Last Call Ladies

Authors Note: There is an element of reluctance, or at least necessity, on the part of the reckless ladies. There is also some Non-Con in the predicament of the young man. Although - Spoiler Alert - as the reader might guess, he is not nearly as incapacitated as he lets on.

All characters are over eighteen years of age.

---------------------------------

A couple of middle aged roommates make some very bad decisions that lead to unexpected consequences.

LAST CALL LADIES

Chapter One: A Clever Plan

Buffalo, New York: 2009

Anya:

"Maybe I should drive," I suggested.

Janice was tottering dangerously as we walked to her car. She probably wasn't any drunker than me, but she was wearing much higher heels. There was a bit of a drizzle, and the temperature had dropped enough that I could feel it right up my bum while Janice's large nipples stuck out like coat buttons.

"Ssmy car, I'll drive. I'm okay," she replied fumbling with the door handle. That seemed like sufficient argument to me at the time; after all, it

was

her car.

It was Russian roulette either way since we both I and my American chum had two DWI on our records. In fact it was a miracle we got as far as we did, what with the windscreen wipers flapping wildly and the windows half steamed. We were only about two blocks from home, Janice was droning on about something, and I had started to doze off when suddenly she screamed and slammed on the brakes.

I was shot forward in my seat almost cracking my head on the windscreen. I was screaming as well, because I had heard a terrible sound. The meaty thump of metal hitting flesh and blood.

"I hit something," Janice said clutching the steering wheel rigidly, her foot still jammed to the floor.

"What was it?" I asked in a terrible fright.

We were on a well-lit residential street, in the middle of an intersection crosswalk. I looked out the window and saw that there was a stop sign a little way

behind

us. I listened fearfully for some sort of yelping or bawling that would indicate that we had maimed a large animal, but no sound came which seemed reassuring. At least we wouldn't have to put some poor beast out of its misery.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Janice said, staring at me wide eyed. "I think it was a man."

That sent a refreshing jolt of adrenaline coursing through me. I quickly unbuckled, jumped out of the car, slipped and fell to my knees on the slick pavement, and found myself staring at what was definitely a human body. Janice came out the other side of the car and ended up flat on her ass.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she warned.

"No time for that," I replied and crawled up to the head of the man who was lying motionless, flat on his back.

"I can't look, is he ..." Janice called from the far side of the car. I feared for the worst and was about to start mouth to mouth when he groaned. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"He's alive," I said.

"Oh thank God," Janice replied as she came crawling up beside me. "But he's not moving."

I was giving him a quick feel up. From what I could tell in the uncertain light, he was a young man, a few inches short of six feet tall, medium build. He was wearing jeans and a light jacket over top of a dark shirt. The back of his head was scraped and bleeding. There was a gash on his right leg where Janice had caught him with a pointy bit of her bumper that had remained unrepaired since her last fender bender. Other than that he didn't appear seriously hurt.

"Can you hear me, sir?" I asked. "Are you alright?"

The young man groaned in reply and lifted himself up on his elbows.

"Easy, now, easy, you've had a nasty knock on the head," I said leaning forward and cradling the back of his head in the palm of my hand.

"What are we going to do?" Janice moaned. I knew what she meant, even without her prior record she was heading straight to jail as soon as the police showed up.

"Come, let's get you out of the rain, sir. We'll take you somewhere we can have a proper look at you. Don't be alarmed, I'm a nurse," I said.

That was completely false. Apart from being asked to wear a slutty nurse's costume with depressing frequency, I had no formal medical training whatsoever.

"What are you doing?" Janice hissed at me.

"We're getting him out of the rain," I hissed back tersely. "Hurry up and help me get him in the car so we can get the hell out of here."

Our victim was very groggy, but his body seemed to be functioning okay, no bones giving away as we helped him into the back seat of Janice's fortuitously large American car. I climbed into the back seat with him and cradled his head on my lap.

"Now take us home, Janice, and for God's sake drive carefully," I said.

It wasn't our finest moment, I'll grant you.

****

The evening had started out a more or less normal for a Saturday night. Determined to bounce back yet again from a pair of disastrous relationships, Janice and I dressed had to the nines and gone out on the town. We prowled our usual hunting grounds, the bars and lounges of Buffalo's middle-aged single's set.

