Chapter 3, In which I walk on the wild side
It had been a crazy weekend, and frankly I wasn’t completely upset to be hitting the road again. In the space of a few weeks, I’d gone from definitely straight to definitely lesbian to, well, bi-confused. I needed time away from Stacey and Michael to work it all out in my head.
On the surface, things were pretty good. Stacey had moved into my old bedroom; it was much more spacious than her old apartment and I was only there on weekends. I was more than happy to share the bed, if you know what I mean. We also shared the shower, the sofa, the floor, and once, the kitchen table. We’d almost gone at each other in the elevator too; I’d resisted the temptation just long enough to make it into the apartment.
My relationship with Michael had never been better, either. We were still great friends, and he’d started calling me “Robin,” which was a little weird but way better than “Peter”. It was one thing to let him use my ass, but hearing him breath my brother’s name in my ear while he did it squicked me a bit.
That had all changed that Saturday. He’d been upset that I’d been paying attention to Stacey, but I’d missed her all week and my butt was still a little sore from Friday, and frankly, it was a lot more fun to lick her than fuck him. They’d shouted at each other and I’d finally sighed and gone to Michael’s bedroom to play peacemaker.
He’d told me that Stacey was screwing with my mind, which was silly, and that he just wanted things to go back to the way they’d been. I’d gotten dizzy for a moment, and then he’d thrown me on the bed and we had wild, hot sex. Maybe it just took me awhile to warm up to taking it back there, but now the feel of his Bat Pole stretching my Bat Cave brought me to screaming orgasms every time, no finger required.
Of course, then Stacey got jealous. I explained I was just being a friend, but she was all snarky and asked if Michael was planning to tell Karen about it at the next meeting. It was clear I was going to have to be the adult, so I dragged her back to bed for some extra-special licking — and snuck back to Michael’s room after she fell asleep. I’d felt a little bad about it, because I loved her so much and she was helping me with my “mental game.”
See, I’d complained about how hard my job was, and she’d jumped in right away to explain how a few tweaks to my approach would help, and that a bigger income would really help us out. Stacey had been glaring at Michael when she said it, and I told her he was not moving out no matter how much I made, but I got her point.
Anyway, I dozed on the plane, happy that Stacey and Michael would have a chance to work out their differences without me in the middle. I knew I’d need my beauty sleep for this trip.
Texas. Everything was big there. Big heat, big cars, big hats, big egos, and big tits on the receptionist. I’d seen her before, but I paid a bit more attention now that I’d been with Stacey. Mostly, a really big commission — if I could land the sale.
I’d been cultivating the Consolidated Group for awhile, but it was one big good ol’ boys club and my competition had a dick between his legs. Luckily, Hunter still took my calls… And Stacey had reminded me that not having a dick between my legs could be a competitive advantage.
“How’s our proposal stacking up, Hunter?” I greeted him after his admin showed me in. “Am I going to land you this time?”
His eyes took in my new cut and color before dipping. “You know I can’t tell you that, Linnea.” He almost dropped the unlit cigar he had chomped between his teeth, although I’d practiced at home and knew he couldn’t see any higher than the tops of my stockings when I crossed my legs. It was still a lot more than he’d seen on any of my previous sales calls. “Ah, perhaps you can meet with my review team and discuss how your proposal stacks up against our requirements?” he offered, getting back onto our usual script.
Of course, somehow their schedules would be so full up that it would be impossible to meet during the day. That was why I had an expense account. “Maybe I could take your team out and make it a working dinner?”
“How’s tonight?” he asked, without even making a pretense of checking those oh-so-full calendars.
“Perfect,” I smiled. This was where I’d throw out the name of an upscale steakhouse. These guys liked their red meat, but it hadn’t won me any significant business on my previous visits. “How about The Bad Hoss at five?”
Hunter took the cigar out of his mouth before it could fall and looked at me dubiously. “You, ah, sure about that, Linnea?”
What I’d heard was that it was a place where you went to get drunk or get laid, or maybe both. “Big Steaks — Big Drinks — Big Action” proclaimed the mug on Hunter’s desk. Apparently there was no room left to add “Small Inhibitions.” He’d probably gotten it on the visit where he’d sealed the deal to buy six months of supply from the other guy a week after I’d thought I finally had him signed.
