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Bar Fly	By : MrBigglesworth Category: +1 through F > Daria Views: 3551 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Daria, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Bar Fly
- 1
Bar Fly
a Dariarotica fic
by Mr. Bigglesworth
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"Buy a girl a drink?"
Amy Barksdale surveyed the young woman who had just seated herself on the stool next to her at the hotel bar. Young -- early twenties, from the look of her -- straight black hair, dark eyes...some of the most impressive tattoo work Amy had seen in awhile adorning both her arms. Not a bad body on her, either, a fact amply advertised by the outfit she was wearing: all black, sports bra for a top, straps of black thong underpants protruding above the waistline of a latex miniskirt so tight the rest of the thong printed clearly through it, even in the dim light of the bar. A pair of tall, high-heeled black PVC boots completed the ensemble. The overall effect was kind of tawdry -- probably part of the point, Amy mused.
"You looked like you could use some company," the girl continued. "In town on business?"
Amy looked at her uninvited companion for a long moment, sizing her up, then took another sip of the glass of chardonnay she'd been nursing and answered "Yeah, business trip. So what're you having?"
"A wet panty," the younger woman replied with a smirk, which grew more pronounced as Amy blushed slightly when ordering the embarrassingly named cocktail.
Once the drink had arrived, the two of them sipped and chatted, the younger woman at first asking innocuous questions about Amy's line of work, whether she'd had the chance to take in some of the touristier attractions of the city they were in, asked Amy if she traveled a lot, then said "I guess one of the good things about traveling to a strange town is that it gives you a chance to let your hair down, get a little wilder than you might if you were around people who know you."
"You might say that," agreed Amy noncommittally.
"Know of any good parties around here?" she asked after a brief pause.
"Well," the girl replied, "as a matter of fact, I might know about some local partying opportunities. What size party were we talking about?" she asked, coyly.
"Oh, I was thinking maybe a private party," Amy began.
"Maybe in your room?"
"That sounds like a good place."
Amy settled the bar tab, her new friend collected a smallish gym bag she was carrying in lieu of a purse, and the two of them headed for the elevator.
"To avoid any really awkward uses of 'hey, you', what should I call you?" asked Amy on the ride up.
"Alison," her companion replied.
Back at the room, Amy mixed them both drinks at the minibar, and as they downed them Alison began reeling off the evening's menu.
"It starts at $75 for a massage," she began.
"Massage? What kind?" asked Amy.
"Full-body," replied Alison, locking eye-contact with Amy, who blushed slightly.
"Oral's $100," Alison continued, without missing a beat, "no extra charge if you feel like returning the favor. The pleasure of my company for the night'll run you $250. Anything unusual's extra, but basically anything except scat or serious pain's negotiable."
Amy, a little hesitantly, allowed as how she was in the mood for something a little bit "unusual." Alison waited, listening, without commenting. Eventually, Amy said something about how she'd found "a little bit of restraint" could add to the pleasure of an encounter...
"You want to tie me up? Fifty on top of the cost of whatever else you want to do...and first I'll be making a few arrangements..." said Alison, pulling out a cellphone.
"No," said Amy. "That is, uh..." she cast her gaze downwards and looked thoroughly embarrassed.
"Oh, you mean you want me to tie you up!" Alison said. "Same charge...and what would you like to have happen while you're trussed-up?"
Looking back up at Alison, Amy told her what she wanted. Alison raised an eyebrow. "That is a little...unusual. You're lucky I just happened to come equipped."
She named her overall price, Amy produced the cash and Alison tucked it into an internal pocket of her gym bag. "Well, no sense wasting any time. Want any help getting those clothes off?"
