Lock-In: First Ass for His Mate

After the pub lock-in, married $name1 lets her husband’s best mate take her virgin arse on the sticky cellar stairs – filthy, slow, and too late to take back.

The last punters had gone an hour ago.

$name1 wiped rings off the bar with a damp cloth and tried not to look at the clock. Twenty-nine. Married three years. Blonde hair twisted up with a biro, black vest stretched over her tits, jeans that clung when she bent for the empties. The OPEN sign was flipped. The front door was bolted. Outside, the high street was wet and empty. Inside, the cellar hatch was still open and the smell of hops and polish hung in the warm air.

Her husband, Matt, had gone upstairs to cash up and crash. He always did after a lock-in. That left her with Rob.

Rob was Matt’s oldest mate. Tall, dark, quiet when he wanted to be and filthy when he didn’t. He had helped pull the last pints, stacked the chairs, and now he leaned against the bar watching her work like he had all night.

“You don’t have to stay,” she said.

“I know.” He tipped his glass, drained the last of his lager. “I’m staying anyway.”

$name1’s pulse kicked. She had felt his eyes on her for months – on the curve of her arse when she reached for the optics, on the flash of her bra when she bent into the fridge. She had told herself it was nothing. Matt’s mate. Off limits. She had gone home to her husband every night and fucked him with Rob’s face in the back of her head, and hated herself for it.

Tonight the bar was empty and the music was off and there was nowhere left to hide.

“Matt will wonder where you are,” she said, quieter.

“Matt’s asleep.” Rob set the glass down. “And you know it.”

He came around the bar. Slow. Not touching her yet. Just close enough that she could smell him – soap and beer and something warmer underneath. $name1’s cloth went still on the wood. Her nipples were already hard against the cotton of her vest. She knew he could see them.

“Rob-”

“Tell me to fuck off,” he said. His voice was low. “Say it and I walk out.”

She opened her mouth. Nothing came. Her tongue felt thick. Between her legs she was already wet, a slick heat she had been pretending not to notice since he had brushed past her at the till an hour ago.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“Can’t what.”

“Can’t tell you to go.”

He smiled then – small, dark, knowing – and kissed her.

It was not soft. His mouth opened on hers, tongue pushing in, tasting of lager and want. $name1 made a broken sound and grabbed the front of his shirt. He backed her into the bar. The wood bit her hips. His hands found her waist, then slid up under her vest, hot palms on bare skin, thumbs sweeping the undersides of her tits.

“Fuck,” he breathed against her mouth. “I’ve wanted this so fucking long.”

“Show me,” she said.

He yanked her vest up. Her bra was black, cheap, the one she wore for shifts. He shoved the cups down and bent to her tits, sucking one nipple hard into his mouth while his thumb scraped the other. $name1 gasped and arched. Every pull of his mouth sent a bolt straight to her cunt. He sucked harder. Bit gently. Laved the tip with his tongue until she was gripping his hair and swearing under her breath.

“Trousers,” he said, voice rough. “Off.”

She did it. Belt, zip, then the jeans shoved down her thighs with her knickers tangled in them. The cool air of the closed pub kissed her bare pussy. She was soaked. She could feel it cooling on her inner thighs.

Rob stared.

“$name1,” he said – using her name like a curse – and then he was on his knees on the sticky floorboards.

His mouth found her cunt without ceremony. He licked a long, filthy stripe from her entrance to her clit and groaned like a man starving. $name1’s head fell back against the optics. One hand braced on the bar. The other twisted in his hair.

He licked her open. Slow at first, then greedy – tongue fucking into her, then flattening over her clit in wet circles. She was dripping on his chin. The wet sounds filled the empty bar. He sucked her clit between his lips and hummed, and her knees nearly gave.

“Oh God – don’t stop -”

He didn’t. He slid two fingers into her while he sucked, curling them, finding the spot that made her thighs shake. She came hard and sudden, cunt clenching around his fingers, a broken cry caught in her throat so Matt upstairs wouldn’t hear. Her juices ran down his hand. He kept licking through it until she pushed at his head, oversensitive and panting.

He stood. His mouth was shiny. He wiped it with the back of his wrist and kissed her so she tasted herself.

“I need to fuck you,” he said.

“Yes.”

He turned her. Bent her over the bar. The wood was cool against her cheek. She heard his belt, the zip, the rustle of denim. Then the thick, hot head of his cock nudged her soaked entrance.