“Yeah,” I said, trying a wriggle I’d been practicing with mixed success. “I thought some place a little more casual might help our creative juices.” I tried to project more confidence than I felt.
“Well, yeah, then! Hell, yeah! It’ll be our pleasure to join you.”
“I won’t take any more of your time, then,” I said, rising and extending my hand.
He shook it, shooting a peek down my slightly more exposed than usual cleavage, and ushered me out. I could hear him chortling behind the closed door as I walked away, smiling to myself. I had him — hook, line and sinker.
“Damnit, Stacey!” I shouted at the suitcase in the hotel room. It was bad enough I’d let her talk me into this quasi-insane plan, but apparently she’d repacked my bag when I’d snuck out of her bedroom to visit Michael. My carefully-chosen, not-too-casual, not-too-formal outfit I’d planned to wear that night was gone.
In its place, I had an oh-so-short denim skirt, a vest, and a pair of cowboy boots I’d forgotten I owned. There wasn’t even a blouse! I wasted 15 minutes trying every one I had with me and confirming they all looked terrible. Another 5 minutes convinced me there was no way I could wear my bra under the vest either.
“Damnit, Stacey!” I shouted at her as soon as she answered the phone.
“Calm down, Linnea. What’s wrong?” I thought I heard faint giggling in the background, but it probably was just the television.
“My outfit!” I wailed. “I invited them to this stupid bar like you suggested, and now I don’t have anything to wear! I can’t believe you took my clothes! This is such a disaster!”
“Just take a deep breath, listen to my voice, and relax,” Stacey suggested.
I bit back the urge to scream it wouldn’t help, and tried to do what she suggested. “This is a big problem,” I tried again, feeling slightly calmer now that I had somebody to talk with.
“Nonsense!” she chirped back. “You were going to end up looking like a boring brood mare instead of a hot little filly. Trust me! Now, do you have it on?”
“Only the vest and my bra,” I admitted.
“That’s a little racy, even for me!” Stacey laughed, and I couldn’t help smiling. “Put on the skirt and boots, look in the mirror, and tell me what you see.”
“I look like a total slut,” I complained a minute or so later. “The bra is showing everywhere.”
“Take it off, then, silly! You know you don’t really need it; the vest will give you enough support.”
The solution was obvious enough in hindsight I felt like an idiot. I felt cooler already, and without the telltale flashes of fabric under my arms and atop my cleavage, the skimpiness of the vest wasn’t so obvious. “You’re right,” I admitted, “that is better. As long as I don’t twist or pop the top button and have a wardrobe malfunction, anyway.”
“I’d like to see that,” husked Stacey in a tone that left me leaking into my panties and made my nipples press against the inside of the vest. “Now, you have the special makeup, right?”
I glanced in the mirror, quickly checking my eyeliner, mascara, shadow, and candy apple red lipstick. I was about to ask her what she was talking about when I remembered. “Oh!” It was one more dubious thing she’d pressed on me, and I’d packed it just to make her happy. “I’m sorry, Stacey, but it just seems really stupid.”
“I know, but do it for me, okay, Linnea?”
She was just irresistible when she put her mind to it. My fingers were sliding the small tube of lip gloss into a vest pocket before I could even open my mouth to argue with her. Besides, nothing said I had to use it. “Okay,” I half-heartedly agreed.
“That’s my girl,” she cheered me on. “Just do what we talked about and you’ll have Hunter wrapped around your finger in no time. Now have a good time!” The beginnings of a shriek of laughter were cut off by the “beep beep beep” of a completed call.
The Bad Hoss didn’t look as bad as its reputation. Okay, yeah, it was a strip club, and there was a dancer working a pole alongside the bar as we came in. The front room had peanut shells and sawdust strewn on the rough-cut floor, and the ring with a mechanical horse in it was clearly the focal point of the high tables arranged around it. There were a bunch of patrons there, enjoying happy hour most likely, but nothing to write home about.
I gave the horse a second look as our hostess led us to the back of the establishment, where the floor was polished and the high-backed booths and chairs were finished in leather. The horse looked like a rearing carousel pony on some sort of motion control platform, except it was life-sized and sported an anatomically correct erection.
