Sissy's Tattooed Bartender Worships Her Silky Stocking Cock

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.

Rounding the bar, he dropped to his knees right there on the sticky floor behind the counter, hidden from the street windows. His big, calloused hands slid up the backs of Sissy’s calves, palms worshipping the silky texture.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, pressing his face against one stocking-covered thigh. His stubble rasped deliciously against the sheer nylon. “These legs… this silk… been dreaming about them wrapped around my head for weeks.” His mouth opened, hot and wet, sucking a slow, open-mouthed kiss just above her knee. Then higher. His tongue traced the seam of the stocking until he reached the lace band, teeth gently tugging at it.

Sissy’s breath hitched. She spread her thighs wider on the barstool, letting her skirt ride all the way up. The front of her panties was nothing but a thin satin pouch stretched obscenely over her now rock-hard cock, the fat head clearly visible through both the satin and the sheer black nylon that encased it completely.

“Look at you,” Jax breathed, voice filthy and reverent. “That silky stocking cock… so fucking pretty. So hard it’s leaking all over your own thighs. You love dressing your dick up like a little slut, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she hissed, threading her manicured fingers through his short hair. “Now peel it down. Just enough. I want your mouth on me.”

Jax’s hands shook with lust as he hooked two thick fingers into the waistband of her panties and the top of the stocking. He dragged both down inch by inch, carefully peeling the sheer silk just below her balls so her smooth, throbbing cock sprang free—seven thick inches of silky-smooth trans girl cock, flushed dark pink, already drooling a shiny bead of precum that stretched down toward the ruined nylon.

Sissy gripped his hair tighter. “That’s it. You’ve been staring at it for weeks. Now worship it properly, bartender. Suck my cock like the thirsty bitch you are.”

Jax moaned like he’d been waiting his whole life for permission. He dragged his tongue slowly up the underside of her shaft, savoring the clean, slightly sweet taste of her skin mixed with the faint nylon scent still clinging to her. Then he opened wide and sank down, taking her to the root in one wet, sloppy motion. His throat convulsed around her, tattooed neck bulging obscenely.

“Fuuuck, yes,” Sissy moaned, head tipping back. She planted one stiletto on the brass rail and started rolling her hips, fucking his willing throat with long, deep strokes. Wet, filthy gagging sounds filled the empty bar. Saliva poured down his chin, soaking the front of his black tank top. Jax’s hands never stopped roaming—stroking her silk-sheathed thighs, snapping the garter straps, massaging her smooth balls while he let her use his face.

After several long, glorious minutes of throat-fucking, Sissy pulled out with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting her glistening cock to his swollen lips.

“Up,” she ordered. “Bend over the bar. I want that tattooed ass.”

Jax stood on shaky legs, eyes glazed with lust. He turned, planted his elbows on the scarred wooden bar top, and shoved his jeans and boxers down in one rough motion. His muscular ass was pale compared to the rest of his inked body, two firm globes begging to be used. His own cock hung heavy and thick between his spread thighs, already leaking.

Sissy stood behind him, stroking her slick cock. She spat once, twice, right onto his tight pink hole, then pushed inside him in one long, relentless stroke. Jax’s guttural moan echoed through the bar.

“Goddamn, you’re tight,” she growled, bottoming out. Her hips snapped forward, pounding him with deep, punishing strokes that made his heavy balls swing. One hand reached around to grip his cock through the torn remains of his boxers, jerking him roughly in time with her thrusts. The wet slap of her hips against his ass mixed with their shared filthy moans.

They switched twice—Sissy pulling out so Jax could drop down and slurp her cock again, cleaning his own ass off her shaft with eager, hungry sucks—before she bent him back over and railed him even harder.

“I’m gonna cum down your throat,” she panted, voice shaking. “Get on your knees. Now.”

Jax spun and dropped instantly. Sissy grabbed his head with both hands and fucked his face with short, brutal strokes. Her balls drew up tight.

With a sharp cry she buried herself to the hilt. Thick ropes of hot cum erupted straight down his spasming throat. At the same moment Jax stroked himself furiously and exploded, shooting long, powerful jets of cum all over the front of her stockings. Thick white streaks painted the sheer black nylon, dripping obscenely down her thighs.

Sissy held him there until every drop was drained, then slowly pulled her spent cock from his gasping mouth.

She reached for her pack of cigarettes on the bar, lit one with a slightly trembling hand, and took a long, satisfied drag. Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling as she looked down at her new, filthy pet still on his knees.

“Lick it all up,” she purred, voice husky from orgasm. “Every drop of your own cum off my pretty stockings. That’s a good boy.”

Jax obeyed without hesitation, dragging his tongue slowly up her thighs, collecting his own seed from the silky fabric with long, devoted strokes. The wet sounds of his licking mixed with the soft crackle of her cigarette. When he finished, his face was flushed and shiny.

Sissy pulled him up by the hair and kissed him lazily, tasting both her cum and his on his tongue. The kiss was slow, filthy, and strangely sweet. She tucked her softening cock back into the cum-splattered, ruined silk, adjusting the garters with a satisfied sigh.

“Same time tomorrow night,” she murmured against his lips. “I’ll wear fresh stockings. These ones are fucking destroyed.”

Jax grinned, lips still swollen, a string of spit and cum connecting them for one last second.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his tattooed hand, glanced down at the mess they’d made, and deadpanned:

“Guess I’m mopping the floor twice tonight… and my tongue is gonna need overtime.”