The Woman At The Speakeasy Ch 02

High above, the office was indeed a watchtower that overlooked the entire speakeasy. Red noticed some cages hanging close to the ceiling, with dancing girls trapped inside, sporting outfits far less conservative than the silver-haired woman's little black dress. There was always something available for those who liked to participate and those who liked to watch. It might seem heartless to party when so many innocents are murdered like dogs for no good reason on the streets, but is it a heartless thing to look for a way out after the shit hit the fan so badly? Is it heartless to refuse a violent death and live outside the dichotomy between servitude in the name of a tyrant and his false god, or fighting for a lost cause?

She then looked at the speakeasy owners. Red's eyes jumped back and forth between the towering man in a trench coat, and his silver-haired companion. Red locked eyes with her and gulped before taking one step back to the only piece of wall not made of thick bulletproof glass. How long has it been since she ate the bartender? Five minutes? Ten? Can she resist the charm of the tall man in the trench coat gazing at her emotionless, like a cult leader who sees her as both an outsider and an invader? She could, but how much will did she have left to resist the charm of a woman who can't resist biting her own black lips?

The longer she looked at them, the more they seemed like vampire swingers, as shitty as that sentence sounded in her head. Sweetie looked like one the most. She could even smell the hunger tainting her sweat.

"What am I doing here?" Red asked suddenly; her voice shaking in fear.

"We could ask you the same thing," said Angel as he looked down the speakasy. A couple of girls slid a note on a stripper's thong. Red followed his eyes, and more questions hit her.

Is this a way to escape the reality of the ongoing civil war? Is this the way everyone is coping with it? Or is it that they are all so cynical that they don't care whether their parents, siblings and children are tortured until the electric rods fry their hearts?

"I am just looking for my daughter," Red gasped when Sweetie placed a hand on her shoulder. The strange mixture of fear and arousal froze her in place. She fished her phone and faced her. "Have you seen her?"

Silence was the most honest answer she'd get out of the two.

"That's not very helpful," she sighed.

"Knock knock," whispered Angel.

Red's eyes peeled. "You can't be serious! Don't tell me this is because I'm a redhead! I am not-"

"Funny you think I'd put you in the same party as the reds just because your hair color," Angel said deadpan. "We've never seen you before, so how can we trust you? As for your beautiful daughter... Well, you two do look alike, but-"

"She's my step daughter, actually," confessed Red.

"Be that as it may, we don't know you. Whatever happened between the bartender and you after that kiss is not long enough to know someone. However..." Angel turned his gaze to Sweetie and saw a bright spark in her pupils. She might even have hearts instead. It was

that

look, he thought. The one look she had when she wanted to fuck someone badly. "My lovely wife has a much bigger fascination for you."

Sweetie kissed and licked Red's cheek. "I've never fucked a woman as old as you before," she whispered, and then turned back to Angel. "You're lucky that you'll get to watch."

Sweetie pressed her black lips upon the redhead's. Out of instinct, Red took a step back, but hit the wall behind. The silver-haired woman pinned her in place, unwilling to stop.

"Undress her," ordered Angel.

"Oh fuck off; let me have this moment!"

Red didn't recuperate her breath before Sweetie kissed her again. First the bartender, and now the speakeasy owner's wife? Was every girl trying to have her way with her tonight? She wanted to wrestle herself out of it, but her body didn't move... not because she was pinned against the wall, but because it outright refused. Sure, eating a woman's cunt was fun, but she desired more, and Sweetie offered more.

Sweetie took Red's jacket off, and then got rid of her tank top. Red closed her eyes and allowed herself to be bitten by a silver-haired woman who wasn't really a vampire, yet she kissed like one. The way her sharp teeth and her tongue licked her made her shiver in a pleasure she never had with any of the men she's had in her younger years.

It was the worst time of the year to come out bisexual. The doubt lingered the deeper she gave herself into it. What's making this so intense? The novelty, or the danger? Maybe it was both.

"Daring for you to go out commando," giggled Sweetie in her ear.

Red got her by the cheeks and kissed her back. "I'm not seeing much of you either."

Sweetie turned around. Red pulled down the zipper before she would turn back again. Another kiss; their tongues dancing the shortest tango that ever played.

"You can touch all you want."

Sweetie stared into her eyes while she grabbed her wrists and placed her hands on her own breasts. Red blushed as the dress fell slowly; her grasp the one of a woman who never touched a pair of titties that wasn't her own: slightly shaky and very hesitant. She then started to gain confidence when she noticed how firm they were; with nipples that stood out more due to the size than the color. They were so pink they nearly faded into Sweetie's porcelain skin.

Sweetie placed one hand in Red's tummy and stole another kiss from her. The black dress was now on the floor, with the two girls naked before Angel, who sat with his legs crossed behind the desk, smiling, as he checked inside Red's pockets. Meanwhile, Sweetie moved her hand down very slowly, until she found the glorious lips folding between Red's thighs. One touch was enough to notice that they asked for some action, and they'd been asking for a long time.

"Have you ever been fucked by a girl?" Sweetie asked as she licked her wet finger.

The question made Red's heart to beat faster. Her eyes remained locked upon Sweetie's for one last moment before she pushed her to the glass wall, and pressed her breasts against it. Sweetie turned to the side and caught her husband opening the drawer where she keeps a black strap-on dildo at hand. They shared glances, and Angel nodded.

