Sipping Margarita

Who says a girl with a little more cushion can't find love.? As a curvy gal, I can tell you we know how to show you a good time. Especially the one's with the perverted minds. This story has been chosen for publication because it is one hot night in the desert, baby!

Sipping Margarita
Copyright © 2006 by Crystal Barela

The Basic Margarita

1 ½ oz. (3 Tbsp.) tequila
¾ oz. (1 ½ Tbsp.) fresh lime juice
½ oz. (1 Tbsp.) Cointreau or Triple Sec
lime wedge or slice

Moisten chilled glass rim with a little lime juice, then dip the rim into salt. Shake first 3 ingredients with cracked ice; strain into glass. Garnish with lime.

Taken from The Ultimate A-to-Z Bar Guide by Sharon Tyler Herbst & Ron Herbst

***

The smooth worn wood of my guitar was soft beneath my palms. I caressed the strings in slow motion, dragging my calloused fingertips down the gentle slope of the neck in one long stroke before setting my fingers on a chord. I pulled a high pitched thrum from inside my wooden lover, as seductive as the sound of a woman coming.

I peered up from under my cowboy hat and winked at the woman in red. This was for her. I was imagining her body beneath my fingers as I strummed and picked, my pussy getting hotter as the hours passed. She’d been sitting in a nearby patch of shade from almost the moment I set up my gear─leaving every so often, but always returning to listen.

Getting noticed was this woman’s purpose. This was no pretty young thing, but a lady seasoned in turning heads. Full and round like a model in a Rubens painting. A palm tree had the pleasure of feeling the length of her back and the nudge of her ample cheeks against its smooth bark and I hoped by the end of the day I would enjoy the same.

Knees spread, her long prairie skirt draped like a hammock between them. The breeze carried the hem up ever so often, giving me a peek of rosy ripe pussy.

An embroidered white blouse hung off her round shoulders in layers of ruffles. Braless, her breasts were the size of cantaloupes and rolled under the thin fabric, teasing me with the possibility of a show, nipples just out of view.

At my feet was my open guitar case, dollar bills littering the black interior. It was just nearing sunset, bright rays of light shooting over the peeks of the San Ysidro Mountains behind me, casting a halo around the woman’s dark skin and hair. She rose to her feet as if pulled by a string, graceful like a dancer.

Skirts flew as she twirled in the golden light. Red painted toes, calves, knees and a glimpse of dimpled thigh. Arms overhead, fingers snapping in time with my playing.

She spun like a child seeking that place where your stomach turns and you collapse on the grass and watch the sky swirl round you.

The last note hung in the air. My dancer swayed drunkenly for a moment, as if she would fall to the ground. There was a moment of complete silence before the small crowd around us erupted in applause, the voluptuous beauty among them. Cat calls, clapping, and money rained into my tattered case. I waved and thanked our admirers before stowing my guitar.

Sandaled feet arrived in front of the case, a silver toe ring hugging her baby toe and a butterfly tattoo fluttering up her calf. I stood, drinking in the soft red cotton hugging her wide hips and soft belly. She was slightly out of breath, her breasts trembling against her top, dark nipples were shadows beneath the thin fabric. Perspiration gave her ample cleavage an inviting glow.

Close-up she was older than I had thought. Fine lines feathered from the corners of her eyes. Long chocolate hair camouflaged the softening of her jaw. The whites of her deep dark eyes were in stark contrast with the cinnamon of her smooth skin. They sparked in the fading light, eager as a teenager’s.

“Margarita,” she said offering me her hand.

I took her plump fingers in my own and brought them to my lips. “Melissa.”

“You are, how you say? Muy talentosa.”

Sweet ocotillo and sunshine clung to her skin. I wanted to lick it off.

“I was wondering.” I moved in close enough to feel the heat of her sun-kissed skin through my T-shirt. Close enough to break the language barrier.

Pussy-pink tongue wet her lips.

“Would you like a private performance?” My thumb grazed the back of her knuckles, rubbing in slow circles.

Margarita tossed her hair like a wild stallion, her nostrils flaring, and nodded.

Guitar in hand, I took hold of her elbow and she led me out of the park. I didn’t much care where she was taking me, as long as I got to sip her sweet pussy before the night was over.
We entered the shadows of the alley. My guitar fell to the gravel and I pulled her full ripe body against mine. I pressed her back against the rough brick and ground my pussy into hers.

“Magnifico, Margarita.”

I kissed the color from her lips and inched her skirt up. The bright red fabric wadded around her waist, so I could feel her soft slick folds. She clung to my fingers, her walls knocking against my knuckles. Margarita moaned and bounced on my hand, one leg around my waist the other firmly on the ground.

My face was buried in her breasts. With a dozen practiced swirls of my thumb her cunt applauded, squeezing my fingers. I grabbed her ass, pulling her close, licking the salt from her skin.

A door was thrown open behind us. The alleyway was lit with a stream of light and accompanying mariachi music from the bar. A man silhouetted in the doorway stood on the stoop and lit up a cigarette.

“Where? Dónde?”

Margarita reached down and took hold of my guitar, and motioned for me to continue down the alley. She giggled and covered my face in heated kisses. Her hand slipped under my waistband and I staggered around the corner. She directed me up a narrow staircase.

We fell against the stairs and the old wood creaked under our weight.

Buttons popped and lips latched onto my tits like she was starving.

We crawled up the stairs, stumbling, kissing, drunk on passion.

Inebriated with Margarita.

The back of my head hit the door on the landing and I reached behind me for the knob. With a clumsy twist we tumbled into the room laughing.

My feisty senora pulled my jeans down my legs, and I kicked them off. Her fingers were in my snatch and her lips eating cunt before I could do more than gasp her name. She threw my legs over her shoulders.

Margarita circled and tapped her way around my clit, as if it were a sombrero, her lips making clapping sounds, finding a staccato beat. Her cocoa brown eyes met mine, dark and rich like the earth. Her fingers joined her tongue, partnering in a dance of heat and passion until my thighs stretched taut and my clit vibrated like a Mexican jumping bean.

I collapsed on the floor, catching my breath and Margarita crawled up my body, her warm soft skin pressing into me.

“Mas?”
“Si!” I said laughing. “Mucho mas!” I rolled us across the floor, landing on top of her. I pressed her hands into the braided rug beneath us. “What did you have in mind?”

Neck and ears were salty and damp. I licked and kissed my way to her breasts, burying my face between the massive drums, slick with perspiration. Nipples long and hard butted my lips, and I drank from them, nursing her; parched for this woman’s candied moans. Hands sticky with my juices tangled in my short hair, urging me lower. I nuzzled her belly, and kissed the crease of her leg. Margarita’s mound was covered in thick curly hair, a wild tangle that nudged my nose and lips.

The sweet skin of her labia filled my mouth, her heels digging into the floor outside my shoulders. I slurped her up, making circles around her hole with tongue and hand. The opening pulled at my fingertips, clinging to me. Her belly rose into the air, trembling and shaking.

“No!”

I would have screamed “Yes,” but I was sipping Margarita.

My new lover was close, her clit a hot knot of need, but she pulled free. Margarita crawled away from me toward the bed, her ass moving in a teasing sway. She took out a box from under the frame and tossed a big belted rubber cock my way.

Our eyes met and we both grinned. I stood and strapped on the cock that I felt I’d had all night. Margarita’s full round ass rose off her bed like a moon in the desert sky. The thick black head of my dick bounced in the air as I took position.

I took my new cock in hand and nudged my big boy against her damp slit. Her hand was between her thick thighs pulling me closer. The massive member pressed against Margarita’s soft folds and made a home between her pussy lips, sliding easily into her needy hole with the help of her slick juices. I hit bottom and pumped.

