Supersexual (Sex powers, some non-consent)

And he was, she noted with more internal glee than she would dare display a hint of. The lady, who was good-looking enough that she would be hit on by any and all red-blooded males (and maybe some curious women too) near her path, and thus in danger of being randomly groped on her way to the counter, approached the counter anyway - her goal was worth ignoring or dodging a few ass smacks. She made sure to sit one seat between any of the other men as she focused solely on the employee currently pouring gin.

Timothy, that was his name. The lady read it right off the breast of his uniform every time she came in here during his shift, and, just like every other time, she wondered the same exact thing: how a man with such a plain moniker deserved her attention, her attraction. If she had to be honest, he wasn't much to look at either. At a glance, he came off as any other green-eyed, brown-haired guy she could pass by on the street, and neither his five o'clock shadow nor the bare, unassuming smile between his cheeks much helped the picture. And yet...

"Hello, miss," he greeted in a pleasant tone, one that made his customer feel warm and appreciated... Nay, like they were his whole world. Also true, the lady corrected - he was suave, a confident speaker. "To what drink do I owe the pleasure of serving you tonight?"

The lady smiled back, doing her best not to fall off of her chair or something embarrassing like that. There was just something about this Timothy that was like a drug to her, something that fed into her senses and made her heart pound, her sex want to swamp her panties. "I'm in the mood for something sweet. Perhaps with a little bit of kick, on the rocks, if you please?"

"Sweet, huh? Much like yourself?" Timothy allowed himself a grin as he nodded to his cheesy reply, receiving no scorn but for a giggle from the lady in question. "Well, then..." He turned to the shelf behind him and made a show of searching out the ingredients, carefully pondering aloud a recipe he already ad-libbed in his head. "Let's see... Ice, a shot of rum, dampen it with this, and... Oh, my." Timothy set the unfinished drink on the counter and turned toward the lady, apologizing with his hands together. "Terribly sorry, miss. I need to grab something from the back. If you don't mind?"

"Not at all," she accepted easily. She couldn't bring herself to give Tim any trouble. She was content to watch him push through the employee door and slip behind the shelves, sighing in anticipation of next seeing Tim again and completely ignoring the man two seats away from her who complained about the bartender not even passing him his fucking gin.

Timothy Jones heard that, and couldn't care less. Only dudes who were new to this place approached the counter, usually to be disappointed when this Tim guy ended up making them wait because some lovely woman showed up. The regulars just stuck to tables on Tim nights, although none of them would ever learn the reason why. Tim was fine with that; in fact, Tim was a little spoiled. It wasn't his fault his aura seemed to both attract women and repel men subconsciously, but it worked to his preferences, almost fed off them.

Tim was a little spoiled, but mostly vaguely annoyed by his erect penis attempting to burst through his pants. He worked the zipper of his pants with frustration as he throbbed against the polyester for the fourth time during his shift, grunting with some satisfaction as his cock bounced into the open air yet again. Tim pulled his balls out too and wrapped one hand around the silky flesh, the other grasping for the same one-cup measuring device he grabbed a

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