"No, uh, thanks, I can manage," replied Amy, taking her glasses off and setting them aside before tugging her pullover sweater up over her head. Off came the sweater, then in a suddenly remembered sidetrip the shoes. Amy undid her slacks, untucked the dark turtleneck she'd been wearing beneath the sweater and pulled it over her head and off. As Amy lifted her arms over her head to pull her top clear of her long, curly brown hair, Alison noted with a faint twinge of arousal the dark patches of hair under Amy's arms. Pulling her arms free of the turtleneck's sleeves and letting it drop to the floor, Amy paused to put her glasses back on, then pushed her slacks over her hips and down her legs, and stepped out of them.
Only shaves them halfway, Alison noted, for occasions when she has to wear a formal dress?
Good thing she's one of those women who looks hot letting it grow, she thought as she ran her gaze up and down Amy's body, secret fetishes fed by the way early middle age had begun softening and padding the older woman's body slightly, despite the way she obviously took care of herself.
Down to only her ivory-colored bra and panties, Amy shifted on the edge of the bed, turning to face Alison. As Amy turned she allowed her legs to spread, and Alison caught her breath at the sight of the two thin lines of dark wiry curls peeking out from under the edges of Amy's panties. Alison had always had an "all-or-nothing" thing about body hair...she'd found either extreme to be a rare treat among women she'd been with, and here was one who obviously went with "all."
Alison ran her eyes back up Amy's body and, as their gazes met, Amy reached back to unhook her bra. Her movements feeling almost mechanically synchronized, Alison took hold of the bottom of the sports bra she was wearing as a top and lifted...
They're beautiful, thought Amy, firm, gravity-defyingly firm...I miss having a body like that.
They're beautiful, thought Alison, so round and soft-looking. I hope I look even half that good when I'm her age.
After a long moment of mutual appraisal, Amy pulled off her panties and sat naked on the edge of the bed, as Alison bent down and unzipped and removed her boots, then slowly peeled herself out of the latex miniskirt, leaving herself (for the moment) clad only in her thong.
Amy lay back on the bed as Alison reached into her bag and pulled out a set of lavender-and-black bondage fetters, velcro and nylon, and set them on one corner of the bed.
Amy propped herself up on her elbows. "Oh," she said. "I was kind of expecting handcuffs..."
"Too rough on the furniture," replied Alison. "Besides, cuffs leave marks on the wrists. Might get awkward, having to explain them to the wrong person...and they can get pretty uncomfortable if you pull too hard."
"Oh," said Amy, "uh, okay..."
Alison then helped Amy get comfortable, helping her slide a pillow under her hips, two where she'd be laying her head, then as Amy lay back spread-eagled on the hotel bed Alison set about the business of securing first her ankles, then her wrists to the bed frame at its corners. Finally, "do you want to keep these on?" she asked, grasping the temple pieces of Amy's glasses.
"No, please take them off," replied Amy. Alison pulled the glasses off and set them on the nightstand. Probably the same effect as a blindfold, mused Alison...won't be able to tell what next, or from where. She found herself smiling at the thought.
Alison crossed the room to the minibar, poured herself a shotglass full of vodka and set it on the nightstand, then went to the gym bag and took out the rest of her tools for the evening, returning to the bedside and spreading them out on the nightstand, next to Amy's glasses and the shotglass.
The first brush Alison picked up was a long-handled 3/4" oval mop, sable hair, from her own personal stash of art supplies. She started off by flicking the head of the brush in a long, sweeping curve along Amy's bikini line. Amy gasped, jumped and shivered.
Alison then straightened-up, and walked slowly around the bed, letting Amy wonder about her next move for a few moments. Presently, she placed the head of the brush against the inside of Amy's ankle and, with rapid lateral flicking strokes, made her way up the inside of Amy's leg, to a few inches above the knee. Alison then made her way back down the other leg. Amy was shivering by the time she reached the opposite ankle.
Alison then tried a number of likely sensitive, ticklish spots: the backs of the knees, the insides of Amy's upper arms, her underarms, her bikini line (again), along her ribcage. First one spot, then another, in no particular pattern. Amy didn't consider herself particularly ticklish, but before long she was squirming helplessly within her restraints, a light sheen of sweat beginning to glisten on her skin.