A round table was set for the five of us, and Hunter held my chair for me before settling into the seat to my right. Little Bill, Duane, and Big Bill rounded out our party, looking like peas in a pod. At the moment, the eyes of those peas were focused on me. I pushed away my uncertainty and gave them a wide smile.
“Howdy y’all, my name’s Jenny and I’ll be your waitress tonight,” announced the girl standing beside the table. She clearly was from the restaurant side of the operation, and had that unofficial uniform look going on — black polo with Bad Hoss logo on the breast, black skirt with black apron, dark hose, and black flats. She reminded me superficially of Stacey, except she was more tan and less makeup, and Stacey wouldn’t have been caught dead in a ponytail or cowboy hat. “Can I start y’all with drinks or appetizers?”
“Set us up with a round of grande margaritas and some sidecars,” Hunter told her. “And some nachos with extra jalapenos, while we look at the menus.”
I mentally upped the length of the next morning’s exercise session to three hours, and patted myself on the back for eating two granola bars at the hotel so I wouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach. When our drinks arrived in glasses the size of my hotel room sink, I knew I had my work cut out for me.
Several hours later, the wreckage of a meal that had cost several cattle and a large salmon their lives littered the table. “I trust y’all will excuse me,” I slurred, apparently brain-damaged by prolonged exposure to Jenny and the bottles she kept retrieving from the wine cellar. Hunter helped me rise to my feet, and then I worked my way along the now-busy bar to the restrooms.
Thanks to careful nursing of my drinks, I was only buzzed rather than hammered. I had no idea how the men were still conscious. We’d talked around my proposal at length, but as usual Hunter carefully avoided making any commitment. I needed to do something more if I wanted a different outcome.
I stared at a hair pinched between two fingers, lifted from Hunter when he’d helped me up. What I was about to do seemed so ridiculous it was embarrassing, but it wouldn’t cost me anything to try. Looking furtively around and seeing nobody, I curled the hair around my fingertip and popped it in my mouth. I grimaced at the sensation and swallowed several times before I got it down.
Then I cursed myself, belated remembering the lip balm I was supposed to have used with it. The thought of trying to obtain another hair, at risk of discovery and possibly no gain, seemed unappealing. Operating on autopilot, I applied some of the clear gloss to my lips anyway.
Jenny bustled through the door and stood beside me, looking in the mirror and adjusting her hat. I thought again of Stacey and wished I were home. Jenny looked at me uncertainly when I suddenly reached over and plucked something off her back. “Stray hair,” I explained.
She gave me a look that said she thought I was drunk, and then disappeared into one of the stalls.
Hurrying before I lost my nerve, I balled up the hair, rubbed it against my lips, and swallowed it. Of course, I had no idea if anything had happened. Unless she did something totally outrageous like give me her underwear, I’d never know — and there was no way I’d risk asking and causing a scene.
Anyway, my time for agonizing was past. The toilet flushed and Jenny emerged from the stall to wash her hands. “Can you hold these for me?” she asked, pressing a ball of black cotton into my hand before turning on the faucet.
I stood there like a dolt, staring at her while she washed her hands. The material was suffused with the warmth of her body and felt like it was burning my hands. “Why did you do this?” I asked finally, beyond curious to hear the answer.
Jenny looked over at me in the mirror. “What?” I gestured with a hand, displaying her panties. Her eyes went wide as saucers and she flushed bright red. “Oh my Lord!” she shrieked, clapping her wet hands against her skirt and then turning as if to bolt.
“Oh, please wait!” I pleaded, and she hesitated. “Here, don’t worry about it, you can have them back. I just want to talk.”
She plucked them from my fingers, avoiding contact, and hurriedly pulled them up her legs. “I’m no dyke, you know,” she protested as I saw a brief flash of skin above her thigh-highs. “And not every girl that works here gets off on it.”
I smiled, thinking of Stacey and how she’d changed my mind about that. Jenny was a cute girl, and — no, I had bigger fish to fry. “The guys with me — what do you know about them? Be honest.”
