Last Updated on 14 January, 2026 by Cara Sutra
I was a teasing bitch when I was in my twenties. I’m a teasing bitch now, but back then it was with the confidence and swagger of youth, and to hell with any consequences. Today, in honour of that most sacred holiday – Fingering Day, 19th April – I’m writing about the time I was fingered in a public bar. This is a real anecdote from my past, not fiction.
It was early afternoon on a Saturday, and as was my habit during my drinking years, I headed to my local haunt at the time – a bar called Chambers. I noticed a few people dotted around the place as I strode in and assertively made my way to the bar, all heels and long hair, short dress and shoulder bag.
A lone guy sitting at the bar noticed me as I approached and casually ordered a drink, and I could feel his eyes on me, all the way up and down. I’d seen him as I walked in, a similar age to me, perhaps a little older. Cute but not so attractive that I can remember his face now, after all these years.
“I’ll get that, if you like.”
I turned to face him, as if I’d only just noticed his presence.
“No, you’re alright. Thanks though.”
I drank in his surprise and reluctant admiration hungrily. I loved to shock them. Yeah, I’m independent. No, I don’t need you to buy my drinks. In fact, I don’t need you for anything.
After paying for the vodka diet coke, anticipating that first fizz on the tongue to kick off a weekend of fun, I realised my appetite was primed for mischief, too. Sliding my drink closer to his, I sidestepped to position myself next to his barstool. And I waited.
He took his cue.
I can’t remember how the conversation started; I can’t even remember his name, but he must have introduced himself. Perhaps it was my body language, or the pheromones screaming from my body, or maybe just the unmistakeable twinkle in my eye, but he seemed to know I was up for more than small talk. When he took a chance, putting his arm around my hip, I didn’t stop him or move away. His eyes met mine with a flash of more delicious surprise, and I could almost hear him wondering if he could get away with more. Try it, my eyes said in cheeky response. Do it. Now. I dare you.
Obediently, his hand moved down from around my waist to my hip nearest to him, his fingers travelling the short distance to the hem of my floaty mini dress to land on the bare skin of my thigh. His first skin-to-skin contact with me, in such an intimate area, sent a sizzling heat through me so intense I was surprised there wasn’t an audible crackle of electricity. Staying true to being a walking contradiction, I fought back a full-body shiver as my skin lit up with anticipatory goosebumps.
I picked up my drink to take a sip, doing my best to stay outwardly calm as I let his fingers move cautiously inwards and up, towards the treacherously damp spot between my legs. His mouth was spilling some rambling small talk, all the meaningless chatter of a polite stranger, while his demeanour betrayed his disbelief at what I was allowing him to do.
Fire flooded through me as his fingertips made contact with the soaked fabric, a thin shield between my most intimate place and his impatient-for-more digits. His lips released everyday mundanity between gasping in short breaths of sex-fuelled need. I, meanwhile, did my absolute best to look nonchalantly around the bar, sipping my drink, hoping to look for all the world like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary was happening. As if I hadn’t just walked up to a stranger and smugly, arrogantly, confidently offered him my sex to explore should he dare to accept my provocative invitation.
He did dare. I knew he couldn’t believe his luck, and I fed off that complete shock, the wonder whether he was dreaming or if this was actually happening. I’d turned towards him, moving closer to prevent any passers-by from seeing what was going on between us. Him, sat on the stool. Me, stood almost facing him, legs slightly apart, his hand under my short, ruffled hem and fingers making that first, hot contact with teasingly sodden panties.
A slight shift of his fingertips with an unspoken request for more. I knew if he were able, he’d be begging and pleading for more – I could see it in his eyes when I finally acquiesced to return his besotted gaze. Brushing over my fabric-protected wetness, I couldn’t hold back the full body shiver any longer – feeling it from where my breath had caught in my throat, all the way down to my scarlet-painted toes. His fingers moved to the edge of my panties, where cotton met the crease of my skin at the top of my thighs. Yes, I nodded, silently. Yes, please do. Please come inside. Feel me. Feel all of me.
Again, he obeyed. Fingers peeled back the edge of the material to hungrily roam over my neat-shaven mound, delving down to seek out the reassuring, slick wetness of my desire, the erect nub of my soundlessly screaming clitoris. The noise of the bar and its clientele around us seemed to be temporarily muted as first one fingertip, then another, gently prised their way inside my demanding cunt. His thumb remaining outside, over my clit, using some of the plentiful wetness gathered nearby to lubricate its rough motion back and forth, feeding my shrill need, as his fingertips gave and received satisfaction from my slippery entrance.
The bar hummed around us, oblivious to our shameless public vulgarity. The sheer outrageousness of the situation had me sizzling with need for more, deeper, rougher, harder. His fingers worked me slowly, tormenting me with their slowness, as he added another fingertip to make it a trio of playful pads jutting into the hot, slippery space.
We’d run out of inane chat at this point. My fingers gripped the half empty glass in front of me to just about keep me grounded through the surreal sexual tension. I looked about the bar, looking but not really seeing, knowing that if I met his hungry eyes right now, I wouldn’t be responsible for what would happen next. I needed to remain in control. And remain silent, covert. The struggle just served to add fuel to the sexual desire fire.
I felt his middle finger move to slide deeper inside me, as I brought my glass up to my mouth – to gag the cry threatening to burst from me, as well as to quench my suddenly dry lips. It was all I could do to stop my hand trembling around my drink – a tremble I felt down my body through my knees down to my high-heeled, bare feet – as he worked me deeper still, finger curling to fuck my tight pussy as his thumb brushed teasingly over my electrified clit.
Fuck, this was good. But I didn’t want to come like that, in public. I didn’t trust my legs to continue holding me upright. I was absolutely loving riding on his skilled hand in that way, allowing him the pleasure of knowing me intimately whilst not knowing me at all, but I knew it was time to say goodbye.
A shift, and he sensed the journey was over. I felt his fingers leave me, while my pussy and clit throbbed angrily at the sudden departure. His fingers must have been glistening with my wetness and need, not that I dared draw attention to them by looking. I allowed my gaze to meet his, and saw an erotic blend of hunger, confusion and acceptance in his eyes.
Leaning in, and being deliberately vague, I spoke.
“Back in a sec.”
His face still registered confusion, but still utterly captivated he replied.
“Sure, no problem.”
I knew he was assuming I’d be back after a visit to the Ladies. Draining what remained of my drink, I turned and walked away – and right out of the door, without a backwards glance or trace of regret. Now that’s how you get the weekend started, I thought to myself smugly, a smile on my face and an ache of need lingering in my cunt.