Steady, building speed. She begged for more. My fingers dug into the flesh of her hips. I rammed her.

Coyotes howled in the distance, and I joined them, fucking my strap-on into her hungry cunt. Her hands were against the wall, pushing back against me, taking the rubber cock deeper and deeper. Cursing and begging in Spanish, she urged me on. I reached beneath her belly and slid my fingers around her clit.

Eyes caught mine over her shoulder and she shuddered. Margarita came, her muscles squeezing my rubber dick so hard I couldn’t move within her. I lay on her back, our sweat drenched skin sliding together, my thighs burning. I kissed her neck and she giggled, collapsing against the mattress.

I pulled free, the scent of sex like incense in the small room.

We crawled up onto the twin bed, but she wasn’t tired. Her hand took hold of the teetering phallus and she stroked it. I swear I could feel it. Again, her hand took hold, slipping through her come and sweat. I moaned.

“Muy grande,” she whispered, getting onto her knees.

Margarita leaned over my hard-on, taking the rubber tip between her lips. A hand slid under the harness and found my clit standing on end. She ate her wetness from my length, and rubbed my girl-dick quickly. The weight of her breasts jiggled against my thighs. I lengthened, my body arching into the air and cried out her name as her passion through me over the edge again.
She kissed her way up my torso to my lips and I pillowed myself on her chest, listening to her racing heart. It slowed beneath my ear, and my eyes began to close to the rhythm of her soft snoring.

I sat up, not sure how much time had passed, but realizing the door wasn’t shut and my guitar was still on the stairs. I pressed a kiss between her breasts before I left the bed in search of my guitar and cigarettes.

Naked, I sat in the doorframe and pulled my baby into my arms. My fingers picked up the rhythm of Margarita’s breathing. I hummed under my breath as I watched her sleep. The rainbow colored serape framed her beautiful round body. The moon shone from the window behind her, lightening her skin to the shade of birch bark. Her long hair was feathered over her breasts, one knee falling over the other, covering her sex demurely.

Homage to nature’s beauty.

I lit a cigarette and let it dangle from my lips, pulling my guitar close against my stomach.
How’s that song go?

“When the whole world fits inside of your arms…” I mumbled.

Margarita’s eyes opened and she smiled. “Mas?”

I laughed softly and put out my cigarette. “Mucho mas, Margarita.” I put down the guitar and got to my feet. “Mucho mas.”

Backstage

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The Dusty Rose

The Dusty Rose [5458 words] (FF)

Copyright © 2005 by Crystal Barela

“You have a name?”

Dee squinted up at the woman, not able to make out anything but her dark silhouette and the toes of her fire engine red cowboy boots.

“Ya talkin’ to me?” she asked, placing her guitar in the tattered case and closed the lid.

“Yeah, you looking for a gig?”

“Watcha wanna hear?” Dee stood, topping the little lady by a good six inches. “I was done for the day,” she said, taking in the older woman’s eye catching outfit. “But for you I can make an exception.” She tipped her cowboy hat and winked.

“I’m Fran Rose,” the woman said. The sunlight shone in her glossy red lipstick. “I own the bar you see behind me, ‘The Dusty Rose’,” she said, extending her hand.

Dee took Fran’s hand in hers and gave it a soft squeeze and pulled a cigarette from behind her ear. She placed it between her lips and brought her lighter up. She studied Fran and sucked in the welcome burn.

“I want you to play in my bar.”

Never in Dee’s history of busking had someone on the street offered her work. Song requests for a buck aside.

“Seriously?” Dee said and blew out a stream of smoke into the hot desert air.

Bright blue eye shadow caked Fran’s lids and climbed from the black eye liner all the way to her penciled in brows. Fine lines feathered from the corners of her eyes while she squinted up at Dee into the sun.

Dee couldn’t help but stare at Fran’s braless melon sized breasts. She was wearing a tight sequined trimmed red tank top and her tits swayed under the fabric, the shadow of her dark nipples winked when she moved.

The young woman exhaled and smiled at the thought.

The jeans the older woman wore were ass hugging and made for a generation younger than her own. The silver and turquoise belt-buckle drew Dee’s eyes straight to Fran’s crotch.

“Name’s Diane Dukes, but good friends call me Dee.” Dee threw her knapsack over her shoulder then picked up her guitar case. She had made enough money this morning to go check into ‘La Casa Del Sol’ down the road. A week in town during high season, spent singing in The Circle, would keep her fed and under a roof for a good month.

“Whatcha think, Dee?” Fran took hold of Dee’s arm and led her toward the front of the bar.

“Woah, honey.” Dee tossed her butt and adjusted her hat. “You heard me sing?”

“Rico did. That’s enough for me.” Fran pulled Dee through the door.

She stepped into the cool interior of the bar and asked, “Who’s Rico?”

Fran pushed Dee up to the bar. “This is Rico,” she said. Rico nodded and set a tall iced-tea on the counter for his boss.

“What would you like?”

“The same,” Dee answered. She set her hat on the bar and ran a hand through her short blonde hair. The stage was a good size and set up in the corner. Stairs led up the left and right of the triangular wedge. The horseshoe shaped bar was at the center of the restaurant. A dance floor was at the bar’s head, the hardwood worn from years of line dancing and two stepping. Tables and chairs were sandwiched between the booths that hugged the walls.

“We can pack about one hundred and fifty people in here on a good night,” Fran said. Already, the tables were full and the bar was filling fast. “I need you tonight for a two hour set.” Fran sipped her drink and placed a hand on Dee’s knee. Her overly long, manicured nails flashed in the beer lights. “You got enough material?”

“Of course, but…”

“Set’s to start at nine and finish around eleven-thirty, with a twenty minute break. Drinks and food are free.”

An eyeful of cleavage flashed at Dee as Fran leaned forward. This seemed too good to be true.

“How long you in town?”

“Two weeks…”

“Great. How’s two hundred a night sound?”

Dee nearly spat out her drink. For one gig?

“If tonight goes well, I’d like to set you up for the week. That’d be tomorrow night, Sunday and next Thursday.”

That kind of money would keep Dee floating for months.

“Hey, Boss!” A woman with dark skin and braids burst through the swinging wood doors that led to the kitchen.

“This is Maria,” Fran said standing.

“Good news. Randy called back and said he could fill in for Amy tonight.”

“Call him back,” Fran said. She threw her arm around Dee’s shoulders, her perfume climbing along the young woman’s skin. “Dee has got us covered.”

“Oh.” Marie turned on her heel like a little Dutch girl in a coo-coo clock and left through the doors.

“Where you staying?” Fran asked.

“Gonna get a room at the ‘Del Sol’.”

“Maria!” The woman poked her head through the doors. “Call ‘The Palms’ and get a room for Dee for the week.”

“That ain’t necessary, I…” Dee started, feeling like she was stuck in a tornado.

“Not a problem. I know the owners and you can’t beat the location.”

---

The Dusty Rose was crowded when Dee crossed the street that night, people crowded around the benches set up out front. She walked in, jeans sliding off her slim hips and weaving between tables to the stage. Hat off, Dee ran a hand through her hair and let out a long breath.

“You look great, Dee!” Fran said from behind the young singer. “I love this shirt!” she drawled, running a finger along Dee’s tan skin from collarbone to the deepest part of the vee, leaving a trail of heat.

It was definitely her lucky night.

Dee looked down at the thrift store western shirt she had picked up some years ago. She had ripped off the sleeves the day after she had gotten her tattoo. Thought it looked tough and showed off the flock of birds that flew around her bicep.