“Hunter and the Bills?” Jenny raked me with a disdainful look. “They’re regulars. Usually here with a guy named Len. They’re pigs, all of them; I’ve had to take Big Bill’s hand off my ass twice tonight.” I hadn’t noticed. “I hope you’re a good tipper.”
“What makes you think I’m paying?” I asked, curious.
“These assholes never bring their own women; they hit on girls at the bar. Besides, I overheard enough of the conversation to know you’re trying to sell them something.” She snorted. “How’s that working for ya, sweetie?”
“Crappy,” I admitted.
She laughed. “They were here last week with Len. They’re only stringing you on — he bought ’em off with a pair of blondes.” Jenny looked at me again and added, with the air of somebody trying to be fair, “You’re better-looking than they were.”
“If I wanted to change their minds, how should I do it?”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” she asked. “You sound like you’re smart enough to know better.”
“Yeah,” I said, starting to fume. “I’m tired of getting the runaround from these assholes.”
“If you’re sure,” Jenny said, reluctantly. “Work on Big Bill. He’s the boss, and he thinks with his cock. The others seem to follow his lead.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, already thinking hard. All this time I’d been meeting with Hunter, and he wasn’t even the decision-maker? I didn’t even notice when Jenny left the bathroom. I touched up my lips with a nice thick coat of Stacey’s lip gloss and headed for the door myself.
I just about bounced off Big Bill’s broad chest as I exited the bathroom.
“Hey there, little lady; we all were getting worried about you. You doing okay?” he drawled.
“I’m fine,” I started to say, before he grabbed me and kissed me hard. It was a big sloppy alcoholic kiss, reeking of hard liquor, and his hands were all over me. The man must have been part octopus to pin me in place, cop a feel of my breasts, and stroke my panties all at the same time.
“Let go of me!” I hissed, not yet wanting to make a scene, but wriggling in his grip. All I succeeded in doing was popping the vest button I’d been worrying about.
“C’mon, Linnea, you know you want it, dressing like that,” he rumbled.
I didn’t, not from him, and not like that, although his questing fingers had awakened a needy itching deep inside my ass. “Let’s just go back to the table and forget this happened, okay?” I suggested. His body blocked most of my view, but it looked like everybody else was yelling and cheering some rider atop the mechanical horse; no help there.
“Just one more kiss? I have a powerful feeling you’ll like it,” he insisted, and I heard him unzip his fly. His grip shifted and I found myself being pushed inexorably to my knees in front of him.
One look told me why they called him “Big Bill.” He looked monstrous, erect and dripping precum, but I had eyes only for the wiry pubes peeking out of his fly. God, I hated cocksucking, but I knew what I had to do.
I started licking and sucking the tip, which was about all I could fit in my mouth anyway, and used my hands to stroke his shaft, trying to grab a hair each time I reached his root. The lighting was bad and his organ was filling my field of vision, so it took way longer than I wanted before I could snatch one without dropping it.
He let me pull off once, to lick the length of him, and I managed to pop the hair into my mouth. It was sticking there on my tongue, resisting my attempts to swallow, and then he was hauling me back into position to blow him again.
“Oh, baby, you’re something special,” he moaned, but I felt the hair go down with a rising surge of triumph.
I wished for him to release me, but instead of doing so, he exploded into my mouth. Some of it drooled out, but with his tube steak filling my lips, I had no choice other than to swallow most of it, to Bill’s evident delight.
After I’d finished choking down his spend, he hauled me back to my feet and leaned in for another kiss. I saw my gloss and lipstick spread across his mouth and cheek, and realized what must have happened. Hoping against hope, I went at him like a wild woman, licking and sucking at his skin while praying I’d get enough to do some good.
He took it completely the wrong way, of course, and enthusiastically reciprocated. A bystander, of which there were none, would have been forgiven for thinking we were having the mother of all heavy petting sessions.
Finally, at about the point where I was ready to give up and just start screaming for help, my mental “let me go!” was rewarded with a sudden release of Bill’s embrace that left me reeling. I stared at him, while he looked back at me with fire in his eye.
“You’re one sexy little number, Linnea,” he leered, wiping his mouth with one arm. “No harm in a little fun between consenting adults, right?”