"Don't turn around!" he ordered Red when he saw her nearly looking back. She obeyed, and looked down at the speakeasy. All she listened to was the sound of leather rubbing against metal buckles.

Angel kissed Sweetie on the cheek after he helped her to fasten the strap-on. He then whispered something that Red couldn't decipher and went back to his desk to watch.

Sweetie locked the black dildo between Red's thighs and devoured the sound of a soft and intense moan her partner let out. She bit her lip and kept rubbing her skin so much so that her snatch drooled to devour anything she would ofer to it. It didn't take her long to shove the dildo inside, but it happened when the redhead least expected it.

Red, still pushed against the glass, cried. Whether it was a cry of relief or unexpected plasure is something that neither Sweetie nor Angel would ever know, but the next moans acted more accordingly to the ease her pussy had to handle the toy. So easy, yet still tight. So pleasurable, yet still intense. The silver-haired woman only wished for the toy to be her real dick.

"God damn!" she mocked. "How can you be this horny in your fifties?!"

Red stayed put. Any words she said dissolved in the loud "ah-ah-ah!" lyrical singing pertaining to a cantata about pleasure and lust. Wouldn't it be a creative idea to use her moans as morse code to communicate considering her lexicon got reduced to a single vowel? Then again, the thought vanished as soon as it came, for Sweetie didn't give her a break.

Despite the bullets flying back and forth on the surface, despite the people being hunted down, taken, and sent straight into concentration camps for over thirty years of torture... Pleasure always thrived under the direst of circumstances. This was her second time with a woman, and it got even more intense than the first. All the bartender did was to make her wet.

Now, undergoing the biggest nightmare anyone has ever lived through over the past twenty five years of tyranny, a dream is coming true. A dream of fucking in the middle of a battlefield. A dream of life thriving in a moment where death leads the way.

A pity they were two girls using a fake cock...

Red couldn't resist any longer. She shivered while Sweetie bounced her hips against her buttocks; the pop somehow becoming as loud as her cantata. The silver-haired woman giggled and licked her partner's neck, locking herselft at a constant speed as she fed upon the pleasure overwhelming the mature lady, who finally learned new words:

"Yes! Fuck yes! Fuck!" she cried desperately, her pussy squeezing the toy as if it was a cock to milk.

They followed the harsh music from outside, until a silence cut it short. Red's intense orgasm started as soon as the drop did.

Sweetie kept dancing, trying to make that orgasm last as long as possible. Red wanted to look back at her, to kiss her, to embrace her, but she was further pinned against the glass. The hypnotic neon lights made her feel like a prostitute fucked on a brothel's showcase. In her mind, anyone would look up to her and take it as an invitation to fuck her too, even though all they'd see was the dark silhouette of a woman with an hourglass body. Nevertheless, it turned Red on...

Sweetie pulled out and turned Red around to kiss her. She then removed the strap-on and caressed her red hair.

"You took longer than you should've, Sweetie," sighed Angel.

When the girls turned to him, he threw their clothes back to them.

"At least you're telling the truth," he admitted. "You're not one of them."

"What was your first clue?" Red grunted as she put her jeans back on.

"Give me a fucking break! I, like everyone else, am entitled to be paranoid under the current circumstances, especially when I run a speakeasy!" Angel's tone raised slightly, but he toned down his annoyance when more pressing matters showed on camera. He pressed a key on the computer. Every employee that had their phones with them buzzed.

The music died out slowly. The cages were lowered. Clients were escorted out. Red looked at her phone. Speakeasies normally close at the break of dawn, and the night was young.

"You better dress quicker because we're closing," Angel said.

"Why?" Red asked after zipping one boot.

"Why else, Red? Knock knock."

Those two words again...

"Really? Knock knock?" she kept asking, even more confused. "Are you guys falling the obvious attempt of psychological warfare that 'Operation: Knock Knock' is too? If so, why would think the 'Knock Knock' brutes come for you?"

"You're saying it as if they need a reason to come over, knock down the door, and kidnap everyone," laughed Angel. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're in your fifties, Red. After twenty five years, do you really think these guys need a warrant to put us into manacles and send us with a one-way ticket to one of the six beautiful camps outside the city?"

"They're half a block from here," said Sweetie, and then she bolted.

Red overlooked the speakeasy from the same spot she was fucked. The floor was emptied quicker than she thought. Sweetie lead the employees through a secret door that Red could only assume it led to a bunker or a secret tunnel connecting the building to the sewers. Maybe that's where her daughter went, for safety.

"Why aren't you running away with them?" asked Angel.

"Why aren't you?"

Angel showed the yellow envelope beneath his trench coat. Red closed the trench coat for him and caressed his cheek.

"You're right, I'm in my fifties," said Red, "but look at me... You're doing a bigger disservice to your business by underestimating me."

Sweetie closed the door as soon as a trio of green cockroaches bursted through the entrance. They pointed their shotguns erratically, wearing a full anti-riot gear, shouting orders into the darkness. A foreigner would be terrified, but locals like Angel and Red saw straight through their uniforms: they were a single person turned three times an erratic coward instead of three soldiers of honor. They wanted something, and Angel smiled knowing they might get more than what they bargained for.