The noise from the crowd in the bar was making it difficult to hear. Dee hunched over bringing her face close to her new boss. Fran’s pink tongue made a wet trip around her lips, Dee’s eyes followed in slow motion.

“I said, how’s your room?” The weight of Fran’s breasts were heavy against Dee’s arm.

“Pretty. Too pretty, you didn’t…”

Fran waved her hand dismissively.

“Can I get you something to drink before you start your set.?”

Dee cleared her throat. “Water’d be great.” She couldn’t help but watch Fran go, and she noticed neither could half the people in the bar. For a woman her age, Fran was stacked. Hell, for a woman any age. Fran had changed into a trashy blue sleevless dress that got the “girls” noticed. They bounced with each click of her fuck me heels. Dee’s pussy moistened.

Hello, Mrs. Robinson.

Laughing beneath her breath, she tuned her guitar. Dee leaned in close to the worn wood, listening for the slightest imperfection of pitch. She’d had this baby since she was fourteen. It was like her lover, always at her hip, riding her through the ups and downs. Tonight they were definitely up.

Tall glass of water in her hand, Fran returned and handed the glass to Dee. With a sway of her hips she squeezed past the singer and up the stairs to the stage. Fran’s dimpled thighs and ass waved hello before slipping out of view when she turned to face the audience.

The crowd cheered and men whistled as Fran took her place behind the microphone. “Hello, Borrego!” Fran said, waving her arms, quieting her guests. “Tonight we have a special treat for y’all.” She gestured for Dee to come up on the stage, and Dee took the steps two at a time.

Fran threw her arm around Dee’s shoulders and pulled her flush against her hip. Dee had to bend her knees a bit to make the two of them fit.

“Please put your hands together and give a warm Borrego welcome to Dee Dukes!”

The cheering and clapping lit something inside the young singer. Dee’s pulse raced and she could feel a shot of electricity zip through her body.

“Thanks, Boss.” Dee stepped close to the mike, finding her spot on the stage. She wasn’t nervous. Dee knew she’d been born to sing. She opened her mouth and let the words roll off her tongue.

---

Fran’s legs went weak.

The kid’s voice was like chocolate. Dark, rich cocoa drizzling across your skin being lapped up by a lover during siesta, chocolate. Languid slow strokes frosting your cake, lighting your candle, granting your secret desires, chocolate.

Just when the crowd was squirming in their seats, crossing their legs for a bit of relief and winking at loved ones thinking of tonight, the sexy tempo changed. Dee burst into color like an ocotillo cactus in the spring. Red and orange notes flashed like wildfire.

Tourists and locals raced to the dance floor, like they did the canyons during flower season. For forty-five minutes Dee kept her audience swaying, sweat building, and hearts thumping.

“Gonna take a break ya’ll, be back soon.”

Fran hopped off her stool and hurried toward the stage. This girl was it. Tomorrow night they would bang down the door to get in here, and Fran hoped tonight she would be banging Dee. This drifter was hotter than summer pavement.

“Amazing, Sugar,” Fran cried, taking hold of Dee’s hand and leading her away from the crowd. She needed a few minutes alone with her new found talent. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a voice like yours.”

They went through the bar and into the quiet kitchen; food service had ended when Dee took the stage.

“Thanks. I’m glad I’m working for you.”

They entered a darkened room. Fran flipped a switch and the desk lamp lit the interior with a soft glow.

The door shut behind them. A fine sheen of sweat covered Dee’s exposed skin. Fran could see a salty bead rolling between the girl’s breasts in the vee of her shirt. Her tongue ached to lick Dee clean.

“You work for me, honey, in more ways than one.” Fran leaned into Dee, pussy meeting pussy. She swiveled her hips against her. “If you catch my meaning.”

---

Fran looked up at Dee with limpid blue eyes, framed in thick black liner and glittery eye shadow. The heat of the older woman’s hot little body pressed her into the desk.

“Not into girls, Dee?” Fran pouted, her glossy lips begging to be kissed.

In answer, Dee slid her arms around Fran’s waist and settled her hands on her ass, pulling Fran’s hips firmly against her own.

“In more ways than one,” she echoed, brushing her lips against Fran’s. “If you catch my meaning.”

Dee’s fingers took hold of Fran’s skirt hem and inched the fabric up around her waist, her time on stage making her horny and eager to touch pussy.

With a yank of the her shirt tails, Fran popped the snaps on Dee’s shirt open. Dee chuckled and slanted her lips against Fran’s. Their tongues were impatient as pent up desire heated the office.

Hot thighs squeezed Dee’s leg as her hand slipped down to pet pussy.

Fran’s clit was soaked

Dee’s thumb caught the little nubbin as two fingers began a steady rhythm.

There was a knock at the door.

“Don’t stop!” Fran begged, riding Dee’s hand.

“Boss?”

Dee kept her pace.

“Yes, Maria?”

“Crowd’s getting ancy out here.”

Soft pubic hair clung to Dee’s fingers, pleading with her to keep going.

“Be out in a second.” Fran rested her forehead against Dee’s chest. The silky strands teased the singer’s sensitized skin. Dee took Fran’s shoulders between her hands and looked down into her frustrated eyes with a rueful grin. She cupped Fran’s face and tilted her head back.

“I’ll give you a proper encore later tonight.” She kissed Fran’s pout softly and pulled open the office door, buttoning her shirt on the way out.

---

It was the last song of the night. Couples were plastered together in the sticky heat and Dee’s voice caressed their bodies while they swayed. This is what Dee liked, the happy ending. The cuddle and sway. The last thrum of the guitar hung in the air and was greeted by satisfying applause. New fans crowded around, asking questions. Did she have CDs? Where would she be playing next? But Dee’s eyes were on Fran behind the bar.

The older woman’s dark hair was piled high upon her head, a turquoise comb holding it off her face. As Fran hurried across the bar, the curls that had come free floated around her neck. She pushed her way through Dee’s new admirers and threw her arms around the young singer.

“You rocked!” Fran cheered, giving Dee a perfumed squeeze.

Dee settled Fran under her arm and they took a seat at one of the tables. Dee couldn’t help but smile. She was on stage, people were into her music, and this hot little number wanted to be fucked till Tuesday. It was giving her a real hard-on.

Rico brought over a bottle or wine for Fran and a beer for Dee. They chatted with the locals, Fran’s hand caressing Dee’s leg under the table the only sign of impatience for the bar to close and fucking to commence.

Last call, and then even Rico was gone.

“What you wanna drink?” Fran asked, walking over to the bar. She stood on tiptoe and reached over the bar for a glass, ass front and center.

“You,” Dee said. She grabbed Fran’s hips and pulled her rear into her crotch. Dee ground her hips into the plump roundness, positive she could feel Fran’s heat through their clothes.

“I’ve been on the menu since I saw you on the corner,” Fran purred.

Dee nibbled the back of Fran’s neck and her hands slid around Fran’s waist to the front of her dress.

“You wear this on purpose?” Dee asked, slipping her fingers into the vee of Fran’s thighs.

“What purpose would that be?”

“Getting laid.” Dee lifted the hem of Fran’s dress, knowing she’d find a hot bare pussy. “A woman who wants to get fucked on her bar.”

Fran’s laugh was cut off by a groan as Dee’s fingers dipped into her dripping folds.

“Mmm…that’s a wet cunt.”