“Damn straight,” I told him, “but I think we’ve spent enough time away from the others.” It was almost a shame to watch him tuck away his cock, but Big Bill’s body language told me it wouldn’t be the last time I saw it, if he had any say in the matter.
I left my vest the way it was, knowing it would excite and distract him, and we headed back out to the restaurant. The others had moved to a circular booth closer to the bar, where there was a better view of the entertainment. We were squeezed pretty closely together, but I didn’t object.
A hand twice the size of mine was already caressing my cunt, milking moisture into my sodden panties. I squirmed as a finger pushed the fabric aside, and then — as if reading my mind — drifted slightly lower to tease my back door. Between that and the sight of some drunken bachelorettes trying the horse, I needed to fuck something bad.
Big Bill was proving more resistant than I’d hoped, and I was afraid I was losing my head for negotiations. I had a sudden “Eureka!” moment, as if the alcohol had momentarily lifted a veil from my memory of the weekend I’d met Stacey.
Trying to avoid attention — well, more attention — I moved my hand to the vest pocket, and then froze when I realized the lip gloss was missing. Damnit! It must have fallen out during our tussle near the bathrooms. Well, I’d have to improvise.
I brushed casually at my cheek, picking up a hair that had been glued there by some residual semen; I was fairly sure it was Bill’s. I rubbed it discreetly along my lip, hoping there was a remaining trace of gloss somewhere, and then let the hair fall into the decorative candle sitting in the small glass on the table.
For once, my luck was good, and I scored a direct hit. There was just a momentary trace of that familiar incense smell as it vaporized, unnoticed by any of the others. Take that, Bill, I told myself with glee. Feeling suddenly warm, I looked around for a waitress.
Duane whistled, but I couldn’t tell if he was trying to get us some service, or just show approval of the bridesmaid picking herself off the floor in the ring.
Suddenly, Jenny was there. She gave me a searching look as she finished delivering a round of shots, but didn’t say anything. She looked a bit out of place on this side of the room, but I realized I still hadn’t paid the dinner bill.
Hunter looked like he might say something, but didn’t, and Duane and Little Bill just grinned at each other. Big Bill lifted his glass. “To hot nights and hot women!” We tossed back the tequila in unison and reached for the lemon wedges.
The crowd around us roared as a new rider swung aboard the mechanical horse. She was one of the dancers, and wore nothing except a G-string and chaps, star-shaped pasties, and a white hat. She didn’t just ride the horse; she made love to it. I felt like I was on fire.
“Can’t see?” asked Big Bill, and then hefted me into his lap before I could answer. “How’s this?” I could feel his manhood pressing against me and realized he’d already extracted it from his pants.
I smirked, knowing Stacey’s magic was working, and that he saw nothing wrong with fucking me in the middle of the restaurant. I woozily tried to remember why I wanted him to do that, but the feel of his body distracted me. “Better,” I panted, “but kind of uncomfortable.” Plotting and scheming would have to wait, I realized. Reaching behind me, I pushed at Big Bill’s erection, but it was like trying to move a slippery iron bar. “Lift me up,” I ordered.
His hands circled my waist and I rose up light as a feather. I reached down and yanked my panties to the side. Big Bill brought me slightly towards him and lowered me again, right where I wanted to be.
I screamed with mingled pain and ecstasy as his enormous pile-driver forced its way into my hungry rosebud. Bill, bless his horndog instincts, ignored my screaming and wriggling, and just pulled me further onto his tool, chasing that itch inside me.
The others glanced at me, but the noise around us was overwhelming and the girl on the horse was nearing the climax of her ride. Literally, as it turned out — some sort of off-white goo suddenly jetted from the stallion’s cock, splashing copiously on the floor and splattering some of the ringside spectators. Their companions laughed hysterically and everybody else was carrying on nearly as much as me.
There was a lull in the excitement as the girl in the chaps dismounted and made the rounds of her fans, collecting cash and using a rag to wipe off — rather lasciviously — the front-row victims. I sat quietly, letting my body accustom itself to Big Bill’s girth, and watched the wait staff work double-time tanking up the thirsty crowd.
