Drunk Fuck

When alcohol clouds the judgement, horrible things can happen

Jun 26, 2026

Photo by Gerrie van der Walt on Unsplash

Find more: Fiction Friday / Non-Erotic Fiction / Transgressive Non-Erotic Fiction / Non-Erotic Flash Fiction

The man on the stool in the corner of the bar smelled of beer and oil as I sat down next to him, but he didn’t even notice me. No one else paid him any attention, and his only went out to the glass in front of him. His shoulders slumped forward; his head bowed. He was in his own world.

With only the wall on his other side, the only way for him to leave the pub was to pass behind me. I ordered a glass of red wine, and when I retrieved my phone from my purse, I glanced down at his pants. Stains on his denims told the story of him coming here directly from work — the garage he owned.

My movements awakened him from his daze. He turned his head towards me, looking at my mobile phone.

“She ’ad one of those too, ya’know.”

I put the phone down on the bar, between our drinks, picked up my glass and took a tiny sip of the wine. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t speak.

“She was always busy on tha’ thing. Never time for anyt’ing else.”

He sounded bitter. And drunk. His tongue was heavy; his words slurring as he spoke. He seemed to take my silence as encouragement to continue.

“All I wanted was fo’er to notice me. Bitch ‘gnored me.”

It was quiet for a while. He downed half a glass of beer, and tapped on the bar to order another, which the bartender quickly provided.

“I even offered ’er money.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

“But fuckin’ bitch turned ’er damn back on me. Told me I’m a pervert! Made me so fuckin’ mad.”

He gulped down more beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, burped, and continued.

“Dragged her into an alley with me. Tried to scream, da’bitch, but me kept me hand over ’er mouth.”

My stomach turned. This never got easier. I wanted to jump up and leave, but took another sip of wine, hoping it would bring me a bit of calm.

He swallowed the rest of the beer in his glass, tapped on the bar, and drank half of the next glass before he talked again. His words were barely coherent.

“I slapped ’er. Bitch was gonna listen. Held ’er head between me hands ’n stuffed me dick between-a lips.”

He emptied his glass, slammed it on the counter.

“I fucked that sweet lil’ mouth of ’er. Deep. She fought back. Bitch clawed at me clothes. Tried to push me hands away. Held her so tight. Fucked ’er hard.”

He almost grabbed the glass from the bartender’s hand and threw the beer down the back of his throat, swallowing it all without choking. I doubt he would’ve known the difference had it been water.

My knuckles were white where I held my hands tightly pressed on the bar top.

“Fucked her hard,” he repeated and chuckled.

An ice-cold rage flowed through my veins. My fingers curled. My fingertips turned even whiter. I held my eyes fixed on the glass of wine in front of me. Knew I couldn’t bear to look at him now.

“She didn’t fight no more. Opened ’er mouth and just lemme fuck ’er. I knew da’bitch was just playin’ hard to get! Knew she would like me taste.”

His fist slammed on the bar top, making me jump and look at him for the first time since he started talking. I couldn’t bear the sight of him and turned my head away, bile rising in my throat.

“I blew my load in’er mouth, watched as she let it run outta’er mouth. Bitch just stared at me. Tried to seduce me all ove’gain. Decided she can work forrit if she wanna more of me. Threw me business card at ’er feet. Told da’bitch she could call me if she wanna me so much.”

He seemed out of breath after these words. His shoulders sagged again, and he stared at his half-empty glass.

“She won’t call you,” I said after a couple of minutes.

“Whadda…?”

I could feel him looking at me.

“She’s dead.”

“Dead?” he echoed.

“Yes, she was found dead in an alley. Suffocated. Dried semen on her face. We found a business card. Your employees told us where to find you.”

“Dead?” he said again.

I sighed, grabbed my phone, slipped off the stool and nodded to two men who sat at a table close to the only exit. The last words I heard before I opened the door to the street were the first words my colleague spoke to the drunk man: “Sir, you are under arrest for the murder…”

One more before you go…