I was prowling, driving aimlessly up and down the main drag, watching for something to catch my eye. Frustrated by whatever was bothering me I decided I needed a drink. I pulled into the parking lot of the local redneck bar, sending a new cloud of dust up and over the rest of the lot.
I slammed the door of my 77 Caprice convertible and strode into the dim bar. The place wasn't packed but it was doing brisk business. I took one of the few spots left at the bar and ordered my usual Washington Apple. In the mirror behind the bar, I checked out my new drinking buddies. There were ten or twelve guys, all ball players by the uniforms, drifting from the bar to a few tables and back, three or four couples seeming to enjoy a rare night out, dancing and drinking.
I spotted her in the back corner booth, watching me intently. Hmmm, I thought, taking in her huge brown eyes peeping over the top of the booth. I sipped at my drink, letting my gaze travel around the room, lingering on Number 4's fine, tight ass or on Number 17's package or on one of the couples dancing but landing on her often. Something about her dinged in my head.
Number 4 was rubbing up against me as he waited for his round, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he was up for the taking. I slid my hand into his crotch, finding his hard on just as advertised, gave him a stroke and a squeeze, watching his eyes cross. I just wasn't looking for a man tonight. As Number 4's eyes cleared and his round appeared, I spotted her on my other side. I took in her sweet, heart shaped face, her doe eyes, her full mouth. When she sat beside me, I noticed her slimness, her full, round breasts, her long bare legs under that mini skirt.
"What are you drinking?" she asked, leaning toward me, showing me her cleavage, making my mouth water.
"Washington Apple. Try it." I said, offering her my glass. She smiled over the rim as she sipped. I watched her tongue lick at her lips, feeling a moist heat rising between my thighs. She ordered another round for the two of us. She told me her name was Cassie. She's 27, single, no kids, college grad, working for a law firm in the city but living out here close to her aging folks.
The ball players were getting drunk and rowdy, so I moved my stool closer to hers, brushing her leg with mine, her hip with my hand. I noticed Number 4 watching us in the mirror, drinking his beer, occasionally shifting his still hard package. After our fourth round, Cassie was relaxed enough for my hand to rest easily high on her thigh, my arm around her shoulders, talking softly into the cup of her ear, letting my lips brush against it. She finally turned to me and let her mouth meet mine.
Her mouth was sweet with the taste of our shared drinks. I touched my tongue to hers, teasing along her lips, letting my fingers slid up under her skirt, brushing along the edge of her silky panties.
"I live two doors down." She panted in my ear as I rubbed her clit. I finished the last sip of my drink, paid our tab and let her lead me to her place. I had to stop her once, pressing her up against the storefront window, kneading her natural breasts, kissing her brainless, rubbing her increasingly drenched panties.
I slid my finger inside her as she unlocked the door, bringing a gasp from her. "Inside." I nudged her forward with just my finger, feeling her tight little quim quivering around my finger.