Jenny was back with another round of shots, and clearly realized something was up when she saw me sitting on Bill’s lap. I watched her steeling herself to say something about it, and visions of my carefully-laid scheme crashing and burning raced through my head.
“Not yet!” I thought hard, and slumped in relief when she subsided and just collected the empties.
“Bring the bottle,” Bill told her before she departed.
We quickly knocked back the shots, and I fought to remind myself that my goal was to get them to commit to my deal, and not just get fucked blind by his thick slab of manmeat. I wriggled experimentally and, more than pleased with the result, slowly eased myself up and down the pole impaling me. Big Bill bucked suddenly, surprising a moan from me.
It attracted the attention of the others, but I didn’t want him to stop — and he didn’t. Grabbing my waist again, he started working me up and down his cock. It was impossible to mistake what we were doing, and I watched shit-eating grins appear on their faces.
Only Hunter appeared slightly reticent, and he fell into line when Big Bill told everybody, “Just like I thought. If she looks like a slut and she fucks like a slut, then she is a slut.” I realized I was going to be fucking everybody at the table that night, and then my breath caught when I realized I was looking forward to it.
Big Bill edged sideways into the space where I’d been sitting, making me gasp explosively with each bounce, and Hunter switched seats so I was bracketed on both sides. Duane leaned over and began sucking and chewing on my breast, unfastening the remaining vest buttons. I felt Hunter’s hand probing my wet sex and pulling my soaked panties further to the side.
“Shit, Big Bill, you’re cornholing her?” he asked incredulously. He looked at me and the way I was biting my lip. “I guess I had you figured all wrong, Linnea.”
They began working me over in tandem — Big Bill’s cock churning away in my bowels, Duane suckling my bouncing boobs, and Hunter’s finger strumming my clit. I was desperate to cum and started squealing and panting when Big Bill began double-timing me.
I felt his organ expand and begin jetting his creamy spend inside me, but he didn’t let up. “You’re going to town, little lady,” he rasped in my ear, and I did. My thrashing sent a basket of peanuts sailing to the floor and I saw stars — although some of them turned out to be the flash on Little Bill’s camera.
When I could see again, and think, sort of, I noticed the men at several of the surrounding tables were looking at us instead of the stage. A new set of shot glasses, surrounding a bottle of Tequila, sat on the table and the thought of Jenny seeing me like this left me feeling confused. The thought of taking cock in all my holes, in contrast, left me feeling needy and aroused.
Hunter stood up to make room and filled the glasses on the table. Duane and Little Bill already had switched places; Little Bill’s dick, if not up to his namesake’s standard, was more than enough to make my mouth water. When Big Bill pulled me off his magnificent rod, I sagged sideways and engulfed Little Bill’s prick between my lips.
“Bottoms up!” I heard somebody say, followed by the clinking of glasses. A moment later, I felt something smooth and hard push into my loosened asshole. I had time to realize it was the bottle and then the whole room started spinning. The next several hours were a patchwork haze.
I stood in front of a stone-faced Jenny, with my vest hanging open and my skirt around my waist, trying to sign the receipt while Hunter fucked me from behind. I couldn’t help giggling when the manager started yelling at her for letting things get so far.
I remembered the feel of the still-hot asphalt on my butt when I fell over with a mouthful of the manager’s spunk after blowing him outside the kitchen entrance.
I couldn’t explain how they made it work, but I wriggled in ecstasy when the four of them quadruple-penetrated me in the bed of some pickup. I remembered watching Big Bill bring the owner over between my spread legs so I could make things right.
When I reached the point where I could string two coherent thoughts together, it was very late, the parking lot was nearly empty, and the feel of my body told me a lot more men than just the few I recalled had sampled me. My panties were long gone, but I’d picked up a Bad Hoss hat like the strippers wore.
“You’re gonna give me that contract,” I told Big Bill in my most businesslike voice, and then spoiled the effect by vomiting up a load of semen on the curb beside me.
He looked down at me while he finished tucking his shirt into his waistband. “You’ve gotta lot of spunk, Linnea, I’ll give you that.” He shrugged. “Okay; Len can wait a year for his trip to Hawaii.”
I blinked, not ready to have victory come so easily. “Thanks.” Stacey’s suggestion had worked, after all!