Playboy Morning Show - Episode 151

She stood at the bar in heels that cost more than rent. Tight black dress. One wrong move and the hem would betray her. She scanned the crowd until her eyes found him, sitting back, watching. He didn't speak when she approached. Just let the silence stretch while she shifted her weight, the leather of her shoe squeaking once against the floor. She reached down, slipped the heel off, and set it on the bar between them like an offering. The second followed. Barefoot now, she waited. He took his time. Finally he stood, leaned close enough that his breath touched her ear. "Turn around." She did. Hands flat on the polished wood, spine arched, dress riding up with each slow breath. His fingers traced the curve of her calf, then higher, until he found the lace edge of her panties and hooked them aside. Two fingers pushed in without warning. She gasped, forehead pressing against the bar. He worked her open with steady rhythm, thumb brushing her clit in lazy circles while his free hand gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks. She rocked back against him, heels abandoned on the floor, legs trembling. When he added a third finger she moaned, low and ragged, the sound swallowed by the music. He didn't stop until her thighs shook and her cunt clenched around his knuckles, wet enough to drip down his wrist. Only then did he pull free, wipe his hand on the inside of her thigh, and walk away. She stayed bent over the bar a moment longer, catching her breath, before she slipped the heels back on and followed.