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“Heyyy.” She rubs her perky tits against my stomach, batting a set of green eyes up at me with the prettiest cock suckin’ lips painted in shiny gloss. She’s gorgeous, I’ll give her that. Red hair and curves for days. My dick ain’t picky. But… like I said, she’s drunk, and I don’t do drunk bitches. Maybe if I was twenty again, I’d consider it. Fifties give ya a whole new perspective. Clingy groupies, I’ll pass.
I politely detach her arms from around my neck and take a step back. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
Her bottom lip juts into a pout.
“Court-ney,” her less-than-pretty friend scolds as she stomps over, gives me a dirty look, and drags Courtney away by the hand. I get it. Biker dick is foreign dick. You see a patch and you wanna go for a ride. We live it all the time. It doesn’t hurt I’m a regular when Loretta’s workin’. People see me and think I’m down to pound. When the brothers come along for some fun, they are. Where else do ya think they pick up new club whores? They’re recruited from here, with Loretta’s expert help. If it weren’t for her, Dixie wouldn’t have met my club brother Brew.
Staying away from the flirty redhead and her gang of friends, I lumber to my seat at the far end of the bar. This place ain’t much more than beer posters, fluorescent signs, dingy black walls, a couple of pool tables, and a large wrap around bar with stools covered in cracked, black vinyl doctored with duct tape. Not the classiest place, but the liquor’s cheap, clientele’s varied, and the music is classic rock all night, all the time. Clove's is the only bar in thirty miles you’ll never get stuck listening to that wannabe trash millennials love. Anything after 95’ is pure junk. You don’t have to agree with me. Not my problem you don't have good taste in music; different strokes and all that PC horseshit.
No sooner does my ass kiss the stool, does the foxy Loretta have a pint of lager ready for me to sip. I pull out my wallet and slap a fifty on the bar as payment and tip. Happy to see me, a smile breaks across that angelic face. Then she reaches across the bar and tugs on my beard in hello. No words are necessary. I’m happy to sit and watch her work all night. That ass is hypnotizing in skin-tight leopard print leggings, like Peg Bundy wore in Married with Children. The top she’s got on ain’t much different, either. It’s black and hangs off one shoulder, then dips down to show off a classy amount of cleavage. Bet the tips are rollin’ in tonight. They damn well better be with her lookin’ like that. Though, I’m glad to see she didn’t go for heels and has on the pair of black flats I bought her years ago. Man, what’s it been? Four years? Five? Time flies when you’ve been screwin’ the same gal for twenty years.
Not giving a damn about who’s here, I perch an elbow on the bar and sip my beer in private. It’s a dark, smooth blend, just how I like.
Some suit wearin’, pretty boy down the way catcalls Loretta as she passes him to fill a different order. She turns and flips him off with a smile. He throws his head back and laughs along with his friends. I slap another fifty down to get her to serve me again, before him. The dick notices and does the same with a defiant chin lift. Game on, douchebag. I add another fifty. He slaps down the same, plus a fiver. Callin’ his bluff, I toss out a hundred like it ain’t no thing. ‘Cause it ain’t. I’ve owned the same gun and ammo shop goin’ on twenty years. It’s done me well. That, and I live with my brothers on our Sacred Sinner compound. No cost of living. His jaw clenches as that clean-shaven face turns a healthy shade of tomato red. I wink, then smirk, knowin’ I’m about to win whatever’s goin’ down.
Nothing happens for a good bit as his friends lean into some frat boy huddle tryin’ to figure out how to best the old biker down the bar. Little do they know, the woman they’re objectifyin’ I plan to fuck in a few short hours. Not that it matters, when I can get Loretta a fat stack of cash to take home tonight.
When the dark-haired goddess that rocks my world finishes fillin’ a dozen or more orders, she saunters back my way to top me off. Before she makes it, the douches have convened and wallets open. They compile what cash they’ve got to add to the stack. There’s a good four hundred maybe five there. Not bad.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Pretty Boy whistles, shoving the money out for her to collect.
Loretta spins their way. “Can I help you?” Those long lashes flutter with enough flirtation to make half the bar hard as a rock.
Blondie Boy winks at me like he’s won before addressing her. “If you can get us a round of top-shelf cognac next, this would be in it for ya.” Cash is lined along the edge closest to my gal, who takes the stack and pockets it without a second thought.Good girl.
The men high-five as she fills their orders with an extra pep in her step. Each of the four glasses are set in front of the douchebags before she walks to my end of the bar, reaches out, grabs a fistful of my beard, yanks me out of my seat and halfway across the fuckin’ thing to lay a soul burning kiss on my lips. And I let her. Damn, do I let her.
Our tongues meet like old friends, tangling across the wooden top as my stomach digs into the side. I swallow Loretta’s needy little moans until the fox is left panting, and I’m so hard I could pound a dozen nails into concrete.
When she pulls away and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, I do my best to conceal the spike in my pants. A smug, grateful smile consumes my face as I retake my seat.
“There’s more where that came from.” She fans herself, smiling all sweet and bashful when I know she’s anything but.
“I’d hope so.” I down the rest of my beer, not givin’ a damn who saw our little show.
“I’ve missed your…” Those sparkling eyes flick to where I’m hiding an erection.
I cover it with my hand, knowin’ she can’t see it. “Oh, yeah? It’s only been ten days.” We try to get together a handful of times a month. With all the fucked up shit that’s been goin’ on at the club, things haven’t worked in our favor.
“A week too long.” She grabs my empty glass and saunters that sexy ass away to refill it. Yet, the money I left still sits on the counter, untouched. I should’ve guessed she wouldn’t take more than the fifty. She never does, no matter how much I try to give her. Beautiful, stubborn woman. Guess I’ll pay her in other ways tonight. Orgasm currency sounds mighty fuckin’ fine.
I check the glowing Miller Lite clock above the register.
Only two hours and twelve minutes ‘til I get to make good on our monthly arrangement. It’s about damn time. I missed my gal.
3
Loretta
Brick digs into my palms as they press against the wall outside the bar, in the alleyway after my shift. Animal print leggings and panties cuff around my knees. I push my ass back to give Blimp the perfect angle to stick that fat cock into my cunt. I’m wet for him. Have been all night. That stunt he pulled with the businessmen has me hotter than a firecracker. I need him here and now. We can’t wait. It’s been too long.
A rough hand clamps over my hip as Blimp’s tip glides through my folds, teasing me, smearing his pre-cum around.
“Please,” I whine, rotating my ass for more friction.
Blunt fingers sink into my flesh, deep enough to bruise. I relish every second. Hungry for whatever he’s willing to give, my eyelids flutter in submission as I let him take control. A cool breeze swirls through the alley, arousing goosebumps. I shiver.
“Say it,” Blimp commands.