---

Fran couldn’t believe this was happening. This hot young girl wanted to fuck her. Dee’s nimble fingers were playing her pussy, her calloused thumb rubbing her clit in a confident circle that was going to get Fran off before she had time to catch her breath. Fran gripped the worn wood of the bar as Dee’s fingers widened her aching opening. The girl leaned in and licked her clit with wide greedy swipes of her tongue. She slurped the soft flesh in a steady rhythm until Fran’s toes curled in her four inch heels.

Desire burst in front of her eyes, the bottles of booze swimming in and out of focus. A shot of one hundred proof pleasure raced through Fran’s veins.

Jack Daniels, Smirnoff and Crown Royal becoming crystal clear as Fran collapsed on the bar. She reached beneath the bar where the wine was kept, and pulled a bottle from the shelf.

“Your turn,” she said, climbing down from the bar.

With a practiced twist of her wrist, Fran opened the bottle of red, tipped the bottle back, and took a long swig. She handed the bottle to Dee who took a sloppy drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The older woman pulled her through the doors to the kitchen. They kissed their way across the stainless steel interior and up the narrow staircase at the back of the room.

A studio apartment was at the top of the stairs and it was hotter than Hell. The space with small, a mattress and desk were the only furniture.

Dee stripped while Fran turned on the fans.

“I crash here when I’ve had one too many,” Fran said. She turned and shimmied out of her dress. She pulled the comb from her hair and the dark tresses fell around her shoulders. Fran took another swig of wine. “Lie down.”

Dee stretched out on the white sheets, her long body reaching from head to foot of the bed. Her tan skin glowed gold in the soft light of the moon coming from the small window. Young, strong, and free. Fran dropped to her knees on the mattress beside Dee and straddled the girl’s hips, wine bottle in hand. She leaned forward, bringing the bottle with her, pouring the liquid into Dee’s mouth. It dribbled down her chin and neck.

Purposefully, Fran tipped the bottle, letting the cool wetness drip over and around the young woman’s small pert tits. The wine pooled in Dee’s navel and caught in the curly hairs of her bush. Fran set the empty bottle on the floor beside them.

Red liquid caught in the blonde curls at Dee’s nape and Fran drank her salty skin. She nibbled her way to Dee’s collarbone and the crease between her arm and chest. The fine hair of her underarm was wet with wine and moved with each swipe of Fran’s tongue. She bathed her tits with saliva and sucked her nipples deep, causing Dee to moan and lift her hips from the bed, taking Fran with her.

“Don’t you eat?” Fran asked. She ran her tongue over Dee’s ribs, counting each one with a flick of her tongue. Dee pushed Fran’s head away when she reached her belly button, giggles erupting from between her lips.

Relentless, Fran insisted on licking every drop of wine from her navel before turning laughter to moans. She massaged the rough hair on Dee’s mound with her cheeks. The drifter’s musk was deep and earthy, smelling of the road and sleeping outdoors.

Fran let her tongue sneak out for her first taste and the girl trembled beneath her like a string plucked on her guitar. Again she licked and Dee’s body arched in the air, taut as a wire. Fran plucked again and again, Dee’s moans echoing in the room as if they were writing an acoustic dream. Moans and sighs mingled with the sucking sound of Fran’s hand in Dee’s pussy.

Lyrics were pulled from between both sets of lips.

A song, a melody.

Building.

Growing.

A bass added, then the steady beat of the drums.

Dee’s voice carried over the ensemble, demanding. Her pussy lips clashed together like cymbals at the end of a score and Fran cried out in delight as her hands were caught in Dee’s passion. Come bathed her fingers, mingling with the wine, and stilling their movement.

The older woman took a spot next to Dee, resting her head on the young woman’s shoulder.

“You are one hot number,” Dee whispered. She brought her arm around Fran, kissed her on the forehead, and snuggled her closer to her body.

---

The Circle was the only patch of grass in town and lucky for Dee, the stage for hired talent had been set up near the food vendors down the block. That left this spot at the arts and crafts fair open for her musical talent.

The sun was rising. Artists were setting up their booths, their tables covered with everything from hand-sewn quilts, to spun pottery, to airplanes made of beer cans.

Beneath the shade of a tall palm tree, Dee laid out her guitar and tacked the sign she had scribbled when she had left Fran this morning. “Playing tonight. The Desert Rose. 9:00 p.m.”

“Dee?”

“Tina!”

“Didn’t know you were in town yet,” the blonde said pulling Dee into her sun-drenched arms. Tina was a local artist, a sculptor who used things others threw out in the trash to make beautiful art. She worked with power tools and her toned arms and shoulders had been an inspiration for more than one song. The paint-splattered overalls and tank top did nothing to hide her womanly figure.

“Got in yesterday morning.” Dee took a seat on the grass and pulled Tina down across from her.

“Already playing at the Rose? Thought Amy was performing there.”

Dee laughed. “She’s sick. Won’t be on stage until next Friday. That means I’m gonna be livin’ large the next couple of months. Might make my way to the East Coast.”

“You’ll have met Fran then?”

Dee waggled her eyebrows and Tina punched her in the arm.

“You are such a cat.”

“I’m all about pussy, darlin’.”

---

As Fran had predicted, the bar was packed. She thanked God Amy wasn’t here to see the turn out. She definitely wouldn’t like it. This was Amy’s stage. Fran was in her glory, pouring drinks, telling tales and showing off her double Ds.

Behind her on the microphone was Dee, who seemed at ease and at home. The crowd was happy.

“This is what you found to replace me?”

Fran snapped from her fantasy of strap-ons after hours at the sound of Amy’s scratchy voice.

“Darlin’, listen to her! She’s rockin’ the house,” Fran said, coming around the bar. She took Amy into her arms. “How’re you feeling?”

Amy looked like shit. She was supposed to get bed rest for the next week and a quick survey confirmed the doctor’s diagnosis. Her normally beautiful red hair hung lank and sweaty against her shoulders; her ivory skin now sagging and gray.

“You’re gonna get everyone else ill wandering about.” Fran pulled Amy toward the corner of the bar and set her on a stool before coming back with a hot mug of tea. Dee had moved onto the next song and it was a slow one. There was a crowd on the dance floor, moving in tight little circles.

“Where’d you find her?” Amy took a sip, glaring over the rim of the mug at the young singer.

“Rico heard her singing on the corner.”

Amy snorted into her tea.

“Listen, sweetheart, it’s only for the week,” Fran said. “After that, you’ll be feeling better and back up on stage.”

“What about in your bed?”

Fran had known Amy as long as she owned the bar. They’d been lovers off and on for nearly ten years, but Amy definitely had a predilection for younger men, not women. When the mood took Amy, and it did about once a month, she knew where to go to get some female lovin’. She had never been turned away.

“Look, Amy,” Fran said meeting her eyes. “When you feel better we’ll talk about this.” She took her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze, then caught Maria’s gaze over Amy’s shoulder. “Maria will drive you home. I don’t think you should be behind the wheel of a car in your condition.”

“I want to know now!” Several customers turned at Amy’s raised voice.

This was definitely not the time to be discussing this.

“Look. I never ask or complain about who you have in your bed, Amy…”

“But…”

“And a woman my age seeing you with all of those young boys could become insecure…”

“But…”

“We’re friends. I respect you and would never do anything to embarrass you.”

“But…”

“Dee and I will stay lovers until either one of us decides differently.”

“You hussy!” Amy hissed.

“Certainly so…”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk to Fran that way,” Dee said, coming up behind Fran and setting her hands on Fran’s shoulders.

They hadn’t heard her finish her set.

“You don’t even know Fran!” Amy rasped, staggering to her feet, drunk on cough syrup and brain addled from illness.

“Maybe not, but I know how to talk to a lady,” Dee said. She stepped a bit closer and used her superior height to intimidate.