It was a busy night, the bars were overflowing, people were gathered on the sidewalks and in the parking lots, drinking and hanging out, laughing and carrying on. Everyone was having a good time, and on the lookout for a little harmless, dirty fun. As were we. However most of the roaming singles seemed to be finding it, while we were not.

We were dressed for it; Janice had on her trusty silver-grey skirt and blouse combo which she wore half unbuttoned displaying her impressive cleavage, and I had on my very short, off-the-shoulder number which revealed my long dancer's legs almost all the way to my bum. I wore low heels to minimize my intimidating 5'11" stature, while Janice tottered about on four inch heels to lengthen out her somewhat sturdy legs and butt.

Our hair and makeup were done with the usual care, and we smelled wonderful, but obviously something was wrong. No one seemed to notice us, at least no one except for a parade of less than impressive looking men. They kept circling us even as we moved from place to place trying to improve our luck.

We're not cougars, although we have been known to sleep with younger men on occasion. We kept to what

we

considered our own age group, the late thirties-early forties crowd, even though Janice had now hit fifty with me only a year behind. We didn't see ourselves as that age at all, or realize how much weight we'd put on, but I guess everyone else did.

The fact that the attractive men were looking right through us was bad, but the fact that the losers were hitting on us was far worse. It meant that we appeared "gettable" in their eyes, and that was very bad indeed.

We had been sliding down the desirability scale without knowing it, and when we came face to face with

that

horrible truth, we started drinking hard even though we were buying our own drinks. By the time last call came, Janice and I were pissed, as well as depressed, discouraged, and more than a little bedraggled, which is not the kind of mood that fosters good decision making.

Janice:

I slipped and fell for the second time when I got out of the car at home. Fortunately Anya was steadier, and she managed to guide the poor guy out of the car and prop him up long enough for me to pick myself up and unlock the door. He was out of it, but cooperative and uncomplaining, which was a relief. Also, he hadn't thrown up yet, and that was a good sign. I kicked off my heels as soon as I got inside, and was more sure footed as we took him up the stairs.

We put the young man in my room. Anya held him up again while I dashed to the closet to get the first aid kit and a towel for the back of his head. I threw all the extra pillows off the bed and pulled the duvet right down to the bottom so he wouldn't get tangled in it, then we lowered him gently onto his back.

"You're going to be okay," I kept saying to him over and over again, as if that would make it true.

"He's out again," Anya said.

"Oh no," I cried.

"Don't' worry, he's still breathing. I really don't think he's hurt that badly," she assured me.

The room was spinning and suddenly I felt exhausted. I plumped myself right down on the floor in my wet skirt and soaked, torn pantyhose. Anya dropped into the chair beside me and stretched out her endless legs.

"Thank God. At least we've made it this far," she said.

"Ohhh, do you think we're doing the right thing?" I asked laying out on one arm and closing my eyes.

"Of course we are, unless you'd prefer jail," Anya replied firmly.

"Oh, that's what I

deserve!

" I wailed. "When am I ever going to learn? I promise, I am never, ever,

ever

, going to drink again!"

"Well, that's for tomorrow, first we have to get through tonight," Anya replied. "Ughhhh, I'm soaked," she added and started peeling off her shredded pantyhose. She balled them up and threw them in the direction of the waste basket. "God, that's better," she said.

I started pulling at my own pantyhose and then gave up.

"What are we going to do? If he doesn't die on us he's going to wake up, and when he wakes up, he's going to want to know what happened. He must've been going somewhere. What's he going to think when he wakes up

here

with a couple of strangers?"

Anya put one of her large, long fingered hands over her eyes, "Let me think a minute, just give me a minute, okay" she said.

"Okay," I replied sleepily and unbuttoned my blouse to let some of the humidity out. I may have dozed off, because I gave a little start when she started speaking again.

"Alright, I have a clever plan," Anya said.

I propped myself up on an elbow and watched her wiggle her freakishly long toes that were almost in my face.

"We tell him that we had car trouble. He was walking down the street and came to help us, gentleman that he is. While he was doing that, he cut his leg on the bumper of your car, so we invited him home to fix him up. One thing lead to another, we got drunk and ended up having a vigorous threesome during which he fell and hit his head."

