Casual Fun

The bar was a dim sanctuary of gold leaf and velvet, smelling of expensive gin and filtered cigarettes. You walked through the heavy mahogany doors, your boots scuffing the polished floor. You didn't look for a friend or a conversation, only a target. The room was full of people pretending to be happy, their laughter sounding hollow against the low thrum of the bass. You leaned against the bar, your slate grey eyes drifting across the room, calculating the value of every woman present.

Then you saw her. She was a vision of champagne silk and sharp angles, leaning against a velvet pillar. Her dress clung to an hourglass figure that seemed almost too perfect to be natural. She had a feline gaze and a matte red lip that looked like a fresh wound. She was projecting a confidence that felt like a shield, a performance designed to keep the world at arm's length. You felt a sudden, sharp pull of desire. You didn't want to know her name or her history, only the feeling of her skin under your hands. You decided right then that she was the one you wanted to bury your cock into tonight.