“Dee, this is Amy,” Fran said.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed resting?” Dee asked, posture softening.

Fran nodded, coming to stand next to Amy. Maria put her arm around Amy’s waist, holding her up from the other side.

“Sore throat is nothing to mess with when you’re a singer,” Dee said.

Amy glared back.

They steered the redhead out of the crowded bar and left Maria to drive her home.

“Is there a problem?” asked Dee. The warm weight of her hand on the small of Fran’s back sent a chill of pleasure up the older woman’s spine.

“Not specifically,” Fran answered, hurrying behind the bar to help with the crowd. “Amy’s just jealous sometimes, is all.”

“Does she have a reason to be?”

“No.”

Dee nodded, took the glass of water Fran put in front of her and headed back to the stage.

---

The guitar was lighter than Fran had imagined. She held it close to her naked breasts and strummed softly.

“I wish I were an artist,” Dee said, digging in her jean pockets at the foot of the bed.

“You are darlin’,” Fran said. “Music is…”

“No,” Dee laughed, taking a seat on the mattress next to Fran. “A painter. You look so beautiful holdin’ my baby.”

Fran felt her pussy twitch. “Believe me, sugar. You paint pictures with your words.”

The girl was a genius when it came to spinning poetry, but not at rolling joints. Dee had loaded her paper, but she was spilling grass all over the bed in an attempt to form a joint.

“Give me that,” Fran sighed, setting the guitar in her lap. She took Dee’s stash and with a lick and a roll along the edge of the paper was done.

“Guess it’s been a while since I had the luxury,” Dee said.

“Where’d you find this?” Fran asked.

Dee lit the bud and handed Fran the joint. “Oh, I’ve been coming to Borrego for three years now. I have my sources.”

“Three years?”

“Just never wandered into the ‘Dusty Rose’. I’ve played in the circle,” Dee said, taking a deep drag. “Busking for a week during Desert Days fills my pockets for a month.”

“With your voice you could record. Make an album and…”

Dee laughed, which turned into a cough as she exhaled the sweet smoke.

“It’s true!”

“Even if I could…that’s not the life for me. I love the road, Fran.”

“Isn’t touring the road?”

“Hitching, sleeping under stars, worrying where you sleep, what you’ll eat…that’s the road.”

“And you like that life?”

Dee met Fran’s eyes, handed her the joint, and lifted the guitar from her arms. She cradled the wood warm with Fran against her stomach and sang.

“Sitting by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

Got nothing to eat, but the shoes on my feet,

and the sun in the sky and the wind on my face,

I wouldn’t change a moment that brought me closer to you.”

Fran set the pinner in the plastic cup they were using as an ashtray and rose to her knees. She framed Dee’s hips with her thighs, leaning against the long line of her back.

“Sitting on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

My thumbs sunburned from hitching for rides,

but when I rest my head on my pack at night, the stars are so bright…

I can count them closer to you.”

Fran brought her arms around Dee’s waist and slid one hand up and under the guitar to cup a breast and the other down south to cup her bush. She tweaked Dee’s nipple with her long nails and sank two fingers into the young woman’s pussy, happy to hear the catch in the singer’s voice.

“Sitting on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

Every day somewhere new and a face to…”

Dee’s clit was rock hard and butting against Fran’s palm in excitement.

“…to…” she said again distracted by the roll of Fran’s thumb.

“Sing baby,” Fran whispered, nuzzling her lover’s ear. “It makes me so hot when you sing.”

Dee forced the words out, her voice dropping deeper and deeper as Fran found her rhythm, until her words turned to moans, and her moans to release.

---

There was a knock at the hotel room door. Dee was in the bathroom having just stepped out of the shower and shouted for Fran to come in.

“You’re early,” Dee called from behind the bathroom door, toweling her hair dry. They were going to drive out to Font’s Point and take in the view of the canyon under the light of the moon and stars.

“You were expecting me?”

The bathroom door swung open and there stood Amy Ashland, still a bit pale, but looking better than she had two days before. Her long hair was a glossy copper, her eyes like sparkling emeralds. She was wearing a thin sundress that could have been lingerie, the fabric was so sheer. Taking a cue from Fran, she was braless.

Dee held the towel against her chest and frowned.

“Oh, don’t cover up on my account,” Amy drawled, leaning against the door jam and deliberately eyeing the young woman from head to toe.

“What are you doin’ here?” Dee asked. She brushed past the other singer who purposefully thrust her hip into her path, but Dee squeezed by, grabbed a pair of jeans from the motel room bed, and hastily stepped into them.

“A little too bony for my liking, but your skin…” Amy’s reached a hand out and Dee backed away.

“What do you want?” Dee pulled her t-shirt over her head.

“Coming to see my competition.”

“Look, Amy,” Dee said grabbing her cigarettes and shaking one into her palm. “I’ll be gone in a couple of days and your relationship with Fran and her bar will return to normal.” She lit her smoke and took a seat on the mattress.

“What if I want you gone now?”

Dee snorted. “Honey, I don’t understand what your issue is. But I live my life just the way I want and right now I want Fran.”

Amy’s eyes flashed and she moved closer, pink blooming in her cheeks. She leaned forward and Dee fell back into the pillows, thinking the woman might hit her. Instead, Amy boxed her in with her arms and brought her lips within an inch of Dee’s own. “You could have me too.”

“You’ve got some balls, Amy,” said Fran from the doorway. “The medication must have cut off the oxygen to your brain.”

Amy straightened and took a step back against the wall and folded her arms across her chest.

Fran rolled her eyes.

“You’ve never taken me to Font’s Point,” Amy whined, tears in her eyes.

“Fuck, Amy,” Fran said. She walked over and put her arm around her friend’s shoulders and steered her to the door. “You’ve taken half the town there and I’ve never said a word.”

“But…”

“No buts. Go home and get better so you’re able to work Friday night.”

“But…”

Fran shut the door in her angry face.

---

In front of Fran and Dee stretched the endless canyons of Font’s Point. The rocky hills and valleys climbed in every direction like miniature Grand Canyons. The browns and reds of the miles of open earth were bleached by the moonlight, giving the landscape a monochromatic beauty. They sat cliff side, Fran leaning her head back against Dee’s shoulder and sitting between her thighs.

“That was a little harsh,” Dee said hugging Fran close to her.

“What? Amy?”

Dee nodded against the top of her head and Fran had to laugh.

“Amy has a flair for the dramatic,” Fran said. “The desert brings a lot of interesting people to live in her heated embrace. Many of them have something just a touch off. You aren’t the first she’s taken an interest in.”

“An interest?”

“Hmmm…and a dislike.” Fran snuggled closer. It was a bit chilly, not bad really, but when it’s a hundred and ten during the day, eighty feels like a nip in the air. Dee hummed under beneath her breath and Fran could feel the gentle rumble against her back. She was going to miss Dee.

“Where you headed next, Sugar?”

“South,” Dee answered, kissing her way around Fran’s neck.

“Mexico?”

“No, closer,” she said. Dee pulled Fran back onto the blanket and nibbled her way down her belly. She used her teeth to unbutton and unzip her jeans.

“Where’d you learn that?” Fran gasped. Dee breathed against the lace decorating her mound.

“On my travels.” Dee took hold of Fran’s jeans and tugged them down her hips.

“Mmmmm…I love a proper education.”

This is a revision of an earlier story.

Summer in Savannah

Summer in Savannah
Copyright ©2005 by Crystal Barela

Summer in Savannah was wet and sticky like the insides of Joanne’s thighs after a dirty thought. This afternoon she’d had plenty, lying in the backyard this afternoon and missing her lover. She was in a hammock; glasses perched upon her long nose and a book open across her belly. But her thoughts weren’t of the pages between the worn cover, or the canopy of blue above her, interlaced with the branches of oak trees and the creeping hangings of Spanish moss.