I closed my eyes and scratched my head. "A drunken threesome?" I asked. No doubt Anya had been in one before, but I never had.

"Yes, it works you see because we're drunk, and we look like sluts. The best lies always have the most truth in them."

I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes hard "

Do

we look like sluts?" I asked.

"Well, what do

you

think?"

I looked at Anya, half sitting, half laying on the easy chair. Her hair was a puffy mess, and her heavy mascara was running in several places. Her short skirt had ridden up her legs almost to her hips, showing off her stylishly trimmed pussy.

I looked down at myself, at my big exposed boobs overflowing from a lacy black bra, and at my skirt bunched around my waist exposing my own, fuller, but well-kept bush. Neither one of us ever wore panties when we went out.

I took a deep breath. "Yeah, it could work," I said.

"There are three important tasks before us," Anya explained. "First we have to make sure that he doesn't die. Second, we have to convince him that he took part in a vigorous, drunken threesome..."

"How do we do that?" I interrupted.

"I'll get to that. And third, we have to get him to really, really like us, so much so that if he sees through our scheme he won't want to turn us in, even though we ran him down and kidnapped him."

"How do we do

that,

" I asked, dubious, but interested.

"One thing at a time, my dear," Anya said getting carefully to her feet and straightening her dress. "Come, on, we have to make sure he's not going to die on us before we do anything else."

Anya leaned down and helped me to my feet. I started to button my blouse. "I shouldn't bother," she said. "The more he sees of you the better, best to take the damn thing right the way off."

That was a lot easier than buttoning it up, so I shrugged out of the blouse and threw it in the general direction of the laundry basket. We went to either side of the bed and Anya began giving the unconscious man an examination from head to toe while I watched. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully. With his head turned to the side, he was breathing shallowly, but evenly.

Our victim/guest, was young. Early twenties, maybe. He was clean shaven, had good cheekbones and jawline, and a very strong neck.

With one of her manicured fingers Anya traced the long scar that started near the corner of his mouth, up across his right cheek and behind his cheek bone.

"It's not fresh," she said.

"Thank God," I replied.

"And it's not surgical either, that was done with something a lot thicker than a scalpel."

"Ouch. How do you get a wound like that?"

Anya shrugged her shoulders. "His nose has been broken too," she added, touching the point high on the bridge where his otherwise very straight nose bulged a bit to the side.

"Maybe he walks out in front of cars all the time," I suggested hopefully. "Maybe for him it's no big deal."

Anya removed her hand and I looked past his nose. He had deep-set blue eyes, a broad forehead and thick, short, sandy blonde hair.

"Hey, he's pretty good looking," I said.

"That helps," Anya replied blandly.

Anya had grown up in England, the daughter of Russian émigré parents. She could sound Russian when she wanted to be sexy, or American when she wanted to sound vacuous. When she was wanted to be dry, she was all Brit.

"I sure know how to pick 'em," I giggled. I was still pretty drunk.

"As to the bits you

are

responsible for; he's got quite a bump at the back of the head, and some scraping, but there's hardly any blood," Anya said, all business like. "We need to look at his leg wound. Come on, help me get his pants off."

"Seriously?"

"We can't work on him like that, now can we, and besides, his clothes are sodden. He'll catch a death of cold."

"Okay, medical necessity. You should know, you're the slutty nurse," I giggled.

"And you're my slutty assistant, come on," she replied primly.

"I guess we should take his shirt off first. You know, so he doesn't catch a cold, like you said," I suggested.

"Yes, fine, let's start there," Anya replied.

Luckily he was wearing a dress shirt with buttons, and we were able to get him out of it without too much trouble. He muttered something I couldn't make out and turned his head to the other side, but that was all.

We both looked him over carefully. He had broad shoulders, a well-defined chest, with a modest covering of fine blonde hair. Pretty impressive biceps and knotted forearms; not body builder muscles, not sculpted, but more natural, as if they were the result of hours spent working rather than in the gym. He didn't have a six pack, but his belly was ironing-board flat.

"Maybe he's a farmer," I suggested thoughtfully. He did have a farmer's tan.