Then, suddenly, Alison stopped, waited a moment, then, starting at the base of the top of one of Amy's breasts, began slowly tracing a circle around it. When Alison got back to her starting-point, she moved the brush upwards and made another circle above the first...then another...slowly spiraling up Amy's breast towards the nipple. As she drew near the little nub, already hardening in anticipation, she reversed course and began working her way back down it, drawing a frustrated little groan and whimper from Amy. Alison then began the same process on the other breast, again reversing course and switching to the other one. Finally, when she got to where she was lightly tracing around the outer perimeter of one of Amy's areolae, Alison stopped, pulled the brush away from her "client's" body.
"Where're you going?" asked Amy in confused frustration.
Without a word, Alison quickly dipped the brush in the shot glass of vodka, daubed a generous coat onto the nipple she'd just stopped short of with a smooth, swirling movement, then bent down, her mouth nearly touching Amy's nipple, pursed her lips...and blew.
Amy's breath hissed in through clenched teeth and escaped in a pained-sounding whimper as her nipple grew harder than she could remember it ever having done before. No sooner had the evaporative cooling turned it into a tiny rock than Amy felt the cold replaced by wet heat as Alison's lips closed around her nipple. She cried out at the intensity of the sensation.
After a moment or two lightly sipping at one of Amy's nipple, Alison broke contact, re-wet her brush, and repeated what she'd just done with the other nipple. Then back to the first, this time gently squeezing and rubbing the rest of the breast, then to the other again, the same way...
Amy bit her lip, tossed her head to one side and pulled against the soft padded restraints holding her wrists. After a little while longer kissing Amy's nipples, Alison wet the brush again and repeated her initial stroke along the bikini line, this time following it with blowing on the alcohol to evaporate it. Then, she set the brush down on the nightstand, examined her collection briefly, then selected another, a #2 round long-handle, nylon bristles, firm but soft...
Alison then climbed up onto the bed, swung a leg over Amy's body so that she was kneeling astride her, and set the brush on the bedspread next to them. After a moment's thought, she leaned over to the nightstand and picked the 3/4" oval mop up again.
Kneeling astride Amy's abdomen, Alison leaned forward with the brush and began again slowly tickling her way up the inside of one of Amy's legs. This time, she didn't stop just above the knee. Amy was twisting and squirming in her restraints by the time Alison got up to the top of her thigh...just below where the hair began....and then swiftly traced the brush around and up, again tickling the area between Amy's navel and pubic bush as Amy kept groaning-squirming-whimpering-writhing.
Then, suddenly, Alison stopped, leaned way back down and started up from the inside of Amy's other ankle, just above the padded cuff of the restraint. She couldn't help chuckling at the frustrated noise Amy made. This time, as she got to the top of the inside of Amy's thigh, Alison put down the brush, paused just a moment, then placed her hands on the upper insides of Amy's thighs and slid them up and inwards, into the creases of her groin, squeezing Amy's labia together then rubbing up and down, using the soft fatty lips to stroke the obviously already-moistened sensitive interior of her vulva.
Amy moaned, rather loudly.
After a moment of this slow rubbing, Alison parted the lips, gently but firmly, spreading...stretching, a little...until the interior was fully exposed to view. She scootched backwards, getting more comfortable, transferred around so that she was holding Amy spread open with one hand, and with the other picked up the #2 round brush.
Amy's head was spinning. Teased into a near-frenzy, unable to do anything about it...she closed her eyes, half endured, half reveled in the sensations, then opened them again as she felt Alison spreading her vulva open. As Amy opened her eyes, the younger woman was moving back to get more comfortable, and (probably without realizing it, Amy thought) ended-up practically straddling Amy's face. The blurry image of Alison's thighs...ass...thong was so close she could've almost reached it with her face if she'd leaned upward. Amy became aware of a distinct scent of musk in the air -- not her own. She realized that she wasn't the only one getting turned-on by the proceedings.