This hammock held memories of her childhood.

Afternoon lemonade while her momma sipped mint juleps and her father threw the Frisbee with her dog Patches. Grandma snapping sweet sugar peas and the two of them eating just as many raw as found their way to the dinner table at night. Kissing Bobby Wickum before she knew what sex was and discovering that sex was only right if it were a woman’s body she touched.

Tonight it would be where she proposed to Kim.

They’d met in New York through a want ad in The Village Voice. Kim had wanted a nude model for her photo projects, and Joanne had wanted to do something her parents would completely disapprove of.

It was a surprise to find that having Kim’s camera lens focusing on her body was a turn-on. The way Kim would bite her lip in between showers of compliments as the shutter clicked again and again. How Kim, seemingly without thinking, would approach Joanne and move an arm to a better position, brush a breast, stand too close.

The sun was setting, turning the water beside Joanne into a golden pool. Bits of white light were caught and scattered across the pond’s surface, when Kim’s familiar lanky silhouette approached. The camera was a limb, just as an arm or leg and it rose in greeting, documenting Kim surroundings and her lover.

“It’s just as you described,” Kim said approaching the hammock. She knelt on the grass and brought her nose within an inch of Joanne’s. “You’ve gotten some sun.”

“An afternoon in a hammock will do that.”

“You smell like sunlight.”

“Miss the city, do you?”

“Not one bit.”

Their lips met in a soft kiss, both of them remembering the many sighs and moments in each other’s arms. They had only been apart a week, but it felt like years for both of them.

Kim stood and took hold of her lover’s skirt hem. Slowly, she rolled the white cotton fabric up Joanne’s long sun drenched legs, revealing knobby knees and soft thighs. Joanne’s mound was natural, wild riots of curly red hair, a fire between her legs and skimming her belly.

“What are you thinking?” Joanne asked, letting her knees fall open.

Kim brought her camera up and focused the lens on Joanne’s bush. The shutter clicked several times.

“Every one of those freckles will kiss my tongue tonight.”

Kim set her camera on the ground then stepped out of her khaki shorts, revealing a tattoo of a black swan soaring towards her neatly trimmed bush, as if about to take up residence in the nest of silky hair.

The hammock swayed as Kim climbed onboard, nearly toppling them to the soft grass beneath. Their giggles echoed across the water as Kim’s toes found purchase in the cool green blades, steadying them in a gentle sway.

Firmly astride her lover’s hips, Kim took hold of the hem of her black tank top and threw it over her head, breasts lifting toward the sky. The hammock danced slowly, and Joanne enjoyed the bounce of her lover’s breasts and the tangle of their reunited pussy hair.

They lay as one, stomach and breasts pressed firmly together, elbows framing Joanne’s face.

“I’ve missed you.”

Kim rested her cheek on one hand, and lowered the other along waist and hip to tug on Joanne’s bush. The blush that spread across her lover’s skin wet Kim’s pussy and inspired licks and nibbles along her jaw. When they made love Joanne was on fire, her skin glowing like embers were lit beneath her.

“You’ve been thinking of me,” Kim murmured.

Joanne’s pussy was damp, her lips silky and hot clinging to Kim’s fingers, pulling her hand deeper into a moist embrace.

When they’d met, Joanne would have been too shy to fuck in her parents’ backyard, not that she would have admitted it. Nearly two years later and a slave to the lens, she flaunted her body naturally. She moved in ways that best caught the light and most flattered her figure.

Kim picked up a rhythm, the hammock swaying front and back between the tall trees, her fingers sliding deeper and deeper. Joanne’s clit was rock hard.

Breasts that cast a near perfect shadow in the right lighting were salty and damp after an afternoon outdoors. Joanne’s nipples were hard little pebbles and when Kim drew one into her mouth, Joanne’s hands cradled her head like she was a baby, pulling her close.

Kim felt like an infant gaining sustenance. Joanne made her feel that way. Desperate, hungry and needy.

Someone overhearing them might have thought the sounds were children playing as their sighs echoed across the water, if it weren’t accompanied by the wet sticky sound of fingers in pussy. The wet noises mixed with the buzz of the insects, whispered I love yous, and the croaking of frogs.

Joanne’s fingers twined with Kim’s, each finding the other’s excited nubbin. Kim sat up, riding Joanne like she was on a rocking horse, cannon-balling down a race track. The hammock swayed dangerously but they fucked harder. Their names a chorus until Kim’s fingers were caught in Joanne’s velvet crush, knuckles aching, making her come in turn.

They were still, Kim snuggling into a spot next to Joanne, the stars glowing down at them. She pulled Joanne closer and leaned over to kiss her cheeks, only to find them covered in tears.

“Baby?” Kim kissed them away. “What’s wrong?”

“I love you so much,” Joanne whispered. She began to sob, overcome with emotion.

“I love you, too.”

This amazing woman, this talented, beautiful woman, loved her.

Kim held Joanne close, tracing her vertebrae, and whispering soothingly until she was still, her breathing even.

“I spoke to my parents,” Joanne whispered.

The family luncheon had not gone well, and she felt guilty for putting the hope in her lover’s heart that they would welcome Kim with warm hugs and soft kisses on her cheeks. The stories Joanne had told had given the impression of a loving, open, adoring family. Turns out they were only free-thinkers when it came to other people’s children.

Daddy thought her attraction to women was a phase and that she would settle down with Bobby. Momma wanted a big wedding where she could invite all the local society women, and that wasn’t going to happen if Joanne married Kim. Joanne would become the dirty little secret no one spoke of.

With a sigh and a mall smile, Joanne reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a gold band studded with rows and rows of diamonds.

“What’s this?” Kim asked.

“This is the Woodward family ring.”

The hammock was still as the air and the silence of crickets.

Joanne took Kim’s hand in hers.

“You know, I love you more than I will ever be able to tell you.” Joanne could just make out her lover’s face. Her brown eyes were big wet orbs, tears clinging to her long lashes.

“This ring has been passed down from generation to generation, as a sign of trust and fidelity. I have never felt more safe and loved than when I am with you.”

Tears began to roll slowly down Kim’s cheeks.

“Kim Ann Marcus, would you bring me the greatest joy I could know, and promise to be my wife?”

In answer, she kissed her best friend’s lips, her eyes wide open, wanting to remember this moment as clear as a photograph.

The ring sparkled in the moonlight as Joanne slid it over her lover’s trembling finger.

“Your parents weren’t angry?”

“More disappointed than angry.”

They wrapped their arms around each other and Joanne let one leg fall over the side of the hammock and gave them a push.

“But as my grandmother said, the ring is mine by rights, and my parents have no say in who I give it to.”

The stars danced above them.

“Grandmother has invited us to breakfast tomorrow morning,” Joanne said with a catch in her voice. “She said she can’t wait to meet the woman who’s earned my heart.”

“And I can’t wait to meet the woman who’s helped shape it.”

The hammock swung gently, rocking them to sleep with dreams of tomorrow and hopes for the future.

Another Night at Daddy's

Another Night at Daddy's [3000 words] (FFF, toys, anal)

Copyright © 2005 by Crystal Barela

Ricky spread a handful of grease through her jet black hair and combed it into a practiced ducktail. It made her look tough, and she liked that. Curling her lips around a cigarette, she blew smoke at her reflection. She tucked the tails of her shirt into her faded Levis, leaving the front unbuttoned. The sliver buckle of the studded belt looped through the tabs of her jeans read “Dick,” circled with a slash through it.