"Some rube from the country that doesn't know better than to get himself run down," Anya taunted me.

She was running her hands over his chest, so I did the same. There was nothing wrong with his nipples, thank god, no sign that they had been pierced or anything.

"I told you, I can really pick 'em," I giggled nervously. "Anyway, I didn't run him down, I just bumped into him."

"That's as may be, stop gawking and help me get his pants down," Anya said briskly.

His pants were more difficult than his shirt. His jeans had been pretty tight to begin with, and now they were wet as well.

"How old do you think he is?" I asked as I unbuttoned his jeans. He had no belt, which I thought was strange.

"Young enough that we better hope he has mommy issues," Anya replied slowly unzipping his fly.

"Mommy issues! I'm only...oh yeah."

Fifty! Impossible. I felt thirty-five at the most.

Following Anya's directions I got my hands under his shockingly tight butt and lifted him up enough for her to tug his jeans down, bit by bit, over his crotch, and down his thighs as far as the wound.

"We'll have to be very gentle here," Anya said. "Janice, come on. Janice, what the devil are you looking at? Oh my god!"

"I sure know how to pick 'em," I said.

While working his jeans down, we had managed to get his Under Armor briefs half way down his hips partially revealing what was underneath. His cock started as a very large bulge between his legs, ran up across his pelvis, and up onto his flat stomach -

all

the way up.

"You're the expert, Nurse Petrova, would you say that was exceptionally large penis?" I asked.

"Its breath taking," Anya replied. "I mean, yes, drawing on my considerable experience, I would have to say that is the biggest cock I've ever seen in person. There's got to be eight inches there, and he's not all the way up yet."

"And so thick! Look how big around it is," I replied and bent down real close to take a look.

His cock was continuing to slowly grow and thicken. Entranced, I reached out for it.

"Janice, not now Janice," Anya hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I just wanted to see if I could get my hand around it. I don't think can," I replied in awe.

"Just so long as you can get your mouth around it," Anya replied.

"What, what did you say?" I hadn't really been listening to her as I continued to stare at that magnificent beast. Not only was it big and thick, it was clean, smooth and unblemished, with a very fine circumcised head. A brand new toy practically fresh out of the box. "It's so... so..."

"Thought provoking?"

"Yes, that's it, thought provoking. You Brits are so good with words," I replied.

"Steady on, old girl, we have other business to attend to right now. Come on, we don't want him bleeding all over the sheets.

"He looks very uncomfortable like that. His shorts are all wet and kinda in the way."

"Fine, get the scissors from the kit."

Our guest seemed a little more awake now. He was making low, quizzical sounds. Anya went up to his head, and putting a hand on his forehead, gently pushed him back down on the pillow.

"Don't worry, sir," she said, "we're all friends here, and we'll have you feeling better in no time."

I was starting to sober up. I felt a flush rise up from my suddenly wet pussy and spread right through my entire body. I was beginning to realize where all this was going. My mind was leery, but there was no doubt my body was good to go.

Chapter Two: Mr Johnson

Anya:

"Go on, get your kit off," I said to Janice as I shrugged out of my sodden dress leaving myself naked and ready for action.

I took a couple of clips from her dresser and pinned back my long hair, I meant business. Janice was hardly any help at all as I'd dressed the stranger's wound, she'd stared at his now completely hard dick, and then began stroking it two handed, gently. Almost with a sense of reverence. Janice had tried, but couldn't quite get one of her hands all the way around it.

I took my buxom accomplice firmly by the bra strap and the waist band of her skirt and dragged her off the bed.

"There'll be plenty of time for that once you get those damp clothes off, you're getting the sheets all wet," I said.

"Right, right," Janice replied absently as she shrugged out of her bra.

The important thing was to get this going before Janice chickened out or the guy woke up. My roommate fancied herself a bit of a slut since her divorce, but she really wasn't very experienced at all. I doubt she'd seen eight cocks up close in her whole life, so if this one was a surprise to me, I'm sure it was a revelation to her.

"We're really going to do this?" Janice asked as she pulled her skirt around to the front so she could unzip it, still staring at his cock.

"It's this or prison. So unless you like hairy dykes better than hard young cock, you need to get on board and do as I tell you," I replied firmly.