For a moment, Alison paused. Amy was just beginning to wonder what she was up to when she gasped, arched and pulled at her fetters as Alison teased the tip of the brush underneath the bottom edge of one of her inner folds and slowly ran it up the underside of that sensitive flap of skin, bottom to top, withdrawing just short of where the fold joined its twin below her clitoris. Alison then repeated this process with the opposite fold, then again along the tops of them, then was probing and exploring and teasing all over -- all except, maddeningly, her clit. Soon Amy was panting and moaning, twisting and writhing so much that Alison, in order to hold her workplace still, straightened up so that she was kneeling astride Amy's abdomen again, then lowered herself so that she was all but sitting on her partner to hold her in place.
On and on it went, Alison repeatedly bringing Amy to the edge but never quite letting her go over it, when finally she stopped, waited a moment, then leaned over to replaced the brush she'd been using, then selected her last two tools of the evening, setting them on the bedspread between Amy's legs.
Alison took up one of these new tools, wetting the 00 sable hair spotting brush with her tongue, getting the tiny patch of bristles as fine pointed as possible, then reached down, again spread Amy open, found her as aroused as ever and, just as Amy was about to ask her what she was doing, lightly, lightly touched the brush to the tiny glistening pink pearl protruding from under Amy's clitoral hood.
Amy let out a yelp and yanked at her restraints as her body jerked so hard she nearly managed to lift Alison into the air. The younger woman chuckled and then began swirling the brush in tiny rapid circles. As Amy rose closer and closer to climax, two conflicting thoughts filled her mind: too much! -- and don't stop! The noises she was making rose in volume and frequency as she pushed herself frantically at the almost unbearably intense stimulation. Finally, just as Amy was about to come, her clitoris seemed to disappear as the tissues around it swelled. Hastily discarding the extra-fine brush, Alison grabbed the last of her tools -- a Chinese calligraphy brush, with its broad, pointed soft bunch of bristles. Alison pushed the brush down over where she'd last seen Amy's clit and rapidly twisted it back and forth.
Amy went rigid and her moans peaked into a long, loud cry. From her vantage point Alison watched her partner's toes curl reflexively as her body began shuddering through the spasms of her climax.
After Amy tapered-off and relaxed in her fetters, Alison slowly stroked the brush up and down her slit a few more times, then said "my turn," as she collected up her brushes and climbed out of the bed.
Hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her thong, Alison pulled it over her hips, down her legs and stepped out of it, then climbed back into bed, this time kneeling above Amy's face. She lowered herself to just above where Amy could reach by lifting her head and amused herself briefly by teasing her -- but not for long. Bending slightly forward and reaching out to both sides of her, Alison undid the velcro holding the restraints on Amy's wrists then took hold of the headboard with both hands, to balance herself.
Alison yelped and jumped as Amy used her newly freed hands to grab her by the asscheeks and pull her down onto her face. Where Amy was in the habit of letting her body hair grow out with very little modification, Alison chose the opposite extreme: she had shaved off all of her pubic hair and Amy eagerly buried her face in the smooth soft flesh as if biting into some choice piece of fruit. Fairly ripe fruit at that, thought Amy, if the degree of juiciness she encountered was any indication. Alison let out a loud moan at the first touch of Amy's lips and tongue, and pushed back against her face as the older woman buried her mouth in her, her tongue exploring everywhere as Alison's grip on the headboard turned white-knuckled.