“Hurry up, Slut,” was the call from down the hall. Her roommate, Sam, appeared behind her in the crooked mirror. “Fuck,” she drawled, eyeing the show of cleavage in the vee of Ricky’s shirt. “If I knew my old lady wouldn’t kick my ass, I’d ball you right now.”

“As if I’d let you,” Ricky mumbled from behind her cigarette. “Hey!” she protested as Sam came up behind her, laughing, and humped her ass. “Shit, will you grow up!” She pushed Sam off and picked up the cigarette from where it had fallen into the sink.

One last look in the mirror and Ricky headed down the hallway to the living room. She took her black leather jacket from the back of the recliner, zipping it to her throat and turning up the collar. She was looking to get some hot tail tonight, and the sooner she got to Daddy’s, the sooner she’d get her rocks off.

“Come on!” she hollered as she left the house. “Your old lady’s gonna be pissed!” The screen door bounced shut behind her.

At the end of the driveway Ricky swung her leg up over her hog, feeling the familiar thrill of her crotch settling into the leather. It increased as she started the engine and sent the vibrations through her body. She ground herself into the seat for that extra buzz and gunned the engine. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Sam lock the door and run to her own bike. With one last drag of her cigarette, Ricky tossed the butt to the ground and revved the engine.

The earth flew by and her bike ate up the asphalt. Ricky was smiling from ear to ear as the wind rushed past her face.

---

Daddy’s was not the most popular dyke bar in town, but it was Ricky’s favorite. She felt right at home with the dark corners and crappy lighting. The floor was sticky with spilt drinks and unnamed bodily fluids. There was no air conditioning, and danger hung in the air along with the strong scent of Marlboros. Yeah, it was an acquired taste; one that she felt suited her.

Daddy’s was the only place in town with pool tables, so that was an added draw. This was a typically busy Saturday night, and wherever Ricky looked she saw eager chicks waiting to get some action.

“Hey, Maggie,” she called, unzipping her jacket. The layer of smoke at eye level made her squint across the bar.

“What’s your pleasure, sugar?” Maggie shouted over the din. She leaned across the bar so that Ricky could get a good look at her double Ds. They were impressive.

“You still have Pete’s Wicked Ale on tap?” Maggie went to get her order while Ricky leaned back against the bar. She let a little cleavage show as she checked out the possibilities. Without being picky, she did have a penchant for redheads, who, in her experience, usually had tempers. She liked her women feisty, to give her a wild ride. It seemed she couldn’t be happy unless someone was throwing things at her.

“Tabatha was in here looking for you,” Maggie said, setting the beer on the bar. Ricky cringed, wondering what her psycho ex wanted.

“She say why?” Ricky asked. She pulled her billfold from her back pocket and dished out some cash onto the bar.

“To give you hell.” Maggie laughed, pocketed the money, and went off to help another customer. Hell, Ricky thought. Well, that’s what Tabatha is ... hell on wheels. She hoped she didn’t run into her tonight.

Bringing another cigarette to her lips, she let it dangle there, unlit, while her eyes feasted on the hottest ass she’d seen in a while. It, the ass that is, was at the pool table, bending over to make a shot. A very short black leather skirt barely covered it, a skirt so short that Ricky had a wonderful view of a clean-shaven pussy. The woman straightened up, bringing into view a long mane of russet colored hair falling in a sheet down her back, golds and reds glistening under the beer lights. Ricky brought her lighter up and lit her cigarette, slowly exhaling a stream of smoke.

“Hey, Maggie,” she called. Maggie walked over, tucking another tip into her bra. “You know what she’s drinking?” Ricky asked, gesturing toward the redhead at the pool table.

“I don’t know why Ican’t interest you in some fun,” Maggie crooned, leaning close enough for Ricky to taste the mint on her breath. “I played the flute in high school,” she confided. Ricky raised her eyebrows. “I can flutter my tongue, 216 beats per minute.” Ricky laughed and raised her glass in salute.

“What’s she drinking?” Ricky asked again.

With a practiced sigh, Maggie went to make the mystery woman a fuzzy navel. Scanning the bar, Ricky noticed that Sam was already off in the corner with her old lady. They were making out like high-schoolers. She smiled, putting out her cigarette in the ash tray. Sam was lucky. She had found love early.

“Heard you like fuzzy navels,” Ricky said, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it on one of the wooden hooks that lined the wall by the pool tables. The redhead was even more striking close up. Her eyes were a surprising dark brown and framed by thick lashes. Her body was all soft curves, hips full and wide, waist a gentle indention leading to her decidedly perfect breasts. If her skirt should be illegal, then her shirt could be taken in for the same infraction, Ricky thought. She could see every curve through the sheer fabric. The woman’s tits were full and her nipples dark, pleading for attention.

Her dainty pout stretched into a smile at Ricky’s approach. “Do you have one?” the redhead asked. She took the drink, and set it next in line with another half dozen similar offerings.

“Why don’t you find out?” Ricky asked. Her new friend laughed, leaning back against the table and crossing her arms beneath her breasts so that they rose to flirt playfully with Ricky’s eyes.

“You see the woman behind me, racking up the balls?”

Ricky took in the aggressive-looking butch dyke slapping the balls into the triangle. She had a black flattop, thick black framed glasses, and a nose ring. The sleeves on her plaid shirt had been ripped off, revealing rather impressive biceps. Not as tall as the red-head, but thick and muscular. “You need to get permission from her. I’m her bitch.” She giggled, taking the first of her fuzzy navels. More than one person had thought of the drink idea, but none of them were playing at that table.

The question is, does Butch like to pass her Bitch around, or does she want to share in the pleasure? Ricky walked around the table to Butch’s side and leaned in close, letting her thigh touch the other woman. “Whatcha drinking?”

“Whatcha offering?” Butch growled suggestively. Ricky felt heat rise in her body as her eyes met Butch’s. They were open to play. Ricky grabbed the waitress and ordered a Budweiser.

---

A good hour later, Ricky leaned over Bitch, pressing her bush into the redhead’s ass through their clothes. She was helping Bitch with her stroke on the pool table, and she had more than a good buzz going. Her new buddies were very friendly; it was only a matter of time before they went outside to cool off.

“Ouch!” she yelped as Butch walked by, slapping her on the ass. Bitch giggled beneath her, driving her wild. Ricky closed her eyes, fighting off the urge to take her on the pool table. The teasing and innuendos needed to be set into action. She ground herself suggestively against Bitch as they took the shot and asked, “You two want to get serious?”

The redhead’s eyes met Butch’s and she nodded, leaning her pool queue against the wall.

---

“Nice softail, man,” Butch said when they got outside, running her hand along the handlebars. Bitch hopped right on, making motor noises and pretending to rev the engine. Ricky lifted her eyebrows, but said nothing, focusing on the ass bouncing on the leather seat.

“And totally customized,” Ricky bragged. She pulled out what looked like a strap-on from the saddle bag. It resembled your basic belted dildo but the strap was longer than most would need. She bent across the seat, between Bitch and the handlebars, and buckled it tightly around the frame of the bike. The large black rubber prick rose into the air. Strapping it onto the bike was preferable to a woman sometimes. Ricky could ride for miles with the vibrations of the bike ripping through her body, bringing on amazing orgasms. “I call it my pommel,” she shared, straightening and winking at Butch.

“Fuck no!” Bitch immediately pulled up her skirt and positioned herself over the dildo, then lowered herself down onto the cold rubber, warming it slowly with her juicy lips. She gasped and giggled cautiously, taking in its entire impressive length. Butch smiled, her arms crossed over her chest. She was softly whistling, “Back in the Saddle Again.”

