Tattooed Bartender Seduces Sissy

The neon glow of the “Open” sign flickered above the door as Sissy pushed into the dimly lit dive bar just after midnight. Her black pleated skirt barely covered the lace tops of her sheer, thigh-high stockings, the delicate garter straps snapping softly against her smooth skin with every step. At twenty-four, she moved like she owned every room she entered—shoulders back, hips swaying, her silky cock already half-hard and cradled lovingly in the sheer nylon that stretched tight over it. The thin fabric made the growing bulge obvious, and she loved that.

Jax was behind the bar as always, his thick forearms covered in dark ink—roses, skulls, and snarling wolves twisting over corded muscle. The 28-year-old bartender had been eye-fucking her for weeks. Tonight his stare was downright obscene. His gaze dropped immediately to the creamy expanse of thigh visible above her stockings, then locked on the obscene swell beneath her tiny skirt. A slow, hungry smirk tugged at his mouth.

“Evening, gorgeous,” he rumbled, voice low enough that only she could hear over the low blues playing from the jukebox. “Stockings look even tighter than last night. That pretty cock of yours trying to rip through them again?”

Sissy slid onto a stool, crossing her legs so the lace tops flashed. “Maybe. You gonna keep staring all night or do something about it, tattoo boy?”

The tension had been building like a storm for weeks. Every time she visited, Jax found excuses to lean over the bar, brushing his inked fingers near her thigh, breathing deep when the faint scent of her perfume and warm silk reached him. She could see the thick outline of his cock straining against his worn jeans every single time.

By two-thirty the last stragglers had stumbled out. Jax flipped the sign to Closed and locked the heavy wooden door with a decisive click. The sudden silence felt electric.

He didn’t waste time.