Ghosted at the Bar: Stranger’s Raw Fuck Revenge

I reread his text on my phone propped on the bar. Heart squeezes tight. Tears prick, but I hold my poker face. He’s not coming. Phone vibrates again—another lame excuse. I prepped like a pro this morning: long bath, scented oils, curled hair perfect, body flawless. Picked this short skirt, low-cut sweater just how he liked. Sexy, teasing, for those blue eyes to devour me.

I sip coffee mechanically. Eyes locked ahead, fighting the crack. Feel stares from the two guys left of me. My skirt rides up thighs, tits spilling from this top. Dressed for him, now on display like a desperate slut. Pitiful alone on this stool.

The Approach

Fuck sadness. Rage boils. Body aches for the fuck he promised in fevered chats. Days of dirty texts: he’d devour my lips, tits, pussy. Lick me everywhere, make me scream, bite till I beg. I fingered myself reading them, soaked and throbbing.

Eyes lift. Lock on him across the bar. Tall, slim, dark-haired, built solid. Eyes gleaming dark. He stares hard, then strides over. ‘You’re waiting, but he won’t show.’ Exact my thoughts. I nod, stunned. Drops coin for his coffee, grabs my hand. ‘I’m here. Come.’ Voice low, commanding.

I follow. Their envious glares burn as we exit. His grip pulses virile energy through me. Air warm, sun kissing skin. Body sways womanly beside him to the dark car in the lot. He opens door. I slide in. He shuts it—like slamming a door on my old life. No turning back.

We drive silent. Past our meet spot restaurant. Glimpse a familiar shadow? Twist to check—him? Heart flips. Too late. Corner turned, speeding rural. Green fields blur. Feel his male heat beside me. I want it. Body starves for cock, soul for touch, heart for payback.

I straighten, breathe deep. He doesn’t look. ‘Good choice. Ready?’ ‘Yes,’ I whisper. Hand snakes to my thigh, under skirt, strokes my wet slit. Instant jolt. Fingers slip past panties I shift aside. Soaked for him already. Legs spread wide.

Fingers plunge easy. Sharp pleasure. I gasp, buck. Skilled. Arching, moaning as trees whip by.

“Take ’em off,” he growls, two hands on wheel for curves. I wiggle panties free—black lace for my ghost. Hand them over. He pockets with a smirk. Hand back, hiking skirt, fingering deep. Teasing clit, thighs quivering. I writhe, eyes rolling.

The Explosion

“Prime pussy,” he mutters, eyeing my heaving tits, trembling belly. Hand up sweater, bra aside, pinching nipples. Heat waves crash.

He slows, veers to dirt path. Abandoned hiker shack hides us. Engine off. Turns, pulls me in. Kisses fierce, dark eyes devouring. Hands everywhere. I shiver, arch. Tongue invades—hot, wet, twisted. On knees now, his fingers owning my dripping cunt.

Pleasure drowns me. Imagine it’s him. Fingers fuck me deep. I bite his lip, scream, cum hard. Soak his hand. He keeps going, wringing more orgasms. Eyes shut, lost.

He yanks off my top, bra. Rough. Hate it. Want tenderness. He bolts out, circles, opens my door. Pulls me naked but for boots. Fury hits—hate his sleazy smirk. Slap him hard. He grins, pins me to cold metal. Kisses force tongue, cock grinding my slit. Hands trap mine behind.

Corpses grind. Legs wrap, he thrusts in savage. “Fuck, tight wet slut,” he grunts. Biting mouths, frantic hands. Raw, animal pump. Eyes lock—no love, pure lust. I cum raging, screaming fury and bliss.

Bodies part. Eyes avoid. Silent drive back. Drop off—no goodbyes. He slips card. I crumple it later, nameless fuck toy used.

Phone lights. His text: fixed it, meet in an hour. Joy surges. Dance to my car. Ghosted ghosted. This? Forgotten blur.