“Start the engine!” Bitch pleaded. Ricky mounted behind her and turned on the ignition. Bitch’s giggles became groans. Ricky reached around to massage Bitch’s nipples, pleased to find them like long erasers. She kneaded the full breasts, letting their weight fill her palm. Her other hand slid around Bitch’s waist, fingers coming to play in the folds of the clean-shaven pussy she had admired earlier. It was wet and slick, smelling of hot sex and warm seat leather.

“Butch…Butch,” Bitch chanted, until Butch came up beside her, just in time to kiss her as her orgasm peaked.

Ricky jumped when a car door slammed nearby. A couple walked into the bar, arms around shoulder and waist, paying no attention to them.

Butch lifted Bitch off of the toy and set her on the ground. Her smile was wide with satisfaction. Yep, that is the coolest thing, Ricky thought, getting off of the bike, unstrapping the appendage from the seat, and putting it away.

Butch was leading her woman down the alley on the side of the bar. Her arm was around Bitch’s waist and they were nibbling on each other. Ricky lit a cigarette and followed. The lighting was bad, and the smell was less than thrilling, but she knew the back of the bar opened into a field followed by what seemed like endless mountains. The moon was bright and there was plenty of room to play.

They walked around the corner and there was a large black van, straight out of every horror flick Ricky had ever seen; the windows dark, the bumpers rusted. Butch pulled out a key and unlocked the side door, which opened with a squeal. The interior light came on and brought a shag carpet and a bed into view. Ricky raised her eyebrow and took another drag of her cigarette.

Bitch crawled in and Butch pushed against her ass, making her fall across the bed in a fit of laughter. Ricky chuckled too and put out her cigarette in the gravel.

“Come on,” Butch called. Ricky looked up, met Butch’s heat-filled eyes, and climbed aboard.

“Fuck!” Bitch cried out as Ricky’s hand opened her box.

“Yes!” ordered Butch, twisting a nipple roughly. Ricky was sweating, twisting her hand in Bitch’s love juice. She could not believe how far her hand was up this woman’s snatch. The muscles squeezed her wrist. She slowly opened her fingers, causing Bitch to groan. Ricky twisted her hand and Bitch’s hips rose into the air, seeking. Smiling maliciously, she pulled her hand out with a loud sucking noise.

“No!” Bitch protested, and Ricky didn’t disappoint her. She dove in again and picked up a steady rhythm. Butch had removed her clothes and was now squatting over Bitch’s head. Ricky’s eyes were drawn to the ropes of muscle in Butch’s thighs as she held herself over her lover’s face. Bitch’s eager tongue was like an arrow finding its target. Her eyes glazed over and she began cursing, calling Bitch a nasty whore, a fucking slut, a dirty cunt sucker. She was moaning and bouncing, her small breasts jiggling. Her abs were tightening and quivering, the sight making Ricky even wetter.

Suddenly Butch screamed and her cum came flying out in a stream. Bitch was swallowing, her tongue searching Butch’s honeypot for even more. Butch dropped back on her hands and her juice sprayed straight into Ricky’s face. “Fuck!” Ricky laughed, wiping her face. Her hand was mangled by the vice of Bitch’s trap as she came in turn.

“You want your twat sucked? That fuckhole of yours filled?” Butch asked as she approached Ricky. She took a fistful of greasy locks and pulled her up so that Ricky’s nose was in her pussy. The smell of slut butter wafted from her made Ricky’s mouth water. “Eat me,” Butch commanded, and Ricky didn’t hesitate. Her mouth latched onto Butch’s lips. Her tongue dove between the folds, finding her hole wet and salty. Ricky’s nose bobbed against her clit in an eagerness to please. Butch pulled Ricky’s hair, and yanked her face harder into her lower lips. Ricky brought her hand to her own cunt and began frigging herself.

She jumped as she felt Bitch’s long-nailed fingers join her own, gently pulling the soft hair of her pussy. “Let me take care of that,” Bitch whispered. She licked her ear and bit it playfully as she slid into Ricky’s wet folds with practiced fingers. Ricky could feel Bitch’s nipples pressing into her back, and something hard and wet sliding along the crack of her ass. “Feel that Honey?” Bitch cooed. Ricky couldn’t answer. “That’s my cock. It’s special.” She nudged Ricky’s hole. “Feel how big it is?” Bitch poked her again, teasing her entrance. Ricky shoved back eagerly, wanting that fullness. Bitch laughed and began to push into her cunt. Ricky groaned, finding her pussy protesting. Whatever Bitch was shoving into her was huge. She felt the walls of her cunt expanding, inch by inch, the width of the cock stretching her wide.

Butch pulled Ricky’s face from her snatch and leaned over to kiss her. She licked Ricky’s lips and cheeks, sucking every last drop of cum from her face. Ricky then felt Bitch force her “special” cock inside. It would be painful if it didn’t feel so good. It hit every wall. It filled every bit of space. Ricky took hold of the shag, pushing back against Bitch as she began pumping into her. Groans echoed in the small space.

“Oh, fuck, Daddy,” Bitch said, and Ricky turned her head to see that Butch had strapped on her own bit of fun. It was heavily greased. Bitch froze inside as Butch began fucking her ass hard. They knelt in a row, fucking and cursing.

Ricky’s hand found her clit and she pulled and pushed it the way she liked it, while her pussy took in the biggest rubber cock she had ever known. They moved in unison. The only sounds were their nasty words and the suction of their juices mingling.

Ricky found her spot. The air seemed to vibrate. It felt as though she were on bike and they were speeding up a winding road, faster and faster, until she toppled over a cliff, falling into sensation, needing oxygen. She collapsed against the shag wall, trying to breathe. The air was heavy with the sweet smell of their silky cum and stale unwashed carpet.

Bitch eased out of her. The absence of her colossal dick caused Ricky’s muscles to contract in protest. Bitch giggled and crawled in front of her, squeezing in next to the wall. Her special dildo projected out of her nest like some obscene growth. Ricky was drawn to it. She took it in her hands, twisting it in Bitch’s twat. Her lather bubbled around the circumference. “Come here, honey,” Bitch invited, her voice hoarse. She put her hands around Ricky’s waist and pulled her closer, sliding her massive gap-stopper back where it belonged. Bitch began nibbling her lips as Ricky swayed slowly into her body.

“Ricky!” They all jumped. “Ricky! You fucking slut!” Someone was hitting the side of the van. “Ricky! I know you’re in there!”

“What the fuck?” Butch said as she opened the door, wet cock swinging into Tabatha’s outraged face. Tabatha wiped her cheek in disgust and forced her key into the side of the van. Before she could go more than a foot, she was on the ground, with Butch’s knee in her back.

“Ricky, I loved you!” she sobbed into the ground.

“You gonna join us or leave like a good little girl?” Butch asked, removing the keys from Tabatha’s hand.

“I’m only leaving if Ricky comes with me!” Ricky and Bitch were still joined at their fuck centers and the very thought of leaving this party caused Ricky’s quim to quiver unhappily.

“Sorry, honey,” Ricky said, ignoring her ex and rocking her hips against Bitch, who moaned dramatically for Tabatha’s benefit. Butch took her knee off Tabatha’s back. As she started to clamber upward, her rosebud pout come directly in line with Butch’s rubber hard-on. She looked up at Butch with weepy eyes, her tongue sweeping across her lips invitingly.

“Suck it, brat!” Butch demanded. As Tabatha leaned in, Ricky smiled. It was just another night at Daddy’s.