He pushed in in one long, filthy slide.

$name1 moaned into her forearm. He was bigger than Matt. Thicker. He stretched her open and kept going until his hips were flush with her arse and she could feel him everywhere. He held still for a second, breathing hard against her back.

“Christ. You’re dripping.”

“Fuck me,” she said. “Please.”

He did. Deep, steady strokes that rocked her against the bar. The bottles chimed softly on the shelves. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. Every thrust dragged over the spot inside her that made her see white. She pushed back onto him, greedy, fucking herself on his cock while he cursed under his breath.

“Take it. Fuck – take every inch -”

“Harder,” she gasped. “Rob – harder -”

He gave it to her. The slap of skin filled the room. Her tits swung free of her bra. Spit wet her lips. She came again with a muffled cry, cunt fluttering around him, and he fucked her through it until she was shaking.

He pulled out. She whimpered at the empty feeling. Then his fingers – slick with her – slid back between her cheeks and pressed against her arsehole.

$name1 went still.

“Rob-”

“I’ve watched this arse for two years,” he said, voice rough against her ear. “I want it. Tell me no and I stop.”

Her heart hammered. She had never. Not with Matt. Not with anyone. The thought of it made her cunt clench and her face burn.

“Do it,” she whispered. “Slow.”

He spat. Worked the spit into her with his thumb, circling, pressing, coaxing her open. One finger slid in to the knuckle. She hissed. It burned and it felt filthy and she pushed back onto it anyway. He worked her gently, then added a second finger, scissoring, stretching her virgin hole while his other hand rubbed her clit so the pain melted into something hotter.

“Relax. That’s it. Good girl.”

“Fuck you,” she breathed, but she was rocking on his fingers now, taking them deeper.

He pulled them free. She heard him spit again. Then the blunt, slick head of his cock pressed to her arsehole.

“Breathe,” he said.

She did. He pushed.

The stretch was enormous. Her mouth opened on a silent cry. Inch by filthy inch he fed his cock into her arse, pausing when she clenched, waiting, then pushing again. Tears prickled her eyes. Her knuckles were white on the bar. And then – suddenly – the head popped past the ring of muscle and he was sliding deeper, filling her in a way that made her feel split open and owned.

“Holy fuck,” Rob groaned. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Don’t stop,” she managed. “Just – give me a second -”

He held still, buried halfway in her arse, kissing the back of her neck, one hand reaching around to stroke her clit in slow, wet circles. The burn eased into a deep, dirty fullness. She nodded.

He fucked her arse.

Slow at first. Long, careful strokes that made her moan into the wood. Then deeper. Harder. His hips slapped her cheeks. The wet sounds of his cock working her virgin hole filled the empty pub. $name1 pushed back to meet him, taking more, taking all of him, until he was balls-deep in her arse and she was babbling filthy nonsense.

“Fuck my arse – Rob – fuck it – Matt’s mate – oh God -”

“Say it,” he growled. “Say whose arse this is.”

“Yours. Tonight it’s yours. Fuck -”

He reached under her and rubbed her clit hard while he pounded her. The dual sensation ripped through her. She came with a sob, arse clenching around his cock, cunt dripping down her thighs onto the floor. Rob cursed and slammed deep and held, cock pulsing as he flooded her arse with hot cum. Spurt after spurt. She felt every one. Felt him claim the last place she had kept for her husband.

They stayed like that, panting, sticky, the bar quiet around them.

He pulled out slowly. She felt empty and used and shamefully wet. Cum leaked from her stretched hole down over her cunt. She didn’t move to wipe it.

Rob kissed her shoulder.

“You alright?”

$name1 laughed once, shaky. She tugged her jeans up over the mess. Zipped. Smoothed her vest down. Her arse throbbed. She could still feel the shape of him.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Go. Before he comes down.”

He looked at her for a long second. Then he nodded, grabbed his jacket, and slipped out the side door into the rain.

$name1 locked it behind him. She washed her hands at the sink. She went upstairs on soft feet, past the room where Matt snored, and into the bathroom.

In the mirror her mouth was swollen and her eyes were bright. She sat on the closed toilet lid and pressed two fingers carefully to her tender arsehole. Rob’s cum was still inside her. She pushed a little in and shuddered.

Tomorrow she would pull pints and smile at her husband and pretend nothing had happened.

Tonight she sat there in the dark bathroom, fucked open and filthy, and already wanted Rob to do it again.