Brock Quinones awaited Monica Gift in his back driveway. Setting in his jeep he wondered if tonight was a mistake. He had arranged an after hours gathering of a few drinking buddies and a number of other local bar hounds. Roughly guessing ten or more. At least those he knew about. No telling how many others his bartender buddy "Angus" had tipped off about the exhibitionist coming to visit. He wasn't proud of this achievement. This young lady might get hurt and there could be little he could do to help her. Luckily, he found at least the comfort that the bar's actual owner, "Hollister aka Holly" was a good friend. Even though Holly used to be a bad ass Biker back in the day. After ten more minutes of wait Monica stepped around the corner of his garage. She was wearing a tight blue dress that barely covered her ass. The front cleavage was wide open and revealing 60 % of her chest formation. Her massive cleavage bulged with each step threatening to escape captivity. No bra for certain as her nipples strained the fabric taunt. Up her hips the dress had blue shoestring laces that were threaded to both sides of her fabric. There was no mistake. Zero underwear was being worn.
She wore extra high 6 inch stiletto heels making her 5'2 height increase to 5'8. Her long dark brown hair flowed freely over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back.
"I'm here."
"I see that. Looking hot Monica."
"Thanks, Daddy." She wiggles up into her seat beside him.
"You positive you want to do this?"
"I'm positive I want to be seen naked by hungry eyes."
"Wolves don't just watch their prey Monica. They attack."
"Save me Daddy." She shivers then leans over to give him a kiss on the cheek.
"If I can. Don't hold anything against me if it gets out of control."
"I trust you Brock. You have friends there right?"
"Yeah, but my friends have seen you before. Don't think for one second they don't think about fucking the shit out of you."
She fidgets in her seat, "Quit trying to scare me. I'll manage this."
He frowns with a loud sigh, "Ok. Here we go."
Starting his jeep he drives them six miles into the country to a back woods bar known as "Holly's" as owned by "Hollister Drumond".
"It's dark out here." She wheezes at the only pole light for miles.
"Darker inside." He growls knowing things were going to go south fast.
The interior of the bar was dimly lit without any of the neon beer signs glowing to know it was closed. Music could be heard at least from a jukebox. Brock counted twelve trucks and four cars. That many sure made it look open for business.
"More people than I expected." He huffs, "I only know two cars. My drinking buddies, "Dawson and Vic". They were at my house once when we watched you playing in your bedroom."
"When was this?" She purred.
"Not long ago. Right after you turned 18. If not a day or 2 before hand. Sick fuckers I know."
"Watching only. Nothing illegal about that as long as you weren't caught. I hope I made you all happy that day."
"Ohhh, you did." He smirks shutting his jeep off.
Spritzing herself up from a tiny perfume bottle she returns it to her clutch purse and sits it between their seats.
"Do I smell yummy?"
"Do I need to answer that?" He huffs.
"Feed my ego."
"They're going to eat you alive."
Fanning herself at his answer she inhales deeply, "As long as my head isn't mounted on the wall later."
"Want me to go in first and check things out? Holly might let me do that at least."
"No. I want you to stay right here and let me go in alone. You can come in later if they let you."
"Not going to happen. I told you Holly's conditions."
She offers a beguiling look, "But, Daddy."
"Why would you want to circle the wolf's den without back up?"
"I want them to size me up without you scaring them."
He growls clutching his steering wheel tightly, "I'm going to regret this."
She giggles then crawls out of the jeep heading toward the front door. He merely sits there watching her ass wiggle in his headlights.
At the door she peeks inside to see eight men sitting at the bar drinking. Six more throwing darts. Two more shooting pool. There were two men behind the bar. Two very big, mean looking Biker types.
"Eighteen." She calculates, "There were more in the schools Men's room."
Shrugging she opens the door and enters casually. All eyes drifted toward her within two minutes. Nobody said a word. They merely feasted on her allure.
After a moment of being ogled in a dead silence she raises her arms in the air and belts out, "THE STRIPPER'S HERE!"
Everyone resumed what they were doing with very little interest at the moment. Maybe they were just giving her a chance to bolt and run. She chose to stay and step up to the bar.
Climbing on to a barstool she sat her clutch purse on the bar. The bartender was a hefty fellow with a grey t-shirt and a black leather vest. He had a beard and lengthy hair pinned back behind his head. Tattoos wrapped his arms in an ornate set of sleeves.
"What's a girl have to do around here to get a drink?" She tries to appear beguiling.
The other Gentleman was a taller man equally as large as his associate but had a full beard of grey that was dangling down to his chest. He was easily older and wore wire rim glasses and a green camouflage bandana around his head. His t-shirt had a "Harley-Davidson" logo on it.
This man who was drying a glass beer mug sneered at her, "Pop machine's outside."
She fidgeted, "It's okay. I don't drink alcohol anyway. Not old enough. Are you "Holly"?"
"You the slut?"
Her jaw droops with awe. Had Brock led on that she was a slut? The idea made her smile brightly.
"I guess we'll find out." She sticks her tongue out at him.