She was already close, from the anticipation and excitement of her role in the encounter, and Amy must have known this because rather than spending a lot of time teasing, she quickly made her way upwards and forwards, and presently drew Alison's clit between her lips in a long, sucking kiss. Alison emitted drawn-out "a-aah!" as one hand left the headboard, clenched, unclenched and fluttered uncertainly for a moment before her breasts, then flew with Alison's other hand to the back of Amy's head. She began bumping her hips up and down, grinding against Amy's face, and managed to pant "don't stop" before temporarily forgetting how to verbalize -- though not how to vocalize, her sounds rapidly growing louder and more insistent. Just as Alison was reaching a crescendo, Amy released her grip on her ass, cupped both hands slightly and brought them both down simultaneously on the cheeks below them. The sharp sting felt strangely pleasurable, blending itself into the overall intensity of the sensations she was feeling, and was enough -- accompanied by the strangest mental image, as if it weren't enough -- to send her over the edge with a vengeance. Alison screamed, and suddenly rediscovered language -- or at least the word "YES!", repeated in time with the contractions until, with a last shuddering spasm, it was over and she was trying to catch her breath and not collapse so completely as to smother the woman beneath her.
Noticing an odd tickling sensation on her face, Alison took a moment to realize what it was, then with a brusque sweep of her arm wiped away the tears while pushing away the memory of the experience that had made her swear no one would ever see those again. She half-slid, half fell off of Amy and ended up reclining on her side next to her, her head propped up on one hand. Amy levered herself up to a sitting position, bent down and undid the fetters that were still around her ankles.
"Oops, sorry," said Alison.
"No problem," Amy replied, and moved into a position that mirrored Alison's. For a long moment neither of them said anything.
"Wow," Alison finally offered.
Amy laughed softly. "Wow is right. You have some good ideas -- have I told you that lately?"
"Thanks," Alison replied, "but really good role-play depends on both partners...you're the best at it of anyone I've been with. And...uh..." her mind went back to their last time together. "You've come up with some pretty good scenarios, too."
"You really think so?" asked Amy, lazily reaching over and toying with one of Alison's nipples, watching the way it responded, listening to the way the younger woman sucked in her breath as it did. "You're actually the first I've tried this sort of thing with."
"You really get into your roles," Alison assured her, absently reaching down to guide Amy's hand even though they'd been together long enough to have a pretty good idea of each others' responses and preferences. Longer than I'd ever have thought when I picked her up in that gallery...or did she pick me up? Still, we're just in it for a good time...okay, and I'm in it for a possible career boost...that's all... "Too many people try to stage manage everything, and end up making it too stilted to really get into and enjoy." Alison smiled. "You must have a natural talent for it."
"Speaking of which," Alison continued, "something you did gave me an idea for next time. I know it's horribly cliched, but I was thinking of you as the stern headmistress of a girls' school, and I--"
"Hey, wait a minute," Amy interjected, pausing the afterplay. "Next time we do one of my fantasies, remember?"
"Um, yeah," Alison agreed. "I meant next time it was my turn."
"That may be a little while," said Amy. "I'm going to be going out of town for awhile on a business trip -- a real one."
"Take me with you!" Alison eagerly blurted, then frowned. Did I actually just say that?
"I don't know," said Amy, looking thoughtful. "I'm obligated to take a sidetrip to visit family. Still, they already know about me..."
Alison was actually taken aback by the sudden wickedness of Amy's smile.
You shouldn't mind, Helen. After all, it's thanks to you I'm fully out. Or at least to your drunken cattiness at that family reunion. No hard feelings, though, sis -- I was already mostly estranged from Mom anyway...
"Okay, then," Amy finally said. "As long as you can stand an all-day jaunt in Li'l Hot Stuff," she added, using the nickname she'd given her red convertible. "I've got to warn you, though: my sister's a real piece of work. The fact that her daughter's my favorite niece almost makes up for it though. It'll be good to see her again before she goes off to college. Maybe this time I'll get to meet her friend she keeps telling me about -- the two of you might hit it off, come to think of it, she's supposedly an artist." Amy frowned in mock sternness. "No fair dumping me for her, though."
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Disclaimers: Daria and all ancillary characters are the property of MTV/Viacom. I just borrow them occasionally, for strictly non-commercial purposes.
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