toward him, and grabbed her jaw.

—Open your mouth.

Mara obeyed instantly. She dropped to her knees again, her dress bunched at her waist and her pussy still contracting. He began stroking himself over her face, his breathing ragged. I stared at her. She was looking at me too, not him, as she waited for him to come.

When he did, it was abundant. It filled her tongue, her lips, and part of her chin. Mara closed her mouth, swallowed some of it, then stood without wiping herself completely clean. She approached me slowly.

—Open.

I did. She kissed me and passed that thick taste to me again, this time fresher, more direct, more undeniable. I swallowed with her watching me closely, checking the effect it had on me. I was still sensitive from my own orgasm, but I felt my cock respond again inside my half-open trousers.

—I knew you'd like it —she whispered.

The bartender calmly rearranged his clothes. The cashier went back behind the bar as if nothing extraordinary had happened, although she continued watching us with a satisfied smile. The silence afterward had something strange about it—dense, almost intimate.

I looked at Mara. Her hair was disheveled, her lips swollen, and she wore an expression of fulfilled pleasure I had never seen on her before. She didn't look guilty. Nor embarrassed. She looked exactly like what she was: an adult woman who had made a fantasy come true and wanted to drag me into it so we could share it.

—And now what? —I asked, still dazed.

She came close to my ear and smiled.

—Now we leave. And next time, you won't just watch.

We left the bar after midnight, our bodies still hot and our heads full of images I haven't been able to get out of my mind since. I've had sex that was more romantic, cleaner, more predictable. But few things have marked me as deeply as that night when my ex didn't wait for my permission to fulfill her fantasy in front of me... and made me discover that, deep down, it was mine too.